by Adam Millard
“No,” the woman said, shaking her head. “The monster was roaming around the deck on its own. I did report it to one of the team, just in case it should stumble across a child or the like, but they seemed reluctant to do anything to help.”
Great. That’s just friggin’ fantastic.
The woman flashed a smile, one that suggested her thoughts were not entirely wholesome. “I believe we’re landing in Saint Petersburg within the hour. Are you in a rush to be somewhere, or would you—”
“Unfortunately,” Alcorn said, checking his pocket watch, even though he knew very well what time it was, “I must find the aforementioned man and his associate, but thank you for the kind offer.” He turned and stalked away across the deck. Someone on board must have seen the Inspector. Someone must know what had become of the giant and his apparently ferocious hound.
People, Alcorn thought as he set his sights upon his next possible witness, do not suddenly disappear at eight-thousand feet.
*
The ground settled beneath them. Abigale had always dreamt of skyship travel, and yet, she was incredibly happy to be reunited with the earth. She stared out through her porthole at the sun rising in the distance. Although it was still ever-so-slightly raining, it was nowhere near as inclement as Abigale had anticipated. She’d heard such things about Russia, that it’s a tundra for eleven months of the year. Apparently, that was a fallacy.
Gathering her things, Abigale made her way across to the cabin door. She’d locked herself away for an entire day, and so it was quite difficult to suddenly throw open the doors and welcome any dangers that might be waiting beyond.
She unlocked the door and slowly eased it open.
People were disembarking, pushing one another aside in an attempt to shave mere seconds off their journey. Abigale joined the queue accumulated at the top of the steps leading down onto Russian soil. While she was not in as much of a rush as some of her fellow passengers, she was eager to settle into the city, find a place in which to recover from the flight and once again peruse the plans for that night’s action.
The line was slowly edging forwards, and as Abigale glanced across to her right, she was met with the solemn gaze of Cornelia Maddern. Abigale offered the girl a smile, which was returned in the form of a pleasant nod. Abigale mouthed the words ‘thank you’, for the server had had every right to turn her in. She had killed, and while the fallen had not been entirely human, Abigale felt as if she owed Cornelia Maddern something for her silence. Maybe one day she would be able to show her gratitude, but not that day.
Facing front once again, Abigale climbed down onto the steps leaning up the side of Poseidon’s Gale. There was a chill to the air, and she shivered. It was still early, and there was plenty of time for the temperature to rise to something more suitable. London, by comparison, was not much colder during its harshest of winters.
Ten minutes later, she was in Saint Petersburg proper.
It was time to get to work.
*
There are times in one’s life when pieces all of a sudden fall into place and begin to make some sort of sense. Most of the time it’s nothing more than fortuitous luck, but how these things come to be is of no import. What matters is that they do, and when they do, one must act upon them as if the chance is time-limited and liable to be snatched away as easily and briskly as they presented themselves.
When Detective John Wesley Alcorn saw Abigale Egars descending the steps a few metres in front of him, he believed her to be nothing more than a cruel mirage, a simple case of ‘you see what you want to see’ and nothing more. However, she turned to the side, offering him the perfect view of her face. Then she failed to disintegrate or drift slowly upwards towards the Russian sky, and he knew she was very, very real.
It was better than locating Thorneye, although he guessed the two were inextricably linked somehow. After all, it had been Thorneye whom she’d embarrassed at The Victoria and Albert Museum a few days prior. There was always the chance that he’d sought some sort of revenge and followed the girl onto Poseidon’s Gale with murder in mind. That would explain his burly companion. As devious and corrupt as Thorneye was, he was less than capable of exacting the kind of punishment he’d no doubt intended. Much easier to employ a large man to do the dirty work.
As he watched Abigale step down onto the expansive airfield, that the aforementioned pieces had fallen into place.
The trick was not to lose her.
She walked briskly across the field, and Alcorn knew that a certain distance left between them would be required, lest he forfeit his fortuitous upper hand. She wasn’t getting away, not that time.
