The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) (23 page)

“I believe the word is ‘electrified,’” Quin retorted.
“Otherwise, you’d be dead.”

“Dead?”
Auvek’s eyes widened. He
slowly got to his feet, clutching his aching hand and shaking his slightly
dizzy head.

“Let’s look for another entrance,” Quin said, “or hole in
the fence. Follow me.”

Auvek nodded, and then froze, as a loud, rumbling noise
began to emanate from the other side of the fence.

*****

Bronwyn looked down for a moment as she climbed the ladder.
At first it was difficult – she imagined falling to the ground and imagined falling
forever without ceasing. But as she continued upwards, her fear of heights
waned; it helped that it was difficult to see through the fog. A small breeze
blew some of the moisture to one side for a moment and she saw the dark figure
of Simon running away from the twelve of the clock towards two people that
stood in the grass next to the edge of the clock. He darted between them.
Bronwyn clutched the ladder more tightly and closed her eyes for a minute. Then
she looked down again.

The two people seemed startled.

“Oy!”
Bronwyn heard a woman yell.
“Whatsa monkey doin’ here?”

Simon was creating a diversion. She was relieved—they would
not notice her partway up the ladder.

The man looked in the direction Simon had disappeared.
“Fancy a jog?” he asked.

They grinned at each other and took off after Simon.

Bronwyn took a deep breath and looked up. The ladder
extended far into the fog above her. She wondered how far she had to go.
Already her arms felt tired and sweat dripped from her forehead. She was glad
that the morning was cool. Looking down again, Bronwyn saw that the wind had
placed the fog back where it belonged, and the space below her was only a deep
sea of grey.

She took a deep breath and turned her eyes forward.

“One rung at a time,” she whispered.
“One
rung at a time.
This one for my
mum,
and this
one for my dad.”

*****

John, Aunt Llewellyn, and Jameson Musk sat awkwardly in the
living room, sipping tea. Butler stood behind Musk, smiling blandly at the
group.

“You know,” Musk said, breaking the silence, “I could get
killed for letting you in my house. You are on the other side, after all.”

“The gang wars are not to be discussed,” Aunt Llewellyn
said. “I am here for my niece.”

“And I have told you she isn’t here,” Musk replied.

“I have reason to believe she is, and I refuse to leave
until you have given her to me.” Aunt Llewellyn sat up haughtily in her chair
and set down her tea.

“Butler, why don’t you go look for her?”
Jameson said.

“Yes, Butler!”
Aunt Llewellyn
smiled. “You should go look for her!”

“Just because my name is Butler, does not mean I’m your
butler, Musk.” Butler’s demeanor darkened.

“Well, if you quit acting like a Butler when you came
around, I’d remember that you weren’t mine!”

“You spend a lot of time here?” Aunt Llewellyn asked
frowning.

“On my days off,” Butler said passively.

“But here?” Aunt Llewellyn’s frown deepened. “Here?
At… at
his
house?”

A sly smile crossed Butler’s lips.

“Do you know where Bronwyn is, then? You must, if you came
here! Do you know about the clock, too?” she demanded. The wrinkles in her
forehead were deep and dark, like a massive canyon on the moon in the middle of
the night. “Tell me!” she demanded.

“You know,” Rathead’s voice oozed from the doorway. “I know
missing persons. This is something I can do.”

“Well, make yourself useful and go search my house,” Jameson
said
,
“to satisfy this kind lady and send her on her
way.”

“Yes,” Butler said. “Do that.”

“But it is so that she is not in
house,
I have just been all over it, chasing my poor, poor patient.” Rathead’s blue stripes
stood out against his white skin in the early morning light.

Jameson drank the last of his tea and frowned.

“But this is true,” Rathead said, noting the frown.

“No, it’s not that.” Jameson looked down at his tea. “I just
feel this weird, sort of, tickle in my throat. It’s... it’s... like I can’t...”
he began to gasp and grasp at his throat. “I can’t... I can’t...”

“Oh my!”
Aunt Llewellyn cried.
“What’s happening?” She stood up, looking around the room helplessly. Jameson
began to cough and scratch at his throat. His eyes watered. John sat frozen in
the chair. Rathead disappeared through the doorway.

