The Clockwork Crown (8 page)

They entered a masculine den seemingly carved out of dark wood, as if they had entered a cave within a giant tree. Octavia stepped onto the carpet and stared down. The lush blue pile was as high as real grass and hid the toes of her shoes. Two bookshelves flanked a desk in mahogany with carved dragon-­claw legs. A man stood behind the desk.
Prolonged bladder infection.
His unbuttoned coat revealed a curved gut girthed by a burgundy vest. His skin tone was a few shades darker than Alonzo's. Frizzy black hair, white-­striped, had been cut to about three inches in length.

“You are the very image of your father,” said the stranger as he rounded the desk. “Except the eyes. That blue is purely your mother.” His posture, clothing, everything about him announced that he was either a horse trader, politician, or some other swindler of grand tradition.

“You are Balthazar Cody. I know of you from my mother.” The men clasped hands. “ 'Tis good to meet you, sir.” A lie, though courteously said.

Mr. Cody turned to Octavia, bowing as he took her hand. His lips hovered at her gloved knuckles about two seconds longer than was proper. “Ah, the famed Octavia Leander. My little birds tell me extraordinary tales about you, my dear.”

“Perhaps your little birds shouldn't spread gossip, Mr. Cody.”
Alonzo was right to describe this man as dangerous.

Mr. Cody burst out laughing. “That would make for a dull world.” He waved the pilot away.

“Your birds must work well for you to know so many things,” said Alonzo. His song raced with unease. His Gadsden and knives had been confiscated, yet he was ready to uncoil in an instant.

“Oh, they only tell me so much. The rest comes from good old-­fashioned spies. This is my city, you understand. It's my place to know what goes on here. Nothing brings ­people together like a similar taste in books, correct?”

Octavia glanced at Alonzo. His mouth was set in a grim line.

“Unfortunately,” Mr. Cody continued, “you had rather poor timing in your choice of libraries. That Caskentian Clockwork Dagger, Esme Spencer, visits—­visited—­that library at this time each day as part of her guise as a student. When you waltzed in, she must have been as happy as a pilot atop the Warriors' mountain. A shame she had to die like that. Now we get to start from scratch with someone new.”

At least the Dagger didn't follow us there. Maybe she didn't get to report our whereabouts either.

Alonzo, however, didn't look relieved. “Are you aware of why she attacked us?”

“Direct, are you? Very well. The game will be more fun if I continue to show my hand. Yes, I've intercepted recent bulletins sent down from Caskentia. You, Alonzo Garret, have been declared a collaborator of the Dallows. You, Miss Leander, have been kidnapped. By him.”

Her jaw dropped. “What?”

“I am not surprised,” said Alonzo. “Miss Leander, you know well how Caskentia is.”

Such orders explained why the woman had not killed Octavia when it would have been easy to do so, but Octavia's death would have still been the end result. The Lady knew as much or she wouldn't have bestowed another life debt on Alonzo.

Mr. Cody sat on the corner of his desk and leaned on his higher knee. “The subject of religion has made our libraries very attractive to you. I'm going to surmise that you're most likely looking for books on medician magi. A search that frustrated you, I imagine, because I possess all the available literature on the subject. Miss Leander here has something of a reputation since that zyme contamination. Maybe you have questions on the subject, questions Caskentia can't answer. Questions Caskentia might not want answered. Yes?”

Octavia tried to keep her face impassive, even as her gut soured with dread. “You think differently from your countrymen.” A shame that his genuine enthusiasm for her kind didn't make her like the man.

“Others here in the south have a narrow view of what powers are worthwhile. Power is power. It should be respected. I respect the two of you immensely, and I hope the three of us might strike a bargain.”

Octavia shot Alonzo a worried look. He appeared stoic, arms crossed over his broad chest.
Daggers must stare into a mirror to practice that blank countenance.

Mr. Cody waddled around them. “Walk with me, please.” His shoes clattered on the fine floor of the hall. Octavia hugged her satchel a little tighter. A lift awaited them, the ornate doors in gold.

“We're going all the way to the shop,” Mr. Cody said to the operator as the man bowed low.

