by Chris Paton
“Herr Bremen?”
“Yes, Lady Chatterley?” Aether turned to a middle-aged woman at the front of the crowd.
“Are we all to be partnered with someone from the passage?” She blushed. “I wouldn’t want to be left out, Herr Bremen.”
“Of course not,” Aether stepped between Hannah and Blaidd. Taking the woman by the hand, he led her to the door. “I am sure Hannah will not take offence. It is only fitting that one of the order’s most generous contributors, be allowed to be one of the first to be partnered. Come,” he tucked the woman’s hand around Khaos’ arm. “Romney will show you the way.”
“You will follow, Fräulein von Ense.” Aether looked at Blaidd. “You can leave your wolf at the door.”
“I’ll be close though, eh? Herr Bremen,” Blaidd smoothed the hairs on the backs of his hands. “Wouldn’t want to miss anything.”
“By all means, Mr. Blaidd.” Turning away from the crowd, Aether gripped Hannah’s arm and guided her through the door after Khaos. “Mind your step.”
“I thought,” Hannah stepped over the lip of the door, “you needed my help?”
“I do,” Aether raised his voice over the sound of the engines.
“But not like this,” Hannah scuffed her heals on the metal grille of the walkway. “I don’t wish to be partnered,” she shouted. “I can be more use to you as an assistant. I can smooth things over with the port authorities when we dock. I can...”
“That won’t be necessary,” Aether let go of Hannah at the top of the ladder. “Look.”
Hannah grasped the railing and turned to look at the engine room. The propeller shafts glowed with spinning metal spheres, traversing the full length of each of The Regal Giant’s three propeller shafts. Teams of engineers inspecting the propellers pointed at the glowing spheres, the younger ones tracing the glyphs in the air as they spun past them. Privileged spectators chatted and pointed, turning to wave at Aether’s arrival, they clapped their hands.
“Luise Hanover’s machine was but a toy.” Aether waved at the crowd below.
“Ja,” Hannah gripped the railing. She turned at a tug on her arm.
“Do you see the inscriptions?”
“On the spheres?” Hannah looked in the direction Aether was pointing. “Ja, I see them.”
“They are more powerful than those of Miss Hanover. Khaos has a true mastery of the glyphs,” Aether grinned. He pointed at each of the propeller shafts in turn. “With three sets of coils, and with the increased speed of the engines, we can create a vortex wide enough for more than two demons at a time. Khaos’ khronoglyphs will ensure the passage stays open for longer.” Aether let go of Hannah’s arm. He took a step closer to the ladder. Looking down, he waved at Khaos and Lady Chatterley hanging on her arm. Aether turned back to Hannah. “Can you hear it? That high-pitched whine?”
“Ja,” Hannah frowned. She looked at the distance between Aether’s heels and the top of the ladder. “I can hear it.”
“It means,” he grinned, “that the vortex is beginning to form. The shadow vortex will come next and then...”
“And then,” Hannah gripped the railing with her right hand, bent her right knee up to her chest and kicked Aether in the sternum. Leaning forward, she watched as he dropped to the lower deck, landing on the metal floor, his skull cracking with a heavy thud and a trickle of blue energy escaping from his scalp.
“No,” Khaos shoved Lady Chatterley aside and ran to Aether’s crumpled form. Picking up his hands, she screamed as the light faded from his fingers. “No.”
Hannah watched as Khaos lifted Aether’s hand to her lips.
“Did he fall?” Lady Chatterley shouted above the strident spin of the propellers. “I said,” she put a hand on Khaos’ shoulder.
Slapping her hand on top of Lady Chatterley’s, Khaos enveloped the woman’s hand and lower arm in a blue tendril pulsing from her fingers.
“What are you doing?” Lady Chatterley’s arm drooped. “Stop...”
The slow energy from Khaos fingers envelope the woman in her grasp. As Lady Chatterley slumped to the floor, Khaos looked up at Hannah.
“You must watch, Hannah von Ense,” Khaos sneered, her hair sparking at the tips with neon snaps. “You did this,” she nodded at Aether’s inert form. “And now I will do this.” Khaos stood, the tendril from her fingers snaked around Lady Chatterley, slowing her body until her chest stopped rising and her eyes stopped blinking.
