The Almost King

by Lucy Saxon

  Draining his tankard, he slipped out of the building and round the back to the stables, where Quicksilver’s head was peering out over the stall door. Pale grey ears pricked when Aleks approached and the gelding let out a soft nicker. ‘Not going anywhere today, my friend. I thought you’d appreciate the rest,’ he said by way of greeting, allowing the horse to nose against his jacket. ‘Not sure when we will be going anywhere together next. The city is hardly the place for a horse.’

  There was a box of brushes in the tack locker and Aleks picked out a few, shoving lightly against Quicksilver’s shoulder so he could enter. Lining his brushes up carefully on the top of the stable door, he picked one and got to work, the repetitive motion helping him clear his head. He really ought to write home; it had been a while since he’d sent the letter back in Rensav, and he’d promised to write frequently. He would have to be careful about it, though; his family needed to believe he was still in the army. He resolved to write after dinner, and to ask Ksenia where the nearest post office was.

  Before he knew it, it was supper time, and his stomach was rumbling fiercely. Patting Quicksilver’s flank, he gathered his brushes and left the stable, quickly filling a feed bucket to drop over the stable door before locking up and heading back inside. Bodan took one look at him and directed him upstairs to wash before dinner. Aleks obeyed with a smile on his face; it was almost like being back with his parents. His mother had hated it when he’d come in from the stables with dirt on his hands and silver-grey hairs clinging to his clothes. With a horse like Quicksilver it could hardly be helped.

  Settled at the bar with his dinner, Aleks glanced up at the sound of plates clinking together, seeing a girl emerge from the kitchens who could only be Bodan’s niece. She looked just like her uncle, with the same coffee-brown eyes, the same clever-looking smile. Shorter than Ksenia and somewhat stocky, she was pretty, her dark brown hair tied back in a long ponytail to keep it out of the way as she worked. She was carrying several full plates of food and seemed to be having some difficulty.

  ‘Here, allow me,’ Aleks said, easing a few of the plates out of her grasp.

  ‘Oh, no, sir, it’s no trouble, really,’ she insisted hurriedly.

  ‘It’s fine. I’m finished eating, and I promised your aunt and uncle I’d work for my keep around here,’ he said with a smile. Her eyes lit up in understanding.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ she relented. ‘Those are all going over to the gentlemen on table six,’ she told him, nodding towards the table in question.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said on his return. ‘I’m Raina, by the way.’

  ‘It’s good to meet you. I’m Aleks. I’m hoping to be staying here for a while, if I can find a job.’ Her smile brightened at the news.

  ‘Oh, how wonderful. It’s been a long while since we’ve had a regular tenant around here.’ At a shout from Ksenia, Raina sighed and looked at him apologetically, ducking back into the kitchen to continue her work.

  Aleks helped her until the end of dinner service, when he went to lean against the bar. He didn’t know how to pull a pint, so he couldn’t really help with that.

  ‘So, new boy, what brings you up this way, then? My uncle said you wanted to get away from your family, which I understand, but why come North?’ Raina had reappeared at his side.

  ‘Apparently it’s the best place to look for a job,’ he said wryly. ‘My original plan was to head Southwards, but I was told there was nothing down there for me.’ If only he’d actually listened.

  ‘You really are a country boy, aren’t you?’ she remarked with amusement, making him blush. ‘There’s not been decent work down South for months. They stopped sending out expeditions to the Stormlands once it started getting too rough, and now the only thing going for a lad your age is the military. Something tells me that’s not really your style.’

  ‘Definitely not,’ he agreed, shaking his head and trying not to grimace. He was surprised at the news of the Stormlands, though. Of course, he knew they were getting rough; in the West he could see them from his bedroom window on a bad day, and there were more and more bad days now. There were rumours that the Stormlands were growing, that the gods were in conflict and it was making the storms bigger, and that soon enough they’d touch land and the entire city of Osir would be blown apart. Aleks had thought it all a load of rumours for the most part, exaggerated beyond use. Storms changed all the time, it was just how nature worked. But if even the expedition teams were taking heed, maybe there was something to it. ‘They’re praying almost every hour of the day back home, trying to appease the gods and get the storms to slow. I don’t think it’s doing much, though. Some folks are saying there’s a reason for the storms getting so big, and we just need to wait it out and see what the gods bring.’

