by David Boop
Tesla shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “That is a question worth asking. Mark this occasion well, gentlemen, for you will rarely hear these words from me.” Churchill chuffed as the scientist went on. “I do not know. What is happening should not be physically possible, yet it is happening, which leads me to believe it is simply beyond the scope of my current understanding. I believe that it is some form of travel to the future by the conscious mind, as evidenced by the echoes we have been seeing.”
Inazuma scowled. “Echoes?”
“Yes.” Tesla confirmed. “Echoes. I know not why we are seeing them, but it is the best word to describe it. An echo of another time, not too distant. A time in which we all die.”
The four men sat quietly, each mulling over his own vision.
It was Hummingbird that broke the silence. “Things aren’t always what they seem to be, Mister Tesla. Allow my colleague and I to confer, and I think we might have a solution which allows for Qi, as well as the rest of us, to survive.”
Churchill sighed. “All well and good gentlemen, but it seems a shame to save the child only to sentence her to a life of being studied in a lab.” He stared at Tesla. Hummingbird noticed Inazuma smiling slightly at the officer’s sentiment.
The scientist raised his hands. “I study the medallion, sir, not the child. Please do not take offense with me. The alternative, the Russian zealots, would be far worse for her.”
Inazuma coughed quietly. “Winston. I may be able to give everyone what they need. Including Qi.”
The soldier’s back stiffened. “Now, hold on there…”
Inazuma looked Churchill in the eye. “Let’s get the job done first, then we can discuss the rest. We will not endanger the mission, you have my word.”
Winston nodded, mollified.
Nikola looked between the three of them. He thought for a moment then carefully spoke. “I believe that I can work on the medallion while you three sort out the physical side of this. Perhaps if I designed a machine which could calculate the computations for me…” He stood, walking toward the side door. “I need to grab my sketchbooks. I shall be back in an hour, after compiling my thoughts.”
The remaining three gathered to plan.
22:19 Thursday, British Consulate Warehouse at Canton Docks
Grigori rubbed his eyes, careful of his badly wounded hands, trying to clear the temporary blindness of the lightning flash. Finally, he looked around. The American and the Japanese bounty hunters were both dead, and Tesla was either unconscious or dead.
Either way, it didn’t matter. The scientist had never been important to him. The Key was gone, along with the child, both destroyed by the lightning strike. He shook his soaked hair out of his eyes, then worked his way across the slippery rooftop.
The storm had started to clear with the final lightning strike, almost as though it had been building up to a precise moment and now, spent, it was slinking away into the night. Grigori bent down near the impact site and found what he was seeking. Shards of the medallion littered the area near the Tesla Coil. He gathered them up. Useless though the shards were, he wouldn’t risk his enemies gathering them.
Staring at the shards in his palm he shook his head. “Such a waste. Perhaps they will make good mementos for my men.” He shoved them into a pocket of his fur-lined coat.
Surveying the silent rooftop one last time, he walked back to the entrance shaft and started to lower himself down. “Boze moj,” he sighed, “The Almighty has shown me this moment in a vision. Had you but listened to the true seer, you might have lived. May God have mercy on your souls.” With that, he climbed back down into the building.
For several minutes, nothing moved on the rooftop. Once the sound of Rasputin taking leave floated away, Tesla pushed Hummingbird’s still form off his chest. “I can’t believe that worked.”
Hummingbird shifted, a quiet laugh escaping his lips as he also sat up. “Tell me about it. That was crazy.” He fumbled with his shirt, only able to use his left hand, until he was able to pull off the rig attached to his chest. The clunky assembly fell out from under his jacket to the rooftop, the fake blade popping back out with another squirt of pig’s blood. Several gears rolled off the spent contraption, runaways from the spectacular effect the trick had produced.
