The Clockwork God Page 13

  River glanced at Socrates and made another “Psst!” sound. At last, he stirred. Socrates turned to face them and Micah rushed over to his cage. He whispered something inaudible and waved in River’s direction. Socrates followed Micah’s gaze, and River held up the mirror. She made a frantic hand motion, pleading for the ape to hurry up and unlock the cages. Socrates stared at her for a moment, seemingly lost in deep thought. He lowered his gaze to Micah and in a low voice, said, “I’m sorry, my friend.”

  Then Socrates glanced at the guards and in a raspy voice shouted: “RUN, MICAH!”

  The shout instantly woke the guards. One of them flinched so wildly that he fell backwards in his chair and crashed to the floor. The second guard leapt to his feet and dropped the sword that had been resting across his knees. It clattered loudly across the stones. By this time, the rest of the prisoners were wide awake. They all joined in, shouting, “Run, Micah! Get out of here! RUN!”

  Micah’s initial response was to freeze. A shiver of terror crawled down his spine as he realized that his friend and commander had betrayed him. Then, as the others joined in on the shouting, the words somehow worked their way into Micah’s brain and it slowly dawned on him that he really did have to get out of there. He turned, sprinting for the window as the guards struggled to get to their feet.

  Micah had never run so fast in his life. He took three steps and launched himself at the window. He somehow made a slight miscalculation and managed to fling himself right through the opening. Micah was half a heartbeat away from flying over the edge of the tower and plunging to his death. He thrust his arms out, flailing wildly for a handhold. Somehow, he just barely managed to catch the edge of the window frame. As he latched onto it, Micah’s inertia sent him spinning through the opening. He twisted around, slammed into the outside wall, and lost his grip. Micah dropped out of sight, and Shayla screamed as he disappeared.

  For a moment, Micah thought it was all over. Then, as he fell, one of his hands miraculously closed on the ledge below the window. His fingers latched onto the narrow stone precipice, and by the sheerest luck, he managed to hang on. For a few seconds, Micah just dangled there, shaking, trying to breathe. Then he heard voices coming from the window above, and the sound spurred him to action.

  Micah’s legs flailed wildly as he began pulling himself up. The sharp stone corners of the ledge bit into his palms, but Micah forced himself to keep climbing. He twisted, bringing a leg around to place one foot precariously on the ledge. Overhead, the sounds of shouting drifted out of the tower. The guards appeared at the window and they stood there a moment, staring down at him. With a grunt, Micah heaved himself the rest of the way over the ledge and somehow managed to stand up with his face pressed against the wall. Even twisted sideways, Micah barely fit in the narrow space. Over his head, he heard a voice shout:

  “There! I’m goin’ after him!”

  “I’ll go around,” the second guard replied.

  Micah craned his neck around to catch a glimpse of the first guard climbing out of the window. Micah was out of reach, but not for long. He had to move. He threw his arms out to the sides, balancing his weight awkwardly against the wall as he took his first step. He wavered a moment, and then managed to bring his second foot forward. A few steps behind him, the guard grunted as he lowered himself down to the ledge.

  “Hey! Get back here!” the guard shouted. This only spurred Micah forward. He put on a burst of speed, hurrying along the ledge as fast as he dared. A gust of wind hit the wall and for a moment, Micah thought it might push him right off. He leaned forward, pressing his cheek against the cold stone, and grimaced as the wind battered at him. Two yards away, the guard lunged for him.

  Micah stepped aside, plunging dangerously forward as he sought to escape his attacker. Just a few yards ahead, he saw the corner where the tower met the battlements. Rather than struggling to maintain his precarious balance, Micah leapt from his perch, legs braced, arms flailing wildly. He landed on the very edge of the wall, balanced on his toes. For a brief moment, Micah was at the mercy of fate. One gust of wind might either push him to safety, or send him plummeting to his death.

