The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) (16 page)

“What the hell are you doing?” Salve hissed. “They’re
coming!”

“Here it is!” Come
on!” Auvek grabbed Salve’s arm and dragged him through the Door. A moment later
all was silent, and only the dark dusty book tomb lay before them.
“Shhhh!”
Auvek whispered, pulling Salve deep into the
bookcases.

“What is this place?” Salve asked.

“It’s a secret,” Auvek replied. He pulled out his phone.
“I’m going to call for help. And then you are going to tell me everything!”

He patted his pockets until his fingers touched the thin
edge of the black card labeled “
John, physicist and calculator.”
He
typed in the numbers, and placed the phone to his ear.

There was no sound.

Auvek’s eyebrows creased as he turned his head to look at
Salve and let the phone drop from his ear. “There’s no service,” he said.

“We’re doomed,” Salve replied, clapping a hand to his head.
“Doomed.”

*****

That night, Bronwyn waited until she was sure that both
Butler and her aunt had fallen asleep. Rain poured down unrelentingly, and a
tired wind whined outside the windows. When the clock finally read midnight,
she slipped into warm clothes and tiptoed down the hall to the study.

As a small child, she had been discovered playing in this
room and gotten into a lot of trouble: sent to bed without supper, a spanking,
and no dolly for a week. Now Bronwyn knew her entire freedom was at stake if
she were caught.

The hinges on the large wooden door hissed as she pushed on
the iron handle. She opened it just enough to slip through. Pulling a light
from her pocket, she tiptoed over the large elaborate carpets, and carefully
dodged the tasseled lamp shades that rattled when disturbed.

The large, black shape of the desk loomed under the window,
where a dim grey light cast by the streetlamp sneaked through and napped
quietly on books and papers scattered over the desk’s surface. She reached into
her pocket and removed the large skeleton key she had managed to steal from
Butler during their earlier picture-hanging. It glinted in the rain-washed
light.

The secret drawer was hidden underneath the desk. She
crawled around the side and slid the chair out of the way. Shining the light
towards the floor, she ducked down under the desk and slid the key into the
lock. It clicked and the little door swung open.

For many years she had imagined opening this little door. A
treasure, perhaps, was hidden inside—gold coins or wads of cash or a bank note.
Papers telling of her parents’ death or a will in which everything was left not
to her aunt, but directly to Bronwyn. Or, her mind had suggested, maybe even
just a necklace with the faces of her mother and father imprinted on the charm.
More recently, her thoughts had involved a book or a history about the
forbidden clock, a map of where to find it or a key to a bank vault.

The light shined into the dark hole: only a small black
square sat with a film of dust over its surface.

Thunder rolled and a lamp turned on over the desk. Bronwyn
froze.

“There’s nothing here, m’lady,” the Butler said, moving
softly on the carpet. Bronwyn could see his feet through the space between the
bottom of the desk and the floor. She held her breath.

“I swear I heard the door open!” Bronwyn heard her aunt say.
“You go check Bronwyn’s bed. I will go down to the library.”

“Perhaps I should check the library, m’lady,” Butler said.
“In case of an intruder.”

“Alright then.”
Aunt Llewellyn’s
voice sounded like it came from down the hallway. “I’ll check Bronwyn’s room.”
The study door boomed as it swung shut.

Bronwyn scurried out from under the desk, clutching the key
in one hand and the little black square in the other, and ran to stand next to
the large, iron-handled door. She waited, counting to twenty-five, and peeked
into the hallway. It was empty.

She crept silently down the hall, down the stairs, and up to
the front door. Rain thundered down, smashing into a thousand bits of wet,
prevented from flooding the front lobby only by the ancient oak door.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the door and plunged into
the black, wet, sheet of night.

*****

John, Pete, and Quin sat in Pete’s living room in front of a
roaring fire. Leslie had prepared a pot of hot coffee, which helped ward off the
sneaky snakes of cold that slipped under the door and seeped through the
windows. Despite the warmth around them, a solemn atmosphere pervaded their
conversation.

“He’s mad,” Pete said.
“Completely mad.”

