by Chris Paton
“Enough,” said Ivan. “Mishka, take him back to camp. And you,” he said to Stepan. “You will come with me to Arkhangelsk. The Cossacks are gathering just south of the gates. It is time to begin the siege. Come, we will make plans as we ride.”
Stepan watched as Mishka tied a length of rope to the cord around Bryullov's wrists and attached the other end to the pommel of his saddle. He mounted his horse and urged it forwards with a quick kick of his heels. Bryullov stumbled into a jog as the rope tightened.
“Just one man?” said Stepan.
“Mishka is one of my best. Come,” said Ivan. “Get on your horse and ride with me.”
“Come,” said Lena. “Let us ride with my father. Don't worry about the Russian.” Lena placed her hand on Stepan's shoulder and guided him to his horse. He took the reins from her hand, climbed into the saddle and let Bystro have his head as the young horse followed Lena's mare.
What would make a patriot like Bryullov turn against his own people? Stepan mused. Everything that man has ever done has been in the best interests of the Russian Empire. There is something more at work here. Stepan felt the cool wind on his face and let his thoughts wander as he moved his body to match Bystro's pace and rhythm. Ivan and Lena rode side by side with the two Cossacks riding on the flanks, their muskets loaded and held in the casual ready position – one hand on the stock below the barrel, the butts tucked tight upon their hips.
As Stepan drew close to Ivan, the Cossack leader reminisced about the skirmishes they had fought as enemies, pointing out good campsites Stepan would enjoy and ambush sites he should remember. Stepan listened and nodded, the locations and features of the plain blurring as he wrestled with the idea that Bryullov was acting against his will, that something or someone was forcing him to carry out orders he did not agree with.
“Kapitan?” said Lena. “Stop thinking about the Russian.”
“Da,” said Ivan. “Mishka will take care of him. There is nothing to worry about.”
Stepan slowed Bystro with a gentle tug of the reins.
“Kapitan?” Lena said as she slowed and turned her mare. Ivan and the Cossacks cantered to a halt and waited.
“I am going back. There is something Bryullov is not telling us. It is important, I am sure.”
“It can wait,” Lena said and waved her arm in the direction of Arkhangelsk. “What about your son?”
“Nikolas,” Stepan said and drew his lips into a tight smile. “I know.”
“We are going to free the city. We will save your son.”
“Yes. I know.”
“So?”
Bystro tamped the dirt beneath its right hoof as Stepan fidgeted in the saddle. “But what if there is more to this, and we save the city only to...”
“What?”
“That's just it, Lena. I don't know,” Stepan said and turned in the saddle to look in the direction Mishka had pulled Bryullov behind his horse. “But he does, and I must know.”
“You would have your son wait even longer just because the Russian knows something?”
“If it means I can protect my family from something bad later on...”
“Your son is trapped inside a city occupied by soldiers with metal monsters. What can be worse than that?”
“That is what worries me, Lena.”
Lena turned her head at the sound of her father's horse snorting. She walked her mare to Stepan. Bystro moved its head close to the mare's and nibbled its neck.
“Father grows impatient. We must ride.”
“You go. I will ride back and interrogate Bryullov. I will come to Arkhangelsk as soon as I am satisfied.”
“Interrogation?”
“What is taking so long?” Ivan called from his horse.
“Wait, father,” Lena said and waved her hand at Ivan's curses. She leaned over her mare's head and gave Stepan a sly look. “This interrogation. It will be rough, no?”
“That depends on Bryullov,” Stepan said. He rested his hands on the pommel. “Which is exactly why you should ride on to Arkhangelsk with your father.”
“Nyet,” said Lena and grinned. “Now I want to know what secrets Bryullov is hiding. I will tell my father we will join him at the gates of the city.” Lena turned the mare away from Bystro and started towards her father.
“You are a wicked woman, Lena Timofeyevich.”
“Really?” she stopped and twisted in the saddle. “Does that make me a bad person? What about Vlad?”
“What about him?”
“Will he not want me?”
