Clockwork Twist : Waking (3 page)

There was a knock at the door to Twist's cabin.  He slipped the watch back into his pocket and pushed his wild black hair mostly into place before he opened the door.  A woman stood outside it, her skin as dark as mahogany and her eyes as bright as silver.  Red and gold silk was wrapped around her shoulders in a hooded shawl, over a tight bodice and strong arms wrapped in black cloth all the way to her fingertips.  A long black lace skirt fell almost to the floor, where it met black boots with talon-like high heels.  Her long silver hair hung in thin braids from a single tail bound at the crown of her head.  Twist stared at her silently, fighting to hide the awe in his own eyes.

“Are you hungry?” the woman asked, her voice rich, dark, and colored with an accent unlike any Twist had ever heard.

“I suppose,” he said, unsure.

“We are having tea,” the woman said coolly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You are welcome to join us.”

“Yes, thank you,” Twist said with a nod.

He closed the door behind him as he followed the woman along the hallway and back to the stairs.  She put the hood of her red and gold shawl over her head before climbing the stairs, leaving the cloth to hang far over her face.  She took Twist out into the brilliant sunlight of the open deck, and then into the room at the stern of the ship.

It was a large, open room, rimmed with windows and richly decorated with rugs on the wood floor, paintings on the papered walls, and ornate looking items of brass, gold, and silver placed on every open surface.  A large table sat in the center of the room, its legs bolted to the floor, with a number of chairs placed around it and also bolted down.  There was an array of food and drink laid out on the table, and the rest of the crew was already seated to enjoy it.

While his guide took a seat with the others, Arabel turned to Twist with a smile and insisted that he sit beside her.  She began to pour him a cup of tea before he had time to object.

“So, Twist,” said a man with gray eyes, sitting across the table from Twist, “Where have you traveled to before?”

“I've never traveled,” Twist responded.

All of the others at the table stopped whatever they were doing to stare at him.

“Told you,” Arabel said brightly. “Isn't it wonderful?”  Twist looked at her uncertainly.

“You're serious?” Zayle asked, paused in his reach for a biscuit. “You've never been anywhere?”

Twist gave a shrug. “I like London.”

“Why?” Zayle asked, confusion rampant on his face.

“Zayle, be polite,” said the man with gray eyes. “This trip must be quite the treat for you, Twist,” he said, sipping at his tea.

“Yes, it must all be very exciting!” Zayle agreed, nibbling at his biscuit.

The woman with the silver eyes laughed lightly to herself, sipping at a glass of red wine, the bright silk hanging gently at the side of her face.

“You don't think so,
ma chérie
?” asked a man, with a strong French accent, sitting beside her.  He wore gold, wire-rimmed glasses, a very well-trimmed beard, and decidedly the best looking and most stylish clothes of the lot.

“He's terrified,” the woman said smoothly.  Something about the way she said it made Twist shiver.  She glanced at him with a wicked gleam in her silver eyes.

“Aazzi, you be nice now, too,” said the man with gray eyes. “Don't let them bother you,” he said to Twist. “They both get bored too easily.”  Aazzi gave him a dangerous glance.

“Crumpet?” Arabel asked, offering Twist one on a small plate.  Twist took it purely out of politeness, keeping an eye on Aazzi all the while.  Her fingers looked like sharp claws on the delicate glass of wine.

“Well, shall we have some proper introductions?” asked the man with gray eyes.  He then introduced himself as Howell Davis, the owner and captain of this airship, the
Vimana
.  Arabel, his niece, was the ship's rigging expert.  Zayle was the ship's engineer, while Dr. Philippe Rodés, the smartly dressed man with the glasses, was the ship's doctor.  Aazzi was introduced as Dr. Rodés's wife, and the ship's defense and security expert.

“Don't be alarmed, but she is also a vampire,” Capt. Davis said aside.

Twist almost choked on his tea and looked at Aazzi in shock and fright.  She only smiled back at him, holding her glass of wine to her lips.

“It's nothing you need to worry about,” Dr. Rodés said evenly.

“Besides, you're too small to make much of a meal,” Aazzi said with a wink and false sweetness to Twist.  Pure animal terror shot up Twist's spine, rooting him to his chair.  He forced himself to speak, just to keep from screaming.

