A Clockwork Heart by Liesel Schwarz

obeyed her, but she could tell that they did not approve of her work. Some things never changed, she thought bitterly. Even as a child they had showered her with disapproval. Now they just stared at her in cold condemnation, which made her hate them even more. She wished she could feed them all into the machine, but the pleasure of seeing them transformed was forbidden, along with the other pleasures she craved each day. It had been so long since she had held a man utterly and completely in her thrall. The need for power and seduction made her ache inside.
    She shook her head to clear her thoughts. It was most unfortunate that she needed the electromancers to produce the spark she needed for her work. Life would be so much simpler without them.
    A single novice held the door for her as she swept inside. His hands trembled as he took her damp outer wool cloak from her.
    â€œBring the special one to my laboratory when you have herded the others into their pens,” she said over her shoulder to Emilian.
    Clothilde wrinkled her nose as she walked along one of the narrow corridors that led off the main hall. Acrid spark magic seemed to ooze out of the very walls of this building. It made everything smell like the metal and burn of electricity. The pure energy that bonded high up in the clouds and struck the earth as lightning flowed through her. She found the crude thaumaturgic amalgamation of static electricity and the power of the shadow that the electromancers made these days and which humans called spark, distasteful.
    In the middle of the monastery was a cavernous space the monks called the spark turbine hall. It was in this hall that the Consortium’s machinery had been installed. A wide conveyor belt ran along half the length of the hall and into a huge machine. The machine was connected to giant spark tanks that supplied it with energy. The whole system was operated from the console in the mezzanine level that overlooked the hall.
    She noticed a few bloodstains on the brass pipes and the India rubber of the conveyor belt and she curled her lip in disgust. Those lazy little men were slipping in their cleaning duties, it seemed. She flicked her long hair over her shoulder and walked on, resolving that there would be words about the matter later.
    She strode though the hall and up a flight of stairs to the control room from where she could watch the processing.
    Behind the machine was an array of blue-black metal and shiny brass pipes that ran from the machine to the lighting collection chimneys. This hall was the place where the electromancers took static electricity and combined it with power from the Shadow Realm to make the spark that fuelled the steam engines of the world.
    Whoever held control of one of these machines, held control over the world. The world she would command someday, but right now, it was wise to keep her plans to herself. Access to privately financed and unlimited reserves of spark and steam was most convenient. And she was going to need vast amounts of energy to complete the task she had in mind. But she was not worried, for this was the first step in her plans. She would not need to bend her head to the Consortium for too much longer.
    Clothilde reveled in the frisson of power that surged through her as she flicked on the switches. The machine hummed to life, emitting a crackle of blue sparks that ran from the metal pipes and into the machine in the middle of the floor.
    The dials on the machine started dancing and great puffs of steam rose up from its diabolical pistons. Clothilde waited a few moments until all the dials on the console were at the right level before she gave the sign. It was time to begin.
    The double doors at the end of the hall opened and a group of people were ushered inside by her strongmen, each armed with a spark prod.
    These were the dregs of humanity—drifters, prostitutes and vagrants. People taken off the streets after dark or harvested from prisons and