“Then you’ve been to his family estates.” Thad unrolled a paper on a slanted reading table and set lead weights on either end of it to hold it flat.
“Many times. I nearly grew up there.”
“The general spoke of them in great detail,” Thad lied. “They sound magnificent.”
“Oh yes.” Markovich gave a smile. “Especially in the spring, when the flowers bloom.”
He was young and naive, and Thad felt guilty about what he was going to do next. He leaned over the map, pretending to study it. “It also sounds expensive, running such a place and keeping up appearances here at court. The general complained of it quite a lot on the ride over here, how much this cost and how much that was bleeding him dry.”
Markovich paused for a tiny moment, then said, “It is very expensive. The tsar has expensive tastes, and the court has to keep up with him.” He lowered his voice. “The holdings have been mortgaged—twice, in fact. Even the serfs.”
“That’s terrible,” Thad said sympathetically. With his finger, he traced a line across the map without looking at it. “If the tsar emancipates the serfs, it would be a disaster for the general. He would owe a lot of money to the banks all at once. The family holdings might go to the crown, and you wouldn’t be able to visit any longer.”
“Very much so.” Markovich sighed.
And if the general found out you gave me this information, you would never leave this prison, Thad added silently.
“Could I borrow these maps, do you think?” Thad asked. “I really need to pore over them where I can think.”
“Oh, I don’t—”
Thad reached into his pocket, broke the clasp on the tsarina’s necklace, and slid off a single pearl. He handed it to Markovich. It was worth more than a lieutenant would earn in ten years.
“Keep them with my compliments,” Markovich amended. “Did you need the general’s carriage as well?”
“Back to the Field of Mars,” Thad said.
Chapter Thirteen
Sofiya was pacing in front of the wagon when Thad got back. Kalvis, saddled, stood nearby. Steam curled from his nostrils.
“Where have you been?” Sofiya demanded.
“In clockwork hell. I think I’m hungry, but after this—”
“Do you have any idea what is happening? Have you not heard?”
Dread, one of the more common among Thad’s emotions lately, started up again. “I’ve heard a lot. What have you heard?”
“The damaged wall in the Winter Palace did not come down, but it is irrevocably damaged, and so is the courtyard beyond it. The tsar has declared everything must be fully repaired within thirty days.”
“Thirty days!” Thad gasped. “That’s—”
“Impossible? Not when one is the tsar. Serfs will be shipped in from all over the country to work, though they will be paid little or nothing, and given no place to live, and that matters not a bit, for when they die, more serfs will be brought in to replace them. This is how Saint Petersburg was built.”
“I thought the tsar wanted to emancipate the serfs,” Thad said.
“Not until the palace is repaired. It’s terrible, Thad. Already, they are bringing people in with cages.”
“That’s not all the cages are for,” Thad said. “I just came from the Peter and Paul Fortress.”
Sofiya stopped pacing, and her face went pale. “The clockwork prison. Why were you there? Are they coming for…?”
“You?” That actually hadn’t occurred to Thad. “No. If they thought you were a clockworker, you’d be in a cell already. But I know what’s going on, and I know who set the bomb.”
“You do?” She sank down to the wagon steps. “Who? Tell me!”
“General Parkarov.”
Sofiya stared into space for a moment. “I see where you are going. He said that he personally inspected the throne room before the tsar entered and that there was no bomb, which was why he blamed the spiders. But if Mr. Griffin’s spiders did not put it there, perhaps the general did during his inspection.”
“I know he did,” Thad said. “His lands and his serfs are double mortgaged, and if Alexander frees the serfs, Parkarov will have to pay that mortgage off all at once. He doesn’t have the money.”
“That’s not proof.”
“No, but he also kept me at the fortress on a waste of time.” And he described the prison. “Parkarov doesn’t believe a clockworker is running amok in Saint Petersburg. He created all of it—the arrests, the long, careful inspection—as a delaying tactic. The tsarina ordered me to find the clockworker, and Parkarov is afraid I’ll find out there isn’t one, so he created this…decimation to keep me busy. It’s brilliant, really, considering he must have cooked it up only a few minutes after his bomb failed to kill the tsar.”