“Why does this ship need to employ a doctor or a ...” Twist paused, staring at Aazzi, “a defense expert?  Arabel told me you that weren't pirates.”  Some of them laughed lightly.

“What a townie,” Dr. Rodés said, shaking his head.

“We're not, really,” Arabel said, catching his eye and clearly trying to look as trustworthy as she could. “Besides, what's wrong with having a crew of useful people?”

“It's the use to which you employ them that concerns me,” Twist said back quickly.  While Arabel waved a dismissive hand, new questions and fears bloomed in Twist's mind. “Wait, why are any of you even undertaking his journey?  What value does the clockwork princess have for you?  And when you say you found her—” he continued, his small voice speeding up.

“Twist,” Capt. Davis said gently, “why are you here?  You're obviously troubled by most of this journey.  Yet, here you are, sipping tea in the sky with the rest of us.”

Twist's gaze lowered to his tea, though he hardly saw it.  He knew she was alone, broken and forgotten in the dark, waiting for someone to put her back together.  She'd always been loved, but now...  Twist's fear dimmed at the thought, and he could hardly contain the unwavering, ravenous need to help her.

“She needs me,” he said, softly even for him.  No one seemed to hear him. “I have my own reasons,” he said more loudly.

“So do we,” Capt. Davis said. “And so, here we all are.”

Twist stared back at him coldly, his frustration breaking free of his clamoring defenses. “That's as much an answer as this tea cup is an elephant.”

“My goodness,” said Dr. Rodés, looking to his wife. “He hides his teeth as well as you do, my dear.”

“He's smarter than you think, Howell,” Aazzi said, smiling at Twist approvingly.

Capt. Davis let out a thoughtful breath, staring at Twist carefully. “I can assure your safety on the journey to Nepal, whatever help you may need to repair the clockwork girl, and then a safe return to London.  What else would you have from me?”

“Considering that, I suppose an explanation really is asking too much,” Twist said, sipping at his tea bitterly.  Talking with people had never worked out well for him.  He'd almost forgotten this, in all the time he'd spent alone with his clocks.

“How is our progress?” Capt. Davis asked Arabel.

“We'll be over the continent in less than an hour,” she responded. “We should reach Venice by tomorrow.”

“Good,” Capt. Davis said, looking to Zayle next. “And how is the boiler holding up?”

“Well, it's running,” Zayle said with a light sigh. “It'll get us to Venice for sure, and maybe as far as Constantinople without restocking our oil.”  Twist frowned in thought, wondering which country Constantinople was in.  Sure, he'd heard the name of the city … or was Constantinople a country?

“Well, at least that's a good place to pick up more oil,” Capt. Davis said. “Remind me again why you haven't been able to fix it?” he added.

“I've been all through it,” Zayle said. “I can patch it up all day, but until I find the source of the leak, it's only a stopgap.”

“Wait!” Arabel said suddenly.  Twist jumped slightly and looked at her, wide eyed, to find her smiling at him brightly. “Twist, can't your Sight help with the engine?”

“How's that?” Zayle asked.

“Well, I heard that that's exactly what he's good at,” Arabel said quickly. “His Sight shows him the problems in things.  That's why he can fix complicated things like watches so well, because he can clearly see the cause of the problem, just by touching them, right Twist?”

Twist shrugged awkwardly, unnerved to hear his Sight talked about so casually. “I suppose.”

“Then what, he just touches the engine and he can find the leak?” Zayle asked, his face awash with amazement. “That's just plain cheating!” he snapped, staring at Twist accusingly.

“Would you mind giving it a look, Mr. Twist?” Capt. Davis asked. “It could speed up our progress.  We'd then be able to get you back to London all the sooner.”  By now, the rest of the people at the table were all watching him.  The weight of their gazes fell heavily on Twist's slight shoulders.

“I suppose,” he muttered, shifting in his seat.

Once tea was finished, Zayle led Twist down into the engine room, buried in the dim, windowless, gas-lit stern on the lowest deck.  Twist walked carefully on the dark boards, acutely aware that they were the only thing between him and an unimaginably long fall to the rough, frigid waters of the English Channel.  Arabel followed behind, out of pure curiosity.

