Metal and Magic: The Steampunk Adventures of Hanover and Singh

by Chris Paton

  “What now?” Hari whispered.

  Romney and Bremen ignored Luise as she walked around them, opened the cylinder at the rear of the Wallendorf steamracer and removed the impediment machine. Hari’s horse prodded him in the back with his nose as Luise walked calmly back toward him.

  “We should go.” Luise flicked her eyes at Romney and Bremen as they smoothed their hands all over their bodies. Luise pointed at the steamracer. “We might be able to squeeze into the cockpit if we remove the seat.”

  “Yes.” Hari walked with Luise to the steamracer. With one eye on Romney and Bremen, he stroked the horse’s nose and blew into its nostrils as Luise unbolted the seat. Patting the horse on its rump, Hari pushed it toward the dead Hussar’s horse grazing on a patch of grass by the side of the road.

  “I am driving,” Luise handed Hari the impediment machine as he clambered into the cockpit. Luise climbed in and sat on Hari’s lap. She reached for the throttle.

  “Stop,” letting go of Romney, Bremen stepped in front of the steamracer. Walking around Bremen, Romney ran her fingers along the racer’s exterior, her nails scoring the paint. She reached out to touch Luise’s shoulder, recoiling with a hiss as Luise leaned to one side to expose the tattoo on Hari’s chest.

  “Give me the machine of Khronos.” Bremen walked along the opposite side of the steamracer. Luise shook her head. “Child,” Bremen sneered, “you don’t know what to do with it.” He smiled. “I can show you.”

  “Not a good idea, Miss Luise.”

  “Truly, Hari?” Luise shrank a little lower in the cockpit.

  “Aether,” Romney shrank back from the steamracer. “Look. They come.”

  Bremen jerked his head up, looking over the heads of Hari and Luise.

  “Khaos,” Bremen held out his hand. “Come.”

  Romney ran to Bremen’s side. With a last hiss at Luise, Romney took Bremen’s hand and they fled into St. James’s Park.

  Luise pushed herself up from Hari’s lap and looked behind them. The thunder of hooves pummelled the ground, vibrating up through the chassis of the steamracer.

  “There is Admiral Egmont,” Luise waved. “He is on a horse at the rear.”

  Hari squirmed beneath Luise and twisted his head to look. “Miss Luise.”

  “We are saved, Hari.”

  “I am not so sure.” Hari pulled Luise down as a volley of musket balls crashed through the damp air and splintered into the ground behind them. “They will be in range for the next volley. Drive, Miss Luise.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Just drive.”

  Grabbing Luise by the hips, Hari turned her face-forward. Reaching around her body, he grasped the throttle lever and pulled. “Ready?”

  “Yes.” Luise shifted into first gear, falling back against Hari’s chest as they jerked into motion. “We cannot outrun them.”

  “We will.” Hari stared around Luise as the steamracer built up speed.

  Shifting through the gears until she found third, Luise muttered, “How?”

  “Straight ahead and over the bridge,” Hari pointed over Luise’s shoulder.

  “Westminster?”

  “Is that what it is called? I don’t know, Miss Luise.” Hari pulled Luise further into the cockpit as the Hussars loosed their second volley. “Just drive.”

  Luise gripped the wheel, swerving around horse-drawn carts and wagons lining the road. Sweat tickled her brow. “What did Dieter say about an injector?”

  “What?”

  “Never mind,” Luise bit her lip. “I have found it.” Fumbling her fingers around the lever next to the throttle, Luise pulled it and smiled at the crash and pop of pellets cascading into the furnace, propelling the racer along the street with an extra burst of steam. Luise yelled as they hurtled onto the bridge, scattering pedestrians and steam carriages as they barrelled down the middle.

  “Miss Luise,” Hari tapped her on the shoulder.

  “What?” Luise grinned.

  “I think I am going to be sick.”

  On the other side of the Thames, at the end of the bridge, the road turned into a cobbled street, slowing the steamracer with jarring bumps and halting the pursuit of the Hussars.

  Luise risked a look behind her as she shifted down to second gear and turned into a side street. “They are not following us, Hari.”