Hannah watched as Khaos slowed the life from Lady Chatterley’s body. She moved back from the ladder, turning only as the whine of the vortex grew, forcing the engineers to their knees. She looked down as something snaked around her ankles. “No,” Hannah stumbled. Twisting onto her stomach, Hannah thrust her fingers through the grille and screamed, “Blaidd.”
Thudding onto the walkway, Blaidd stopped, his eyes flicking from the engineers holding their hands to their ears, Aether and Lady Chatterley lying still on the floor, and Khaos appearing at the top of the ladder, tendrils of blue light extending from her fingers to Hannah’s ankles.
“I can’t move my legs,” Hannah shouted. “Help me.”
Tracing his finger around the spiral on his left palm, Blaidd did the same with his right. Clenching his fists once, Blaidd flashed forward to the edge of the walkway, kicking at Khaos’ face as she climbed up. The demon fell.
“My legs,” Hannah shouted as she slipped toward the edge of the ladder, arresting Khaos’ fall as the tendrils tightened. Blaidd looked over the edge as Khaos swung beneath him. “Get them off me.”
Pulling his butterfly knife from his pocket, Blaidd flicked it open and gripped one of the tendrils in his left hand. “Ah,” Blaidd laughed.
“What is it?” Hannah glanced over her shoulder. “You can cut them, ja?”
“Well,” Blaidd let go of the tendril and turned his palm over. “Just a moment, eh?” He traced the spiral with his finger. “I need to top up.”
“Top up?” Hannah screamed as Khaos tugged at the tether of slow energy connecting them. “She is pulling me down.”
“Yes,” Blaidd flexed the fingers of his left hand tried again, his fingers slowing as he squeezed them tight. “And sapping my speed.” He sawed at the tendril, grinning as the knife grated on the metal beneath it. The energy wrapped around Hannah’s ankle faded.
“I still can’t move my feet,” Hannah pushed herself into a sitting position. “Blaidd?”
“Don’t worry, Miss,” Blaidd locked his arms in the railings either side of the ladder. Khaos leered over his shoulder, new tendrils, thicker, brighter, wrapped around Blaidd’s throat and knife hand. “Just a little setback, eh?” The knife fell from Blaidd’s limp hand. “Just get going, miss. Remember me, eh?”
“Ja,” Hannah shuffled away from Blaidd and the ladder, her cheeks paling at the look on Khaos face as the demon slowed Blaidd’s breathing with a thick coil of energy wrapped around his chest. “I will remember you.” Hannah tested her legs, arching her feet and flexing her toes as the feeling returned. She stood up, gripping the railing for support as she staggered backward to the door, her eyes fixed on Khaos.
“Where are you going, Hannah von Ense?” Khaos climbed the last few rungs of the ladder, crawling over Blaidd’s body as she reached the top. She flicked her wrists, snaking the coils of energy back into her fingers. “Look,” she flicked her eyes at the vortex spinning around the engine room. “See who comes.”
Hannah watched as demons crawled out of the funnel. Slithering over the lip in groups of threes and fours, they drifted over to the engineers, entering the bodies of the men and women through their eyes, noses, mouths and the pores of their skin.
“Fascinating,” Khaos paused on the walkway. “Don’t you think so?” She turned to Hannah, her fingers snapping with needles of energy, her eyes sparking blue menace as she glared at Hannah.
Hannah reached the door. Stumbling over the lip, she pushed past the passengers waiting in the cargo hold and made her way to the ladder.
“I will find you, Hannah von Ense,” Khaos called from the engine room door. “You will pay for what you have done.” She turned to the passengers. “The order of impedimenta rewards loyal servants,” Khaos pointed at Hannah, “and punishes traitors severely. Only time will tell when...” Khaos stumbled to her knees. “What?” She turned to look at the door.
Hannah felt the spinning of the propellers vibrating through the ladder diminish as she climbed. Looking back at the passengers in the hold, she frowned as they swayed in a strange dance, their movements slow and cumbersome. From within the sluggish crowd, Hannah spied Khaos, a rigid tendril of light in each hand, staggering to the door as if in the face of a storm.
“The ship is being slowed,” Hannah breathed. “I have to get off.” Hurrying up the ladder, Hannah reached the top, stepped out of the cargo hold, stumbling along the deck toward the bow of the ship. “Get out of the way,” Hannah yelled at an orderly pushing a trolley of refreshments toward her.
