Curio (35 page)

Thud.

Callis angled the tock half of his body against the door and heaved. A crack spread through the wood. One final kick split the door in half. They pushed the panels aside and stepped onto a ledge in a cavernous room.

Grey sucked in a breath and flattened herself against the wall. Inches from her feet, the floor disappeared. A pit of darkness lay below and humidity choked the atmosphere.

Across the chasm, on a platform, crouched the strangest tock Grey had seen yet. He had a bulbous black body and eight tentacle arms, each stretching to a thick chain positioned over the abyss. He faced away from the ledge where Grey and Callis stood. Just as Grey became aware of a faint ticking sound, the platform beneath the tock shifted a notch to the right. One of the creature's pincher-like claws grasped a chain and began to tug. The chink of metal blended with the faint rushing water, the ticking, and another sound.

Grey swallowed as her brain sifted through the noise. As the chain ground through the pulley, the final sound grew more distinct. Screams lifted from the pit below.

Blaise tumbled through the air over an open field beyond the factory district. He pressed the button for his wing release and blew out a pent-up breath when they extended. The second free fall and jolt of the day wrenched his injured arm, but the sight on the road jarred him through and through.

Redcoats trailed the airship. Pops from their muskets rang out and puffs of smoke wafted through the air as they ran toward the Weatherton estate.

He circled back to the Clang. Gagnon had righted the vessel, but her speed had decreased. Dark smoke poured out
of a hole in one of the boilers. Blaise swore. One of the tin soldiers had gotten off a lucky shot.

He flew as close as he dared. The smell of tainted water clogged his nose, and steam coated his skin, gluing his clothes to his body. If they could strike the hub and get out before the engine lost too much pressure, they might crash in Cog Valley instead of this field.

With no way to repair the leak, Blaise turned his attention to the soldiers. More and more red-coated men poured out of the factory district. Hatches opened along the Clang's belly and long muzzles poked out, but the airship crew would only be effective at close range and then only for a short while.

The nearest soldier halted and aimed his musket at the airship. Blaise swooped toward him, arm extended. He curled his fingers around the trigger bar in his palm and squeezed. The bullet fled the chamber, the report knocking his arm back. The shot ripped a hole through the soldier's chest. The tin man dropped his musket and stood, arms levering up and down. His shaggy black hat swung from side to side as he thrashed.

Another soldier raced by his malfunctioning comrade and took aim at Blaise.

The shot whizzed through the air on his left. Blaise dodged to the right, but a wave of panic drenched him. He craned his head over his aching shoulder. No holes in his wing—they both still beat a steady pace. He fell back and directed his gauntlet gun at the soldier, aiming through the haze of growing smoke. The shot missed.

Shouts of “Mad Tock” went up along the stretch of road, and a wall of soldiers advanced from the factory district. Blaise fell back, flying higher than the range of the musket rifles.

Weatherton's estate lay ahead to the right of the road bordering the factory district. Surrounded by green pastures and clusters of trees, the three-story house with massive colonnades sat at the end of a long pathway. But the object of their mission lay at the far corner of the plantation. The Clang made for a gigantic purification locus designed in the shape of a water drop.

The Shelf curved around the far border of the Weatherton property. Beneath the soil, tock diggers tunneled toward the pipeline feeding the hydro hub. If their plan succeeded, the water would bypass Weatherton's hub altogether and flow through a secret channel into Gagnon's new locus.

And they were there simply for target practice, or to send a message to Blueboy and the ruling porcies. High in the air, Blaise watched as two clockwork horses pulled a cannon down the road. The platoon line ate up the ground between the city and Weatherton's property. Shots cracked through the air. Blaise frowned as the blasts came in short succession. He scanned the ground for the source and spotted a group of soldiers around a tripod-mounted mini cannon. The soldiers loaded multiple rounds and fired, sending a stream of shells into the air. As he watched, the whole operation picked up, moved forward several yards, and positioned for another volley.

Blaise swung down to the hatch at the bow.

“Cannons,” he called to Melc, who peered at him through the raised window. “You've got to move faster.”

“We're losing altitude,” Melc yelled. “Draw 'em off.”

Blaise cursed and rounded the far side of the ship. He hovered near the stern for a moment. Myver moved in a mechanical blur just inside the portal. Below, an army assembled in the field. The huge cannon rolled off the road, the horses cutting through the field and gaining on
the Clang. But the men operating the smaller cannon were almost directly beneath the ship's hull.

After a few quick pulls to stoke the cinderite in his pack, Blaise dove. The pistons in his wings whined under the force of his dive. Arm extended, Blaise aimed the gauntlet gun at the mini cannon and fired. The sound of consecutive fire reached him just before his bullet hit its mark. The cannon exploded as Blaise lurched in the air. He dipped to the right and threw his arm out for balance. Stuck in a jolting wheel pattern, Blaise turned his head in time to see his right wing crumple.

The screams drew nearer. Grey couldn't look away from the black abyss. She reached a hand out and found Callis's arm.

“What is it?” she whispered.

The modified porcie shook beside her. “The prisoners.”

Emptiness seeped into Grey's heart. They'd expected to fight a few remaining guards. Callis was armed with a glass gun and magnetic bullets and her cane concealed a heavy awl in the handle, but what good could their weapons do against this mysterious machine?

