Djinn (The adventures of Hanover and Singh Book 4)

by Chris Paton

  “There is something you should know,” she said.

  “And that is?”

  “The city of Arkhangelsk is under German occupation.”

  “What?”

  “Yes,” Hannah said. She waited for the frown on Luise's forehead to disappear. “When Herr Bremen was still himself, before his body was occupied by the slow demon, Aether, he approved a plan to approach the Russian government and offer them some of our technology.”

  “In return for what?”

  “Precious metals and diamonds – the mines in the north of Russia are full of them. The German Confederation offered to provide emissaries and mammoth walkers, plus additional prototypes, in exchange for unhindered access to the mines surrounding Arkhangelsk. One large mine in particular.” Hannah lowered her eyes. When she looked up, Luise could see the shame Hannah decided she could not hide. “The people of Arkhangelsk were fooled into believing the emissaries had been sent to work in the mines. The people, especially the women, were sick from working in the mines – the dust and poor ventilation affected their lungs.”

  “Why the women? Where were the men?”

  “Fighting the Cossacks in a skirmish war over territory. The women took their place in the mines. The emissaries were received with open arms. And then...” Hannah shook her head. “What Schleiermacher told me... what was done in the name of the German Confederation...” she looked straight into Luise's eyes and held her gaze. “I will do what is necessary to make things right. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.”

  “I don't believe Herr Bremen meant for such things to be done. No matter how ruthless he could be, he was a good man at heart.”

  “You are loyal to him.”

  “I was,” Hannah said and took a breath. The lights flickered as the lamplighter opened the door between the cars and walked past them. She waited until he had left the car. “Now my loyalty lies to my country, although...”

  “Arkhangelsk?”

  “Yes. That shouldn't have happened.”

  “You were not in command.”

  “No, it was a man called Rutger Venzke that led them. I intend to find him, and strip him of his command. He is a disgrace to the German Confederation.”

  “He was just following orders. As you have done,” Luise said and bit her lip. But it was too late. Hannah barely hid the sneer on her lips as she leaned back in her seat.

  “That was different.”

  “Of course,” Luise said and raised her hands in a sign of peace. “Forgive me, you have already done much to make amends.”

  “It was your machine that released the demons. All of them.”

  “Yes.” Luise focused on the flicker of the lights for a moment and then turned to face Hannah. “We are all to blame, one way or another. It is fitting then that we should both be heading north to put things right. Let us put this behind us and focus on what lies ahead.”

  Hannah nodded in agreement and took another sip of coffee. She finished the cup in silence as Luise pressed her hand to her side, gauging the pain she felt.

  “You are still in pain, ja?”

  “Yes. I suppose I should see Wallendorf's doctor. He will probably try hypnosis again,” Luise said and sighed.

  “You don't like being hypnotised?”

  “I don't think I can afford the time to rest.”

  “Nonsense,” Hannah said and slid off the bench. She stood up. We are still hours away from leaving Confederation territory. Then we must head north. The men are preparing the emissaries in shifts, and the officers are discussing plans and contingencies. The only thing you can do is rest. Your time will come when we enter the city and find Abraxas, not before.”

  “You're right, of course. Thank you.”

  “There is one thing you can do before seeing the doctor,” Hannah said and sighed.

  “What's that?”

  “Go and see your young protégé in the engineering car. She is driving the engineers to distraction.”

  “And how is she doing that exactly?” said Luise with a barely contained smile on her lips.

  “Please, go and see for yourself,” Hannah said and held up her hands. “I would be grateful if Emilia Ardelean became your responsibility for the duration of this mission, and,” she whispered, “long after that.”

  “I'll see what I can do.”

  “Thank you,” Hannah said and walked to the door at the end of the car. The lamps flickered again as she opened it and passed from one car to the next. Luise heard the officers greet Hannah, and then it was quiet as the German shut the door behind her.