The lift's motor was nearly silent as they descended. Mr. Cody clutched both sides of his unbuttoned coat. “Mr. Garret, your father had a knack for operating most all machines. I remember the first time I saw a buzzer in the skies here—­quite a legacy he left with such an invention. According to your army file, you are an adept buzzer pilot yourself.”

Alonzo stared at the door. Through the mesh of the lift gates, building floors zoomed by in light and dark blurs. “I can pilot,” he said at last.

“What do you have in mind, Mr. Cody?” asked Octavia.

“Well, you have been in the city for only a day, so I know you haven't seen a bout, but how much do you know of my Arena?”

“ 'Tis a life-­size version of the game of Warriors, set before a large audience. Piloted mechas battle their way to the top of a metal pyramid.”

Octavia's fists clenched. “You're not suggesting Mr. Garret pilot one of those things, are you?”
Oh Lady. ­People die in those matches. The audience cheers.

“I have a new mecha. It combines my interests for the first time. The problem is, no one can pilot it. There's a bout the day after tomorrow, and my other mechas are sidelined by repairs. Here you are, like an answer to prayer.”

“No one else has piloted it, Mr. Cody, or no one has survived piloting it?” asked Octavia.

“Now, now. Not all of them have died.”

“Is that what you're asking of me? To treat the injured?”

“No. Doctors have handled them. My request of you is special.” The lift dinged and the operator opened the portal. The dial showed them at a basement.

The high ceiling reminded Octavia of an airship repair hangar she had seen at the front. Partitions divided the floor like a giant stable. Bright electric bulbs dangled from pendulums, but the overwhelming gray of the floor and walls cast a dour mood over the massive space. The air stank of heated metal and mustiness.

“A tunnel over there leads directly to the Arena.” Mr. Cody pointed.

“We're right on the plaza, then?” Octavia asked.

“Quite. I believe in being in the center of any action.”

Mr. Cody led them onward. Crews worked on massive war machines twenty, thirty feet in height. The constructs were not in stark metal shades like common working vehicles; no, these were characters. One was a porcupine, its back a mass of deadly spikes. A standing cockpit occupied the space from chest to where the creature's head would be. Another was a threem from mythology. The scaled horse stood on four cloven hooves, the pilot's seat a shielded cage set into the back. The lower part of the horse's face had been removed, and several men currently shoved a long piece of pipe into the gullet.

They have it rigged to breathe fire like in the stories. Mr. Cody wants Alonzo in a machine like that.

She brought her hands together and found the small scar on her wrist, the gift given to her by the infernal Lanskay. Among Waster fire magi, it was considered impressive if an enemy soldier made it within range of touch—­and therefore, they were allowed to live with a scar as something of a trophy. Counting coup, the airship bartender Vincan had called it. Octavia's mark was tiny—­the imprint of the tip of Lanskay's finger and nail—­and enduring it had been agony. It was nothing compared to what Alonzo had survived during the same incident. His entire arm had been burned to make her compliant. Now he could burn again.

It always comes back to fire. My parents' deaths. The village. Alonzo, tortured, only for the Lady's leaf to heal him completely as he returned from the dead.

“Alonzo, I don't like this.” She spoke loud enough for Mr. Cody to hear.

“Nor do I.”
Heart rate elevated. Breaths rapid. Fear.
Alonzo had survived the front. He had lost half a leg. He had no interest in the wanton waste of life.

“Miss Leander,” said Mr. Cody. He paused long enough for them to walk closer together. “It's my understanding that you have something of an affinity for gremlins.”

An icy sensation trickled through Octavia's veins.
How does he know that, of all things? Only Mrs. Stout and Alonzo know how I hid Leaf on the airship.
She forced herself to remain calm, as if she could mimic Alonzo's Dagger stoicism. “Why would you say such a thing?”

The headband filtered out many of the extraneous songs of workmen, but up ahead, a body rang as particularly bold. No men worked in this station. It was a body by itself, and yet . . . She frowned, trying to make sense of it. It felt like there were layers involved, and dead zones, hollow spaces like amputations.

Mr. Cody guided them around a brass partition. “As I told you already, my little birds whisper all sorts of things.”

Three hearts, beating in rhythm. Atrophied muscles. A song dragging in despair. The trill of gremlins.

