Crimson Clockwork Pt. 02/03

Author's Note: This entry is a bit longer than the last one, and has more emphasis on mystery, intrigue, and character development. Since a larger proportion of the story is focused on the mystery and intrigue, I've decided to switch up the categories for this one. Rest assured, though, there is a bit of erotica (including a threesome and some public sex).

**

My journey home after the attack on the manor was far from a simple one. The currents and my frantic swim brought me to the docks, where a group of sailors were busy harvesting a kraken-corpse. Ink-stained men looked up from their bloody work to stare as I splashed ashore.

Some offered jeers and propositions at the sight of my skimpy outfit. I tossed them one of my bejeweled anklets in exchange for a jacket and a pair of boots. Wrapping the oversized jacket around my shivering body, I trudged past the warehouses and fisheries, wrinkling my nose at the stench of dead fish and krakens.

From there, I traded away an anklet to a beggar in exchange for all of the coins he'd collected in his hat, which were enough to buy gondola fare. I'd kept money in my coinpurse, but I had left that behind with my cloak at the manor.

Due to the late hour, most of the other passengers were dockworkers heading home from late shifts, or drunken students returning to dormitories after a night out at the dockside taverns.

Shivering from fear and the cold, I ignored their stares as best as I could and pondered what I'd endured, trying to pinpoint who could have been responsible.

Who could have done such a thing? A rival cult? An opposing group of fanatics trying to stamp out the practices of the old ways? Someone with a grudge against my father or against one of the other wealthy guests?

It couldn't have been the justicars. Although such Rites were illegal those machines had been no tools of the law. An official raid would have involved arrests, not flames and butchery.

I would find no answers within my frenzied mind. To distract and center myself, I stared down at the city.

Beneath me stretched the vast slums of the district of Dockside, with homes made of driftwood, kraken-bones, and the hulls of recycled ships.

Down below lived the workers, soldiers, servants and the lower-class merchants of Raveth. The teeming masses who were the gears that made the entire metropolis function.

My father had once been among those souls. He'd started as a simple, common dockworker whose cleverness and luck had propelled him to the highest rungs of Ravethi society.

During my childhood he had taken me for tours of those slums, to remind me of his past and to reinforce how far the family had risen. He'd also taken the opportunity to make a show of his grand charity works, showing off the orphanages and soup kitchens he'd sponsored.

Shuddering, I tore my moistened eyes away from the slums and looked along the crackling rails of the gondola. The cars led to one of the transit stations, a great stone spire that loomed high above the city. Rune-tech reactors pulsed and gleamed, sending energy through the stone and into the rails.

Once at the transit station I used the last of my coins to hire a private skyship taxi. The deft little vessel whisked me through the night, skimming over the gondola rails and past the glittering towers.

"Rough night out, eh?" the pilot said, chuckling a little.

"You haven't the slightest idea."

"Oh, I wager I do. I used to serve in the People's Legions. Had plenty of rough nights out on the frontier and during garrison duty," he said with a soft laugh, before sending the little craft down past two gleaming towers.

The taxi landed at a slender metal tower a short distance from the family estate. My legs still shaking from my ordeal, I disembarked and headed down the lift to street level. My route took me past two justicars standing guard by the exit. They wore long golden coats, with red sashes upon their chests. Gilded helmets covered their faces, save for little slits that barely exposed their eyes. If they paid me any mind at all, the helmets prevented me from noticing.

Taking in a deep breath, I glanced at their holstered shock-batons and brushed on past.

I trotted along the quiet cobblestone streets, past cozy townhomes, walled estates, and quiet teahouses. My relief soared with every step closer to home.

A sob erupted from my lips as I reached the front gates. Pressing my hand to the rune-interface upon the wall, I tapped in the appropriate sigils.

The gate swept open, revealing our home's sprawling gardens. Automatons tended to the hedges and flowerbeds, toiling through the night to keep everything perfect and immaculate. I couldn't help but wince at the way their pruning shears trimmed the plants, imagining how the metallic claws back at the manor had sliced through flesh.

