Clockwork Twist : Waking (17 page)

Not ten minutes later, Twist chided himself sternly for saying something so final.  The mist thickened to such an extreme that it was difficult to see more than an arm's length away, and a strange, shifting wind picked up only to confuse them more.  The crew of the
Vimana
drew back the ship's sails, fearful that they could be damaged in this bizarre weather.  Arabel came to take Jonas, Aazzi, and Twist back to the ship, but Twist refused to leave Myra for an instant.

“Aazzi and Jonas are the only ones who can see in this mist,” Arabel persisted. “If one of them wants to stay, then fine.  But what can you do by staying?  It'll be much safer on the ship.”

“I'm not leaving her alone,” Twist said flatly.

“You're insufferable sometimes, you know that?” Arabel snapped at him. “You said yourself, she's asleep.  Trust me, no one can even move in this mist.  No one will be able to bother her at all until it clears.”

“Ara,” Jonas said, his tone calming.

“What?” Arabel snapped at Jonas. “Am I wrong?  Or are you just siding with him for the sake of it?”  Twist's attention drifted for a moment onto the mist that was creeping in through the broken windows.

“That's hardly fair,” Jonas said instantly.  Twist couldn’t identify the cause, but the mist and the wind seemed wrong, somehow.  It was as if they didn't belong.

“Stop it, you two.” Aazzi said with a heavy breath. “I'll stay with the puppet, and Twist can go with you.”

The mist seeped close enough to prick at Twist's skin.  In an instant, his Sight flew through the mist at enormous speed: through the windows, past the palace, across the gullies, around a mountain top, onto the deck of another airship, and right up to a man with pure white skin, full golden eyes with no whites in them, and glowing tattoos across his face and bare scalp.  The man's face took on a surprised expression and he muttered something in a language that sounded ancient and savage to Twist.  In response, the wind picked up to a much stronger gale.

Twist forced his eyes closed in his vision and he reached out for Jonas, pulling himself back.  He shot to his feet—a little too quickly, making him teeter—and shook his head to clear away the vision.  The mist still stung at him, but he wrapped the warm sensation of Jonas's presence around his mind until he couldn't see it any more.  The vision in the mist danced chaotically before him, but he managed not to look.

“What is it?” Jonas was asking.

“The mist,” Twist said, struggling to hold the thought long enough to voice it, with all that his attention was busy doing, “it's not real.  A man is making it.”

“What?” Arabel asked. “How can that—“

“Twist,” Aazzi said sharply, cutting her off. “Did you see this man?”

Twist nodded.  The effort it took to keep the vision at bay was staggering to him, but the affect was growing stronger.  The vision felt like it was drifting farther away.

“Were there tattoos on his skin?” Aazzi asked.

“Yes, on his face,” Twist said. “They were glowing.  His skin was white as a lily, and his eyes were … very strange.  They were fully gold.”

“A djinn?” Arabel gasped. “Then it has to be Quay's crew!  They've got the only djinn I've ever seen.  But how did they managed to follow us from Baku?”

As Twist's attention grew easier to control, he began to notice something in the warm buzzing that he was using as a shield.  There was an uneasy tension in it that hadn't been there before.  He looked to Jonas, whose eyes were turned away as if he were lost in his own thoughts.

“This is the attack,” Aazzi said, drawing the silver pistol from beneath the back of her bodice. “We have to move the puppet to the ship.  Now.”

Jonas and Arabel both moved to the puppet, but Twist got there first.  With fast, effortless skill, he removed the crystal from the delicate cage of clockwork.

“What are you doing?” Jonas asked.

“Now that she's in here,” he said, looking to the crystal, “it doesn't matter what happens to the body, or how far away it is.  She's safe in here.”

“Good idea,” Arabel said. “Even if they manage to steal the puppet, we'll still have the most important part.  Here, hide it,” she said, handing him a cloth handkerchief from her pocket.

Twist wrapped the crystal and tied the ends of the cloth off in a knot.  The wind began to howl through the windows with such a force that it made it almost impossible to stand against it.  The mist chilled so fast that it was as if the air had turned to ice.  Everyone ran for the doorway of the palace, leaving the puppet behind.  Pistol fire rang out at them through the mist from the garden outside.  Aazzi, Arabel, and Jonas all blindly returned fire with pistols of their own as they protected themselves behind the edges of the stone doorway.

“Twist, we'll cover you,” Jonas yelled over the sudden din. “Run for the ship!”