“Butler! My dear friend...” Musk gasped. “Please.....
help
....”

Butler didn’t move, he just watched as Musk reached out his
arms helplessly. His eyes rolled up into his head and his face turned white and
pink; his arms and legs twitched as he fell out of his chair. John leaped from
his chair and ran over to the slowly dying man.

“I can’t....” Musk grabbed his throat and chest. “My...” he
gasped, “…heart...”

The next moment, he was dead.

“Call an ambulance!” John said, breaking through his moment
of frozen panic. He pulled out his phone.

“No.” Butler’s voice broke through the panic. “No one will
call anyone.”

At that moment there was a polite knock on the door. Each
pair of eyes immediately swung to look at the door.

“Well?” said Butler. “Answer it.”

“But I have to call—” John began, looking up into the barrel
of a pistol.

“He will stay dead,” Butler said, releasing the safety. “And
you will answer the door. Llewellyn, sit.” He waved the gun towards Aunt
Llewellyn, who moved slowly back to her chair.

John walked slowly to the door.

“Open it so I can see who is there,” Butler commanded.

The door creaked as it swung open.

“Hello, everyone!” came Salve’s cheerful voice. “What’s
going on in here? I heard there was a scoop, so I
hightailed
it down here as fast as I could. Word on the street says gang fight. In the
woods—” his voice trailed off as his mind registered the sight of Butler
standing over Jameson with a gun, but he only paused for a moment.

“Well, now,” he continued. “Who do we have here? Is that
Jameson Musk?
Dead?”
He pulled a notebook out of his
jacket and began scribbling.

“Of course it’s Jameson. And what are you doing here?”
Butler growled.

“I told you,” Salve replied amiably, wandering farther into
the room. He was still wearing his ducky pajama pants. “I’m just doing my job.”

John stood next to the door, scowling at the back of Salve’s
head.

“Did you kill him? Why?” Aunt Llewellyn interrupted. She leaned
forward, begging Butler with her eyes.

“Why?
Because he wasn’t dead yet.
There can only be one person to change the clock, not three.” Butler’s grin
stretched from ear to ear.

“But he defected years ago!
Before he even
bought this property!”

“There’s always a chance.”

“A chance of what?
Butler, what is
going on?”

“Bronwyn is here,” he said, looking out the window. “In a
moment...” he trailed off, tilting his head slightly, as though he were
listening for something they couldn’t hear.

“If I may—” John began.

“Quiet! You may not.” Butler commanded.

“May I?” asked Salve.

“No! Hush! All of you!” Butler’s irritation grew by the
second. He stepped forward and put the gun against John’s temple. “No one say
anything.”

“But what are you doing? Why?” Aunt Llewellyn begged.

At that moment a dull roar filled the air. Gunshots echoed,
men yelled, and an occasional scream punctuated the sudden rush of chaotic
sound.

“Ah, good,” Butler said, smiling a little. “It has begun,
right on schedule.”

“On schedule?”
John ventured,
cringing a little as the gun aimed at his temple quivered slightly.

“Yes. It is now four-thirty-seven in the morning. See the
clock? The Woertans and the Lasta have begun their war once more. The same as
they have every millennium. You will be my witnesses. But, we can’t watch the
proceedings from in here. We must first traverse the maze of lore.”

*****

Quin and Auvek froze as around them a great roaring sound
rushed through the air. The ground began to rumble; some of the younger
saplings quivered in time to the vibrations. The fence began to shake and the
gate ripped a trench into the dirt as it slowly opened. Two people darted
through.

“Where’d he go?” the woman asked.

“Over in that direction!” the man replied.

They skidded to a halt as soon as they saw Quin and Auvek.
Dust swirled up around their ankles, barely visible in the dim, early morning
light.

“Jirin,” Quin stated, bowing.

“Quin.”
Jirin bowed in return.

Quin nodded. “Why are you here?”

“We are guarding Monsieur Jameson’s prize. Why are you
here?” Jirin replied.

“We want to see Monsieur Jameson’s prize,” Quin replied.

“Don’t tell him!” Auvek protested, a slight groan seasoning
his words, as the effort made his head swim.

