74. SAY AHHH!

My body locked. My teeth slammed shut on my tongue, and I tasted blood as my muscles seized beyond my control.

When the Gem awakens to call a Hero, the world is ill prepared...and its fate is placed in the hands of a 17 year old boy, named Wendell. 

Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction.
Let them think as they may. 

After all...I can't fix stupid.

Previously: Chucks helps Morty, Deloris and Lili flee the Trench Wars stadium just in time to avoid capture by Centurions back at the warehouse.

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Chapter 74

Trust a liar, and you will be lied to.

At first, the sounds didn’t make sense.

They were muffled, distant…like I was underwater, listening to people talk about me without quite saying my name.

My fingers twitched.

One. Then another. My eyes moved beneath swollen lids, darting back and forth as if they knew something I didn’t.

My chest seized.

CRACK.

Pain tore across my back, sharp and blinding, and my stomach clenched. A single line of fire streaking across my muscles and skin….

I bit down hard, refusing to scream.

I wouldn’t give them that.

Whatever this was, I wasn’t going to let them think they’d broken me.

I opened my eyes to more darkness, offset by torches…on cold, stone walls. It looked a great deal like the cell I was in back at Til-Thorin.

A moan escaped my lips.

There was a hooded figure somewhere nearby. There were moments when he…or she….who knows, maybe an ‘it’…came within my peripheral vision. Then it would shift out of sight once more. Didn’t help me, though. I couldn’t see a face. The robe swallowed the figure whole. Only a pointed black beard jutted into the light.

It didn’t look like a Kutollum female, so I crossed female off my list.

CRACK.

I winced again,…this time biting the inside of my cheek.

“Wendell.”

The voice came from close. Too close. Almost inside my ear.

Yeah, I’m going with male.

I tried to turn my head, but even that was painful. Muscles that felt like they’d gone unused for too long. When I finally managed it, there was no one there.

“Wendell.”

A sudden burning ripped across my face.

I gasped.

Light flooded my vision. Harsh. White. Fluorescent. The contrast with the darkness was so violent my eyes slammed shut again. When I forced them open, everything swam.

“Good morning, Mr.… Dipmier, is it?”

My throat felt like sandpaper. My lips were split, swollen, crusted with dried blood.

Swallowing hurt.

Talking hurt more.

“Yes,” I croaked.

My knees hurt, too. They had me chained in the middle of the room, kneeling…with my arms held up by metal links.

The gnome standing in front of me smiled cheerfully. He wore a white lab coat, rubber gloves, and mirrored glasses. In his hands was a clipboard, which he scribbled on enthusiastically.

My shoulders sagged.

No dungeon. No torches. No whips.

Which meant that whatever I’d felt before had been my imagination.

Even now, a faint warmth moved through me…the Ithari, trying to mend what it could.

Too slowly.

Far too slowly.

Why did I feel so groggy?

The room was blindingly white. One wall was a solid mirror stretching from floor to ceiling. Another held a gray metal door guarded by two Centurions standing perfectly still. The far wall was bare, except for a metal table, with three chairs behind it.

Two more gnomes sat there.

One male. One female.

White lab coats.

Gloves.

Mirrored glasses.

Smiling like statues.

Sure,…that’s not creepy at all.

“And you are a human male,” the gnome said brightly, “correct?”

“Who are you?” I rasped. “Where… am I?”

He lowered the clipboard.

Something clicked.

Before I could react, two thin metal rods shot from a black device in his hand and stabbed into my neck.

Electricity ripped through my spine.

My body locked. My teeth slammed shut on my tongue, and I tasted blood as my muscles seized beyond my control.

Every nerve in me screamed.

The pain vanished as suddenly as it had come.

“Since you’re new here, Mr. Dipmier,” the gnome said cheerfully, tucking the device away, “I’ll explain this once.”

He made another note on his clipboard.

“My name is Mr. Shrewd. Behind me is Ms. Callous. Next to her is Mr. Upshot. Our job is to ask questions and ensure you answer them honestly and completely.” He glanced up. “Your job…and the job of your companion,” he added, pointing, “is to comply.”

I turned my head and looked down.

Dax lay on the floor beside me.