  “No, perhaps not. But we need to leave London.”

  “What about Shahin?”

  Hari laughed. “Did you not hear the man? They have pigeons in London – slow, fat pigeons. Shahin will be fine, although I will miss her.”

  “Where shall we go?” Luise shifted into first gear.

  “North, I think.”

  “Yes,” Luise remembered. “There is a zeppelin leaving Scotland at the end of the month. The Flying Scotsman.” Luise leaned to one side and twisted her neck to look at Hari. “Do you fancy a trip on an airship?”

  ҉

  Egmont holstered his carbine and clasped his hands on the pommel of the saddle as Noonan picked his way between the Hussars. The Major slowed his mount to a stop beside the Admiral.

  “Well, Major.” Egmont wiped the rain from his face. “A fine day for failure, wouldn’t you say?”

  “It is true, they have evaded us. But they have yet to leave London.” Leaning in his saddle, Noonan tugged Egmont’s carbine from its holster. “You didn’t fire your weapon, Admiral?”

  “Tell that to the queen, Noonan.” Egmont turned his horse’s head with a tug of the reins and a kick of his heel.

  “Where are you going, Admiral?”

  “To see a man about a hawk. Actually,” Egmont mused. “I think it was a Nightjar.”

  ҉

  Parasols and umbrellas rippled in a wave of excitement as Robshaw crossed the finish line at the end of the seventh lap of the Greater London Derby. Lanteri steamed into second place and the crowd leaped over the flimsy barriers to pull the drivers from behind the steering wheels, parading them upon their shoulders past the judges and officials recording the times and coordinating the photographers.

  Slipping out of the crowd, Smith disappeared into the trees at the edge of St. James’s Park. He looked up at the cry of a hawk and smiled at Shahin as she tore into the breast of a plump pigeon clamped between her talons. Smith pressed his hands together and gave the hawk a short bow before peeling off the outer layer of his clothes, and walking deeper into the park.

  “Smith,” Egmont nudged his horse onto the path.

  “Reginald,” Smith walked up to the Admiral’s horse, patting its neck as he looked up at Egmont. “Did everything go as planned?”

  “Yes and no,” Egmont grumbled. “Bremen no longer has the machine. I saw Luise and your man Singh drive off into the distance.”

  “So they have the machine?”

  “That is my best guess, yes.”

  “Miss Hanover is a clever young woman, Reginald. She will know what to do with it.”

  Egmont leaned back in the saddle. “We never thought about what we would do with the machine, Smith. Did that never cross your mind?”

  “Several things crossed my mind, Admiral.” Smith stopped patting the horse. Letting his hand fall to his side, he looked up at Egmont. “But for once, Admiral, I think we might just be ahead of the game.”

  “How so?”

  “We don’t let the heat get to us in Calcutta, Admiral,” the skin around Smith’s eyes creased as he smiled. “There are only so many ways out of Great Britain, and I do believe Miss Hanover will choose the route most suited to our own interests.”

  “You’re not making any sense,” Egmont shook his head.

  “Perhaps not, but with a little luck, and favourable winds,” Smith took off his glasses and wiped them with a cloth from his pocket, “everything should work out in our favour.”

  “Full of mystery and mischief,” Egmont shuffled in the saddle as he turned his horse.

  “As are you, Admiral. Shall we find a quiet pub where you can tell me a
bout your meeting with Her Majesty?”

  “I know a place. It’s on the other side of the park. The Dog and Thistle.” Egmont tugged his watch from his jacket pocket. “We’re a little early but the landlord is generous with time.”

  “How appropriate,” Smith chuckled as he walked beside the Admiral on his horse.

  ҉

  Romney picked at the fingers of Bremen’s hand. Twirling on the path, she held her palms up to the rain, tipped her head back and stuck out her tongue. Bremen caught her as she stumbled over a stone.

  “Careful, you have not had feet for a long time, Khaos.” Romney fell into Bremen’s arms. “And we must be inconspicuous.”

  “Oh, Aether,” Romney skipped away and twirled along the path. “Always so serious.”

