Clocks and Daggers (The Thief's Apprentice Book 2) Page 17

  Her eyes glanced to the side hesitantly, then she pointed to the fence line.

  Arhyen nodded, and they changed course to go in that direction. He felt he’d regret not seeing her before leaving, at the very least to assure himself she was dead.

  He had to release Liliana’s shoulders so they could both climb over the low fence, though he nearly lost his footing in doing so. He really needed a place to lie down. Liliana stopped to retrieve something from the ground. His satchel. For some reason it made him smile that she had used it, but that smile was short-lived.

  They came upon a dark lump surrounded by tramped down grass. He knelt, taking in his sister’s face, and the gaping wound in her neck. The rain had washed away most of the blood, making her look like a ghostly mannequin.

  She’d wanted to make Arhyen like her, something more than human. To replace his organs with better-functioning ones, and to alter his thoughts and instincts. Fortunately, the surgeon hadn’t made his way up to his brain, or at least, he didn’t think so. He’d been unconscious off and on, but when he’d woken that evening with no guard in the room, he’d failed to find any incisions on his scalp.

  If the current situation felt like a dream, that had felt like a total nightmare. He’d barely been able to climb off the bed he’d been left to rest on, but the sounds of struggle and pistol fire set him into action. After stumbling into the hall, he’d searched a few rooms before finding a stray pistol. Normally, the place was crawling with guards, but they’d all apparently rushed off toward the commotion.

  The next room he’d checked had held that male guard and the female. Rage rushing through him at the indignities he’d suffered, he hadn’t even thought twice about shooting the man. He had almost even shot Liliana before realizing it was her, and not another guard.

  “I’m sorry!” Liliana called over the sound of the increasing rain, startling him back into the present. She was still staring down at Hazel’s corpse. “She left me little choice!”

  Nodding to himself, he swiped a palm over Hazel’s eyes, closing them. It was better that she was dead. She’d turned herself into a monster.

  He stood and braced his arm around Liliana’s shoulders. She seemed to relax at his touch, or maybe she was just as bone tired as he was and her body was giving out on her.

  Together they stumbled away from his sister into the night.

  They made it to a narrow dirt road, turned to hard-packed mud by the rain, then turned left to start walking north, further away from London by Arhyen’s estimation. He wasn’t sure when they’d be able to return to the city, or if they even should at all. He would now be considered an escaped convict, though technically, he’d been kidnapped, and there would still be that bounty on his head. Not to mention the likelihood more members of Hazel’s group would be around. Things were far from over.

  They would all have to be problems for tomorrow. That night, the only remaining goal was shelter and rest . . . and an explanation from Liliana on how she’d ended up at that farmhouse with Hamlet.

  They continued walking until Arhyen’s legs could take no more. Fortunately, right then, they came upon an abandoned barn, or at least, an unoccupied one. There really was no saying if the owners might soon return. The building was small, likely only a ground floor with a storage loft, but the roof seemed sound, and the walls would protect them from the icy wind.

  Removing his arm from Liliana’s shoulders, he used his last bit of remaining strength to tug one side of the double doors open a crack. He peeked inside to find nothing but bales of hay and a few farm tools.

  Relief flooding through him, he opened the door a bit wider then stepped inside, followed by Liliana, who graciously tugged the door shut.

  He stumbled forward and collapsed on top of a loose pile of straw, not caring if livestock had previously lain there. He considered shucking his wet coat, but didn’t want to make Liliana uncomfortable since all he had underneath was a long night shirt, now also drenched.

  Liliana sat down beside him, curling her trouser-clad legs underneath her. She didn’t seem to mind her wet clothing, but he also knew she didn’t feel the cold as keenly as he. He wondered if anyone would notice a small fire burning within the barn.

  “Do you think they’ll be able to find us here?” Liliana whispered, glancing warily around the barn.

  “I think most of them are dead,” he whispered back tiredly. He sat up and hunched forward instead of leaning back on his arms. He desperately needed rest, but he also needed to know if she was alright. She was glancing about the empty barn once more. “Liliana,” he said softly, drawing her gaze back toward him. “Please tell me how on earth you ended up at that farmhouse tonight. With Hamlet no less.”