I pulled against the chains without thinking. “Dax!” Metal clinked as they held fast. Pain flared as I tried to stand, but my legs wouldn’t obey. Smaller chains bound my ankles to a metal belt around my waist, forcing me to kneel or slump to my side. Straightening my legs wasn’t an option.

They were afraid of the big man.

Mr. Shrewd grinned at my struggle, teeth too white, too perfect. “As for where you are,” he said lightly, “it doesn’t really matter. I wouldn’t want you getting your hopes up about leaving.”

He slid his glasses down just enough to reveal black eyes.

I’d never met someone with actual black eyes.

Two giant pupils.

Empty. Watching.

“But there are two things you should know about us, Mr. Dipmier.” His smile vanished. “One…what we do is incredibly painful.”

He leaned closer.

“And two…we love what we do.”

I let my head drop forward, chin resting against my chest.

Wonderful.

I looked back at Dax. He wasn’t moving. What made it worse was I couldn’t tell if he was breathing. Fresh bandages wrapped his head, so that was good, but bruises darkened his arms and skull. All four limbs were chained to the wall.

Out of the frying pan.

Past the fire.

Straight into hell.

“The beast is fine,” Mr. Shrewd said lightly, following my gaze to Dax. “A remarkably resilient specimen, actually.” He smiled, almost fond. “Which makes the possibilities for interrogation virtually…endless.”

I stared up at him, teeth clenched. “Don’t you touch him.”

The words came out weaker than I had wanted.

Mr. Shrewd scribbled something on his clipboard. “Ah. This is what I enjoy most, Mr. Dipmier. The pointless defiance of a helpless subject.” He glanced over his shoulder. “The fool reveals so much when left without direction, don’t they, Ms. Callous?”

“Oh yes,” she replied pleasantly. Her voice was soft. Musical. The kind meant to calm you.

It made my skin crawl.

She made a note of her own.

They weren’t just cruel.

They were enjoying this.

I yanked against the chains again.

Ugh.

My heart hammered in my ears.

THA-THUMP. THA-THUMP.

I had to get out. Had to get free.

My mind jumped, grasping for anything solid.

Chuck.

Was he alive?

Was he safe?

Had he escaped the owner’s box?

My captors hadn’t mentioned him yet. That had to mean something good.

It had to.

Morty. Deloris. The rest of the TNT crew.

Lili…

Wait.

I scanned the room again.

Alhannah wasn’t here.

Cold fear slid down my spine.

They’d beaten me in the arena and taken their sweet time doing it. I remembered that. I’d tried to stay between the guards and my friends. Then I remembered Dax going down. Remembered being dragged across the ground, through a set of doors, then into an elevator.

Chained in the back of a giant van.

Alhannah had been there. She’d been unconscious, but breathing.

Alive.

“So,” Mr. Shrewd said brightly, stepping into my line of sight, “let’s begin, shall we?”

He positioned himself between me and the mirror and leaned forward slightly. “Where is Alhannah Luckyfeller?”

So they don’t know.

Good.

I shrugged as best I could. “I don’t know.”

His head tilted. “Surely you do. Where is your accomplice hiding?”

“I was dragged out, beaten, and knocked unconscious. She was there when I was awake. If she’s gone now, then I have no idea where she is.” I looked past him to the Centurions. “Maybe ask one of the lightbulb helmet guys over there. They’re the ones who took us.”

The smile thinned. “I see.”

The stun device appeared in his hand.

Pain exploded through my throat.

My muscles locked. My jaw clenched so hard my teeth screamed.

“NNNN—”

The pain vanished.

“Now,” Mr. Shrewd said calmly, pocketing the device, “it would be most helpful if you told us where she is. Considerably less painful, too.”

“I told you,” I gasped. “I don’t know!”

“Then tell me this,” he said. “Why did she bring you—and this…creature—into the city?”

I swallowed, forcing my breathing to slow. This was bad. Worse than I could have imagined. We’d been warned when we started what would happen if the Government Faction caught us. It was capital punishment to be in Clockworks City without permission. But… I had thought they were kidding.

Until I was thrown down a garbage chute.

Until I found dozens of outcasts living in the massive furnaces below this mighty city.

Until I witnessed the ruthlessness of what I assumed would be loving and kind people.

Alhannah wasn’t an exception.

That meant death was…likely.

