Mike Wild - The Clockwork King of Orl

All kinds of things went through her mind, not the least of them that she had been stripped of her working gear and was clothed only in her vest and pants. The goose pimples on her arms and legs were, however, the least of her discomforts, the greatest being the bloody great thumping headache she was not sure was the result of the second vision she had suffered or what must have been a knockout blow from Munch. Obviously the bastard had never intended to kill her — only make her think so — after all, he'd never find the key if she were dead.

The key. What was so important — and so disturbing to Merrit Moon — about that key that had driven Munch and his cronies first to the Spiral and then to the Flagons in its pursuit? Bloody images from the tavern that she did not want flashed into her mind, and she pushed them away.

Just what the hells was going on? And, more importantly, where the hells had she been brought?

Headache subsiding slightly, Kali looked around her place of captivity — as much as her iron collars would allow. There wasn't much to see — torches mounted on the walls illuminated a circular chamber accessed by a single heavy door, featureless other than the chair in which she sat, rather troublingly the obvious centre of attention. There were no windows, so it was likely a cellar, and by the absence of outside noise a cellar somewhere isolated and deep. But where exactly? She had no idea how long she had been unconscious and therefore no idea how far she had travelled. She could literally be anywhere on the peninsula.

Kali strained to listen, hoping perhaps to hear some noises from the outside world — perhaps a clatter of cartwheels on mud, cobbles or stone — an indicator of which town or city she was in, or snatched voices speaking in some regional accent. But there was only silence except for the vaguest hint of something in the distance.

It took her a few seconds to place what it was because it seemed so far out of context to the predicament she was in. But then she had it.

It was singing.

Somewhere above her, people were singing.

What sounded like a mix between a battle hymn and a song of praise.

The Final Faith, she thought. Munch must have brought her to one of their churches, and she was sitting beneath one of their congregations. But which congregation, in which church, where? She strained to listen and, beyond the singing, caught the sound of bells.

Twelve bells to be precise, each of them pealing in turn. Kali felt her heart thump as recognition dawned. There was only one place she knew of that had such bell towers. Pits of Kerberos, the little bastard had brought her to Scholten — abducted her halfway across the peninsula, to the cathedral itself.

The realisation — and its implications — sinking in, Kali began to struggle anew against her bonds, but as she felt blood start to trickle, she let out a cry of frustration.

At the same time she heard footsteps approaching on the other side of the door.

A key turned in its lock and the door opened.

Three people walked into the room, studying her but staying silent. The first of them was Munch, the second a disturbingly tall, thin man she didn't recognise, and the third a woman she did — but only because she looked a bit like her statues.

It was Caroline MacDonald. The Anointed Lady.

No, hang on, that didn't sound right, Kali thought. MacDonald, maybe but… Christine? Katarina? Katherine. She was sure it was Katherine.

Yes, that was it. Katherine MacDonald, the Anointed Lady.

Hells, she really ought to get to church more often.

"We do seem to be plagued by pests of late," the woman sighed. She strode towards Kali and looked directly at her. "Kali Hooper," she intoned. "Age twenty-two, sex, sometimes, current occupation proprietor of the tavern formerly known as the Retching Weasel and now the Here There Be Flagons, situated in the hamlet of Stopford, in the western county of Tarn."

Kali smiled. "Thanks for reminding me. Now I'll be able to find my own way home. Whenever you're ready, that is."

"I'm not. Oh, and if you're thinking of shouting for help, don't bother." She pointed up. "The Eternal Choir never stops."

"That must get on your tits."

Makennon ignored her. "Not much to go on at all, Kali. And that is all the information in our records — tell me, don't you find that strange?"

Kali stared at her. "No, what I find strange is you have records about me at all. Tell me, Katherine, it is just a church you're running here, isn't it — not a dictatorship? And hey, I could have done without the crack about the sex."

"Proprietor of the aforementioned tavern and sometime tomb raider, I am led to believe."

Kali's eyes narrowed.

"Actually, I prefer to think of them more as repositories, or reliquaries — museums of the past. To be honest, I'd be pretty much gobsmacked if I found anyone dead in them, their owners having been gone for quite some time. But seriously, Katherine, you are really going to have to go to interrogation classes if you're going to ask me questions and then ignore everything I say." She smiled sweetly. "Kind of defeats the object, doesn't it?"

Makennon slapped her suddenly and unexpectedly on the cheek, hard.

"This isn't a damned game, tomb raider!"

Her head involuntarily snapped to the side, Kali worked her jaw and spat out a small glob of blood. Then she snapped her head back and glared at her captor, hair mussed over eyebrows that were deeply veed, her expression thunderous. But she spoke steadily.

"I'd kind of worked that out when your hired psychopath here slaughtered my horse."

Makennon smiled. "What can I say? Konstantin has a… passion for his work."

"Burn in the hells!"

Makennon cocked her head, almost curiously. "I hardly think that's likely, Kali, do you? I am Katherine Makennon, the Anointed Lord, head of the largest faith — the largest church — on Twilight. Hundreds of thousands of people see me as the Lord of All's representative on this world of His, and they revere me as much as they do Him. Each of these people pray for my well-being on a daily basis, and each of them will solicit my passage to the heavens when my time eventually comes. Think about it. With that kind of support, how could I possibly burn?"

"Oh, I'm sure there's a big enough match somewhere," Kali said. Makennon, right. "Why have you brought me here?"

"You know why, Kali. I want the key."

"I thought it was Munch who wanted the key?" Kali retorted. It was a weak retort but the best she could do in an attempt to halt the growing unease in her gut. "What are you going to do — fight amongst yourselves?"

"My desires are Munch's desires, and our desires are those of the Faith. The key belongs to no one individual but to the Church itself — it has been written."

"Oh, really? By whom?"

"The Old Races. The forefathers of we, the Divine Race."

"Oh right, them," Kali responded casually. Makennon was obviously referring to the elves and the dwarves, but other than that she didn't have a clue what she was on about. She just wished someone would tell her why the key was in so much demand or what it was that the damn thing actually did.

Makennon studied her, a smile playing on her lips. "You don't know what it is, do you? You haven't a clue. The key was just some… bauble you saw your chance to steal from us."

"Why don't you tell me what it is?"

"When you tell me where it is."

"You know, I am getting heartily sick of that question. As I told your flunky here — I don't know."

"That we shall have to see, won't we?" Makennon said. She turned to Munch and the tall man. "Get on with it," she ordered. "Report to me below when you're done."

Below? Kali thought. But weren't they already in the cellars? She thought no more of it, though, as she realised Makennon was about to leave, and in her current circumstances being left with Munch and his mate as they got on with it made her feel more than a little concerned.