Metal and Magic: The Steampunk Adventures of Hanover and Singh

by Chris Paton

  “You still won’t let me win, for the Confederation?”

  “Oh, we will win, Romney, and the prize – the machine you will be transporting – is far greater than a Derby trophy, I can assure you. Now, sleep well. Hannah will wake you at five o’clock.”

  Romney let Bremen steer her into the bedroom. As he closed the door behind her, she leaned her back on it. The tremor of the key turning in the lock vibrated through her shoulders.

  ҉

  Hari tumbled Jenkins’ body onto the road and slid behind the wheel of the steam carriage. Drawing his kukri, he twisted upon the bench and stabbed the blade through the thin wood of the cab. Gouging a hole in the roof, he peered through it.

  “Hari,” Luise fought to keep the hawk upon her wrist. “Shahin nearly took my eye out with her wing when you made that hole.”

  “I am sorry, Miss Luise, but we are in danger, again.”

  “What’s going on, Hari?” Smith moved to sit on the bench next to Luise. “Where is Jenkins?”

  “Jenkins is dead, and the Polyphase rifle is gone.” Hari flicked his eyes from Smith to Luise. “It was Blaidd, the same man who attacked you, Miss Luise.”

  “Can you drive the carriage, Hari? I need to get to the poorhouse, to rally the troops.”

  “Yes, I can,” Hari paused. “But I am in need of direction.”

  “Let me come out. I can show you the way.”

  “No, Miss Luise. I fear Blaidd is out here. On the rooftops I think. You must stay inside the carriage.”

  “Then I will come out and direct you. I think I remember the way.” Smith moved to the carriage door.

  “Miss Luise,” Hari peered through the splintered hole. “Can you release Shahin?”

  “Yes. I will let her go when Mr. Smith gets out.”

  “Good,” Hari smiled. “She can watch us from above.”

  Smith ducked on his way out of the carriage as Shahin beat her wings and flew up into the night sky. Slamming the carriage door shut, Smith waved at Luise through the window before climbing up to sit beside Hari.

  “Straight ahead, Hari.”

  “Yes, Mr. Smith.” Hari gripped the gear lever. Pressing the handle flush with the long gearstick, he yanked the carriage into the first of its two gears. The carriage lurched forward throwing Luise against the wall of the cab. “Sorry, Miss Luise.” Hari let the carriage bump forward. Steering with one hand on the wheel, he tugged Robshaw’s pocket watch from the fold in his turban. Opening the lid he twisted the watch to catch the moonlight. “A little after midnight,” Hari’s teeth flashed. “Perhaps, if I am lucky, I may rest at the end of the day.”

  “What’s that, Hari?” Luise pressed her face to the hole in the roof of the cab.

  “I said...” Hari paused at the flicker of movement on the rooftop to the left of the carriage. The cry of the hawk urged Hari into action and he opened the throttle with a tug of the chain beside the gear lever. Hooking the third link of the chain, Hari secured the throttle in the open position and crunched the carriage into second gear.

  The flash of the Polyphase rifle illuminated Blaidd’s position on the rooftop as a blast of energy blistered through the damp night air, crackling on the road to the right of the carriage.

  “Hold on.” Unhooking the throttle chain, Hari urged the carriage forward with a burst of steam.

  “I hope Jenkins refilled the boiler.” Smith gripped the edge of the bench as the carriage thudded along the cobbled street.

  “Truly,” Hari grinned in the moonlight.

  “You are not supposed to enjoy this, Hari Singh.” Smith reeled as Hari careened the carriage into a stack of empty crates. The packing straw inside the busted crates ignited as Blaidd took another shot from the rooftop. Luise pressed her hands against the glass and stared at the flames as Hari swung the carriage from one side of the road to the other. Blaidd followed, leaping the small gaps between the rooftops as Shahin circled above.

  ҉

  Queen Victoria waited until Marsland and the older courtier corralled the corgis and removed them from the Blue Drawing Room. She poured herself a cup of tea and peered over the cup at Egmont. The Admiral gripped the arms of the chair with his pudgy fingers.

  “I believe,” the queen set her cup upon the saucer, “your original orders from King William, included the removal of all Hanovers associated with the Royal houses.”

