Cold Stone & Ivy Book 2: The Crown Prince (The Empire of Steam)

by H. Leighton Dickson

  “You will not leave,” said Gisela. “These Hussars have pistols built into their arms. It is nothing for them to shoot you.”

  For emphasis, a mirrored captain raised his arm, aimed it between Christien’s eyes with a click. It was an odd sensation, having an automaton threaten him like this, but after the Eisenmänner of Reichsland, nothing much surprised him anymore.

  “I wouldn’t. I have a very sharp blade at her throat. If you shoot me, the autonomic spasm will sever her carotid artery, causing death within seconds. But in the extremely odd case that it doesn’t and she does survive the prolific blood loss, I must warn you that this prosthetic has been malfunctioning of late, courtesy your cannonball and Wilhelm’s iron man. If you shoot me and do manage to remove the attachment from my arm, you will not be able to remove it from her wrist. It will continue to tighten, until it cuts off her circulation and her hand grows blue. Depending on how long it takes to either amputate the hand or find a metallurgist to remove the clockwork, gangrene will set in and she will die within days. Either way, if I die, she dies. Trust me, Gisela. I’m a physician.”

  The woman glanced at her sister.

  “Ihn erschießen,” growled Valerie. “Shoot hi—”

  Her words were choked as he pressed the blade deeper against her throat.

  The Hussars did not move. Indeed, he wondered if they felt anything either way. Life and death placed in the clockwork and steel hands of machines. It was inevitable - the rush of science for the sake of science. Nothing more noble than that. The world was a strange, surreal place.

  Finally, Gisela straightened, slid her sabres home.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Safe passage to the train station,” called Ivy from the stair. “And use of one of the airships.”

  As one, the Hussars swung their arms and Christien cursed her belligerence. She could have escaped through a window. She could have crawled across a roof. But not Ivy Savage, daughter of calamity, bringer of chaos. He shook his head but said nothing. They couldn’t be seen to doubt. They were in control. It was the only way.

  “You will not leave Strasbourg,” said Gisela.

  “We will leave Strasbourg,” said Ivy as she reached his side. “We will leave with Archduchess Valerie and once we are safe, she will be freed.”

  “You have no clockwork attachment,” said Gisela and she wrested a pistol attachment from the captain of the silver guards, causing sparks to rain to the floor. It wheeled into a corner, flailing its arm while Gisela aimed the pistol at the young writer’s head. “I will shoot you now.”

  “Pistols are loud,” said Ivy. “And Christien is highborn, delicate and prone to hysteria. Besides, I have a pistol of my own.”

  And she raised the tiny woman’s iron to Valerie’s head. She glanced at him as she did so, coaching him with her eyes. He tugged Valerie closer, producing a gasp and another drop of blood.

  “Wait,” said Gisela.

  She stepped toward Ivy and Christien couldn’t help but notice the difference. Gisela with her black military uniform and severe blonde hair, Ivy looking like a newsboy with her cap and tweed coat. It would have been absurd had there not been so many pistols.

  “We didn’t kill your brother,” said Ivy.

  “I don’t care,” said Gisela.

  Ivy lowered her pistol and for a long moment, there was silence in the tavern. Finally, Valerie grew still in his arms.

  “I will go with them,” she breathed through clenched teeth.

  “No—”

  “I will go.”

  “She will be safe as long as we are,” said Ivy.

  “You will all be executed,” said Gisela but she stepped back. “Go. There is a coach waiting outside. I will arrange for an escort to the station and access to one of the lesser ships. As far as it depends on me, you will be allowed passage through German airspace. I cannot speak for the French.”

  “Thank you,” said Ivy.

  “Don’t,” said Gisela. “I will see you dead before the week is up.”

  And with Valerie still locked in Christien’s arms, the three of them shuffled slowly through the guards toward the door. Cold air blew in and Christien turned his head.

  “I’ve had seven pints of local and there was also a meal and a room let. Kindly take care of that for us, will you?”

  And he closed the door behind him.

