Mammoth Book of Steampunk Adventures

by Sean Wallace

  “Hello, you must be Simon. Our good friend Ernst here told me he was going to fetch you.”

  Simon stared. He could clearly see the yellow star sewed to the man’s sleeve. His face was too thin by far, and there was no question he was a prisoner, yet he stood here shaking Simon’s hand and calling the Staatspolizei captain by his first name.

  “Who . . .” Simon managed, but he could get no further.

  “Your partner, Herr Tinker, Itzak Chaim Bielski.”

  Even when the door had clanged shut, and Kaltenbrunner had left them alone, Simon continued to stare.

  “Let’s have a look at your little toy, shall we?”

  Itzak crossed to one of the many work tables, kicking clutter out of the way as he went. Still feeling as though he was blind, Simon stumbled after him. Only at the table did Simon see that Itzak now held the white handkerchief. He had not even seen Kaltenbrunner give it to him. Itzak spread the cloth and his expression wrinkled into one of faint disgust.

  “He didn’t leave us much to work with, did he? Still, I’m sure in all this mess we’ll be able trap ourselves a replacement. What did you use?”

  “What? Oh, crumbs, whatever I had, in a box lined with rags soaked in chloroform. I rigged the box to spring closed once they were inside.”

  Simon couldn’t help grinning a little, coming out of his distraction. He had been staring around at the wondrous room and the first spark of curiosity was beginning to grow into something like excitement. There were tools and parts here he would never have been able to get back home – a veritable treasure trove of riches.

  “Crumbs. I think I can manage that.”

  Itzak lifted a sheet of metal to show a half-eaten crust of bread underneath.

  “Here.” He tossed the bread to Simon. “You start on building that box, and I’ll see if I can’t find us some chloroform.”

  Simon allowed himself to become lost in the work – forgetting everything but the delicate movements of his hands as he spring-loaded the trap and lined it with the rags Itzak had found.

  “I think I’ve seen some coming in over there.” Itzak pointed, and Simon carried the loaded trap over and set it down where the other had indicated.

  “And now we wait.”

  Itzak crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back. “So where did they bring you in from?”

  “Near Tuchola.”

  As the words passed his lips, it was as though Simon had been struck. Work had been a good substitute for shock, but now that one had worn off and he was still, the full weight of this situation came crashing down around him. Everything he knew, everything he loved, had been left behind. He was simply gone, plucked out of his life as if he had never been.

  “You’re shaking. You look like you could use a smoke.”

  “Don’t smoke,” Simon murmured.

  “Then I’ll do for both of us.”

  Simon looked down at his hands, pinned in the pale light from overhead and trembling like moths. A million questions tripped on his tongue and pressed behind his teeth. He could scarcely find the breath to ask the first of them, but somehow he managed.

  “What am I doing here?”

  There was a faint snapping sound from the corner where they had set the trap; the spring releasing and the door falling into place. Simon couldn’t help jumping at the sound. Suddenly it was hard to breathe.

  “That.”

  Itzak pointed, and then brushed past Simon as he went to retrieve the trap. He grinned around his cigarette when he straightened, trailing smoke back to the workbench to hang like ghosts in his wake. Simon watched as Itzak released the door and tipped the sleeping mouse onto the table.

  “There you are. Go to it.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Work your magic.” Itzak waved his hands. “Though I’m afraid you’re going to have to go a little farther than usual and take the brain and eyes out as well.”

  “Kill it?”

  Simon started back.

  “Only temporarily.”

  Itzak grinned, and there was something in it – in his teeth and his eyes – that reminded Simon of Kaltenbrunner. Not cruelty, exactly, not joy in pain, but a kind of wildness; something dangerous.

  As if in a dream, he moved to the workbench and sat down.

  Simon found his hands were surprisingly steady when he set to work. A kind of numbness had taken hold. It was as though he was looking out through someone else’s eyes, watching someone else’s hands as they worked. Itzak peered over Simon’s shoulder with curiosity.

  “You’re in my light,” Simon murmured, not looking up.