I pushed through the massive main doors and let out a sob of relief. The glow of alchemical candles danced across my sweaty skin as I shut the doors. After sliding down against the wall, I collapsed upon the floor, allowing myself to relax for the first time since my frantic escape from the manor.

To my horror, a voice wafted from the sitting room just off the main foyer.

"Lyneth?" my father's voice called out. "How was the opera?"

I'd been expecting my parents to be asleep by the time I returned, which would have bought me time to get my story straight. Thanks to my fear, I'd almost forgotten my lie about attending the opera.

"A bit rubbish to my honest," I said, hoping I could scamper on up to my wing of the estate before either of them rose to greet me.

"I told you," my mother said. "The Jackal's Rose is easily the worst of Targosky's works. You would have been better off waiting for them to put onThe Laughing Sword instead."

Just as I rose to my feet, the door to the sitting room swung open. My father stood in the doorway, his wiry body clad in a fine suit. The man always insisted on dressing nicely, even when lounging around at home.

His eyes widened.

"Gods' graves, Lyneth," he hissed. "What happened?"

My mother appeared behind him, giving him a little shove out of the way. She was wearing a fine, fur-lined nightgown, and her usually elegant curls were pulled back into a tight bun.

"Were you mugged?" she snapped, glancing towards the door. "We shall send for the justicars at once, we-"

"No!" I blurted out. "It's...it's nothing. We can talk about in the morning."

"No, we shall not," my father said, placing his hands on his hips. "You may be a grown woman but I'll be damned if my daughter can wander back into my house smelling like filth and wearing some scruffy coat without an explanation."

He approached, scowling and sniffing.

"Is that seawater? Kraken ink? Wherewere you?"

There could be no hiding it now. Once my parents sank their teeth into a topic, they were as persistent as a hungry wolf.

I glanced past my father into the sitting room, at the inviting comfortable couches and the well-stocked bar.

"A cup of brandy first."

"By the dead gods I'll probably need one, too," my mother said with a huff.

I collapsed upon the couch, my mind reeling as my father poured me a glass and handed it over.

After taking a long sip, my shaking hands settled it down upon the table as my parents sat down across from me. The blue glow of the alchemical fireplace gleamed in their concerned, frightened eyes.

Their concern was about to shift into rage.

"I attended an event," I said, my voice slow and trembling. "There was an attack by automatons."

"An attack?" my mother blurted. "Then we must summon the justicars at once."

I swallowed.

"The event was...illegal. Going to the justicars for help could get me in trouble and cause...complications for the family business."

Their eyes narrowed. Before they could demand further answers, I took a deep breath and continued.

"It was an event hosted by the Crimson Night."

My father cursed and my mother let out a faint squeak.

"Gods' graves, Lyneth,why?" he snarled.

I gulped down a bit more brandy.

"Because I've been a good and dutiful daughter. While other women my age are galivanting off on world tours and hosting extravagant balls and spending all of their father's money on jewelry, I've beenworking. For the good of the family. For the business. For the city. And I am going to continue to do so. But for one night, all I wanted was a bit of fun. A scandalous, private little event in the shadows and then I'd go back to being the perfect daughter."

Silence gripped the room. I finished off my brandy and let out a soft, joyless laugh.

"The one consolation, father, is that I was able to field-test those new razorflies I've been working on. They worked fabulously."

"This is not time for japes and jokes," my mother snapped.

"They worked even with the smaller reactors?" asked my father, his curiosity winning out over his fatherly anger for the moment.

"Yes. At least in the short term. I doubt they would have fought on for several minutes, but as short-term contingency defenses? Marvelous. I think I'll need to calibrate their wings to-"

"Product development can wait," said my mother. She took a few deep breaths. "I know you have been under a lot of pressure, darling. But-"

"I place that pressure upon myself. And gladly so." I swallowed. "And I also recognize that I should have found a safer outlet."

My father collected my glass and refilled it.

"We could spend all evening chiding you for your poor choices, but you've already acknowledged the mistake." He rested a hand on my shoulder. "What matters now is finding out who did this, without involving the justicars."

"Yes," said my mother with a fierce nod. "We cannot allow this to go unanswered. Even if the attackers were after someone else and not you, the Vaspar family is not to be trifled with."