  ‘And what do you think?’ Raina asked, one dark eyebrow raised.

  He shrugged. ‘I think that if the storms really are getting that big so quickly, praying won’t do much to stop it. And if it is the gods fighting, well, isn’t that how the world began in the stories? Could be something like that all over again,’ he mused, casting his mind back to the scripture. Legend said that when the world was young, the Sky God and the Sea God couldn’t stop fighting, covering the world’s surface with their storms. Eventually, the Earth Goddess got so sick of the brothers’ fighting that she constructed the six countries in an attempt to break up their disputes. It didn’t work, only causing the storm barriers to form between the countries, so the Goddess populated the land that would become Anglya. This finally got the brothers to calm down. They still fought wherever they could reach, creating storms all over the world, but the Goddess kept them in check in order to protect her children. When those children started spreading to the other countries, until there were six different nations all born from the same blood, the gods finally came to an agreement that their storms would only hit at sea, where people couldn’t be hurt. And that was how the world was born.

  ‘What, you think we’ll be getting a new country out of all this? Don’t be daft! If there was any land out there we’d have found it by now, and as much as I believe in the legends I doubt a new country will just spring up out of the sea. There’s hardly room, anyway – where would they put it?’ she asked. Aleks shrugged, scratching at his chin where stubble was beginning to grow.

  ‘No one’s ever been to the other side of the Stormlands, so for all we know it could be there. Maybe the Goddess will calm the storms enough for men to sail through,’ he suggested, hoping he didn’t sound too eager about the prospect. He’d spent half his childhood climbing trees to get a better look at the far-off storms, imagining what might be on the other side. Even Torell, the most patient of his brothers, had grown tired of joining in his make-believe adventures to beyond the Stormlands.

  Raina giggled, shaking her head. ‘You country folk and your crazy dreams,’ she said with a sigh. ‘Come on, new boy. If Uncle Bo says you’re working for your board, I’ve got a huge stack of dishes that need washing.’ Not giving him a choice, she hooked her arm through his, leading him through to the kitchen. He caught Ksenia’s eye as he passed, and was given the distinct impression that she was laughing at him. Life at the Compass was definitely going to be interesting.

  * * *

  It was fairly late when Aleks finally made it up to his room, his gait weary but a smile on his face. Kicking off his boots, he turned to the door he’d just locked behind him. It looked pretty secure. Drawing the blind on the window just to be safe, he reached into his coat, hand going straight for the tightly buttoned inner pocket; the pocket containing the small journal he’d stolen from Shulga in the Rensav base. He hadn’t dared get it out before now, too worried someone might see it. For Shulga to have hidden it so well, it had to contain important information, and Aleks didn’t doubt he’d be in a lot of trouble if he was found with it on his person.

  Fingers shaking, he perched on the end of the bed, journal in his lap. Flipping it open past the title page stamped with evidence marker
s, he came to several pages of text in scrawling cursive written with an expensive ink pen. It took him a while to make it out – he wasn’t used to reading Anglyan, especially not in such messy handwriting – then he bit his lip as he began to decipher the words. It was just as he’d thought; pages and pages of notes on the inner workings of the Anglyan government, before its destruction at the hands of Queen Catherine. Lists of people Aleks had never heard of, each with crimes listed beside them. Some were fairly minor: embezzlement, cheating on spouses, buying from the black market. But others . . . other crimes made Aleks’s stomach turn. No wonder Nathaniel Hunter had had so much power, if this was the kind of blackmail he’d wielded.

