Clockwork Alchemist

Book 1: The Thief's Apprentice series

by Sara C. Roethle

Genres: Gaslamp; Historical Fantasy; Alternative History sci-fi

Synopsis

Liliana is trapped alone in the dark. Her father is dead, and London is very far away. If only she hadn’t been locked up in her room, reading a book she wasn’t allowed to read, she might have been able to stop her father’s killer. Now he’s lying dead in the next room, and there’s nothing she can do to bring him back.

Arhyen is the self-declared finest thief in London. His mission was simple. Steal a journal from Fairfax Breckinridge, the greatest alchemist of the time. He hadn’t expected to find Fairfax himself, with a dagger in his back. Nor had he expected the alchemist’s automaton daughter, who claims to have a soul.

Suddenly entrenched in a mystery too great to fully comprehend, Arhyen and Liliana must rely on the help of a wayward detective, and a mysterious masked man, to piece together the clues laid before them. Will they uncover the true source of Liliana’s soul in time, or will London plunge into a dark age of nefarious technology, where only the scientific will survive?

Clockwork Alchemist is classified as Gaslamp Fantasy, with elements of magic within alchemy and science, based in Victorian England.

Release date: July 23, 2019

Publisher: Vulture's Eye Publications

Print pages: 262

Sample

Arhyen pressed his back against the cracked stone wall. He’d not expected this. He lowered the lantern in his hand as he glanced down at the aged corpse, then kicked it with his toe. It sounded . . . hollow. A pool of long since dried blood had congealed beneath it. It had obviously been lying there for months, but that didn’t mean that who or what had killed the man wasn’t still lurking about in the underground compound. Why couldn’t the journal his client needed be somewhere nice? Perhaps an upscale mansion with a lonely, noble lady, just waiting for a dashing thief to sweep her off her feet. Or a cottage where an old man, childless and in his last years, would be waiting to grant a stranger the rights to his fortune. Nope. It had to be in a hidden underground compound with a corpse, that required a ten mile hike through the forest to access. He was lucky he hadn’t gotten mauled by a badger.

Arhyen wiped the sweat from his brow, pushing back his shaggy, brown hair, then pressed onward down the narrow corridor. His boots, specially made to emit little sound when he moved, touched lightly on the stone floor as he crept further down the hall, holding the lantern in front of him. His client had claimed that the compound’s owner had disappeared, but Arhyen suspected he’d actually been the dead man in the corridor. Had his client known all along? The journal Arhyen sought was allegedly valuable, containing a new alchemical formula for . . . something, but was it worth killing for? 

He shook his head and continued into the next chamber, holding his lantern aloft to light the pitch black space. The stone room he entered was large, yet cozy, with overstuffed sofas, shelves full of books, a roll-top desk, and other expensive wooden furniture, all covered in a fine coating of dust.

Arhyen went straight for the desk, hurrying across the expensive looking dark blue rug that covered most of the floor. He gently pushed back the roll-top with his free hand, then set the lantern down on the desk’s surface as he began pawing through neatly stacked papers. He had no idea, really, what he was looking for, so he would simply have to steal anything with alchemical symbols that looked remotely like the ones he’d been given as an example. 

“Who are you?” a voice asked from somewhere to his left. 

Arhyen nearly jumped out of his skin, skidding backwards away from the sound. He froze and contemplated his options. He’d left his lantern on the desk, but its light didn’t push far enough into the room to illuminate the owner of the voice. He should simply run, but he still needed the journal, and the voice’s owner didn’t seem angry that he was skulking about. Plus, the voice had been female. As far as he knew, the old alchemist had lived in the compound entirely alone. 

He cleared his throat. “I could ask you the same question,” he stated bluntly, feigning confidence. 

The voice didn’t answer. 

Making up his mind, Arhyen hurried forward and snatched up his lantern, then moved the light to shine in the far corner of the room. Someone was sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs. He hadn’t noticed her at first, as she was in the corner, partially obscured by one of the bookcases. 

Curiosity getting the better of him, he stepped forward. The girl couldn’t have been more than eighteen, and wore a simple dress, with a high-cut neck and tight bodice, a common style. The pale blue sleeves covered dainty arms, ending with delicate, glove-encased hands, placed properly in her lap. Her vibrant red hair, once done in a proper up-do, was now covered in dust, with stray tendrils floating about her delicate face. She turned wide, blue eyes up to him to reflect the lantern light. 