The Ithari would, if she could, keep me alive.

But Dax—

I needed their attention on me.

I needed to make them believe me.

“She didn’t bring us into Clockworks,” I said.

Mr. Shrewd turned away, handing his clipboard to Mr. Upshot. “That’s difficult to accept,” he said mildly. “She trained you for the Trench Wars, did she not?”

“Yes,” I admitted.

“And she trained that,” he said, gesturing toward Dax.

“His name…is Dax.”

Mr. Shrewd stopped.

“Oh,” he said softly. “It has a name.”

He crouched beside Dax and prodded him with a baton. Lifted one of my friends’ fingers, then let it drop. Shrewd then folded one ear flat against Dax’s cheek. His lips curled. “Disgusting.”

My pulse raced.

“Don’t screw this up,” Doubt whispered.

Not NOW.

“I’m just saying.”

Make them believe you.

“He’s my bodyguard,” I said.

The baton froze.

“I’m sorry?” Mr. Shrewd turned slowly. “He’s your…what?”

“My bodyguard,” I repeated. “I hired him for protection. We travel together. What better way to stay safe in foreign lands than to hire a vallen?”

Shrewd straightened, backing away as if the explanation made Dax even more offensive. “You expected violent gnomes and dwarves, then?” His smile returned. “He’s barely tall enough to defend you from your own kind.”

Mr. Upshot and Ms. Callous released dry wheezes that I realized were laughter.

“It is disturbing,” Mr. Shrewd said, straightening his lab coat, “to see how many forget their place.” He tucked the baton under one arm and peeled off his gloves with meticulous care, never letting the outer rubber touch skin. He rolled them into a tight ball and tossed them over his shoulder.

Without looking, Mr. Upshot kicked a small trash bin out from under the table.

The gloves dropped perfectly inside.

My stomach sank.

“Your kind mocks TGII openly,” he said mildly, adjusting the latex around his fingers. “Not through thought or philosophy, but through size. Larger races mistake mass for meaning.” He paused, stared right at me and let out a resigned sigh. “But our job is to repair what is broken,” he grinned. He retrieved another pair of gloves from his inner pocket and slid them on. “Is it not, Mr. Upshot?”

“It is indeed, Mr. Shrewd,” Upshot replied.

“Correct in private what you observed in public…” Ms. Callous added. “Divine Schematic — Luthier 2:6,”

I swallowed.

I’d heard the name whispered, sworn by, and cursed with.

TGII.

The god of the gentre.

A system for some. A justification for most.

Fascinating, no matter what side you’re on.

The 1.5 billion citizens of Clockworks City worshiped, believed in, or at least were raised with a knowledge of a divine machine. One they believed created the Universe around us, using the materials of chaos to form order. All things perfect in their individual spheres, TGII placed all things in their ‘proper’ sphere and encouraged all things to fulfill the measure of their creation. Plants grow, animals multiply, and humanoids? They were supposed to be the gentle caretakers of the world. Everything in perfect balance, because that’s how a well oiled machine works…

At least that’s what the books said in The Great Library.

I mean, you want to know more about the people you’re living with, right? And I was so very curious, especially after each fight in the Trench. So I’d sneak in late at night, while Chuck dosed off at his desk. The Librarian was more than eager to supply books and have in-depth conversations when I showed up with a million questions about the Gentre race.

All I had to do was ask her to stop time for me, and she was always wiling to help me, so….what would you do?

Exactly.

“You’re turning repentance into surveillance authority, Ms. Callous,” I said aloud, trying hard to pull thoughts from the fog in my head. “You’re quoting altered scripture.” I had to turn their full attention to me and keep it there. Pull their gaze way from Dax. I took a shallow breath and let it out. “Some would argue, corrupted text.”

All three gnomes looked at me, shocked.

“You say you need to ‘correct in private what you observed in public’…” I started.

“The trespass of an alien race upon our sacred soil!” She sneered. “An act of aggression against our peaceful citizenry.”

I shook my head. “First Measure - Luthier 2:6 says, ‘Repair in private what you broke in public…’ We’ve been here for months, and never harmed a soul outside the arena. You should be tending to our wounds after your forces beat us…unjustly.”

Mr. Upshot leaned forward in his chair, his eyes daggers.