  “Yes,” Egmont grumbled.

  “You were to be rewarded with a renewed station and a commendation upon your otherwise tarnished career.”

  “Those were the orders.”

  “Then what, may I ask, went wrong, Admiral?” The queen stared at Egmont as he dug his fingers into the armchair upholstery. “Perhaps, given your reluctance to explain yourself, I can venture a guess?”

  “Please do, Your Majesty,” the whiskers of Egmont’s beard trembled as he exhaled.

  “Actually, it is less of a guess and more of a piecing together of bits of a puzzle. You see, Captain Willard has been reporting to both of us.” The queen paused at the crack of wood beneath Egmont’s fingers. She smiled. “Yes, Willard reports to Noonan, a Major in the Hussars. Perhaps you know him? It doesn’t matter.” She took another sip of tea. “Willard has let it be known that you succeeded in removing all the Hanovers connected to William by relocation. All but one family. A poor family, made poorer through the loss of a father to drink and a mother to sickness. Am I right?”

  “So far, yes, Your Majesty.”

  “With the parents gone, you practically adopted the boy and girl as your own.” The queen waited. Egmont breathed in noisily through his nose, and nodded. “Jamie Hanover...”

  “Jamie Hanover is no longer of any concern.”

  “No?”

  “He is in Afghanistan. Rather, he was, the last we heard of him.”

  “And his sister? Luise Hanover?”

  Egmont pushed himself out of the chair and fidgeted. “Forgive me, your Majesty. I must stand in between. Not so much for me, but for the damned yard arm.”

  “Damned yard arm?”

  “My leg, Your Majesty,” Egmont shrugged. “I have a sailor’s tongue.”

  “And the memory of a goldfish. You were ordered to get rid of all the Hanovers.”

  “Yes.” Egmont walked to the door and back again.

  “Including the daughter, Luise.”

  “She is the reason I am here, Your Majesty. That and a small matter of the German Confederation.”

  “The Germans are involved now? Admiral, just how far does this...”

  “Excuse me, Your Majesty, but the Germans are not interested in Luise for her name, only for what she has built.”

  “And that is?”

  Egmont sighed. “Luise Hanover has built a device to slow time.”

  “Come now, Admiral. A time machine?”

  “No, not a time machine. A device that can manipulate time.” He waited for the queen to place her cup and saucer on the table beside her armchair. “The Germans want it.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “I am not sure it is important but...”

  “But?”

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty. I realise it is not something you wish to speak of, but Luise Hanover has the royal disease of the blood.”

  “Admiral...”

  “And her invention,” Egmont continued, “besides slowing time, seems to aid in her recovery when she is suffering the effects of the disease.”

  “What do you expect me to do with that information?” The queen clamped her hands together in her lap.

  “Do with it, Your Majesty?” Egmont frowned. “I thought it might interest you.”

  “Then you thought wrong.” The queen reached for a small bell by the side of her teacup. She let it ring twice before pinching the clapper. “I will give you want you want, Admiral.”

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty. What do I want?”

  “Don’t be thick, Admiral. It doesn’t become a man of your years. Ah, Marsland,” the queen turn
ed in her seat as the courtier entered the drawing room. “Have Major Noonan meet with the Admiral on his way out.” The queen turned to Egmont. “You can have the extra manpower you need, but your priority is the young woman.” Egmont opened his mouth to speak. “Marsland will see you to the door.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty.” Egmont bowed and crossed the floor to the door.

  “Just a minute, Admiral.” The queen waited as Egmont turned. “You are to clean up this mess, every last speck. I trust you understand?”

  “Yes, Your Majesty,” Egmont closed his eyes as he bowed. “I understand completely.”

  ҉

  The shadow of the hawk flitted across the face of the moon shining above the carriage as it bounced onto the curb in front of Almsbury House. Smith slipped off the driver’s bench. Hari tugged the wheel to the right and pulled Smith back onto the carriage with the fingers of his left hand.

  “Hari Singh,” Smith gasped. “You are a lousy driver.”

