Arcadia Snips and the Steamwork Consortium Read Free Page B

you worry. We're going to take every step possible to make sure you are comfortable." The warden twitched. "In fact, once we're through, I'm sure you'll never want to leave Morgrim again."
    "Suspension cords, check. Padlock on suspension cords, check."
    "Twice now," and here the warden's voice trembled, much like the plucked note of a cello string wound a quarter of an inch too tight, "you have vanished from your cell without apparent explanation or effort. Twice now, you have soiled my reputation as a capable jailer. I will earn my reputation back, Miss Snips. There will not be a third occasion."
    "Reinforced triple padlocked deadbolts on the door, check.
    We're finished here, sir," the locksmith said.
    Snips smiled.
    "Oh, do you have something to say, Miss Snips? Perhaps some sort of amusing quip? A clever parting word?"
    Rather than reply, Snips just kept on smiling.
    "All for the better. Rest assured; there is nothing on the tip of your tongue that can change the fact that you will die here, alone and in the dark."
    The warden spun about on the heel of his boot, stomping out of the room with the locksmith in tow. The door slammed shut, followed by the clamor of many, many locks snapping into place.
    Once the sound of their footsteps put them at the far end of the hall, Snips stuck out her tongue.
    On its tip was the warden's key.
    Snips pulled the key back into her mouth and began to writhe with great violence, rocking from side to side. Every minute would end with a rattle of metal or cloth as she threw down yet another implement of bondage. After five minutes of this, she had shed her bindings much like a snake might shed its skin. She unlocked the chain that held her feet in the air and tumbled to the floor, now clad only in her prison arrows and beloved hat.

    She didn't get far out of the cell before stepping out in front of someone.
    "Now what do we 'ave here," asked the towering guard. He was swarthy and broad, with palms large enough to seize skulls and arms strong enough to crack them. When he spoke, it was with barking alacrity—as if he found the language somehow distasteful to his tongue, and was glad to have it off. "Still tryin' to drive the warden mad, eh?"
    "Morning, Agrippa," Snips said, unflinching. "And, yeah.
    You got a mind to try and stop me?"
    Agrippa laughed; it was a short and violent noise that sounded like something he had caught from a fellow who had died of it. "Maybe," he said. "You think y'could take me?"
    "Probably not," Snips admitted, meeting his smile with one of her own. "But I'd charge you an eyeball for the right." She wiggled her thumb.
    For a moment, there was silence. Then Agrippa chuckled.
    "Give me a strike to th'back of th'head," the guard said.
    "Make it look good, eh?"
    Snips searched the room until she found a crowbar. She advanced toward Agrippa, who obligingly turned his back.
    "Some world, eh?" Agrippa said. "You can't even trust your own kin not to turn you in for a nickel."
    "It's always been like that," Snips said. "Besides, the only two things I've ever trusted were myself and a sturdy crowbar. And I ain't too sure about that first thing."
    "Well, I think—"
    She brought the makeshift bludgeon down with a brutal blow.
    ~*~

CHAPTER 3: IN WHICH OUR TITULAR PROTAGONIST MEETS, GREETS, AND FLEES FROM HER NEW EMPLOYERS

    ~*~
    It was always the smell of the Rookery that hit Snips first—
    like a flaming freight train filled with manure. The stench stabbed its way to the back of the brain, signing a signature at the top of your spine. It was a smell you could always recognize but never quite pin down.
    The Rookery was several hundred tight knots of vendors, carts, and houses tied along a crooked and winding length of road.
    The looming brick walls drew so close in some places that no more than two people could pass at a time—and the way they tilted toward the street implied an imminent avalanche of mortar and wood.
    To the right, an immense mechanical spider picked its