Tesla helped him up then walked to the edge of the roof, fiddling with something tied there. Once he was done releasing the rope ladder hidden on the side of the roof, he walked over to the platform. Glancing back, he saw Hummingbird, one handed, helping Inazuma up the ladder back onto the roof. The scientist smiled then kicked the platform, producing a hollow sounding clunk. The platform popped up, revealing Winston, protectively curled around Qi under the trap door. He looked up. “It worked then.”
Tesla nodded. “It did. Even the fake medallion pieces I crafted.”
Winston unfolded himself and the two crawled out of the small secret compartment. “Well done, chaps. Well done. Now let’s get the Key to Biggleton and be quit of this mess.”
“No!” The child fought against Winston’s grasp and, breaking free, ran to Inazuma clinging to him tightly.
He placed his arm around her. “I’m afraid I can’t let that happen, Winston.”
Churchill’s eyes narrowed. “I’ll not let you harm the Crown. It is true that you have succeeded where we have failed, but the girl must go to Biggleton.” His hand hovered over the service revolver holstered on his belt.
Hummingbird held up his hand. “We were hired ta get the Key to safety, not Qi…Ina isn’t trying to rob you of anything, Winston. We don’t need to be in conflict here. There is another way…”
A light went on in Churchill’s eyes. “You…cunning men. You are absolutely right. That is exactly the letter of my orders.” His hand, still hovering near his revolver, did relax a bit. “I will hear you out, at the least. What is your plan?”
03:00 Friday, Guangzhou Central Constabulary
Biggleton stared at the pieces of the medallion on his desk. It was beautifully complex, obviously ancient, with layers upon layers of tiny wheels interlocking on the artifact’s face. Even with the missing layers, it was awe inspiring. “So let me see if I understand this properly. I hired you to transport the Key, and all you bring me is the medallion; where’s the girl? Isn’t she needed to use the Key? Where is the rest of it? Rasputin’s men have it?”
Churchill, hands grasping his own wrists behind his back while standing stiffly at attention, spoke. “It was all they could do, sir. Grigori Rasputin is a force to be reckoned with, sir. I highly recommend the Crown keeps a close eye on him, sir. Bloody miracle we made it out alive.” Winston watched the wall behind Biggleton’s head. “The exact orders were to transport the Key, which is the medallion, sir, which Tesla called a probability matrix. And Tesla thinks he can eventually get it working without the child, sir. He says even with the missing pieces, it’s just a matter of numbers.”
Inazuma leaned forward, supporting his weight on the edge of the desk, looking their employer dead in the eye. “You have the Key. Exactly as you asked. Should the Crown ever have dire need of it, I am sure Tesla will rise to the occasion.”
Biggleton held up his hands, placating the room. “I’m just trying to get the facts clear here. Now, you used the term probability matrix. Please explain.”
Churchill launched into the explanation Tesla had given them as to the Key’s true purpose. “It isn’t a device to move to the future at all, sir. Rather, it’s some sort of complex calculating machine that can sort out what might happen in the future. In fact, what most likely will happen. It is rather limited, however, in that it only delivers visions of those futures which lead to making sure it doesn’t get destroyed, sir.”
Biggleton nodded, thinking. “And how exactly does it do that? The delivery of visions?”
Churchill continued to stare at the wall, parroting what Tesla had trained him to say. “No clue. Mister Tesla had some ideas about it. Said it linked to the electricity in the brains o
f those that will be present at a future in which it will be destroyed in order to avoid it. Said that the gearing system is just like the engine on an airship for lifting the bladder, only smaller than we could craft it. Said it is a miracle of invention, sir.”
Biggleton thought for a moment. He knew he was getting the runaround. He also had an artifact that was extremely powerful, yet extremely limited. He made his decision. “And you are sure that there is no way on this Earth that the medallion can be reactivated now that the little girl was incinerated in the lightning strike?”
Churchill nodded briskly. “Correct, sir. Not until Mister Tesla comes up with a new way to make machines that make decisions.”