Not gremlins. A singular gremlin, thirty feet tall. Green skin soldered to brass extensions. Batlike wings folded close, the webbing in brilliant metal. Separate arms attached just below in full copper, the hands endowed with three fingers each, like Leaf's hands. The eyes—­black, round, and filled with sorrow.

“Oh Lady,” Octavia whispered. “No. No.”

 

C
HAPTER
5

This mecha was a
chimera in the most extreme sense. From what Octavia understood, first-­generation gremlins had been made of cats, dogs, bats, and other creatures; this monstrosity included those beasts and so much more. Short hind legs, bent like that of a crouched human, were made of copper to match the stubby arms. The body and head were largely flesh, though enhanced by metal for the sake of shielding. The long, tapered ears, as an obvious point of vulnerability, had been capped by copper spikes as if they were horns.

The gremlin chirped, the sound like a magnified version of Leaf's adorable greeting. The creature shuffled. Massive chains rattled at the movement. A twenty-­foot copper oval was inlaid into the tiles; it sparked with life as Octavia crossed the line, but didn't fully activate. The chains kept the chimera well away from the boundaries of the circle.

“Good God. You have made a beastie into a mechanical,” said Alonzo.

Not just one beastie. Many.
The layers. Multiple souls. Pieces of the whole animal bodies, reused, altered.
To her mind's ear, it created a crude symphony similar to a body in ill health, but more complex.
It's like the few human transplant patients I have worked on, where the healthy body fights the new organ it views as invasive. Here, that physical fight is over, and yet . . .
Facts, realities tumbled through her brain.

Medicians had been part of this creation; Balthazar Cody's interest in magic now made perfect sense. It was all part of his hobby, his business. That was evident in the extravagant circle in the floor and the manner of the creature's melding. As much as Octavia loved Leaf, she wondered at the cruelty behind his creation—­how could the Lady be part of this?

Octavia walked forward, hand extended as if she offered a carrot to a horse. “Hello there, little one who's not so little,” she said. The long ears trembled.

“Miss Leander!” Alonzo's voice rose in alarm. She knew his elevated heartbeat, the readiness of his muscles.
His hand ready to grab a Gadsden that's not there.

“It's okay. She's not going to hurt me.” The feminine pronoun felt appropriate, though the creature was truly neuter in gender.

“My God.” Mr. Cody gasped. “Look at how it's responding to her.”

“And how should she be responding?” Octavia kept her gaze on the chimera.

“By now, anyone else would have been pummeled into the ground.”

Throughout the hangar, all other work on mechas had stopped. The engineers congregated behind Mr. Cody and Alonzo. Their songs formed a wall of excitement.

“Mr. Cody,” said Alonzo. “Your ‘little birds.' Your gremlins. They have told you about us?”

“Yes. My first chimeras use a human voice box. They act as translators for other gremlins. They do like to gossip. Word spread of a medician, a worker of the Tree, who had offered unusual kindness to gremlins. That they should all be on the lookout for her in order to offer any possible aid.” Mr. Cody said this low enough for just Alonzo and Octavia to hear, not the other workers. “I have never heard of them regarding someone like that before.”

“You cannot communicate with this new mechanical creature?” asked Alonzo.

“Not for lack of effort. This chimera is sullen, angry. It doesn't want to speak to me.”

The black nose of the gremlin snuffled at Octavia. A few strands of hair loosened from her updo and tickled at her cheeks as the headband pushed back to her shoulders. So close, the creature reeked of metal, wild game, mustiness, and enchanted aether.
An aether magus has worked on this as well—­the wings, I imagine.
She tugged off a glove and tucked it into her satchel. Shushing to comfort the chimera, Octavia rested a hand against the wrinkled green skin of the creature's face.

And promptly dropped into pulsing black nothingness.

She knew the gremlin's despair by the way the emotion manifested throughout the body—­sluggishness, lethargy, a reaction she'd seen with any man kept in chains for a time. The creature's scars were recent, the memory of pain still vivid within the body, the way a flash of light sears vision in the darkness. The muscles—­she had been chained here for weeks.
The ache to move, to fly—­though she can't fly far, even magicked. The weight is too much.