“And meanwhile, all those innocent people are jailed,” Sofiya said.
“Yes,” Thad said grimly. “We need to prove it was Parkarov and we need to end this clockworker problem.”
“How will we do that?”
“First, I think we need to find Mr. Griffin, the real clockworker, and learn why his spiders were there in the first place.”
“Thad, no.” Sofiya held up her hands. “If we move against Mr. Griffin, his spiders will tear the circus to shreds, and he’ll…you know what he’ll do to my sister.”
“No,” Thad said. “He won’t. Not now. That’s why we have to move right now.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Sofiya, haven’t you ever wondered why clockworkers don’t rule the world? They’re far more intelligent than normal men, and they can build machines that give them tremendous power.”
She spread her hands. “They go mad in the end and die. No one can rule with that.”
“They could conquer and rule during the period before they go insane. It wouldn’t be pleasant, but it could be done. So why hasn’t it been done?” He went on before she could respond. “I’ll tell you—it’s because humans outnumber them, hundreds of thousands to one. Even with death rays or an army of spiders or hypnotic gases, clockworkers can’t defeat enough determined men. It’s why they hide. At this moment, the tsar’s army is actively looking for Mr. Griffin—or for a clockworker, anyway—and if they find him, they will kill him. He doesn’t dare come out of hiding now. That makes this the perfect time to hunt for him ourselves. Once we deal with him, your sister will be free. And so will you.”
Sofiya looked torn. Thad knew exactly how she felt. After a long moment, she nodded. “How do we find him, then?”
He brandished the rolled-up map. “I know clockworkers. Where are Nikolai and Dante?”
“In the wagon. Nikolai is giving Dante his lunchtime winding. He wants to rehearse. You have a show in three hours.”
“In a minute. Come on.”
Nikolai was reading his animal book with Dante on his shoulder. They both looked up when the adults entered.
“Help!” Dante said. “I’ve been changed into a parrot!”
Thad stared, and Sofiya burst out laughing. “You have been saving that one,” she said.
“I taught him that,” Nikolai told them. He plucked a bolt from the bag beside him and crunched it down. “We need to rehearse.”
“Later,” Thad repeated. He unrolled several maps on one of the fold-down shelves that doubled as a bed and weighted down the ends. “We’re going to find Griffin.”
The others peered around him. “How?” Sofiya asked.
“I’ve been doing for this years,” Thad reminded her. “Clockworkers like stone walls and solid, enclosed spaces with few entrances and exits, especially if they’re underground. It makes them feel secure.”
“I don’t feel that way,” Sofiya said.
“Amusing thing to hear from someone who locks herself in the Black Tent instead of using an open-air forge,” Thad said idly. He flipped through the maps. For a moment, just a moment, it felt…cozy here, with the three of them examining papers together, and Nikolai munching a snack and
Sofiya next to Thad at the table and the three of them set to appear in the ring later that afternoon. They were very like a normal—
“No,” Thad said.
“What?” Sofiya said.
Thad pursed his lips. He hadn’t meant to speak aloud. But they were nothing like a family. Sofiya was an insane clockworker who went into snarling fugues, and she was no wife to Thad. Nikolai was a machine that mimicked boyhood. Anytime Thad let himself forget that, he set himself up for pain. His life was nothing like normal, could never be normal, and the more he remembered that, the better.
“Never mind,” he said, and turned his attention back to the maps. “Saint Petersburg was built on a swampy area. It had to be drained first—yes, at the cost of thousands of lives, thank you, Sofiya—which means they actually could not build many tunnels. They flood too easily.”
“Which also means,” Sofiya said, “there are no sewers, no underground trams, no tunnels for waste.”
“They could have them,” Thad reminded her. “Such tunnels aren’t impossible, just more expensive. But instead the nobility here put their money into impossible palaces and indoor circus performances. Ah! Look.”