  Skimming over some of the pages, not particularly caring about the sordid lives of people who were now dead or jailed, Aleks began to wonder why Shulga would bother keeping the journal in the first place. Then a sketch caught his eye, making him freeze. His jaw dropped. In the centre of one of the pages was a rough sketch of a figure, neither male nor female, with machinery protruding from their limbs and other body parts. It was clear the person who’d drawn it was no artist, but they didn’t need to be for Aleks to understand what he was looking at; the very first musings of the plan that had brought Anglya to its knees. Around the sketches were scribbled little notes – things like ‘Possible? Ask Thomas’ and ‘Must remain conscious’.

  The sound of the clock chiming startled Aleks, and he winced when he realised how late it was. He needed to sleep, or he’d be useless trying to find a job in the morning. The rest of the journal could wait, preferably until a time it wasn’t likely to give him nightmares. At least now he knew why Shulga had hidden it so carefully. If it contained Hunter’s early workings on the mecha children, it could well contain the secret to recreating them. Did the lieutenant know Aleks had it? He could only hope not.

  Wedging the journal beneath his mattress, the safest place his tired mind could think of, Aleks changed for bed and crawled under the thick blankets, trying to force his thoughts away from what he’d read, and the hazy memories it dredged up of newscast images of butchered children, their limbs replaced with grotesque machinery. Storms, he was going to have nightmares.

  9

  Once more, morning found Aleks sitting on what he was starting to think of as ‘his’ stool by the bar, an omelette in front of him and Bodan perched on the bar to his left. ‘You could always sell him,’ the older man mused, a frown on his face. ‘There are a few stud farms about; kingsguard horses, you know the like. They’d take a horse like him off your hands quite happily.’

  ‘Even if I were willing to sell him, he’d be useless to stud farms – he’s gelded,’ Aleks revealed, watching Bodan’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

  ‘You mad, boy? What did you have him gelded for? I know all sorts who’d pay to have him mount their mares!’

  Aleks shrugged, swallowing his mouthful before replying. ‘He was a scrawny little thing when he was a colt, and stayed that way until he was two. My da insisted on it before he got too old, saying I’d have hell to pay if my runt horse mounted one of the farmers’ mares when they could’ve got a decent stallion to do the honour. Then ’Silver filled out and got about two hands taller, and Da nearly shot himself.’

  Bodan shook his head. ‘Serves him right; wasted potential, that is. But even if turning him out to stud is out of the question, I’m sure someone would take him. He’s still young yet.’

  ‘I’m not selling him,’ Aleks insisted stubbornly. ‘I’d rather turn around and head back home. All I need is somewhere to give him a good run every other day until I can figure something out.’

  ‘You can take him outside the city walls. There’s a decent pasture outside Sarkov that’s not private land.’

  ‘Fine by me,’ said Aleks with a shrug. ‘I’d better get a move on, then – jobs to find, people to talk to.’ He nudged his empty plate to the side and pulled his gloves on.

  Bodan nodded, hopping off the bar to take his plate. ‘Good luck, lad.’

  Aleks grinned at him, heading to the other end of the bar where Ksenia was.

  ‘You off, dear?’ she asked.

  He nodded. ‘I was wondering if you could point me in the direction of the nearest post office? I’ve got to send a letter home.’

  ‘Turn left from here, head down two streets, then turn right on Ormova and keep walking until you see the post office. There’s a huge pony express sign on the front, you can’t miss it, not that they use pony express any more. It’s all about trains these days,’ she added with a sad sigh. ‘Now, go on, off with you. Good luck.’

  Aleks offered a brief bow, already turning towards the door. The cold hit him like a brick to the face, however much he might be used to it, but he slipped easily into the flow of people going about their daily business. It was oddly reassuring how much he blended in with the crowd up North, his blue eyes dark enough to look grey or black in most lights, and his hair as black as anyone else’s. He had stuck out like a sore thumb among all the pale-eyed, pale-haired people in the South. There were enough people in Syvana to represent a good mix – and not just from various regions of Siberene, but foreigners as well. He was sure he’d seen a group of women with the telltale dark skin of Kasem earlier on, and the shipyard had been full of people from all over.