  “Sorry.”

  He heard Itzak chuckle and then shift to lean against one of the other benches. Smoke drifted around them as Simon picked up the blade and began to cut.

  “Why me? Or why just me?”

  He spoke quickly, and what he hoped was casually, forcing himself to concentrate on the mouse. His heart was beating as fast as the creature’s should have been.

  “It wasn’t just you. I guess Ernst didn’t tell you? They raided the whole city, really smashed it up. Or at least that was the plan. It wasn’t just your town either.”

  “What?”

  Simon whirled around and immediately sucked in a sharp breath of pain. The scalpel slipped and cut his palm, and a bright red line of blood appeared.

  “Easy, there.”

  Itzak handed Simon a cloth, and Simon pressed it to the wound.

  “I suggest you hurry up. We’re losing light, and besides you don’t want that thing to stiffen up.” Itzak pointed to the mouse. “Herr Kaltenbrunner is a great man for results.”

  For the first time Simon heard a note of bitterness creep into Itzak’s voice. A smile that was not quite a smile twisted the edges of the other’s lips, but before Simon could meet his eyes, Itzak turned away. Reluctantly, Simon turned back to his work.

  “There.”

  Simon breathed out at last. He had the mouse almost hollowed out, lying on its back with the gears in place. The creature was utterly still.

  “But I don’t see what good it will do.”

  “Ah.” Itzak’s eyes shone. “Just you watch. Now it’s my turn.”

  Simon stood back, and it was his turn to move cautiously behind Itzak and peer over his shoulder. The light was almost gone and shadows pooled around them. Simon leaned forward to see better, and he could hear a grin in Itzak’s tone.

  “You’re in my light.”

  Simon withdrew further into the shadows, and watched as Itzak spread pale long-fingered hands. For the first time he noticed how delicate they were, and for the first time he noticed the scars crossing the knuckles and running up to disappear beneath Itzak’s loose sleeves. He shivered. Kaltenbrunner was a man for results indeed.

  Itzak hunched over the mouse on the table, and Simon heard him muttering something unintelligible. At first he thought the other was talking to him, and he made to step forward. But it was as though something was pushing him back, some intangible force that made the air heavy so it seemed to thicken around Itzak – thicken and grow darker.

  Beneath the untidy mop of Itzak’s hair, his brow grew paler and broke out in little beads of sweat. His eyes rolled back, flickering in his head, and for a moment Simon was afraid the other was having a seizure. All at once Itzak’s head snapped back, and he opened eyes of pure white that made Simon start back. Then Itzak’s head lolled forward, drained, and he grinned.

  “There.”

  He stood shakily, and stepped aside as Simon drew closer. At first nothing had changed except that the creature had been turned right side up again. Then the mouse on the table twitched. There was a click and a whir, and its eyes flew open. Simon gasped. The eyes were blood red, and it took Simon a moment to realize they were colored glass or some kind of translucent stone. Simon watched in amazement as the mouse scurried forward and leapt nimbly off the edge of the table.

  “Look here.”

  Itzak drew somethin
g out of his pocket, and held it out for Simon to see. It was a plain round of glass, mirrored and reflecting the ceiling. As Simon watched, the glass clouded and changed, and then the warehouse jittered into view. The angle was all wrong though, and Simon felt dizzy and sick. It was as though he was scurrying along the floor, seeing through the mouse’s eyes.

  He glanced up. Itzak was still pale, and there were new shadows around his eyes showing a clear strain.

  “How?”

  “As I’m sure our good friend Ernst told you, the Emperor has many interests – the occult among them.”

  “I never thought it would work, not something this large.”

  Simon grinned as he wiped blood from his hands with a rag

  “And now we’re producing one a week!”

  Itzak laid his hand on the horse’s quivering flank, and nodded distractedly. Itzak’s hair hung in a sweaty tangle, hiding his eyes, but behind it Simon sensed strain. He had never fully realized the toll their work took on his partner. He had been too wrapped up in his own excitement – their successes together, a fusion of metal and magic beyond his wildest dreams.

