Djinn (The adventures of Hanover and Singh Book 4)

by Chris Paton

  “I hope so.” Hari took a step forward. He stopped and scanned the low buildings on the opposite side of the square. “Look out for the villagers. I am sure they do not want us to free the djinni.”

  “I am sure of it. I do not want us to release it.”

  “Truly,” Hari said and took a step toward Jamie.

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “Watch my back.” Hari continued walking toward the pit. He unbuttoned his shirt as he walked.

  “And Jamie? Should I watch his back too?”

  “No,” Hari said with a wave. “Leave him to me.”

  The dust around the pit billowed in small clouds and puffs as Jamie removed one piece of timber after another, tossing them onto the dirt. Hari walked around the pit to stand opposite Jamie as the young man started on the boulders. The wailing from the pit stopped and was replaced with a nervous whisper, interjected with a cackle that raised the hair on the back of Hari's neck.

  “What are your intentions, British?”

  “To release the djinni,” Jamie said and grunted as he cast another small boulder to one side. He wiped the sweat from his brow with his forearm and looked at Hari. “You could help, you know.”

  “I don't think so.”

  “Why not?” Jamie pushed a large rock onto the ground. He scowled at a group of people creeping out of the compound behind Hari. “They should be ashamed of themselves. Look,” he said and nodded at the villagers as they gathered in small group.

  Hari twisted to see the villagers, several of them armed with clubs and muskets, as they moved as one in a slow circle around Hari and Jamie.

  “They will not let you take off the lid,” Hari said as he turned to keep one eye on the villagers.

  “You think they will try to stop me?”

  “I know they will.”

  “Let them,” said Jamie as he removed the last stone from the lid of the djinn pit.

  The whisper from within the pit ricocheted in a spiral as the djinni within pressed gusts of stale air through the cracks in the lid. Hari imagined the djinni spinning to the bottom of the pit and back again in mad excitement.

  “It's all right, Hari,” Jamie said with a smile. “The one that opens the pit commands the djinni. You know that.”

  “And that,” Hari said with a glance at the villagers as they gripped the clubs and fingered the muskets in their hands, “is why I must command you to stop.”

  “Why?” Jamie frowned. “Do you not hear the djinni within?”

  “I do.”

  “And how long do you think it has been trapped in there?”

  “Long enough to turn mad,” Hari said and pressed his fingers into the shirt covering his chest. “You can hear it, can you not, British? It is mad.”

  “That could have been me,” Jamie said and stabbed his fingers on the lid. The stone chipped beneath his fingertips. Hari noticed they had turned blue with a tinge of orange.

  Hari opened his shirt and pressed the fingertips of his left hand on the spirals of his anti-djinn tattoo. A pulse of purple light spiralled around the tattoo and settled into a ball, cupped within Hari's palm. Jamie pointed orange fingers at Hari's chest and laughed.

  “What are you going to do, Hari Singh?” he said. Jamie's voice deepened as the orange glow spread from his fingers beyond his wrist and along his arm all the way to his elbow. “Would you try and stop me, little man?”

  “If I must,” Hari said and raised his left hand and prepared to hurl the ball of purple energy at Jamie. “I would rather not, British. I did not come all this way to fight you. I need you. Your sister needs you.”

  “Hah,” Jamie said. He roared as the orange glow from his right arm flashed across his chest and flushed his entire body with djinn flame. “Djinn have no family, or have you forgotten that?”

  “No, I have not,” Hari said and drew back his arm. “But you have,” he said and hurled the purple missile in a straight arc toward Jamie's chest.

  Jamie's legs dissolved into twists of orange smoke as he launched out of the path of Hari's attack. Now fully djinn, Jamie glared at Hari and swept down toward the lid of the djinn pit as it rattled beneath him. Hari pressed his fingers to his tattoo to gather another missile. He leaped onto the lid and hurled the missile at Jamie's chest. Jamie shuddered and faltered in the mountain air.

  “What have you done to me?” he roared as thin tendrils of anti-djinn energy burrowed into his chest and arms. Jamie twisted above the pit.