As he watched, Alcorn pondered what she was doing in Russia. Was it a simple holiday? Had she fenced years’ worth of stolen goods and purchased a one-way ticket to a foreign land? There were laws, rules of jurisdiction, that Alcorn was loath to break, but she was his, she always had been. If he were going to arrest her, and return her to London for the justice system to do their thing, it would take thought and considerable care. The last thing he needed was The Ministry of Internal Affairs coming down on him with a very large hammer.
As he clandestinely made his way across the field, Abigale remained in view, still very much striding as if eager to reach her final destination. It became apparent that Thorneye had simply disappeared during the flight, along with his giant friend.
Again, Alcorn’s mind went to work with the endless questions. If they had intended to track the thief, where were they now? Why weren’t they closely following, and why hadn’t he seen them? The idea that Abigale Egars had somehow disposed of them mid-flight sent a shiver along Alcorn’s spine. He’d always considered her extremely dangerous, but she’d never killed anyone before.
There was always a first for everything, and if she’d managed to take out Joe Thorneye and Goliath during the course of a few days, he’d certainly underestimated her.
Suddenly, something very important dawned on him. He’d travelled without a passport, and was, therefore, an illegal in a foreign land. There would be checks in the building Abigale Egars was entering—a large brick construction that looked about as welcoming as Hades. At least Hades was warm.
Shit! He was going to lose her yet again. Not only that, but he was going to find himself arrested and thrown into a gaol cell. If only he’d had time to consider how crazy the whole thing was back at The Mad Knave and had asked Clem O’Connell to turn around and aim for London.
Of course, then he wouldn’t be a hair’s breadth from capturing and detaining the bane of his life. No, the situation required a certain cleverness, something which he was more than capable of.
Glancing across to the side of the large, brick building, he saw a tall and rusty fence. At its highest, it bordered on twelve feet, and at the top, sharp wire stretched across from one side to the next. From what he could see, there were no guards waiting on the other side, no patrolling Russians armed to the back teeth with whatever it was that Russian soldiers shot people with those days.
Whether it was simple excitement that pulled him toward that massive fence, Alcorn didn’t know. All he knew was that he had come too far, that Abigale Egars was up to something and that the time for her incarceration was near.
No one seemed to pay him any mind as he fell out of the steady stream of travellers and headed for the fence. One child brought his bizarre behaviour to the attention of his mother, who responded by covering the boy’s eyes, instructing him that they didn’t have time for getting involved and to mind his business.
Good parenting, Alcorn thought.
Upon reaching the fence, he had a better view of the street beyond. A horse and cart cantered along the rain-damp street, but apart from that, there was no sign of another living being.
Alcorn hooked his foot through the steel and pushed off the ground. He knew he had to be quick, despite the lackadaisical security. Apparently, the Russians relied on a certain amount of honesty when it came to passing through into their country. Ho
w damn foolish of them…
Alcorn was up and over the fence in less than thirty seconds, and after a quick glance around to make sure he hadn’t been noticed, he dusted down his coat and pushed his hands into his pockets.
He made his way round the front of the brick building through which Poseidon’s Gale’s passengers were passing. The boy with the nosey tendencies saw him and tugged on his mother’s sleeve. She glanced up, and upon spotting Alcorn, simply nodded in his direction. He nodded back and continued to scan the passengers as they stepped out into the early morning light. After thirty seconds, he knew he’d lost her again. She was already long gone, and Alcorn wanted nothing more than to fall to his knees, turn his face up to the heavens and scream at the top of his voice, “Why? Why, you son-of-a-bitch, why?”
*
“She’s arrived in Saint Petersburg,” Werner said, pushing his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. In his hand, he clutched a small box, upon which a green light flashed. The sawbones’ hair was unkempt, and his face was peppered with stubble. Sleep had not yet paid him a visit, nor did he expect it to anytime soon.
