by Chris Paton
The city was quiet as Hari led Jamie through the shadows and sidestreets to Najma's residence. He knocked softly on the door and smiled as she opened it, the warm light from the lantern in her hand lit her face.
“Nightjar?” she said. “The djinni? He is with you?”
“Yes. And he is in need of clothes...”
“And food,” said Jamie.
“I think clothes first,” said Hari.
Najma stepped back and opened the door. She flicked her eyes upwards and turned her head away from Jamie as he walked into the room, half hidden as he was behind Hari. Najma nodded at a wooden chest against the wall.
“Clothes,” she said. “In there.”
Jamie moved to the trunk and rummaged through the contents until he found a pair of trousers, sandals, and a long white shirt. He dressed as Hari talked.
“What about the Shah. You said he was keen to take you for his latest wife?”
“Not any more,” Najma said and spat. “Lucky for me.”
“Truly,” said Hari. “Then perhaps you would be interested in coming with us?”
“Where to?”
“The city of Arkhangelsk,” Hari said and paused. “It is in Russia.”
“Russia?” Najma's eyes lit up with a surge of flame. She glanced at her father's lighting Jezail, hanging on two hooks attached to the packed-earth wall. The flame in her eyes flared for a second before she took a breath and nodded. “I will come with you. I have business in Russia.”
“What business is that?” said Jamie as he joined them in the middle of the small, earthy room.
“Revenge,” said Najma. “Justice. I have business with the Russian: Kapitan Lev Bryullov.”
“Him?” said Jamie. “The man who left me to die in that pit?”
“Yes.”
“Najma,” said Hari. “We do not know if he is even in Russia. It may be a lost cause.”
“He killed my brother, Nightjar. I will have justice. And then I can return home to my village.”
“Then it is agreed. We will travel together. Although, I must warn you both, we are heading towards danger, of the mythical and the mechanical kind.”
“Emissaries?” said Jamie. “I have destroyed my fair share. As for the mythical. I am the embodiment of myth, but I should warn you, I will not always be easy to control. At my most passionate, I am most terrible. I cannot always tell friend from foe.”
“Then it is up to me, my friend,” Hari said and placed his hand on Jamie's shoulder, “to direct your passion and to help keep you under control.”
“And how will you do that?”
Hari let go of Jamie and unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled his shirt sides apart and revealed the anti-djinn mark tattooed on his chest. Jamie recoiled and Hari quickly buttoned his shirt.
“I know that mark,” Jamie said and smoothed his palm upon his chest.
“And I promise only to use it if absolutely necessary.”
Jamie nodded and retreated to the chest of clothes. He closed the lid and sat down to put on his sandals. Najma placed the lantern on a low table in the middle of the room and took the lightning Jezail from the wall. Her eyes gleamed as she tested its weight and ran her fingers over the kill marks scored into the olive wood stock. She slung the Jezail over her shoulder and took a step forward.
“What?” she said as Hari held up his palm to stop her. “I am ready.”
“Truly,” he said and smiled. “But let us eat and rest for a little while. The city gates are closed for the night. We will leave at dawn.”
Chapter 2
Hamburg Dockyard
The German Confederation
June, 1851
Luise Hanover waved the doctor to one side and looked out at the activity on the dock. Since Noonan and the mysterious Captain of the The Amphitrite had flown off to begin their search for Hari, she had been enveloped in a whirlwind of two parts preparation and one part panic. The panicking, she realised, was mostly contained within the body and mind of one soul: Luther Wallendorf, the Direktor of Wallendorf Industries. It was his metal emissaries and mammoth walkers that his assistant, Hans Schleiermacher, directed to strategic positions around the dockyard. The German woman who had caused Luise and Hari problems in London by appropriating the impediment machine, was actually quite competent, Luise mused. She watched as Hannah von Ense helped Schleiermacher position the emissaries, fielding questions from junior and senior officers on matters of munitions and tactics. It was clear to Luise that there were very few people on the dockyard who had any idea of what to expect should the slow demons come all the way into the port. Hannah and herself were two of them, while Admiral Egmont and Mr. Smith of the Indian Bureau of Cartography, had disappeared with some troops in search of the Wallendorf train. Unfortunately, Luise thought, that left her in the field hospital tent together with the doctor and the very distracting Herr Wallendorf. Luise wished she could at least walk around the tent, but the doctor had forbidden it.