  He found the post office without too much trouble, and despite the disapproving stare from the cashier he managed to get mail redirection set up, so that it would appear to his family as if his letter was coming from the South. The cost made him wince, however; he couldn’t keep that up for too long without a job. He left the post office, unfolding the list of prospective employers as he walked towards the trading district.

  After three rejections over the next two hours, Aleks was beginning to question Ksenia’s definition of ‘available work’. The list of remaining names was growing worryingly small, and he finally had to admit to being somewhat disappointed. Deciding to give himself a bit of a break, he pocketed the list and set out to explore the commercial district. Not that he could afford anything, but it was interesting to see what was for sale. Shop windows displayed things like Siberene furs and wool, jewellery and clothing, books and tools that were of more use to tourists and upper-class people than the working-class men the trading district catered to. His eyes were round at the price tags on some items; that sort of money could feed a family of six for a month at least back in Baysar.

  He paused at the sight of a mechanic’s workshop. Large struts of metal that would look more at home in a skyship melded with the sturdy stone of the walls, the structure protruding a little, as if the contents of the shop had altered the building itself. The sign above the door was lopsided and weathered with age, hardly legible. Aleks pulled out his list to confirm what he already knew; the name wasn’t on it. Still, it surely wouldn’t hurt to look?

  A bell rang above his head as he opened the door, and he whipped round to see the gear shift back into place once the heavy door had closed. Turning back to the shop, his eyes widened; it looked more like a junk sale than a workshop, pieces of metal intertwined in mysterious ways, gears and chains turning steadily on most of them, thin copper wires joining pieces together. Some of them looked half-finished, as if they’d been forgotten and abandoned mid-project.

  His boots heavy on the metal floor, Aleks tried not to make too much noise as he walked up the aisles of machinery. Some of it he vaguely recognised, either from the shipyard or the farms back home, but these models seemed slightly different, almost bastardised. Perhaps they had been altered in an attempt to make them more efficient; he knew mechanics valued efficiency above all else. Pausing at what seemed to be a broken steering mechanism – from a train or tram perhaps – he reached out to run his fingers over the smooth wooden steering wheel.

  ‘What do you think you’re doing, boy?’

  Aleks jumped, flailing as he looked about for the source of the voice.

  ‘Over here!’

  There was a rattling of meta
l, and Aleks finally spotted a man perched high up on one of the shelves, a harness around his waist supported by hooks in the ceiling as he worked on something Aleks couldn’t even begin to describe.‘Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to touch things without permission?’ The man was old, his hair a dishevelled shock of white, his dark brown eyes and thickset features those of a Northerner born and bred. His clothes were baggy on his thin frame and he was missing a tooth in the front of his mouth.

  ‘I’m sorry, sir, I just . . . it looked so interesting, I couldn’t help myself,’ Aleks apologised quickly, lowering his hands to his sides. The man rolled his eyes, and with a tug of the rope attached to his harness he was able to jump off his shelf, landing easily on the shop floor.

  ‘You could have, boy – you just didn’t want to,’ he said. ‘Now, what did you want? Who sent you?’ His slightly rheumy eyes fixed unnervingly on Aleks.

  ‘No one sent me, sir. I was just looking around. I didn’t want anything.’

  ‘Nonsense, lad. Everyone wants something. Especially everyone who walks in here.’ He laced his fingers together, eyes not moving from Aleks’s face.

  ‘Well, I mean, I want a job, but I’ve no experience with mechanics whatsoever,’ Aleks replied, fiddling with a button on his coat.

  ‘A job, hmm?’ the man enquired, pulling a wrench from the pocket of his grease-stained overalls. ‘Come, boy.’ He immediately set off down the aisle, and Aleks blinked for a moment before realising he was expected to follow.

  ‘Sir, I don’t mean to be rude, but I have to go. I have places to be,’ he stuttered awkwardly as they hurried along.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous – you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be,’ the man replied. He stopped in front of a shelf loaded with machinery. He pulled out an item, presenting it to Aleks. ‘What is this?’