Biggleton slid the medallion into a parcel and jotted the name Herbert on it. “Back to the isles with this and off with you then. I have a report to write. Gentlemen, you will find Constable Baojia is holding your pay come morning. The job has been serviceably done, if not precisely in the fashion I had in mind. A good day to you both. You too, Winston. I’ll favor you in my report, and perhaps you can get that posting to the Khyber Pass you have been requesting.”
12:15 Friday, streets of Guangzhou
Inazuma had left his partner at the clockwork engineer. His arm was getting repaired, which would eat up his days for the next week. This wasn’t the first time the arm had been destroyed. Both men knew the drill.
Ina whistled softly to himself as he strolled down the street, carefully watching to make sure he wasn’t followed. His destination was a small house located on a side street off of one of the nicer districts on the edge of Canton. He knocked on the door.
Churchill answered. The officer smiled. “She loves it here! Such a great choice. But where are my manners? Come in, come in!”
Inazuma followed him to a small courtyard.
Qi was sitting in the courtyard, playing with a little boy a couple years younger than her, being watched fondly by Constable Baojia and his wife Ling. Baojia spied Inazuma and walked over to him, openly smiling. The men hugged and Baojia clapped Inazuma on the shoulder. “Seven years, we have made do, knowing we could never have a second child. Then you and Hummingbird bring this miracle into our lives. Forever I will be indebted to you, my friend.”
Inazuma nodded once, returning his friend’s smile.
Qi looked around, spying them talking, and clapped in delight. She got up and ran to Inazuma, throwing herself into a hug from him. “Thank you, Uncle Ina. I knew you were the one who would find me a family! The Key did, too. Thank you so much! Here! The Key wanted me to give these to you to help you and Mister Hummingbird!” She held up several folded slips of paper, still hugging him with her other arm.
Inazuma took the papers then hugged her back, and he smiled to himself. As far as he was concerned, Biggleton had hired him to deliver Qi to safety, and that was just what he had done.
Yuma, Arizona; The New West. Tuesday midday.
Qi scanned the room as she finished the story. The room applauded, appreciating the tall tale she had shared, and several people signaled the barkeep to get her a drink on them. She lifted the shot glass with her left hand but paused with the drink at her lips.
Her eye lit upon a bearded man, wrapped in furs despite the desert climate. He dwarfed everyone else in the room. The man noticed Qi watching him and stood, reaching for the two pistols under his thick jacket.
Qi drew a pistol in the space of a blink, pulling the trigger a single time. She was almost as fast as Hummingbird. One of the burly Russian’s pistols flew out of his hand and he bellowed in pain as Qi’s bullet found its home. Before he could react and draw the second pistol she darted forward, jumping on the table between them scattering chips and cards.
“So sorry,” she apologized as the stunned poker players watched her dart through their game.
The Russian grabbed the table he was at with his good hand and jerked it up, lobbing the whole thing at her. Qi dropped to her ass on the edge of the poker game bouncing off the table and rolling under the second, airborne, piece of furniture. She popped up inside his guard, still somehow holding the unspilled shot of whiskey upright, with her pistol in the other hand. Flashing a pearly white smile she tossed the drink in his eyes. “Hi there, big fella!”
“You little…” The burly giant pawed at his eyes with his bad hand while pulling his second pistol with his good. Qi hooked her Colt under the trigger guard of his shooter and spun to the side while pushing up. His gun fired harmlessly into the ceiling.
He pulled his hand back trying to line up another shot. Qi slid her Colt along the barrel of his pistol then jabbed her other hand over her own arm, locking the empty shot glass between his hammer and firing pin.
Hopping back she pulled the trigger twice and shot him in each foot.
The giant went down howling in pain. As his scream quieted into sobs, she bent over the downed Russian and jerked a cord from around his neck.
“I am so sorry about the damages, sir.” Pocketing the tiny gear attached to the necklace, she glanced back to the room at large. Qi patted her pockets and pulled out a folded piece of paper. She unfolded a wanted poster and held it up to show the saloon keeper. “If you get the sheriff, you’ll find he has a reward on him. Please accept that to repair your establishment.”
