by Pavel Kornev
"Nothing," Ramon answered in one word.
"Look for him," I demanded and took out the pocket chronometer. "Is your clock accurate? What time is it?"
"Eleven seventeen."
"Thank you."
I adjusted the arrows, went outside and noticed the case was pulling toward the side of the armored car. As for the magnetized body of the machine infernale, my former partner had not been lying.
IT TOOK ME AN HOUR to reach Riverfort at the scheduled time. I didn't walk down the embankment, not wanting to risk attracting the attention of the local beat cops. Instead, I checked the stroller hidden in the bushes and stuffed my leather cloak into it, then ducked into the nearest barber shop for a shave.
With the hot towel on my face, sitting in that chair, I even managed to doze off a bit, but the sullen craftsman had no need for sleeping clients, and he pushed me back outside without any respect.
Yawning, I sauntered unhurriedly down the embankment, keeping an eye out for possible escape routes. On first glance, my plan was totally missing even the smallest serious flaw, but I kept turning over the possible ways things could go in my head.
The biggest worry was possible intervention by locals. If someone decided to detain the bomber, I'd have to shoot to kill, but I did not want to cause a bloodbath. Fortunately, the courtyards of the buildings along the embankment faced opposite the river. That simplified things.
At that moment, to the claps of the powder engine, a fine self-propelled carriage turned off the neighboring intersection. It was vaguely reminiscent of the one William Grace had taken me in, although the back was more elongated, and the back doors had no windows. Also, the weight of the carriage was supported by two axles in the back. After it, heavily lumbering on the uneven paving stone, there rolled an unhurried armored vehicle. On its tower, there quivered the barrel block of a high-caliber Gatling gun.
I took out my pocket watch and discovered that it was just quarter to twelve.
But it was certainly Duke Logrin arriving to the mint. The Imperial coat of arms on the doors left no doubt in that.
The self-propelled carriage rolled swiftly over the bridge and drove into the gates of the fortress, which opened for it obligingly. The armored vehicle made the same trip not nearly as confidently, and its engine was also roaring strangely as it climbed the arc of the stone bridge. It didn't die or skid, though.
Eight seconds for the first and nineteen for the second. That was precisely how long my stopwatch showed.
Taking the first as a basis, I returned to the carriage hidden in the bushes and placed the bomb in it, throwing the case deeper in the thick grass. After that, I donned my leather overcoat, pulled on my canvas gloves and headed out for a walk down the embankment.
Unhurriedly, I strode up the Yarden, stood at a viewing platform and looked carefully around the area. There was something wrong. My intuition told me that clear as day, but I could not say exactly what it was.
It was just... somehow too quiet and calm in the area. And that was no smallmatter–the de-facto first man in the Empire had deigned to visit the mint, but there weren't even police guarding the nearby intersections. And his only escort was one armored vehicle. No horse guards, no dirigible drifting in the sky. Nothing.
And this was one day after the head of the metropolitan police had been blown to bits?
I mean, such flagrant carelessness by the head of the regent's guard was only to my benefit now, but incompetent people were never elevated to such posts. Either the lack of escort was a result of Princess Anna's people interfering, or Duke Logrin had decided not to advertise his visit to the mint for some reason. Neither explanation was a great fit.
But I didn't panic just yet. I tightened my cloak and pulled my head into my shoulders, shivering from the gusts of chilly wind blowing in off the Yarden.
High in the sky, a file of freight dirigibles was lazily drifting toward port, a steam tug was very slowly dragging a barge up river, and the wind was carrying wisps of stinking black smoke over the water. There was no one on the streets. A young couple was walking in the distance. An old man rolled his cart to meet them with an aggravated wheeze. And no one else.
Everything was as usual, everything was as it always was, but the bad presentiment was still making shivers run down my spine.
Butterflies before the main event? Maybe, but I couldn’t be sure...