“Lena,” Stepan said with a sigh. “What man could resist you?” He laughed and pointed to her father. “Now, tell Ivan what we are doing and we can get going.” Stepan lowered his head and whispered in Bystro's ear. “I hope Nikolas will forgive me. Now,” he said and turned the horse’s head to face the direction they had come. “Let's ride.”
The beat of hooves drummed through Stepan's body as encouraged Bystro into a gallop across the Great Southern Plain of Arkhangelsk Oblast. Stepan forced himself to concentrate on the landmarks Ivan had pointed out. He remembered the ambushes, his men wounded and retreating beneath a steady hail of Cossack bullets. He remembered too the ease at which the Cossacks had flanked his men, and the nights he and Vladimir had discussed tactics around the campfire. They had learned from the Cossacks, and a greater study of Ivan Timofeyevich's tactics had given them the advantage. When Vlad had turned the Arkhangelsk division of the Imperial Russian Marines into a guerrilla force worthy of their opponents, and in greater numbers. And now, thought Stepan as the wind tugged at his cheeks and ruffled his hair, now we are allies.
“Hey,” shouted Lena as she galloped in from behind Stepan to ride alongside him. “You ride like the devil himself,” she said as the wind whipped strands of hair into her mouth.
“No,” said Stepan, “I ride like a Cossack.” He leaned forwards and stood up in the saddle only to sit down and tug on the reins, pulling Bystro to an abrupt stop. Lena stopped a few horse-lengths later and waited for Stepan as he slid off his horse and let it wander free. Stepan pulled the long rifle from the saddle holster and crouched in the dirt.
“What is it?”
“You can't see it?”
“No,” said Lena. “Wait... Is that...”
“Mishka,” said Stepan. “Yes.” Stepan cradled the rifle in his left arm and walked ahead of Lena. He stopped at the feet of Mishka's dusty body where it lay sprawled in the dirt. The leather cord and the length of rope Mishka had used to bind Bryullov were snaked in the dirt by the side of the Cossack, but his horse and his captive were gone.
Chapter 17
The Tanfana
Imperial Russia
July, 1851
The Tanfana crept along the tracks, sweeping wood debris aside with the great iron plough welded to the front of the engine. Pillows of smoke chuffed out of the central stack as the engineer peered into the gloom ahead with one hand on the brake lever and the other on the whistle. The remains of The Flying Scotsman littered the tracks, with larger spars and rigging entangled with leather suitcases and trunks, the clothes tossed here and there, ragged and dirty like the bodies of the passengers lying lifeless in clumps and alone, separated, with no respect for family or association. The engineer slowed The Tanfana to a stop and Wallendorf's men directed the emissaries in two sweeping lines, one on each side of the tracks. The officer in charge of the sweep drew his sword from the scabbard at his side and the air was filled with the ring of metal as the emissaries did the same. From her place in the passenger car, Luise felt a thrill of adrenalin at the sound and the rumble through the train car as the emissaries clanked forwards. Emilia fretted by her side, pacing back and forth with a control box in her hands.
“Quiet, Emilia,” said Luise.
“Sorry, Miss Hanover, but they have got me all tangled up, they have.”
“Who has?”
“The engineers. They refuse to fire up Kettlepot. They keep going on about how he is dangero
us, and how if it wasn't for you they would...”
“What?”
“Throw him off the train,” Emilia said and slumped into a seat. She set the control box on the tabletop and huffed as she leaned back and closed her eyes. She opened them again a second later.
Luise thought for a moment as she watched Emilia fidget on the seat, the girl started to swing her legs, kicking the heels of her boots against the bench and the toes against the underside of the table.
“Would you like to go outside?”
“Fräulein von Ense said I was forbidden.”
“To go outside? Nonsense,” Luise said and looked around the car for a coat. “Come on. We'll put these on and blend in with the troops. No one will notice.”
Emilia slipped off the chair and followed Luise to the end of the car. They shrugged their arms into the long, wool jackets and pulled the stiff collars up around their necks. The smell of gas lingered on the cool night air and Luise wondered if the airship had exploded, or been forced to land with a punctured balloon. Perhaps, she thought, from when Kettlepot and Khronos fought on the bridge? I had better not tell Emilia that.
