Authors: Tim Akers
"This is what she did, whether she realized it or not. She wanted you to kill me. Wanted to help you do that. Which was nice of her. And she knew enough about my plans up here to know that no mere mortal could face me. So she rebuilt you, at a very fundamental level. It helps that there was already some pattern there, traces left over from the heart Camilla gave you, and from your encounters with the Destroyer two years ago. Yes, you were an ideal vessel. She would have seen that, and the pattern she gave you would have been quite impressive."
I rolled onto my face and pushed up onto my hands and knees. Blood drooled from my busted lips. I coughed, and deep things moved wetly in my chest.
"Not impressive enough," I gasped. He laughed.
"No, not quite. But the Mother couldn't have had the full scope of it." He straightened and raised his arms. "What did the Elder say? My power seems to derive from cogwork. Well, yes and no. Mostly no."
I looked up at him, and things fell into place. This room, the trees. Living things.
"Yes, you see it. The Artificer is like the cogworker, except he realizes that what you refer to as foetal metal is actually the distillation of something that seems to flow through all living things. Maker beetles, my crows. Your flesh. And, most important to our current situation, trees." His smile was startlingly bright in the gloom. He seemed to grow larger. "I think it's a leftover from the time of the Celesteans. They were people, you know. Just people, with a very fundamentally different way of viewing the world. It's like they could see to the heart of a thing, and change it. Amazing people. I like to think that what I'm doing is just an extension of their empire. Interrupted by a period of barbarism, of course."
"You're full of shit," I spat.
"Always with the snappy comeback. What I am full of, Jacob, is cogwork. Or its essential elements, at least. I think the Celesteans weaved this material, whatever it is, into the world. They could remake the world at a touch, turn one thing into another. Turn themselves into other things. Fill their lungs with machines, or their eyes with crystals. Who knows? The possibilities seem endless. And what do we do with it?" He raised a hand to the Church on the cliffs above us. "We don't understand it. So we worship it. Typical. But yes, Camilla thought that putting me in this room would separate me from the source of my power, when in fact she was wrapping me up in the purest form of it. All I needed was a sufficiently powerful pattern to fill it with. And you, Jacob, have provided that pattern. Straight from the Mother Fehn, and before her, the Celesteans themselves."
I sat down, bloody hands in my bloody lap. I had nothing left. Nothing but anger, and the feeling that I'd been played right from the beginning of this.
"Just... go to hell, Crane," I said tiredly. "Leave the city alone."
"Oh, I couldn't possibly do that. Not after all we've been through together. Now. As for that pattern." He raised his head and breathed in, deeply. The trees around us seemed to shrink, as if the essence was being sucked out of them. When he breathed out again, it was in a primal scream that rang off the glass above and cut through my skin like a knife. I fell back and the sound filled me, vibrating against my bones, filling my lungs and my blood with a dull hum. The trees rose up and covered me, roots tapping lightly against my skin, leaves sticking to me like leeches, and then the forest was dissolving into me, the veins of the leaves and the veins of my skin becoming one. I felt Crane's horrible presence now, and behind him something older, unthinkably older. The Celesteans echoing through him, their science and their religion wrapped up into this mystery of cogwork in my blood.
And then it was over. Crane was standing above me, his hands pressed to his skull. Smiling that manic grin that had been ripped from my face.
"Very good, very good. Very... old," he said. "Very pure." He looked down at me and saluted. "Well done, Mr. Burn. Veridon will thank you, when I'm done with it."
"I don't think that's true," I whispered.
"Perhaps not. Not this Veridon, at least. But the one I'm about to build, yes. That Veridon will have no choice but to thank you." He stretched his shoulders, grew larger, more feral. "I'll see to it."
To my surprise, the Wrights stirred. To Crane's surprise, too.
"Interesting. The girl still has some control over them. Quick learner. But what would you expect from the last remnant of the Brilliant in the city of Veridon, hm? Yes, adding her to me is going to complete this cycle, and then I can get on with things." He raised his hands and the trees rose, grew, swelled, until their limbs hung over the crosswalk. The sound of their growth was loud, a creaking that reminded me of the sound of metal, torquing under stress. The trees took the barely conscious Wrights in their arms and, at Crane's command, burst them like grapes. I edged my way to the center of the platform. Crane saw and chuckled.
"No, Jacob. You've meant too much to me. I intend to preserve you, if only as an example. Call it nostalgia." He flipped a hand, and two limbs wrapped around me, gently squeezing the air out of me. I couldn't move. "You'll just need to stay here. I'll be back for you, once I've added Camilla's pattern to my own, and the Celesteans'. How about that, Jacob? Two gods in one person. Isn't that going to be grand?"
Smiling, he stepped into the swollen forest. Limbs bent to carry him, and he walked across the room like he was on a conveyor belt. The last I saw of him, he was whistling to himself, twirling the hammer like a gentleman's cane. Above, the canopy of trees pressed against the glass shell of the greenhouse. The building creaked, and then the panes splintered and burst.
A murder of crows swarmed in and followed Crane, loud and inky and black.
"W
E'RE GOING TO
make a deal, Jacob."
I had been daydreaming. Fever dreaming, maybe. There was a lot of my blood on the floor, and Crane's extraction had taken something very deep from me. I was hanging in the grip of his preternatural trees like a rag. When I looked up, it was all I could do to muster even faint surprise at seeing Veronica Bright standing on the platform, hands on hips.
"Veronica," I whispered. "Not sure I have a lot to offer."
"It's Albert, for now. Veronica handed over control shortly after Crane left. She felt it best if I had this conversation with you."
"What?"
Veronica stepped toward me. Something about the way she walked, like she was wearing brand new shoes. Awkward.
