The story so far…
Jem and Kinley are looking for a way out of Aeon, a city on the opposite riverbank from their own. It’s been suspected that Aeon is stealing time from its twin Alinakard, using a machine created by Jem’s ancestor. A squad of soldiers had been sent to stop it a decade previously and now - with some help - think they can succeed. To do so, they need their sergeant, Jere, awaiting trial in the city’s courts. Jem and Kinley have been enlisted to rescue him. If they succeed, the soldiers might be able to break Aeon’s time bubble, unleashing death and destruction in the process. If they fail or get captured, they could be executed by Aeon’s guards.
You can read the last post here or start from the beginning with The City On The Other Side. The links at the bottom of each piece will jump you straight to the next chapter.
“I don’t like this”, Jem muttered to Finley, fidgeting with her belt buckle. They were both back in their normal clothes, which had been roughly washed and dried by the river. Finley’s black shirt looked better than Jem’s travel-stained blue top, but his trousers still had grass stains. They both looked like they had rolled out of trouble instead of a respectable home.
Finley glanced down the road to the court’s side entrance. The door was shut, and they’d been cautioned not to approach until it opened. For now, it was best to enjoy the midday sun and look like they were passing time in conversation. He leaned against the wall and nodded affably at a passing clerk.
“Relax an’ look like you belong,” he murmured back at her. “When I’m tracking or guarding, I look for things out of place. Youse sticks out like a bent nail on a bedpost.”
“I think we are being set up. Even if we manage to get Jere out of here, there’s no guarantee he can destroy the Tower.”
Finley shrugged. “If we don’t do it, we will be set up - by the squad,” he pointed out. “‘Sides, we want to be free of this hop-a-goolie place an’ the soldiers are the only ones with a plan.”
Jem tapped her knapsack. “Cassius thinks there is another way.”
“Mmmnn. He’s a talkin’ skull with nawt to lose. I’ll take a chance on the livin’.”
The door creaked open and a round-shouldered clerk with a moustache and glasses peered out. His neat ponytail was dishevelled on one side, as though he had woken from a nap. He gestured to them.
“Clerk Raul?” Jem asked, scrambling forward. “We’re here for the boating licence.” It was the prearranged signal the clerks used for bribes.
The clerk sniffed and held out a hand. Finley fished in his pocket with a sigh and pulled out a few coins. Raul glanced down at the amount, then up at Finley’s face, taking in the unshaven chin and tired eyes.
“Twenty,” he insisted.
“Ten,” Finley rebutted, an edge in his voice. “It’s enough for a quick talkin’ with our man.”
Raul scowled. “He’s about to meet the judge. Come back afterwards.”
Jem and Finley exchanged glances. Their riverside informant had been strict; they had to get to Jere before the judgment. Afterwards, the sergeant would be transferred to the City Guard cells, which were reinforced against breakout attempts.
“We’ve got information for his defence,” Jem said urgently. “It will be useless if we see him afterwards.”
Raul stared at them for a moment more, then shrugged. “So be it,” he grumbled. “It will make no difference to the outcome.”
Finley followed Jem’s stiff back through the untidy rooms and up the back stairs to the jail area. They had to press against the wall as two guards walked by, holding a prisoner between them, stinking of old beer.
“You’re in luck,” Raul observed, his face wrinkled in disgust. “The judge is running late, and Sergeant Jere is the last to be tried.”
Finley nodded and slipped a hand under his belt. It held a concealed knife in the buckle. He also had a pistol wedged in his waistband at the small of his back, but it was uncocked and the noise would bring people running. He wanted the rescue attempt to be as low-key as possible.
Raul ushered them into the large room, quartered by bars. Finley glanced at the cells on either side, with Jere in the far corner and nodded to the soldier. Behind them, Jem had secured the door.
“There’s no need for that,” Raul scolded as he turned around, then stilled as Finley’s knife pricked his neck.
“Best for all concerned,” the tracker advised. “If yer overpowered, yer can’t be tried for treason.”
“Treason!” Raul yelped, his glasses quivering. “But…!”
Jem yanked the keyring from his grasp. “You accepted bribes from a known enemy of the city,” she pointed out. “Now, get into that cell and don’t make any noise. If we escape, we won’t have to implicate you.”
Not taking any chances, Finley pulled off the clerk’s sash and used it to bind his hands behind his back. Jem fumbled through the keys until she found one that fit Jere’s door.
“He’ll scream as soon as we’re gone,” the sergeant warned as he walked out of the cell.
Finley shook his head. “Not if he’s gagged.” He cut off another piece of the clerk’s robe and tied the fabric across Raul's mouth, stretching out the lips.
“C’mon,” Jem urged as Finley pushed Raul gently into the cell. “He won’t be in there for long!”
Impatient, she jerked the cell door closed, causing it to clang shut. From outside, the trio heard a voice raise in surprise.
“Let’s hope it’s not about us,” Jere said grimly. “Weapons?”
“A pistol,” Jem offered, pulling a small gun from her knapsack. A muffled swear word rose from the fabric.
“What’s that?” the sergeant asked cautiously as he checked the pistol.
“Her ancestor,” Finley explained wearily. “Ask not, in case yer get answered.” He punctuated the sentence by opening the door into the connecting corridor. “C’mon.”
The trip back down the stairs was tense but uneventful. As they reached the clerk’s offices, Finley stopped.
“What is it?” Jem asked from the back.
“A gangly of men at the door,” he grunted. “Guards.”
Jere cursed.
Two clerks paused and craned over their desks to look at the group. One of them started to get up.
“We can’t linger,” Jere said grimly. “Make a dash for the main doors.”
He lunged into a sprint, taking Finley and Jem by surprise. They ran after him, pushing between visitors and bouncing off staff as they ran for the main entrance hall with its double doors. Somewhere in the background, a bell rang out.
“Swiving holts!” Finley swore. Jem darted around an open-mouthed guard who tried to grab her. A moment later, he was doubled over when the tracker punched him in the stomach. Ahead of them, a shot rang out at the door, causing onlookers to scream.
Finley sped up. He could hear shrill whistles from behind them and knew their chance to escape was about to vanish.
Jem was just ahead of him.
The double doors were open, with a City Guard lying on the ground, blood staining his chest. Jem went flying over him. Finley swerved around, his boots kicking up chalk and dust.
Jere was ahead of them, a disappearing shadow up a side street.
Finley redoubled his pace.
“Nearly there, lass!” he shouted.
Jem didn’t reply.
He skidded to a halt and looked back.
Jem was lying on the guard’s corpse, its hands clasped over her lower legs. More guards were erupting from the palace, and she was engulfed, shrieking, in a uniformed tide.
Several more were heading towards Finley. Sickened, he fled.