  “I am sorry, British, but I cannot let you remove the lid and release the djinni inside the pit. I cannot.” Hari paused as he caught a glimpse of Najma crawling along a roof with her Jezail trained on Jamie. The villagers remained at a discreet distance, their fingers on the musket triggers and the pans primed with powder. Hari rocked as the lid beneath his feet trembled. He frowned as the whispers within the pit multiplied as if there was more than one djinni inside. He pressed his hand to his chest and drew another ball of energy from his tattoo.

  “No more, Hari,” Jamie said as he withered toward the ground. The orange smoke holding him aloft paled to blue before coiling into two human legs. Jamie landed on the dust and reached for his torn clothing. “I said no more, Hari. I am changed.”

  “Unfortunately, British,” Hari said as the trembling lid threatened to cast him to the ground, “this is not for you.”

  Chapter 6

  Hamburg Dockyard

  The German Confederation

  July, 1851

  The steamjammer listed to port as the small boats and skiffs from the Hamburg dockyard drew nearer the stricken vessel. Luise walked beside Emilia as more boats were launched. The emissary Emilia had named Kettlepot clanked by their sides, seawater dripping from its joints with each step. Those joints will need greasing, Luise thought as the emissary's knees creaked. It stopped a moment later as the last coals were extinguished. Emilia reached up and smoothed her palm on Kettlepot's brass belly, and Luise smiled at the obvious affection the girl had for the emissary.

  The dull ring of boots on metal rungs echoed up from the water as Schleiermacher climbed the ladder and pulled himself onto the deck. He walked up to Luise, nodded and then turned his attention to Emilia.

  “Is it extinguished?”

  “Yes, Herr Schleiermacher.”

  “Good,” he said and straightened his jacket. “I order you not to refuel it again. Do you understand, Miss Ardelean? Because last time, there was some confusion on your part.”

  “I understand, Herr Schleiermacher,” Emilia said and dipped her head. She kept her eyes on the ground and her hair covered her face, but Luise was convinced a shadow of a smile played on the young girl's lips.

  “I am curious,” she asked. “Why should Emilia refrain from refuelling this particular machine?”

  “Because it is infected, Miss Hanover.”

  “How so?”

  “With Şteamƙin.”

  “Ah, Emilia was just telling me about that.”

  “I wouldn't spend too much time on the matter,” Schleiermacher said and pointed at the emissary. “Once a machine is infected, there is no controlling it. The Şteamƙin get in the pipes, and the machine is spoiled – you can't even use the parts.” He sighed. “There has been some research done on it. A previous Wallendorf engineer called Karl Finsch was the first to really investigate Şteamƙin, or, as we like to call it, the Brass Blight. I can make his notes available to you, Miss Hanover, but I urge you not to spend too much time on it. As for you, Emilia,” Schleiermacher said and gestured at the edge of the dock. “Either walk that thing off the dock and onto the seabed, or I will have a mammoth walker push it off.”

  “Yes, Herr Schleiermacher,” Emilia said. She lifted her head and brushed the hair from her face as Schleiermacher walked away in search of more men for the boats. The look in her eye reminded Luise of when she too had been thoroughly wrapped up in her work, in her laboratory in London, before it had been trashed by the Welshman, Blaidd. Khronoglyphs, she mused
, were to Luise what Şteamƙin obviously were to Emilia, and perhaps the man Schleiermacher called Finsch. She would have to investigate. But for the moment, it looked very likely that she would first play the role of Emilia's accomplice, the look on the young girl's face was proof enough.

  “I have a very dear friend called Hari Singh,” Luise said to Emilia. “Being with you and Kettlepot reminds me of him, and the fun we had together.” She wrapped her hand around one of the emissary's salty fingers. Rust, Luise noted, was already beginning to plague the coils of metal springs between the brass joints. “What do you say we get Kettlepot off the dock and out of sight?”

  “Is that what your friend would do?” Emilia said.

  “Yes, I know he would. And if we do that, together, then it might not make me so sad when I think of him, and wonder where he might be.”

  “We can take him into the siding shed of the rail yard. There is a storeroom at one end where they keep all kinds of machines. They'll never find him there.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Because that is where I hid him last time,” Emilia said with a grin. “We'll need more fuel to get him going. I'll go and find some if you will stay here with him?”

