The puppet-blacksmith's hammer struck the stone floor with a metallic crash that seemed to resonate throughout the entire village. Aiden watched, fascinated and horrified, as this creature of wood and porcelain brought its hands to its head in a gesture so human, so desperate, that he momentarily forgot the danger.
But the other puppets didn't hesitate for a second.
The first appeared in the doorway, its massive silhouette outlined against the grayish fog. Then a second, a third. Their porcelain masks reflected the reddish glow of the embers, creating a spectacle of terrifying beauty.
Shit! Aiden barely had time to see the first puppet raise its oversized arms toward him before his survival instinct took over.
He leaped to the right, barely dodging the wooden fingers trying to grab him, and rushed toward the only remaining exit: the window at the back of the workshop. It was narrow, situated at shoulder height, but it was his only hope.
- "Sorry!" he cried to the blacksmith-puppet who still stood motionless, hands on its head. For a reason he didn't understand, he felt obligated to apologize to this poor imprisoned soul.
He climbed onto the workbench with the vials, being careful not to knock anything over even in his panic, the idea of destroying these fragments of humanity repulsed him. The puppets were already in the workshop, their heavy steps making the floor tremble.
The window was smaller than it had appeared. Aiden had to force himself, contort his body, his clothes catching on the rough wooden frame. He felt a puppet's hand brush his ankle just as he finally slipped outside.
He landed heavily in the alley behind the forge, his knees hitting the wet cobblestones. No time to recover already, he could hear the puppets trying to follow him through the window. Their broader bodies had more trouble getting through, which gave him a few precious seconds' head start.
Aiden got up and ran.
He had never run so fast in his life. Even in his youth, before the illness, he had never been athletic. But now, with this adolescent body and adrenaline flowing through his veins like liquid fire, he felt like he was flying over the cobblestones.
Behind him, the noise was terrifying. Not just the three puppets from the forge, but others that had answered the call. Their steps echoed through the narrow streets like war drums, perfectly synchronized, implacable.
They're faster than me, Aiden realized with horror as he glanced over his shoulder. The dark silhouettes were gaining ground, their long wooden legs covering more distance with each stride.
But they ran in straight lines, without tactical intelligence, like automatons programmed for a single task: catching him.
Maybe I can lose them, he thought as he approached a crossroads. Instead of continuing straight, he turned sharply left, his shoes skidding on the slippery cobblestones.
The change of direction gained him a few meters. He heard behind him the sound of the puppets braking, pivoting, heading back in his direction. Their coordination was perfect, but it had a flaw: they all reacted at the same time, losing time adjusting.
Aiden took the next street to the right, then left again. He tried to put maximum distance between himself and his pursuers, but the fog made navigation difficult. More than once, he nearly crashed into a wall or stumbled over an invisible obstacle.
The map! He still had Thomas's map in his pocket, but he couldn't stop to consult it. He had to navigate by instinct, hoping not to get lost in this labyrinth of alleyways.
A new idea occurred to him. If the puppets were predictable in how they ran, maybe he could use the village's architecture to his advantage.
He spotted a two-story house with a narrow alley running along its side. Instead of going around the building, he charged straight for the front door.
Please be open!
The door gave way under his push, and he found himself in what must have been a living room. The furniture was overturned, covered in dust and cobwebs. He didn't have time to observe the details he could already hear the puppets approaching.
He ran across the room, looking for another exit. There ! A window overlooking the side alley. He threw it open and jumped outside, rolling on the ground to cushion his fall.
When the puppets entered the house through the front door, Aiden was already heading in the opposite direction. He heard them searching inside, their heavy steps making the floorboards creak above his head.
It works! For the first time since the beginning of this chase, he smiled. They're not as smart as all that!
But his optimism was short-lived. Other silhouettes emerged from the fog ahead of him, a new wave of puppets that had anticipated his flight. Corvus was learning, adapting his strategy.
Aiden turned around, but the first puppets were already coming out of the house behind him. He was caught in a pincer movement.
This way! He spotted an alley so narrow it looked more like a passage between two buildings than a real street. Without thinking, he plunged into it.
The space was claustrophobic, barely wide enough for him to get his shoulders through facing forward. The damp stone walls scraped his arms with every movement. But it was perfect—the puppets, broader than him, would have trouble following.
He indeed heard sounds of friction and jamming behind him. His pursuers were trying to enter the passage, but their rigid bodies of wood and fabric didn't allow them the same flexibility as a human.