"The hunt for vengeance can at least wait until she's had a bath and a bit of rest. Clean up, darling, and try to get a good night's sleep. We can go over the details in the morning."

"Better to get the story out while it's fresh," I murmured, staring down at a stray droplet of brandy running over the edge of the glass, and imagining the spray of blood upon the manor's walls.

"Most of the automatons were of a nautical variety. Similar to those we built to assist at the fisheries. Not our designs, though." I cocked my head, recalling the clockwork innards of the one creature I had helped disable. "They were older. The lubrication coils were bulkier than the newer models. I would say that we could hire a mercenary to double back to the manor to collect evidence, but that likely poses too many risks."

"Agreed," he said with a nod. "Was there anything else?"

"There were...men there," I said, choosing my words carefully. "They were not involved in the attack, but they seemed to suspect something. I don't think they knew an attack was coming, but nor were they as caught off-guard as the others."

"Given the nature of this event, I am sure you didn't get names," my mother said with a snort.

"No. One was a mainlander. Blonde braids, adorned with bones and teeth. Another was a young man who was missing one of his pinkies. The last one was just as mysterious as the rest. Gray eyes. Handsome. And they were obsessed with a game calledlorkaa."

"An old strategy game from the mainland," said my mother. "Gavriel mentioned it in a few of his letters."

The mention of my deceased brother cast a chill through the room.

To further ease my nerves and to dispel those grim memories, I downed the last of my brandy.

"I will make some discreet inquiries in the morning," my father said, staring into the gleam of the alchemical fireplace.

"And Lyneth, darling, do get yourself cleaned up," said my mother. "You look and smell absolutelywretched."

I managed a faint smile at my mother's insistence upon propriety even at the worst of times, and made my way upstairs.

**

I didn't leave the house for three full days. My father had forbidden me from leaving the estate until he could upgrade a new set of guardian automatons. Once he'd finished his work, I was still too jumpy to even thinking about going outside. Even opening the window for a breath of fresh air had been quite the feat.

To distract myself, I spent much of that time down in my father's basement workshop, helping him with the guardian upgrades and tinkering with the razorfly designs. The equipment in that workshop was far less advanced than the tools in my own workspace on the other side of the district. My father, for all of his successes and triumphs, had still insisted on using his outdated tools from back in his apprenticeship days.

I was in the middle of filing down a gear to place it within another razorfly when my father joined me, wielding a pile of papers and a grim look upon his face.

"Answers, of a sort," he said, placing the papers beside me on the workbench.

At the top of the pile was an advertisement from a few months before, about an auction of naval equipment. With the end of hostilities on the mainland, the fleet and the mercenary guilds had sold off some outdated equipment. Among the items were automatons designed for naval service.

Other pages within the pile showed photographs and schematics of the various machines that had been put up for sale. I shivered at the familiar sight of the automatons that had assailed the manor.

"These ones," I said, tapping the schematics in question. "Without a doubt."

"A Class-B Scuttler Drone," my father said. "Designed to place mines on the undersides of enemy vessels and to scout through enemy mine fields. Considering the dismal size of the enemy's fleet, they didn't really have much work to do in the last war."

"Surely the seller will have records."

"Usually, yes. But according to the auction guild, there was a fire at the warehouse the night before the auction. Almost all of the Scuttlers were destroyed and thus never sold."

I flipped through the data on those machines.

"Never soldofficially. The fire could have been a coverup to avoid a paper trail. The buyers could pay a higher price to avoid having to register the purchase, then the sellers set the fire to obscure the losses and to recoup insurance money. Or someone just stole them outright and set the warehouse ablaze to cover their tracks."

"My thoughts exactly. I'll have my investigators look into it further."

I didn't question the fact that my father had a team of private detectives at his beck and call. Such men would ward off potential competitors searching for company secrets, and in turn steal secrets from our rivals.

"For today, though, I'd like you to get out for a bit. Get some sun and some fresh air. Take a stroll with those upgraded guardians."

I nodded in agreement, as I wasn't doing myself any favors by cooping myself up in his workshop. At the very least I could cross the district and work in my own workshop, where I'd make much better progress on my razorflies.