“I can't see!” Twist protested, peering around him into the solid, freezing mist. “I could run right over the edge and never know it.”

“Jon, go with him,” Arabel yelled to them. “Aazzi and I can hold them off for you.”

Twist began to protest again, but the two women both leaned out into the doorway to fire randomly into the mist.  The attacking fire died for an instant, and Jonas took hold of Twist's sleeve as he dove outside.

More alarmed by the fact that Jonas was holding his sleeve—Jonas's hand so very close to his own—than by the reality of running blinding into the freezing mist and bullet fire, Twist hurried to keep in step with Jonas as they both flew through the indistinct darkness.  A flick of metal shot by them from the side, striking the wall that was hidden by the fog, with a sharp sound.

“What was—?” Twist began to ask.

“Quiet!” Jonas hissed, jogging quickly to the side.

Twist followed his motion, but unwittingly stumbled over a loose block of stone.  His hands both shot out to break his fall, and he heard the crystal fall to the ground beside him, rolling to the side as Jonas lost hold of him as well.  Twist sprang to his feet and followed the sound, blocking out the gun fire behind him, until he saw a dim shadow of the small, rolling mass not two steps ahead.  He dove for the bundle just as it fell silent in its motion.

His fingers caught the tied handkerchief in open air, and his feet lost their footing as the ground disappeared beneath him.  It took far too long for Twist to realize that he'd run off the edge of the walkway, through a broken balustrade.  His open hand flew back for some purchase in the disorientation of frozen mist and sudden gravity.

Another hand took hold of his arm just before he dropped over the edge.  Twist's Sight screamed through his mind like fierce lightning, burning with an electric fire so intense that all he could see was impossibly white light.  For only an instant, he saw Jonas's uncovered eyes in the blinding light, staring down at him in fright.  Then, the whole world went totally white, silent, and empty.  The last thought Twist managed to have was the will to cling to the cloth in his fingers, to Myra's heart.

A sweet, spicy, thick, and wholly foreign scent was the first thing to return to Twist's senses out of the depthless emptiness of unconsciousness.  He wrinkled his nose reflexively, and found his shallow breaths vastly insufficient to clear his lungs.  He sat up quickly, coughing, as his head swam and struggled to identify his current situation.  He was wrapped in soft, cool, silks, on a wide bed.  Opening his eyes, Twist saw nothing but color.

Vibrant red carpets lay over slate gray wooden floors, while richer red paint filled every wall of the large, open room.  Shining black bars created intricate decorative designs in the large, circular windows in one wall.  Deep green, blue, and pink light flooded through them from the bizarre mess of colors outside, below a black sky.  Square, shiny-black, wooden furniture—a pair of chairs and a long couch around a low table—padded with gold and white cushions were clustered before the windows, while softly glowing paper lanterns hung from the ceiling.  The four poster bed he was in was low to the ground, with white, red, and black silks layered over  him, as soft, translucent red curtains hung open around it, swaying gently in the cool, humid breeze that streamed in through the windows.

Silver smoke wafted through the air from the smoldering ends of long, thin sticks set in a bowl of dry rice on the table near the window.  What looked like a wardrobe of more shiny black wood etched in gold was placed against the wall across from the bed beside a closed black door.  A few simple brush paintings of birds and leaves hung on the walls, while small vases sat in the corners of the room with a single twig of tiny pink flowers in each one.

After taking a moment to give the scene time to reveal itself as a dream, Twist finally pushed himself to edge of the bed.  A pair of slippers waited for him there, so he slipped his bare feet into them.  Standing up on stiff legs, Twist realized that he was wearing completely new clothing.  His thin form was draped in bright azure silks, in the general shape of loose pants and a long, collarless, buttoned shirt.  The cuffs were trimmed in black brocade, and the same black stitching surrounded the buttons of his shirt in intricate designs.

Stepping to the windows, Twist looked down from the third floor, onto a chaotic mess of  strange wooden shops, tall western looking buildings, and brightly colored signs on every story—hanging out over the street as numerous as leaves in a forest—all written with complex symbols that made no sense to him at all.  More paper lanterns, each of a different, vibrant color, hung zigzagging over the street.  Looking up over the curving tile rooftops of the obviously immense and crowded city around him, Twist couldn't see a single star in the black sky.  For a long moment, he wondered if he was still on planet Earth at all.

“Welcome to Hong Kong,” said a voice behind him.

