Under Clock and Key (The Thief's Apprentice Book 3) Read online

  She pursed her lips and set her tea on the table. “We know, yet we’re still here.”

  “So something else then,” he continued. “Perhaps they want to further observe his new . . . parts.”

  “So they could be experimenting on him?” she gasped. Sure, she’d considered it, but she’d been under the impression Hamlet would stop that from happening . . . but Hamlet wasn’t around. He could be dead for all she knew.

  Ephraim shrugged and took another sip of his tea.

  Liliana resisted the urge to punch him for being so calm. “What do we do?” she asked instead.

  He shrugged again. “We rescue him, I suppose. We can’t just wait around for Hamlet to show up again.”

  She stood, then started searching around the room for any supplies she might need for the mission. “I’ll just grab a few things,” she muttered, “then we’ll go.”

  Still seated on the sofa, Ephraim cleared his throat.

  She paused her search long enough to turn a questioning gaze to him.

  He sighed, “You do realize it’s only noon? Perhaps we should wait until this evening.”

  “Ah,” she replied, suddenly feeling silly. She quickly resumed her seat beside him, barely able to contain her nervous energy.

  “Now tell me what you’ve uncovered about our mysterious liquid,” he instructed, gesturing to the blue-stained papers and items scattered across the low table. “If this is what made a dying man confess to his crimes and give up on his quest to cure his terminal illness, I’d like to know just what this substance is, and if it could be a danger to others.”

  Liliana shrugged, not overly interested in the blue liquid. “Perhaps the Captain confessed to clear his conscience before he died.”

  Ephraim snorted. “My dear, in a city like this, men of power have no conscience.”

  She frowned, her eyes scanning the blue-stained evidence. “In that case, I’m glad neither you nor Arhyen are men of power.”

  Seeming to take no offense, Ephraim chuckled, then slowly sipped his tea. “No, my dear,” he mused, “we most surely are not.”

  Arhyen’s gaze traced the water stains on the ceiling above him. He shifted on his makeshift bed uncomfortably. His hands were sore from pounding on the door, as was his mind. Would he simply have to wait for someone to rescue him again? It had been humiliating enough to need rescue from his own deranged sister, but now, just weeks later, he found himself in a similar predicament. At least he wasn’t being operated on this time . . . yet. He had no illusions on the London Network’s capabilities to execute unspeakable horrors.

  He sat up with a jolt as the metal door to his small room swung inward. In walked a man with neatly trimmed gray hair and a heavy gray moustache. His lightly lined face was void of expression, just as prim and proper as his uniform, which Arhyen recognized as belonging to the Queen’s Guard.

  What on earth was a member of the Queen’s Guard doing in a LN facility? Unless, he was an imposter, but then that begged the question, why would a member of the LN be posing as a member of the Queen’s Guard?

  The man eyed Arhyen cooly as he strode into the room, followed by two men in unremarkable black clothing and heavy military boots. The door swung shut behind them.

  Arhyen jumped up from his bed, covering as much of himself as possible in the surgical gown.

  “Mr. Croft,” announced the gray-haired man, clearly the leader of the group. “My name is Sir Thaddeus Wakefield, Captain of the Queen’s Guard.”

  Arhyen’s eyes narrowed. Clearly an imposter, then. There was no way the Captain of the Queen’s Guard would step down from his high horse to talk to a lowly thief in a surgical gown.

  The alleged Thaddeus Wakefield turned his cool gaze to one of the black-clad men who hopped to attention, hustling across the small room to retrieve a chair for the Captain.

  Offering no further acknowledgment to the man who retrieved the small wooden chair, Wakefield sat, then gestured for Arhyen to do the same, though the only place he had to sit was his bed.

  Arhyen shook his head defiantly, clasping his hands behind his back. He was no child and would not be lectured as if he were. It felt nice being strong enough now to keep his footing, and to not have his infected incisions stretching uncomfortably with the smallest movements, but those positives were distant thoughts.

  “Who are you really, and what do you want?” he demanded.