"Veronica Bright is the last of our family. But she is also all of our family. It's a very old Artificer trick, only one of many we've managed to uncover these last few years. There was a man, years ago, by the name of David Walking. One of the first Artificers. He was murdered, but he managed to transfer himself to a flock of crows. It was the first time the theory was proven, and led quite directly to the Artificers Guild being banned."
"You're an Artificer?" I asked.
"We are poor figments of Artificers, Jacob. And I say we, because when the men of our family were killed, they were able to transfer to... other hosts."
"To you, you mean."
"To Veronica, yes. And Amelie, the young girl. Mother wouldn't have any of us, so my father chose to pass on. My name's Albert. I was Veronica's brother."
"That is so. Fucking. Weird."
"Perhaps. But it is better than dying. And I'm telling you this to make it clear to you how powerful we are. How useful we could be as allies, and how dangerous as enemies."
"Buddy, I'm pretty much at the end of my rope with threats today. Are you going to cut me down or not?"
Veronica/Albert smiled and paced around the platform. That was definitely someone else in her body. Whoever was doing the walking wasn't used to the way her hips moved, didn't know where her center of gravity was. Definitely wasn't used to those pants.
"As I said. First there must be a deal." She turned on her heel, nearly stumbled, and faced me. "When this is over, the girl Camilla must come to us. Not to the Church, nor the Council. She will be lost in the wreckage of this conflict. And then we will find her. Do you understand?"
"So you can spend another generation torturing her, until the next time she gets out and tears her way through the city?" I shook my head lazily. "I don't think so."
"You're not in a position to negotiate, Jacob."
"I think I am. I think you wouldn't be here if you could do this without me. So, tell me. Why do you need me at all? If you're such a powerful crew of Artificers, why aren't you bringing Crane down on your own? Why do I have to be involved?"
Veronica/Albert thought for a while. She stood in front of me with her arms folded under her breasts, clearly uncomfortable with that. I had to laugh.
"You know what, let me talk to your sister. You're screwing this up, Albert. Besides, I don't know you from any other thug. Can she hear me?"
"No," she said.
"Then turn the body over to her. You're much too comical, trying so hard to not touch yourself. Wondering where your balls went. Let me talk to the bitch. I may not trust her, but at least I know her."
"I don't think... never mind. Fine." She went limp for a second then returned. Veronica looked at me and, once more comfortable in her body, arched an eyebrow at me. "So we have an agreement?"
"Sure thing, sweet cakes. Just get me down from here."
"He explained your role?" she asked.
"Absolutely. I'm the perfect man for the job," I said, smiling.
"You're the only man for the job. Now." she unfolded an enormous knife from her belt and set to my woody bonds. "Let's be about our business."
"That's weird, you know that. Living in your sister's body."
"He won't be there forever. Although I doubt he'll be much happier in his new house, either."
"Yeah," I said, chewing on that. "I suspect not."
I
T TOOK US
longer to get through the preternatural forest than Crane. By the time we got to the main dome, the show had already started. Veronica had her iron face back on. It kept her from talking, or asking me questions, at least. When we were almost there she produced the purge mask from an inner pouch and handed it to me. Where the hell had she gotten this? And what was I supposed to do with it? I nodded and tucked it away, then pantomimed a pistol and showed her my empty holster. She shook her head and shrugged. Great.
We made it to a balcony overlooking the main hall of the Algorithm. After the chaos I caused two years ago, Camilla's heart had been moved from the chamber upstairs into this larger, more easily protected space. It had meant a lot of retooling of the machinery, but the Wrights were usually eager for that sort of project. Now that Camilla had reclaimed her heart, though, this room hung empty. The balcony where we perched was above a sloping wall of still clockwork. Veronica crawled to the edge of the balcony and looked over, then signaled for me to come up. I crawled up on my belly and looked down.
Crane was already here, along with a lot of dead Wrights and one very angry angel. After his trick in the greenhouse, I wasn't sure the Wrights were dead, but the effect was the same. They weren't doing anything to help their mistress.
"I put you down once, Ezekiel Crane. I'll do it again," Camilla spat. She was larger, manifesting sharper wings and a kind of halo that hung in the air behind her back. Her voice reverberated through the hall. The clouds of crows that had swirled menacingly through her body were still there, more numerous. Beside her, Crane looked like a child.
"You've been taking lessons from Mr. Burn, haven't you? Making empty threats." He raised one hand, like he was conducting an orchestra. "But you're not to blame. You don't really know what forces are aligned against you."
"A bitter old man with some clever tricks. A mortal. An outcast." Camilla sneered. "I've seen a thousand like you, and I'll see a thousand more. You are one man."
"One man," Crane said. "And an army."
He lifted his hand higher, and the Wrights rose up, like puppets on their string. They didn't seem to be all there, like sleep walkers or drunks. Crane twisted his hand and they all turned to face the angel.
"You'll need better than that. I could break the meat of your army with my voice."
"Perhaps. But I don't mean to fight you with them. Just retrieve the crows you've stolen from me." His voice was getting louder, and I realized that it was coming from every mouth in the room. All those Wrights, speaking as one. "Give them back, Camilla."
"Parlor tricks!" Camilla shrieked. She lunged forward. Crane raised his voice in some wordless command.
Camilla burst, the crows fleeing her body like a flock startled from a tree. She howled, and Crane laughed. But they only went so far, still swirling around her in a tight vortex. She was holding them, if incompletely. Pain washed across Crane's face, and he began to sweat.
"Very... interesting," he said, leaning forward. "Very persistent."
Camilla stood perfectly still, her eyes closed in concentration, her mouth open. A battle of wills, bending themselves to the raw material that rippled through Crane's artificial flock of black birds. They stood close, their arms outstretched, the Wrights all around them swaying with the force of the energies channeling through them.