Of Steel and Steam: A Limited Edition Anthology

by Pauline Creeden

  As if reading my mind, Night made my decision for me. “Food.”

  I nodded.

  Night dipped through the drapes.

  He was loyal to his word and met me outside within minutes—me, and a patient watch-globe that shone faint, dusty light down on us.

  We went down a path that hooked off the yellow brick road. But even the path was stained with blood. As we walked, Night said the glade hosted an outdoors tavern that ran all day and night.

  The path was narrower than the others, hugged those dangling leaves and vines that stretched up to the twinkling sky.

  After we ducked under a particularly long leaf-curtain, Night’s focus found a dark stretch ahead, where the path turned away.

  “Stay close,” he said. “I don’t believe we’re alone.”

  “What did you see?”

  “I believe I saw two men rush through those vines,” he said, and coiled his gloved fingers around my arm as if to stop me from floating away.

  He pulled me to the other side of the path, putting himself between me and the dark spot we were nearing. But as we passed, tension rippling down us both, nothing happened—no one jumped out or threw knives at us.

  We passed by in peace.

  Once the dark patch was a comfortable distance behind us, I said, “Advantages of an alliance, right?”

  The corner of his mouth dared to quirk into the ghost of a smile “Exactly.”

  We stepped through the final curtain of leaves to an open glade of crystal tables and stalls that glittered under the lights of the watch-globes and stars.

  I sucked in a deep breath, tasting the sweet and savoury flavours of the crystal food stalls. Saliva flooded my tongue. I swallowed it back.

  “Thank the queen,” I mumbled.

  “You could thank the street cart vendors,” Night said, picking dirt from his shirt. Though, I didn’t think there was any dirt at all on his pristine shirt at all. “They’re the ones working late nights to feed us.”

  I snatched his sleeve and dragged him to the nearest crystal stall, ignoring that tension rippled through him at my touch.

  We parked ourselves at a round crystal table by the stall.

  As we waited for a server, I looked around at the others. Players—and even jesters—huddled together to scoff down spoonfuls of pumpkin-berry soups, mouthfuls of salted walnut bread, and scoops of caramel toasted corns.

  A band of mismatched performers played jumpy music between a tea stall and one that oozed strong odours of boiled fish heads. The song was foreign to my ears, there was no flute player in the band, and there was too much drum banging for my taste.

  Still, the lively tune tucked the food market into a neat package, as though the band itself was the bow that tied it all together.

  A server swept over with plates balanced on his arms and hands. “Porcupine pie?”

  Night lifted his finger from the table a touch, the way I imagined posh people would address servers, and I wondered if tournament instructors were considered high status beyond the glass walls.

  The server lowered the mug of steamy, fresh pie on the table.

  He looked at me. “And for you?”

  “Whatever’s closest,” I said, and the low gurgle of my tummy agreed.

  He placed the dish in front of me. “That would be a goat’s cheese pie with cranberries.”

  Licking my lips, I gazed down at the plate as the server poured us some teas.

  Night waited until the server whisked away before he sank his spoon into his pie.

  I didn’t wait.

  By the time Night touched the spoon to his pink lips, I’d already crammed so much pie into my mouth that my cheeks bulged.

  After a difficult swallow, one that scraped down my throat to my chest, I managed to say, “I saw Lock back at the circus. He’s staying at the library.”

  “Lock,” echoed Night. He scraped the spoon against the rim of the mug. “Your boyfriend?”

  I made a face. “More like brother.”

  Night studied me in silence a beat, then carefully said, “On the playground, you have no friends, only allies and enemies.”

  “Good thing Lock isn’t so much a friend as he is a brother.” I smirked before stabbing at the sloppy remains of my meal. “Besides, I can’t partner with him until our clues cross, can I? So don’t worry—for now, our alliance is safe.”

  Night lifted the teacup to his lips. “I’m glad to hear it.”