  Liliana’s face crinkled with worry at the mention of Hamlet’s name, but she explained, “I went back to that building near Tailor Street, the one where those men shot at us. It was the only thing I could think to do after you’d been arrested. I was attacked, but Hamlet saved me. Shortly after, we happened upon Catherine. She told us about Hazel and the farmhouse.”

  “My mother?” Arhyen balked. “She sent you out here?” He honestly could not believe his mother was the reason he’d been saved.

  Liliana cringed. “Well, she was quite frightened of Hamlet.”

  Ah, now that made more sense. Catherine hadn’t been trying to bring down the bad guys. She’d just been trying to save her own neck.

  “Hamlet put her someplace safe,” she continued, “then we swam across the Thames to reach the village. Oh,” she blurted, as if remembering something else, “I forgot to mention the Captain of the Watch is involved in all this. Hazel’s group was working to cure his terminal illness like they did for Catherine. In exchange, he was protecting them. He sent them after me once I burned down that building.”

  “You burned down a building?” he interrupted. This story was growing more insane by the moment.

  She seemed to blush, though it was difficult to tell with the lack of light in the barn. “I created a few explosives before journeying to Tailor Street,” she explained sheepishly. “I used them in my attempt to escape after being discovered within the building, and it caught fire. After that, the Captain ordered my arrest. One of the men must have identified me.”

  “So we’re both fugitives now?” he asked, guiltily, but at the same time, feeling a bit better. If they could not return to London, it would not only be just because of him. Perhaps they could run off and start new lives together, far away from the LN and corrupt Captains.

  She nodded. “Yes, we’re not in an excellent position to get Ephraim out of jail . . . if he’s even still there?”

  Arhyen shrugged, then instantly regretted the motion since it strained the incisions on his body. “I assume so. I have not seen him since I was escorted out of my cell.”

  Liliana nodded, accepting the information. “Hamlet and I had hoped to find some sort of evidence that would prove your innocence. That was our entire reason for going after Hazel. I thought you were still safe in jail.”

  He tried to laugh, but regretted it even more than the shrug. “Times are dire when you’re safe in jail.”

  Liliana didn’t seem to see any humor in the statement. She turned tear-rimmed eyes to him. “If I would have known where you were, what Hazel planned, I would have come sooner. I would have rescued you before you came to any harm. ”

  The tears began to fall. Wanting desperately to stop them, Arhyen turned his body, ignoring the pain, to cradle her face in his hands. He stroked his fingers over the scratches on her cheek, regretting that she’d incurred them because of him. She looked up at him, tears running down her face, crossing over his hands and the cuts on her cheek. He lowered his face and kissed her, not knowing if it was the right moment, or if she even desired such things.

  She froze for a moment, then returned the kiss, which grew more passionate. Her hot tears continued to wet his hands, still cupped around her face.

  She pulled away with a gasp.


  “I’m sorry,” he muttered. “That was presumptuous of me.” He began to lower his hands from her face, but she caught one of them and returned it.

  Her eyes met his, but he was unable to read what she was thinking. “Do not be sorry,” she whispered. “If you were truly sorry for that, well, my heart feels like it might just burst. I feel like I felt when I first realized that I trusted you, but more. It’s frightening.”

  He lowered his hands from her face, then pulled her close to him, wrapping her in his embrace. “There are many things we need to be frightened of,” he explained softly, “but never be afraid of what you feel. At least not with me.”

  They stayed like that for a long while until Arhyen’s exhaustion forced his body back on the hay to rest.

  A bit away from the hay, Liliana made a small fire using a flint and tinder found amongst the farming tools. The smoke crept out the glass-free windows high up in the barn, near the loft. Hopefully the rain outside would douse its visibility.

  When Arhyen finally drifted off to sleep with Liliana in his arms, it was with a newly awakened sense of purpose. He had something to protect now, and nothing was going to get in his way.