Jirin frowned in Auvek’s general direction, but ignored him.
“First, we must ask. Did you see a monkey fly over the fence? He went in this
direction.
Right over the gate.”

“Monkey?”
Auvek’s eyes widened.
“Flying? Simon can fly?”

Quin glared in his direction. “No,” he said. “We saw
nothing.”

Jirin scowled at Auvek. “Are you certain?”

“You have my word,” Quin replied.

“Well, why don’t you come in, then?” Jirin gestured towards
the gate in invitation.

“You can’t just show ‘im,” Teira argued.

“Listen,” Jirin replied. He tilted his head towards the sky,
as if listening. A gunshot rang out. “See? It has already begun.”

He turned and began to stride back through the gate. Quin
and Teira followed closely, with Auvek limping behind. As soon as they stepped
through, the gate began to grind and clang as it slowly closed. Inside the
fence they saw bushes stretching out in every direction, eight feet high, like
the walls of a leafy castle. The sky seemed to lighten as Jirin led them into
the bush maze confidently, turning left and then right, and right and then left.
The gunshots had increased in number and volume. They stepped into a clearing.
Rising up in front of them was a great, circular structure a bit less than four
feet high and flat across the top. A tall, narrow building sat at one edge,
with its roof barely rising into the low flying fog.

“What is it?” Auvek gazed at the peculiar structure.

“It is the Clock of Legend, of course,” Jirin replied. He
pulled himself up onto the structure and began to stroll around. “Here is the
three, not in your language of course, but in ours. Here is the four, and the
five, and the six. We have been protecting it for years.”

“I thought Rathead was trying to destroy it.”

Jirin and Teira looked at each other.

“Rathead, yes.
But I am Lasta. We
have been protecting the Clock by watching Rathead. He knows nothing. He placed
us here because we are his most trusted servants. He does not know we are not
Woerta. We accepted in order to help the Keeper reset the Clock.”

“Why don’t you just do it yourself?” Auvek asked.

“We don’t know how. Only the Keeper knows how.” Teira jumped
onto the platform next to Jirin. “But we plan to do everything to help.”

“So what’s started then?” Quin asked.

“The war.
We knew it would start
tonight. It was inevitable. Not only that, but we knew it would come here; the
Lasta are fighting to protect the Keeper and the Woertans are fighting to kill
the Keeper.”

“Who is the Keeper?” Quin asked, thinking of Bronwyn.

“We don’t know. Jameson was the last one we knew of, but he
defected to the Woerta clan,” Jirin answered. “Aderick and Canderick are dead.”

“Canderick isn’t dead,” Quin said.

“He is. News came from Rathead’s men that they had caught
him trying to sneak into some store to buy coffee downtown.”

“That’s horrible!” Auvek exclaimed.

Quin frowned as he looked up at Jirin, remembering the
gunshots as they tried to protect him.

“Yes, but as soon as the new Keeper arrives, we can fight
for glory instead of all this messing around.” Jirin shook his head
regretfully.

A bullet whizzed through the air and thudded into Teira.
“Aiie!” she screamed. She fell over, clutching her arm. “Jirin, get down!”

Jirin had already dropped, lying flat on the surface of the
clock. Quin leaped to block Auvek.

“I don’t think so, my friends.” Rathead appeared from the
bushes, aiming his gun. “To betray me—this not on my list of things I want in
friends.
You not friends anymore.
But, dead, perhaps I
forgive you.” He turned and looked at Quin. “I sorry you are here, my large
black friend.”

Quin didn’t hesitate. He leaped, colliding with Rathead’s
just as the gun exploded. Their two bodies crashed to the ground in a heap of
arms and legs and blue stripes.

*****

Butler prodded John and Aunt Llewellyn along with the point
of his gun. Salve bounced along beside them on the end of a rope that tied his
hands together, cheerily commenting on the sounds of gunshots, the fog that
clouded the morning air, and the fascinating bushes that made up the garden
maze. His stomach was in knots, but he kept telling himself he was a reporter,
and if any reporter deserved to be here, it was him. John held the end of
Salve’s rope, which allowed Butler to watch everyone and keep his hands free.
They had left Jameson Musk’s corpse in the living room. The gate on the barbed
wire electric fence had been opened, so they walked right into the maze.