The passage opened onto a small interior courtyard surrounded by high walls. Aiden looked around, searching for an exit, and his heart sank. There wasn't one. He had just trapped himself in a dead end.
No, no, no! He scrutinized the walls, looking for a handhold, anything that would allow him to climb. Too high, too smooth. And behind him, the sounds in the passage indicated that the puppets were finally finding a way to progress.
That's when he noticed a door, almost invisible in the shadow of a recess. It was small, low, as if it had been designed for children. He rushed to it and pushed the handle.
Locked.
Desperate, he shoulder-charged the wooden panel. Once, twice... On the third attempt, something gave way with a sharp crack, and he tumbled inside.
He found himself in what looked like a cellar. The air was stale, heavy with humidity and a musty smell that caught in his throat. But he had no choice. He closed the door behind him and looked for a way to block it.
His hands groped in the darkness until they found an iron bar that must have served as a bolt. He slid it into place just as the first puppets reached the courtyard.
He backed into the darkness, looking for a place to hide. His feet hit something steps. A staircase leading up to what must be the ground floor of the house.
Outside, he could hear the puppets inspecting the courtyard. Their steps echoed on the cobblestones, methodical, patient. They knew he was somewhere in the area. It was only a matter of time before they found this door.
Aiden climbed the stairs as silently as possible, each step creaking under his weight in a way that seemed deafening to him. He arrived in what must have been a kitchen. The light from the fog filtered weakly through a broken window, revealing overturned furniture and broken dishes littering the floor.
His breathing was ragged, his chest burned. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and he realized how exhausted he was. This adolescent body might be more enduring than his old sick body, but it had its limits.
I need to hide, he thought, looking around. Somewhere they won't think to look.
He quickly explored the house. Living room, kitchen, a bedroom upstairs. Everything was in the same state of devastation as the rest of the village. But in the bedroom, he found what he was looking for: a large dark wooden wardrobe, wide enough for him to slip inside.
He opened the doors carefully. The interior smelled of mustiness and moths, but it was perfect. He slipped between the moldy clothes that still hung on hangers and closed the doors behind him.
The darkness was total, oppressive. He couldn't even see his hand in front of his face. But at least he was hidden.
He tried to control his breathing, to make as little noise as possible. His heart was beating so hard he felt like it could be heard through the walls. Sweat ran down his forehead, and the stifling air of the wardrobe made him want to vomit.
Outside, the sounds continued. Had the puppets found the cellar door? Were they searching the house?
Aiden closed his eyes and concentrated on his new ability to perceive magical auras. Maybe he could sense their presence, know where they were...
He began to perceive patches of dark energy moving around the house. Three... no, four puppets. They were systematically inspecting every room, every corner.
Please, he prayed silently. Don't find me. Not now. Not when I'm finally starting to understand what's happening here.
One of the auras approached. It was now in the house, on the ground floor. Aiden heard heavy footsteps, the sound of furniture being moved, doors being opened and closed.
The puppet was climbing the stairs.
Aiden held his breath. Each step on the stairs resonated like thunder in his ears. The dark aura was getting closer, more and more intense, more and more threatening.
The creature was now in the bedroom. Aiden could hear it searching, moving objects, inspecting every corner. Its steps stopped in front of the wardrobe.
No...
The wardrobe handle moved slightly.
Aiden closed his eyes as tightly as possible, as if that could make him invisible. He could feel the puppet's presence just on the other side of the door, that cold and mechanical aura that had nothing human left in it.
The seconds stretched like hours. Then, inexplicably, the footsteps moved away. The puppet left the bedroom, went back downstairs, left the house.
Aiden waited much longer, much longer, before daring to breathe normally. The auras were gradually moving away, returning toward the center of the village. His pursuers had abandoned the search... for now.
He stayed in the wardrobe for another hour, maybe two. He had lost all sense of time in this suffocating darkness. But finally, when he was sure they were gone, he gently pushed the door and emerged from his hiding place.
His legs were trembling, as much from fatigue as from repressed fear. He sat on the edge of the broken bed and tried to take stock of his situation.
He was alive. That was something. And he had discovered important things about Corvus and his puppets. But he was also farther than ever from Thomas's cache, lost in a neighborhood he didn't know, with his candle almost entirely consumed.
And now? he wondered, looking through the broken window. The fog seemed even thicker than before, if that was possible. How am I going to find my way? And how am I going to explain to Thomas that I almost got killed to discover that Corvus collects emotions like butterflies?