  “Don’t be so selfish, Khaos. What of the others? We must help them return.”

  “They have been locked away for an eternity,” Romney shrugged. “How will they know the difference?”

  “You did, Khaos.”

  “Yes,” Romney stopped twirling. She crunched the stones beneath her feet on the path. “I won’t go back, Aether,” she looked Bremen in the eye. “I won’t ever go back.”

  “I know,” Bremen took Romney’s hand and pulled her into his chest. Smoothing his fingers through her hair, he took a handful of Romney’s red locks and pressed his nose into it. Breathing deep, he closed his eyes. “Never again,” he promised.

  Epilogue

  Murrayfield Hydrogen Park

  Edinburgh, Scotland

  June, 1851

  “This isn’t quite the romantic voyage I imagined.” Luise snuggled into Hari’s chest as he leaned against the packing crates in the metal-sparred hold of The Flying Scotsman. “We can’t even light a candle.”

  “Why was that again?” Hari broke a piece of bread from the loaf he had stolen from the kitchen. The paper bread bag trembled at the vibration of the massive propellers spinning one on each side of the fabric-covered metal framework.

  “Hydrogen,” Luise rolled over and pressed her palm against Hari’s chest. “For such an intriguing man, sometimes you lack the most basic of facts.”

  Hari shrugged. “I consider myself more a man of intrigue than intriguing. I was born on the banks of the Indus. A very long way from here and further still from explosive gas technology.” Hari smiled. “But I don’t need to know or understand these things.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I am with you, Miss Luise.”

  “Yes,” Luise rolled onto her back and closed her eyes. Hari chewed the bread. The impediment machine rocked back and forth in the gap between two crates. Hari reached out with his foot and pushed the crate closest to him toward the other, closing the gap. The impediment machine stopped rocking.

  “What are we going to do with it, Miss Luise?”

  “Hari, when will you call me Luise?”

  “One day, perhaps.” Hari stopped chewing. “But what will we do with it?”

  “The impediment machine?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don’t know. I don’t want to think about it. Not right now.” Luise rubbed her nose with the back of her hand. “It is cold in here, Hari. Can’t you warm me up?” Hari reached around Luise and tugged a blanket up and over her body. “That wasn’t exactly what I meant.”

  “Miss Luise,” Hari stared at the machine. “I promised your brother that I would look after you, that I would protect you.”

  “And you have done a fine job. If ever I see Jamie again, I will be sure to tell him.”

  “Truly,” Hari paused. “But I cannot protect you from that,” he stared at the machine. “Not unless I know what you plan to do with it.”

  Luise opened her eyes. Leaning forward she wrapped the blanket around her shoulders. She took Hari’s hand and twisted her fingers within his. “I am so pale compared to you.”

  “Yes,” Hari smiled. “The machine, Miss Luise. It is not natural.”

  “I told Smith about the khronoglyphs, but I wasn’t completely honest with him.”

  “Khronoglyphs?”

  “Yes, the glyphs engraved on the cogs of my machine, Hari.” Luise looked up. “They are the language of Khronos, the god of time. Chronometrists have been puzzling over the language of time for centuries. I had a bit of luck when someone sent me a parchment with a translation of a piece of Khronos lore.” Luise lifted her chin and nodded at her satchel on top of one of the crates. “I have everything with me. All my notes. When we find somewhere to settle for a while, somewhere safe, I will resume my work.”

  “Who sent you the translation?”

  “That’s the strangest thing; there was no name, just the area from which it had been sent.” Luise rested her head against Hari’s chest. “Somewhere in Russia. In the north.”

  Hari sat up, pushing Luise into a sitting position. “You know. Don’t you?”

  Luise drew the blanket around her shoulders. She looked away. “Yes, Hari. It came from Arkhangelsk.”

  “You intend to go there, Miss Luise?”

  “Yes. When we reach Copenhagen, we should be able to get passage onboard a steamjammer to Norway. We can travel north from there.”

  “Ah,” Hari leaned back against the crate. “Must we travel by sea?”

  “Hari Singh? Are you frightened of a little water?”

  “I have not had the best of luck aboard ships, Miss Luise.”