The bartender furrowed his brow, reading the name. “Dim…Dim-eye-tr-eye. Whatever. He’s one of that Rasputin’s men? And you ain’t gonna kill him?”
Qi blinked in surprise. “Well, no. He may be a murderer who tried to kill me and my godparents, but I was taught better than that. I have what I need from him, and I don’t needlessly hurt people.”
Her tale told, she winked at the room then walked out of the saloon. The barkeep wasn’t done with his questions though. Did she know where the legendary gunfighter Hummingbird was? Why was the Russian here in Yuma? Was the Key thing going to start working again? He leapt over the counter and ran out to the street to ask her to continue her story, but the street was empty of all but a lone tumbleweed drifting lazily through the afternoon sun.
He shook his head and muttered to himself. As he stepped back in from the street he rang a steel triangle to summon the sheriff. It was time to get back to business and this was Yuma, after all—tomorrow there would be a new mysterious stranger, a new tale, and a new glass of whiskey.
A FISTFUL OF WARLOCKS
JIM BUTCHER
The American West was not the most miserable land I had ever traveled, but it came quite near to it. It was the scenery, more than anything, that drove the spirit out of the body—endless, empty plains that did not so much roll as slump with varying degrees of hopelessness, with barely a proper tree to be seen. The late summer sun beat the ground into something like the bottom of an oven.
“I grow weary of Kansas,” said my not-horse. “The rivers here are scarcely enough to keep me alive.”
“Hush, Karl,” I said to the näcken. “We are near to town, and to the warlock. I would prefer if we did not announce our presence.”
The näcken sighed with a great, exaggerated motion that set the saddle to creaking, and stomped one hoof on the ground. With a pure white coat and standing at a lean and powerful seventeen hands, he made a magnificent mount—as fast as the swiftest mortal horse and far more tireless. “As you wish, Anastasia.”
“Warden Luccio,” I reprimanded him tartly. “And the sooner we catch this creature and his master, the sooner you will have served your probation, and the sooner you may return to your homeland.”
The näcken flattened his ears at this reminder of his servitude.
“Do not you become angry with me,” I told him. “You promised to serve as my loyal mount if I could ride you for the space of an hour without being thrown. It is hardly my fault if you assumed I could not survive such a ride under the surface of the water.”
“Hmph,” said the näcken, and he gave me an evil glare. “Wizards.” But he subsided. Murderous monsters, the näcken, but they were good to their word.
It
was then that we crested what could only quite generously be called a “rise” and I found myself staring down at a long shallow valley that positively swarmed with life. Powdery dust covered the entire thing in a vast cloud, revealing a hive of tarred wooden buildings that looked as if they’d been slapped together over the course of an evening by drunken teamsters. Then there was a set of gleaming railroad tracks, used so often that they shone even through the dust. Upon the northern side of the tracks stood a whitewashed mirror image of those buildings, neat streets and rows of solidly built homes and businesses. Corrals that could have girdled the feet of some mountains were filled with a small sea of cattle, being herded and driven by men that could scarcely be distinguished from their horses beneath their mutual coating of dust. To one side of the town, a lonely little hill was crowned with a small collection of grave markers.
And the people. The sheer number of people bustling about this gathering of buildings in the middle of nothing was enough to boggle the mind. I sat for a moment, stunned at the energetic enormity of the place that looked like some obscure passage from Dante, perhaps a circle of hell that had been edited from the original text.
The warlock I pursued could take full advantage of a crowd like that, making my job many times more difficult than it had been a moment before.
“So,” said the näcken, sourly. “That is Dodge City.”
* * *
The warlock would hide in the rough part of town—his kind could rarely find sanctuary amongst stolid, sober townsfolk. The unease they created around them, combined with the frequent occurrence of the bizarre as a result of their talents made them stand out like mounds of manure in a field of flowers. But the same talents that made them pariahs in normal mortal society benefited them in its shadows.
I rode for the south side of the tracks and stopped at the first sizeable building.