  ***

  “Because I could not stop for Death, he kindly stopped for me. The Carriage held but just Ourselves and Immortality.”

  “I know that,” he muttered, but could not tear his eyes from the orb. “What is that?”

  “Emily Dickinson. A spiritualist from the Americas.”

  Slowly, Sophie closed the latch on her clockwork corset. The orb was spinning just above her gloved hand. He could feel it like his own heartbeat.

  “You wish to take it,” she said. “Take it. Look into it. You will understand.”

  The orb began to flash, reminding him of Ghostlight and the colours of her world.

  “Where is Arclight?”

  “Arclight is not your master. You are hers.”

  Spinning, flashing, warping all light around it. He could fall into it like a river, like a lake. She stepped closer.

  “Death is the last, best master, brother.”

  Sisi sitting by a bed, hands folded limply in her lap

  “Let it crown you.”

  On the bed, a bundle wrapped like a loaf of bread, covered in white linen

  He stepped forward now, his palms aching to hold it, knowing it would destroy him, longing to feel the burn as it seared the flesh off his bones…

  A small, bearded man rushes into the room

  “There y’ar, Yer Lordship, sir!”

  He stepped back, blinking, as Castlewaite’s thin frame hobbled down the nave toward him. He held up a slip of paper. It was the schedule for the Strasbourg rail.

  “We’ve a bit of a wicket, sir!” he puffed. “Ye’ve got a train t’catch!”

  Sebastien glanced around the church. There was no sign of either Sophie or the orb. A fact that did not surprise him.

  ***

  Peering out the window, Ivy could see the gaslight of Strasbourg station growing brighter as the Imperial coach raced along the street. Mounted Silver Hussars led the way, more followed behind and she prayed this would not simply get them shot somewhere more convenient than a tavern in the centre of town. She sat back and sighed.

  Valerie was sitting next to Christien, his hand still firmly locked around her wrist. The Archduchess was scowling but Christien was staring across the cab at Ivy.

  “What?” she asked.

  “Delicate and prone to hysteria?”

  “I’m a writer,” she grinned. “Exaggeration comes with the territory.”

  He grunted. “Where’s Castlewaite?”

  “He went to fetch Sebastien,” she said. “We made a plan.”

  “You and Castlewaite?”

  “Made a plan, yes.”

  “Good lord. Don’t you ever stop thinking?”

  “I got us a coach to the station while you were busy discussing gangrene with a mad woman. I think I’m doing rather well.”

  For the first time in a very long time, he smiled. Beside him, Valerie snarled and Ivy raised her chin, trying to marshal her best, most stubborn resources.

  “My name’s Ivy,” she said.

  “An English weed.”

  “A very tenacious English weed,” said Ivy. “Almost impossible to stop, once it’s got a foothold. Can crack a stone wall in a matter of years.”

  “But not the heart of a de Lacey.”

  “We won’t hurt you. I promise.”

  “I’m sorry I can’t say the same.”

  “Enough,” said Christien.

  “Let me go,” she pouted and she glanced at his prosthetic. He had managed to fold the dagger back into the shafts of the wrist but the fingers were locked like a vise. “That thing. It’s hurting me.”r />
  “I can’t,” he said. “I wasn’t lying. The damned thing is well and truly stuck.”

  “The moment your back is turned, I will break your neck like a dog.”

  “Then I shall not turn my back.”

  “The moment you close your eyes, I will gouge them out and crush them under my boot.”

  “You look like your father.”

  She growled and sat back, would have crossed her arms if she could.

  And Ivy swallowed, wondering if they had not just made the biggest mistake of the journey.

  After what seemed like hours, the coach finally rattled to a halt at the entrance to the Strasbourg station. Just like at the Sacher and the Südbahnhof, Silver Hussars flanked them as they exited the coach and strode through the door, Valerie only mildly protesting. Ivy turned to face the guards.

  “Go,” she said. “Go now. We don’t want you here. Go.”

  No one moved a whisker.

  “Gehen!” snapped Valerie. “Ich sagen, gehen!”