"I do suppose I need sandals and a cloak to replace the ones I lost at the manor," I said dryly.

After putting the finishing touches on that beetle-sized machine, I slipped a chain around the device and affixed it around my neck like an amulet, and set out for the day.

Flanked by three wiry guardians, I made my way out onto the cobblestone streets. I flinched at every loud sound, even the familiar whirring of passing skyships and the clanking of overhead gondolas. Neighbors smiled as I passed; I returned their greetings with faint mumbles and weak smiles.

More than once I looked over my shoulder towards the family estate, longing to sprint back inside.

I made my way to the row of shops a few streets over, where I replaced what I'd lost during the attack. My hands shook so fiercely that I nearly dropped the coins as I passed them over. Gritting my teeth, I stormed back out onto the street.

Someone bumped into me in the crowd. Cursing, I spun and nearly lost my balance. A guardian steadied me with its metallic claw.

With another curse I realized that my purse had been unclasped. Concerned that I'd been pickpocketed, I whirled around for any sign of the person who'd jostled me.

Nothing. Only a sea of unfamiliar, well-dressed citizens going about their day.

I searched through my purse to see if anything was missing.

Not only was there nothingmissing, something had in fact beenadded.

Within my purse was a small scrap of paper wrapped around something small and hard. Frowning, I unfurled the paper to reveal that it had concealed a tinylorkaa piece, just like the ones from the game at the manor.

The paper gave a time and the address of a transit tower on the eastern edge of the city.

Once more I strained to catch sight of the messenger, but it was far too late.

While I was damned curious about the message, I was not about to blunder into a shadowy meeting unprepared. With my newfound purpose keeping the nervousness at bay, I headed for my private workshop, spending the rest of the day crafting other razorflies.

Only once I'd hidden a swarm of those lethal razorflies under my dress did I head out for the transit tower at the appointed time.

The transit tower in question was in a lower-class district, though it was a notable upgrade from the slums of Dockside. Below the tower stretched long lines of rowhouses, sprawling apartment buildings, and teeming markets.

I stood at the station, hands clasped before me, my eyes darting over the crowd. Nobody paid me any mind, nor did anyone approach with another message.

Minutes passed. The crowd thinned as most of the travelers boarded a large passenger car, leaving behind a handful of students and a few scruffy boys who had huddled together in the corner of the station.

After a moment I realized the boys were playing a game.

Not just any game.

Lorkaa.

Considering my first time ever seeing that game was back at the ruined manor, its presence in the station was quite the damned coincidence. Frowning, I strode over to the boys as they bickered with one another about the rules.

One of them looked up, eyes wide.

"Gods' graves," he sputtered. "You must be her."

"Oh? You were looking for me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Aye. A man paid us a fistful of coins to play this game and to keep an eye out for a 'pretty lady with dark blue eyes as deep as the ocean, and hair that ripples like the night.' Something like that."

I snorted and rolled my eyes.

"And what else did this man tell you?"

"He wants you to go down to the park at the base of the tower. He says the clockwork swans are beautiful."

I cursed under my breath and tossed the lads a few coins for their time. Irritated by the subterfuge but relieved to be one step closer to answers, I took the lift down to the street and walked briskly through a crowded market.

The park was a meager one, paling in comparison to my family's private garden. In the middle was a murky pond, upon which flitted three rusted, rickety clockwork swans.

Glancing around, my eyes settled upon a figure seated at a bench near the water. He was dressed in a dark, unassuming suit and a long coat, with a wide-brimmed hat resting upon his knee. His short dark red hair had been slicked back, and intense gray eyes stared out at the swans.

I'd have recognized those eyes anywhere. He was the man who'd taught me to play lorkaa, and who had been a damnable tease during the Rite. He'd been moments away from using my ass right before those automatons had attacked.

I shivered at those memories and joined him at the bench. Cocking my head, I got a closer look at him: handsome, perhaps in his early thirties, clean-shaven. Small, faded white scars ran along his left cheekbone. I realized scars of a similar nature had marred the hand of his mainlander friend as well.