My first breath set a fire to my lungs, erupting in a watery cough, spilling liquid on the floor in surging splashes. Convulsions sent me to my knees, my back screaming with each heave.
Around the time spots started forming in my vision and I began a descent into unconsciousness, the Warden entered the room with a pistol in his hand. It was one of the newer designs that could fire multiple shots. Not that it would matter since my arms gave out as he placed the hard barrel of the gun against my temple, the grim line of his mouth chasing me into the darkness.
Chapter Twenty-eight
The leaves shattered beneath my boots while the canopy of stars hung in the sky. A huge swath of light brushed across the night, as wide as the horizon, from snow crushed mountains on the right, to the glimmering endless lake on the left.
Other lights crowded the sky, crossing like rapiers at a duel. Except there were hundreds of duelists, each vying for a chance at the primary. Each band of light was brighter than a full moon and flashes emitted from the conflicting edges. The heavens were at war.
At the end of the long path, marked by sentinel trees so alien I found my sight avoiding them, hunched an obsidian castle. The mirrored walls reflected the sky, twisting it on its warped surface.
Though I had no intention of entering the obsidian castle, my feet marched on as if a gaes was on them. Beneath the star-blemished walls, a hole of night formed an entrance. Though I could see nothing, I had the impression of dark wings. The closer I got, the more I knew that whatever was in the obsidian castle was waiting for me, welcomed me, desired me...
A hand shook me awake.
The Warden stood at the end of the arm. It took me a moment to comprehend his features, that his arm was connected to his body. The disassociation evaporated as I struggled onto my elbows.
"Are you well?" asked the Warden.
He kept a comfortable distance from my person, and the pistol was held by his side rather than holstered. He watched me carefully.
"Swallowed a bit of water," I said. "The pocket of air I was breathing from ran out before everyone left."
His mouth slackened. He chewed on unspoken words.
"I was a stowaway in the hold, if you're wondering," I said, pressing my fist against my achy chest.
"I wasn't, about that," he said quietly. "Why are you here? At first I thought you must be a spy, especially when the Binghams showed us the spectral cannon."
"Why did you change your mind?" I asked from my position on the floor. Water spread around me like wings. The faint vibration of thunder above the engines meant we'd left the storm.
"I haven't," he said, hefting the pistol. "You never said why you're here."
I coughed again. Between my waterlogged lungs and the bruises I'd endured from my battle with Koschei on the island, the pain was a knife in my side.
"I was wrong about what I said before in Congressional Hall," I said.
"Lot of trouble for a rectification," he said, stone-faced.
"Someone's not trying to kill William Bingham. The Binghams are going to try and kill the President and his wife," I said. "In fact, they might be doing that as we speak. We shouldn't wait here. We need to go."
As I tried to climb to my feet, Simon pointed the gun at me, his lips curled downward forming deep lines around his mouth.
"I said, I haven't decided," he said.
"Then why haven't you arrested or shot me?" I asked, but then I saw the paleness in his gaze. The destruction from the spectral cannon had shaken him. Or was it something else?
When he didn't speak, I guessed. "They offered you something? No? You overheard them say something?"
When he blanched, I knew I'd hit my mark. "I heard Anne say that I hope that demon remembers not to kill the Warden, so we have a credible witness." His face screwed up into a knot. "Do you know what they speak of?"
"That demon comes from the duck egg," I said. "I don't know why, but it follows the commands of whoever holds it. I made a grave mistake when I turned it over to you, but if we go now, we can stop them."
He shook his head. "I don't know. I feel like I have a case of barrel-fever. Can't make boots or caps of it."
"This creature, Koschei it's named, unsettles me, too. But now isn't the time for doubt. We must move and move quickly. Already I sense our chance at victory fading," I said.
I climbed to my feet, ignoring the Warden's motions for me to stay on the ground. Carefully and calmly, I reached out and pushed the pistol aside, walking to the door, leaving a trail of water behind me.