  “Are you all right?”

  Simon slid a cigarette from its carton and passed it to Itzak, who took it in trembling fingers. It took Itzak three tries to light it.

  “You need some fresh air. Do you think Kaltenbrunner might let us out for just a little while?”

  Simon glanced around the workspace that had essentially been his home since he had arrived in Lodz. It struck him that he had lost track of time, and he had no idea how long he had been here. The quality of light falling through the windows above wasn’t enough to show the change in seasons, just enough to light their work and dazzle off the crystals and gears and scrying mirrors that littered every surface.

  “Sure, why not?”

  Itzak’s lips peeled back from his teeth in a smile that left Simon thinking of a skull.

  “Isn’t he afraid we’d try to escape?”

  “Would you?” Itzak raised an eyebrow. “Besides, where would we go? Lodz is a closed city, or didn’t you know that?”

  Simon shook his head.

  “Sounds like you need some fresh air.”

  Itzak took his arm and pulled Simon towards the door, banging on the metal with the flat of his hand.

  “Hey! This one is finished, and my friend and I need a walk.”

  After a moment the door slid open, and the guard on the other side regarded them with a look of disdain. Without a word, he jerked his head, indicating the blank corridor beyond him, which Simon had never actually seen.

  “Just like that? It’s that easy?”

  He stared in wonder as Itzak led him to an outer door where another guard let them out. Burnt-white sunlight greeted them as they stepped out into an enclosed yard of stone. Simon blinked and held his hand up to shade his eyes.

  Itzak led him towards a high wall topped with razor wire where a third guard looked them over once, and then undid a heavy lock and opened the gate. On the other side Simon turned and gawked back at the building they had come from. It was a sprawl of featureless stone and metal, squatting ugly over a courtyard of flat grey. The first thing that struck him was that there wasn’t a tree in sight.

  “They’re really just going to let us walk around?”

  “Oh, they’ll set someone to tail us, I’m sure. And they’ll use our own little toys against us too, I’d imagine.”

  Itzak pointed upwards as a bird shot overhead, twittering. Simon shivered. Was it just his imagination or had the bird’s eyes been mirrors, and had its wings clicked and whirred? He pushed the thought from his mind as they made their way into the narrow streets. The ground sloped downwards, and because of the slight hill Simon could see what Itzak had meant before – the city was surrounded by a massive wall.

  The smells that had greeted him on his first day assaulted him again now, but somehow worse. Piles of garbage filled the sidewalks, and men and women with hollow eyes moved around them. Simon caught his breath. Some were wearing no more than rags, and beneath the rags they were bone thin – and each one among them wore a yellow star sewn to their clothing.

  A sound made Simon turn. They had come to a crossroads where four of the narrow streets spilled into a kind of town square. In the middle was a dry fountain, stained brown where water had once run. In front of the fountain stood one of his and Itzak’s creations.

  The horse let out a terrible scream – no natural sound – and its metallic hooves glinted cruelly in the light as it reared and struck the air. In spots, the creature’s glossy black flanks had been peeled back to show silver gears and pistons, which lent the horse an unnatural strength. Astride the creature, and gripping its mane, was a black-clad Staatspolizei officer, brandishing a riding crop.

  The officer was shouting something incoherent above the terrified crowd. Simon was jostled forward and then he saw the source of the panic. A woman with a shawl pulled close around her thin shoulders cowered back against the dry fountain, clutching a bundle against her chest. Only when the bundle let out a plaintive wail did Simon realize it was a child.

  “Stop!”

  He heard someone yell, and a man darted forward, pulling the terrified woman back. The horse’s hooves landed, and sparks struck from the stone. The officer wheeled around.

  “You!”

  The man who had rescued the woman froze, and then slowly turned. The officer nudged the horse forward, staring down with burning eyes. Then without another word he brought the crop down hard across the man’s face. The man crumpled and screamed. The crowd had fallen silent and, like Simon, they huddled in mute horror as the officer jumped down from his mount and went to the fallen man. The officer’s boots clicked on the stone, the same bright metal as his horse’s hooves, and there was a sick sound as his foot connected with the man’s ribs.