  Emilia Ardelean, Luise mused, reminded her of herself, in more ways than one. But it wasn't the tragic similarities of them both losing their parents, Luise was older than Emilia had been when her parents died, and she did not know the details of Emilia's parents' deaths. No, it was Emilia's passion for engineering and machines that struck a common chord between them. Luise patted her thigh and felt the familiar shape of the leather tool wallet wrapped like a garter around her leg. Emilia seemed to have a way with machines, an understanding as it were, something that Luise could identify with. It was the forging of new ideas and the shifting of boundaries, beyond those of established science, that seemed to occupy and encourage their interest in machinery. Luise's interest in khronoglyphs and the ability to transcend conventional achievements through traditional, more grounded means, was ultimately responsible for the current predicament. And yet, Luise couldn't help feeling a sense of profound achievement, no matter how devastating the results. In short, it thrilled her, and it scared her too – the unpredictability of it all. If I could just master it, she thought, then I could set things right and make amends. I could put khronoglyphs to a practical use, which is what I originally intended, of course. Luise started and caught herself mid thought.

  “Typical,” she said aloud. “I have forgotten all about Emilia and her Şteamƙin. I should get down to engineering.” Luise stood up and smoothed her skirt before walking the length of the car. With one hand pressed to her side, she opened the door to the next car.

  The second of the two passenger cars smelled of activity as the officers smoked and spilled ink upon maps. Batmen oiled the officers' guns and shined their boots. Swords gleamed in the scabbards attached to thick leather belts hung from chairs. The car was longer than the one Luise had begun her journey in and it took much longer to walk the length of it as she weaved between the map tables and sandboxes containing the miniature walls of a model city that Luise took to be Arkhangelsk. A straight track ran all the way to the gates of the city, and Luise stopped for a moment to pick up a tiny emissary forged in brass and scaled to fit the model train that was placed on the tracks.

  “Direktor Wallendorf loves his models,” explained a young officer as he held out his hand. “May I?”

  “Yes, I am sorry,” Luise said and placed the emissary on the officer's palm. He positioned the emissary in the sand by the track and picked up a pad of paper tucked inside a leather wallet.

  “I am sorry,” he said. “I was making a sketch before briefing my men.”

  “It is me that is sorry. Please, carry on,” Luise said and continued to the end of the car. She heard the scratch of the officer's pencil the moment she stepped past him.

  Beyond the third and final passenger car, engineering buzzed with a different kind of energy, accompanied by an orchestra of hammers tapping and tamping metal, wind gusting and flames roaring through forges, and the familiar smells of creativity that tickled the nostrils and stung the palates of makers young and old. Luise forgot the pain in her side as her curiosity was peeked, directed here and there to small projects of infinite detail she hesitated to disturb, and the greater more robust wrenches of bolts and the greasing of ball joints. She found Emilia, the bottom half of her at least, hanging in a leather swing seat suspended with straps fastened around Kettelpot's globus tank. Emilia, from the waist up, was squirmed inside the boiler, and Luise could hear the bristles of the wire
brush she used to clean the rust from inside the tank. A quick glance at Kettlepot's faceplate suggested the emissary was content, but Luise banished the idea a second later. Emilia, she reminded herself, said there must be steam to activate the Şteamƙin. That much, at least, she had understood.

  Luise lifted her hand to rap her knuckles on the boiler.

  “Please, Miss,” said an elderly engineer. The insignia on his shirt suggested he was a senior member of the engineering department. “The young lady is busy. It would be a shame to disturb her, if you know what I mean?”

  Luise lowered her hand and smiled at the look in the man's eyes. “Has she been difficult?”

  “Difficult?” the man said and sighed. “Enthusiastic more like. And stubborn,” he added after a moment's pause. “Don't get me wrong, she knows her stuff. She might even know more than all of us put together,” he swept his hand around the car. “It's just...”

  “Her manner?” Luise suggested.

  “Aye, that's it all right.” The engineer looked relieved. “Her manner is what is so difficult.”

