Chapter 53: The Servant's Sorrow

The clockwork soldiers were as efficient in the loading of their ships as they were in everything else – quick and fast and mechanical and without flaw or pause, and Andrew had nearly dozed off four times, chin in the palm of his hand, elbow balanced on the ship's railing, before Ben had come up beside him.

"Everything's going as planned?"

A single look at his cousin told him that he was not alone in his state of utter exhaustion.

"So far. Nothing's blown up, which is a gain, considering that they're Armada clockworks."

Ben rolled his eyes.

"Their allegiance belongs to us. As long as we have her, we can make them do whatever we please," Ben sighed, leaning forwards over the railing. Sydney's body had been returned to the same room that Zachary had practically incubated it in as soon as they had returned to the ship, and with a few simple spells performed once every other day Zachary was able to prevent decay from once again taking over.

They were, quite literally, using her corpse as a puppet, and that was a thought that unnerved nearly everyone on board. Even known, Andrew had no idea how many of the others knew exactly what they were doing, or if they would morally oppose it or not.

Yet, no questions or resistance had been raised so far – which only served to show the true depth of the blind trust that they placed in their leader, who, in turn, placed his own blind trust in both Andrew and especially Zachary.

"Is it really because we have her?"

"They would have killed us otherwise."

Andrew pursed his lips in thought.

"Then Quintus…?"

"I believe they will follow them both – they know she is dead, yes, and hence they follow him, her second in command with her blood within him. But when we brought her in, there were undoubtedly words coming from her mouth, and she still remains Sydney Underhill in a strictly scientific manner, whether she is dead or alive."

It was an override of sorts, a back door that they had found into the command center, the processor of each and every clockwork soldier that had been within those tunnels. That did not make it any less bizarre, but at least it was a little more digestible.

"Have you let him see her?" Andrew suddenly asked, and Ben tensed.

"Quintus? No. Not yet."

"You should."

"I'm not so sure that Zachary will allow that," he sighed, running a hand over his face. He was on Andrew's side this time, having kept the clockwork locked up in his cabin for months now. Quintus could not kill him, he knew, but he had soon found that he could not sleep in the same room as him voluntarily and often dragged a cot into Andrew's cramped quarters instead. Save for, of course, those inevitable times where he would fall into slumber atop of his papers after a particularly exhausting day.

And Quintus, like the helpless, purposeless and broken machine he was, stayed there in his corner, unmoving and silent, only speaking when he was asking where Sydney was, when he could see her, if she was all right and if she was rested.

Because deep down, he simply could not accept that she was dead, no matter of the fact that he did indeed understand what death was, and that Benjamin had reminded him –

SHE'S DEAD! SYDNEY'S DEAD!

It must have been hundreds of times.

Shoving himself off of the railing and back upright, he sauntered below decks to Zachary's series of quarters, the intensity of his headache growing painfully. He massaged his temples and kept walking, rapping the back of his knuckles against one door in the unofficial marked-off section, then another, then another. He could be in any of those rooms.

"Zachary? Zachary."

Not this one, not this one –

"Come out? Please?"

I'm too tired for this, he thought, leaning against the wall heavily. At last, he finally heard a succession of crashes from the other side of one of the doors, and the hurried, uneven rush of footsteps that could only belong to a tripping, stumbling person. Had Ben been more awake at the moment he would have laughed in amusement.

The door opened and a very flustered, disgruntled witchdoctor came into view on the other side of it.

"Yes?"

"Listen, I know I've said this before a hundred times – "

Zachary's eye roll confirmed that yes indeed, it really had been a hundred times.

"But you've got to let him see her."

"No. Not happening," Zachary said, retreating into his chaotic setup that he had dubbed his laboratory. He didn't close the door, however, and Benjamin carefully stepped in, watching the area near his feet for any spare beakers or vials as he navigated his way through the room. "What happens if he turns on us? A clockwork on our ship – he was made to kill us, and certainly has the know-how to be able to do so in minutes."

Zachary had a fair point there, but it still had some holes.

"Not necessarily," Ben countered, "and if anything, it's dangerous to us if we don't let him see her."

Zachary stopped whatever he was doing with the pliers and the glass dishes and the pieces of god-knows-what in that jar to look at Benjamin.

"If we don't let him see her?"

"You heard me?"

"But how?"

He wasn't entirely closed off to the possibility that his previous assumptions about Quintus had been wrong, which was good, but there was still some work to be done in the field of persuasion. That part would be simple, at least. He had the evidence, the logic, and the firsthand evidence, if needed – that being Quintus himself.

"The other soldiers – the ones loading now, the ones that we managed to trick – they understand that Sydney's dead. Quintus doesn't."

Zachary's neck twitched in an oddly bird-like way. A nervous habit of his that Benjamin had been able to pick up on, after seeing so many reoccurrences.

