Clockwork Empire.

T. Hodden.

Prelude.

Ten Years earlier.

                Simon was always a strange boy. Some people assumed it was where he was a book person rather than a out doors person. Some people assumed it was because his parents had passed away and he had to live with that strange uncle out near the river. Yet other people thought it was where he had his strange imagination, with all those wonderful stories he wrote in class when he should be doing math.

                Then one day people began to realise that those stories were a little too imaginative, and that he was making them sound a little too convincing. People asked questions, they talked, they began to wonder if he was not telling those stories that little bit too well. As though to him they were a little too real. The doctors began to say he was a little more than strange. They thought he was a little mad.

                In late November, when Simon was just about to be all grown up his strange uncle was killed, in an accident that didn’t seem much of an accident. The police asked some more questions, and looked a little closer, and found some clues. Then they started asking where Simon was, or what Simon had been doing during the accident. Poor Simon could not answer, he kept saying that he was innocent, but could not give himself an alibi. He had so many secrets that every one assumed he must have been the one. So many secrets he must have been mad. So they took him away, and locked him up where he would be safe and sound.

                But no one noticed that when Simon was locked away, the Heroes stopped helping people. Sentinel the giant robot hero who disguised himself as a silver car stopped protecting London. Candy the Copper Girl no longer flew above Paris. Dai the Clock Work Dragon no longer watched the world from Cardiff, and the Tiny Tin Soldiers were never seen in New York again. They didn’t join together to fight monsters and criminals any where in the world again.

                Fairly soon people forgot about the Heroes. They found new champions to root for, to defend them. But the Heroes did not forget, they went away to hide, and to wait.

                Then one day they stopped waiting... Because heroes always come back when they are needed. It’s in the rules.

Chapter One.

Strange Secrets of Laura Blake.

                Laura Blake was a normal girl, or at least, by her standards she was fairly normal, but then again she was still at high school, which meant “normal” was a fairly vague notion at best. She was sixteen years and six months old, a little under five feet and four inches tall. She had a waist line that was some where around the podgy mark, which meant to some of the girls in her class she might as well have been part whale, but to others she was happily average. She had long light coloured hair that she dyed bright rich reds, and constantly refused to be styled. She wore glasses, read comic books, watched documentaries on history and could sing along to every David Bowie song you could mention (or at least she could sing lyrics that sounded right). She also liked cats, cartoons, toy guns and horrendously bad novels based on television shows. Best of all she liked Dave, her on and off boyfriend who was harmless enough in small doses. All in all, there was nothing about Laura to make her any more or less normal than any one else.

                Or at least there was nothing to make her question her own normality. Not until the toy started talking to her anyway. That was when things went downright strange. It was half past two in the morning on a hot summer night, with a bloated yellow moon hanging over the city and painting the sky red. Laura felt herself drifting awake from the voids of her dreams. She was sprawled on her back on the bed, with a long tee shirt to hide her modesty, and a sheet wrapped around her that clung to her in the heat of the night, mummifying her as she rolled back and forth in her sleep.

“Psst!” Hissed a voice close by her ear.

“Go away Dave.” She mumbled, trying to fall back to sleep. “Dad said if he caught you sneaking in through my window again he would bury you under the interstate.”

“Pssst!” Hissed a rather Cockney voice by her ear, that was high pitched and squeaky with excitement. “Psst! Wake up missy!”

“You aren’t Dave!” Laura mumbled and groped for her glasses. A very small, very cold hand slapped her cheek. “Ow!”

“Wake up Missy!” The Cockney voice squeaked again. “You need to get up!”

“What? Huh? Who are you?” Laura lifted her head to shake the cobwebs free, and something slapped her head back down into the pillows.  It was small, and khaki, and metal, and was standing on her chest, though it barely felt like it was there. Perhaps three inches tall, moulded from tin, and crudely painted, it had stiff joints that creaked when it moved them, and a rifle that fired match sticks when you triggered the spring. It was a nineteen fifties vintage toy soldier, a crude rendering of a Desert Rat, complete with tin hat and glasses. Though why it had glasses Laura could never guess, maybe the maker had wanted this one to be unique.