  Micah tilted his head forward, trying to move his balance towards the keep. He felt his weight shift slightly. With a terrified squeal, Micah leapt through the battlements and touched down safely on the keep’s lookout. He threw a glance over his shoulder and saw the grim-faced soldier glaring at him as the man took another unsteady step. That was enough to prompt him forward.

  Micah hurried across the walkway and climbed the opposite parapet, thinking he’d make towards the trees as he had before. Unfortunately, he suddenly realized this would bring him within arm’s reach of the guard. Instead, he clambered easily onto the low, sloping roof of the keep, and hurriedly began climbing towards the peak. Behind him, the door at the end of the walkway swung open and the second guard appeared, brandishing his sword.

  “Get back here, sewer rat!” he shouted.

  “Go after him!” shouted the first. “He’s got nowhere to go!”

  Micah reached the peak of the roof and stood there a moment, watching the guards struggle to climb onto the roof below. As they did, half a dozen more came racing out of the keep and onto the walkway. One of them had a loaded crossbow, which he leveled in Micah’s direction and fired.

  Micah flung himself to his belly as the crossbow bolt whizzed over his head. Frantically, he rolled over the peak and pushed to his feet on the opposite side. Micah bolted across the roof toward the northwestern corner, and came to a screeching halt as he saw the world drop away at the edge of the castle. His stomach lurched as he gazed at the sheer drop, hundreds of feet down into a stony ravine. He threw a wild glance back and forth, looking for some route of escape. There were no ramparts here; no walkway or outthrust ledges onto which he might climb. There was nothing but a straight drop into that abyss of sharp stone and hard, barren earth.

  Micah turned back, staring at the peak of the roof as he heard the guards clambering up the opposite side, and raised his arms in the air. “I surrender!” he shouted hopelessly. “Don’t shoot!”

  Chapter 20

  As Micah was fleeing for his life, back inside the tower Socrates waited for the second guard to leave the room and then quickly retrieved his lock-picking tool from the container in his torso. Within seconds, he had the door to his cell open. He rushed over to River’s cell and held out his hand.

  “Give me the mirror!” he commanded.

  River glared at him. “Why?” she said. “You handed Micah over to them! How can I trust you?”

  “I did what I must,” Socrates said. “Believe me, it brought me no pleasure.”

  “He’s right,” Thane said from his cell. “It was the only way. Now we have the time to finish the task, but only if we hurry!”

  River looked Thane up and down and then brought her gaze back to Socrates. She saw impatience in his face, and frustration, but not anger. In fact, if she hadn’t known better, River might have even thought it was despair that she saw in his eyes. She still didn’t know what to think of the simian. She didn’t know if she believed he could feel emotions or not. If not, he could put on a pretty convincing show.

  Grudgingly, she handed the mirror over. Socrates accepted it, and raced to the window. He glanced around to be sure no one would see him, and then extended his arm out into the sunlight. River saw the light glinting off the polished silver surface, and the whole world seemed to stop. The clouds hanging over the horizon were pink and orange, hues that somehow seemed more like an omen of fire and blood than the splendor of a brilliant sunset. Already, the sky in the distance was growing dark.

  River heard the sounds of the guards shouting across the battlements as they pursued Micah onto the roof, and a thousand worries flashed through her mind. Would Micah escape? If not, what would the guards do to him? How long would it be before they returned? How long would it be before someone saw the massive midnight-blue gorilla leaning out the stockade w
indow with a mirror in his hand?

  River started pacing, her senses alert, her frantic mind ticking off the seconds. How long until the sun set? Was there even enough daylight left to complete the task? Forty seconds passed. River continued to pace, her nerves raw with tension. Around her, the others came to life. Kale and Thane pressed their faces to the iron bars, their eyes fixed on Socrates. Shayla frowned, worrying her long auburn hair into knots around her finger. Sixty seconds. Ninety…

  More than two minutes passed before Socrates finally lowered the mirror with a grim look on his face. He hurried back to his cell, pausing on the way to reach into Thane’s cage and return the bard his mirror.