“You need to rest if your blood is to clot, Miss Hanover,” he reminded her.
“I am aware of that, doctor. But there is so much I could be doing,” she said and propped herself up on one elbow. “Tell me, at least, has there been any sign of the second airship? The Flying Scotsman.”
“It was spotted circling the steamjammer just beyond the entrance to the docks about an hour ago. You were under hypnosis at that time – a rather novel approach to treating haemophilia – and missed quite the light show. It was as if bolts of blue lightning were being hurled up and down from each vessel. It was most exhilarating.”
“I am sure it was.”
“And then, the airship gained height, rather quickly, to get beyond range. It has been hiding above the clouds ever since.”
“If it is above the clouds, how do we know it is there?”
“You haven't seen the new Wallendorf flyer, have you?” The doctor stood up and placed his hand on the Direktor's shoulder. “Herr Direktor, perhaps you would be pleased to tell Miss Hanover about your flyer? It might ease your mind, and give you something else to think of other than your daughter, Romney.”
Luise watched as Wallendorf turned his head slowly to look at the doctor. His cheeks were as pale as his white beard and his hands trembled upon the pommel of his cane. He looked at Luise with bloodshot eyes, darting from left to right before they settled upon her face. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be alone with Wallendorf. It seemed prudent for him to remain close to the doctor.
“I thought you said I couldn't walk?”
“I did, but I remembered we have a wheelchair. Fräulein Ense's telegram to Herr Schleiermacher suggested we should be prepared for everything, and I like to think we are.” The doctor walked to a wall of crates and equipment and retrieved a steam-powered wheelchair from behind it. “It is fully fuelled and, for an inventor such as yourself, the controls are quite intuitive.”
“Part inventor,” Luise said as she lifted her legs off the hospital cot and allowed the doctor to help her into the wheelchair. “Part scientist – it's the science, mostly.”
“Then we will have plenty to talk about later. But let us go and see the flyer. There seems to be a lull at the moment, and,” he leaned forward and whispered, “I think the Direktor could use the distraction.”
“I agree,” Luise whispered back as she watched Wallendorf fumble with his cane.
“If you can manage?” the doctor said. “Then I will lend the Direktor my arm.”
“I can manage,” she said and looked at the wheelchair controls. It was surprisingly comfortable, she thought, given that the leather upholstery was stuffed with rather less padding than the British posterior preferred. Luise smoothed her hand over the ignition switch and leaned over to check the pilot light was on. The wheelchair employed gas to burn the wood bricks in the furnace. The twin exhaust pipes wove their way around the chair's fuselage, as Luise imagined it, extending a few feet above the back of the chair. The gas roared as it passed over the pilot light a
nd ignited, casting a well-directed flame over the bricks. Luise felt the chair rock gently and the power surge through the pipes.
“Thank goodness Hari isn't here,” she said to herself as she thought of his maniacal driving through the streets of London in a steamcarriage. Thoughts of Hari lingered for a moment and Luise wondered where he might be and what he was doing. She took a breath and resolved to be strong for him. “For both of us,” she said and engaged the wheelchair drive system with a tentative push of her thumb against the lever at the end of the armrest on the right of the chair. Steam piffed out of the exhaust pipes and Luise motored out from beneath the shade of the field hospital awning. She slowed as she caught up with the doctor and Wallendorf.
“What do you think?” the doctor said as she drew level with him.
“It's rather fun, actually.”
“And it didn't take you long to get the hang of it.”
“Intuitive,” said Luise. “Just like you said.”