5
I STARTED WALKING from the viewing platform toward the bridge as soon as the thick gate doors began to shudder slowly open. I had already calculated the speed of the regent's carriage in my head and that of the stroller rolling down the hill; all that remained was to walk to the proper section of the embankment and let go. The driver would have to brake before the unexpected obstacle whether he wanted to or not, and the arc of the bridge would cover me from the armored car's machine gun.
"The ideal plan. Nothing to worry about, just nothing," I reassured myself as I walked, biting my lip in worry. Then, naturally, everything went tits up.
The regent's self-propelled carriage raced onto the bridge before the gates managed to fully open. I already had the bomb in my hands by then; I pushed the carriage, and it dashed sharply down the uneven paving stones toward the bridge.
The timing was calculated perfectly. The stroller rolled onto the road right before the front of the car. The driver noticed it too late and could no longer manage to swerve away; all that was left for him to do was slam on the brakes but, instead, he put the pedal to the metal.
The curved fender slammed full speed into the stroller, and the strong blow sent it flying into the middle of the road. The vehicle turned quickly onto the street, grazing a lamp post and raced away, increasing speed further and further.
I was still standing on the sidewalk with a bomb in my hand.
Curses! What was going on here?!
Then, the armored escort vehicle rolled out of the gates. Its powerful powder engine giving a strained roar, it was already atop the arc of the bridge when a wave of darkness followed it out of the fortress. The self-propelled armored carriage flipped into the water as if it weighed nothing. After that, the gate doors flew away with a ghastly thunder, ripped out by an unknown power.
The echo of an infernal splash cut into me, and threw me a few steps away, nearly sweeping me off my feet. But then the embankment shuddered, and a flood of inky blackness gushed out of the fort gates and rolled over the bridge. The further the otherworldly perfect storm came, though, the more it diffused and lost its horrible power. Since ancient times, flowing water was considered a reliable defense against the power of evil. And although few continued to believe in such fairy-tales in our enlightened era, the fact remained–the darkness retreated into the mint, not having the power to overcome the river.
I took a fearful step back but, before I managed to run away, the power that had overtaken the island shot out once again. This time, it took the appearance of an impenetrably black human figure. The moire quivering around it gave off dispersing wisps, but the otherworldly creature didn't slow its pace as it crossed the bridge. But when the faceless monster walked under the electric wires between the lamp posts, a swarm of innumerable gray spots formed around it and flashed up into a heap of sparks, then dispersed without a trace.
A man was armed with a stone knife, covered in blood from head to toe, and coming straight at me; I slammed down on the lever of the machine infernale and threw it, but not at the ghastly brute, at the nearest lamp post.
The explosion cast stone fragments in all directions. A buttress blown away by the explosive wave careened and hung on the wires for a moment, but quickly broke them with its weight and fell right at the creature’s feet. A blinding shock blasted out, and the hellspawn flew backward. Although it instantly regained balance, there was now a sparking electric wire on the ground between us.
Electricity is stronger than magic!
I believed in the superiority of science over wizardry with my whole soul, and still I turned
without delay and ran full speed the opposite direction. After running across the street, I burst into the bushes growing on the side of the road, then scrambled through them into the wasteland. Instantly, two boys in identical black raincoats emerged from the labyrinth of rickety sheds.
The soldiers threw up their short carbines in perfect coordination, and pointed the barrels, wrapped in thick bundles of wire, at me. Right at me, and not at the hellish creature coming after me.
I didn't have time to reach for my pistol, so I just fell to the earth and somersaulted on the grass. Just then, the air overhead was stitched through with short bursts, and the head of one of the gunmen simply popped, spraying his partner with blood and brains. Another shot thundered, and the second boy collapsed onto the grass. An unknown sniper's bullet had hit him right in the back of the head.
Feeling like a defenseless target, I hopped up and immediately sensed the icy presence of evil. Leaving bloody footprints after him, the tall man with flayed skin tore through the thick bushes. His touch crumbled the leaves to weightless ash and killed the branches, turning them black.