  “Of course. I will guard him with my life.”

  Emilia wrinkled her brow and gave Luise a long, penetrating look. “Yep,” she said. “I think you will.” Emilia unclipped the control box from her harness and placed it between the emissary's feet. She nodded once at Luise, tossed the harness over her shoulder and then skipped off in the direction of a pile of scrap timber at the end of the dock. Luise watched her for a moment before being distracted by the arrival of the first boat to return from the steamjammer. She took a few steps closer to the edge of the dock and watched the boat bump against the black wood of the jetty. The men in the boat threw lines to two of the Wallendorf engineers waiting to receive them, before lifting the body of a woman from the shallow boat's bilges. Luise was at once struck by the woman's fiery red hair and her pale skin. Half-drowned, the woman barely moved, but there was something familiar about her face. Luise tried to recall who the woman reminded her of, only to be told her name as Hannah arrived at Luise's side.

  “Romney Wallendorf,” she said and folded her arms across her chest. “More recently known as Khaos, the slow demon released in London. The partner of Aether, the demon that took the body of my employer, Herr Bremen.”

  “And Direktor Wallendorf's daughter?”

  “Ja.”

  “I remember her from the steam race in London,” Luise said and watched as the men lifted the woman onto the dockside. This woman, Luise realised, knew the name of the mysterious man in Arkhangelsk. And with her help, we can start to put things right. Luise took a step towards the ladder.

  “Wait,” said Hannah. “She can be dangerous.”

  “She doesn't look it.”

  “All the same, let me go first.”

  Luise waited on the dockside as Hannah climbed down the ladder and helped the men position Khaos on the jetty. The slow demon coughed a stream of seawater onto the wooden jetty and the men rolled her onto her side. Hannah sent one of the men to find Wallendorf as she leaned closer and pressed her ear to Khaos' mouth. Luise leaned forwards without thinking, as she strained to hear what has being said.

  “Careful, Fräulein,” said the man Hannah ordered to search for Romney’s father. He caught Luise by the elbow and didn't let go until he was sure she was steady on her feet. “It's a bit of a drop.”

  “I am all right. Thank you.”

  “Well, I have to find Direktor Wallendorf. Don't fall off the dock,” he said and ran toward the command tent close to the siding shed.

  Hannah stood up and nodded to the men to lift the woman from the jetty to the dock. Luise waited as Hannah climbed the ladder and joined her.

  “She's very weak. I think her fight with the demon...”

  “Khronos.”

  “Ja,” Hannah said. “It has left her very weak. Romney is there as well as the demon. I think both of them will die soon.” Hannah took a long breath. “But I have a name for you.”

  Luise pressed her hands together and touched her fingers to her lips as she waited.

  “The man you are looking for in Arkhangelsk is called Abraxas.”

  “Abraxas,” Luise said and smiled. “Of course.”

  “He is a demon, Miss Hanover.”

  “Aren't they all?”

  “But can we trust him? I mean, it was him that gave you the means to release her,” Hannah said and sneered at the woman as an engineer carried Khaos up the ladder.

  “I realise that,” Luise said. “But if I am to undo what I have done, then I have to believe he can and will help.”

  Hannah opened her mouth to say something, but stopped as Wallendorf bustled toward the dock accompanied by an entourage of assistants and the doctor. Schleiermacher followed at a discreet distance. He glanced at the inert form of Kettlepot as he passed.

  “My dear daughter,” Wallendorf said with a wail as he cupped the woman's face in his hands. The engineer lowered her to the floor and Wallendorf sank to his knees. The woman's wet red hair clung to his sleeves like flaming seaweed. Wallendorf pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead as the doctor made a quick examination.

  “I am sorry, Herr Direktor. She is very weak. We must take her to the hospital right away, or risk losing her.”

  “Yes,” Wallendorf said between gasps of breath. “Do what you must. You must save my dear Romney.”

  Emilia arrived with an armful of wood bundled within her harness. She caught Luise's eye and waited a discreet distance from the men as the doctor arranged for Wallendorf to accompany his daughter to the hospital. A steamcarriage arrived and the woman's limp form was placed inside. Wallendorf followed his daughter inside the carriage as the doctor climbed up to sit with the driver. Schleiermacher waved them off, sent the men back to the boats, and walked over to Hannah and Luise.

