Hour of Mischief (6 page)

Itazura answered him with a sharp jab to the neck.

“Anyway, as I was saying,” Itazura said, gesturing for me to follow him. “The elder gods do not refer to the Clockmaker or Mother and Father. When the Clockmaker created the world, he created Mother and Father to be his governors. His . . . hands so to speak.” He chuckled at his own joke. “But he didn’t create the Clockwork Gods just yet. Instead he created four elder gods, one for each season. One for each quarter of the clock. They once did our work for us.”

“Other gods existed before the twelve?” My eyes widened.

“Oh yes,” Itazura said. “You wouldn’t know of such a time. It was a rather chaotic era and most of the records of it have been destroyed. Even the wisdom twins are short on documents. But these four gods held dominion over the powers of the seasons and all things associated with them. Nasty ones, those four were. They had no regard for timing or order. I mean, neither do I.” He grinned. “But even I know my limits.”

“They were that insane huh?” I asked, quirking an eyebrow.

“Yes. See, the seasons had no boundaries. One day it would be freezing and snowing and the next it would be hot and muggy. The world was completely upside down under their dominion. Humans were dropping left and right because of the natural disasters and the weather conditions.” He cast me a look over his shoulder. “Tell me, did you know the clock used to only have three hands?”

I stared at him. Now I knew he was messing with me. “Funny.”

“I’m serious,” Itazura said, reaching out and grasping my clockwork necklace between his fingers. He held it up to the dim light of a nearby torch. “It used to just be those three straight hands: the hour, the minute and the second hand. The Clockmaker created the fourth hand later,” he tapped the black, squiggly hand pointing to the summer quarter of the clock. “And he contained the power of the elder gods. That’s why all the seasons are so neatly organized.” Itazura smiled brightly. “And why you have the pleasure of my company.”

“Joy,” I said. “But I’m thinking I’d chance the natural disasters if I had a choice.”

“Touchy, touchy. Oh! Back against the wall, little human.”

I sighed and did as he said. Itazura crouched down as another vigilant came through the steel door in front of us. As soon as he had closed and locked it behind him Itazura cupped his hands under his mouth and blew harshly. It was as if someone just opened a window during a windstorm. A huge gust of air knocked the guard off his feet and sent him slamming into the door. The impact knocked him out instantly.

Itazura winked at me. “Isn’t this fun?”

I gave a noncommittal grunt, though, yes, it definitely was fun. “Okay, so I get the elder gods but what do those have to do with me?”

Itazura’s light hearted façade faded a bit, a fact from which I received great satisfaction. “Well, I’m afraid the elder gods have been causing a bit of trouble downstairs.”

“Downstairs? In the Abyss?” I asked. “But I thought you trapped the elder gods in the seasonal hand.”

“No, no.” Itazura shook his head. “Their
powers
are trapped in the seasonal hand. The elder gods still have complete freedom to roam around. Their abilities are just confined to their specific seasons. Occasionally they are able to break a fraction of their powers loose of the seasonal hand and cause some nasty natural disaster, but for the most part they are contained.” Itazura ran a hand through his hair. “Unfortunately, they still have a voice and I’m afraid they’ve been pandering to the minor gods. Especially the ones downstairs.”

“The
Abyss
.” I huffed. “Why do you keep on calling it ‘downstairs’?”

“What?” Itazura raised an eyebrow. “Oh, that’s because it annoys Axira. My dear, deadly sister doesn’t like her domain being referred to as ‘down’ because it makes her seem lower. So I call it downstairs to spite her.”

I blinked. Spiting the Goddess of Death. If I were talking to anyone but Itazura, I would think they were crazy. But I had crossed that bridge with Itazura from the moment I laid eyes on him.

“Ah, there’s the ladder,” Itazura said. I blinked. He was right. We had made it all the way back to the entrance. “Now this might get a little bit tricky so we’ll have to hold off on my explanation for now.” He climbed up the first few rungs. “You just . . . stay down here.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked, grasping the side of the ladder.

“The grand finale.” Itazura winked. “Stay.” Then he scampered up with all the agility of a skinny volp. I looked up into the darkness after him. The manhole creaked high above me and I caught my first whiff of precious, fresh air. I didn’t have time to take a breath before he slid it closed again. I waited. One beat. Two beats. Three.

Then I heard a sound that I can only describe as a cross between a screeching cat and chorus of high-pitched giggles. In other words, the most disturbing sound in the entire world. I had to cover my ears to block out the wretched noise.

The screeching cat giggle (Wow, those are three words I never thought I’d put together) lasted for ten solid seconds before it faded. The manhole slid open.

“Come on up, little human!”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I scrambled up the ladder as fast as I could, eager for a taste of free air. After a few moments, I caught my first glimmer of starlight. A sigh of relief fell from my lips.

Hello sky, my old friend. Didn’t think I’d see you again.

Finally, I reached the top and clambered out of the manhole to observe the damage. Every one of the forty-something guards lay unconscious on the ground while Itazura sat cross-legged beside the hole, twirling one of his golden pocket watches in his hand, a contented expression on his face.

“Okay, now you’re just showing off,” I said.

“It’s what I do.” Itazura beamed and I silently prayed I didn’t have to deal with this pact for long.

