The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) (17 page)

She didn’t stir.

The door burst open and the two men entered, closely
followed by Rathead. One of them carried a furry bundle, which he set down next
to the girl.

“I see my prize is escaped, yes?” he said smoothly. “Well,
get dogs. Why are you waiting?” The two burly men scurried back out the door.

Rathead stepped forward and kneeled next to Samson. “My
prize is escaped, yes, but I think not alone. I think that you
is
rat.” He slapped Samson.

“Ow!” Samson exclaimed, wincing. His eye watered. Rathead
stood and kicked Samson’s side.

“Roll over.
Now.”

“No,” he stated.

Rathead bent down and forced Samson’s body onto its side.

“Ah yes,
this what
I thought. Knive
marks, and wait! What this I see?
A knive?
Oh, my
little mousie, you are in such big problem.” He chuckled. “In moment, yes, you
will be coming with me, and we will be taking fingers, one at a time.”

His long fingers stroked one of his blue stripes. “After I
catch running man, Stryker of Lasta, then we will talk, yes? Yes, I think we
shall.” He leaned down and picked up the knife. “I think I keep this, yes? And
you—” he reached down and grabbed his shoulders, “I will put over here.”
Rathead dragged Samson across the room and put him next to the wall. “If I find
you back over there,” Rathead finished, “slap will hurt much, much more next
time, because I will have the gloves with spikes.”

He stalked from the room and slammed the door behind him.

“Hey!” Samson yelled. Rathead didn’t come back. He rolled
over so he was facing the girl. “Wake up, girl!”

Beep.

Samson frowned. Was the girl a robot? “Girl, wake up!”

Beep beep.
Beep beep
beep.

“Recharge complete. Recharge mode, off.
Booting.”
There was silence for a moment. Then the furry bundle on the floor next to the
girl began to move. It rose up on its haunches and stretched first one leg,
then another; first one arm, then the second, then a third? No a tail. It
rolled its head on its neck. “Function, one, two.
Language
systems intact.
Muscle tension complete.
Memory, one
two.”

The small animal stood and turned around.

“What are you?” Samson asked, one eyebrow
raised
.

“I am a copy of a Vervet Monkey found on the Southern and
Eastern parts of the continent Africa on planet Earth, built by Lake Oliphant,
XVI,
engineer
. I run on an X15 Turbo-553 engine. My
chief function is to aid and assist the current William Oliphant in the
execution of his tasks, and to keep
William Oliphant, bookseller
,
running smoothly and profitably,” the monkey recited. “My name is Simon. Who
are you?”

“I am the famed Samson Lebron of
A Quark’s Life
, on
MRLT. I have been brought here against my wishes, and will do anything to fight
against these villains. Can you please untie me?”

Simon turned his head back and forth. “I see, yes, you are
tied up.”

“Yes thank you. Now can you remedy that?”

Samson turned his head around again and looked behind him.

“Mistress Bronwyn!” he exclaimed. He leaped over to her
silent form. “Mistress Bronwyn! Can you hear me?”

“You know that girl?” Samson asked. “She was unconscious when
they brought her in. If you untie me, I’ll help you get her out of here.”

Bronwyn groaned. She reached up to touch her head.
“My head.”

“Mistress Bronwyn!” Simon exclaimed. “I am pleased that you
are waking.”

Blinking, Bronwyn squinted at the monkey standing over her.
“Where am I?”

“I do not know, Mistress. I suggest we find out.”

“It’s about time you decided to wake up!” Samson said. “I
have been waiting ages for you two. I would really like to get untied, if you
don’t mind. I’d appreciate it, thanks.”

“Why are you tied up?” Bronwyn sat up slowly, clutching her
temples.

“Oh, you know, some power-crazy guy decided it would be a
good idea to kidnap one of the most powerful media figures on Sagitta.” He
shook his head. “Someone will notice I’m gone anytime now, and boy, is he going
to get it from the law.”

“I see.” Bronwyn hugged her knees and leaned over, hiding
her eyes from the glare of the lights. “What are you famous for?”

“Just hurry! They could be back any minute!” Samson
exclaimed. “I am the voice behind
A Quark’s Life
, on MRLT!”