  Wakefield glowered. “I’ve already told you who I am, and I want information on Codename Hamlet. It was he who arranged for you to be brought here, was it not?”

  Arhyen glowered right back at him. “Yes, but only under pain of death. And why would you need information on your own operative?” he added, unable to restrain his curiosity.

  “He’s missing,” Wakefield admitted. “As you seem to have become quite . . . interactive with him, you know the dangers he might pose.”

  Arhyen snorted, then finally lowered himself to the bed before his feet betrayed him. “And why should I care about the London Network’s problems?”

  Wakefield smiled bitterly. “Well, it would seem you are now indebted to us. Our operative reclaimed you from our fugitive members, and even brought you here for care.”

  “The same operative you cannot find,” Arhyen stated bluntly.

  Wakefield inclined his head. “Indeed. The same operative that must be found, before we will consider your release.”

  Arhyen’s jaw dropped. So that’s why they were keeping him? They hoped he could somehow instigate Hamlet’s return? “Well I can’t very well find him if I’m locked in here,” he persuaded. “If you want my help, you’ll have to let me go.”

  Wakefield sneered. “No, I think not. Codename Hamlet has grown . . . unruly. He has been disobeying orders, slaughtering innocent people. Yet you are somehow important to him. He requested we save you when you should have been disposed of along with the other evidence. We believe he is protecting others, involving himself in things he does not understand. All we need from you are names. If these names lead us to Hamlet, you shall be released.”

  Arhyen wiped the sickly sweat from his brow. He knew it had been a bad idea to come here, even if it was the only reason he was currently alive. “Why should I trust a single thing you say? If I give you the names, then you’ll no longer have a reason to keep me alive.”

  Wakefield’s moustache bristled as he stood, clearly offended. “Mr. Croft, I am the Captain of the Queen’s Guard. I am a man of my word.”

  Arhyen rolled his eyes. “And why would the Captain of the Queen’s Guard be working for the London Network?”

  Wakefield scoffed. “My boy, it is called the London Network. Who do you believe runs this entire operation?”

  Arhyen let out an abrupt laugh at the absurd notion, then the idea slowly sunk in. The London Network had been somehow managing not to draw the attention of the Watch nor the Guard for years. They seemed to have unlimited power and information. They allegedly owned buildings all over the city, yet no one seemed to know how these facilities were obtained, nor how they avoided notice. One of the few people that might have enough power to run such a massive operation was . . . the Queen. Ye gods.

  “I see you now understand the gravity of this situation,” Wakefield observed, lacing his arms behind his back. His minions stood behind him silently, obviously unsurprised by the news that had caused Arhyen such a shock. “I will let you think upon this,” Wakefield continued. “Let one of my associates know when you are ready to talk.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and marched out of the room, followed by his men in black.

  Arhyen watched on in stunned silence as the door shut behind them. The London Network was run by . . . the Queen? He had to tell Ephraim and Liliana. They had gotten themselves into a mess they couldn’t possibly comprehend. He had to—he stared at the sealed door—he had to do bloody nothing. He was stuck in this tiny room, and there was no way he’d be giving them Ephraim and Liliana’s names now. He still couldn’t even
believe that Hamlet had somehow protected their identities in the first place. What was it all for?

  He slumped back onto his bed and stared once again at the water-stained ceiling. His best hope was to trust that Hamlet had some sort of plan in bringing him there, and that really wasn’t a hope at all. If his life depended on Hamlet’s reappearance, he was easily as good as dead.

  Chapter 2

  Liliana’s warm breath fogged the cool night air. She wore what she thought of as her stealthy ensemble, made up of black women’s equestrian trousers, a blouse, and soft soled boots. Her hair was twisted into its customary bun, tucked beneath a black bowler cap.

  She waited in the narrow alley between two buildings, hidden from the street by wooden crates and other refuse. The building where Hamlet had taken Arhyen was only two blocks away, but she’d promised Ephraim she’d wait for him before going in.