“Not completely,” Quin said. “Rathead is a member of the
Woerta Clan. Canderick is afraid of Rathead, although, I think the reason may
not have anything to do with gang fighting.”

“The Woerta Clan has been here for thousands of years,” John
added.
“Always fighting the Lasta Tribe.
But what does
that have to do with the clock?”

“Maybe they’re fighting for ownership,” Pete suggested.

“But we don’t even know that it exists. If it did, why would
it exist here on Sagitta, why not on their home planet?”

“What planet is that?” Pete asked.

“Gwola.”
John scratched his head
and took a sip of his coffee. “And there aren’t any known Doors left to get
there.”

“The gangs aren’t getting any smaller,” Pete said. “And the
numbers of blue-striped faces aren’t decreasing either.”

“Boys,” Leslie said. “There is a young lady here to see
you.”

A very wet and drippy Misty stepped into the room. She shed
her coat and shoes and darted over to the fireplace.

“Would you like some tea, dear?” Leslie asked.

“Thank you, yes I do. If you don’t mind, that’s very kind.”
She smiled.

“Your report isn’t due for another couple of days.” John
kicked his feet onto the ottoman in front of the large orange chair that seemed
to consume him.

“First I got fired,
then
called a
liar,” she said, shaking her head.

“Why did you get fired?” John crossed his arms.

“I found a note someone wrote in the trash when I
accidentally dropped some cash.”

“You dropped your cash in the trash?”

“Well, no, on the floor.
But next to an
open drawer.
It was all wrinkled and crinkled like trash.” Her eyes were
open wide.

“Continue,” John replied.

“Did you bring it?” Pete interjected.

“No, I ate it.”

“Ate it?!” John and Pete chorused.

“I almost got caught! I was quite distraught. But first I
read it—now it’s in my head.” Misty smiled a little bit and then recited: “Dear
Chair Aderick, The clock runs out in a fortnight. Tell us what you need. You
cannot fail.”

“And the signature?”

“Not one or two, just one stripe of blue.”

“Lasta signature,” Quin stated.

“Hmmm,” John mused.
“Anything else,
Misty?”

“Samson Lebron strung me along.
On Meteor
II, when I went with the Chair, tried to get me to spy while I was there.”

“Spy?”
John played with his tie for
a moment. “Why?”

“He said Chair said I should tell everything I know,
especially about what the Chair plans for the planet below. And Chair Rizinski
heard, and was concerned, so he fired me.”

“Thanks, Misty,” John said. “Why don’t you go with Leslie
and take a hot shower and put on some dry clothes.”

“Okay,” she replied,
standing. “Thanks.”

Pete stood and moved over to the fire as the two women left
the room.

“So the Lasta Tribe expected Chair Aderick to do something
related to the clock, but he died first.” Quin crossed his arms.

“Or he didn’t do it so they killed him,” Pete suggested.

“It’s in that book,” John said, suddenly.
“The
book in William Oliphant’s secret library.
I bet you anything it’s in
that book.” He sat up straight in his chair. “I had
an
inkling
when I saw that book that it was important.”

“What are you going to go do, steal it?” Pete asked.

“Sure, why not?” John shrugged. “It’s not like it will
explode if I take it from the library.”

“That’s what you told Auvek,” Quin muttered.

“Yeah, just to scare him a bit.” John grinned. “Let’s go.”

“How?”
Quin said.
“Doors, or through the bookshop?”

John paused for a moment. “If we go through a Door here, it
can take us to your living room; then we can use that Door to go into the
secret library. No one will see us come or go, unless they’re in that specific
room.” He glanced at the time. “And it’s after midnight. Let’s do it!”

“I’m out,” Pete said. “Let me know what happens.”

“Keep a good eye on Canderick or else I’ll have Leslie put
pixie dust in your underwear drawer!” John grinned as Pete mimed terror.

Quin stood, and the two rapidly exited the room.

*****

Bronwyn struggled through the darkness as rain smashed
against her skin, soaking through every layer of her clothes. She clutched the
black square tightly, and hunched her shoulders against the wind.
William
Oliphant, bookseller
s was only a thirty minute walk, but each step seemed
to drain every ounce of strength from her bones.