With my hand on the door, I turned to him. "Are you coming? We have a demon to stop."
"Wait," he said. "You can't just go up there. There are soldiers standing guard at the top of the stairs and outside the Captain's dining room. They'll arrest you."
"Make them move," I said. "Get me past them."
He rubbed his temple. "I can't. I'm only the Warden, not a member of the military. I have no authority here."
"Then what good is your office?" I asked, stamping my foot on the floor.
"I have an idea though. There's a room next to where we'll dine. I'll open the window there. You can move around the outside, they put rails and climbing nets on the outside, so repairs could be made mid-battle," he said.
The prospect of hanging onto the hull of the airship thousands of feet in the sky blanched me to pale. "I'll do it." I looked up at him. "But leave me a weapon."
"Will it stop the demon?" he asked.
I thought of how Koschei took the pistol blast, the stab with the rapier, and multiple blasts from Djata's gun with no visible effect. "It'll have to," I said grimly.
"Go into the cannon hold and exit through there. The dining room's on the starboard side. You'll have to climb from there," said the Warden.
Before I left, I marched over to the Warden and leaned forward to place a kiss right on the edge of his mouth. His mustache tickled my nose and his eyes were as wide as saucers.
He said nothing as I made my way to the cannon hold. I heard his footsteps climb the spiral stairs. The two of us against Koschei the Deathless. I didn't think it was going to work, but I'd made my decision to stay, and that meant seeing this through.
Unlatched, the heavy board swung out of the way, letting in the night air. The wind and my wet clothes set me to shivering. I squeezed past the cannon, placing my foot on the rope line outside. There were three ropes: one to stand on, one at the knees, and one to hold.
The rain-soaked ropes felt slick beneath my hand. Had it been another month or two later, the whole craft would have been covered in a thin sheet of ice.
The cannon hold was at the bottom of the Brave Eagle. The hull curved up and away, three stories. The Captain's dining hall was at the top.
Lightning crackled through the sky above the ship, threading the clouds with purple energy. We were out of the bulk of the storm, but lightning could hit the ship at any time, which would be fatal for me. The ship had rods to disperse the energy, but I would not be saved, especially holding onto rope lines soaked with rain.
Far below, the trees swayed with gusts of wind, barely visible except when the sky flashed. Standing on the rope line, water sprayed into my face, forcing me to squint.
The enormity of my task began to set in. I was nearly sixty years old, the life-giving powder not yet rejuvenating me. I had to climb three stories up to a window and then do battle with a demon to save the President—and I was still not recovered from drowning myself and being immolated with spectral light.
It was fortunate that I couldn't see the future, for if I'd known what I had to do, I would have fled Philadelphia for safer shores many times hence. I reached upward for the net, which unbalanced me, sending my legs swaying in a sawing motion, knees banging against the hull. My fingers curled around the rope and I strained upward with my other hand.
At this point, I was certain the void beneath would suck me off the ship, or a wind gust would catch my skirt and yank me off like a ribbon in a windsto
rm. But I was able to get my hands around the rope, and using the guide ropes as shaky steps, I climbed onto the net.
By the time I made it onto the net, I was exhausted. My limbs shivered from both the effort and the cold wind. My fingers were numb and I had to convince them to stay curled around the rope. I climbed section by section, not daring to rest, fearing that I wouldn't be able to move again if my limbs cramped up or fingers froze. And more importantly, I feared that I would reach the upper level too late.
Eventually, I found myself at the right level. The open window was to the bow of the ship. I shimmied along the rope, my arms quaking, until I made the opening. Sticking my head inside, I found a small room with a bed and footlocker. I guessed it was the chamber the officers used when they needed a nap on long journeys. One door led to the hallway right outside the pilot room, while the other led to the dining hall.
I fell onto the bed. My hands were blocks of ice. I put my mouth to them and blew hot air. Sitting up, I looked around the room for my weapons, finding nothing.
"Curse you, Warden," I said.
