Christophe shivered as they walked passed yet another row of Conventioneer villas, his arms tightly folded. He could feel the eyes of his timid colleagues in their homes, watching.
Will none of you take a stand? Will you all hand over your ideas to the enemy who has killed your families and burned your communities? Of course you will, cowards. You are tinkerers and dabblers, he thought.
The piercing creak of an iron gate sent a bolt of fear down Christophe's spine. Looking about, he saw armed guards with crossbows at the ready, the tips of the bolts glinting in the moonlight. His fanciful ideas of a harrowing escape melted away.
He shifted from side to side as he stared down the long, walled path to the palace. He'd watched too many good men and women go down this lonely road, never to return.
Christophe swallowed hard as a sense of doom came over him. Closing his eyes and putting his hands to his forehead, he fought back the tears. I meant to keep my promise this time, Meeshich, I swear it. I will find a way. I will be late, but I will come.
Glancing over at Nikolas, he saw the worry, tainted with hope, on his friend's face. You believe that Marcus will save you, don't you? How can you not see him for what he truly is, Kolas? Is it naiveté or hopefulness with you? I never know. Christophe's lips curled up at the edges. I pray that you are right. You deserve it.
"Pick it up, it's not getting any warmer." The captain waved over his shoulder as they headed onward.
Christophe's shoulders drooped as he thought back to the thrill he'd felt over a year ago. He'd convinced Nikolas to throw caution to the wind and work with him on a secret project. For the first time, they would ignore Marcus' stifling advice and stay true to their revolutionary ideas.
Once it came to life, however, when the manifestation of their imaginations and hard work stood before them, Christophe had been unable to stop himself from showing it off to the king. He'd convinced himself it would humble the king's arrogant ignorance and have him toss aside Marcus, his principal advisor.
Now, in the cold, with the midnight ground crunching beneath his feet, Christophe wondered if his real goal had been to sabotage himself and his one true friendship.
Nikolas' expression had soured further. It reminded Christophe nothing of the look he'd had the day they'd set up shop in an abandoned warehouse on the edge of the city. Or when they'd found a retired blacksmith keen to help forge the gears and metal casing they would need. They'd thrown the dice of Fate, and now Christophe couldn't help but feel they'd come up snake eyes.
Christophe swallowed hard and glanced up at the full moon as they stepped up to the mouth of the palace. Please, let this be just a chastising. Let me get to her, let me keep my promise, he thought.
He turned to Nikolas as they walked past ornate statues and fine paintings. "I know you wanted to talk about your Solstice celebration idea tonight. I'm sorry I didn't let you. I think it's a very noble idea. Making presents for the poor children once a year, giving them something to look forward to, it's a good thing. You're a better man than I, Kolas."
Nikolas smiled appreciatively and then shook his head. "One day, we will have such a celebration."
Christophe's stomach turned at the thought that his actions and influence may have signed the death warrant for such a saintly man. He knew Nikolas made him a better person. His stomach twisted even further at what type of person he'd be without Nikolas around.
As their heels clicked and clacked against the marble floor, Christophe felt his chest tighten. Then, in the middle of a thought, he stopped and looked about nervously.
"Just a moment, Captain." Nikolas reached out and gently took Christophe's hand, giving it a squeeze. "Christo, are you there?"
Christophe stared at him and then at their clasped hands. With a sigh, he nodded, and they started walking again.
"Thank you," he whispered to Nikolas.
Nikolas patted his friend on the shoulder. "There is no better way to walk through the gates of the damned than with a friend at your side, yes?"
A timid smile appeared briefly on Christophe's face.
The grand, red-and-yellow doors to the court opened, revealing a checkered marble floor leading to a platform four steps up. Upon it was the king, sitting on his large, stone throne, with a gaggle of sycophants around him. Several feet away, but still on the platform, stood Marcus Pieman, his head bowed. Midway between the king and the entrance door stood the king's aide at the ready.
Banging his six-foot gold-and-silver staff on the floor, the aide drew everyone's attention. "Captain, do you have Conventioneers Klaus and Creangle in your custody for the King of Teuton?"
"I do," the captain replied with a bow.
The aide turned to the king. "Then, Your Majesty, I present Klaus and Creangle."
"Thank you, Captain." The king stood up and glared down at his new audience.
He was a tall, heavily-bearded man with a notorious, omnipresent scowl. His family had been feared by their neighbors for generations for their ruthlessness and opportunism. The king's grandfather had engaged in long and bloody wars upon his rivals, wearing them down until they simply couldn't afford to fight anymore. Many saw the current king as the spitting image of his grandfather, in temperament as well as appearance.
He was dressed in a frilly collared shirt and dark purple robe that flowed down to the floor.