When the girl didn’t speak, Arhyen cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I was told that no one would be here.” 

The girl seemed confused. “My father is here, but he stopped moving quite some time ago. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.” 

Arhyen furrowed his brow. Did the girl not understand that her father was dead? More troubling still, was the fact that the compound owner was rumored to have no children. Had he hidden his daughter here her entire life? 

He straightened his short, tan coat over his high collared shirt and waistcoat, quietly attempting to devise a kind way of explaining things to her. “Your father,” he began, hesitant to break the news. “Your father is dead,” he said quickly. “He will not be moving again, ever.” 

The girl’s face fell. She turned her gaze down to her lap, straightening the white gloves on her hands needlessly. “What will become of me?” she asked finally.

“I’m not quite sure,” he replied, feeling guilty, though he had no reason to. “I’m simply here for a specific set of documents, then I’ll be on my way.” 

The girl’s face lit up as she turned her gaze back up to him. “Father has many journals,” she explained excitedly. “I keep them all in order.”

Arhyen didn’t have the heart to correct her on speaking of her father in the present tense. Instead, he lifted a piece of parchment from his breast pocket and unfolded it. He handed it to her. “The document I’m looking for would have some of these same symbols on it. Have you seen them before?” 

She looked down at the parchment, then up to Arhyen with a nod. “These are very special symbols,” she explained. 

Arhyen’s eyes widened in surprise. “Are you an alchemist? Most would not recognize anything on that piece of paper.” He gestured at the parchment still clutched in her fingertips. 

She shook her head sadly. “I only know what father taught me.” 

He took an excited step forward. He’d been hired to find the journal, and wasn’t sure what it detailed, but it was important enough for his employer to hire one of the most prestigious thieves in England. Prestigious in his own mind, at least.

“What is your name?” he asked. He knelt in front of the girl, putting himself at her eye level. 

“Liliana Breckenridge,” she answered simply, her face void of emotion. 

Breckenridge. Perhaps she really was the alchemist’s daughter. The great Fairfax Breckenridge had left a legacy after all. 

“My name is Arhyen Croft,” he said honestly, seeing no reason to give a false name. The girl obviously had no idea what was going on. 

She didn’t reply, not even with a pleased to meet you. 

Trying to keep his frustration hidden, Arhyen tried again. “Liliana, do you know what these symbols mean?” he flicked a finger gently against the top of the parchment in her hands. 

She nodded. “They’re very important.” 

Arhyen sighed. “Do you know what they’re for?” 

She nodded again.

“Will you please tell me?” 

She nodded, then looked down at the parchment again. “These are the symbols that father used to make my soul.” 

Arhyen stood abruptly, then looked down at the girl. Suddenly it all made sense. Her emotionless face. Her confusion over her father’s death. She was an automaton. An artificial construct. They were all the rage amongst the wealthier classes. Fake humans, entirely willing to do ones bidding, no matter what that bidding might be. As a skilled alchemist, Fairfax Breckinridge had created himself a daughter. 

He knew he shouldn’t have felt bad, but he was overwhelmed with sympathy for the poor girl. Her creator had perished, leaving her alone in the dark to gather dust. Automatons didn’t sleep, nor did they eat, so she’d just sat there in the dark, for who knew how long. 

Still, he had a job to do, and Arhyen Croft never failed. 

The girl’s gaze remained on the parchment. “This is incomplete,” she murmured. 

Arhyen knelt back down in front of her. “Yes, this is only an example to help me identify the real thing,” he explained. “Can you show me the original document?” 

The girl nodded. She’d claimed her name was Liliana, but Arhyen was having trouble thinking of her as a human with a name. She was a manmade object . . . yet she claimed her father had made her a soul? It was preposterous. Souls couldn’t be made. But then why were these documents so important to his client?

He sighed, realizing he’d gotten himself in way over his head. He should simply procure the documents, leave the automaton in the compound, and be on his merry way, ten times richer for his troubles. 

