Engines of Obsession: Chapter 26

Chapter 26: Last Will

"Turner?" Milo stared, alarm rising in the tone of his voice.

The book opened up as Turner slid it around on his lap. He gestured at the cover with his knife.

"I saw her writing in this several times," he explained. "It had a very durable, and very nice-looking, soft leather cover. There was no reason to rebind it into a cheaper-looking hardcover."

Turner tapped the book lightly. "This looks nice, but the original was something else. And she said the answer wasn't between the pages. So..."

Nora winced, but she didn't say anything as the knife's point punctured the leather wrapped snugly around the wooden slat.

Or slats, in this case.

A careful drag of the sharp tip parted the thin leather, the silent room making the quiet rasp of the tear seem loud. The opening revealed two thin wooden boards inserted inside the front cover. He'd have to check the back, too, even if part of him winced at the damage to a finely-bound book like this. The old cover was nicer, but this one was definitely not cheap. Unbidden, a flutter of guilt and worry clenched in his stomach as he wondered if perhaps the old cover had just been damaged, and this was ruining a valuable heirloom.

Turner carefully extracted the two wooden slats, very thin but surprisingly sturdy. Sliding them free of the light leather covering, he pried the top away from the bottom - the two were lightly stuck together - and revealed the folded papers between the two. He caught a faint whiff of musty leather and oil, vanishing swiftly against the acrid strength of the vinegar Nora was using.

"Runner's Leap, there really is something," Martin muttered.

Nora tapped the small dish she was heating, then nodded to herself. Now that she'd confirmed her refinement wouldn't explode on her, she scooted her chair over towards the rest of the group. "Is it addressed to you?"

Turner placed the book on the bed beside him, then unfolded the papers carefully on the wooden surface still in his lap. He quickly scanned the pages - he was quite proud of his reading speed - and nodded his head. "Sort of. Mostly yes..."

"Mostly?" Milo inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Brace yourself," Turner replied, before he took a deep breath to prepare to read.

Dear Reader,

It is most likely that you who are reading this are Rowan, and if so then I truly am sorry. If you are not Rowan, and you have stumbled upon this note by sheer chance, I urge you to fold it up and store it back where you found it, if possible. Do not continue to read, or you will be drawn into something far too dangerous to enter blindly.

If you are still reading, you have likely encountered bizarre constructs, and possibly even Anne Blakely, their maker, herself. Rowan, your parents were killed by two of these constructs, and I hope you had been uninvolved enough that you never read these words. If you are reading this now, it was likely inevitable from the day your parents died that you would seek out this note.

"I don't like the sound of this," Nora whispered, her voice flat and muttering. Turner continued reading.

Know that I am a Hunter, and my family, among others, are cursed to continue to seek out this woman whenever possible, and find some way to kill her. We are joined in this effort by other families, most notably the famous Middleton family. They are the source of this curse, and the most strongly bound to it.

Blakely was the first woman engaged to the famous James Middleton, and she was horrifically talented in mechanics, alchemy, and most importantly witchcraft. She was a kind woman, and vital to the expedition.

On the first expedition, Middleton was struck with a fatal blow. Not just a physical blow, but some sort of wasting curse that infected him, made it impossible to treat. Yet treat it Blakely did. I do not know what she did, nor did my mother or uncle, but somehow Blakely saved his life. It wasn't until later that we learned the cost.

Blakely had changed. Middleton gained new vigor, but greater caution at first. It was only when he found impossible to ignore evidence that Blakely was performing dark magics now, magics that tore the very soul from a being. He tried to stop her, but she viewed it as a betrayal and fled. Middleton devoted his life to stopping her.

It was only later that he learned the true extent of her witchcraft.

It is not likely that she did this intentionally, but whatever working Blakely used to save Middleton's life tore Fate itself asunder. Such things are regarded as flights of fancy now, but I assure you, dear reader, they are very real. Too much contact with Blakely or her constructs, and someone begins to be tangled up with them. Unless they make an effort to distance themselves, they will encounter the woman's trail more and more often, even as she likely tries to avoid them.