"Did you mistakenly say Conventioneers, Aide?" The king scoffed. "Conventioneers are to follow the will and edicts of the king, guided by the High Conventioneer." He shot a sideways glare at Marcus. "While other kingdoms have had frequent problems with Conventioneers misunderstanding their role, we have had remarkably few. But you both were the first to ever show a king that he demanded too little from his leashed geniuses. And yet, after you show me, you then refuse to show me more."
He descended the steps of the raised throne platform and gradually approached Christophe and Nikolas, two elite guards stepping out from the sycophants and following two paces behind him. "I brought you before me so that I may hear your answer directly. Will you build the weapons I have asked of you? Will you bring Teuton into a new era of strength and help keep our enemies at bay?"
Christophe stared at the wall-mounted crank lanterns he'd designed. "We have no enemies, but such actions, they will bring some. Is that what you want?"
"Ha." The king came right up to Christophe's face. "There's that inability to understand one's place. Is that what led you to sneak away from the palace, to steal from the treasury, and make the pieces for the mechanical horse you showed me?"
Anger flashed across Christophe's face. "We didn't steal a thing. Neither time nor money...," he bit his tongue. "I am guilty of many things, but in my duty to society, I would never steal from the people or its ruler."
The king stood there, studying him.
Christophe nodded at Nikolas. "Kolas knew nothing of the deceptions that were done over the weeks of our work. He thought I was informing High Conventioneer Pieman," he said, swallowing hard and glancing over at Marcus.
Nikolas raised a hand in protest, but Christophe caught it and pushed it down. "It's okay, Kolas. I might as well give him everything, it's what he wants."
"It isn't, but you're amusing me," the king said. "I'd offer for you to continue, but I have to know, is all of this a feeble attempt at humor? Hmm?"
The king smirked and folded his arms. "I am not an idiot. You could not have made the engine, never mind the rest of that horse, in weeks. My advisors tell me that it was at least a year, if not two. And that would be more than enough time for Klaus to have mentioned something, anything, to someone." He pointed at Marcus. "And I doubt his words; I find them hollow and unconvincing."
Christophe shifted his weight from side to side. He was hot and sweaty, his heart pounding. Please let this end with words of warning and quickly. I can still make it before she's asleep. At least let me keep the spirit of my promise.
"No, I believe that young Conventioneer Stimple had the right idea about you two. You worked on your four King's-Horses for a year, showed me one in the hopes of diverting attention, and then planned on selling the rest of them to our enemies."
"King's-Horse?" Christophe frowned at the king.
"Yes, of course," the aide interjected. "Such a thing is only fine enough for a king. In the spirit of all things considered the most elite, the most coveted by the king, he has graced it with this name. Like the king's-men who serve as His Majesty's most trusted advisors and emissaries among the people, it will have the hyphenated name to signify its greatness."
The king smiled and ascended the stairs to the raised platform. Pausing for a moment, he looked down at Christophe. "I felt it was only fitting. I admit, I enjoyed the roar of the mechanical beast, its speed, its power, very much. Not since I was a child have I found my imagination so awakened."
He brought his hands together in his lap. "You once said to me that you wanted to show me what you were capable of and then you did. And when I asked you to now engage that capability, to help the people of Teuton by creating the instruments of protection that I asked, your bravado evaporated. Am I a fool for not having seen you as a fraud, or are you foolish to be playing a dangerous game with the king?"
The room was silent, save for the sound of the king's fingers drumming on the arm of his throne.
Christophe stared at his boots, his mind racing. His clothes clung to him, and his throat was gummy.
"I was already of the mind to hang you both in the square, as traitors to the nation, but I was told to consider otherwise." The king glanced at Marcus Pieman and then pointed at him, shaking his hand. "He told me it is better to offer you a carrot, to give you an opportunity to reconsider your misguided and inappreciative answer, rather than beat you with the proverbial stick."
The king smoothed his beard. "He was right on one account. Hanging you would have brought no good to the kingdom. That said, I believe Pieman is wrong. Living in the darkness of a dungeon has a way of softening a man's politics, reshaping his obstinance into compliance. My stick to his carrot."
Christophe's head lowered a bit further. When they'd started, Nikolas had committed himself to follow Christophe's lead to the bitter end if needed. He couldn't believe that Nikolas had actually meant it, but there he was, standing beside Christophe, not saying a word. He looked at his friend out of the corner of his eye. Why can't you just agree? Marcus will protect you however he can. Don't do this to yourself, he thought.
The king moved to the edge of his throne. "Tell me, will you both perform your duties, create whatever I ask, and return to your life? I'd even be willing to forgive this transgression." The king glanced at Marcus again.
"I have remained true to my duty," Christophe snapped, glaring at the king. "My duty is to society, to make sure that my ideas do not bring about the pain that men like you inflicted upon my family and village." The words shot out before he realized it.
The king's face first went red with rage and then he erupted in laughter. As he laughed, the tension in the room rose and rose until even the aide's hands shook.
"It's like...," the king tapped a finger to his chin, "it's like you are a barbarian from a distant land with no understanding of our ways and customs."