“I’m going to repeat this back to you, just to make sure I heard correctly,” I said, rubbing my temples. We sat in an alleyway a few blocks away from the prison, me perched on a steel trash bin and him hovering in the air across from me. Yes hovering. Because Itazura can apparently
do
that. “You’re telling me these elder gods are stirring up an apocalypse that is moving up through the realms, leaving a destructive trail in its wake, because they’re angry with Mother and Father–”

“Well they did imprison them in the season cycles. I would hate them, too.”

“–and the gods are trying to ignore it because they don’t want to surrender their power or give the elder gods their freedom because it will cause widespread chaos. So their
brilliantly
lazy plan is to try to keep the apocalypse a secret from us–”

“Yes, the vast majority of them don’t care much about humans.”

“–so that they can keep their worshipers for as long as possible before the end. And what you want me to do is convince some of the other gods to spread the word–”

“Just a few. Some of them are quite friendly, by the way.”

“–instead of you because you don’t want to get in trouble with the rest of the twelve because you’re a damn, lazy coward,” I finally finished.

“Well, I don’t recall the last part, but other than that, you’re spot on,” Itazura said.

“I hate you.” I balled up my fists. “You tricked me!”

“I did not,” Itazura said. “I just refused to tell you the details.”

“And manipulated me into accepting your offer.”

“I’m the God of Mischief, little human. I do that.”

I groaned and resisted the urge to beat myself over the head with my metal fist. “I thought you liked causing mischief! Why is getting in trouble with the gods such a bad thing? You’re their brother,
you
persuade them.”

“Ah, that, well. . . .” Itazura ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “This is considered an especially serious issue. The others usually put up with my antics in times of peace or in less dire situations like human wars–”

“War isn’t dire?”

“–but in this case they have made it clear they won’t tolerate mischief on my part. Mother and Father have weighed in on the issue. They’re kind of our supervisors. None of us can disobey them.”

“But you’re domain is
mischief
.” I pointed out. “Isn’t disobeying Mother and Father a
thing
with you?”

“Well, when I say ‘won’t tolerate’ I mean they have literally forbidden me to mention the subject when in the presence of any of the other gods,” Itazura said. “I’m no longer able to argue my point or persuade them that they’re doing the wrong thing. I can’t even say ‘elder gods’ around them. They’ve cut me out of the conversation.” He shrugged. “I’ve been sent to my godly corner, so to speak.”

“How undignified,” I said. “I guess I’m missing something. Why do you even want to warn the humans? You could abandon us like the others.”

“I am the God of Mischief,” Itazura said. That seemed to be his favorite excuse. “Without humans, there is no mischief. No thieves, no liars, no cheaters. There’s nothing. My domain would be utterly useless. Like Kalite, if all the water dried up. Or Kova, if we declared peace throughout the realms. Like she needs war and Kalite needs water, I need humans. And if the human realms are destroyed . . . it will take a long time before we get around to repopulating Memoria.”

I chewed on a hangnail. It did make sense. But why would a god come to me with this issue?

“What about the minor gods?” I asked. “You could get one of them to help you. They still have influence with the other gods and you’re technically their boss so–”

“Ah ha, ha.” Itazura laughed nervously. “That’s the other issue we’re facing. See, the minor gods have been on slightly tense terms with us for a while now. They have worshippers in Kabilia but no one really knows who they are in Fortuna and Tiyata. We sort of create them as assistants. To do the work we don’t have time for. But we usually get the credit. Take Lakansha, for instance.”

“Who?” I asked.

“Exactly.” Itazura sighed. “Lakansha is one of the minor gods of my domain. Goddess of Locks. She is the one who had the honor of holding the keys sealing the Elder gods’ power. But Autumn has tricked her into unleashing a fraction of their power. Only a fraction, but the elder gods are using said power to cause the apocalypse in the human realms. The rest of the fuel for the fire comes through the minor gods. They’re bitter and they want to be noticed. I imagine the Elder gods have promised them power and recognition when they regain their dominion over the eight realms of Memoria. They’re probably lying, but it doesn’t matter.” Itazura shrugged. “So, you see, I must rely on a human.”

“Why me?” I asked. “There are a lot of people with more resources. The upper class–”

“Oh gods,” Itazura groaned. “It doesn’t matter how many shrines those spineless snobs build to us. None of us really like them. Especially not me. They aren’t the rule breaking type.” He gestured to me. “You on the other hand are just my type. You’re young, impulsive, reckless–”

“You might want to consider throwing a compliment in there somewhere.”

“–you’re a decent thief when you’re not screwing up–”

“Nope, that doesn’t count as a compliment.”

“And,” Itazura poked me in the forehead. “You happen to be desperate to save your friends. Which means you won’t back out no matter what outrageous things I ask you to do.”

“Oh yeah, that makes this situation sound so much better,” I batted his hand away. “You really think I can persuade gods to spread the word about the apocalypse? Or persuade them that we are worth saving at all? What makes you think I can do anything you want me to do? I’m seventeen.”

“You’re also desperate. I find desperate people very effective,” Itazura said. “And you’re interesting company.”

“Glad to provide the entertainment,” I muttered, blowing a strand of hair out of my eyes.

Itazura laughed. “You just can’t go a second without throwing out a biting comment can you? I like that.” He leaned forward. “So, shall we get started?”

“Have I mentioned how much I hate you?”