“…never bent for convenience, but bent for necessity when the Turning demands. Divine Schematic — Oaths 2:2. ” The corners of his mouth slowly curled upward. “We are called to do what we must to protect our people, Mr. Dipmier. The reaction of the stadium is proof of the threat.”

Again, I shook my head. “You’re isolated from the rest of the world! Don’t you see that your reaction is from your own conditioning? You twist your most sacred writings, quoting from ‘The Divine Schematic’ instead of following the truth of The First Measure. Oaths 2:2 in its original text says, ‘Handle every life as you would a precision spring—never bent for convenience.’” I looked over at Ms. Callous, who was trying to hide her obvious surprise. “Every…life. Even mine,” I nodded at Dax, “…even his. My bodyguard and I posed no harm to the Gentre, and that is the truth.”

“Which brings us,” Mr. Shrewd went on, ignoring me, “to the extent of the infection.” He clasped his hands. “For one so versed in our sacred text, it is funny that you encourage ‘truth’ and yet you entered, stayed and maintained a cover of falsehood. For months, if I remember of your own admission….am I correct?”

Ouch. Check.

“So let us set church aside and discuss how Ms. Luckyfeller was with you at capture. We have footage of all three of you entering the garage. She did not leave the Trench. ” He smiled. “Yet only two of you arrived.”

He raised a finger. “Curious.”

My heart pounded.

THA-THUMP-THUMP.

THA-THUMP-THUMP.

Then he reached into his coat and removed a folded white envelope.

I froze.

“I cannot fathom,” he said thoughtfully, opening it, “why you carry aged scraps of paper.” He took out the letter and scanned the contents, frowned, then turned it over. “We tested it. No inks. No sigils. No encoded runes.” He slid it back inside and laid it on the table, patting it once. “Meaningless.”

He turned to the door.

“These,” he said cheerfully, gesturing, “are Mr. Bentley and Mr. Cadson. The transport detail.” He sighed. “Their commanding officer was…retired this morning.”

One of the centurions began to tremble.

“One testimony contradicted the other,” Mr. Shrewd continued. “Two witnesses. One truth. And we are agreed, Mr. Dipmier, that we both want the truth, do we not?”

He clapped once.

Both Centurions flinched.

“One of you is going to die.”

Bentley broke first. “I SWEAR!” He grabbed Shrewd’s coat. “The can rolled in, then the pop-wire hit us! We blacked out! When we woke, the girl was gone!”

Mr. Shrewd looked to the other. “Mr. Cadson?”

Cadson hesitated. Then, quietly, “No, sir. I saw an old gnome. Half metal. Holding the girl. There was a flash, and they vanished.”

The baton rose.

Bentley never screamed.

It struck his throat with a dull, last sound. He collapsed, gasping once before going still.

My hands wanted to cover my neck.

“You see,” Mr. Shrewd said calmly, “the rule is simple. The first to tell the whole truth lives.” He nodded. “You may remove the body.”

Cadson dragged it away.

When the room was quiet again, Mr. Shrewd turned back to me.

“All I require is honesty,” he said pleasantly. “Reasonable, yes?”

I stared at him.

His smile said we were already dead.

Then Dax groaned.

My breath caught. “Dax—”

Mr. Shrewd screamed.

Ms. Callous and Mr. Upshot followed in stereo…and all three quickly placed the table between them and the fully chained and subdued evolu on the ground.

Without warning, Shrewd launched himself forward, baton raining down.

Once.

Twice.

Again and again and again.

“STOP!” I roared, pulling against the chains. “YOU’RE KILLING HIM!”

The blows continued.

Something inside me tore.

I arched my back, grit my teeth…and pulled.

The concrete crumbled and chains fell to the floor.

For a heartbeat, I was free.

Then electricity slammed into me. Three devices. Full force.

Every muscle locked.

I screamed without a sound.

“Increase the amps!” Shrewd shouted.

“It could kill him!” Callous cried.

“BETTER HIM THAN US!”

My folded legs shook, and I hit the floor, twitching.

My vision fragmented.

I heard them retreat.

Then I tasted blood.

Somewhere far away, a button clicked.

“Send the package to the furnace,” Mr. Shrewd said calmly. “Ensure the courier follows.”

The others laughed.

And the room went dark.

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