by Stephen Hunt
Master Saw raised his bandaged weapon limbs. ‘Even the knights steammen do not use flame weapons in a sparring match.’
Harry Stave spotted Oliver and walked over to where he was standing. ‘Lad! You had us bleeding worried for a while. They only let me see you the once and you were in a right old state.’
‘It seems your lack of faith in our ability to heal your friend was unfounded,’ said Architect Goldhead.
Harry glared at the metal creature and led Oliver to the side of the hall where they could not be overheard. ‘I found a human doctor who works on the traders hurt on the mountain paths, landslides and falls, but he was a leaafer – struck off back home without a doubt. I figured you would have a better chance with shiny skull and his friends, once I convinced them you didn’t want metal limbs.’
‘I’m okay now, Harry.’
‘Good lad. I’d rather not have to face your father when I move forward on the Circle and explain to him why I let his son die on the lam with old Harry.’
‘Why are we here, Harry? What does King Steam want?’
Oliver glanced around the hall. So, the king could be any of the steammen; maybe even a couple of them at the same time, watching from different viewpoints.
‘Something has got this lot spooked,’ said Harry. ‘They’re hiding it, but not well enough for it to escape notice. I don’t doubt their merry monarch knows what’s going on. I’ve seen various officials of the court like old master knife-arms over there, but not King Steam. He’s a slipthinker, Oliver. He can move between bodies, control hundreds of them at the same time if he has a care to. I think he’s been playing games with me. Steammen keep on coming over to me and striking up conversations – cooks and soldiers and the like. But it’s as if they are continuing the same chat. I reckon some of them have been His Majesty.’
‘I don’t think they mean us harm. Not right away at least,’ added Harry. ‘Otherwise they could have left us back at the border to the mercy of the redcoats and the slave hunters.’
‘Can we trust them, Harry?’
‘They are Jackals’ oldest ally. I don’t pretend to understand how their minds work, but until they give us reason to suspect otherwise, I reckon it’s safe to give them the benefit of the doubt.’
A courtier approached the pair, rolling forward on a single drum-like wheel. ‘Your presence is required by King Steam.’
‘About time,’ said Harry. ‘I’ve been kicking my heels in your palace for a week.’
‘Not you, Harry softbody,’ said the courtier. ‘It is the other mammal whose presence is required.’
‘You are bleeding having a laugh, aren’t you?’ Harry protested.
‘I have my orders and they are quite explicit. I am sure no snub is intended.’
‘And I am sure none is taken,’ spat Harry. ‘Go lad, but watch yourself. King Steam was sitting on his throne when Isambard Kirkhill was pushing our monarch off his; the old steamer is as sly as a box of monkeys.’
Oliver followed the courtier deeper into the royal citadel. The steamman moved at a slow, stately pace, perhaps hoping those they passed would notice his position in the direct service of the monarch. Together they reached their destination. Oliver felt the chill as he entered the new hall; looking up he saw there was no roof. They were standing on a flat bluff carved into the side of the mountain. In the middle of the floor sat a small figure. Shorter than a grasper, it might have been an iron toy, unremarkable except for a more noticeable likeness to humanity than most of the steammen Oliver had seen. Was this King Steam, or was the guiding mind of the metal race trying the same kind of mind games that the wolftaker thought were being played against him?
‘King Steam?’ said Oliver. ‘That is to say, Your Majesty?’
The golden cross-legged figure gave the barest nod of its head. ‘Sit, Oliver softbody.’
With no chairs, Oliver followed King Steam’s lead and sat opposite him, like a child waiting for school assembly to start – although the steamman did not look like he was about to read a fable from the Circlist book.
‘You are not too cold out here, I trust?’ asked King Steam. His lips actually moved when he spoke – no voicebox.
‘I am fine at the moment – Your Highness.’
‘I like to sit and watch the na-hawks wheel over the mountains,’ said King Steam. ‘Do you think there is any truth to be revealed in their flight?’
‘The truth that comes with a clear mind, perhaps, Your Highness.’
The King nodded. ‘Spoken as one, I think, who has done much sitting and staring – as an outsider.’
‘It was something of a hobby of mine up until a few months ago,’ said Oliver. Had so little time really passed since his old life ended and this new one began?
‘You seemed surprised to see me in this body when you entered the hall.’
‘I had imagined you – I don’t know, as a mountain of machinery, colossal, billowing smoke with thousands of mu-bodies attending your components – all of them you,’ said Oliver.
‘I have worn many bodies,’ said King Steam, ‘and been both less and more than you currently see. But I have never, I think, been a mountain. What you have in mind would certainly be impressive to those not of my people. Perhaps we might pile up some old junk to resemble such a thing, and I could hide behind a curtain with a voice amplifier. I would enjoy frightening your ambassador, next time she visits. I fear my own people might laugh, though. For us, less is often more. We prefer great power to come in inconspicuous packages.’ He looked meaningfully at Oliver.