Twist spun quickly to see a man smiling at him widely as he closed the door behind himself.  He was tall, obviously well built, judging from the smooth brown skin that showed through the loose tan shirt and emerald vest, that hung open to his stomach.  He wore gray cotton slacks, but his feet were bare in roped sandals.  The man was heavily decorated in jewelry—a collection of bracelets made of what looked like cloth, bone, and metal, a long string of silver hanging round his neck on which hung a number of small keys, rings by the handful on his fingers, and even a number of metal pieces pierced through his ears and one through his right nostril—but Twist was most highly distracted by the man's hair, which seemed to be made of bits of black rope and sat on his head like a ragged lion's main.

“What?” Twist managed.

“Hong Kong,” the man said again, his dark eyes gleaming in the low light like a cat's.  He stepped to a set of three long ropes that hung halfway down the wall beside the door.  Each one seemed to be marked with a wooden tag bearing a different, complex symbol like those on the signs outside. “Would you like some tea?” he asked Twist in what he now heard as a light, rolling, rich version of an American accent, as the man reached for one of them.

“Isn't Hong Kong the name of the British colony in China?” Twist asked, frowning.

“You're a smart one, all right,” the man said, still smiling.  He tugged at the rope, which responded with a little bounce and a soft jingle of tin bells, before he moved toward the long couch. “Have a seat, Mr. Twist,” he said as he sat. “I'm sure you have loads of questions you'd like to ask me.  We can get started while we wait for the tea.”

In the brighter light of the lantern near the table, Twist saw a number of thick black lines that wound an interesting pattern in the gently wrinkled skin around his left eye.  Up close, he looked a bit older.

“Who are you?” Twist asked instantly, not moving from the window.

“My name is Adair Quay,” the man said pleasantly. “Next?”

“You're the pirate who's been chasing me since Venice!” Twist said with an accusing finger and an alarmed expression.

“My goodness,” Quay said with amusement. “This isn't going to take long at all, if you're always this quick.”

“What do you want from me?” Twist demanded. “Where is Jonas?  The rest of the
Vimana
crew?  How did we get all the way to China?  How long have I been asleep?”

“Please, please,” Quay said, raising a hand. “One at a time, Mr. Twist.  And you really should sit down.  You have been unconscious for over two days now.  Best to take it easy.”

“Two days?” Twist breathed, falling onto the white cushion of one of the chairs. “What happened?”

“You don't remember?” Quay asked. “One of my associates brought you to me after you had fallen out of consciousness.  I was honestly hoping that you knew what had happened.”

Twist looked up to him with a darker light in his steel-blue eyes. “You attacked us, didn't you?” he asked softly.

“That's a matter of opinion.”

“Well, it's my opinion that your associates were shooting at us in a mystical fog that one of you created, and that you sent your ship to attack ours in the air above the Caspian Sea, which resulted in me being thrown into that sea and then captured by oil pirates in a submersible.”

Quay smiled, a deep, rich, warmth in his dark eyes. “You've had quite a trying experience, haven't you?”

“I thought you were going to answer my questions,” Twist snapped.

“I never said that,” Quay said evenly. “I merely acknowledged that you might have several.  I will gladly answer any that will help you to understand your new situation, but I will not bow to pointed attacks from you without cause.”

Twist stared at him silently while a cold certainty gripped his spirit. “Do you plan to kill me?” he asked, his voice calm.

“Certainly not,” Quay said on the edge of a laugh.

“Well, at least there's that,” Twist said with a sigh.

At that moment, the door opened and a girl dressed in shining pink silk entered the room, holding a black wooden tray.  Her round face was alarmingly pale against her gleaming black hair, which was bound up complexly on top of her head and adorned with an array of colorful pins, combs, and hanging beads.  Twist stared at her first, though, for her eyes; the same shape as Zayle's and as black as the starless sky above the city outside.

She walked silently to the table between Quay and Twist, and knelt down in her tightly wrapped silk dress to place the tray on it.  There was a small white teapot and two perfectly round white cups with no handles on them.

“You should have no fear for your safety, Mr. Twist,” Quay said, pleasantly. “Your Sight is one of the rarest and most valuable I've ever heard of.  Only a fool would try to do you harm.  I myself, hope to be your friend.”

Twist watched as the girl poured golden tea into the two cups and placed them down before Twist and Quay.  She seemed to pay him no attention, until she was finished.  Her dark eyes flitted to him only for an instant before she rose to her feet and left just as silently.