Mr. Cody spoke in the background but his voice was an indecipherable roar, as if Octavia heard him while submersed underwater. The chimera's three hearts ticked faster.
The gremlin hates him. She knows Mr. Cody is the cause of all this pain.

Through the creature's muscle memory, Octavia felt jolts of electricity that left flesh singed as each heart sparked to life again.
Once life existed, that's when the medician stepped in. Patients must always acquiesce for a healing to occur. The gremlin, confused as she was, acquiesced—­anything to stop the pain. The Lady then acted with mercy.

Octavia opened her eyes. Hot tears streamed down her face. “I am so sorry.”

The chimera trilled and rubbed her face against Octavia as if to comfort her. Octavia laughed as she stumbled back a step.

“Will you look at that!” said Mr. Cody. “It's like an oversize kitten with her. Now we just need to channel the anger it has shown before and I'll win my bout. It's all about proper direction.”

The heartbeats roared.
Rage. Hatred.
Those were already channeled—­toward Mr. Cody. Octavia turned to face him, hating him just as much. A peculiar heat poured from her chest and into her extremities. As it flowed over her bloodletting arm, the pain of a thousand zinging needles raced to her brain. She screamed and fell to her knees. Black spots swarmed over her vision.

Body heat. Strong arms. The brass-­filled song.
Alonzo.
She pressed her face deeper into his chest. His touch felt so good, so right. She breathed him in. That cinnamon scent had returned, reminding her of pampria leaves and Frengian pastries, all the finest things in life.

She blinked several times before her eyes managed to stay open. “What happened?”

“I know not.” His broad hand cupped her cheek.

“Is she all right?” asked Mr. Cody. The chimera trilled low. No, not a trill. A growl.

Lady! I felt like I could have killed Mr. Cody with my glare alone, and the wrongness of wanting, craving, his death struck me in a backlash.

What is happening to me?

“I'm okay,” she called, her voice hoarse.

Alonzo's brow furrowed. “I know this power of yours comes through the Lady. I worry that she forgets you are human. A copper wire can be overloaded by a current.”

Octavia nodded, unsure of what to say. A dark shadow loomed over them. The chimera's massive catlike nose snuffled over Alonzo as he helped her to sit up. Mr. Cody still stood beyond the circle and the reach of the chains. Behind him, the engineers made slashing motions across their chests, their gazes on her troubled.
They know something has changed about the creature and they're blaming me, my magic. Tamarans aren't that different from Caskentians, really. Fear and ignorance are still there. A few more years of education hasn't changed much.

“Whatever you did, Miss Leander, I am in awe!” Mr. Cody practically crowed in delight. “The chimera looks functional. You do have a profound connection with my constructs, both little and big.”

Constructs. That makes them sound so disposable, like children's toys to be battered and then thrown in the trash. Even “chimera” is a better term.

The creature's name occurred to her then: Chi.

There I go, naming things again. At least my horse was spared.

She glared at Mr. Cody. “This construct, as you put it, has been restrained far too long. It's easy to see she's in pain.”

“That was a better option than killing her and wasting years of effort.” Mr. Cody straightened his cravat. “Well! You have already fulfilled the first part of the deal, and before I properly proposed it.”

Alonzo grimaced as Chi nuzzled his thick queue of hair. “Let us not dither further, then. What are the terms of our agreement?”

“I will grant you access to my private library for your search. In turn, Miss Leander will ensure I have a healthy, functional mecha for the bout. Mr. Garret, you will be the pilot. I'm not so foolish as to order you to win, though I do expect full participation in the battle. I'm not a gambler in that sense.”

Alonzo tilted his head to one side. “This is an exhibition.”

A sparkle lit Mr. Cody's eyes. “Yes. No one has brought in a biological blend before. It's enough to make a proper show and survive.”

Survive.
Mr. Cody's callous abuse of magic and life made Octavia feel filthy in his very presence.
He'll use me. He'll use Alonzo. He'll use his chimera. He's already playing a game of Warriors, and the bout hasn't even begun.

“I don't like this in the slightest.” She met Mr. Cody's gaze levelly. “The very idea of the Arena sets me on edge. I've seen war. It's not a game. And you would throw Mr. Garret into the thick of that, and on a living creature that's had no say in the matter.”