“It’s a mediocre radio show,” Simon replied. “Mistress
Bronwyn, you mustn’t overdo.”

“As if a robot monkey would know anything about quality
radio,” Samson said, scowling.

“I will be careful, Simon, thank you.” She turned to look at
Samson. “If they kidnapped you because you’re famous, why did they capture me?
And why are you tied up, but I’m not?”

Samson shrugged. “How should I know? All they do is ask me
questions and talk about great secrets and things. It’s always clock this,
clock that.”

“Clock?”
Bronwyn said. Her eyes
widened.
“As in the Clock of Legend?
The clock that kept time for ten thousand years?
The
clock?”

“How should I know?” Samson asked sullenly.

“Well, you’ve been here...” Bronwyn trailed off as Samson’s
scowl deepened.

“Mistress,” Simon said. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Take this,” Bronwyn held out her hand. In it lay the black
disk that she had taken from her aunt’s desk. “You have someplace to put it,
right?”

“An information cube.”
Simon
reached out and took it from her palm. “Yes. I can hold it. Should I read it?”

“Not yet. Wait until we’re safe. It might be important.”
Bronwyn stood slowly.

“Important to
who
?” Samson asked.
“These clock people?”

“No, to me,” Bronwyn said, frowning. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t really. I just thought we could maybe use it for
negotiation—to buy our way out of here. But could you please just untie me?”

“I not suggest this,” a voice said from the doorway. “He,
what you call, sneaky little bastard—please, I wish much pardon for my
language, young lady.” Rathead stood smiling at them. “But to worry there is no
need—we caught other sneaky bastard. Stryker here actually climbed it over
fence because someone
forget
to turn it on. But this
thing is, we don’t have to climb fence to get out—we only have to open it.”

He stepped out of the doorway. Two men walked in carrying a
bloody body. Stryker groaned as they dropped him carelessly on the floor.

“Oh my!”
Bronwyn exclaimed. “He’s
bleeding.” She jumped up and ran over to him.

“Flesh wounds, my dear,” Rathead said. “Now if you and
monkey would come with me, I will find you some refreshment.”

“What about them?” Bronwyn gestured towards Samson and
Stryker.

“You will be kept safely from them,” he said. “They are bad
mens, you nice girl. We must not make friends.”

Simon climbed onto Bronwyn’s shoulder. “My head hurts,” she
said.

“Tea, tea is remedy for
much
problems.” Rathead smiled and bowed Bronwyn out the door.

*****

Auvek and Salve cowered in the darkness of William Oliphant’s
secret room. The bookcases rose up all around them, a forest of shelves that
they didn’t know how to navigate. The two young men sat in silence for a few
minutes, but could hear nothing from the other side of the Door.

“So,” Auvek said finally. “Tell me what you know about
Rathead.”

“Well,” Salve began in a whisper. “I actually just put it
together. There are two main gangs in Pomegranate City, and both originated on
a planet called Gwola.”

“I’ve heard of that one,” Auvek responded quietly.

“It’s rather obscure. They keep to themselves.
Except when innocent people just happen to get in the way.”
Salve shrugged. “So from what I can figure out, they had a thousand year war
running on their home planet. Then, for some reason, everyone just stopped fighting.
But these two gangs moved here and kept up the battle, secretly, I assume, so
that whatever treaty was worked out at home wasn’t in jeopardy.”

“Why did they come here?” Auvek asked.

“That is what I was trying to figure out,” Salve replied. “I
thought it might make a good article, but I couldn’t write it without facts.
When Chair Aderick died, it was called a heart attack, but several clues tied
his death to the gang war—including those riots in the southern part of the
city. The one strange thing about those riots was that a large number of
buildings were hit, but one man’s house, right in the center of the biggest
area was completely ignored. His name is Arthur Zebigular.”

“Right.
You mentioned him. Oddly
enough, I was just reading an article about Olaf Zebigular!” Auvek turned to
look at Salve. “Are they related, do you think? The article started with a
history of the Woerta and Lasta’s war.”