  Liliana woke to the sound of gentle knocking. She sat up, blinking against the daylight streaming in through the high, open windows. Arhyen was still fast asleep at her side. The fire had mostly dried their clothes, though there was some remaining dampness where their bodies had touched, shielding their clothing from the drying effects of the flames.

  A gentle knock sounded once more. She stood quietly and crept toward the double doors, fully prepared to protect Arhyen from any intruders, although, maybe they should just hide? Glancing over her shoulder at Arhyen’s still form, she shook her head, then opened the door just a crack. Outside stood Hamlet.

  “You’re alive!” she quietly gasped, opening the door a little wider to step outside. The rain had cleared to reveal a cheerful sun, which beat pleasantly down on her face.

  Dressed in his usual black, Hamlet walked to the side of the farmhouse then over to a fencepost, and leaned against it. Liliana joined him, appreciating the distance between themselves and the building. She didn’t want to wake Arhyen any sooner than necessary.

  “Why did you disappear?” she demanded indignantly. She’d been worried about him all night. Well, except during the kissing portion of the evening, she admitted to herself.

  “The danger had passed,” he explained, “and I had my own wounds to nurse. I only came now to inform you that I have destroyed the farmhouse. There was nothing there that could have proven our case, and I did not want the Watch to place any more murders on Mr. Croft’s shoulders.”

  Liliana nodded. Perhaps if they’d captured Hazel alive, they would have stood a chance, but a bunch of dead bodies wouldn’t do much to prove their innocence. Quite the contrary, really.

  “I’d also like to make it quite clear that you and Mr. Croft are not to flee London,” he continued, gazing up at the bright blue sky. “Our business is far from over.”

  Liliana frowned, her thoughts drifting to the ever-present threat of the LN. “I suppose that’s fair,” she agreed. “The case is far from solved, and we still need to rescue Ephraim regardless.”

  Hamlet nodded, then looked down at her, his mask concealing his expression. “Mr. Croft will also need his wounds tended. Judging by the surgeon’s notes, it seems we were too late to stop certain things from being altered. His body may reject the operations, and the surgeons employed by the LN are likely the only ones who will be able to help, since this group was originally part of our organization. It was LN research they were using.”

  “We had assumed as much,” she replied thoughtfully. “Another group like Viola’s.”

  “The same group, actually,” Hamlet explained. “Ms. Walmsley was just as involved in these experiments as she was in hunting down Fairfax Breckinridge’s research. As far as I know, she never underwent any of the surgeries. If she and her men had, we’d all likely be dead right now. I daresay, this is far more dangerous than synthetic emotions.”

  Liliana was about to ask him more, when the barn door creaked open. She turned her head in that direction. She and Hamlet were out of view near the side of the building, but she knew Arhyen was probably coming out to search for her.

  “Liliana,” Hamlet said, his voice suddenly closer.

  She whirled around and stared up at him, suddenly nervous. “Yes?”

  “Thank you for caring if I died. I’ll see you soon.” He turned and fled toward the back of the building.

  “Liliana?” Arhyen called out.

  “Over here!” she replied, still watching the spot where Hamlet had gone out of sight.

  Footsteps crunched on the rocky soil, then Arhyen was standing beside her. Well, hunching beside her, to be more precise, with his hands in the pockets of his long coat. She looked him up and down, worried over what Hamlet had said about possible health complications.

  “Let’s scrounge up some food,” he said happily. He looked down at his long coat and bare legs. “And some clothes,” he added.

  As they turned to walk toward the front of the barn, he removed one hand from his coat and enveloped her hand. His flesh, warm and real against her palm, made her troubles suddenly seem distant. Something to be dealt with tomorrow, or perhaps the day after.

  Chapter 18

  “I’ll be glad to be off boiled potatoes soon,” Arhyen grumbled, chewing another flavorless, starchy bite.

  They’d been camped out in the abandoned barn on the outskirts of the village for three nights now while he recovered. They would be leaving shortly to sneak back into London.

