God of Clocks

trapped in the upheld building, still fifty feet above the ground. She hoped they would have the sense to stay there.

“You do it,” Rachel said to Mina.

She snorted. “No way. It was my idea. You do it.”

“I'm not going to scream.”

“Well, neither am I.”

The assassin looked at her. “Mina, I don't want to argue with you. It'll sound more convincing coming from you. I'm not used to-”

The thaumaturge raised her hands and walked back towards the crawl space in the rear of the jaw. She stooped to pick up Rachel's sword from the rug. “I'll be in his skull,” she said, “doing murderous things with an assassin's blade. I'll see you in a moment.” Basilis barked and ran after her.

Rachel peered out between the gaps in Dill's teeth. She could see the town defenders gathering on the opposite side of the flooded street, edging forward with their weapons ready. “Gods damn you, Mina,” she muttered.

She swallowed, and then cried out for help.

It wasn't the dramatic scream Mina had insisted on. Rachel couldn't even be sure that she sounded like someone in distress. But it was enough to give the town defenders pause.

Lying prostrate on the shore of the lake with the inn still raised before him and his chin resting upon the muddy ground, Dill must have looked defeated. Or so Rachel hoped. The defenders were bound to be suspicious. All Rachel had to do now was allay their doubts.

“In here,” she called.

She saw boots and mud-spattered breeches moving about outside the jaw, the flashing steel of spear tips and blades. She heard hoarse cries and barked orders coming from amongst the men. A face appeared between two of the arconite's teeth-a young man looking in at her along the blade of a short knife.

“Help me out,” she said. “Please.”

“Who are you?” the young soldier asked.

“A prisoner,” Rachel replied. “Please get us out before Menoa's men regain control of this monster. We can't keep the arconite disabled for long.”

He frowned at her. “How many of you are in there?”

“Two of us. Mina is in the back.” She tried to sound pathetic. It helped that she felt pathetic. “The men in that tavern forced us in here. They've been guiding Menoa's arconites since the battle at Coreollis. They even have Rys's brother hostage.”

“Did you say Rys?”

A deep voice behind the soldier intervened. “Who is it?”

“A woman,” he replied. “She's trapped in there.”

The young man moved to one side, and an older soldier peered through in his place. This man wore a beard and a metal skullcap over braided hair. “How the hell did you get in there?” he said. “What's happened to this golem?”

Rachel took a deep breath and repeated her story. The old warrior listened, but continued to eye her with obvious suspicion.

He waited until she had finished before asking, “Mercenaries? You mean the woodsmen trapped up there inside that building?”

“King Menoa paid them in gold.” She picked up a handful of the coins strewn everywhere and shoveled them through the gap. “There are whole caskets of it in here.”

The man glanced at the coins but left them where they had fallen. “He paid them to lead this brute here?”

“Eleven more are on the way,” she said. “But we know how to stop them. Please get us out; we don't have much time.”

He moved away. A third face peered in, a man of age with the first soldier. His eyes opened in surprise, and then he, too, withdrew. Rachel spied movement outside, torches flickering. She heard the first two men conversing in hushed tones. Finally the old soldier returned to the gap. He was holding a long pole. “Get back,” he said. “We're going to have to force it apart.”

She watched as the man inserted the pole between Dill's teeth and pushed down at one end. On cue, Dill opened his jaw.

“Thank you.” Rachel started to climb out.

“Hold it there,” the old soldier said. “There's not one thing about you I trust yet. Get back from its mouth.” He waited until she had retreated, and then he climbed into the jaw beside her.

He was a short, stout man with powerful shoulders and arms, and eyes as brown as his bulky leather armour. His nose had been broken at some point in the past and reset crookedly. Framed by his steel cap, it looked unnaturally large and ugly. In the scabbard at his belt he carried a short sword, and on a loop around his shoulders hung an enormous hammer. He peered around the gloomy bone chamber for a long moment before returning his attention to her. “More of these are coming, you say?”

She nodded.

“We spotted two of them near Harwood a short while ago.” His gaze traveled the length of the dim chamber, pausing on the piles of caskets and the scattered coins. “And we've heard no word today from the watchtowers on Wycke Road and Boulder. No birds sent, nothing. Now you'd better explain to me why Menoa's giants are heading this way. Those woodsmen and their women in the tavern are crying out for assistance, too. They claim they're the prisoners.”

“Lies,” Rachel said. “The arconite has been protecting them all the way from Coreollis.”

“So you say,” he muttered with a complete lack of conviction. His brown eyes stared at her intently. “Some of those woodsmen are familiar to us. Oran Garstone is well known to me. You're still alive only because I know exactly what sort of a man he is.” He paused. “But don't think that makes us friends. You aren't yet known to me at all, and I'm too good at smelling a lie to believe much of what you've already told me.”

“We're from Deepgate,” she said. “Ulcis's city. Cospinol brought us here to fight with Rys at Coreollis. We slaughtered the Mesmerists, but then Menoa released his arconites. Rys ordered us-”

“Your friend is inside now?”

“She's back through there.” Rachel pointed to the crawl space at the rear of the jaw. “We found a way to disable the arconite. Let me show you.” She beckoned him towards the crawl space.

The soldier grunted. “If I climb through there, am I going to find her with a blade poised at this giant's brain?”

Rachel said nothing. That was eerily close to what he would find. Mina would be standing over some critical link in the machinery, apparently ready to strike down the evil arconite if it failed to obey her commands. “What's your name?” Rachel asked.

“The men call me Iron Head.”

“You run this town?”

“Burntwater, it's called. I captain the town militia here.”

“Rachel,” she offered. “The woman in the back with the knife is Mina.”

A sudden verbal row broke out between the Burntwater militia and two of Oran's men trapped in the uplifted tavern. Insults flew both ways. Oran's men kicked clods of soil down upon the soldiers below. One of Iron Head's men laughed derisively.

The captain yelled for order and then turned back. “So what's the truth, Miss Hael? Why did you kill two of my lookouts and yet allow the third lad to escape? Why come to Burntwater at all? What was the reason for that ridiculous boat-throwing charade? And how did you come to be traveling with my brother in the first place?”

“Your brother?”

“Oran is my brother.”

Rachel sighed. If Iron Head was willing to listen, she saw no reason now to continue the charade. “Can I get out of here now?”

He offered her his hand, and helped her out.