The circular platform across the empty space clicked another notch to the right. As if triggered by the movement, the tock reversed the chain he'd been pulling. The screaming faded. Another hand took up the lifting action on a different chain. More screams lifted from the pit, growing louder with each second.

A few more ticks of the dais and Grey and Callis would be in the creature's line of sight. Grey trembled as if one of the great claws closed on her. She forced her eyes to the man next to her.

“What do we do?”

Callis studied the rectangular perimeter of the room. “I think this ledge runs all the way to the platform. I'm going to try to get closer. Maybe I can figure out how the beast operates.”

“What is it?” Grey hissed.

Callis stared at the strange tock. “The jailer. A horror from the cinderite warrens, I expect.”

She forced her next words past a stone in her throat. “Where do you think Seree is?”

The modified porcie's eyes followed the chain now clanking through a pulley. “Down there. We'll have to get him to haul her up.”

“How?”

“I don't know.” Despair dragged at his voice. Back flattened to the wall, Callis inched a few steps from the door.

“What should I do?” Grey whispered after him.

He turned to look at her. His mechanical eye glowed pale blue in the darkness. “Distract him.”

A tick echoed through the chamber. The chains clunked, raising and lowering according to the tock creature's pattern. Screams mingled with the distant rush of water below.

Her back to the wall, Grey faced the next shift of the platform. It came all too soon. The jailer's black head lifted and swung toward her. Grey shuddered under the gaze of the face across the chamber. Not a tock face, but a porcelain face. A smooth forehead began just under a crown of moving parts. Black eyes contrasted with the stark white of the cheekbones and nose.

The jailer spoke in a high-pitched whine. “Who are you?”

She couldn't tell across the distance, but she didn't think the lips moved. Another click brought the platform around so that the jailer faced her directly. Grey's knees turned to sponges. She opened her mouth.

The mechanized buzz continued. “State your name immediately.”

Straightening her shoulders, Grey yanked off her hat and pulled the scarf from her lower face. She took as bold a step forward as the ledge would allow. “I am Lady Grey, the new mistress of Curio City.”

The dais jolted another notch, but the jailer's face realigned to keep Grey in sight. “Made you a lady, did he? Poor Fantine. Still, she didn't end up here, so one can't pity her too much.”

A wheezing sound drifted from the still lips as the jailor laughed.

Another tick angled the creature's body toward the left of the chamber. Grey kept her gaze on the smooth, white face, but in the corner of her eye Callis crept along the ledge. If the tentacled tock's face aligned with its body, Callis would be visible.

Grey plunged into her lie. “Yes, Benedict bestowed great kindness on Fantine. She lives in the second-most-elegant house in the city.”

The jailer's neck craned toward Grey as the platform moved. The pattern of the chains never stopped. “But wait. My little tin men told me you ran away. They bring me all the news. They told me Lord Blueboy was in a rage.”

“I didn't run. I was kidnapped.”

The chain in the creature's claw rattled back a foot before it tightened its grip. “Oh, really? Do tell me the tale. I love a good story, Lady Grey.”

Callis darted closer to the back of the hollow room as the jailer's head swiveled to keep Grey in sight. She ignored the sweat breaking out on her forehead and palms and attempted a storytelling voice.

“I was sleeping in my room when the strangest creature burst through my window. They call him the Mad Tock. I've
since learned I'm not the first to be kidnapped by him.” She went on, spinning an elaborate tale. The jailer's white face elevated above the squat body on a long, articulated neck, swiveling to remain intent on her.

“After I escaped and returned to Benedict, we learned that one of the rebels had been brought here. We have questions for her, if you'll kindly bring up the prisoner. I'm told her name is Seree.”

Grey let her eyes fall to the dark pit for one moment. A scuffling sound echoed through the chamber. She whipped her gaze to Callis, immediately wincing at her mistake. The jailer's head pivoted to the rear of the room where Callis clung to the ledge with his hands, his feet dangling toward the chasm below.

The creature let out a screech heavy with the grinding of machinery. Grey's legs locked. How could she distract it? How could she help Callis? But the jailer didn't go for the modified porcie. Instead the head zipped across the gaping floor toward Grey.

“Look out,” Callis shouted.

The head whizzed to a stop inches from Grey. She swallowed a scream. Moving gears showed between the molded lips of a porcelain mask and above the crown of the forehead. Flat black eyes stared into hers.

Scrapes and oaths carried from across the room, but Grey could only gape at the creature before her.

“Traitor.” Two antennae-like arms descended from the jailer's head with pinchers open.

Grey stumbled back, tripping over the remains of the door. The pinchers closed on her waist and her feet left the ground. She screamed as she sailed over the dark chasm.

“You dishonor the name of Lord Blueboy and you bring me lies and false stories.” The whir of gears behind the mask
merged with the ticking and clank of chains grating in Grey's ears.

Pain stole her breath. She squirmed and pushed on the metal claws cutting into her waist. Callis yelled taunts from his position. He must've climbed back onto the ledge. But the jailer paid him no heed. The pinchers dug deeper.

Then the grip released. Grey's limbs splayed as she plunged through the darkness.