Clockwork

Chapter Seven

"How long do you think I'll last in the streets?" Felicity asked Hunter.

It was the next day and they were in her workshop, tinkering around with loose parts. Hunter had found a piece of copper wire and had been driving Felicity nuts by playing with it.

He shrugged.

"I give it 24 hours. You're not exactly the most conspicuous."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Flick, you have red hair. Red. Everyone around here is blonde. Good luck staying under the radar."

"I'll just dye it?"

Hunter got up from his position on the workbench. Putting down his now perfectly coiled wire, he put his hands on either side of Felicity. His eyes gleamed.

"You won't last 24 hours alone. Who said you'd have to be alone?"

                                                                                                     *

                                                                                      Dear Patron Gulton,

I am writing this as I begin to pack. I am leaving, never to come back. Thank you for your years of "kindness", giving me a roof to live under, and even lowering the rent.

To repay your generosity, I have taken any reminders of me away, in an attempt to erase myself from your life.

I have decided to go my own way.

F

P.S Thanks for the starting loan.

Patron Gulton puzzled over the strange letter. What starting loan? He hadn't given a single penny to that peasant. A sudden realisation dawned upon him.

Furiously plodding up the oak stairwell, he made his way towards the painting over his great aunt, the previous owner of his luxurious abode. Just as he had suspected, the painting lay on the floor, the safe that it had once concealed flung wide open.

The only thing left in the safe was a neat coil of copper wire.

                                                                                                      *

A large bellow could be heard all across town.

"And that'll be Glutton!" Hunter chuckled with glee, his knuckles white from gripping onto the jet.

"Please let me drive."

"No. The jet isn't finished; it's a miracle that it is even airborne," Felicity replied over her shoulder. She wiped her sweaty forehead with her tattered sleeve. Her controls were proving to be difficult.

"We may need to make a pit stop."

"Looking forward to it." Hunter said, clutching his unsettled stomach. He looked whistfully at Felicity's motobike which was chained to the wall of the jet just behind him.

"I wish we could have travelled on the bike instead."

"So do I but we needed a quick get away. Also, we can't really store anything in it. I'll need all my bits an bobs to set up a shop to get money."

"Fair enough. Still doesn't explain why I can't drive."

"I told you. The jet isn't finished and it may-"

The jet gave a sudden judder.

With that, the engine gave out and the pair felt themselves plummeting back towards the ground.

"Oh shit."

                                                                                                     *

"And this is why we don't leave until everything is completely ready!" Hunter snapped as the dust disappeared.

"Should have realised that an old army jet found in a bloody junkyard wouldn't last long. There's a reason why "junkyards" are called "junk"-yards!"

Felicity emerged from the cockpit of the jet, coughing her lungs out. She glared at the wreck of the jet. She had spent so long fixing the engine, the control panel, the exterior. What the hell had happened?

Scratching her head, she made a mental map of the jet. She still couldn't find why the engine had given out.

"Where the hell are we?" Hunter asked, looking around. They had landed in a barren field, the probably once flourishing plants now withered down to nothing. The smell of burning seemed to emerge from between the sheaves of blackening corn. In the distance, smoke danced between the clouds, painting the fading blue sky grey.

"Can't have gotten too far. I mean, we couldn't have even made it out of Landmass 43."

"Oh. Pretty useless jet then."

"I'm sorry," Felicity snapped, whipping her long red hair. "I didn't realise that his majesty required 5 star travel. Forgive me for not getting the royal ship ready."

Hunter was taken aback. Flick never shouted at him. He realised that he may have taken it too far.

"I'll go scout ahead." He announced weakly.

Felicity nodded in acknowledgment.

                                                                                                     *

Hissing at the pain in his arm, Hunter moved towards the smoke. One of the reactors of the jet had exploded near his head and, putting his arms up to protects himself, Hunter had managed to get a shard of glass impaled in his arm. He gagged at the smell of blood. What is wrong with you? He told himself. He had no problem with seeing blood. Other people's blood. How was his so different?

Eventually, he made it to the source of the smoke. A post stuck in the ground bearing the words "Nová Bošáca". Hunter assumed this was the name of the place that had once stood there.

The remains of a fire lay flickering in a pit, the flames waving their arms in defeat. Suddenly, Hunter felt very uncomfortable. A familiar smell attacked his nose, a smell he had tried so hard to forget. Swallowing the lump in his throat, Hunter turned around, bumping into an old tree. What he saw almost made him scream.

Tied to the tree was a body, mutilated beyond recognition. The skin had been burnt off, bones broken, neck snapped. A sign was deposited unceremoniously next to the corpse.

Those who fight against the wishes of her majesty, Queen Avarice, will be punished with what they treasure the most.

Another sign, a more tattered one, lay next to the first one.

Here lies Aurelius Henderson, a celebrated blacksmith and beloved political figure. May his soul burn in hell for every lie that has passed his mouth that was against the Queen.

Tyrannus mors est.

"Death to the tyrant." Hunter whispered, not trusting his voice to be any louder. His eyes were watering not with sadness or terror, but with rage. How could anyone do that to someone? And in the name of that b***h. She had to pay.

Taking his telescreen out, he videoed the scene.

"Until now," he narrated, "It has been a mystery what has happened to nominee, Aurelius Henderson. His death was covered up, written out of history. I tell you today, citizens of Earth, to look upon the doings of the Queen. Look at how she treats her rivals, covering up her dirty work. How can we let her rule us, with fear? The Queen must be stopped. Must be brought down from power. Must be punished. Mors regina ad malum!" He spat.

Giving one last vulgar motion with his finger, he smashed the telescreen on the ground, the light fading from the screen.