  Luise looked around the space surrounding Kettlepot and found a small wooden stool. She sat down and smiled at the engineer as he went back to his workspace, confident, for the moment at least, that Luise was not about to disturb the young girl cleaning the emissary's guts. The harsh scratchings of wire bristles inside the globus tank continued at the same enthusiastic pace and Luise leaned her back against the door of a tool cabinet as she watched the girl's legs swing back and forth with each scratch of the brush.

  “Emilia Ardelean,” said Luise. “Just what am I going to do with you?”

  Chapter 13

  The Great Southern Plain

  Arkhangelsk Oblast

  July, 1851

  “Stop squirming, Lena,” Stepan said as he tracked the driver of the advancing mammoth walker through the sights of the long rifle. Lena fidgeted in the grass beside him. She lowered the telescope in her hands and fingered the handle of the pistol in front of her. “If you keep moving like that,” Stepan warned, “one of Bryullov's men will see the shifting blades of grass and send someone to investigate.”

  “Good,” said Lena. “Then I will have something to do.”

  “You have something to do. Your job is to protect me.”

  “From what?” Lena thumped her fist on the ground. “The fight is all the way down there. We are miles away from the action.”

  “That's an exaggeration.”

  “It doesn't feel like it.”

  “Don't make me laugh.”

  “I'm not.”

  “No, but I can feel your pouting.”

  “Da? I am not cut out to be a sniper.”

  “On that we agree. Quiet now and watch the driver of the mammoth walker, the one closing on your father's position.”

  Stepan leaned into the stock of the long rifle. He glanced at the whirl of horses in front of the walker. The Cossacks were masters in the saddle, leading their Russian counterparts through a wild dervish of feints and counter attacks. Ivan, Stepan could see, choreographed the dance as he galloped between his men, giving orders, reigning in his horse, and changing speed and direction. Muskets cracked, but, more often than not, it was the flash of a cavalry sabre that made the difference, and cut a swathe through Bryullov's men. The advance party of Russians, scouting ahead, had already returned to seek shelter beneath the legs of the mammoth walkers. The troop-carrying metal beasts served as fighting platforms and they were the only thing preventing Ivan and his Cossacks from defeating the Russians. Stepan recognised the walkers as the greatest threat on the battlefield, and he was determined to stop them.

  “Range,” he whispered.

  “What?”

  “How far?”

  “How should I know how far? Honestly,” Lena said with a huff. “You are the sniper. Not me.”

  “Lucky for us,” said Stepan and pulled the trigger.

  The tang of gunpowder bit at Stepan's tongue as he followed the path of his bullet and watched it strike the driver of the front mammoth walker in the chest. The man slapped back into his seat and the walker drifted to the right as his sleeve snagged on the controls.

  “Time to move,” said Stepan as he started to wriggle backwards down the hillock.

  “We're leaving already? You have only shot one man.”

  “That's right, and Bryullov will already know that the shot came from here.” Stepan pointed at the cloud of gunpowder dissipating above their heads. “We need to move.”

  “Where are we going?” Lena said and leaped into the saddle of her mare. Stepan turned Bystro in a quick circle as he slipped the rifle into the saddle holster.

  “There,” he said. Stepan pointed at a thin copse of trees and gave Bystro a gentle kick to the flanks. Lena followed as the first volley of musket shot peppered the ground fifty feet from the mound.

  “They haven't got the range,” she said and laughed.

  “Not yet, anyway. Come on. Keep up, Cossack.”

  Stepan turned Bystro's head towards a shallow ravine and led Lena down into it and out of sight. The beat of the horses' hooves rumbled along the sides of the ravine as they cantered through it. Stepan pulled Bystro to a stop as the ravine started to rise. He held up his hand and Lena slowed to a stop behind him. She drew the pistols from the holsters either side of the saddle pommel, and pulled back the hammers with her thumbs.