“Mr. Twist?” Quay said.

“What?” Twist asked, looking to him blankly.

“I was saying, that I had hoped we could be friends,” Quay said, a knowing smile playing about his mouth. “I think we can help each other greatly.”

“Can you give me back my friends and let me go home, then?” Twist asked, taking his cup of tea from the table.

“You deserve so much more than those idealistic fools can offer you,” Quay said flippantly. “You should be properly appreciated for your talents, don't you think?”

Twist nodded vaguely, sipping at his tea. “So you're going to make me very rich and famous, I'm sure,” he said with very little interest. “Oh, this tea is wonderful.”

“It's the finest in China,” Quay said before taking a sip himself. “Only the finest for my newest ally, I should think.”

“I haven't yet sold my soul, Beelzebub.”

Quay laughed as if it were a joke.  Twist didn't.

“Where is Jonas?” Twist asked.

“He's been asleep just as long as you have,” Quay said, sounding concerned. “He's staying in another room in this hotel.  I just checked on him, though, and he was still sleeping.  I'm sure, now that you're awake, he will return to us as well, very soon.”

Twist looked into his tea, but he let his mind open itself to the air.  He focused on the area at the base of his neck, where he could usually feel Jonas if he were close by.  There was no feeling there now, probably because Jonas was too far away, but he pushed at it gently with his mind, searching for any sign of him.  After a moment, a faint, almost imperceptible buzzing began to appear to him, on the farthest horizon of his perception.

“I'm surprised, though,” Quay said while Twist's mind was still elsewhere, “that you have yet to ask about the clockwork girl.”

Twist's eyes shot to him; sharp, cold as ice, and just as blue.

“You were clinging to a crystal when we found you,” Quay said with some satisfaction. “It's broken, but my associate says that it has the most curious signs of energy within it.”

Twist clenched his jaw to keep himself from speaking, and slowed his own breathing as he held his body in perfect stillness, staring at Quay as unemotionally as he could.  A flicker of discomfort flashed to light in Quay's eyes, but he blinked it away and looked to his tea.

“I don't mean to steal her away from you,” he said evenly, “if you are afraid of that.  I'm not sure what Davis and his crew might have told you,” he said, chancing a glance at Twist, who didn't move a muscle. “You've done a wonderful job of repairing her this far,” Quay continued, looking away again. “I don't imagine it will take long at all to complete the work.”

Twist took a sip of his tea.

“Mr. Twist, can we discuss terms?” Quay asked gently.

Twist looked back at him passively. “Discus all you like.”

“Won't you join me?” he tried, a hopeful smile on his face now.

“I'm not very social,” Twist said, looking to his tea again.

“Clever as a lightning strike,” Quay breathed, admiringly. “That's what they say about you.  I see now that they are quite right.  I had hoped that the coldness they spoke of had been a lie, though.”

“I want to see Jonas,” Twist said.

“When he's awake, of course.  But for the moment—”

“Now,” Twist said, his voice even and impassive.

“Perhaps—“ Quay began, but Twist stood up quickly and put his tea cup down.

“Never mind.  I'll find him myself,” he said, heading for the door.

Twist got to the door and opened it before Quay could get near him.  Hurrying his pace, Twist strode out into a red and black hallway, carpeted with dark pinks and gold on the same slate gray wood, and lit by more white paper lanterns mounted on the walls.  Twist pressed at the spot at the back of his neck again, and followed the buzz easily down the long hallway and around the first right turn while Quay came to follow him, speaking imploringly on various subjects that didn't matter to Twist in the least.  Turning the corner, he found a figure sitting in a chair outside one of the many black doors.

Coming closer, Twist realized that Jonas was certainly behind that door.  The man in the chair looked up at Twist, as he approached, with large, almond eyes as black as shadows.  Although his smooth, clear featured, pale face appeared young and only slight foreign to Twist, something in those deep black eyes was undeniably ancient, strange, and inhuman.  His nose seemed a little too pointed, and his ears a little too long as well, in the fluffy cloud of short, thick black hair that stood up all over his head.  He was dressed in a wide sleeved, silver trimmed, deep purple tunic that crossed over his chest, a wide, gray, richly patterned belt around his waist, loose black trousers, and simple wooden sandals on his otherwise bare feet.  It took Twist only an instant to recognize Jonas's black goggles sitting snugly on his brow.