Wallendorf wobbled as he walked and Luise noticed him cast more than one anxious glance toward the steamjammer, The Regal Giant, as it plied back and forth in the waters outside Hamburg.
“Why doesn't she just come in to dock?” he said. “I just want to see my daughter. To hold her tight and see that she is all right.”
“Excuse me, Herr Wallendorf,” said Luise. “I must warn you that your daughter is not who she used to be. You must be prepared to accept that.”
“Not helping, Miss Hanover,” said the doctor and he picked up the pace in the direction of a rectangular box construction of wooden ribs and metal pipes. The Wallendorf Flyer, nicknamed Nachtfalter, resembled a triplane with three large wings layered at the rear, and two smaller canard wings at the nose. The wooden ribs were bound with leather lashings around the skinless frame, with bamboo acting as connecting junctions and support for the thin copper pipes that blasted air through the fans at the rear. Luise forgot about Wallendorf's daughter as her inventor mind analysed the flyer's construction.
“It looks awfully flimsy,” she said after a moment's pause.
“Herr Direktor?” said the doctor. “Would you care to comment?”
Wallendorf squeezed the pommel of his cane. The whiskers of his beard whisped as he mumbled something about wings and weight.
“Sorry, Herr Wallendorf,” said Luise. “I didn't catch that.”
“It looks flimsy because it is flimsy,” he said. “We had to keep the weight down. It is not fast, and certainly not streamlined, but it can stay airborne for hours, gliding on thermals and using the fans when not.” He puffed out his chest. “It is a most economical design, but purely in the prototype stage, you understand?”
“Thank you, Direktor,” said the doctor. “Why don't we...” He stopped and pointed up at the clouds. “It's coming back.”
Luise turned to look in the direction the doctor was pointing. She watched as the bow and bridge of The Flying Scotsman, the same bridge she and Hari had tumbled off, breached the clouds and dived in a steep angle of attack toward the steamjammer.
“He's going to ram it,” the doctor said and gripped Wallendorf's arm.
“Romney,” said Wallendorf as the stern of the airship ripped free of the last fingers of cloud.
Klaxons aboard the steamjammer could be heard as its crew – mostly demons recently released from the Passage of Time, and with no intentions of returning – scurried about the observation deck. Luise squinted and could just see them link hands and raise their arms upwards. A charge of blue energy rippled through the group, circling the ring of demons. The blue light extended from their arms and rippled upwards into the shape of a dome that extended out over the sides of the ship like a shield.
“They mean to repel the airship,” said Luise. “But Khronos will have anticipated that.”
“Who is Khronos?” said the doctor.
“The father of time. He intends to return all slow demons to the Passage.”
“That's good, isn't it?”
“In a way, yes, but his methods are brutal, and if we cannot stop him, hundreds more innocent people will be killed in the process.”
“So, we want him to succeed, but without the killing. I think I understand.”
“Good,” said Luise. “Now if you will excuse me, I need to find Fräulein Ense.” She pushed the throttle lever as far forward as possible and accelerated away from the flyer towards the edge of the dock. Emissaries bristled as their controllers fidgeted and worried at the wireless crystal transmitters attached to the harness on their chests. She ignored them and the men guarding them with muskets and rifles. She pushed on, darting beneath the legs of a mammoth walker full of troops, and narrowly missing a team of engineers jogging to a new position beneath the derricks. Luise slowed as she spotted Hannah von Ense's short blonde hair.
“Luise?” she said as the wheelchair coughed to a stop.
“I am out of fuel,” said Luise as she stretched her legs and eased herself out of the chair.
“I thought you were resting?”
“I was, but Khronos' arrival has encouraged me to get off my bed and into action.”
“He has slowed his descent, almost as if he is hanging in the air,” Hannah said and pointed.
“He is time, he can do anything he wants with it. That's what makes him dangerous.”
Hannah bit her lip as she looked from the steamjammer to the airship and back again. “He is clearly the greater threat. How do we stop him?”
