Clockwork Twist : Waking (22 page)

“Sure,” Twist managed to say without letting his voice betray him.  Jonas's hand slipped off of him when they both turned to walk towards the trap door.

“Oh, but be careful,” Jonas said suddenly, drifting closer as they walked, and laying an arm across Twist shoulders that halted both of their steps. “Cybele is really touchy about her cooking.  It's not bad, but she'd better think that you absolutely love it,” he said gravely, looking at Twist with cool blue eyes that flashed gently to a dusty green.

“Oh?” was all that Twist could muster as he began to notice the subtle pulsing of Jonas's heart, so very near to him.  Despite his best efforts, his voice came out a bit too high.

“I mean it,” Jonas said, pulling away almost instantly and leading him on again. “Don't forget to mention that it’s good, or she might take offense and throw a pot at you.  Or a knife,” he added, more gravely still.

“Got it,” Twist nodded, his voice back under control now that Jonas wasn't wrapped around him any longer.

One deck below, near the back of the ship, Jonas and Twist found most of the others gathered together around a long wooden table that was covered with food.  There was roast chicken with chestnuts, baked haddock in celery sauce, apple fritters, julienne vegetable soup, mashed potatoes, braised turnips, and strawberries with whipped cream.

Each place at the table was set in a dignified manner: cutlery was placed to each side, there were both water and wine glasses, and a white cloth napkin was placed on each plate in a tin holder.  A vase of colorful flowers sat at the center of the table, while a gold and crystal chandelier hung overhead, glowing brightly with gas-light.

“Ah, Mr. Twist,” Quay said brightly, a jug of dark red wine in one hand and a glass in the other, “I was just about to send someone to fetch you.  The meal is almost ready.  Please, have a seat.  We can't start without you, you know.”

Twist stepped closer and found an empty seat beside Idris, who was busy spreading butter on a piece of bread.  Twist couldn't help but stare.  It seemed entirely strange for a magical djinn to eat bread and butter, though he couldn't exactly decide why.

“This is all British food,” Jonas said, looking over the offerings as he sat at Twist's other side. “Where did you get it all?”

“You can get anything in Hong Kong,” Quay said, coming around the table to fill Twist's and Jonas's glasses as well. “I thought Twist might like a little taste of home.”

“This was all made because of me?” Twist asked, wide eyed.  The scents wafting up from the warm food before him were all just as familiar to him as the wet, sooty, aroma of London's cobblestone streets.

Quay smiled down at him through the black tattooed lines on his face. “Of course.  To celebrate our new found friendship.”

“I love new people,” Vane said, smiling widely at the roast chicken.

“I hate new people,” Cybele grumbled, walking to the table from another room with a large, glass, trifle bowl full of layer upon layer of cake, cream, fruit, and nuts. “It's always so much blasted work.”

“But you do a fabulous job of it all,” Quay said, beaming at her.

“Oh, I simply love trifle,” Idris said excitedly to Twist, under his breath.

Twist did his best not to dwell on the absurdity of his dinner companions, and instead tried to just enjoy the familiar tastes.  Everything was perfectly as he expected it to be, and much of it was exceedingly delicious.  Once everyone had eaten their fill of the tasty meal—and showered Cybele in complements throughout—the plates were all cleared away so that the trifle could be served, along with cups of steaming hot, black coffee and cream.

As Twist sipped at his coffee—which was darker and richer than any he'd had before, with light notes of chocolate and cinnamon—he felt himself relax more deeply than he had since he'd left London.  He hadn't thought of food very often on his journey, but the simple pleasure of comfortable and understandable tasty treats filled him up more completely than the food itself ever could.

“Cybele, my dear, you are a master,” Quay said, finally tossing his napkin onto his now empty trifle bowl.

“This cream needs more sugar,” she muttered in response, poking at her own bowl with her spoon.

“It does not, I assure you,” Idris said as he scraped up the very last bits of cream from his bowl with a pure white finger. “Most people make trifle too sweet.  But you, Cybele, understand the true nature of the animal.”

“Yeah?” she asked back skeptically.  Her eyes moved to Twist. “What do you think?  You're a limey.”

“It's very nice,” Twist said instantly. “If I had a larger stomach, I'd ask for more.”

“Heathen,” Cybele muttered, but Twist saw the shadow of a grin on her lips.

“Well,” Vane said with some finality. “I'm going for a walk under the moon.  Care to join me?” he asked the forever silent Jiran.  She nodded vaguely and they both rose to leave.

“Who's cleaning up, then?” Cybele asked the room.

“I did it last time,” Quay said.

“And I did it before that,” Vane offered before walking away to the stairs with Jiran.

“Idris, I wish the dishes were clean,” Cybele said the djinn.

Idris put on an unamused face.

“Come on, I made your trifle for ya,” Cybele said, glaring at him.

“Fine, whatever,” Idris said flatly.  He waved one hand out over the table and then snapped his fingers.  The dishes and cutlery all vanished into wafts of whispering purple smoke.  Idris then pointed a finger at Cybele. “But only because of the trifle,” he said before he stood and walked out of the room.

As the others each got up and left the table, Twist began to feel the full weight of the day pressing down on his slight shoulders.  When Jonas got to his feet as well, giving himself a light stretch, Twist moved to follow him.

“Mr. Twist,” Quay said, standing as well, “could I have a word before you go?”

“A word?” Twist echoed.

“I have something I'd like to show you, is all,” Quay said, smiling gently.

“I'll find you later,” Jonas said, giving Twist's shoulder a pat.  Twist turned at his touch instantly to see nothing nervous or warning in Jonas's eyes.

“All right,” he said, nodding.