“Right? Awake? Good! Now we don’t have time to lolly gag around here lover, so put your knickers on, find your boots and get moving.” The cockney voice squeaked.

“But... You are a toy...” Laura stammered.

“Yes. Ten out of ten, well spotted. Now chop chop! Do you want to save the world or what?”

“No.” Laura mumbled. “Not really.”

“Oh dear.” The cockney toy muttered to himself. “Alright? Do you want to live?”

                That was a question Laura knew the answer to. Being alive was one of her favourite things to be. She lay there, and stared at the toy on her chest, and wondered where the day went wrong.

                The day went wrong that morning, at the New York Toy Bonanza. Or perhaps the stop before the Convention Hall when the large lady with the coat that smelt of cats climbed onto the bus and had an argument with the driver. The day had been too hot, and the air too dry, for any one to stand the argument, so all the passengers sat there and choked on the air and gripped the hand rail tight to try and keep their tempers in check. Then as soon as the air was saturated with stink, the lady gave in and decided to pay the correct fare to her stop and took a seat that buckled and groaned under her weight even though she was no larger than a lot of other people on the bus.

                Dave was oblivious to the smell, or the heat, or the fact the bus was running late and every one was being broiled in their own sweat. He was bouncing up and down in his seat, clapping his hands eagerly.

“It doesn’t take much to excite you does it?” Laura asked through a laugh. “A few toys and that guy from the TV show...”

“Yeah? So?” Dave asked, risking the chance to kiss her cheek. “It was your idea.”

“Yeah, I deserve some thing fun.” Laura admitted. “I’ve been working hard.”

“You do. And I deserve the chance to waste disposable money on collectables.” Dave agreed. “If my mom asked, I invested the money in my future.”

“Oh sure.” Laura giggled. “Action figures are right up there with antiques and stocks.”

“Stocks and shares don’t transform into a long hooded truck.” Dave defended himself lamely, in the way that Laura found adorably cute and moronic. Dave flicked her a grin, and they climbed off the bus and strolled over to join the queues to waste their youth being kids.

                She found her new toy on a dingy little stall in the shadowy end of the trade hall. A little collector who was selling his collection from a website and which ever events he could attend. They were all old toys, pressed tin and lead paint, with clockwork action and stiff limbs. There were the robots with their arms raised and held out before them like zombies, that you could wind up to march forwards endlessly. The pull back and go cars whose lights sparked with friction driven power. There were the soldiers, each one moulded and painted to look like a member of a different squad from the Allied forces in World War Two. There was the a Desert Rat, a brash looking American Paratrooper, a little guy in a Royal Marine Commando uniform, with soldiers fatigues but the white hat and garters of a sailor, there was a pilot n full flight gear. All of them in the most wonderful detail, but all pressed from tin and painted by hand. The Desert Rat was grinning, with those thick black glasses, he looked like an accountant forced to dress as a soldier. Laura fell in love and paid for him instantly. She clasped the cold metal toy close to her chest, and turned around to look for Dave.

                He was by a stall that sold plastic men in plastic robot tanks that fired sponge missiles and had flashing LEDs. She skipped across to see him, but a sudden grip had a hold of her arm. She skidded on the floor and turned to scream at who ever had grasped her elbow. Talon like fingers closed tight and squeezed her arm, sending a raft of burning pain up to her shoulder, the smell of cats filled her nostrils. “Hey!” Laura squealed. “Get off!”

“Die!” The large cat lady hissed in a throaty voice, as she tossed Laura casually to one side, and sent the teenager sprawling into one of the stalls. Pain and noise echoed down all of Laura’s limbs as the stall shattered beneath her, her head thumping hard on the carpeted floor as she lay prone on a bed of crushed war game figurines, the sharp edges of which bit at her through her jeans and shirt.

“Die!” The Cat Lady bellowed again, her voice like a nest of angry hornets. “Die now!” She knelt down and scooped up one of the broken legs of the stall, wielding it like a base ball bat, swinging it threateningly as she walked towards Laura.

“Hey!” Dave yelled from somewhere behind Laura, and in a heartbeat his bulky frame was bundling into the Cat Lady in a bungled rugby tackle. The two of them staggered back, before the Cat Lady hefted the make shift club, and brought it down in a terrible arch that drove it hard into Dave’s arm. Dave’s face went white, and the sound of bones splintering echoed in the hall.