"Then why did they follow her? Do they know that we're – that we aren't – "

"They knew that the words came from her mouth, from her body, which had her blood. As far as they can tell, it's her, and they're still loyal to her – they can't not be." He cringed internally at the double negative. "But they still know that she's dead. So they also follow Quintus," he said, his eyebrows having gone so high on his forehead that it looked painful. "And if we don't have Quintus' compliance and cooperation, it could risk this entire operation."

That was a possibility that Benjamin himself had not even thought of before now – Quintus going rogue.

If he so pleased, he could order the clockworks not to fight for them, to leave them to die when they, along with Hunter's survivors, finally challenged Prima's forces on Skull Island. It was all up to him, and if he actually realized that his Commander was dead, like Benjamin had first tried to convince him of –

Then he would have no reason to remain neutral.

As far as he was concerned, they had moved his Commander from her final resting place, they had taken control of her forces, and it would be perfectly within his power to put a stop to all of their plans.

They couldn't let that happen – they couldn't even let the possibility of it exist.

It would mean risking all of their lives.

"So you're suggesting – "

"I'm suggesting that you let him see her. I tried to convince him, before, that she was dead – and thankfully, I don't think he's fully processed it, but if he does – "

"All right."

"What?" Benjamin blinked quickly, stunned. "Wait, you mean – now?"

"Why not?" Zachary shrugged. "Go get him. I'll be here. But don't you dare let this be a waste of my time."

Ben couldn't remember having run any faster in his entire life. He didn't know why – perhaps out of fear of what he would find. But when he unlocked the door to his cabin, when he wrenched it open and burst inside, he found exactly and only what had been there for weeks, unchanged.

Quintus, slumped in the furthest corner, unmoving and unresponsive.

"Quintus," Benjamin said, "I'm going to take you to your Commander."

As if this had literally switched him on, Quintus stood bolt upright in less than a second, a huge cloud of dust flying off of the folds of his uniform and his hair and his hat. Benjamin was briefly astonished – he knew that Quintus hadn't moved, but it was only now that he actually could comprehend how long of a time it had been.

"Follow me." That was the only thing that he could think of to say right now, but it was enough for Quintus. The clockwork followed him out of the cabin and below decks, as Benjamin traced the familiar path back to the room that they had stored Sydney's corpse in, lying flat on her back on that long wooden table.

Zachary was waiting outside for them, just as he had said he would, his arms crossed.

"She's in here."

He pushed open the door and stood aside. Quintus stepped past Benjamin tentatively, easily sliding into the narrow space between the wall and the table as he looked down at his Commander, his hands positioned just inches away from her body. It was as if he yearned to touch her, but couldn't – most likely because he would never dare, he never could violate protocol like that.

"Commander," he said, urgently. "Commander, I await your orders. I will now. I always will. I have carried out your last order," he went on, and Ben and Zachary exchanged uneasy glances with one another, "but I wait for another."

He paused, as if waiting for her to respond, maybe even expecting that she would respond.

"Please give me another," he said, and it was so pitiful, seeing him like this, waiting for his purpose to sit up again and speak to him, order him, command him. Quintus truly was lost without her, and they could not afford for him to be lost – it would endanger them all.

"You still need rest then, Commander. I understand. You have not slept in so long," he said, as if reading formulae straight out of a philosopher's book, "And you need your rest. I shall be here. Awaiting orders. You. Your orders."

He spoke in little, fragmented sentences and Benjamin was instantly reminded of a defective robot, or golem, perhaps.

Quintus stood there so solidly, so steadfastly, prepared to take anything and everything without hesitation, and all for his Commander. Benjamin was tempted to call it loyalty, but that was not what it was – he knew that when it came down to it, it was nothing more than allegiance. Who he was bound to, in every sense of the manner – he did not have a choice, and he could not have a preference. Such things were unavailable to beings such as Quintus, preference and any other aspect of autonomy.

But because of that, due to that, he needed her, he needed her like a parasite needs its host and like a plant needs the light of the sun. Otherwise, he was useless, he had no purpose or function, and he would, just like Benjamin had found him doing, do nothing more than collect dust in a corner, a broken machine.

It was then that Quintus actually touched her – he took her hand in both of his, as a subject would their queen, which made it a little less bizarre, but not by much.

"Commander," he whispered, and if Benjamin hadn't known better he would have sworn that there was true emotion in Quintus' voice. "Commander, I knew you weren't gone…"

Benjamin swallowed. He tried to banish the awful sinking feeling in his gut at watching this, at comprehending it, but he could not quite succeed.

"I knew you weren't gone. I knew it. They told me you were gone. I had not thought so. Not even for one second. I knew you weren't gone, Commander."


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- Severina