The electromagnetic radiation that penetrated the city finally dispersed the translucent curtain around my pursuer and now I could see him clear as day. His bare flesh oozed blood. I could see his muscles, tendons, veins and arteries, which had not been damaged by the hand of the experienced priest. In the chasms of the dead man's empty eye sockets, an impenetrable blackness curled. The blackness froze me with fierce horror, but that fear just gave me agility. Grabbing the carbine from the ground, I held the stock against my shoulder and pushed down the trigger with my index finger.
I heard the rustle of an electric discharge and smelled ozone. The Gauss caster gave a shake and, with a series of quiet claps, ten bullets flew right at my pursuer. His ghostly defense was broken through by the second or third hit. With a cold calculation surprising for the situation, I started shooting his flayed body.
Burst! Burst! Burst!
The sternum of the corpse was riddled with bullets in the blink of an eye, but the spirit controlling the dead man hadn't left, and I continued shooting, having no idea how quickly the magazine would be empty.
Burst! Another!
The bloodied body stopped running and began walking, then crouched and nearly fell, but still managed to stay upright. Just then, an invisible battering ram slammed me with a mental blow.
The infernal beast had thrown a spear of horror but miscalculated: my dormant illustrious talent absorbed the fear to the last drop, like a dry sponge absorbing water. I didn't even lurch.
I smelled burned wire and the Gauss caster misfired, but electricity overcame magic yet again. After a second's pause, the weapon stopped sparking and spat out another portion of bullets at my pursuer.
The otherworldly creature jumped to the side with unexpected agility and hid among the dense bushes; I didn't rashly chase after him, instead grabbing the second carbine from the earth and beginning to distribute reserve magazines in my coat pockets. As soon as I straightened up, I heard the piercing trill of a police whistle somewhere very nearby.
It was time to make haste out of here.
I turned around and raced down the narrow passage between the sheds, contorting and pulling my head into my shoulders as not to hit my forehead on the edges of their roofs. The carbine made it harder to run, but I had to hold it at the ready, because the unknown sniper could shoot again at any moment.
Sure, he had saved my life before, but who could say what he had in mind? Life had taught me not to trust the nobility of other peoples' intentions. After all, those guys were going to kill me! Shoot me down after I blew up Duke Logrin.
And there couldn't be the slightest doubt in their identity. I recognized the boys in the rain slickers–they were the very same two who came to the poet’s house with William Grace. All that remained unknown was whether the gunmen had been acting her Highness’s orders, or the lieutenant’s.
In the side passage, someone shouted in surprise; I softly pushed the decrepit old man with the stock of my gun, weighed down by the electric jar, and walked further. I turned once or twice, jumped over an overturned barrel with rusted rims and, leaving the sheds behind me, hopped into a silent passage.
And a steam carriage immediately rolled out from the gates of the neighboring yard!
I practically stitched through its side with a burst of the carbine but recognized the familiar Ford Model-T just in time and led the gun aside. Thomas Eliot Smith, sitting at the wheel with his cap pulled down to his very eyes, threw open the door and shouted:
"Hop in!"
I sped up, caught the carriage and jumped into the passenger seat. The investigator immediately increased his speed, and the Model-T raced away, bouncing on the potholes and mounds of the uneven road.
AT FIRST, we drove in silence. Thomas Smith was turning the wheel in agitation; I was looking all around in a similar state. But we got away. We just managed to leave the area before anyone found out about the attack on the mint and closed off the surrounding streets.
"What brought you to Riverfort?" I asked, when the self-propelled carriage came to a stop at the cart-worn Ritterstraße.
"I wanted to ask you the same thing," the investigator snorted and removed his left hand from the wheel. It was wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage.
"Was this somehow connected with the Aztecs?" I hazarded.
"Was it?" Thomas looked at me sharply in response.