A few pomobiles drove by, causing sheets of water to cascade
over Bronwyn’s already drenched figure. Finally, she rounded the last corner
and began to struggle towards the bookshop. A glow of light flickered warmly
from its windows. Then, from nowhere, a dark figure appeared. A flashlight
shined into her eyes, blinding her momentarily.

The next instant, her arms were pinned to her sides and a
gloved hand covered her mouth. She squirmed and tried to scream.

“Hush, you stupid girl,” a voice hissed in her ear.

“Butler?” she mumbled through the glove covering her mouth.

Then she felt her body go limp, and the world around her
seemed to be sliding away, until all that was left was the cold, cold darkness.

*****

“I am quite annoyed,” Samson said to the gagged and
blindfolded figure that lay in a heap near him. “I only wanted some
information, and it was only out of professional curiosity!
Nothing
more, nothing less.
And now they have me tied up on the planet’s
surface—I’m going to miss my return shuttle!”

He scowled. “And you.” He kicked the bundle lightly with his
tied feet. “You are supposed to be working for me, and instead I find you lying
down on the job!”

The tied up lump squirmed and made a noise.

“Well,” Samson said. “You’re lucky I came down here to bail
you out.”

He began to awkwardly strain towards his back pocket, which
was harder than he imagined given that his hands were tied behind his back. He
wiggled and squirmed and prodded at his pocket until he heard a
thump!
A
knife fell onto the floor beside him. Rolling onto his side, Samson reached
out, picked up the knife, and opened it—not without difficulty. He maneuvered
his body so that he lay close to the bundled up person, and then began to saw
at Stryker’s ropes.

“This whole cutting your ropes with my hands tied is not
exactly easy,” Samson said. The figure lay completely still. “I hope you know
you owe me one.”

Time passed. One by one, Stryker’s ropes dropped to the
floor.

Stryker stretched his fingers and pulled off his gag and
blindfold. He coughed quietly and blinked as the light in the room poured into
his eyes.
“Ach.
My eyes.
My fingers.
Ach.
I
very thirsty.
It is taking you long enough to cut ze ropes. But I am
appreciating zis help.”

“Now,” Samson said, “If you could just help me out.”

“Zis is not possible,” Stryker said, standing up. “Here’s ze
thing. Zis is not a part of you. Zis is for us to figure. But first I must
escape.”

Samson’s mouth dropped open. “I came in here and helped you,
and you’re not even going to cut me loose? If I yell they will come and find
you.”

“Ah but
zen
you vould get punished.
Because zis is your knife, no?
I think it is. I vill
be kind and leave ze knife for you to vork vith. I not need—Rathead’s
guards, zey is
stupid. So, good luck, Meestair Lebron. And I
vill be gone before you can say ‘two cheeses.’” Stryker strolled through the
door and closed it behind him.

Samson stared at the closed door.
Two
cheeses?
What did that mean? He sagged to the floor, resting for a
moment before beginning work on his own bindings. Eventually, he knew—he
believed—that he would escape. Slowly he maneuvered the knife so that it was
touching the rope and he began to chip away, slowly, one tiny bit at a time.

Twenty minutes later, he heard a ruckus outside the door.
Low guttural voices muttered to each other, and stomping noises accented the
quiet conversation. Samson dropped the knife and lay on top of it. Finally, the
door opened and two burly men walked through carrying an unconscious girl.

“Who is that?” Samson demanded.

“Shut it,” one of the men said. They set her down on the
floor against the wall and looked around.

The first one stared at the pieces of rope on the floor. He
pointed. “That was... wasn’t there supposed to be a third person in this room?”

The two men looked at each other and simultaneously darted
to the door. It slammed behind them with a resounding thump. Samson strained to
look at the girl, carefully scooting in her direction and bringing the knife
with him. She was young, with fair features and brown hair. Her fist was locked
closed. He reached out with his tied feet and nudged her. She didn’t stir.

“Hey!” Samson said.
“Girl.
Wake
up!”