“Of course it's had no say. Do you ask horses if they want to join the cavalry?” Mr. Cody looked genuinely puzzled.

The man could speak with some of his gremlins, but he didn't comprehend their sentience.
Or he doesn't care.
Leaf had been bright enough to learn dozens of words within a span of hours, and he was a mere baby. Chi had all the more potential.
If she survives.

“Octavia.” Alonzo's voice lowered to a husky whisper. “I understand well the reasons for your objections. There is inherent risk here. However, Cody has acquired the southern nations' knowledge about your art. If we do not agree, I fear we will have no other recourse.”

“You would give up that quickly? We've been here for all of a day!”

“Long enough to gain a feel for our odds of success. Remember, survival is our primary goal, not the Lady. Judging by how we already encountered a Dagger by sheer accident, 'tis not prudent to stay here for any length of time.”

“You speak about survival and this Arena bout together. It doesn't make sense.”

­“People do die in these matches, but 'tis not a gladiatorial fight. 'Tis more about strategy in reaching the top. Death is not the intent.”

“Ah yes, and that makes it all fine and dandy.” She struggled to keep her trembling voice at a low volume. “You keep reminding me that I can't heal ­people here, but if you're in the Arena, if you're injured . . .”

The previous day had been hard enough, separated on train cars with no idea how to reunite, but the thought of continuing alone caused her chest to squeeze in a vise of terror.
No, not simply because of the mission to find the Lady, or because I rely on his skills to survive against Caskentia and the Waste.

Alonzo, you can't leave me alone.
Octavia couldn't say the words. They clogged in her throat, thick as logs.

He looked past her to the chimera. “I know your beastie on the airship was far brighter than one would think. This large beastie here—­how much does he—­she—­understand?”

“A great deal, I think. Just talk to her the way I talked to Leaf. She'll show you if she comprehends. I named her Chi, by the way.”

“Chi. Of course you did.” He shook his head, smiling. “Very well.” And like that, he vaulted up the side of Chi. His sore ribs didn't slow him, even as his song warbled at the abrupt movement. It was to Alonzo's benefit that the chimera was as surprised as everyone else. She froze in place, black eyes unblinking. Between the green wrinkled flesh and copper plating, Alonzo had abundant handholds. It took a matter of seconds for him to reach Chi's back and nestle in at the base of her wings.

Octavia sensed Chi's rising alarm and stood, arms extended. “Shush, Chi, shush. It's all right. You're strong. You can be ridden. Do you have memories of the time before you were melded? Of seeing ­people on horseback? It doesn't hurt horses to be sat upon. There. Relax.” The heartbeats calmed, though the ears still twitched.

Though what Mr. Cody has in mind may very well hurt. Oh Lady.

“Miss Leander.” Alonzo leaned over to see her. “I have broken green horses before. We will learn together.” He stroked the chimera's short neck. Chi chirped—­a pleasant sound.

“Have you trained a war-­horse in two days?” Octavia hissed.

“No, but this is no mere war-­horse. Do you understand me, beastie? Can you flare out your wings?”

With a metallic snap, the wings extended fully. They almost reached the sides of the inlaid circle. From base to wing tip, they had to be twenty feet in length.
Beautiful, and a fine target.

“Magnificent!” cried Mr. Cody, applauding. “This will be the debut of the year!”

Frustrated, disgusted, and relieved all at once, Octavia backed away.

“Mr. Garret, we have a full training course where you can teach the chimera how to navigate the Warriors' mountain. I will show you that in a moment. Boys, go get the saddle and reins. Let's do this properly.” Mr. Cody eagerly motioned Octavia closer and whispered, “Miss Leander, I know time is essential, Daggers and all. My clerk can show you upstairs to the library.”

She looked at Alonzo. She wanted to linger within range of his body's song to make sure he stayed safe; at the same time, she ached to flee for fear of what might happen, what she might see, what she might be helpless to repair.
If I have to use another leaf on that man, I'll revive him just so I can throttle him.

Then there was Chi, who had already suffered so much. Octavia knew she could tend to the chimera without a circle, though it worried her to think of how such an effort would tax her.