“Die!” The cat Lady screeched again. “Die!”

“Shuddup!” Laura replied, as she drove both her feet up into a kick, aimed squarely at the Cat Lady’s chest. The lumbering matron staggered to a halt as the blow landed, and took a step back, disoriented.

“Die?” The Cat Lady stammered.

“Leave me alone!” Laura screamed, then “Help! Police! Some one call the Police!”

                The security guards were already barging their way through the crowds, a whisper and mumbling of rumours and speculation was already rippling through the crowd too. The Cat Lady stood upright and backed away, then fled. Laura nursed her back, and tried to crawl across to Dave, who was clutching his arm with tears of pain rolling down his face.

                The rest of the day was a lot less exciting, it largely involved sitting in the emergency room waiting to be seen by doctors. The problem, Laura decided, with having a Dad who was a senior detective in the NYPD, was that every time you had the slightest hint of an adventure he found out about it. Having a mad woman who smelt of cats trying to use you as a wrestling partner at a geek-chic event was definitely counted as an adventure.

“What trouble has he,” Eugene Blake demanded, pointing at Dave, “started now?”

“Nothing.” Laura sighed. “He was sweet, he tried to protect me.”

“Oy!” Eugene sighed. “He protected you? Him? Really?”

“Well, he tried.” Laura giggled. “It was some mad woman from the bus. She had made the bus late, then attacked me at the toy fair.”

“Damn.” Eugene sighed, and leant over to where Dave was staring at his plastered arm with bleary eyes. “Thought I had rid of you then Dave.”

“Sorry sir.” Save mumbled.

“You hurt?” Eugene asked his daughter.

“No. Just a bit bruised nothing major.”

“We will find her.” Eugene promised. “Both of you will be safe.”

“I know dad, want to see what I got?” She dug the tin soldier from her bag. “Cool huh.”

“Yeah!” Eugene rolled the doll in his hands, a smile spreading across his lips. “I had one like that when I was about eight!” He patted his pockets. “I need a match! We can see if his gun still fires!”

“Later Dad.” Laura promised. “When Dave’s folks get here we can get some dinner.”

“Yes sir!” Eugene shot a jokey salute, then grinned at the pasty faced boy. “Hey Dave, me and Laura are getting a snack from the vending machine, you want a snickers bud?”

“No thanks.” Dave mumbled. “I’m ok.”

                Eugene dragged Laura to the corridor, and waited for the door to close behind them, he peered back in through the little window in the door to see if Dave had suddenly learnt to lip read, or gained the power of ESP. “Hey, er, about that promise you made...”

“Dad, I can’t just leave him on his own right.”

“Of course not. But... You know what his dad is like right?”

“Yeah.” Laura admitted, wishing to any deity that would listen that she didn’t know what Dave’s dad was like. The wish wasn’t granted, and a mental picture in all too much detail was being summoned into her head.

“Well, he’s in the Drunk Cell down town, sleeping off a lot of cheap lager, so, I don’t think he’s coming to see his kid any time soon.” Eugene grinned. “If you want to wait here with him I can go get food, but, honey, the day you had I think you need sleep.”

“Ok.” Laura closed her eyes to think. “Can you go drag his Mom over here, he needs some one to care about him.”

“Aye sir.” Eugene grinned again. “And if the Dad turns up, you make sure there is a nurse or some one in the room with the two of you, right?”

“Dad, I’ll be fine.” Laura promised.

                A few hours later when Eugene had dragged Dave’s mum kicking and screaming to the bedside, Laura and Eugene went to dinner.  They ate at a little cafe that cops liked, and drank sodas out of decorative glasses with curly straws. Eugene kept playing with the tin soldier, and fired an entire book of matches one at a time at a napkin target he propped against the ketchup bottle. Eventually the evening became night, and the day took its toll, so Laura called it a day and went to bed.

                And in the early hours of the morning the weird stuff happened.

“What do you mean if I want to live?” Laura demanded.

“I mean the Animal Lass has your scent, and I think I can hear her pride moving outside.”