When I peered under the bed, I saw a rapier and pistol glinting from the darkness and mentally apologized.
I'd lost my weapons battling Koschei, but these were exquisite replacements. The guard on the rapier was shaped into an eagle's wings. The quillion was gilded with gold.
The hardwood pistol fit perfectly in my grip. It was a repeating style with three shots at the ready.
When I saw the seal at the base of the grip, I knew from whom the Warden had stolen these weapons. They were President Washington's pistol and rapier, which seemed appropriate given the circumstances.
Voices rising alerted me to the danger in the dining room. Shouldering through the door, I stepped into a scene of chaos. A close pistol blast put a ringing in my ear.
The President and his wife stood to my left, the Warden standing before them with pistol drawn. His shot had deafened my left ear. Soldiers with swords drawn advanced on the tall, gaunt figure on the other side of the room. The Binghams were nowhere to be found.
Koschei swatted a soldier down as if he were a small boy. The low roof kept the assassin hunched, his back scraping the ceiling. His bloodshot eyes gave me the impression of a wild beast caught in a confined space.
A soldier stabbed Koschei, the blade piercing the bloody, black Hussar coat, but kissing off the toothy mail beneath. Koschei grabbed the soldier by the neck, his fingernails clicking as his hand encircled the soldier's throat. Koschei shook the soldier like a rag doll, a snap sounding his death, before letting him drop to the floor in a limp mess.
"Mercy," said Martha, "what is this beast?"
"An assassin sent to kill you," I said.
George and Martha's wild-eyed stares told me that they'd not seen me enter from behind them.
"Yeka?" asked Martha, remembering the name I'd given her at the Binghams’ party.
"Go, Katerina," said the Warden, nodding his head towards the open door. "Take them out while I cover your escape."
Whatever reluctance they had fell away with the support of the Warden. The President and his wife were my seniors and leaders of the country, but as they watched Koschei tear through the soldiers like a child playing with dolls, their faces betrayed their fears.
"Go through there and down to the hold," I said, pointing them through the door.
Koschei advanced on the Warden. Simon fired his pistol into the creature, the flashes leaving stains against my vision. Koschei staggered, but kept coming.
"Go," said the Warden, turning his head to shout.
The assassin's arm swung forward like a whip, fingers curled into hooks. When the blow landed, the Warden was thrown against the wall, his nose shattering. He lay beneath the table unmoving.
Remembering the hole I'd blasted through Koschei's armor, I lunged forward, eschewing form, and jabbed my rapier into the assassin's chest. His scream came out as a host of clicks, like a hundred pistols dry fired.
Before Koschei could pursue, I fled through the door, closing it behind me. A loud thump signaled Koschei's impact. Using a reserve of strength I didn't expect, I yanked the cot into the path of the door. The room was small enough it left little space.
As I slipped out the other exit, Koschei fought against the door, its alien screams chilling me as I escaped down a metal spiral staircase. I didn't expect that barrier to hold him long.
George and Martha waited for me at the bottom. The President was a tall man with the crown of command etched into his features, but this foe had unnerved him.
"What's going on? The Binghams stepped out for a moment and then that beast appeared. Did it kill them, too?" asked George.
"We can't wait here," I said, pulling them into the cannon hold. The wind whistled past the open hatch from my earlier escape. Distant lightning flashed long shadows across the floor, turning the cannons into hunched giants. The air was wet and sharp with spent ozone.
I thought about having them climb onto the crew ropes outside, but decided the open window would have to work as a decoy. I suspected that Martha wouldn't have been able to manage without slipping.
When I tried to get them to move, George held me in his stern gaze. "Did that thing kill the Binghams? What's going on? I'm not moving until we know what's going on. How do I know you're not an assassin, too?"
Koschei wasn't in pursuit yet, but I knew it couldn't be long. I closed the door to the room and locked it, hoping that would at least slow him down.
"The Binghams sent the assassin to kill you," I said. "They wish to start a war with Russia."
