The Clockwork Tartan: Quest of the Five Clans by Raymond St. Elmo

Author:Raymond St. Elmo [St. Elmo, Raymond]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-07-29T06:00:00+00:00

Chapter 17

Three Couples

When I first entered the tavern, obituary in pocket, I intended to take my ease describing my part in the Great Reforming of the Laws of Labor and Representation. Between descriptions of Magisterium debates and Aldermen’s Council intrigues, I planned comic anecdotes of my in-laws’ fantastical customs, their mad inner theatre. Soon returning to the complexities of Industrial Progress, referring as needed to the insights of Adam Smith, the verse of William Blake.

I was slow to see the story went elsewhere. The threat to the New Charter became a minor skirmish, off-curtain. ‘Mastery of the Clans’ remained a grail I refused to seek; for all the mysterious villains plotting to hinder the quest. This tale has not been about politics, whether magical or mundane. Damnation, I’ve scarce even touched upon tax reform.

It’s about marriage. As the Glocken’s clever timepiece shewed in Keeper’s tavern, couples run through this ‘once upon a time’. Pursuing, fleeing, stumbling in and out a dance best viewed as clockwork comedy. Myself and Lalena. Her cousin Chatterton, his lost love Kariel. And the charmingly murderous Emily and Edgar. What passes with these six makes the main of what story I have to tell. All else? Mere sound and thunder, good for dramatic backdrop.

It’s a damned pity. I know all about Just Labor Laws and Tax Reform, Representation of the Commons and the immediate needs of a kingdom facing the dread new age of Industrial Promise. But if marriage is a kingdom, I have scarce crossed the border. Don’t know the language yet, nor half the customs. Haven’t even seen a map.

* * *

What came next in the Hall of Time, passed quick. Though difficult to describe.

“Cousins,” said Lalena.

“Who is it?” asked Edgar, keeping eyes upon Chat, Kariel and myself.

“Well, it is Lady Anna Helena of the Mac Sanglair herself and no other,” Emily informed him. “Haven’t seen her since she and I were small as small as small. Now she rides a bronze hell-beastie. It’s ate up the clockwork men we were hoping upon.” She shook head in solemn disapproval, then giggled. “Oh, but the Glocken shall wax wroth.”

“Worse wrath is upon you now,” observed Lalena. Excellent words; I thought it her signal to charge the automaton hell-beastie upon the two. It’d eat them up. Then Chat would embrace his mollified angel and we’d all go have breakfast. In Utopia, perhaps.

But no, Lalena jumped from the bronze Cerberus, lithe as child from hobby horse. She stood before Emily and her knife. I moved to prevent this. Edgar waved saber to halt me. I prepared to kill him. Kariel put the shotgun butt to shoulder, took aim.

But Lalena kept voice calm. Showing bright smile, if overly sharp of tooth. Eyes two black coins for Charon’s ferry, hair rippling slightly to her own inner storm.

“You stand between me and mine, Emily Elizabeth,” declared Lalena. “Will you strike me as I pass?”

“Have we quarrel, Anna Helena?” asked Emily. Not a tremble in voice nor frame. “None I know. Pass, sister, if you wish.

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