Brooke: Yay! Thanks so much for reviewing! I fixed the grammar errors, which I unfortunately had a lot of. That's what I get for not doing a grammar check. *hits head* Though I LOVE LOVE LOVE reviews, I strongly encourage you to follow - not because I'm one of those writers who is obsessed with favs and follows, but because I'm going to run some pretty spontaneous updates on this story.

Will: Nobody likes your story. They're only reviewing because of me.

Brooke: Oh yeah? I've got 10 reviews, and I think two of them said that they loved you. Pretty bad ratio, eh? And darkwhiteangel said, and I quote: 'Yes and please do continue, because of you not will. Take that! Huh will, wallowed in your shame enough?'

Will: ... She was playing hard to get?

Brooke: "=.=I'm so glad I don't own you.


~A Book Without Words~

A TID fic by

Marie E. Brooke


William Herondale twisted the rusted wrench in his hands, squinting to make out the complex wiring in the machine. The witchlight flickered unevenly, and Will struggled to keep up with the rapidly fading illumination, his nimble fingers working at the screws and gears.

James Carstairs, Will's best friend and parabatai, tapped his foot and looked down at his wristwatch. The faint light from the witchlight revealed Jem's silvery hair and his eyes, which were speckled with brown and silver. "Will," he started, glancing worriedly at his raven-haired companion, "are you sure you want to do this? It's against the rules, you know."

"That's what you said when I changed all the speakers to say, 'Ducks are demonic bastards!' at one hour intervals, but I didn't get in trouble then," Will pointed out, still focusing at the task at hand.

Jem sighed. "True, but you only escaped punishment when I lied to them about your whereabouts," said Jem.

"Exactly. And if they ask, I had a terrible headache, so I stayed in bed until noon," Will instructed him. "Besides, this one is going to be the best prank I've ever pulled. All of the automatons will march into the dining room and start to sing off-key. And they won't stop, either, no matter how many bits and pieces it's crushed into. My planning is flawless," he boasted.

Jem looked at him for a few moments, his face expressionless, and pushed Will's hand gently away from a cog. "If you want them to sing, then you have to rewire the speakers," Jem said quietly, putting the cog back to its original spot and instead fiddling with light green wire.

Will grinned, clapping Jem's back in a brotherly manner. "Now that's the Jem I know!" he said joyfully, stepping back to admire his handiwork.

Jem didn't respond to this, only nudging him gently towards the great double doors. "Come. We should go; breakfast will be in the mess hall soon."

"Ah, breakfast!" chortled Will as Jem dragged him out the room and down the hall. "Never have I been so excited to hear those two syllables! Oh, music to my ears!" He laughed manically.

Jem, who was used to his strange ways, ignored him. "We'll be late," he said, quickening his pace.

"Of course we wouldn't want to be late for the great pranking," Will snickered, spreading his arms. "Everybody eating lunch peacefully, and then these great big automatons storming into the room, singing tunes." He smiled dreamily. "How chaotic would it be, watching them - "

"We're here," interrupted Jem. He opened the great wooden double doors, revealing a large room with a long table. Chairs with intricate wooden carvings and plush gold cushions lined the table. An array of matching gold sets also occupied the table, along with small golden figurines and glimmering gold leaves as decoration. Servants rushed in with trays topped with breakfast dishes: golden-brown pancakes oozing with butter, small bowls of fresh fruit, and crispy croissants.

Sitting at the very head of the table was none other than Mortmain, Will's rich (and annoying, Will privately thought) uncle. Will wasn't too fond of him - in fact, he was positively infuriated at his uncle's antics. Mortmain was out to get him, purposely planting lethal traps just to trap Will in action. ("Lethal" meant planting cameras or speakers to catch Will at his pranks.) Will prided himself on being the better strategist, and for once it wasn't just bragging. He managed to evade every single one of Mortmain's attempts, sometimes even mocking them, which only succeeded in infuriating his uncle further.

"You're five minutes late," Mortmain said coldly. "I urge you to cease ruining the family name with your irresponsibility."

Will opened his mouth to respond with a retort - probably a rude one - but Jem got there before him. "It is my fault, sir," said Jem hastily. "I slowed him down with my - my issues."

Will tensed at his word choice, but Mortmain merely smiled. He had always held a soft spot for Jem. Just shows to say that Jem is nice enough to melt even the coldest of hearts, thought Will.

"It's not your fault," he assured Jem. "I appreciate your honesty, however. If only there were more people like you," he added, directing the last part towards Will with a pointed look.

"I admire you for your patience and understanding," said Jem politely, flashing him an angelic smile, which Mortmain returned with his own soft look of kindness, his eyes crinkling at the edges. He gestured for Jem and Will to take a seat.

Will rolled his eyes.

Once seated, Will leaned over and whispered to Jem, "Suck-up. Always using your 'nice boy' façade to lure others into your web of Asian lies."

"It's not a façade," said Jem, unruffled. "And, if you insist on referring to it as one, that 'nice boy façade' has gotten you out of trouble numerous times."

"True," relented Will, leaning back and starting to eat. His eyes darted between his delicious, golden-brown pancakes and the large clock on the wall. He was anxious for his prank to come into play, but not nervous enough to avoid eating his mouth-watering food. He eagerly dug into the heavenly breakfast, not minding Mortmain's disgusted look when he got some food splattered on his crisp, black (not to mention expensive) suit.