He pointed to one of the maps. “I think we can ignore the Winter Palace and the Peter and Paul Fortress. Not even a clockworker is insane enough to try hiding there. But these buildings here, here, and here”—he circled them in pencil—“were built with deep subcellars and tunnels. This older map shows some abandoned tunnels. Clockworkers love those.” He sketched them in on the more current map.
“Are we going to search all of them?” Nikolai asked.
“No. We’re going to narrow it down.” Thad pulled out another map, one that displayed railways. “This is what we need. Griffin had all that equipment in those railroad cars, and a lot of it looked delicate. I’m willing to wager his hiding place is near a rail line. The line that leaves the Field of Mars goes across the city this way.” He sketched that in on the first map.
“I see!” Sofiya followed the line with her finger. “The railway comes quite close to this tunnel here and rather close to that building with a subcellar there.”
“Exactly. Griffin is mostly likely hiding in one of those two places. We should start with the one closest to the railroad line, then search the second. If neither of those reveals anything, we can go on to the others.”
“We have a show in three hours, with a second one right afterward,” Sofiya reminded him. “Tickets are already sold out for both shows, and you haven’t rehearsed.”
“I don’t need to rehearse,” Thad said. “I can dance, and we know Nikolai can imitate me.”
“But—” Sofiya said.
“We have to do this. Now.” Thad opened the trunk where Sofiya had put his equipment and loaded up: sleeve sheaths, pistols, lock picks, extra ammunition, extendable baton, packet of small tools. “Nikolai, you stay here.”
“I want to come!” Nikolai protested.
“Bless my soul,” Dante said.
“No arguing.” Thad jammed on his hat and stuffed the map into his long leather coat. It felt good to be suiting up again, taking control of his life again. “I can’t afford to keep track of you. If you run into trouble, go see Mama Berloni or the Tortellis.”
“Am I forbidden from attending?” Sofiya asked archly.
Thad held out his arm for Dante. “Do as you like. We have to hurry.”
Riding Kalvis would draw too much attention, so they left the wagon and crossed the Field of Mars to the line of carriages for hire that always waited in front of the barrack, all of the drivers in their big coats and hats and beards. Thad, remembering what Sofiya had said last time, spotted the same driver who had taken them to the market by checking for the way he combed his beard.
“Vanka!” Thad called, and every driver started shouting at them.
“No, no, no!” yelled “their” Vanka. “I have driven them before, and they love my fine cab. Of course they will ride with me. For a much higher price because of all the mud from last time.”
“We paid for you to clean your cab,” Sofiya countered. “We will pay you—”
“No.” Thad flipped the surprised Vanka a pair of coins. “Another time I will play the game, Vanka. Today, we are in a great hurry. I will give you two more of those if you get us to this address within twenty minutes, and I promise to tell everyone that you argued all day about it.”
Nineteen terrifying minutes later, they pulled up at the address. Thad shakily paid Vanka the promised money, which also paid him to wait for them. They were standing in front of a nondescript building of stone, three stories tall, with nothing to indicate what was inside. Other similar buildings flanked it. A set of railroad tracks ran behind them. The street here was paved, and they were some distance from the river. There was little traffic of any kind, and no automatons.
“Doom,” said Dante. “Help!”
“Quiet, birdbrain,” Thad ordered. He trotted down the alley beside the building, searching the cobblestones until he found an actual grating over a hole, the first such thing he had seen since coming to Saint Petersburg. It wasn’t even fastened down. He flipped it aside with his brass hand and knelt for a better look.
“Are we going in?” Sofiya asked at his elbow.
“Griffin will have laid traps, if he’s down there,” he said. “Unless it’s a gingerbread house, and what are the odds of having two of those in a row?”
“Gingerbread house?”
“A technical term.” He tied a silk rope to Dante’s leg and lowered him upside down into the hole. Dante suffered this treatment without comment.