  “Well, that's that,” he said. “Did you get the information you need?”

  “Yes,” said Luise. “Now we just have to make our way north, to Arkhangelsk.”

  “Yes,” Schleiermacher said and turned to Hannah. “I must stay here with Wallendorf, and clean up this mess on the docks. Miss Hanover's friends will be arriving soon on The Tanfana. It is steamed-up and full of emissaries, troops and flyers. The only things we can't fit onboard are the walkers.” He paused. “Will you take command, Fräulein von Ense, and see this thing through to the end?”

  Luise watched the German woman as Hannah frowned and did her best to avoid Schleiermacher's eyes. Images of the warehouse in London, when Luise was forced to use the impediment machine as Bremen and Hannah watched, flashed through her mind. Hannah had been there from the start, and yet, thought Luise, she has changed or been changed by her interactions with the demons.

  “I will do it,” said Hannah. “For Herr Bremen.”

  “Good,” said Schleiermacher. “There are some things you need to know. Walk with me and I will tell you what you can expect in Arkhangelsk. Herr Bremen set some things in motion that may cause some problems on your arrival in Russia.”

  The dockside emptied as the men returned to the boats and Schleiermacher briefed Hannah on the way to the rail yard. Luise was alone for a moment until a flicker of movement caught her eye and she saw Emilia step out from the shadows of a derrick and carry her horde of firewood to the back of the emissary. She let the wood fall to the ground, pulled her control box between the emissary's legs and used it to stand on as she opened the door to the furnace. Luise joined her and handed her the small pieces of wood.

  “Thanks for looking after Kettlepot,” Emilia said as she filled the furnace.

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Emilia stepped down from the control box and fished inside her pockets for a flint striker and a handful of kindling and dried moss. She closed her hands around both and looked at Luise.

  “Where is Arkhangelsk?”
<
br />   “In the far north of Russia,” said Luise. She thought for a moment and then asked, “Would you like to come?”

  “Can I?”

  “If your parents will allow it, yes.”

  “And if I didn't have any of those?” Emilia said and pressed her lips tight.

  “Then you would have to take responsibility for your own actions.”

  “Then I will come, and Kettlepot will come too.”

  Luise smiled and helped Emilia step onto the control box. “I was rather hoping you would say that,” she said.

  On the third strike of the flint, the kindling caught flame and Emilia gripped the sides of the furnace as she blew the flames onto the wood. Smoke billowed out and around the young girl's head. Luise reached up to pinch a spark from Emilia's hair.

  “Thanks,” Emilia said and jumped down to the ground. “He's got enough water to get steamed-up and walk over to the rail yard. But I am going to have to clean and grease everything before he is at his best again.”

  “You will have plenty of time on the train,” said Luise. “I can't imagine a Wallendorf train doesn't have an engineering car. I will see to it that you have full use of it, and all the help you need. In fact,” she added, “I will help you and you can tell me all about the Şteamƙin.”

  “It's a deal,” said Emilia and reached up to swing the furnace door shut. She held the control box in her hands but ignored the levers inside. “Come on Kettlepot,” she said and pointed her nose toward the rail yard. “We're off on an adventure.”

  Luise hid a smile behind her hand and walked alongside the odd pair. The blast of a steam whistle in the distance, and a pall of smoke, announced the arrival of The Tanfana and the next leg of her journey toward Arkhangelsk, and, Luise hoped, Hari Singh.

  Chapter 7

  The Great Southern Plain

  Arkhangelsk Oblast

  July, 1851

  Mishka jumped. Stepan leaned into the butt of the long rifle and anticipated the Cossack's movements. The bend of the knees, the leap, the landing. He didn't want to kill Mishka, and if he did kill him, Stepan didn't want the first death by a bullet from a rifle he fired to be Cossack. He had killed enough of them already. The two year skirmish with the Cossacks had been hard on Stepan. He had been away from home many months in a row. He had missed some of the important moments in Nikolas' young life, including one birthday, and he had missed the signs of Anna's illness. Stepan had lived by the rifle, and lived for the kill. Something, he thought about often, and something he never wished to repeat.