  I watched as he traded the teacup for a chunky coin from his inner coat pocket. He slid it across the table, his hand shielding it from sight. “If we were alone, the men in the trees might’ve attacked us. I suspect they were after this.”

  “Your clue?”

  He withdrew his hand and gestured for me to inspect the coin. It was no bigger than my fingernail and a currency I didn’t recognise. A lump of metal with the image of the Old King scratched into it—a forbidden image in Hearts.

  I offered him the coin. “Is it money?”

  “It’s an old currency from many years ago, though I suspect it’s a fake. Did you see the sketch?”

  I nodded, the faint image of the Old King’s outline coming to mind.

  “He’s sitting on a unicycle,” I said. “I haven’t seen many drawings of him, but I doubt that’s normal for the Old King.”

  “That leads me back to the circus in the light of day.” Night tucked the coin into his pocket. “And your clue?”

  Carefully, I untied the pouch that the jester had given me, and emptied it out onto the table. A small red ball bounced over the dishes and landed in Night’s tea.

  He picked it out and placed it back on the crumpled pouch where a few bonus buttons sat.

  “Juggling ball,” he said. “We’ll leave for the circus in the morning. We’ll take the night off. Who knows when we’ll get another chance to rest before the Hatterthon ends.”

  At the word ‘rest’, I sank back in my chair and let the heaviness of my eyelids grow stronger. “I’m not sure I can go another day without my glasses.”

  “The return of the stolen comes later.”

  I sipped my tea, watching as Night repacked the pouch for me. He left one of my buttons and one of his own on the table to pay for our meals.

  “What was stolen from you?” I asked, running my finger over the rim of the teacup.

  “They took a memory of mine,” Night said as he brought the mug to his lips.

  My eyebrow lifted with the corner of my mouth. “How could you know if you don’t remember?”

  Steam danced up from the mug and shadowed his face like magician’s smoke. If only for a fleeting second, Night looked wicked. As wicked as a trickster, as cruel as a monarch, and as deadly as a pirate.

  I’d sensed danger about him before, but in that moment I didn’t doubt that he would cut my throat for the prize, or even the last buttons in the game.

  I had to make sure I was the first to strike.

  The lazy watch-globe buzzed near my ear, sending a shiver down my spine. Or was that Night?

  My fingers lazily traced over the ballerina pendant at the dip of my neck. Night’s gaze touched to it and lingered for a beat.

  He rose from the table and offered his hand. “You look ready to fall asleep where you sit.”

  With a heavy sigh, I forced my tired legs to stand, then dragged myself over to him. “I’m not sure that’s such a terrible idea.”

  The watch-globe followed us all the way into the dark corridors of the court.

  Sometime during our walk, Night had to lock his arm around my waist for support. He helped me to my room.

  At the sight of the drapes, I thought of lost battles and mice.

  Night finally took his arm from the small of my back, and I hated to admit I felt a slither of cold run over my waist.

  “We’ll meet in the morning?” he asked, gaze locked onto my weary face. “You have yet to officially accept my alliance.”

  “Do you need it in writing?” I leaned agai
nst the wall. “A contract signed in the blood of my first born?”

  Unamused, Night hummed a short, clipped sound that betrayed his exasperation. “Again, I have no firm answer.”

  “You’re the one who told me, there are no friends in the game.”

  “I offered an alliance,” he said. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Night dipped forward into a curt bow.

  The gleam of his shadowed eyes seared at me from the darkness of the corridor, and I fought the shudder that threatened to take me.

  He stood straight, and added in a low voice, “I never claimed to be anything other than that. And, most of all, I never claimed to be your friend.”

  Night turned and disappeared down the hall.

  For a moment, I stood at the drapes and watched the black distance swallow him whole.

  Then I faced the battle of the curtains with only one prize in mind. Bed.

  Chapter 10

  I woke to the drowsiness that came post-nightmare.

  Holly had haunted my dreams in ways that curdled my insides—how she had braced the Hatterthon alone, her final cries, imagined last words, her last tears to be shed.