Luise climbed down the ladder and onto the tracks. She waited for Emilia to join her before walking along the train behind the emissary skirmish line. Wallendorf's controllers, one for each emissary, were guarded by German musketeers and the occasional sharpshooter armed with what Luise imagined was a Lightning Jezail, like the one she had seen Smith and Noonan use on The Amphitrite. It seemed so long ago, and yet, the pain in her side, though diminished, reminded Luise that it had all happened recently, and that she really should find the doctor before they reached Arkhangelsk.
“What did you say?” said Emilia.
“Say? I didn't say anything,” said Luise.
“Then you must have been thinking very loud.”
“Of course.” Luise smiled and led Emilia to the front of the train. She paused at the sight of Hannah and the officers talking and pointing at a heap of heavy debris in the centre of the tracks in The Tanfana's path. The emissaries clanked into a ring around the debris, hiding all but the largest pieces from view.
“What have you found?” said Luise as she stopped beside Hannah.
Hannah looked at Luise and then frowned at Emilia.
“She's with me.”
“Fine,” said Hannah. “Make sure she stays with you.”
“I will,” said Luise and gestured at the ring of emissaries. “What have you found?”
“Khronos, we think.”
Luise felt a tingle of fear tremble through her body. Visions of Khronos as he merged with Jacques’ body on the bridge of The Flying Scotsman, shortly before he attacked Luise with tendrils of vicious energy flashed through her mind and she stumbled.
“Are you all right, Miss?” said Emilia as she caught hold of Luise's arm and helped her find her balance.
“I am fine, thank you.” Luise controlled her breathing with a few long, deep breaths and then she took a step forwards.
“Miss Hanover?”
“Luise, stop,” said Hannah. “Let the emissaries investigate.”
“I have to see if he is there. I must see him.”
“Ja, in good time, but let the emissaries...”
A crackle of ancient energy blistered out of the spaces in the debris and curled around the neck of the emissary standing in a straight line in front of The Tanfana. Luise watched as the controller gripped the levers inside the box hanging from his chest harness. The man's shoulders twitched as he tried to gain command of the emissary only to see it turn and march, sword in the high attack position, towards the train.
“Stop that emissary,” shouted the officer standing beside Hannah. He reached for the pistol holstered on his belt on the opposite side of his sword, but Hannah stopped him, placing her hand upon his.
“You won't stop it with that,” she said. “Use the train.”
“Of course,” the officer nodded smartly and signalled for the driver to steam up as he cleared the tracks.
“Stay right beside me, Emilia,” said Luise as the emissary clanked towards them, the coil of energy around its body surging along the length of the sword and blistering at the tip.
Emilia fidgeted as the engineer blew the train whistle and The Tanfana lurched forwards. Once the iron plough had passed, Emilia slipped away from Luise and ran alongside the train towards the engineering car.
“Emilia,” Luise shouted and reached for her only to grasp the night air where Emilia's coat was but a moment before.
“I told you to keep her with you,” said Hannah. “I won't have the girl's death on my hands.”
“I brought her with me,” said Luise. “I am responsible for her.”
“And yet,” Hannah waved at the retreating figure disappearing into the shadows.
“I know where she is going. She will be safe.”
“Unlike us,” said Hannah as she took hold of Luise's arm and pulled her away from the tracks and out of the emissary's path. Two more strands of blistering blue light burst out of the debris and coiled around an emissary, one on each side of the debris pile, just as The Tanfana closed on the emissary in front of it.
“If he uses the emissaries against us...” Luise said.
“Then we are in trouble.”
Khronos appeared then, shattering the heavy wooden spars and ribs of the airship piled above him with a pulse of energy. He stepped onto the tracks and stretched his arms. He wielded the emissaries attached to the end of each arm like hammers, sweeping them back and forth, tumbling the emissaries, soldiers and controllers as if they were lead toys set up by a child on a tabletop. Once the men and machines were scattered, Khronos thrust the two emissaries ahead of him to join the first as it crashed into the train. The Tanfana ground to a stop as the engineer shouted to the stokers for more steam.