“What are you doing?” Sofiya asked.
“Look,” Thad said. “We won’t get very far with me explaining everything I do. If you want to come, you have to do what I say, without question.”
“Ha!” she snorted.
“Truth, Sofiya.” Thad continued lowering Dante. “I’m not saying it as a joke or to force you to obey just because you’re a woman. If I say something like jump or run or close your eyes, and you pause to ask questions, you could die. We both could.”
“Hm. Agreed, then.”
The rope went slack in Thad’s hand. He pulled Dante back up. His brass hand seemed to be working perfectly now, with no delay, though he couldn’t feel anything in it except vibrations or changes in temperature. He barely heard the little zing the gears made when they moved anymore. So much had been happening, he’d barely had time to think about his hand, and it had seemed to have wormed its way into his everyday life, becoming a normal part of it, without Thad’s much noticing.
Dante emerged from the hole, dangling upside down from the rope. “Traps?” Thad asked.
The parrot whistled. “Bless my soul.”
“Let’s go.” Thad started climbing down a series of rungs bolted to the side of the tunnel, with the parrot on his shoulder.
“How do you know there are no traps?” Sofiya asked.
“If Dante had seen any, he would have said something that started with the letter D. Or he would have set the traps off.”
“Doom,” Dante said sadly. “Death, despair.”
Thad reached the bottom and found himself in a long, low tunnel that smelled rotten and rank. He was something of a sewer connoisseur, and this one was poorly built—bad bricks, cracking mortar, uneven flooring. Within a decade, it would collapse and probably bring down the buildings above it. Would the tsar care if he knew? The man was such a mix. He seemed to love his children, but he didn’t care about other people’s children. He spent money freely, which helped many businesses, but he collected taxes heavily, which hurt them just as badly. He wanted to free the serfs, but only out of economic necessity, not out of compassion for their lot.
Thad shook his head. This wasn’t the time for such musings. He lit a candle and gave it to Dante to hold while Sofiya clambered down, mindful of her skirts.
“Which way?” she asked.
“I have no idea,” Thad admitted. “This is th
e hard part, really. We could search for days without finding any—”
“Spider,” Sofiya said, pointing.
Thad’s knife leaped into his hand, and this time it connected. The spider, which was clinging to the wall about ten feet away, stiffened and dropped to the mucky floor with the blade sticking out of its back. It was the size of a small house cat. Sofiya ran over to pick it up.
“Poor thing,” she crooned.
“Is it dead?” Thad asked, pleased that it had worked this time.
“A strange question from someone who doesn’t see Nikolai as alive. You have tools, do you not? Bring them here with the light.”
Thad obeyed and watched while Sofiya prized the spider open with his little screwdriver. “What are you up to?”
She handed him his knife back with a wide smile that carried a hint of chill and held the spider close to the light. “I am making a few changes. Your knife pierced the back, but only knocked its memory wheels askew. Give me a moment.”
Her quick fingers worked at the spider’s insides. She muttered to herself. Thad tensed, wondering if she would go into a full-blown fugue. But in a few moments, she shut the spider’s perforated access door and pressed a switch. It twitched and came to life in her hands.
“Pretty lady,” Dante muttered around the candle he held in his beak.
The knife leaped back into Thad’s hand. “What did you just do?”
“She obeys me now.” Sofiya put the spider on her shoulder. It bobbed up and down with little squeaking noises. “You have your pet, and I have mine. I believe I will name her Avtomashtika.”
“Little automatic?” Thad translated. “You have to be joking. It should be something smashing like Mechanica or Arachne.”
“Avtomashtika,” Sofiya repeated.
“Everyone’s going to call her Maddie,” Thad said. “Or at least, I will.”
“Maddie the spider? What kind of name is that?”
“Better than Avtomashtika.” He took his tools back and put them away. “I’m actually glad it showed up.”
“She,” Sofiya said airily. “If Nikolai can be a he, Maddie can be a she.”
The Havoc Machine Page 22