“Oi, watch it,” the orderly swerved out of Hannah’s way.
Careening off the bulkhead, Hannah stopped to catch her breath. She watched as the orderly leaned forward to inspect the wheels, pushing at the trolley to make it move.
“’Ere,” he turned to shake his fist at Hannah. “Look what you’ve done. I can’t hardly move it now, can I?”
“Run,” Hannah pushed herself off the wall. “Run to the bow. Get off the ship.”
“What are you on about?” Lifting his right foot, the orderly took a step toward Hannah. Setting his foot down on the deck, he paused and tugged at his left leg with both hands. “’Ere,” he called after Hannah. “What have you done?”
Hannah ran along the deck. At the entrance to observation lounge, she avoided the passengers crowding the door, choosing instead to crash through the stencilled glass window instead. Showering splinters over the carpet and passengers, Hannah ignored the curses and arms reaching out to stop her. She paused at the door to the observation deck. Ripping the life ring from the wall, Hannah stepped onto the deck. She ran to the starboard side.
“Wallendorf Walkers,” Hannah looked at the docks, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand.
“Are you all right, Miss?”
Hannah turned to look at a waiter approaching with a tray of drinks. Clambering onto the railing, Hannah swung her legs over the side.
“Hey, Miss,” the waiter tossed the tray of drinks onto the deck. Ignoring the crash of glasses and the spinning of the metal tray, he rushed forward, his hand outstretched. “Don’t jump, Miss.”
Tossing the life ring into the sea below her, Hannah turned to look at the waiter. “Get off the ship.” Hannah jumped.
҉
The sun caught the body of The Voskhod, shining off the metal plates, warming the Russians’ cheeks with a coppery glow. Oksana wiped the windows with a rag, tutting at the roll of dice cackling across the surface of the upturned crate as Lena, one eye on Stepan, challenged the Russian soldiers. With each new roll, the soldiers groaned and reached into their pockets. Lena’s fingertips drummed the wooden surface as she pulled her winnings, cigarettes, coins and jewellery, into a wool cap. Folding her cap inside the straps of her bandolier, Lena bowed to the Russians and made her way back to the locomotive. A handful of coins in one hand, she whistled at Oksana, flicking a coin onto the metal running board running the length of the locomotive.
“I don’t want your contraband,” Oksana rubbed at a stubborn corner of grime.
“Contraband,” Lena laughed. “I won this.”
“It is not ladylike.”
“I have never pretended to be a lady,” Lena climbed up onto the locomotive.
“We can agree on that.”
“What do you think they are talking about?” Lena tugged at Oksana’s elbow.
Stuffing the rag inside the leather apron at her waist, Oksana turned and leaned against the locomotive beside Lena. She eyed the cigarette poking out of Lena’s cap, clasped her fingers together and stared in the direction of Stepan and Bryullov.
Pulling the cigarette out of her cap with her finger and thumb, Lena grinned. She held it under Oksana’s nose. “Perhaps we can agree on this, too?” Oksana flicked her eyes at the yellow paper roll of tobacco. “Look,” Lena fished a second cigarette from her cap. “I will smoke one too. We can pretend we are comrades?”
“Pretend? Da, we can do that,” Oksana took the cigarette and placed it between her lips. Reaching into her apron she pulled out a box of matches. “Just the one, now,” she struck the match.
“Of course,” Lena leaned in as Oksana lit first her own and then Lena’s cigarette. Exhaling a stream of smoke, Lena picked at a flake of tobacco between her teeth. She pointed at the two men. “Our Kapitan doesn’t look very happy.”
“Stepan?” Oksana flicked ash from her cigarette. “No,” she paused. “He looks angry.”
“Very angry,” Lena flicked her cigarette onto the tracks. Glancing at the soldiers, she slipped the fingers of her left hand around the grip of her pistol. Pressing her right hand upon Oksana’s arm she whispered, “It will be safer inside the cab.”
Oksana smoked as the two men approached, the crunch of gravel beneath their feet echoing beneath the locomotive. “Da,” Oksana finished her cigarette. She flicked it onto the tracks at the sound of Stepan’s voice.