She is dangerous. In the time that the Middletons and my family have pursued her, she has constructed two far more deadly constructs than her normal ones.

The first is Reginald, who usually uses the body of a wooden puppet, is playful, theatrical, and ruthless. He has no regard for human life, and is often the one who plans any killings. He sometimes finds sport in killing, but at least death itself holds no allure for him.

The second is Penelope, who usually takes the form of a young child of metal. Unlike Reginald, Penelope is not a planner. Yet also unlike Reginald, she takes pleasure in causing pain. It was Penelope who killed your parents, Rowan.

This is almost all the information I can safely place in this note. With it you will also find the longitude and latitude of the Middleton's base in the wildlands. I have only been there a few times, but this is where any attempts to counter Blakely's experiments begin.

If you are a reader who has stumbled onto this, burn those coordinates. This is for your protection, not those at the location.

If you are reading this knowing any of the above, and searching for me, that is where you will find answers.

I leave for there now, by way of roundabout airship route. Tristan Middleton, his wife, and his young child go with me, along with many others. As always I leave a note in the event I do not return, with the path our ship will take. Pray I burn this one like the others.

Turner took a deep breath, then let it exhale in a long sigh. "Leaving a note every trip out." He glanced at the coordinates. "I navigate by landmarks, but I know this system. This is southwest of here. Farther west than I've ever been."

He passed the notes to Nora, who flipped through the paper. "We'll need to find an up to date map to see where it is, exactly. The Freelancer's Guild should have one. Guess they're useful after all."

Milo nodded, then pointed out with a frown, "Should we be worried about this Rowan person coming to find the note? Should we seek them out?"

A soft choking noise rose from Nora, then a sputtering giggle, girlish and light. It was so foreign to her, Martin and Milo jerked their heads about, with a small wince from Milo.

Turner smiled, "Ah... that's me. Rowan's my given name. I guess I never got around to telling you two that, did I?"

Milo's jaw dropped, then clicked shut. He worked his mouth as if trying to say something, but all that came out was quiet sputtering.

It was Martin who finally replied, "You are a very private person, Turner."

With a soft chuckle, Turner rubbed the back of his head... but his mirth faded quickly. His hand came around, and his thumb traced the faint scar on his cheek. "I've never heard of tearing Fate. I mean... I knew witchcraft could do actual magic. I keep quiet about it unless I have to, but something on this scale?"

"Whatever she did isn't known to me," Nora agreed from nearby. "Something like that? She must have broken a rule. Middleton couldn't have been dead, I know what that would cause if she tried to revive him... but he must have been fated to die." She bit her bottom lip. "And she did it while barely older than me, decades ago. Even before she was dodging old age, she was dangerous."

Milo finally found his voice, his face red at the realization he'd never known his boss's first name. "So once I've recovered, we can trace that route! Follow it and see what kind of weapon they were creating when they disappeared. Oh... but what if it was never finished?"

Turner shook his head, "No, no way." He held up a hand, once he saw Milo and Martin start to object. "Not right after you've recovered. Even with Nora's medicine, you won't be ready to travel the wildlands until late October at the earliest. That does give us time to put together an expedition, but even if we can get Byron's backing for that, leaving in late October is suicide."

He pointed toward the window. "It's already getting cooler at night. If we leave in October, we look at a travel time of weeks, minimum. The wildlands aren't just dangerous, they're criss-crossed with more rivers than even this area. If we're unlucky, it could take us months, and we'd quickly be trudging through dangerous, unfamiliar territory in the dead of winter. Even if we happened across every old Empire bridge, and they were all intact, we might not make it before a blizzard hits."

The two brothers winced, but neither raised an objection. Both were hunters, they knew Turner was right. Travel was difficult enough during winter even along the known roads, and this was likely to be deep into territory that hadn't been fully explored in over a thousand years.

Once he saw they weren't going to fight this, Turner relaxed.

"I'll send a message to Byron, then."