Conduits

Chapter Thirty-Six

Soldiers at the gazebo steps would not allow Croo to accompany Clara and Wendy. He'd gone as far as allowed. The soap box preachers took over.

It was cool underneath the gazebo with shade spread out to the round edges. Except it was not so much shade but darkness. The cries of carrion birds only added to the ominous of the scene. Clara could not see the birds but she knew by them by the keening she heard, which was too sharp and grim to be the springtime song of a robin or blue jay.

Four sets of short stairs exited the gazebo, each guarded by His Hand soldiers. The soldiers wore splendid white armor-like the knights from fairy stories, a heavy set of plate over mail that clinked with every twitch of a muscle. Each sported on their left shoulder a golden pauldron shaped like hand large enough that it covered the shoulder completely, giving each soldier a supporting pat on the back. Instead of visors or safety bars on their helmets, they wore metal masks shaped like the faces of singing angels. Could Clayton be behind one of those masks with its lips stretched in a chanting O, tight curls of golden hair etched around the top edges, cheeks dimpling?

Fruit boxes were overturned in the middle of the wooden floor, varnished a dark brown, the boxes stacked two high.

That's where they got the rotten fruit from, Clara guessed, angry at the church for supplying the soft, squishy projectiles to pelt her and Wendy with.

It's all a show. No wonder they hate us... we've been cast as villains in a play!

Warty was under the gazebo already and waiting beside the overturned boxes. Him and another preacher pulled the girls up and onto the boxes. Clara and Wendy followed reluctantly. Both conduits thrashed about as the preachers tossed lengths of rope—thicker than a man's wrist—over the rafters and placed the nooses at the ends around their necks. Far from stupid, the preachers didn't remove the inhabiting collars... Clara had hoped... but no.

Clara's fingers were going numb but she did not let go of Wendy.

Over Clara's shoulder, Wendy whispered to her, "Thank you, Clara."

Clara sighed. "I didn't do anything, Wendy. I didn't prevent us from hanging. From getting caught and brought to this hell."

"You were my friend," Wendy told her with a sniff. "Dozens of conduits came and went around me, for a long time. None went out of their way to be a friend. You gave me hope." Clara snorted at how much the hope was worth in the end. Wendy soothed her, just as she had done in the Junker's bus golem in those first days. "Even for a short time... hope was nice to have up until the end."

"Glad I met you, Wendy."

"Back at you. At least we have each other right now."

"Girls day out. More people should plan these outings, they're missing out."

The girls laughed lightly, until Warty came up to Clara, grabbed her face in his hands, and began to pray for her soul. Clara heard another preacher doing the same behind her with Wendy.

Sacks went over their heads then, a death shroud to black out the world. Clara hoped Tink was fluttering somewhere nearby, as she always did when conduit and Nite were alone walking the road or tinkering with junk in the workshop below the Wrench Works. Clara said her goodbyes to her brother Leo and their mother. If Tink was nearby—as Clara hoped—she would deliver the messages. The Field... Clara wished she could touch the Field one final time...

Past the muffling enclosed space of Clara's hood, the crowd's jeers and idle chatter cut out. Everyone fell silent. Reverend Jimmy had begun speaking.