  Even after I washed my face in the basin, I couldn’t rinse off the echoes of the dream.

  I left the washroom to a surprise in the shared bedroom.

  My roommate was there, perched on the foot of her bed, digging through a lumpy leather bag bigger than Lock’s favourite satchel.

  Her sapphire-blue eyes cut to me as I entered, and held my gaze a second too long. Then she jerked her head to my boots on the floor.

  “You left your things out last night,” she said, her black hair cutting against her jaw. “I put them in your boots for safe keeping.”

  I frowned at her, my mind spinning to catch up.

  The pouch, the buttons—my necklace.

  As if burned by the archway, I spurred forward and dropped to my knees beside my boots. Like the girl had said, the pouches were tucked safely inside, along with Holly’s old pendant and chain.

  The girl dropped her bag to the floor with thud, then kicked it under a blanket.

  “You ought to be more careful,” she said. “Snatchers are everywhere.”

  “Snatchers?”

  I slumped against my bed and slipped my boots on.

  What I truly wanted was to climb into the tub and have a hot bath to soothe away the aches that plagued my body, but I had a sinking feeling that I’d overslept.

  “The players that raid the rooms, night and day,” she explained. “They mostly steal buttons and clues, but some have been known to take whatever they can. Shoes, jackets, jewels.”

  “Thanks. I’ll be more careful next time.” I tied up my crumpled blouse. “I’m Rose by the way.”

  She gave a tight smile. “Sage.”

  Though I dreaded the answer, I forced myself to ask, “How long was I asleep?”

  “I didn’t keep track,” said Sage. “More than ten hours, for sure.”

  With a heavy groan, I ran my hands over my face and cursed. Night would have been and gone from the circus already, and my chances of finding him were slimming by the minute.

  “I’d suggest taming that mop you call hair before leaving,” Sage said. “After all, you’ll be walking straight into the audience. Your watch-globe has been out there since last night. Hasn’t moved an inch.”

  I mumbled goodbye as I grabbed my bag and rushed out the room. I had too much distance to cover in such short hours, so my untamed curls were the least of my worries.

  Still, I ran my fingers through the blonde tangles all the way down to the road outside.

  Night wouldn’t have approved, but I paid the fare for a carriage drawn by a horse who wore glasses.

  I scrambled onto the seat.

  The librarian coachman cracked the whip and off we went, rocking down the bumpy road. Every jab of the road shot jolts of pain through my whole body. Yesterday, my muscles promised pain, and today they delivered.

  I groaned and fell back in the seat.

  It was only the second day of the Hatterthon, but my body ached all over and my glasses were still missing. A part of me was tempted to steal the horse’s glasses.

  Stragglers wandered the road.

  Some didn’t look to be in too much of a hurry. Watch-globes drifted all over, and to my surprise, my own watch-globe managed to keep up with the carriage.

  Among the stragglers, I noticed a particularly round boy that resembled more of an enlarged ball with hair than a person. As the carriage passed the ball-boy, I got a better look at him, and my nose crinkled.

  It was one of the twins from the bakery.

  I almost felt sorry for him. He was a rude little fat boy, always squabbling with his brother and eating all the cakes at the bakery.

  But he was just like me in that moment. Lost. Trapped.

  Just trying to get home.

  Guilt twisted my insides as I realised my chances in the Hatterthon were immeasurably better than his. And I wasn’t even sure I would make it very far without Night.

  I sighed as the carriage pulled me away from the fat boy and took the road’s curve. Then, the carriage stopped. But we weren’t at the circus yet.

  Our pause lingered a beat too long.

  I tilted in my seat to look around the librarian.

  My eyes struggled against the blur before they found it—a body, sprawled out over the road. Blocking our way.

  For a moment, I just stared at it. But it didn’t move, and with every second that ticked by, I was more certain that it was a dead body.

  A corpse on the second day. It was too soon.