  “Thank you.” Hari slipped the throttle chain from the hook and crunched the carriage to a stop in front of the poorhouse gates. “A bad driver I may be,” Hari rested on the wheel, “but I have not seen sign of our pursuer for the past five minutes.”

  “He will be around, I am certain of that, Hari.”

  “What will they do with it, do you think, Mr. Smith?”

  “Miss Hanover’s machine? I can only imagine.” Smith paused, his hand on the roof of the carriage. “Being so small, it slows time in a very localised space. If they were to build a bigger machine,” he took a long, slow breath.

  “They could stop time completely, in a much larger area?”

  Smith sighed. “That would be my concern, yes.” Smith climbed down from the carriage. “Get Luise to safety. Get her far away from here. I will do what I can to stop the Germans getting her machine out of London.” The old man waved as he walked to the gates and Hari crunched the carriage into first gear.

  The carriage dipped to the left. Reaching for the handle of his kukri, Hari spun in his seat as Luise sat down beside him, adjusting the strap of her satchel.

  “Before you say another word,” Luise waved her finger in the air between them. “I refuse to sit inside the carriage any longer.”

  “But, Miss Luise...”

  “No, Hari,” Luise tucked her hair into a ponytail, herding the loose strands behind her ears. “I was actually sick around the bend before last,” she punched Hari on the shoulder.

  “Miss Luise?”

  “No more Miss Luise, Hari. I feel sick, I have vomit on my jacket and,” she lifted the satchel, “I nearly lost this out of the carriage door.”

  “Truly, I am...”

  “Truly?” Luise rolled her eyes. “Truly this and truly that.”

  “We were trying to get away from...”

  “Oh, I know who we were trying to get away from but,” Luise paused as Hari reached for the throttle. “Are you planning on driving further tonight?”

  “Mr. Smith said I should get you far away from here.”

  “And in one piece. Did he mention that? I didn’t think so.” Luise shoved Hari with both hands. “Move over, Hari Singh.”

  “Miss Luise...”

  “Truly, yes, I am driving. Now sit there,” Luise slid behind the wheel as Hari clambered over the roof and sat down on the passenger side of the bench, “and keep an eye out for our friend.” Luise opened the throttle and crunched the carriage into gear. Turning the wheel and pulling into the middle of the dirt street, she glanced at Hari. “Where are we going?”

  “That way, Miss Luise.”

  “Fine.” Luise hooked the third link of the throttle chain into position and shifted into second gear.

  ҉

  Egmont fiddled with the cigar box on the table in the receiving room in the north end of Buckingham Palace. The wooden box spun on the slickly varnished tabletop as he flicked at the corner with each revolution. His wrinkled brow furrowed above his bushy white eyebrows as he stared at the spinning box.

  “Do you smoke, Admiral?”

  Egmont looked up with a start at the man standing on the opposite side of the table, his hand extended from the richly-embroidered sleeves of the deep blue jacket. Egmont took the man’s hand in his own.

  “Major Noonan, 5th Queen's Own Hussars,” Noonan squeezed Egmont’s hand once and released it.

  “You’re black, Major.” Egmont’s frown vanished from his forehead.

  “From the day I was born, Admiral,” Noonan grinned.

  “Yes,” Egmont rested the tips of his fingers on the cigar box. “Did the queen explain what we are to do?”

  “I have been informed, yes.” Noonan waved his hand and gestured at the door. Egmont tapped the box a last time before stumping alongside the Major. “I have thirty hussars at my disposal for this task.”

  “Good horses?”

  “The best,” Noonan opened the door and held it for Egmont. He let the door close behind them and slowed his pace to match the Admiral’s as they walked down the stairs to the carriage waiting in the courtyard.

  “I used to say that horses were for green pastures.”

  “And foreign fields. But the streets of London are just as good underfoot. It’s the damn cobbles that cause problems.”

  “Is it cobbled around St. James’s Park?”

  “The route of the Derby? No, not the actual route, but some of the streets leading off of it.”

  “That’s where I’ll put my men then.” Egmont waved at the carriage as Boyce jumped down from the driver’s bench and opened the carriage door. The Admiral stopped at the steps to the cab. “Are your men squeamish, Major.”

  “About what?”

  “Unpleasant tasks.”