Behind the large desk, Mordecai Pick sat, cleaning his pipe. “At least we know she isn’t trying to deceive us. She’s a smart girl, and I’m almost certain the thought has crossed her mind.” Perhaps, he thought, that’s all she’s thinking about.
Werner took the empty seat opposite his employer and placed the flickering box upon the desk. “Are we doing the right thing? I mean, bringing those pieces out in the open is extremely dangerous, is it not?”
Mordecai nodded. “This needs to end, once and for all. I, for one, can no longer just sit here and wait for one of the wizards, and by that I mean Blithe, to reach those artefacts. It would be Hell on Earth, the end of everything as we know it.” He sighed, pushed the pipe into the corner of his mouth and blew air clear through it. “We’re doing the right thing.”
“Why not destroy one piece?” Werner said, frowning. “Would that not render The Configuration powerless?”
That was something Mordecai had long considered. “Have you not seen the transition? Blithe is twice as powerful as she once was. The nine pieces in her custody have already increased her strength exponentially. With all twelve, she would be unstoppable. I dread to think how many innocent people would die as a result, but even with ten or eleven pieces of The Configuration she would be most formidable. Perhaps not unstoppable, but strong enough to challenge the Magocracy.”
Werner hissed. “So this is simple damage limitation?” he asked. “Destroy the final three pieces and keep Blithe on a leash where we can handle her.”
Mordecai nodded. “Exactly. The Guild refuses to bow to any wizard, and I intend to keep it that way.”
Werner watched the green light upon the side of the small box flicker. He hadn’t realised before then just how important that girl, that poor thief who had wanted no part of their plan, was to the world. She was out there somewhere, doing whatever she could to prevent Armageddon, and she had no idea of her own significance.
Godspeed, Abigale Egers, Werner thought. He picked up the box and departed the office, leaving Mordecai Pick to his own devices.
21
The Nevsky Inn was perfectly situated across the street from the Hermitage Museum. Abigale couldn’t have asked for a more blessed location. The landlady, Anja, had a voice that suggested years of chain smoking, but she was impeccably mannered and welcoming. She had offered Abigale a choice of rooms, each of which was more than adequate for her needs. After settling in, Anja had brought her a selection of teas and cakes, which Abigale hadn’t anticipated but had accepted graciously.
“Are you here on holiday?” Anja asked in thick Russian. She lit a cigarette and casually leaned against the doorframe, awaiting a response.
Abigale nodded. “Yes. I’ve heard many great things about Saint Petersburg. I’ve always wanted to travel.” She smiled. Lying was second nature to her.
“Ah, wanderlust,” Anja said, so suddenly that she caught Abigale off guard.
“Excuse me?” Visions of the painting, with its coiling towers and strangely mesmeric qualities, rushed through her mind. Surely, the landlady wasn’t referring to Frederic Laffitte’s finest work.
Anja chortled as smoke trickled from her mouth. “A person with the strong urge to travel and discover,” she said. “It’s called wanderlust.”
Abigale sighed with relief and wondered how she had not known that. “That’s a wonderful word,” she said, pretending it was the first she’d heard of it.
“Indeed it is,” Anja said. “Well, Ms Egars. I will let you become acquainted with our fair city in peace. If you need anything, I’m never far away.” She smiled.
It was a thing of beauty, and Abigale realised that the woman, though advanced in years now, had once been a sight to behold.
Abigale thanked her for her hospitality and watched as she disappeared along the hallway, singing something to herself in a language Abigale didn’t understand. She closed the door and turned the key. There was so much to do still and so very little time. There was no telephone in her room, either, so any plans she’d had of contacting Octavius fell by the wayside.
He’s fine, she thought. He’s always fine.
She set to work, pulled a chair up to the window, and watched as the Hermitage Museum began to attract visitors in the same way dung attracts beetles.
*
This, Alcorn thought, is ridiculous. He’d walked for hours, hoping the fortuitousness continued, praying that Abigale Egars would simply bump into him on the streets of Saint Petersburg. He’d been wasting his time, of course. She was nowhere to be seen. He cursed himself for losing her in the first instance, and again for spending so much time scouring the streets of a city he knew nothing about. He was tired, angry, and very disconcerted that she’d been snatched so unceremoniously from his grasp yet again.