“Oh, how interesting!”
Salve
exclaimed. “What did it say?”

Auvek gave a short account of the beginning of the article.

“Romis and Remilio.”
Pulling out
the notebook, Salve jotted the two names down rapidly. “I will research those
when I go home.”

“So what did Arthur say?” asked Auvek.

“He was crazy. He wouldn’t shut up about the clock. Then
told me he was afraid they would cut off his ears and make a necklace of ears.”

“That’s weird,” Auvek said.
“A necklace of
ears?”

“Yeah,” Salve said. “Then he basically kicked me out.”

“I’ve been researching the clock a bit,” Auvek offered. “I
know the legend and things like that.”

“I know the legend too—about Bronwyn Rae climbing that big
ladder?” Salve nodded. “But I just can’t seem to figure out how the clock and
the gangs connect. And my interview with Bronwyn didn’t help much.”

“You interviewed Bronwyn? That’s kind of cool.”

“Yeah,” Salve said. “She’s nice.”

Auvek glanced at Salve and grinned. “You two been hanging
out a lot?”

Salve turned red.
“Oh no, not really.”
He shook his head rapidly.

Auvek stood and dusted off his pants, still grinning. “Well,
she and I found a book the other day that talks about the clock. It might have
some useful information in it. Want to go look?”

Lifting their feet cautiously, the two young men tiptoed
through the rows of bookcases. They listened carefully, in case anyone came sneaking
through the Door. Auvek led Salve to where John had placed the book the
previous day.

As he slid it from the shelf a cloud of dust billowed into
the air.

“That is an old book,” Salve stated matter-of-factly.

The gilded print on the cover read:
The Clock of Legend:
When the Bell Rings the Cake is Burnt
. Underneath the title in a scrawling
font it read
by Laertes Misanthrop
. Auvek set the book on the table and
carefully opened it to the first page.

In a manner of all
that is ludicrous, the Clans devised a plan to break from their season of
misery and warfare unceasing. Many minds from the same fathers make for
insanity and callousness that, rather than benefiting a civilization, in fact
causes its ultimate demise. How shall we define the demise of a civilization?
It is the backwards motion from advancement and generosity into savagery and
violence. It is burning a house to mend a window. It is chopping off a leg to
heal a finger. It is using destruction to solve problems that merely need a
calm voice and a lemon drop.

In the manner of a
thought experiment, please consider a cake. It is sweet, yes, but the baker, a
wily fox, included an unpleasant ingredient—a poison of the soul. What was the
purpose of this action? To kill the man that eats it so that the wily fox may
obtain all the chicken. So the fox places the cake in the oven to bake and asks
the man to keep an eye on the timer. And the man does so. But during that time,
through a series of occurrences, the man discovers that the fox has indeed poisoned
the cake in order that the man should die and the wily fox obtain all the
chicken. So the man resets the timer so that the cake will burn. But then he
learns that the cake in fact needed to be baked for longer in the first place,
so he increases the time again, and again and again, until he forgets about the
cake all together.

The fox returns home,
finally, and the bell rings to signal that the cake has been baked. But upon
opening the oven, the fox is greeted with a billow of smoke and a pile of ashes.
His anger is great, for the man has not properly looked over his cake and even
worse, still lives. He then launches himself at the man, and they begin to
battle once more.

Suppose now, that the
man had removed the cake at the proper time. Would, then, he eat it? Or would
he confront the fox, who expects the man to be dead upon his return to the
kitchen? Or perhaps he would invite the fox to partake of the cake with him. It
does not matter, for truly, the deed is already done, and the war, except by
mutual agreement for cessation, must continue.

Auvek raised his eyebrows. “How long does this go on for?”

“I would imagine the whole book,” Salve replied. He looked
at it for a moment. “I don’t suppose there is a shorter version.
Maybe a summary?
Or just, a point?”

“Hello, gentlemen.”
John’s voice
butted into their conversation.

Salve jumped, making a startled noise that sounded like a
cross between a baby chick and a rabid squirrel.

“It’s fine, it’s just John and Quin,” Auvek said.

John moseyed down the steps into the work room with Quin’s
dark shape following closely behind.