  Immediately, the guards peeled off, mounting their horses and trotting back down the snowy road like a parade. Odd, thought Ivy. Automatons riding horses. The world was such a strange, surreal place.

  Valerie released a long breath, held her head a little higher.

  “You are both dead,” she said.

  “That’s the plan,” said Ivy, looking around for the stair to the airship docks. “This way.”

  ***

  For such a late hour, there were many travellers in the station and gaslight blazed up into the night. Sebastien could see the bellies of the fleet high above. German, French and Austrian but none could match the iron giant that was the Stahl Mädchen. He wondered how canvas and heated gas could keep such a weight in the sky. Surely devastation would result if any of the systems were to fail.

  He could see Castlewaite’s breath making clouds as they crept around the station to the yard. Dozens of cars were on the tracks, several of them hissing steam as they made ready to move out. Black gleamed blue in the moonlight and the labyrinth of tracks looked like the inner workings of a clock. He could smell the coal, the wood, the oil and he shook his head. The world was a strange, surreal place, what with the modern need for transportation. Give him a horse any day and not for the first time, he thought of Gus.

  A whistle echoed across the yard and one of the trains heaved forward. He glanced at Castlewaite but the coachman shook his head and pressed on across the tracks, stepping over couplings and slipping between the cars. Another whistle, another train. Castlewaite peered at his paper but again, shook his head. Strasbourg was a terminus for both French and German rails and quickly the yard became a moving maze as train after train headed out into the night. Across the tracks, over the couplings, between the cars, his world shrunk to the smell of coal and iron and steel. His coat caught and his shins scraped and he cursed this turn of events. It wasn’t like this with horses.

  A different whistle now, this time accompanied by a series of bells and he looked up as mooring hooks fell away, releasing one of the airships into the night sky. There was an eagle painted across its belly and he could see flashes of moonlight reflected from the propellers. Snow swirled in the downdraft and slowly, the dirigible glided away from the dock like a ship leaving the shore.

  “Yer Lordship?” called Castlewaite.

  He cocked his head as high above, the airship clanged and trip-masts began to detach from the ribs of the hull.

  “It shouldn’t do that,” he muttered. “It’s too close to the other ships.”

  “Quickly now, sir!”

  The Mad Lord sighed and tore his gaze away. The coachman pointed at an engine chugging east, dragging at least ten cars behind. The first seven were passenger cars, bright inside the many large windows but the following three were black. Baggage cars, he knew. Baggage and mail and sugar and tobacco and suddenly, he saw a face hanging out a cargo door, waving at him in the darkness.

  “Ivy.”

  “Ah said quickly, sir.”

  He turned to the coachman.

  “And you?”

  “Ah have me own plan, sir. Now off with ye, or ye’ll miss ‘er.”

  And without another thought, Sebastien sprinted across the yard, leaping iron bars and wooden ties and ducking the yard signs that threatened to take off his head. Ivy was leaning out the baggage car, one hand on the door, the other reaching out for him. The car was picking up speed but just the sight of her caused his heart to work harder, his legs to move faster and soon he was reaching for her hand, his coat whipping in the cold.

  “Come on, Laury!” she shouted. “Hurry!”

  He leaped for her but missed, swore as his wrist banged against the side of the car. Leapt again and felt the brush of her fingers when suddenly a flash lit up the entire night sky. It was an explosion among the airships, the force of the blast lifting him from his feet and throwing him violently into the side of the moving car. It was too fast and he couldn’t even think to grab hold, felt himself thud then roll as his body hit the snowy tracks and fiery debris rained down from above.

  He pushed to his feet and bolted after it once again but he had lost so much ground. He could see her face like a beacon in the dark but she was so far ahead on a train gaining speed when there was another boom from above. He turned his head and immediately wished he hadn’t, for a fireball was hurtling toward him across the track. Dashitall if it didn’t look like a galloping horse.

  And it was red.

  He ran faster.

  “Laury!”

