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Clack whipped along. In his arms he carried a large red apple. It was delicious and sweet. He knew it was, because everyone around the stall had been commenting on how delicious and sweet they were.
Which was why he’d pilfered one before threading back through the alley before anyone could see him.
As he ran, his little gears purred comfortably.
He was on a mission.
An important mission.
It was a bit tricky to get up the wall and into the vent to enter the Fortress, but he managed it. Sheer determination was his middle names.
At least, that’s what he told himself in more than one poem he’d written along the way.
His first stop was to collect a crystal from a Clack who was watching Mistress Vizzingbelle’s office. The switch went smoothly, but Clack had to thwap the other spider golem when it tried to touch his apple.
Respect my belongings!
Suitably chastened, the other Clack resumed the study of Mistress Vizzingbelle, who was herself studying. She had a book, Clack noted, which looked very old. He didn’t know what it was, though.
That was for the great and mighty Tania to find out.
It would no doubt be on the crystal somewhere.
With a soft chitter, Clack scurried off with the apple safely in his arms.
He passed the Security Room, giving it half a look before moving along. Milo didn’t like to be watched when he was doing those things.
Poking himself through the vent above Tania’s desk, Clack dropped the crystal where she could find it and then almost dropped the apple, too.
He had to stretch his legs out quick to stop himself from falling.
Apples were harder to carry than he’d thought.
With a relieved little clatter of gears, Clack pulled himself back into the duct and scrambled onwards. Always onwards!
Life was a voyage, he thought.
A never ending journey.
As he was running, he heard a voice. A voice he was supposed to pay attention to. Skidding to a halt, he pulled out a crystal and aimed it at the vent.
“It was the Fenwington girl,” Marcus said. “At least, that’s what the postal slip says.”
“I don’t trust slips,” Yael growled. “They’re too easy to forge. And too easy to put someone else’s name on it.”
“Looks kind of like her writing, though. If you squint.”
“Squint a lot,” Yael snorted. “Look, the girl has a curlier way of writing. This is pretty normal.”
“Yeah, but it’s also formal. Maybe she wants people to read where it’s going.”
“I don’t think it’s her.”
“Worth looking into, though,” Marcus said. “I mean, someone thought she was worth using as a name. So, they must’ve had a reason.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t worth looking at. Just, let’s not get the Fenwingtons charged for something they didn’t do.” She shook her head. “I keep telling you. We’re at war.”
“Not yet…”
“We’re at war,” Yael insisted. “Times like this, they’d lock up the whole family just on a flimsy bit of suspicion. Let’s not do that to them.”
Marcus grunted. “Alright. I’ll highlight that we have doubts about the truth of the slip because the writing doesn’t match.”
“You make it sound like we’re lying.”
“I just think we should follow up on it.”
“Follow up on it, then.”
“Alright,” he growled. “I will.”
“Why are you being like that?”
“I don’t know!” He threw up his hands. “All this is so frustrating. I don’t like it. Our job’s always been to just solve a bit of fraud. Maybe a murder here and there. But spies? What do I know about blasted spies?”
“I know,” she sighed. “But let’s do our best. Treat it like fraud.”
“Right. Fraud.”
“Yeah. Like, we have the slip. So, we know someone sent something to Fallon Paddstone. Let’s find out who. If it really was Cerena Fenwington, then we can arrest her and toss her in the Black Zone.”
“You really don’t think she did it?”
“Not really. Just seems like a lot of things happening around here.” She gave him a meaningful look. “It’s too convenient.”
“Yeah.” He nodded. “I guess you’re right.”
She put a stack of small papers down. More postal slips. Hundreds of them. They were surrounded by them.
“Want to get dinner?”
“What, like a date?”
“No!” She threw a pencil at him, which he caught deftly. “Don’t be gross.”
“I was only joking,” he sighed, placing the pencil onto the desk in front of him.
“Alright, then.” She scowled, then cocked her head. “So. Dinner?”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “Why not?”
Clack moved along, thinking he’d gotten the important part.
He thought about the conversation he’d just heard. He was a simple construct, but he knew what they were talking about.
Suspicion and distrust were going to be normal for a while.
He’d watched the students slowly splitting into factions, too. Some were vocal in their support of either the Paddstones or the Court. But others were hiding their affiliations.
Disguising their thoughts.
There were only three who knew who had filled out that form.
The person who’d signed it.
Clack.
And Tania.
He wondered if Tania would let the agents know. She had already made him slip papers onto their piles. Some had made them very excited.
He hoped she didn’t this time, though.
It would make Milo sad.
He tucked his legs and dropped down a shaft. It was a rough landing, and the loud boom traveled up the duct. He felt his legs squeak a little under the impact, but it was worth it to land awkwardly if it meant preventing a bruise on his precious apple.
He turned it in his arms, checking it.
Making sure there was no bruise.
No damage to the skin.
It looked perfect.
Pleased, Clack rushed past a room where two students were peering up at the vent.
“Did you hear that?”
“I’m telling you, there’s something in there!”
“There can’t be, though. Maybe it’s just noises from the Range?”
“Are you kidding me? That’s something else!” Pause. “A rat maybe?”
“Rats? There are no rats in the Academy. Everyone knows that.”
“Well, it’s something…”
He finally came to a stop in front of a vent, and if he’d had eyebrows, he would have frowned. There was a thick wad of paper stuffed into the vent.
That was strange.
He peered into the room below.
Nothing.
It was empty.
He couldn’t see clearly, though. The paper was in the way. It was also stopping him from pushing the grille open.
Tentatively, Clack pulled the paper through before opening the grille.
Still nothing.
Quiet.
He carefully pulled the apple close.
He wanted to throw it, but didn’t want to damage the skin. He turned his options over. If he was careful and quick, he could make it!
This decided, he scrambled out through the vent and down the wall. Skittering along the ground, he climbed up the bed and paused on top of the woolen blanket. Picking a nice spot, he dropped the apple and gave it a pat with one arm before hurrying back up the wall and into the vent again.
Relief filled the little golem’s core as he felt the pleasure at not being caught.
Students were pesky little things, he thought.
Just when you thought they were nowhere around, they just appeared out of nowhere.
Which was why he wasn’t at all surprised when the door below opened.
He turned to race away. Then he saw the paper.
Strange.
But it was too late to put it back. He could leave it here. But maybe it was treasure! He should take it to Tania. She would know what to do with it.
“Oh!”
He snatched up the paper as he heard the woman in the room making noise.
She’d found the apple!
He ran, scooping up the paper and darting down the duct. He turned into another and was already halfway up to the next level by the time she’d found a chair to stand on and reached in to look through the grille.
Finding the paper to be almost as awkward to hold as the apple had been, Clack considered throwing it away.
Then he decided to look at it more closely.
It was folded.
He unfolded it.
There were words written in tight neat writing.
Hi. I don’t know who you are. But thank you. It made me feel so much better about being here. I hope one day, we can be friends. Faye Fizzlebreeze.
Clack read the words again.
It was a letter!
A letter to him!
How bizarre.
He dropped it and ran on.
Paused.
Ran back and scooped it up into his arms. It wouldn’t be right to leave it behind.
He floundered to get up a steep incline. It wasn’t easy while holding the paper.
He stopped.
Opened it up.
Read it.
Carefully folded it up again.
And kept running.
Difficult or not, the letter was his.
And, if he was right about what it said, he had a friend.
Click was going to be so jealous.