  A slight scuffle caught her ear, like the sound of a loafer lightly hissing across the asphalt.

  “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” a cultured voice inquired, his speech oddly broken.

  Liliana stuffed her heart back down her throat, then turned her head to see Hamlet standing beside her, his white mask partially hidden in eerie shadows beneath his low top hat.

  When she did not speak, he continued, “It would seem you’re considering seeking out Mr. Croft, when you had previously assured me you would not.”

  “It’s been two weeks,” she breathed. “I must know that he’s alright.”

  Hamlet turned his gaze past her toward the open street beyond, as if drawn by movement, but seconds later he simply returned his gaze to her without comment. When she offered no further explanation, he replied, “I assure you he is alive and well.”

  “Then why has he not been returned to us?” she demanded. “Is it because of what he knows? What if they never release him?”

  He snickered. “Which question would you like me to answer first?”

  “The first one,” she replied instantly, realizing she’d been blabbering.

  “He has not been returned because the LN is searching for me,” he explained. “And you.”

  She frowned. “Well, I’m not difficult to find. They already know everything about me.”

  Hamlet snickered again. “No I know everything about you. They do not even know if you still live, nor do they realize you are Mr. Croft’s associate.”

  She shook her head, growing impatient as Ephraim would likely arrive soon, and Hamlet tended to disappear whenever she wasn’t alone. “You lied before then. You said the LN wanted me.”

  He inclined his head. “That was no lie, and they still do, but fortunately I found you first, and I will not let them have you. Neither will Mr. Croft, judging by the fact that they have not apprehended you or Mr. Godwin.”

  “You mean he’s refusing to tell them about us?” she asked, but before he could answer, she went on, “That’s why you didn’t let Ephraim and I walk you all the way to the building. We’ve only interacted with one of the LN’s splinter groups. The actual organization doesn’t know we’re all working together.”

  “You’re quite astute,” he observed. “I really don’t know why you ask questions at all.”

  “It helps me think,” she answered honestly, “and even if I’m observant, some things I cannot divine without assistance.”

  Footsteps sounded on the empty street beyond the alleyway.

  Before she could think better of it, her hand darted to Hamlet’s wrist, grasping tightly, hoping to prevent his usual quick escape.

  The pale eyes behind his mask widened, but he did not pull away. “I wasn’t leaving,” he explained, a hint of amusement in his voice.

  She slowly retracted her hand. “Oh, I thought-”

  He turned his gaze toward the open street, interrupting her words.

  “Liliana,” a voice hissed.

  “Over here, Mr. Godwin,” Hamlet announced.

  Seeming to recognize Hamlet’s voice, Ephraim muttered several choice expletives under his breath, then squeezed himself into the alleyway, weaving around the stacked crates and refuse piles.

  Hamlet leaned close to her ear. “I’m not leaving you until I have your vow that you will not go after Mr. Croft,” he whispered to her as Ephraim approached, still muttering under his breath.

  She turned and narrowed her gaze at him, fighting the fear that hid in her stomach whenever she was near Hamlet. “You will not have it.”

  “To go after him now would endanger us all,” he assured more loudly as Ephraim reached them.

  “And why is that?” Ephraim enquired, having heard Hamlet’s last statement. “And what are you doing here?”

  “Preventing you from ruining everything,” Hamlet replied. “As I’ve just finished explaining to Ms. Breckinridge, the London Network knows less about either of you than I have let on. To reveal yourselves now would not only endanger your lives, but Mr. Croft’s. They have neglected to release him due to my disappearance. They are hoping that he will lead them to each of you, and perhaps others, and you will in turn lead them to me.”

  “So you’re saying they’re holding Arhyen because they want you,” Ephraim stated bluntly, readjusting his fedora. “I believe the answer to our problems is for us to turn you in to them.”

  Hamlet chuckled. “And you believe you will be left alive afterward without me to protect you?”

  Ephraim glared daggers at Hamlet, apparently not appreciating the implication that he needed protection.