What he needed was somewhere to recoup, a quiet place in which to get his bearings. He walked a little further before stumbling upon what looked, on the outside, at least, like an accommodating place. He knocked the door and waited.
After several minutes—maybe a lot less, but it felt like it to Alcorn, who simply desired the warmth of a comfortable bed for an hour or two—a face appeared between the crack in the door.
“You in need of a room?” the man asked. He had a large jaw and a flat nose, and a small scar stretched across his brow as if he’d recently been involved in a scuffle of some sort. His drawl was just about coherent to Alcorn.
“Do you have one?”
The man pulled the door inwards and grinned. “The best in the city!” he said, suddenly animated. “Come in. You are English?”
How very perceptive, Alcorn thought as he stepped over the threshold. “Yes, and you must be Russian,” he said, extending his hand. “We must stop meeting like this.”
The man frowned, obviously perplexed. After a brief moment, he shook Alcorn’s hand, introduced himself as ‘Oleg’, and led him along the hallway, to where a set of grotesquely carpeted stairs led up to the first floor. “You are alone?”
“Yes,” Alcorn replied. “And I won’t be staying long. I just need something basic. Do you have food?”
Oleg nodded excitedly. “The best in Russia.”
Alcorn, glancing around the place, highly doubted such claims.
“Mother is a wonderful cook. Will make anything you want. She is, how you say, very ‘appy to ‘elp.”
Oleg’s attempt at a London accent was not far off the mark, and Alcorn had to stifle a laugh. “Thanks, Oleg.” Then I would very much like to stay here for the duration of my visit.”
With the deal sealed, Oleg grabbed a key from a hook high up on the kitchen wall. “I will show you to your room now. Mother will cook you something nice.”
They were halfway up the stairs when a lady appeared, descending. Smoke drifted along behind her as she came toward them. “Mother,” Oleg said. “Mr. John would like some dinner.”
> She stopped level with them. Alcorn held his hand out once again. “John Alcorn,” he said. “Pleased to meet you.”
The woman smiled and shook his hand. “Anja. Make yourself at home, Mr. Alcorn. I will bring food to your room within the hour.” With that, she was gone, on her way to the kitchen to prepare his dinner.
Perhaps, he thought as he followed Oleg to his room, my luck will return once I have a full stomach.
*
Afternoon gave way to evening, which in turn ceded to the night. Sitting in her room, staring out through the window at the museum had made her impatient. The moment had taken its damn time in arriving, but Abigale was pleased the hour had finally arrived.
With her satchel slung across her shoulder, she made her way around the side of the museum. The Neva River was beautiful and ran along the rear of the huge baroque building. The sound of water smoothly rushing past soothed her. It wasn’t Beethoven, but it was the next best thing.
She approached the large glass doors halfway along the side of the Hermitage, keeping to the shadows the night so charitably offered. Once she’d discerned there were no guards beyond the glass, she began to cut through the door. It was easy. Octavius had worked wonders on the device. He was quite the wizard when it came to tinkering.
She gently removed the circle of glass and laid it on the concrete as she climbed through the aperture. Once inside, she pulled the glass toward her and sealed the hole once again. Whether it would remain sealed all depended upon the weather. A good gust of wind would send the circular cutout smashing into the museum. She tried not to think about it, and quickly made her way through to the adjacent room.
There were allegedly four guards on duty, but none of them was in the same room as Abigale. She lithely approached the next room, which was much larger than those she’d traversed. It had to be, for a full-sized Tyrannosaurus Rex stood in the centre. Even though it was dead, and certainly no threat, Abigale found the looming monster terrifying.
Just then, someone coughed. Abigale dropped to her haunches as footsteps echoed around the room. She hadn’t expected the caper to be easy. Not at all, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t hope.
