K Jeter - Infernal Devices

Though my breath was a rock in my throat the entire time, my progress was uneventful, save for when a torch was thrust directly above my head. I cowered into the edge, crouching below a tangle of reeds while a silhouetted figure – of which party I could not tell – viewed the stream's surface. "He's not here!" was shouted back to the others. "He must've gone round the other way." I waited until the splashing of footsteps receded some distance before cautiously resuming my course.

When I was but a few yards away from the crossroads, the gnarled trees outlined against the night sky, my anxiety had mounted to such a pitch that I pushed forward through the water, heedless of the noise I made. I mastered myself sufficiently to hesitate at the base of the sloping bank going up to the roadway; I was overjoyed to hear the pounding of the horses' hooves. Clawing at the muddy turf, I scrambled up to the top..

My elation plummeted as I stood in the centre of the crossroads, water sluicing from my limbs, and surveyed all four directions. No vehicle was approaching. Just as I realised that I had been betrayed by the pounding of my own heart, hammering in the cage of my chest, I also spotted a line of torches freeze in position some distance away. A shout rang out over the fens: "There he is!"

Standing thus exposed on the high ground, I had been spotted by my pursuers. I whirled about again, and saw the silhouetted figures in the dark quadrants between the crossroads' arms, surrounding me; the alerting cry was echoed by the others; the torches were raised higher as their bearers forded across stream and bog in their eagerness to lay hands on me.

I could not escape them by plunging back down the bank and into the fens; they would soon fold in on me from either side, trapping me between them. The quicker footing of the road was beneath me, however; I shook myself free of the paralysis that had gripped me, and started to run, my boots splashing in the ruts.

I had gone but a few yards, however, when a sight ahead pulled me up short. Some of the more clever among the factions had not come straight across the marshy turf towards me, but had cut across to the nearest of the roads. I saw them now scrambling up the banks; I looked behind and saw that the same tactic had occurred to others. I was completely encircled, every avenue barred by my pursuers.

In the distance ahead, they reached the road's surface, and raised themselves from their scrambling crouch. I could see them catching their breath and gloating at my predicament; in a moment they would sprint towards me, to claim my blood as their honour.

Then, as I watched, they were scattered to either side as though they were tenpins. A brace of horses surged through at a dead gallop, trampling one of my pursuers beneath their hooves. The driver atop the carriage behind whipped them to even greater speed.

Shouting broke out from behind me; I looked over my shoulder and saw a combined party of villagers and bullies no more than twenty yards away, and racing towards me. I turned and ran, waving my arms at the carriage as a pistol shot rang over my head.

The driver spotted me; he laid on the whip again; the carriage was almost on top of me when he reined the team in to a violent, skidding stop, nearly toppling the vehicle over. I took a hurried glance behind and saw the maddened face of the fastest runner, his outstretched hands straining for me. Someone threw open the carriage's door; the unseen person grasped my elbow and helped me scramble up inside. I collapsed on the floor as the horses were whipped into motion again; the pursuer cried out as his grip was torn loose from the door and he fell beneath the rear wheel.

I raised my head at the sound of more shouting and pistol shots; through the small window I could see the flare of torches as the carriage careered through the party that had been closest at my heels. Their furious voices faded behind as the carriage picked up speed, jolting over the rutted highway.

"He looks all right," a woman's voice said coolly. I saw that my hands, braced against the carriage's floor, were next to her white kid boots. I looked up and, by the soft glow of a travel lantern swinging on a hook, recognised Mrs Wroth smiling at me.

"Seems to have come through rather well," a man's voice agreed.

I looked around to the opposite seat. For a moment I thought I was gazing into a mirror; I saw my own face gazing back at me. Then the image's lips moved, forming words as my own mouth went slack in amazement.

"I'm glad you could be with us." The elegantly dressed figure folded his gloved hands together in his lap. He smiled, exhibiting a mocking self-assurance in the features I had thought were my own. "You're… very important to me."

His laughter, joined by Mrs Wroth's, rang inside the carriage as I gazed dumbfounded upon this apparition.

"You look a sight, Dower." My double's amusement was evident. "You're sopping wet. Fortunately, we thought to bring along a few of my things – I'm sure you'll find them a suitable fit." He reached up and drew open the small hatch to communicate with the driver; the carriage slowed and came to a stop in accordance with his instructions.

We had left the scene of my flight across the fens – and the combined forces of Mollie Maud's, the villagers, and the Godly Army that had occasioned it – sufficiently far behind us. The carriage driver, whom I recognised as the same employee of Lord Bendray that had brought me out from London, lifted down a small trunk from atop the vehicle. By the light of the travel lantern, a selection of clothing – fitting me as my double had promised, but smelling remarkably musty, as though stored for a considerable length of time – was exchanged for mine. I dressed by moonlight, standing on the edge of the open deserted road; the comfort of dry garments outweighed any possible bemusement at the situation. From my fouled shirt, a glittering object fell to the road. It was the Saint Monkfish sovereign – so many travails had it brought me! For a moment, I was poised to throw it into the ditch; then I altered my decision and placed it in the pocket of the coat I wore. I tossed the mud-befouled garments into the ditch alongside, and climbed back into the carriage.

Mrs Wroth had joined my double on one of the seats; I sat facing them as the carriage rocked into motion again. Her arm rested along the top of the leather, one hand toying languidly with the fringe of hair at the enigmatic figure's collar. She gazed at him, then smiled at me as though in possession of some great and satisfying secret.

"I imagine you feel better now." My double rolled his head back against the woman's caress. "I'm sorry you had an anxious moment – we tried to get there as soon as we could."

I leaned across the space between us, searching the face that I had only seen before in a looking glass. "Who are you?" I said after a moment's wondering silence.

Mrs Wroth's laughter chimed again.

"Didn't Scape tell you?" he said softly. "About me?"

The realisation began to grow in my mind. "You're the…"

"That's right. You should have known me, anyway; after all, we have the same father. So to speak."

I fell back against the leather seat. "The Paganinicon," I whispered.

He made a mock bow, bending forward at the waist and flourishing his hand. "Indeed. At last we have this… mutual pleasure, I hope?"

"But – you're not clockwork… are you?"

His hands deftly undid the centre buttons of his shirt, and drew it apart. By the wavering glow of the travel lantern, I saw, not flesh, but a skin of moulded shiny metal. He reached beneath where his bottom ribs would have curved, and lifted upward.

I stared in utter amazement. No heart, no bone, no human ligament or vein. Inside a metal cage, gears whirred and meshed. Wound springs intertwined with each other, and ticked off the slow measuring of his artificial life.