  Stepan urged Bystro forwards. As soon as the horse’s head cleared the brush at the lip of the ravine a Russian sabre lunged for the horse's breast. Lena fired the pistol in her right hand and the Russian fell to the ground. Stepan drew the cavalry sword from the scabbard secured to the front of the saddle and calmed the beast with soft words that he whispered in the horse's ear as he scanned the open plain between the brush and the copse of trees. Lena tucked the empty pistol into her bandolier and urged her mare forwards with slow steps.

  “What do you think?” she said as she drew level with Stepan.

  “I think I would like to be in the trees already,” he said and cocked his head to the right at the sounds of battle. “We need to stop the other walkers.”

  “Then let's get into those trees. Ready?”

  “Ready,” Stepan said and kicked his horse's flanks. Bystro leaped out of the ravine and charged towards the trees. Lena followed, pausing for a second to aim and fire the pistol in her left hand at a Russian soldier crouched behind his couched horse. Stepan kept going without even a glance over his shoulder. He trusted that the hoof beats behind him were those of Lena's mare, and he didn't stop until Bystro reared at the entrance to the trees. Stepan slipped out of the saddle and grabbed Bystro by the reins. He led the horse inside the cover of the trees and tied the reins to a branch. Lena joined him a moment later. Stepan took the reins of her mare as she loaded and primed her pistols.

  “You're grinning,” he said.

  “Da, I am having fun,” Lena said and shot Stepan a wild-eyed look. “Finally.” She peered over Stepan's shoulder at a walker stomping across the plain towards her father. “Your turn,” she said.

  Stepan pulled the long rifle from the holster and tamped a cloth-patched bullet into the barrel with the ramrod. He primed the pan and pulled back the flintlock hammer. Stepan slid the ramrod into the metal tube beneath the barrel and walked to the base of the tree in the middle of the copse. He slung the rifle over his shoulder and reached for the lowest branch.

  “Stop,” said Lena. She tucked the pistols in her bandolier and walked over to Stepan.

  “What?”

  “Your rifle,” she said and gently lowered the hammer into place. “If you climb like that you will blow your head off.”

  “Ah,” Stepan said as a warm glow flushed his cheeks. “I am a little rusty.”

  “A little,” Lena said and nodded at the tree. “Go on. Climb up. I will keep watch down here.”

  Stepan grabbed the branch and pulled himself into the tree, his boots scrabbling on the knotty bark for purchase. He
climbed to a V below the crown and slid the rifle between a notch on a thick branch and the trunk of the tree. He pulled back the hammer and aimed at the driver of the mammoth walker trying to flank Ivan's war party from the west. Stepan fired and coughed back the smoke as he slid down the tree.

  “That's two,” he said as he landed with a thump in front of Lena.

  “Three,” she said and pointed at a mammoth walker lying flat stricken on the plane, its legs wrapped in a web of Cossack rope. “My people learned it from the reindeer herders,” Lena said with a laugh.

  “It's lucky those things are tricky to manoeuvre,” Stepan said. “It seems Bryullov only thought to bring one driver for each. Let's go and get the last one.”

  “Da,” Lena said and walked to the horses. She untied the reins and held both of them as Stepan holstered his rifle and climbed into the saddle. Lena winced as she gripped the saddle and pulled herself up using her injured arm. Stepan opened his mouth to say something but Lena shook her head. “It is nothing. Let's go.”

  They ducked their heads beneath the branches and guided the horses out of the trees. The sounds of battle slowed to the occasional crack of a musket and a Cossack war cry. Stepan spied the armoured rump of the fourth and last walker as it stalked south, away from the battle. The remainder of Bryullov's company ran after it as the Cossacks harried at the stragglers, only to gallop to the sides and out of range of the soldiers on top of the walker as they reloaded their muskets and covered the men on the ground with quick volleys.

  “It is over then,” said Lena. “And I was just getting started.”

  Stepan pulled Bystro to a stop and scanned the plain. “Where is Bryullov?” he said. “I can't see him.”