Martha pulled on her husband's sleeve. "I met her at the party. I think she's a spy for the French opposition to Napoleon. Yeka Carmontelle."
The President studied me, his stern jaw pulsing with thought. "That's a St. Petersburg accent," he said eventually. "She's Russian. Tell me who you are, or we go no further."
I expected Koschei to come bursting through the door at any moment, but I could see George would not move. Though he was an elected man, he had the presence of a king, and once they made up their minds, there was no dissuading them.
"I am Katerina Dashkova, exiled princess of the Russian Empire, and pupil of Temple Franklin. But I am acting as a member of this new country, which I have adopted," I said.
The looks on both their faces told me they'd heard of me. Martha gave me a proud smile. "You headed the Russian Academy of Science, didn't you?"
I curtseyed.
"See, George, she's here to help," she said, patting his arm.
A wry smile was summoned to his lips. "I always knew Temple was a bit beetle-headed, but sending an old woman to save me? Where is he?"
"I rightly wish I knew," I said.
At that moment, a fist thundered against the door, startling the three of us.
"Quickly," I said. "To the hold."
"We'll be trapped," said George as they followed.
"Not quite," I said.
When we made the rear hold, I said, "Find the lever that opens it."
"Miss Dashkova," said Martha. "We're thousands of feet in the sky, how do you propose we get off this airship?"
"The same way I got on," I said, pulling the tarp from the cauldron. "But I can only fit one person at a time. I'll have to shuttle one person down and then get the second, and hope that they haven't figured out where we've gone."
They both seemed to accept that the cauldron was a flying machine. George was hunting around the crates on the near wall.
"I found it," he said, and when the lever engaged, the whole back of the ship started vibrating, and then the aft section of the hold descended, splitting the back wall in half.
The night wind stole in like a horde of banshees, throwing our hair in our faces. The tarp I'd pulled from the cauldron was caught by an eddy and sucked into the sky. The constant crackle of lightning illuminated us with flickers.
"I can only fit one, so who shall I take first?" I asked, when the door flung open.
Anne Bingham marched inside with Koschei right behind, standing almost two feet taller in the cavernous hold. He walked with a stitch in his side from where I'd stabbed him, though otherwise he appeared unaffected.
I saw a silvery gauntlet on Anne's forearm. The design evoked the dream I'd had when I went unconscious, but otherwise, I'd never seen its like before. Hooked into a slot on the armguard was an obsidian stone that seemed to absorb the light.
I suddenly realized the stone had come from the spectral cannon, and was what had made the cannon work. The answer came from the recesses of my mind, where the illumination from the water had gone to hide.
But that knowledge was useless in this circumstance. Anne's forearm surged with purplish light, the metal turning translucent as it gathered some alien energy. A high-pitched keening from the weapon made my teeth ache, and then Anne unleashed the weapon, a ball of spectral light rippling through the air to catch me in its horrible embrace.
Chapter Twenty-nine
The pain burrowed into my joints, making them feel like they were being bent backwards, like I was being stretched on the rack. It went on for an immeasurable time, during which I wasn't sure if I was screaming or not.
When I came to, I lay on the wood floor, the pistol and rapier scattered around me like detritus. My clothes felt loose, as if they were about to fall off. My riding coat appeared aged by a couple of decades, or severely moth eaten, the threads unraveling, holes throughout.
As I climbed to my feet, the coat disintegrated. I threw it away, and the pieces of fabric caught in the maelstrom of wind in the hold.
Anne appeared unfazed by my recovery, though a question hung on her knotted brow. "I always had a feeling you were more than you let on to be. A simple printer in Philadelphia? Who are you really?"
"It appears that it doesn't matter now," I said, holding my side, where I'm sure more bruises were forming.
Koschei stood to Anne's side, as if he were on a leash. I noticed a leather satchel over her shoulder. A small bulge in the bag gave away the location of the duck egg.
A Cauldron of Secrets (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 2) Page 20