  “Thank you,” Socrates said.

  “My pleasure,” Thane said with a bow. He held the mirror up, examining it. “A few small scratches, but no worse for wear. A small price to pay, if it worked.” He gazed into Socrates’ face. “Did it work?”

  Socrates leapt back into his cage, slammed the door shut, and settled down on the straw pile without a word. Seconds later, the guards returned carrying Micah between two of them. The diminutive fellow shot Socrates a foul look as the guards locked him in a cage and this time, shackled his wrists. Unable to explain the situation in front of the guards, Socrates sighed and then turned around to face the wall again.

  *

  An hour later, Commander Toolume returned to the tower. He was accompanied by a dozen well-armed fighters. “Escort the prisoners to the square,” he ordered the men. “Chain them to the pyre. Do not give them a chance to escape. Especially that one,” he added, pointing at Micah. Micah glared at Socrates, who still had his back turned. They hadn’t exchanged a single word since Micah’s return. In fact, Socrates hadn’t spoken to anyone.

  As the guards escorted their prisoners out of the tower, the captives got their first glimpse of the pyre. The townsfolk had erected tall posts in the middle of the street not far from the square. They had outfitted each post with chains and shackles. For good measure, they had also installed iron hooks in the street to secure the prisoners’ chains. The pyre itself was rather unimpressive: a stack of tree branches and rotting, discarded lumber that surrounded the posts.

  “Doesn’t look like much,” Kale grumbled as they approached the scene.

  “Looks dry enough to burn,” Thane said in a grim voice. “Is that kerosene I smell?”

  Kale scanned the wood pile and grimaced as he saw the telltale discoloration where the executioners had indeed poured kerosene over the wood. In one spot, he noted a shiny patch of cobblestone where the oil had dripped down and formed into a puddle. He cast a worried glance at Socrates.

  Socrates was in the center of the group, preceded by Kale and River, and followed by the rest of the prisoners. Micah was at the far end. In this order, the guards lined them up in front of the posts and secured their shackles. Around them, the townsfolk continued piling bundles of sticks and branches onto the pyre. They completed this task as twilight deepened, and the pyre had grown large enough that it could easily consume the entire group.

  “They just keep coming,” Micah observed at some point. “Where are they finding all this wood?”

  “They’ll miss it, come winter,” River said, loud enough that those nearby could hear her quite clearly. Then she added, “That is, those who haven’t already starved to death.” A peasant woman glanced at her as she dropped a bundle of sticks onto the pyre and then averted her gaze. No one, it seemed, would look them in the eyes. Not even the guards.

  “They know what they’re doing is wrong,” Micah said. “I can see their guilt.”

  “Aye, little one,” Shayla said. “I see it as well. Though it does not seem to be stopping them.”

  As darkness fell over the land and the full moon began its slow ascent into the sky, the guards brought a podium on the back of a flatbed wagon and maneuvered it into place in front of the pyre.

  “Don’t care much for the looks of that,” Micah noted as the townsfolk started gathering in the square carrying torches.

  “Handy, having all those torches around,” Kale muttered. “Much better than rubbing sticks together.”

  “Very funny,” said River. “Just our luck they’ll drop one and set the whole thing ablaze on accident.”

  “I don’t like any of it,” said one of the crewmen. Another added, “I wish they’d just kill me and get it over with.”

  “Isn’t that Burk?” River said, gazing across the crowd of onlookers. Kale followed her gaze, squinting.

  “I think it is! What is he doing?”

  “He’s drinking a tankard of ale,” Socrates said. “And holding a woman in his arm.”

  “Doesn’t seem too broken up about all this, does he?” Kale muttered.

  “He turned on you the minute you were arrested,” Micah said. “I saw the whole thing. He couldn’t wait to make a deal with the Keeper.”

  They fell silent, their angry stares fixed on the blacksmith. After a few minutes, Burk disappeared into the crowd. River spoke up:

  “Socrates, last night you said you’d seen creatures like the Ancients before?”