  Even faster as flaming wreckage rained from the skies. The cargo door was just a heartbeat away but the horse was behind him and closing in. He could feel the fire of its breath on his neck, teeth sharp and biting his skin like a sword. He could hear the thunder of hoofbeats on the ground and with a shout he leapt toward the speeding car, knowing he would fall short. But the flaming horse leapt too, carrying him up and into the dark like a fireball. He hit the floor, sliding into steam trunks and carpetbags and sacks of mail heading east. Suddenly Ivy was there, batting out the flames that raced across up his arms onto his back. He pushed to his knees and scrambled to the open doorway, searching for the horse but the sky was ablaze with colliding airships and Christien slid the door shut.

  ***

  Petit Journal, Strasbourg

  DISASTER IN THE SKIES

  The sky lit up last night as several airships collided over Strasbourg Station. According to witnesses, an Austrian dirigible engaged its trip-masts in close proximity to other ships, puncturing their balloons and igniting the hydrogen gas. A chain reaction is said to have occurred, as one after another, the moored ships exploded, causing a fireball that could be seen across the Vosges Mountains to the Black Forest. Only three casualties are reported, despite the widespread carnage.

  This is the second airship accident to have occurred in as many days, the most recent being the crash of an English airship near the town of Kolmar.

  According to reports in the London Times, it is believed that French anarchists are at the root of these incidents, and all wreckage is being examined for traces of incendiary devices. The Anarchist movement is known for political assassinations and bombing campaigns across Europe, possibly including the murder Crown Prince Rudolf of Austro-Hungary. Already Kaiser Wilhelm II and Chancellor von Bismark are calling for the unilateral cessation of liberal policies throughout the Empire of Blood and Iron. It is confirmed now that the heads of the Three Empires League will be meeting in Vienna early next week to discuss the current situation in Europe and form a solid alliance to meet the campaign of liberal terrorism with unity and strength.

  Regarding the deployment of the airship’s trip-masts, police are continuing to investigate.

  Chapter 12

  Of Fairy Kisses, Colonial Cigarettes and an Abrupt Exit from the Orient Express

  When the train pulled into Paris Gare de l'Est early that morning, no one was allowed to leave. It was a thing unheard of and caused a com
motion as a unit of gendarmes swarmed aboard, pistols and batons at the ready. After much protest, the Wagon Lit conductor was forced to lead them to Sleeping Compartment Number Two. In the hall outside the room, he protested once again, saying the guests in Comp. Two were English gentry and had paid over-and-above the standard rate for privacy. They were strictly ‘Do Not Disturb’ and the English were well known for their private natures. It would not look well on ‘the Company’ to have English patrons angry at the appalling manner of French gendarmes.

  Naturally, the gendarmes did not care about the private natures of English patrons and insisted the compartment be opened at once or the very expensive door would be broken down.

  Once opened, the room revealed a lone man of about seventy years with a remarkable copper eyepiece attached to his thinning scalp. He sat up and smiled at them, showing an equally remarkable lack of teeth.

  The entire train was searched with no English gentry, Viennese Archduchesses or French anarchists to be found.

  ***

  Christien opened his eyes to find Valerie staring at him.

  He sat up slowly, wishing to stretch the ache from his limbs but the baggage compartment was close and cold and her body was closer and warm. His clockwork hand was still locked around her wrist and he had to admit it was uncomfortable, although he reckoned it was worse for her. Light beamed in through seams in the train’s outer jacket but there were no windows and very little could be seen except steam trunks and carpet bags, boxes and huge sacks bound in canvas.

  The train rocked to the rhythm of his heartbeat, and as his eyes adjusted, he could see his brother asleep on the floor. Behind him Ivy slept as well, head against his shoulder, arm across his ribs. They fit, he thought abstractedly. They always had and he wondered how he could ever have wanted her for a wife. But that was a lifetime ago and he had been a different man, set on a different path. He had no idea who he was now, or where he was going. Didn’t matter. Life could never get worse than it had been these past few months. Even death by a Gilded firing squad would be preferable to that.