The Golem City (Complete)

Chapter One

- Five centuries later -

It had been nearly a full day and night since Dorothea had been taken and she still didn't know where she was being taken. Through the porthole of her cabin, she could see the inky waters pass beneath the giant ship on which she was imprisoned. Long iron cannons extended from the ship's sides and giant waterwheels turned beneath them. Its coal burner pumped long plumes of sooty black smoke out from towering stacks, sullying the stars and veiling the chin of the moon.

Even though she had never travelled by sea before, the turning waters didn't trouble Dorothea's stomach as much as she had heard it did some. Even if it did, the upholstery in her cabin had little to fear – the fare of meat and baked vegetables on the serving tray before her looked appealing enough, but she hadn't touched a thing. Her stomach was willing, not having eaten at all that day, but her spirit was loath to indulge in anything that had been prepared by those who had taken her against her will. Instead, she kept her hands in her lap and her eyes elsewhere, resisting temptation.

Dorothea nervously clutched the small pouch around her neck. It was made of buckskin leather, locked tight with a bead-capped drawstring. The hiss of a gas lamp was her only company.

Earlier that day, her abductors had allowed her a brief reprieve from her solitude to walk about the open decks escorted. A great red flag flapped languidly on the steepled beak of the ship, bearing a globe and the charcoal outlines of most of the world states. The emblem was worn prominently, she noted, not just on the flag, but on the clothes of the crew who manned the ship.

From what she could see, there was no rowdiness on the boat, no merry-making or idle chatter; only the unbridled drive of the whole and the meticulous execution of individual tasks. Almost every man and woman aboard the ship except the crew were clad in dapper suits of grey, sunlight reflecting off the gunmetal holstered at their hips. The naval crew wore shorts and shirts of white and blue. Dorothea stood out among them as the only individual, wearing a canary-yellow dress with a ribbon tied around her waist. She was also the youngest. Her arms and legs were deeply tanned from spending most of her days tending the cosy garden she had inherited from her grandfather. Dorothea loved to plant, to prune, and liberate her wards from the stranglehold of greedy weeds. Tilling the earth was her greatest pleasure, adoring the denizens of her floral fiefdom her greatest reward. It was there in her garden that they had found her.

Dorothea heard the bolt slide and the door opened with an ugly metal creak. Beyond it stood a man with a waxen complexion and a serious air. She recognised Agent Kritzinger the moment he appeared. He was the only one of her captors that she knew by name and the only one who ever spoke to her. He wore a navy blue suit, a white shirt, and a pinned cravat. Fine lines of grey ran through his hair and thin-rimmed glasses hung on his gaunt face.

His eyes flicked towards the untouched food and drink on the table. He pointed his pewter and brass cane at it.

"You should eat," he told her, his voice deep and plummy.

"I want to go home."

"I have already explained this," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "You're being taken somewhere safe. This is for your own good."

His vague reasoning did little to ease her mind. Who did she need protecting from? She'd been alone most of her life, knowing only the tender affection of her grandfather until his passing four months ago. Since then, she had grown her own food, traded the excess for whatever else she needed, and lived a solitary and content life, making a foe of no one. Her only enemies were the rose thorns that occasionally pricked her fingers, but she had the sense to avoid them and calluses enough to guard her from their abuse otherwise. She shot him an accusing glance.