Once finished, he put his full attention on the clock. Only five minutes... He started to count down mentally. Five, six, seven, eight, nine...

"Will, are you still counting?" asked Jem exasperatedly, but not without some amusement. "There's no point in doing so. You're going to know when they come in anyways. You'll see it."

"It's more fun to count," said Will, eyes still glued to the clock. Fifty-one, fifty-two, fifty-three... "It should be soon," he announced to Jem.

...60.

And all hell broke loose.

The doors burst open and a mass of metallic beings spilled out from it, their metal jaws unhinged. They walked jerkily, as if they were being controlled by a puppet master, but purposefully, and toppled chairs and tables, smashing silverware. The guttural shrieks emitting from their throat were reminscents of childhood songs such as Happy Birthday or Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.

Mortmain shrieked like a little girl. "Get them off me!" he screeched, grappling with a metal fist. A booted silver foot kicked him in his gluteus maximus, making him scream even louder. His servants rushed forward to help their master, only to be knocked to the ground by the whirling automatons.

Will threaded his way out the melee and to the front doors, dragging Jem by his hand. The two ran up countless hallways and staircases until slamming the door to Will's room.

Will slumped down against the maghony door, pushing strands of hair away from his face. The adrenaline was still pumping through his veins, but his peak of exhilaration was fading rapidly. "How did you like that, James?" he panted.

"Mortmain will be very mad," warned Jem.

"Screw Mortmain, that was awesome!" Will grinned at his friend, who could resist grinning back. "Besides, he doesn't have any proof that I did anything, so he can't bust us," he said, adding the last part in with a sort of smug satisfaction.

Jem sighed in defeat. "I suppose," he said. "But I was rather hoping that you have learned your lesson."

"What is there to learn?" said Will reasonably. "I played a prank and kicked his arse."

"The automatons did, actually."

"It's mostly figurative," said Will. "I could if I tried, though," he added hastily, for the sake of his manly pride.

Jem chuckled. "Whatever you say, William. If that's what makes you sleep at night," he teased for good measure.

"I can too!" said Will, looking affronted. "Kick his arse, I mean."

"Sure," muttered Jem skeptically, making sure to exaggerate the u.

"No, seriously!" protested Will. "After all, I am a black belt in karate, I've beaten the fencing instructor numerous times, and - " Will started to ramble on about all his achievements in self-defense, his chest puffed up proudly and his blue eyes alight.

Jem cast an amused look to the ranting boy. Why couldn't he have the same enthusiasm towards something more useful; say, music? he thought wistfully. After all, he did have the slim fingers and inquisitive mind of a musician, among other attributes. With potential like that, he could've been a professional pianist or violinist, and maybe even go on tour like Jem did.

As Jem watched Will look down at the chaotic scene in the kitchen below through a glass pane (which was one-way and invented by Henry Branwell), laughing every time an automaton threw a pie at a servant or pulled down their trousers, he remembered why he had reconsidered his opinions about his parabatai's "potential." He probably should've been glad that Will didn't play an instrument, because he knew that he would wake up everyday at three in the morning to silence the guttural screeches of a dying cat, otherwise known as Will playing the violin. Or worse, he could get stuck in the same kind of predicament as Jem.

"Will," started Jem, "you know you have to apologize to Mortmain, right?"

"I do?" Will had tore his gaze from the glass to give Jem a stubborn look.

"It has to be thorough," said Jem, ignoring Will. "You must give Mortmain the apology he deserves."

"So, I don't have to apologize."

Jem ignored him yet again. "He is your uncle, Will. If it weren't for him, you would be out in the streets."

"If it weren't for him, I wouldn't be having to apologize to the slimy git."

Jem fixed Will with a hard glare. "Will." He didn't want to lose his parabatai to the streets; he knew that despite his and Mortmain's good bonds, that the uncle was ruthless and selfish, though he dared not to say it aloud. Even though Will was annoying, Jem was bound to him by an oath, and of course, they were best friends and parabatai.

Will threw up his hands in defeat. "Fine," he grumbled. "I'll do it."

Jem smiled at him warmly. "Come along, now," he said, opening the door and starting to descend the stairs to the right of it. A sulking Will followed, trailing behind him and muttering curses under his breath.

Like always, Jem came up with a thorough and heartfelt apology, which Mortmain always sucked up like a sponge to water - but, as always, Jem didn't mind, because they were parabatai, even if they were quite the odd pair.


Brooke: Finished! Sorry for not updating sooner. Anyways, I just published a new story called Sorry! I spent a lot of time on it, but it only has one review, and that was from a good friend of mine, Panda-chan. And even then I had to bribe her. So check that out! Also, I just put up a challenge forum, for all you writers and readers. You can challenge people to writing contests or participate in them, and I already have one up! If you're hesitant, don't fear, because I have prizes such as: one-shots, drabbles, reviews etc. And also -

Will: Nobody likes your writing and nobody cares about you. They only like me.

Brooke: You know what? That's it! Starting from the next chapter, you won't be the only other one in the A/N! It's time for Tessa to come in. Review if you want to deflate Will's ego and bring in Tessa!

Will: NO!

Brooke: REVIEW!