Luise looked up at the burr of propellers circling above the train. The pilots dropped smoke missiles around Khronos allowing the men to crawl free. As the soldiers and controllers cleared the smoke, the officers formed defensive perimeters and held their breath as, one by one, the controllers arranged the emissaries in two lines, leaving only three machines in Khronos' clutches.
Khronos walked forwards and Luise gasped at what he had done to Jacques’ body. The young porter from The Flying Scotsman was distorted with muscles, his arms knotted with veins coiled beneath his skin like snakes. Luise shuddered as the Father of Time lifted the emissaries like hammers and battered them against the steam train. The engineer and the stokers leaped from the cab as Khronos pummelled it from the left, the right, and above.
“We need that train,” said Hannah. She yelled at the officers and called for a counter attack.
The first wave of four emissaries, two from each side of the tracks, stormed through the debris surrounding Khronos and pulled his attention from the train. With a snap of his arms he recalled the emissaries at the end of his tethers and swept his attackers off their feet. Wallendorf's officers launched the second wave, and the third, each wave slowed by the need to clamber over the one before it.
“We can't keep this up,” said Hannah.
“And we can't get near him. The controllers just can't react fast enough,” Luise said and watched as the last two waves of emissaries clanked around their fallen comrades as the controllers recalled as many emissaries as they could.
The sound of wrenching metal and the blistering crackle of Khronos' archaic energy muffled the approach of another combatant. Luise felt the rhythmic pounding of its metal feet on the ground before she saw it, and heard the soft voice of a young girl singing.
“Oh, the Grand Old Duke of York...”
Kettlepot leaped onto the tracks and charged towards Khronos.
“He had ten thousand men...”
Khronos raised his arms to crush the rogue emissary between the metal fists he controlled at the end of the time tendrils extending from his fingers, but Kettlepot threw himself to the ground and rolled beneath th
e crushing fists. The emissaries above Kettelpot slammed into one another, flattening the remains of their globus tanks and exploding above the tracks in a cloud of brass plates, screws and bolts. The energy tethered to the emissaries dissipated, retreating into Khronos' fingers with a final crackle of protest. The Father of Time had just one hammer left. He clapped his hands together and swung it at Kettlepot in a two-handed grip.
“He marched them up to the top of the hill,” sang Emilia as Khronos roared at her beloved emissary. “And he marched them down again,” she sang and smiled at Luise on her way past the battered cab of The Tanfana.
“I don't believe it,” said Hannah as Kettlepot ducked beneath Khronos' swing and slammed a huge, bronze fist into the demon's chest.
The emissary flew out of Khronos' grip as the energy tether dissolved and the demon landed hard on the dirt. Two Wallendorf Flyers circled lower and lower as the pilots dropped smoke missiles from one hand, steering the Nachtfalter with the other. Emilia kept her distance and raised her voice to compete with the burr of the propellers and the whine of damaged emissaries crawling and stumbling with their controllers towards the engineering car.
“And when they were up, they were up,” she sang as Kettlepot gripped Khronos in his left hand. He lifted the demon off the ground and into the air.
“And when they were down, they were down,” Emilia sang and Kettlepot slammed the demon into the ground. “And when they were only halfway up...”
Kettlepot lifted Khronos once again as a flyer swooped in low, too low, and the demon cast a tendril around the flyer and was wrenched free of Kettlepot's grip.
“They were neither up nor, oh...” said Emilia and her hands shrank to her sides. Kettlepot lifted his head and watched the flyer fly high into the night sky. Emilia screamed as the pilot was thrown out of the flyer, the sound of his body crunching into the ground softened only by the clank of Kettlepot's cloven feet as the emissary ran towards Emilia. Luise ran too, and slipped around the emissary to pull Emilia into her arms.
“It's okay, Emilia. I've got you.”
“But the pilot,” said Emilia as she lifted her head. “I couldn't save him.”