The aide raised a finger.
"Yes?" the king said, amused.
"Barbarians live in tribes, do they not?"
"Excellent point." The king laughed again. "Tribes have chiefs, and barbarians show them respect, don't they? No, Creangle is a savage from a foreign land, painted in our color of skin and fluent in our language. You can dress a savage up, but his insolent, corrosive soul will show, won't it?"
Christophe's breathing had sped up and he stared at the ground with wide, panicked eyes. Every time the idea of submitting rose up, images of the death and destruction he'd witnessed beat it back down. "I am a man who was hunted by the ravenous dogs of mad kings, drunk on power and ego, armed with the weapons made by people like me."
The king glared at Christophe, sending a chill through him. Christophe raised his gaze to meet the king's and said nothing.
"Your friend has some sense. He knows to remain silent when his betters are speaking to him, and he is silent in loyalty to you, though I see it as foolishness." The king rubbed his hands together, the scowl back in full force. "You should know that my men found your workshop. We have all four King's-Horses. I turned three of them over to Conventioneer Stimple." He smiled at the shock on Christophe and Nikolas' faces.
"You may be marvelous at building all manner of contraptions, but you have no understanding of what it is to hold power."
Christophe caught Marcus giving the king a menacing glance.
"And each of the engines they have opened has rendered itself completely useless, haven't they?" Christophe smirked.
"Is that so?" The king looked at Marcus. "Have you heard anything?"
"I have, Your Majesty." Marcus rocked on his heels.
"And?"
"It has not gone well, Your Majesty."
The king glared at Marcus. "Speak."
Marcus scratched the side of his face and slowly looked up at the king with a steely-eyed gaze. "It has been a wasteful mess, to be honest. Stimple, in his eternal over-eagerness, ignored my advice. All three of the engines' booby traps were set off, and their chemical and mechanical secrets ruined." Straightening up, he looked at the two Conventioneers. "Perhaps had I not been sidelined and made to witness the horrors from afar, we could have had—"
"Enough. You will not have your hands on a single one of these so long as I live," said the king, his face twitching.
He moved his purple robe around. "Any more philosophy or proclamations, Creangle? Please, speak now like you were talking to a god in your final moments." He gestured toward the ceiling. "I heard it's needed by the condemned."
Nikolas stepped forward.
"I have no interest in what you have to say." The king waved a dismissive hand at him, which was copied by the aide. "Pieman has spoken more than enough on your behalf, and I care not to hear another word of how you had no involvement in the engine itself."
Christophe lowered his gaze and ground his teeth. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nikolas shaking his head in disbelief.
"Any more words of wisdom, Creangle?" the king boomed.
Clenching his hands into fists, Christophe took a deep breath and lifted his head. As the words organized themselves into a final blistering attack, he saw a giant, looming grandfather clock in the corner of the room.
I'm supposed to be there. My promise is broken. Christophe's face went pale. I've failed.
"In your tiny cell, you should pray, Creangle. Pray for the wisdom to change your mind or that my Conventioneers cannot figure out your little miracle. For if they do, then you are of no value to me alive." The king waved at a crank lantern. "As with all things, they will figure it out in time. And so, I ask this final time, will you, Christophe Creangle, make what I ask of you without question?"
Christophe looked up, his head held high. "No."
"And so, we finally come to you, Nikolas Klaus. Will you build whatever I ask, without question?"
Nikolas straightened up. "Since I was rescued off the streets by Marcus, I have helped invent many things. Yes, I am like Christophe in many ways, but I cannot make the types of things you ask."
"Yes or no," the king bellowed, his face red.
Nikolas clasped his hands together and looked down at them, silent for a moment.
Christophe swallowed hard. He leaned over. "Don't follow me. Please."
Nikolas shoved him back with a shoulder. Staring at his hands, his fears played out on his face. "Weapons and instruments of pain... I will not build these things." He lifted his gaze and stared at the king. "I cannot. Even if it means not seeing my beloved again."
The king shook his head and glared at Marcus. "And here I thought you would most certainly be wrong. But once again, you are right where my other advisors are wrong."
Marcus offered a tight-lipped smile. "May I say something to them? To him personally, Your Majesty?"
With a nod from the king, Marcus hopped off the platform and came up to Christophe. Looking him right in the eyes, Marcus whispered, "Your greatest achievement in all of this was you prevented me from helping you in any way. Despite all of this, I will try my best to see you both released."
"We both know you mean you will help Nikolas, and that's okay." Christophe shrugged passively. "It doesn't matter."
"I mean you too, you idiot." Marcus glared at him and then stepped aside, following Christophe's gaze to the clock.
The guards came and took Christophe and Nikolas by the arms, hauling them away.
I'm sorry, Meeshich. I did my best to see you. I hope one day you will understand. Duty to society above everything, even one's own heart, thought Christophe.