I pulled off my overcoat and threw it at my feet atop the carbine already laying there and smiled carelessly.
"Thanks for the cover!"
"I hope I chose the right target," the investigator grumbled, steering the Ford Model-T around the carts blocking the road.
After passing the cause of the jam, the self-propelled carriage dashed quickly down the road; I looked at him and shrugged my shoulders nervously.
"You made the right choice. Don't you doubt it."
But Smith didn't find that a convincing statement.
"Well, I do doubt it," he declared and turned off the road down what seemed to be a random alley. But it wasn't. Just fifty meters later, Thomas got out of the self-propelled carriage and started fussing with the lock on a carriage-house door. It was built between a two-story house on the one side and the high fence of a neighboring building on the other.
"Lev, help!" the investigator requested.
Together, we threw open the gates, then Smith drove the Ford Model-T inside and started closing the gates, leaving us inside.
"Are we staying here?" I didn't understand.
Without an answer, the investigator blocked the gates with iron bars and turned to me.
"Tell me!" he demanded, lighting a kerosene lamp. "Who do you work for?"
I looked around and took a fated sigh. Even in the dim light of the hanging lamp, I could make out a thick layer of dust covering everything. I had to get up on the self-propelled carriage's seat; my legs plainly were too wobbly to stand on.
"Who do you work for?" Thomas Smith repeated his question.
He was standing with his side to me, his bandaged left hand held out. Remembering his talent of fast movement, though, I didn't try to take advantage of his defenseless position. He'd manage to turn around and shoot before I raised the carbine under my feet.
But as for the pistol on my belt, that was another matter entirely...
Anyhow, I didn't even consider grabbing the gun. In fact, I answered as honestly as possible:
"I'm working for the Imperial Guard."
"And what were you doing at the mint?"
"No!" I held my hand out before me. "My turn to ask questions!"
But Smith just laughed.
"Drop it, Lev! I saved your life! Am I asking for a lot in return? Just answer the question, and we'll be even! Alright?" And, not waiting for my agreement, he asked again: "So, what were you doing at the mint?"
I considered what to keep quiet on, but there wasn't much room for maneuvering: Smi
th had doubtlessly seen me throw that bomb.
"Alright," I sighed. "Alright. I was given the mission of blowing up a self-propelled carriage that would arrive to the mint at noon."
"Why?"
"I was not told such details."
"And that was enough for you?"
"The order came from the very top."
Thomas Smith rubbed the bridge of his nose and suddenly asked:
"Were you tasked with blowing up the carriage as it entered Riverfort, or exited?"
"They just wanted me to blow it up."
"Are you sure? Try to remember. It's very important!"
"I would remember if an emphasis was made to that effect."
"Curious," Smith snorted, walking up to the self-propelled carriage and pulling a Gauss caster out. "Any idea why they ordered to get rid of you?"
"Where'd you get that?"
Instead of an answer, Thomas pulled out a magazine and showed me the bullets, elongated like steel acorns.
"A titanium jacket with an iron core," he said.
"And what of it?"
"The mere fact that this precise Gauss-cannon model was a joint production of Dupre Electrical Machines and Vickers, sons and Maxim. It is only to be found in the Imperial Guard armory. Lev, the men who tried to shoot you were Imperial Guards."
I nodded. The story was coming together just perfectly. An illegitimate descendant of late Emperor’s brother blew up the regent, intending to declare his ambition for the throne, but the guards killed him as he fled from the scene of the crime.
I hadn't the slightest basis to doubt the substance of that story, yet still I allowed myself a skeptical question:
"How'd you find out about the carbine?"
"Remember that rifle you gave me at Montecalida?"
I nodded.
"It was made by the Colt Company together with Edison Electric Light. It was thought that the contract with the Imperial Guard was in their pocket, but at the very last moment, it was scooped up by Hiram Maxim. He and Thomas Edison have been at swords since the New World."
"First I'm hearing of it."