  Luise reached forward and unbuttoned Hari’s shirt. “You are protected, Hari Singh.”

  “Against demons and djinn, yes.”

  Curling her fingers, Luise traced the tattoo upon Hari’s chest. “And they don’t seem to want me.”

  “And why is that?”

  “My condition perhaps – my haemophilia?”

  Hari sat up. “Do you not wonder who Khaos and Aether are and what they are doing in the bodies of the Germans?”

  “Hari,” Luise dropped her hands into her lap. “I have told you about the notes. We have been running and fighting for days. We have been on the run for a week or more. Somehow we made it. Somehow we stowed away, without being seen, on the one airship leaving Britain and I want to enjoy that. To rest, to sleep,” she plucked at the buttons on Hari’s shirt, “to have a little fun. We can worry about the demons later, when we get to Arkhangelsk.”

  “Yes, Miss Luise.” Hari leaned forward and stroked Luise’s cheek with his scarred palm. “But I am worried, and so should you be.”

  “I am just as worried as you, Hari, believe me. But here,” she waved her hand around the hold, “right now, I feel safer than I have felt for a long time. I just want to enjoy it. Please?”

  “Very well, Miss Luise. Let us enjoy this moment.”

  “What’s my name, Hari?”

  Hari smiled. He leaned forward and whispered, “Luise.”

  “That’s better, Hari Singh.”

  Grabbing the corner of the blanket, Luise pulled it over their heads, laughing as she pressed down on Hari’s chest beneath the blanket.

  Turning into the wind The Flying Scotsman changed course, the vibration of the propellers shunting the crates pinning Luise’s device. The impediment machine started to rock.

  Chapter 1

  Severnaya Dvina Shipyard

  Arkhangelsk, Russian Empire

  May, 1851

  As the fifth of eight deep-draught cargo steamers whistled its arrival at the Severnaya Docks, Kapitan Stepan Skuratov adjusted the ceremonial sword hanging at his side and tousled the hair of his thirteen year old son, Nikolas. Pressed between crowds of spectators, the Skuratovs watched from the quay as the deckhands tossed thick ropes to the stividors running alongside the fat ships sitting deep in the water. Clouds of condensation curled across the surface of the water as the sun beat down upon the dock and Stepan sweated beneath his tight-fitting cap.

  “Papa,” Nikolas picked at the metal stars stitched onto his father’s sleeve insignia. “Why are your stars not red?”

  “Red?” Stepan turned his w
rist and looked at his sleeve. “Silver is the colour of my rank.”

  “But red is a better colour, papa,” Nikolas pointed at the crimson hulls of the steamers wallowing through the river water to the dock. “See?”

  “But blue,” Stepan brushed his wool uniform, “is the colour of the Imperial Navy, Nikolas. It is your family’s colour. Skuratovs have been serving in the Navy for generations.”

  “I like red, papa.” Nikolas leaned on the flat wooden railings nailed into the tarred posts of the dock. Folding his arms on the warm wood, he leaned forward and rubbed his chin along his shirt sleeves. “It is hot. When will they begin?”

  Stepan smoothed his sleeve over the three watch faces stitched into the leather wristband he wore on his left wrist, his elbow bumping the arm of the man next to him. “My pardon,” he dipped his head. The man smiled and turned back to look at the activity on the docks. Stepan studied the hands of the largest of the watches and tugged his sleeve down to his wrist. “There isn’t space at the docks for more ships. I am sure they will begin unloading shortly.” He smoothed an errant lock of blond hair from his son’s forehead. “It was good we came early,” Stepan looked over Nikolas’ head. “There is quite a crowd.”

  “More than when your boat docks, papa,” Nikolas angled his head on his arm and looked at his father. “Why don’t people come to look when your boat comes in to dock?”

  “My boat,” Stepan pressed his cheek against his son’s head, “is a secret. The Navy is not ready to put their submersibles on display. I will tell you when they are.”

  “Do you promise, papa?”

  “I promise.” Kissing Nikolas’ head, Stepan straightened his back and rested his hands on the railing. “Look, they are moving the gangplanks into position.”