“I have received help at different times during my research,” said Luise. “Each time I ran into a brick wall, I either got a letter, or an image of khronoglyphs, planted in my mind,that helped me continue.”
“Khronoglyphs?”
“The language of time,” Luise said and stared as tendrils of blue energy snaked out from the bow of the airship. “I have tracked the source of help to the city of Arkhangelsk in the north of Russia.”
“I know where it is.”
“Good. But what I don't know is the name of my mysterious helper. But I think Romney might, or rather, the slow demon called Khaos.”
Hannah bristled and clenched her jaw. “I have unfinished business with Khaos.”
“But if that can wait, I think she could give us that name and together we can defeat Khronos.”
“And if she doesn't cooperate?”
“She might not have a choice,” Luise said and pointed at the first of the tendrils as it lashed at the demon shield covering the steamjammer.
“Then we have to distract Khronos, and parley with the demon that has possessed Wallendorf's daughter. Simple,” Hannah said and laughed. She scanned the docks and looked up at the two wooden derricks towering above them. “Hey,” she shouted at the engineers climbing the derricks.
“Ja, Fräulein?”
“Can you fasten a catapult between these two derricks?” she said and waited for the engineers to respond. With fewer frowns than Luise expected, they answered smartly.
“Ja.”
“Good. Then do it now. As fast as you can.”
“Hannah, I am intrigued. What do you have in mind?”
“I think it is time to teach the emissaries to fly,” she said and slapped Luise on the shoulder. “Come, I need your help.”
Chapter 3
The Great Southern Plain
Arkhangelsk Oblast
June, 1851
Stepan Skuratov raised his hands as the Cossacks thrust the barrels of their flintlock pistols at his face. The horse snorted on the bank of the river as Lena settled it after the crossing. She turned to look at Stepan, shrugging an apology as she smoothed her hand over the horse’s nose.
“My name is Kapitan...”
“Stepan Skuratov,” a tall, lean and grizzled Cossack said as he made his way along the path between the trees, the leather of his heavy bandoliers squeaked with each step. The man stopped in front of Stepan. “What are you doing here,” he paused, “together with my daughter, Kapitan Skuratov?”
“Ivan,�
�� Stepan began.
“Wait,” Ivan Timofeyevich held up his hand. “First, we must attend to unfinished business.” Ivan pulled back his fist and punched Stepan in the gut. “Now, Kapitan,” Ivan said and smiled. “Business is settled. For the moment.” He tapped the barrels of his men’s pistols and cleared a space around Stepan. Lena giggled by the side of the horse.
“Ivan,” Stepan said as he bent over, bracing his hands on his knees. “It is nice to see you again.”
“Is it?” Ivan laughed. “Then we should meet more often, Kapitan.”
“Only,” Stepan said and straightened, “if we are done with business.” He held out his hand.
“Da,” Ivan said and shook Stepan’s hand. “I am satisfied.”
“Really? I tried to kill you. Are you so easily satisfied?”
“That was war,” Ivan said and waved his hand. He beckoned to Lena. He took a step back as she approached. “It was your job.”
“It was,” Stepan said and nodded, thoughts of the skirmish war between the Russians and the Cossacks flickered through his mind.
“You took a new job, I heard?” Ivan embraced Lena, smoothing away her hair and kissing her on the forehead. “What was it? Something with research?”
“I am Kapitan of a small submersible vessel.”
“A submersible? Really?” Ivan opened a pouch on his bandolier. He pulled out his pipe and pointed the end at the horse.
“I understand that belongs to my comrade, Kapitan Bryullov.”
“Yes,” Stepan said and waited as Ivan filled and lit his pipe. “He is working for Moscow.”
“You work for Moscow, too,” Ivan said and puffed a cloud of smoke between them.
“I did until they sold us to the German Confederation.”
“Us?”
“Arkhangelsk.” Stepan waved at the smoke. “You have heard what happened?”
“Da, of course.” Ivan poked at Lena’s arm. “Daughter, go see about your arm.”