  “Such as?” Noonan frowned.

  “There is a young woman, a pretty one at that.”

  “Luise Hanover? Yes, I know who she is.” Noonan pulled on the bearskin hat he carried under his arm. “Don’t worry, Admiral,” he pulled the chinstrap below his bottom lip. “My men know what to do.” Throwing a salute, Noonan turned on his heel and walked across the courtyard toward the stables.

  “Good.” Egmont sighed as he took hold of the door handle and clambered into the cabin. “Boyce?”

  “Yes, Admiral?”

  “Take me to St. James’s Park.” Egmont leaned back on the bench inside the cabin. Resting his brass leg on the opposite bench, he turned his head to marvel at the steady piff of steam whistling from the valve. “Oh, Luise,” Egmont fiddled with the leather strap attaching the steam limb to the stump of his leg. “Who will I get to fix my leg when you are gone?”

  ҉

  The slow grey of dawn crept above the buildings on either side of the street as Luise steered the carriage through the sludge. Revellers of the night snored in doorways, as tenants threw pots of piss from the windows onto the street to the angry shouts of factory workers shuffling to work. The carriage hissed to a stop.

  “Why have we stopped?” Hari climbed onto the roof of the carriage and looked up and down the street.

  “We have run out of fuel, run out of steam.” Luise tapped the wheel and yawned. “A bit like me.”

  “You are tired, Miss Luise.”

  “And hungry. I don’t remember when I last ate.” Luise turned around and placed her hand on Hari’s sandal. “When did you last eat, Hari?”

  Hari dropped to one knee. Staring back along the street in the direction they had come, he reached down and took Luise’s hand. “He is coming.”

  “Blaidd?” Luise started.

  “Yes.” Hari let go of Luise’s hand and slipped over the side of the carriage. Standing on the street on the driver’s side, Hari held out his hands. “Jump, Miss Luise.”

  Luise squirmed out from behind the wheel, tightened the strap of her satchel, and slid down the side of the carriage into Hari’s arms.

  “We must run.”

  “Where to? Where are we going, Hari?”

  “Far away from him.”
<
br />   “And then where? What about my machine?”

  “Mr. Smith and I talked about that,” Hari frowned.

  “And?”

  “If we can then we must go to the race and retrieve your machine.”

  “St. James’s Park,” Luise pointed up the street. “It is that way.”

  Hari took a step toward the rear of the carriage and scanned the street. Striding through the mud, the long Polyphase rifle resting upon his shoulder, Blaidd ignored the Londoners pestering him for shillings and bits; he stared at the carriage, at Hari and Luise.

  “He will not stop, will he, Hari?” Luise leaned in close to Hari.

  “You are trembling, Miss Luise.”

  “I am cold.”

  “You will warm up as we run.”

  “And he will keep coming. It is hopeless, Hari.”

  “No,” Hari turned around. Smoothing his hands around her shoulders and down her arms, Hari smiled. “There is always hope. As for now,” Hari winked, “I will finish this.” Leaning forward, the tips of his sandals pressing into the dirt as he lifted his heels, Hari pressed his forehead upon Luise’s. He pushed her away, gently.

  “Hari?”

  “Go now, Miss Luise.” Hari took a step backward and drew his kukri.

  “Hari?”

  “The Admiral and Mr. Smith will be at the race. Find them or their men and they will help you.”

  “I am not leaving you. I can’t leave you.”

  Hari pointed up at the grey light of dawn. “Look after Shahin. Truly, she can be terrible when she sulks, but she is a good girl, and precious to me.” Hari smiled. “Like you, Miss Luise.” Hari dipped his head and bowed.

  “No, Hari,” Luise took a step forward.

  “It is for the best.” Hari turned and ran in the middle of the carriage tracks scored into the mud. The blade glinting dully in his left hand, Hari roared the war cry of the Indian Gurkhas.

  Luise watched, fingers pressed to her mouth as revellers and workers alike parted in front of the mad Indian as he charged down the street. Beyond Hari, Luise saw the Welshman cast aside the rifle and caught the glint of two blades as he twirled the butterfly knives in his fingers. Blaidd started to run toward Hari.