“This way, please,” Quay said pleasantly, leading Twist further towards the stern through a heavy wooden door.

The room at the very back of the ship was just as large as the dining room, but much more lavishly decorated.  There were oil paintings on the walls in gilded frames, Persian rugs strewn across the floor, golden gas lamps set about the room and burning brightly, a freestanding globe in a wrought-iron cage in one corner, and a cello made of gleaming red wood set in the other.  A large wooden desk sat near the wide bank of windows that filled the far wall.  A high-backed red velvet chair sat behind it, facing the door, and another smaller chair sat in front of it.

“I know you must be tired after all the work you did today,” Quay said, walking towards the desk. “So I won't keep you for long.”  Quay sat on the edge of the desk as Twist came to stand near him.

“How can I help you?” Twist asked, his eyes flitting over the ornate flare of the room.

“It comes to my attention,” Quay began, his voice smooth and curling lightly into his accent, “that you are not a man of this world.”  Twist looked to him sharply but said nothing. “You're from the ground.  You don't like to travel.  You've never been anywhere until now, and although you are splendidly resourceful, you don't seem to be a man of violence.”

“I'm a clock maker,” Twist said flatly.

“Quite,” Quay said, grinning. “But we are now bound for a potentially dangerous place.  And I fear that you are vastly under prepared.”

“How dangerous?” Twist asked, holding back the uncertainty in his voice.

“Magical crystal caves in Indonesia have a nasty way of being full of creatures,” Quay said lightly. “Although I have no intention of putting you in harm’s way without reason, it might not be avoidable.”

“Creatures?”

“You know,” Quay said, glancing off to his memory. “Goblins, trolls, crazy civilization hating weirdoes, basilisks, that sort of thing.  We won't know exactly until we get there.”

“Those creatures actually exist?” Twist asked slowly.

“Of course they exist,” Quay said, smiling brightly. “You'll find that everything exists if you look into enough dark holes.”

Despite his efforts, a flicker of doubt and apprehension flashed across Twist's face.

“So, I got you a gift before we left Hong Kong,” Quay said, turning around to open a long, thin, black wooden box that sat on the desk.

Twist looked around Quay to see what he thought was a sword at first, lying inside the box on a bed of deep blue velvet.  It was a black walking stick with a shining silver hilt that was ringed near the top with a thin band of deep sapphire colored glass under a slightly rounded silver cap.  A band of black leather sat just below the silver hilt, with a small switch set into the bottom edge of it.  There was also a thin silver coil around the tip of the long, slender, black cane.  The whole piece shined in the gas-light without so much as a single scratch or fingerprint anywhere on it.

“This has never been touched by any human hand, save the artist himself,” Quay said, smiling down at it proudly. “I made sure of it.  You shouldn't get any visions off of it.  Go ahead,” he said, gesturing for Twist to take it from the case.

Twist hesitated for a moment, still awed by the impressive perfection of it, but then reached out and touched the smooth, cool, almost reflective black of the walking stick's shaft.  His Sight sent ripples of information across his mind, but no emotional visions met his senses.  He closed his hand on it and lifted it out of the case, finding it to be heavier than he'd first expected.  Holding it now, he instantly understood the extra weight.  It was filled with tiny workings that took Twist a few moments to make sense of, even with the help of his Sight.

“It's balanced like a sword,” Quay said while Twist let the rest of the information sink in.  “And it's reinforced with coiled steal along the whole length.  Of course, the coil has a double purpose,” he added, meaning to continue.

Twist finally made sense of what his Sight was showing him and pressed a hidden switch at the base of the hilt.  Brilliant electric light shined to life inside the hilt, beaming out in a rich swath of blue though the sapphire glass.

“Ah, you found it,” Quay said brightly. “It also has another switch,” he began.

Twist turned the light off and then flipped the cane over to watch the tip as he hit the switch at the edge of the leather grip, under the hilt.  A tiny, white hot spark of lightning danced playfully around the shining metal wires that had only seemed decorative before.

“Well, your Sight sure is handy, isn't it?” Quay said with a smile.

“There is a small weight inside the cane that charges up an electrical battery whenever it moves along the coil,” Twist said, staring at the walking stick in wonder. “And the light itself is made by an electric current with no filament to burn out.  It's completely self-contained and self-charging.  I've never seen technology like this before.”

“Well, I'm glad I got what I paid for,” Quay said, sitting on the edge of the desk again and smiling at Twist as if fondly. “Do you like it?”

“You're giving this to me?” Twist asked.

“Yes, I am,” Quay said.

“Why?”

“You're welcome,” Quay said brightly.

“This must have been very expensive,” Twist said, looking down at it while his Sight showed him exactly how magnificently it was built.

“That’s not important,” Quay said with a casual flick of his hand. “I like spending money on my friends.  Besides, now you have a weapon with which to defend yourself should the need arise.  Do you fence at all?”

“Not … exactly,” Twist muttered, searching his memory or a moment when he'd even held a weapon in his hands before.

“Well, no matter,” Quay said. “The steel makes it strong enough to use simply for hitting things with, and the shock at the tip would give anyone a nasty bite.”

Twist put the tip of the cane down on the carpet between his feet and found that the cap at the top end of the hilt fit very comfortably in the palm of his hand, and that the height of it was just right to feel relaxing to his shoulders and wrists.  The soft fabrics and perfect tailoring of his new clothes were still subtly comfortable, even after the length of the day.  The tastes of dinner—the one that had been made especially for him—lingered on his tongue while the ship around him swayed gently on the night air.

“You are very good at this,” Twist said softly.

“What was that?” Quay asked, leaning closer.

“Thank you,” Twist said more loudly, looking up to him. “I like it very much.”