“I refuse to believe it,” Stepan held up his hand. “Moscow would never agree to such a proposition.”
“And yet, Kapitan Skuratov,” Bryullov pointed at the mammoth walkers positioned behind the soldiers, “there is your proof.”
“I still don’t understand,” Stepan stopped by the side of the cab. Ignoring Lena and Oksana, he jabbed his finger at Bryullov. “What gives Moscow the right to give up Arkhangelsk, to let a foreign nation take over one of our cities, for the sake of,” Stepan clenched his fists, “mines and resources?” Stepan pressed his fists to his temples. “Our resources, Kapitan Bryullov. Russian mines, Russian resources, Russian people.”
“You are angry, Kapitan Skuratov,” Bryullov wiped a speck of Stepan’s spit from the lapel of his coat. “I understand that. But the expansion and protection of our borders is expensive. It requires technology that we, unfortunately, are not yet able to produce. Our German friends,” Bryullov nodded at the walkers, “are quite advanced in their designs. Arkhangelsk is a small price for the greater good of our motherland. One day, Kapitan Skuratov, I think you will agree.”
“Do you?” Stepan gripped Bryullov’s arms, his fingers whitening as he squeezed. “I have a wife and child in Arkhangelsk, Kapitan.” He pressed his face closer to Bryullov’s. “My wife is sick and my son is,” Stepan shuddered. “My son is lost.”
“Kapitan,” Lena walked along the running board until she was level with Stepan. “Kapitan, let go of him.”
“What?” Stepan looked up at Lena.
She nodded at the soldiers forming a circle around them. “His men are restless.”
Stepan turned at the click of flintlock hammers being pulled back on the muskets and the whirr of cranking handles charging the Lightning Jezails. He let go of Bryullov. “I am angry, Kapitan Bryullov. I wish to file a complaint.”
“I understand,” Bryullov straightened his jacket. “But you will have to accompany me to Moscow.” Raising his hand, Bryullov pointed at Lena. “You and your Cossack.”
“Very well,” Stepan nodded. “But perhaps you will allow me to draft my complaint before we depart.”
“Of course.” Bryullov waved at his men. “Stand down, men.”
Stepan turned at the sound of jezails powering down and musket hammers being lowered gently to the pans. “Forgive me, Kapitan Bryullov. It has been a very long day.”
“Yes, I understand.” He looked up at the locomotive. “At least you did not ride all the way from Arkhangelsk.”
“Have you not rested?”
“We arrived two days ago.” Bryullov pulled a pipe from the pocket of his coat. “Yes, we are rested.”<
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“Hmm,” Stepan looked up at Lena.
“Kapitan?” Lena frowned.
“Let me light your pipe for you. Oksana?” Stepan caught the engineer’s matches. Cupping his hand, he struck the match, catching Lena’s eye as Bryullov dipped his head and pipe to the flame. “Get ready,” Stepan mouthed.
“Thank you, Kapitan,” Bryullov puffed at his pipe.
“Perhaps you have some writing materials. We left Arkhangelsk in quite a hurry,” Stepan shrugged. “In your travelling bag, perhaps?”
“Yes,” Bryullov beckoned to the soldier holding the reins of his horse. He waited until the horse was alongside the locomotive. “I will rip a page from my diary, Kapitan. I hope that will be sufficient?”
“Two pages,” Stepan pressed his palms together. He followed Bryullov to the horse. “If you can spare them.”
“Two pages. Of course,” Bryullov reached into the saddle bag. Pausing with his hand inside the bag, Bryullov looked up as Lena padded along the running board just above the horse. “Kapitan?” Bryullov flicked his head toward Stepan.
“Now, Lena.” Pulling back his arm, Stepan slammed his fist into Bryullov’s nose. Pushing Bryullov to the ground, Stepan leaped over him, kicking the Russian soldier in the shin and elbowing him in the neck as he doubled over.
“Kapitan,” Lena shouted over the grating of the metal door as Oksana dashed into the cab and locked herself inside. “Climb up.” Holding out her arm, Lena gripped Stepan’s forearm as he stepped onto Bryullov’s back and climbed onto the horse’s back behind Lena.
“Ride,” Stepan gripped Lena around the waist as the first volley of musket balls bounced off the side of The Voskhod.
