Alan Campbell - God of Clocks

“How are you feeling?”

Rachel turned her head to see Mina sitting on a chair. They were in a musty bedroom she vaguely recognized. A dim grey light filtered through the gauzy window drapes. Rachel felt so nauseous she thought she might vomit.

“This isn't the skyship?”

“What do you remember?”

“An inn… We can't stay here, Mina. The arconites…”

“They're still behind us.” Mina stood up and approached the bed. “You badly needed rest, and we decided it would be more comfortable for you here.”

Rachel winced as a jolt of agony split her skull. “That man shot me,” she said. “Gods, Mina, I saw it coming. I tried to focus, but the missile came too fast. I've never…” She breathed. “I've never seen one of those weapons triggered before.”

“Fired,” Mina explained. “A flame ignites powder inside the musket and the explosion sends a lead ball out of the barrel, like in a cannon. We developed weapons like that in Deepgate over three hundred years ago, before the Church of Ulcis managed to stifle all the research. Abner Hill fired this one directly into your face.”

Rachel tried to touch her wounded head, but Mina stopped her.

“The musket ball grazed your skull,” the thaumaturge continued. “Either he has a lousy aim, or you managed to focus fast enough to save yourself. It's just a flesh wound, so leave the bandage alone. If it doesn't get infected, you'll probably live.” She took a glass of water from a bedside cabinet and held it under Rachel's chin. “Drink,” she ordered.

Rachel sipped. “Where is he?”

“Hill? He's upstairs with his wife. Hasp wanted to kill him, but I think I talked him out of it. These people know this land much better than we do. They've set us on the right path now.”

“Where's Hasp?”

Mina hesitated, then shook her head. “He wants to be left alone right now. He has some issues he needs to deal with.”

“And how's Dill?”

“Huge and ugly, but he'll be pleased to know you aren't dead.”

Rachel pulled away the blanket and swung herself over to the edge of the camp bed. The room reeled around her. She groaned. Her limbs still felt like slugs of metal-the aftereffects of focusing. The Spine technique had quickened her reactions to superhuman levels, but now her exhausted muscles were paying the price of such forced exertion. She had moved as quickly as any Spine assassin could, but not fast enough to dodge that musket ball.

“Take it easy,” Mina advised.

“Sure, just as soon as I've had words with the proprietor.”

Mina helped Rachel to her feet and then supported her as she staggered out of the bedroom and into the saloon. There were empty bottles strewn everywhere; an overpowering stench of whisky filled the air. Most of the tables and chairs rested in heaps against the back wall or around the base of the staircase. It looked like a squall had swept through the room.

They climbed the stairs and Mina led Rachel to one of the guest bedrooms. She unlocked the door.

Abner Hill and his wife sat side by side on the bed. The young woman glanced at Rachel and then turned away quickly and bit her knuckle to stifle a sob. Her long golden hair tumbled over her face, hiding her tearful eyes.

Rachel frowned. The woman who'd attacked her had had orange hair. She remembered it distinctly. “You came at me with an axe?” she said. “It was…” She winced as a sudden ache throbbed inside her skull. “It was you, wasn't it?”

The wife sniffed, and made no reply.

But her husband glared up insolently at the assassin. “You can't keep us prisoners in our own place,” he said. “You gods-be-damned Mesmerist brigands.”

He spoke with such a thick Pandemerian accent that it took Rachel a moment to be sure she'd understood him correctly, yet she did not recall that he'd had very much of an accent at all when she'd first encountered him. “We're not Mesmerists or thieves,” she said at last. “You might have at least asked before you tried to shoot my head off.”

“Really? And I suppose that's not an arconite outside either?”

She saw his point.

Abner Hill glowered at her. “You arrive in Westroad inside the jaw of that damn monster, then break into my property and come sauntering up my own stairs, all armed like you mean me harm. That's why you got a bullet in your head, woman.” He bared small yellow teeth. “Now you say you're not thieves and yet I've sat here and watched you steal from me bold as brass.”

“What did we steal?”

The man adopted an expression of disbelief. “That bullet must have knocked the wits from you. What did you steal? You stole every last damn thing I own. You stole my business and my gods-be-damned home!”

Rachel looked at Mina, who shrugged.

She walked over to the window. In the mists a hundred feet below, the tops of trees swept past like the peaks of waves upon a dismal green sea. Dill was still carrying the whole building.

“It's more comfortable than living in his mouth,” Mina said.

The assassin hung her head. “I'm sorry,” she said to the man who had tried to kill her. “I'm sorry this has happened.”

Some time later Rachel was lying on her bed when Mina came in with a pot of tea from the kitchen, Basilis snuffling about her feet. The assassin must have slept for a while again because it had become much darker outside and shadows crouched in the corners of her room. Vague recollections of a dream remained, in which Rachel had been arguing with an orange-haired woman over a broken mirror, but the details were elusive, already fading. The pain in her head had settled to a dull but ever-present throb.

“Have you noticed anything odd recently?” she said, turning to Mina.

The young thaumaturge just stared at her. “We're in a building carried by a four-hundred-foot-tall golem, with twelve more giants in pursuit,” she said. “Does that count?”

“Did Abner's wife change the color of her hair? I mean, since I've been unconscious.”

Mina's brows rose. “Oh, you meant really odd things? Someone dyeing their hair?” She adopted an expression of mock thoughtfulness. “No, I don't think Mrs. Hill has been anywhere near a vanity cabinet since we met.” She poured tea into two glasses. “Her name is Rosella, and she's desperately afraid of that big creep.”

“I'm sorry,” Rachel said. “I know how ridiculous it sounds. My head has been playing tricks on me recently.”

Mina grunted. “Strange,” she said. “Have you bumped it recently? Or been shot in the face at all?”

Rachel smiled.

Mina handed one of the glasses to Rachel and watched while the other woman drank.

The brew tasted strong and bitter. Rachel swallowed and then inhaled deeply of the vapours rising from the glass. “Abner was right,” she said. “We stole his entire livelihood.”

“Think of it as a loan,” Mina said. “As soon as we've saved his life and the lives of everyone else in this world, we'll let him have his property back.” She set her own empty glass down on the floor beside the teapot.

Rachel frowned at the glass for a moment. “When did you drink that tea?” she said.

“Just now.”

“But…” Rachel felt suddenly confused, as if her thoughts had become knotted. She hadn't even seen Mina lift the glass. Rachel had barely just accepted her own drink. She glanced down to find an empty glass clutched in her own hands. It felt cold.

Had she blacked out?

“Besides,” Mina went on, “Hasp pointed out that if we expect to recruit soldiers from Rys's disbanded army, then we need a base of operations. He wants to use the building to entertain our would-be allies.”

Rachel was staring at her empty glass. Evidently her injury had affected her more than she'd realized. She set the glass on the floor beside the bed and then leaned back and closed her eyes. “I'm tired,” she said. “I think I need to sleep.”