The automaton seemed to be deep in thought, something automatons weren’t supposed to do. Finally, she met his eyes. “I’ll show you,” she agreed, “but you must take me with you when you leave this place. Take me somewhere that’s not so dark.” 

Arhyen inhaled sharply, but couldn’t think of anything to say. He couldn’t possibly take the girl with him, could he? He had nowhere to bring her, and he wasn’t about to emulate the nobility with an automaton in his home. “Of course,” he lied. He had to find the documents, after all. Once that was done, he’d find a way to convince the girl to stay behind. 

She nodded and stood, brushing the dust from her dress, though she didn’t seem to notice all of the dust in her hair. She was small, the top of her head barely reaching Arhyen’s shoulder as she breezed past him. He followed without a word as she approached one of the bookcases near where Arhyen had entered the room. He held the lantern aloft to light their way.

The automaton skimmed the spines of the leather-bound books, finally settling on one near the middle of the shelf. She retrieved it, then opened it to reveal pages of handwritten notes. Upon closer observation, Arhyen realized that all of the tomes on the shelf were journals, not books. It must have taken Fairfax Breckenridge his entire life to fill them all. 

She flipped through the pages of the journal until she found what she was looking for, then handed it to Arhyen. Taking it with his free hand, he held the lantern close and observed the formulae on the page. Sure enough, the initial symbols matched those on his parchment, though the formulae continued on long after that. 

With a smile, he snapped the book shut. Arhyen Croft never failed. 

His elation was short lived as he turned to find the automaton staring at him, her expression questioning.

“You know,” he began hesitantly, “it’s very dangerous in the outside world.” 

She frowned and blinked her big, blue eyes at him. “I’m not afraid,” she assured. 

Of course you’re not afraid, Arhyen thought. You have no emotions. “Well have you thought about what you’ll do once you’re out of here?” he countered. “London is a big place. You might get lost in a sea of people, never to return.” 

Catching onto his tricks, she crossed her arms. “We had a deal,” she snapped. 

He was utterly taken aback by her anger. Automatons weren’t supposed to feel anger. They were things. Perhaps she was just emulating emotions she’d seen from her father. 

Her arms remaining crossed, she tapped her foot, encased in a low-heeled boot, impatiently. 

Arhyen sighed. “Fine,” he agreed. He would lead her out of the compound, and perhaps she’d even follow him all the way back to London. Then she’d realize that there was nothing there for her, and he might even be kind enough to return her to the compound. 

He placed the book under his arm, held the lantern aloft with his free hand, then led the way out of the room. A short way down the hall, he stopped and turned back to the girl following obediently after him. “Do you need to bring anything? Clothes, perhaps?” 

She shook her head. “These are all I have,” she explained, gesturing down to her dress and dainty boots. 

Arhyen sighed and continued down the hall. Fairfax had obviously not been a very good father, if he’d only allowed his daughter a single dress. Automaton or no. 

* * *

Liliana followed after the man down the hall of the compound. She knew they would soon happen upon her father, lying in the hall just like he had been for the past several months. One day she’d found him lying there, unmoving, and she hadn’t known what to do. Her entire life had been him. 

Now this man, Arhyen Croft, had arrived, and was interested in her father’s notes. Perhaps he knew what she was supposed to do now that she had no master. Even if he didn’t, following him was better than remaining in the dark. 

Arhyen stopped ahead of her, and she knew he was looking down at her father. He glanced back at her with a frown. “Don’t look down, okay?” 

She narrowed her eyes in confusion, unsure of why Arhyen didn’t want her to look at her father. She’d seen him before, not long after he stopped moving. 

When she didn’t continue onward, Arhyen stepped toward her and took her gloved hand. She froze at the alarming touch. 

“Just close your eyes and I’ll lead you past,” he instructed. 

She nodded and closed her eyes, used to taking orders, though she was still confused. 

He tugged on her hand and she began to walk. Soon they reached the end of the corridor, and her hand was allowed to fall back to her side. 

“You can open your eyes now,” he instructed. 

 

She did as she was bade, then continued following him down the hall. She felt a pang of sadness at leaving her father behind, but he’d want her to find a new purpose, wouldn’t he? She shook her head. Perhaps not, but she couldn’t just wait in the dark for all of eternity.