The Clockwork Empress – Part 1: The Imperial Terms

The summons came on a sheet of cream vellum stamped with a gear and a crown, delivered by a brass automaton with a mechanical bow.

The Empress requires the attendance of the clockmaker Silas Thorne at the Palace of Gears, tonight, at the ninth bell. Attire: formal. Terms: negotiable.

He read the last word three times.

Silas was thirty-nine, a master clockmaker of the lower city, lean and sooty and shy, who had repaired the great palace carillon the winter before and, in doing so, had caught the eye of the woman who ruled the realm. Empress Verity was forty-six, tall and slender, with silver in her dark hair and a long, immaculate coat the colour of old brass. She had ruled the Clockwork Empire for twenty years. She had never, in that time, been seen to raise her voice.

The throne room was a vast hall of turning wheels. Enormous brass gears ticked and rolled on every wall, pistons sighed, and steam curled in slow ribbons round the pillars. The Empress sat on a throne of black iron and copper at the far end, one gloved hand resting on the arm.

"Master Thorne," she said, in a low, level voice that carried to every corner. "Approach."

He crossed the polished floor, his boots ringing, and stopped before the dais.

"Kneel, if you are willing."

He knelt. She looked at him for a long time, with eyes the colour of tarnished silver.

"You repaired my carillon."

"Yes, Majesty."

"You repaired it without being told how. You listened, and you understood the mechanism, and you did not hurry." She tilted her head. "It is a rare quality. I have a use for it."

"Majesty?"

"I offer you a bond of service." She rose from the throne and descended the steps. "Not a command. An offer. I will tell you the terms. You may refuse them."

He swallowed. "Refuse, Majesty?"

"Always. In my empire, a bond is only ever made freely." She stopped in front of him. "I will ask you to serve me, in my private chambers, after the court is closed. To kneel when I say, to be silent, to be corrected as a clockmaker is who has set a spring too tight. I will not harm you. I will not shame you beyond what we agree. I will not keep you from leaving. And there is a word."

"A word."

"Winding. Say it, and it is done. The bond unwinds. You walk out of the palace unharmed, and I will not ask you why."

He thought of the long lonely years in the workshop. The quiet nights. The way her voice had gone through him, last winter, like a tuning fork.

"I understand, Majesty."

"Do you wish it?"

"More," said Silas, very quietly, "than I have words for."

"Then say the oath."

He placed a hand on his chest. "I, Silas Thorne, freely and with my own will, place myself in the service of Empress Verity. I accept her terms. I may end it by one word."

"And I, Verity, accept your service, and swear to keep you safe. The word is Winding."

"The word is Winding."

She laid two gloved fingers beneath his chin and tilted his face up.

"Are you content, Master Thorne?"

"Content, Majesty."

"Good," said the Empress, and above them, a great gear ticked and turned.

Continue the story: Part 2 – Winding.