Clockwork Angel (The Infernal Devices #1)(58)
Author: Cassandra Clare

“Then Tessa won’t have read it, either,” said Will.

Tessa glared at him, but said nothing; she hadn’t read it, and she wasn’t in the mood to let Will get to her.

“Well, then,” said Magnus. “It was written by an Arab scholar, two centuries before Leonardo da Vinci, and described how machines could be built that would mimic the actions of human beings. Now, there is nothing alarming about that in and of itself. But it is this”—Magnus’s long finger brushed gently across the writing on the left side of the page—“that concerns me.”

Will leaned closer. His sleeve brushed Tessa’s arm. “Yes, that was what I wanted to ask you about. Is it a spell?”

Magnus nodded. “A binding spell. Meant to infuse demonic energy into an inanimate object, thus giving that object a sort of life. I’ve seen the spell used. Before the Accords vampires liked to amuse themselves by creating little demonic mechanisms like music boxes that would play only at night, mechanical horses that could ride only after sundown, that sort of silliness.” He tapped thoughtfully on the head of his walking stick. “One of the great problems of creating convincing automatons, of course, has always been their appearance. No other material quite gives the semblance of human flesh.”

“But what if one were to use it—human flesh, I mean?” Tessa asked.

Magnus paused delicately. “The problem there, for human designers, is, ah, obvious. Preserving the flesh destroys its appearance. One would have to use magic. And then magic again, to bind the demon energy to the mechanical body.”

“And what would that achieve?” Will asked, an edge to his voice.

“Automatons have been built that can write poems, draw landscapes—but only those they are directed to create. They have no individual creativity or imagination. Animated by a demon energy, however, an automaton would have a measure of thought and will. But any bound spirit is enslaved. It would inevitably be entirely obedient to whoever had done the binding.”

“A clockwork army,” Will said, and there was a sort of bitter humor in his voice. “Born of neither Heaven nor Hell.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Magnus said. “Demon energies are hardly an easy item to come by. One must summon demons up, then bind them, and you know what a difficult process that is. Obtaining enough demon energies to create an army would be well-nigh impossible and extraordinarily risky. Even for an evil-minded bastard like de Quincey.”

“I see.” And with that, Will rolled up the paper and slipped it into his jacket. “Much obliged for your help, Magnus.”

Magnus looked faintly puzzled, but his response was courteous: “Of course.”

“I gather you wouldn’t be sorry to see de Quincey gone and another vampire in his place,” said Will. “Have you actually observed him breaking the Law?”

“Once. I was invited here to witness one of his ‘ceremonies.’ As it turned out—” Magnus looked uncharacteristically grim. “Well, let me show you.”

He turned and moved toward the bookshelf that Tessa had been examining earlier, gesturing for them to join him. Will followed, Tessa beside him. Magnus snapped his fingers again, and as blue sparks flew, the illustrated Bible slid to the side, revealing a small hole that had been cut into the wood at the back of the shelf. As Tessa leaned forward in surprise, she saw that it offered a view into an elegant music room. At least, that was what she thought at first, seeing the chairs set up in rows facing the back of the room; it made a sort of theater. Rows of lit candelabras were set up for illumination. Red satin floor-length curtains blocked off the back walls, and the floor was slightly raised, creating a sort of makeshift stage. There was nothing on it but a single chair with a high wooden back.

Steel manacles were attached to the arms of the chair, glittering like insect carapaces in the candlelight. The wood of the chair was blotched, here and there, with dark red stains. The legs of the chair, Tessa saw, were nailed to the floor.

“This is where they have their little … performances,” said Magnus, an undertone of distaste in his voice. “They bring out the human and lock him—or her—to the chair. Then they take turns draining their victim slowly, while the crowd watches and applauds.”

“And they enjoy that?” Will said. The disgust in his voice was more than an undertone. “The mundanes’ pain? Their fear?”

“Not all the Night Children are like this,” Magnus said quietly. “These are the worst of them.”

“And the victims,” said Will, “where do they find them?”

“Criminals, mostly,” said Magnus. “Drunkards, addicts, whores. The forgotten and lost. Those who will not be missed.” He looked squarely at Will. “Would you like to elaborate on your plan?”

“We begin when we see the Law being broken,” said Will. “The moment a vampire moves to harm a human, I will signal the Enclave. They’ll attack.”

“Really,” Magnus said. “How will they get in?”

“Don’t worry about that.” Will was unfazed. “Your job is to take Tessa at that point and get her safely out of here. Thomas is waiting outside with the carriage. Bundle yourselves into it and he’ll take you back to the Institute.”

“Seems a waste of my talents, assigning me to look after one moderately sized girl,” Magnus observed. “Surely you could use me—”

“This is a Shadowhunter affair,” said Will. “We make the Law, and we uphold the Law. The assistance you’ve given us so far has been invaluable, but we require no more from you.”

Magnus met Tessa’s eyes over Will’s shoulder; his look was wry. “The proud isolation of the Nephilim. They have use for you when they have use for you, but they cannot bring themselves to share a victory with Downworlders.”

Tessa turned to Will. “You’re sending me away as well, before the fighting starts?”

“I must,” said Will. “It would be best for Camille not to be seen to be cooperating with Shadowhunters.”

“That’s nonsense,” said Tessa. “De Quincey will know I—she—brought you here. He’ll know she lied about where she found you. Does she think that after this, the rest of the clan won’t know she’s a traitor?”

Somewhere in the back of her head, Camille’s soft laughter purred. She did not sound afraid.