The steam engine made up the bulk of the stern of the ship, spanning it from side to side, and filling the space below the second deck.  Pipes, gauges, valves, and burning hot metal shuddered with a constant growl, struggling to contain the pressure of the superheated steam that fed the propellers outside.  In the low light of the gas lamps and the blazing fire that was held back by a small door near the floor, the steam engine looked every bit a manic and raging beast to Twist.

“Well, go ahead and touch it, I guess,” Zayle said to him.

Twist remained silent as he stared at the horror in front of him.  He couldn't remember another moment when he'd been frightened to open his Sight to a machine.

“Go on,” Arabel said excitedly.

“You're not scared of it, are you?” Zayle said, a smirk barely hidden in his voice.

“Oh, leave him alone,” Arabel said, swatting at him with the back of her hand. “Don't listen to him, Twist,” she added gently. “Now go on.  Don't be frightened.”

The visible tightness in Twist's jaw betrayed his pride, though he still remained silent as he stepped closer to the colossus of steam and fire.  A valve wheel stuck out significantly from the front, promising to be cooler to the touch than the rest of the hot metal.  Twist took a breath to brace himself, and then reached out his slender fingers to fall on the metal wheel.

Fire, pressure, rage, and steam rushed through Twist's mind like a wild beast with a feral power beyond anything he had ever felt from a machine.  He saw—knew—felt every bolt, pipe, chamber, and gear as if it were his own.  The raw energy of the engine, so precariously contained in weakened steel, burst into him as if sensing a chance for escape, and stole the breath from his chest.  In the moment before Twist lost his grip on consciousness, he caught a glimpse of a small, stinging pain in the raging chaos.  Too much pressure was crushing in on too small a point, overheating the oil and forcing it to break out where it didn't belong.

Twist's fingers slipped from the wheel as his form sank to the coal blackened floor.  Arabel reached for him instantly, but stopped herself just before touching him.  Twist's breath returned the moment the connection was cut, and he gasped as he knelt, hunched into a small ball before the still growling, raging engine.  Arabel and Zayle both knelt close beside him, peering fearfully at his face, now hidden behind his unruly black curls.

“Does this happen every time he touches anything?” Zayle asked, staring down at him.

“Well, at least he's not shaking this time.”

Twist's blood still thundered with the reckless might of the engine, filling his heart with fire that didn't belong to him.  He rose to his feet so quickly that the others jumped back a step in shock.  Twist's cold blue eyes locked onto Zayle's, steady and fierce as a hungry wolf.  He smiled subtly, his form held relaxed, still, and ready to destroy.  Zayle stared back at him blankly, though something not unlike fear began to show at the edges of his eyes.

“Are you really so small, that you can only bolster your own meager ego by belittling me?” Twist asked, his voice level, cool, and razor edged.

Zayle opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out, as confusion and alarm bloomed awkwardly on his face.

“Um...” Arabel began gently. “Twist?  Are you all right?”

Twist looked to her with mild distaste, but something in her eyes steadied his thoughts.  She was confused as well, bewildered, frightened, and somewhat disappointed in him.  Something was wrong.  He struggled to separate his own emotions from those of the vision, shaking his head to clear out some of the chaos.  He reached for the watch in his pocket and held it tightly in both hands.  It's tiny, constant, gentle heartbeat cooled his anger and soothed his disdain.  He took a deep breath.  By the time he exhaled, the fire in him had all but gone out.

“I'm sorry,” he said softly.

“What did he say?” Zayle asked.

“I'm sorry,” Twist said again, pushing his small voice harder. “Please disregard what I said,” he added to Zayle. “There is a lot of anger in the heart of that engine.”  Zayle looked to the engine uncertainly.

“It has feelings?”

Twist looked back at him silently for a moment before he answered again. “There's too much pressure on this side,” he said, pointing. “There is a weakness in the metal near the back and the pressure is overheating the oil and forcing it out through the seals.  Lower the pressure on this side and the leak will stop on its own.”

“Of course!” Zayle exclaimed, slapping at his own forehead. “I've checked the seals three times and never found a fault.  But if there is even a small point of weakened metal then the pressure...” he said, rushing to the controls.

“See?” Arabel said happily. “I told you he could figure it out.”