Like Simple Clockwork

This is a part of the prologue of my book Like Simple Clockwork, set to release on inkpop September 1st. Enjoy!

Prologue: Deadly

January 1, 1835

London, England

On the bank of the Thames

It was time, and the anticipation was delicious. He could practically taste it on his tongue.

“Bring it to me!” the man snapped. He stroked his small pointed beard nervously. The ritual could only be completed on the stroke of midnight on the first day of the new year. It had snowed the night before, and now the thick coating of ice over the Thames held a dusting of it. The man shivered and blew gently on his chapped hands. The conditions were perfect. 

The metal creature held out a golden net so finely woven that nothing could pass through it. It was beautiful, a work of art, but its purpose was one so unnatural that defied both Heaven and Hell. 

“Good, good.” The man lay it down on the ice. Steam rose up from around the net. “They should be coming just about…now!” 

The water vapor materialized into human forms. Souls.

These were no ordinary human souls, however. These were ghosts, the souls of people who were unclean – murderers, adulterers, and the like. They were tethered to this world by past mistakes, and until those mistakes were resolved, they couldn’t leave. Some of them would be stuck here forever; their mistakes were too old or too large to be undone. Some mistakes had forgotten. They were constantly seeking forgiveness – it was the surest way a ghost could atone for their past sins. Another was to do an act of good so large it would overlook their past, but it was hard to judge an act. 

The ghosts tried to flee, but the power of the net was too strong. It sucked them back down and tethered them there. Moaning in horror, the ghosts tried to escape again, but to no avail. They were trapped.

The man smiled. So that spell he had come across in the Kensington palace library was true, after all. “Speak to me!” he cried, throwing his shoulders back. 

The ghosts watched him with worried looks on their faces. None of them had any idea what he was talking about.

“’Scuse me, sir,” a peasant called, “but are you sure you ‘aven’t ‘ad too much to drink?”

The man looked at him irritably. “Do you have any idea of who I am, of what power I hold?”

“Yes,” came a clear voice from the back of the crowd. “Yes, we do know who you are and of the power that you’ve abused, John.” Her voice was filled with scorn.

“Ah, my lovely Grace,” John smiled. “I was wondering what had become of my Air.”

Undaunted, Grace looked John directly in the eye. “William and I swore with our dying breaths that you would never catch her, John. She knows of you and your cursed ways, to be wary of your twisted metal machines. William may have been a Metal, but even he knows how you’ve turned public workforce into your own private army. Mark my words, you will never catch her,” she spat. 

John smiled. Unwittingly, Grace had given him the answer he needed. “Thank you, Grace,” he said. “Now come along.” He snapped his fingers.

One of the machines came forward and picked up the golden net. Another held out a wooden box, and the first thrust the net into the box and slammed the lid shut. 

“You fool.”

John could hear Grace’s voice, muffled by the box. He didn’t stop to listen to the rest of what she was saying. “Come along. This night has proved quite helpful indeed.” He set off for the Kensington, flanked on either side by his two machines. “Now I just need to find the perfect boy…”