  “I have,” Socrates said. “In Sanctuary.”

  “I don’t understand. I thought Sanctuary was abandoned after the Starfall poisoned their water supply.”

  “It was, eventually. At the beginning, no one knew about Starfall. We understood its powers to generate energy, but we didn’t know the effects it could have on human flesh. Like the people of this town, we learned those lessons the hard way.”

  “What does this mean?” said Shayla. “What is this Sanctuary city you speak of?”

  “It’s a city in the northern Wastelands,” Kale said. “Our ancestors came from there. The humans, the Tal’mar, even the giants all descended from that same race of people.”

  “They were all human until the Starfall poisoned their water,” River said. “It changed them, apparently in more ways than we knew. Tell us what happened there, Socrates.”

  The mechanical beast let out a strangely human sigh. He closed his eyes, the gears inside his body whirring as he searched his memory banks. “Our people were already at war when it happened. It began with two brothers, the sons of an old toymaker. The man was a widower. Despite this, he raised his children the best he could, showering them with love and gifts, withholding from them nothing. In his heart, the poor old man believed perhaps he could compensate for the loss of their mother in this way.

  “Even at a young age, it was apparent that the boys were very different from each other. The youngest took after his father, learning to make toys and planning to take over his father’s business someday. He specialized in robotic inventions that looked like animals and small children. They were wildly popular, and this made the family a great deal of money.

  “Meanwhile, the elder brother made toys as well, but from the very beginning they were different. The eldest boy made toy soldiers armed with weapons, and war machines. He created vast armies of these tiny robots and enacted miniature battles in the city parks. People came from all over the city to watch and cheer as the robots destroyed one another. It was all fun and exciting for them you see, but these things were all portents of things to come. In time, the boys became men, and they turned their passion for engineering into greater things. The younger brother developed his robots so that they could serve the city. He designed them to repair buildings and machines, to clean the streets, even to build more of themselves. It was truly incredible, what he accomplished.

  “While this was all going on, the elder brother took an interest in the politics of the city. He fell in with a fringe group known as Clockwork Axis. The leaders of this group believed in overthrowing the government to create a monarchy. They believed the people of Sanctuary were lazy and corrupt, and that their lives would be better managed by men of superior intellect.”

  “Meaning the Axis,” River said.

  “Of course. Men don’t overthrow governments just to create a vacuum. They do it to acquire
power.”

  “What happened next?”

  “The older brother tried to convince the people of his beliefs. He ran for the city council and lost. The press made a mockery of him, and this infuriated him. The Axis withdrew into the tunnels under the city, where they quietly gained power and influence. In the meanwhile, the toy soldiers and war machines the elder brother had designed evolved. He reengineered his ideas into highly sophisticated weapons. Then, when the time was right, his clockwork army struck.

  “They attacked in the night with flying machines armed with bombs. The soldiers marched into the streets, corralling people like animals and locking them in special buildings designated as detention areas. It was all out war, and the city was not prepared for it. Perhaps, in a way, the boy had been right. A more proactive leadership would have expected such an eventuality and been ready for it. When it was over, those few who survived came to call it the Clockwork War.”

  “What about the Ancients?” said Micah. “How did that happen?”

  “I was just getting to that. During the attacks, one of the bombs struck perilously close to a storage facility. A small container of Starfall exploded, destroying a large part of the city and setting loose tens of thousands of gallons of Starfall. The liquid seeped into the waterways and aquifers, poisoning the entire food supply.”

  “Even as their bodies were being contaminated, the people were tortured and executed by the clockwork soldiers. The elder brother finally realized the full horror of what he had done when he saw the corpse of his own sibling lurching through the city streets. He had already gone mad at this point, driven insane by his lust for power. The image of his little brother’s undead corpse simply drove him over the edge. In his rage, he set out to destroy the city and everyone living in it. Were his days not cut short, he would have killed everyone.”