  Night had mentioned dangers, the Sisters too. But I wasn’t prepared for them so early in the game. Or maybe I wasn’t prepared for them at all.

  A hollowness cut deep into my chest. Suddenly, my alliance with Night didn’t seem so trying. It was something worth salvaging, if only to prevent me from becoming what the man on the road had become—a corpse left to rot.

  “Should we move him?” My whisper crackled between the librarian and me. “At least to the side of the road.”

  The coachman set his shoulders. “It isn’t my place to get involved.”

  “Well, who moves the bodies?”

  Even as the question left my lips, shame flooded my cheeks and I turned away from the watch-globe. All of Spades was just awarded a peek into the depths of my selfishness. I cared more about catching up in the game to better my chances of getting home, than I did about a dead player.

  The librarian didn’t answer.

  “Fine.” I slid out of the carriage, the beat of my heart rising to the heavy hum of the watch-globe. “I’ll do it.”

  It wasn’t my greatest idea. But I couldn’t bear the thought of being the sort of person to leave a body on the road, and I had to get to the circus.

  Truthfully, I wasn’t sure which motivation was strongest.

  It wasn’t until I stopped beside the body and saw the shivers of my own hands that I hesitated.

  Goosepimples prickled all over my skin and a lump grew in my closing throat.

  Death didn’t spook me. I’d already stained my blade with another’s life.

  But I’d never touched a corpse before, and my clammy hands resisted the change.

  Slowly, I crouched beside the body and reached out for his slender shoulder.

  Before I could touch him, I froze, my breath hitching.

  The shoulder moved.

  Very slightly, too softly. Like the small ease of a breath moving through a body.

  I leaned over the man, and scanned for cuts or blood, any sign of injury. It was clean.

  This person on the road was alive...

  Then, my face hardened as it dawned on me.

  Carefully, I drew back.

  It was a trap. But I was too late.

  Just as I made to reach for my dagger, a rustle came from the shadows of the trees.

  A burly man bounded out from the side of the
road, and charged at me. I drew my blade and made to jump out of the way. But something caught on my ankle and pulled.

  The force yanked me off my feet and I landed on my side with a crunch so loud, it rippled across the dirt.

  A groan gutted through me, my sight stolen by blinding white dots. I tried to blink them away and roll onto my belly. But a hand latched onto my throat and slammed me back down.

  “Get her buttons!” came a voice beside me—the man who’d pretended to be a corpse. “I’ve got her, I’ve got her. Hurry!”

  White dots danced all over my sight, but blink by blink they began to dissolve.

  The man above me patted his hands over my blouse. I shrieked and hit out my fist, hard. The crunch of the hit was followed by a shout and the warmth of fresh blood on my knuckles.

  “Hold ‘er down, would ya! Check ‘er pockets!”

  I squinted up at the burly one standing over me. A knife in one hand, his other hand cupping his broken nose.

  The scraggly one knelt beside me, holding me down by the neck. His grip tightened, and instantly I felt my face get hotter.

  I swung up my legs and kicked out. The burly guy fell back with a groan.

  Before he could get back on his feet, I grabbed my dagger and sank it into the scrawny one’s shoulder.

  A terrible cry ripped through him.

  His hand left my neck as he scrambled away from me.

  There was just enough time to clutch my bruising throat and catch my breath before the burly robber lunged at me with the kitchen knife.

  I’d lost my blade to a shoulder, so I bowled to the side.

  A moment later, he smacked to the ground and stabbed the knife down where I’d been a second ago.

  I didn’t see white anymore. I saw red.

  Crimson. The shade of rage.

  They attacked me, tried to kill me, and for what? For fucking buttons.

  A feral cry tore through my throat as I lunged at the burly attacker. I latched on, legs coiled around his neck, arms holding his head in place.

  And I squeezed.

  The man tore at me like a wild animal, but I craned my neck to save my head, and held on tighter, and slowly, he wilted in my hold.