God of Clocks

someone else's hand in this.

Menoa?

She shook the Locator roughly. “When did he get to you?” she cried. “Did Menoa order you to do this? Don't lie to me!”

The little device wailed.

Abruptly Harper stopped shaking it. With trembling hands she pressed the Locator against her cheek, feeling its warmth against her cold dead skin. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to hurt you.” She stroked the device, then sniffed. She stared down at the glyph again. Could Tom really be somewhere nearby?

She went over to the porthole and looked out.

Cospinol's fog had vanished. Down here there was no natural sun to injure the god or his vessel, and the skies outside burned like smouldering coals. The Maze below stretched to the limits of her vision, glistening black and red.

Harper clutched the Locator in one hand and with her other hand dragged her cold fingers across the porthole. She left neither fingerprints nor smudges on the glass. Her keen eyes, long accustomed to searching for Iolites and other transparent spies in the skies of Hell, detected something odd-vague movements, like very faint shadows flitting across the heavens.

She took the trio of spirit lenses from her bunk, shuffled through them, and lifted the darkest one up to her eyes. Seen through the tinted glass, the crimson sky became green. The vague shapes she had seen earlier suddenly clarified and became immediately recognizable.

“Shit,” she said.

4

THE WOODSMEN

Shadow people crouched over her. She saw white eyes and teeth in the darkness. She feared she must be in a Spine dungeon in Deepgate's temple, because she could smell blood and she was hurting, and that meant there must be priests nearby to bless and sanction her torture.

She passed out.

When Rachel woke again, she was lying on her back on a narrow camp bed, her neck propped upon a soft pillow. Her arms and legs felt as heavy as the lumber joists in the ceiling above her. A sudden sharp pain in her head made her cry out. Gazing up at the wooden ceiling, she realized that she must now be aboard the Rotsward, for the whole room seemed to loll drunkenly backwards and forwards before it settled again.

“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-