  He sighed, then took another bite while Liliana chuckled at him. Truly, he would have camped in the barn with her for another week, potatoes not withstanding. Unfortunately, there was still the matter of Ephraim being in jail that needed to be remedied, and a corrupt Captain of the Watch, according to Liliana, though he didn’t necessarily trust information provided by Hamlet.

  Thinking of Hamlet, his mood sank. Liliana was at least safe with Arhyen now, eating her potatoes like she wasn’t bothered by their sole source of nutrition. She’d washed any remaining blood from her clothes, and the scratches on her face had healed, but he had a feeling her time with Hamlet had scarred her spirit more than anything. The automaton should never have brought her to the farmhouse, even if it was the only reason he’d been rescued.

  He took another bite of potato, then brushed a stray fleck from his brown wool trousers, procured by Liliana, likely from a burly farmer, given the fit, in addition to a tan shirt and brown coat too large for his frame. That Liliana needed to steal him clothes, and not the other way around, grated on him. He didn’t like feeling helpless.

  Unfortunately, the feeling went beyond his healing wounds. He had no idea how they were going to help Ephraim, or reveal the Captain’s corruption to the public. Then there was still the matter of the LN. He had a feeling Hamlet had contacted Liliana at some point during their stay in the barn, as she’d stopped outwardly worrying about his safety. Yet, she had not mentioned it to him. He feared the automaton was manipulating her in some way. To bring her willingly into the LN? The thought irked him more than anything else. His own involvement was one thing. He, and Ephraim too for that matter, lived their lives in a way that asked for trouble, so it was their own fault they were now caught up in it. Liliana had done nothing wrong to deserve her trials.

  Really, he should probably urge her to leave the country where she might be safe, while he went back into London to rescue Ephraim, but he could not bring himself to do so. His thoughts lingered on their kiss and he shook his head. No, he could not force her away. She was the first true friend he’d even known, perhaps more than a friend now.

  Of course, he might die from the operations he’d undergone, ending up like most of the other victims and it would all be moot.

  “Explain to me again how we will enter the city?” she said finally, now fi
nished with her starchy breakfast. It was clear by her tone that she was skeptical, at best, of their chances of making it back into the city unhindered. They were both fugitives, after all.

  “We’ll catch a boat further up the Thames,” he explained. “I’ll end up owing a few favors, but I know someone who should be willing to help us out. People sneak into the city all of the time.”

  “Then what will we do?” she questioned.

  He sighed. “We’ll find a place to lie low for a while, then we’ll devise a plan for helping Ephraim.”

  Liliana stood, then moved to sit beside him, leaning her shoulder against his. “We’ll need to have someone examine your . . . injuries.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve survived this long. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

  She set down her bowl with a huff. This wasn’t the first time they’d had this conversation. She was unnecessarily worried about the operations he’d undergone, and wanted him looked at by a professional.

  “Hamlet said the LN surgeons will be able to help you,” she blurted.

  His eyes wide, he turned to her in shock. “So you did meet with him after we escaped?”

  Her eyes widened in turn. “Y-you knew?”

  He shook his head. “I suspected. The night we arrived here,” he gestured absentmindedly at the barn walls surrounding them, “you were fraught with worry over his well-being, yet after that, you never mentioned him again. The only reason I could divine was that he’d covertly met with you.”

  She stared at her lap in shame. “I should have told you. I just didn’t want you to worry.”

  He set down his bowl and put an arm around her. “I was worried regardless.” He thought about the deal Hamlet had offered, that he would help protect Liliana as long as Arhyen cooperated with his demands. Was that what Hamlet was trying to do, or was there more to it? “I don’t think you should trust what he tells you,” he added.

  Liliana turned her gaze up to him. “But why? He helped save you.”

  Arhyen pursed his lips, hating the idea that he was only alive because of Hamlet. He owed the automaton more now than ever. “He’s still part of the LN,” he explained, “which we still know little about. We have no idea what their actual goals are, if they want to save London from the technology they’re collecting, or if they’re just waiting for the right moment to use it for their own gain.”