“What?” Laura demanded again. “Am I dreaming?”

“No.” The soldier grabbed her finger, and started dragging her hand across the bed, trying to drag her whole body. “Come on!” He barked. “Get dressed!”

“What’s an animal Lass?” Laura moaned, as she pulled her jeans on.

“The fat bird who hit you and your chum.”

“The Cat Lady?” Laura moaned. “What do you mean she has my scent? You mean she is hunting me?”

“Yes. Her and the Pride.”

“What’s her pride?” Laura asked.

                She was answered by the sound of deep animal roars from somewhere beyond her bedroom window. She pulled the curtain back, and for a second she caught a glimpse of something big and primal on the roof of the house on the opposite side of the street. A sleek and feline shape, that ducked away into the shadows and out of sight. There was another howl, this time more canine and mournful. It was a hunter, moving in on prey and calling for it’s pack. A lot of nasty thoughts occurred to Laura, and each sent a chill down her spine. She peered at the shadows, and far too many times she thought she caught a glimpse of shape or two, or three, moving in a circle around her house.

“We have to warn Dad.” Laura whispered to the toy.

“We don’t have time.” The little soldier replied, climbing up onto her window sill. “It’s not your dad they are after is it now?”

“Me?” Laura gasped. “What do they want with me?”

“You woke me up.” The soldier grinned. “You are the new Talent, and that makes you dangerous.”

“So how do we get past those...Monsters?”

“We can’t outrun them.” The soldier sighed. “Not for long anyway. You need to find some muscles to protect you.”

“Oh great.” Laura sighed. “Well, dad has a shotgun.”

“One gun isn’t enough. You need an army.” The soldier hopped up and did a little dance. “The Tiny Tin Army in fact.”

“Oh don’t be silly! Did they even exist? That was years ago, and they, you know, went away! Where would I find them?”

“Excuse me?” The soldier sighed, and kicked Laura’s second favourite teddy from the sill. “Who do you think I am love? John Bloody Lennon? The Ghost of Christmas Bleeding Past? I’m Tiny, I’m Tin, and I’m not dressed as your buggerin’ waiter now am I?”

“Oh.” Laura whispered. “Sorry.”

“Mick The Rat, at your service. Now get your knickers untwisted and your coat on, we have run out of time.”

                Something big and heavy started thumping against the front door. There were a lot of animal snarls, and the sounds of splintering wood. Laura grabbed her rucksack, her purse, and her phone, then letting Mick to climb into her coat pocket she pushed her window open and ducked out into the night.

                She skidded across her gutter and jumped into the tree. She landed with a thump and gasped for air. She had done that jump a hundred times as a kid, but she was a few years older, and a few pounds heavier now. She scrabbled for a foothold and levered herself up onto the branch.

“Good.” Mike encouraged her. “Now leg it.”

                Peering through her bedroom window Laura could see the door being pushed open. Four animals slunk into her room and started sniffing at her clothes and bed, and the floor. They were lean and muscular, with flat snouts and far too many teeth. They were neither a cat nor a dog, but seemed to be some impossible hybrid of the two. One lifted it’s head, and stared straight at Laura. It’s eyes glowing like embers, a snarl opening it’s mouth to reveal razor sharp teeth, and a hungry maw. It barked, and instantly it’s brothers were staring at Laura too.

                She dropped out of the tree to the floor, rolling with the impact. She scrambled upright, and ran into the night, her heart pounding in her chest. All four Animals leapt out of her bedroom window, and despite the fall, hit the floor running. She was all too aware of their pounding footsteps growing closer and closer, the snapping of their jaws hot on her heels.

                The first of the Pride jumped, and it’s clawed feet collided with her back in an ecstasy of pain. Laura let out a scream of shock and pain as the weight of the beast forced her to miss a step, her momentum dragging her to the floor. Gravel and concrete ripped at her face, and the animal pinned her.

“Now,” the Animal Lass hissed, as she stepped out of the shadows, and rubbed the cheek of her beasts with affection. “I think I was saying something about killing you.”

“Oh bugger.” Mike whimpered.

                The beast pushed its muzzle against Laura’s throat, and hungrily opened it’s mouth.