  The fallen man jerked, and he coughed blood on to the stone. The officer struck him once more, and then turned swiftly and remounted, riding away. For a moment longer the crowd remained frozen, and then a woman dashed forward and knelt at the man’s side.

  “Somebody, help him!”

  “Annah?”

  Simon blinked and stepped forward. The woman looked up, and their eyes met over the body of the man. Her family had run a shop near his and lived above it as he had lived above his, but her face seemed so incongruous here that Simon merely stood gaping. She regarded him with wide eyes out of a face far thinner than he remembered. Her cheeks were hollow and smudged with dirt. His gaze flickered down to the hurt man.

  “My uncle.”

  There was a bitter edge to her voice, and she did not take her eyes off Simon as she tried to get her hands under the fallen man’s shoulders and lift him. Simon crouched and reached to help her, but she jerked back, glaring at him.

  “Don’t touch him.”

  “I’m sorry, I just wanted to help.”

  “You’ve done enough already.” Her lips curled in a sneer, which did nothing to hide the core of hurt behind her words. Simon blinked again. Was she afraid of him?

  “Annah, please.”

  He reached out a hand towards her, trying to put kindness and reassurance in his eyes. He saw himself reflected in her dark gaze, and all he saw was a traitor. He tried to conjure words of comfort to assure her he was just like her, but the words stuck in his throat, tasting a lie. He had enough to eat; he had a roof over his head. Simon let his hand fall.

  As if she read all this in his eyes, she pulled back her sleeve so Simon could see the scars lining her arms. Her eyes remained locked on his as she let the fabric fall. Her voice was very soft when she spoke again.

  “In case you’re wondering, they’re all over my body.”

  “Why?” Simon swallowed hard, and his voice trembled. He was afraid of the answer. A vague memory drifted to the surface of his mind, a memory of Annah’s father giving him a hard candy and waving Simon’s payment away when he and Annah had both been young and it was Simon’s father
who ran the watch shop.

  “Because I stole an extra ration of bread to feed a sick man who was dying, and your toy spies caught me.”

  “I didn’t know . . .”

  “Of course you didn’t!”

  The anger had returned to her voice, and it struck him like a physical blow, stealing his breath and all the words he might have spoken in return. He felt dizzy and sick all over again. A hand touched his elbow, and Simon turned. Itzak stood behind him, looking grim.

  “We’d better go.”

  Slowly, Simon straightened. Annah’s gaze followed him, still crouched over her uncle who lay broken on the stone. Her dark shadow-haunted eyes stayed with him even as he let Itzak lead him away.

  “I didn’t know.”

  Simon’s head rested in his hands. He sat at one of the workbenches, and Itzak leaned against another, watching him.

  “What did you think we were doing here?”

  Itzak’s voice was very soft. Smoke curled around him, trapped in the light, and Simon thought of Annah’s face, tortured and thin.

  “I didn’t think. I just got so caught up in everything . . . things I never thought were possible. I never stopped to think!” Simon’s hands shook as he ran them through his hair. “What do we do?”

  He glanced up, eyes wild. Itzak’s expression was hard to read behind the veil of smoke.

  Before either of them could speak again, the door of their workspace was hauled open with a sound of tortured metal, and both men flinched. Kaltenbrunner stood framed in the doorway, grinning at them. If anything the scars on his face seemed to have deepened, forming a patchwork of stitched skin that made Simon think of a mask; utterly inhuman. The Staatspolizei captain’s eyes shone, and Simon felt cold settle in the pit of his stomach like a ball of ice.

  Kaltenbrunner’s steps echoed hollowly as he crossed towards Itzak and Simon. He held a roll of papers under one arm, and he laid them on the table, but he did not smooth them flat.

  “I hear there was an altercation in town earlier today.” He spoke casually, but his eyes continued to gleam. “I was relieved to hear that neither of you were involved. The Emperor would hate to lose two such valuable minds.”