  “Well if you’re so all-powerful,” Ephraim replied, “then why don’t you rescue Arhyen right this moment? It shouldn’t be a difficult task for you.”

  Hamlet sighed. “Getting in would not be difficult. Escaping without Mr. Croft coming to harm is another matter.”

  “Then how did you plan on returning him to us?” Ephraim demanded before Liliana could.

  Her head was beginning to spin. Had Hamlet known the LN would hold Arhyen prisoner all along, and if so, why did he bring him to their facility?

  “He will be returned, I assure you,” Hamlet replied. “I have a plan. I only ask for three more days.”

  “And what is your plan?” Ephraim asked, not missing a beat.

  Hamlet took a step back.

  Liliana wondered if he was trying to place himself out of her reach.

  “That will be revealed in time,” Hamlet explained. “For now, I assure you that going into that building tonight will only result in death for both you and Mr. Croft, and possibly worse for Ms. Breckinridge.”

  He took another step back into the shadows, and Liliana knew just what he was going to do before he did it. Almost too fast for the eye to see, he turned tail and ran.

  She turned her worried gaze to Ephraim, quite sure they would not be seeing Hamlet again until whatever plan he’d concocted was at hand.

  “Let’s get you home,” he sighed.

  “But-” she began, not sure what argument she would make. Arhyen was so close, but according to Hamlet, if she attempted to rescue him, she would only be endangering his life. She couldn’t risk it.

  Fighting back tears, she nodded and led the way out of the alley. Ephraim followed, walking silently beside her the entire way home. In her panic to obtain information from Hamlet, she’d entirely forgotten about the mystery of the Captain of the Watch, in which Hamlet was deeply involved. He probably knew exactly what the blue liquid was, and now she and Ephraim would be left to try and figure it out on their own.

  Fortunately, Ephraim was at least gracious enough to not mention her mistake, if it was even currently on his thoughts at all.

  Arhyen had gone the entire night without seeing a soul. Apparently Wakefield’s departure had signaled the start of his solitary confinement. He hadn’t even been given an evening meal . . . not that he had much appetite.

  He paced around the confines of his small room, going over everything Wakefield had told him. Even if Wakefield was the Captain of the Queen’s Guard, Arhyen wasn�
��t about to tell him about Liliana. It was almost a relief that the LN seemed to lack information he’d assumed they already possessed. Had Hamlet really protected them? If so, for what purpose? He couldn’t help but think that it was some elaborate scheme that would end in all of their deaths.

  The door’s exterior lock slid open with a loud clank, drawing his attention seconds before the door swung inward, admitting Wakefield and two black-clad cronies, different men than before.

  Wakefield smoothed an aged hand over his gray hair as he entered, though not a strand stood out of place. Arhyen hated to think what his shaggy brown hair might look like at this point. The small adjoining bathroom didn’t have a mirror, likely a preventative to him obtaining any sharp objects.

  Arhyen remained standing as the chair was moved across the room, then waited silently as Wakefield took his seat. Then, he waited some more.

  Wakefield observed his fingernails as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. His cronies waited silently behind him, gazes trained on the opposite wall above Arhyen’s bed.

  Arhyen crossed his arms, refusing to be the first to speak.

  Finally, Wakefield lowered his hand and met Arhyen’s gaze. “Have you considered my offer?”

  Arhyen remained silent.

  Wakefield snorted. “I see you are a fool after all.”

  Arhyen smirked. “I would be a fool to believe you will just let me walk out of here with what I know. Automatons created to be weapons, humans experimented on to become more like the aforementioned automatons.” He stopped himself before he could mention the synthetic emotions created by Fairfax Breckinridge. They likely weren’t aware he knew about that, and such information might lead them to search for Liliana.

  “The group who kidnapped you was no longer part of the London Network,” Wakefield corrected gruffly. “We do not condone human experimentation.”

  Arhyen saw no purpose to pointing out the lie. Just because Hazel had branched off to continue experiments on her own, did not mean the technology hadn’t originated within the London Network. Someone had turned Hazel into what she was long before she went into business for herself.