‘I am not sure I have any great powers, Your Majesty.’
‘Please, no modesty,’ said King Steam. ‘You know the reason I am fond of this body? It was one of my first. It is from an older age, ancient enough to shock your university historians if they had the means to date it. I have seen ages of ice, I have seen ages of fire. I have seen the continents change and change again. I have seen the very laws of physics evolve through phase-transformations – and outside of a few satin-swaddled leaaf users in Cassarabia, I am probably the only creature in the world to see an Observer walking the soil of Jackals and think, oh no, here we go again.’
Oliver looked away.
‘Curious isn’t the word. I wish it wasn’t me,’ said Oliver.
‘Yes, Oliver softbody. I know about the Lady of the Lights. And a few things besides. Steelbhalah-Waldo races through the night like a frightened rabbit, the spirits of Gear-gi-ju tremble and only dare to walk the halls of our ancestors in pairs. And into all this comes a young softbody, with a gentle shove from the universe mother. Curious, do you not think?’
‘A perfectly natural reaction,’ said King Steam. ‘But it is you. To exist, every equal must have an opposite. A smile is nothing without a tear, a pleasure is nothing without a pain. Where there is life there is anti-life. We are threatened Oliver softbody, and you are what we have – well, half of what we have, perhaps.’
‘Half?’ said Oliver.
‘Light and shadow, Oliver softbody. Male and female. Take it from me; it is always best to have some redundancy in the system. You are the scheme of defence – the scheme of offence is somewhere else in Jackals. The Observers are normally subtle … but predictable.’
Oliver breathed an uncertain sigh of relief. ‘I’m not alone then?’
‘Never that, Oliver,’ said King Steam. ‘Although given your previous life of internal exile inside Jackals I can see why you would feel that way. I am with you, not least because in this matter, we sink or swim together. I just wish I knew what you are. I would feel more comfortable …’
‘I am not sure. You should talk to my friend Harry. He may have more of an idea than he is letting on.’
‘You may be right,’ said King Steam, his lips moving into an approximation of a smile. ‘But I do not trust your friend. Nothing personal, but my country is perhaps unique in being the only state on the continent that does not have a secret police. His colleagues floating in the sky, counting our gun-boxes and planni
ng their perfect society, they make me nervous. They style themselves as shepherds, protecting the flock and slaying wolves. But the life-system needs wolves too, Oliver softbody. Wolves are agents of change, agents of evolution. Change is the only constant we can count on.’
‘As one of the sheep he has been protecting, I think I might disagree with you,’ said Oliver.
‘Well now. Your friend has been – what is the term they use? Disavowed. So is he a wolf, or is he a wolftaker? We have been giving him the benefit of the doubt. And I won’t say it has not been amusing tweaking his nose while he has been in the capital.’
‘I trust him,’ said Oliver.
‘Trust,’ said King Steam. ‘The trust of youth. Well, it is only young blood that can survive being changed by the feymist. I am sure the Observer knows what she is doing.’
‘Can your people survive?’ asked Oliver. ‘Beyond the feymist curtain?’
‘Not in any form recognizable as that which presently makes us what we are,’ said King Steam. ‘Much the same as for your kind, Oliver softbody. But we have other … avenues of flight open to us, if it comes to it.’
‘I’m sorry,’ said Oliver.
‘Not on my account,’ said King Steam. ‘I have lived too long and seen too much. But you must not let it end. It is a heavy burden to carry, young fastblood, and I only wish I could help you shoulder it – but wishing will not make it so. The darkness of the Wildcaotyl is about to fall. Darkness so perfect and complete it will sweep away everything that supports your people and mine. At any cost, at any price, we must fight it.’
‘You said I was the scheme of defence,’ said Oliver. ‘The scheme of offence …?’
‘There is an ancient piece of battlefield lore,’ said King Steam. ‘Sometimes the best defence is a good offence. Your counterpart fares badly. Your presence on the board is still a secret, which is a benefit that is not afforded to the scheme of offence. I could buy Jackals with the price on her head; in fact, I fear that is rather what the servants of the Wildcaotyl intend.’
‘Can’t you help her?’
‘I am afraid I have only just become aware of your counterpart’s existence,’ said King Steam. ‘And frankly, things are not looking good for her. Which reminds, me, it is time.’
On the other side of the hall a door slid open and a large tracked steamman emerged – a glowing crystal crown topping its compound-eyed skull. The small child-like body went silent and Oliver realized that King Steam’s focus had shifted to this new body. Two spheres on the steamman’s neck vibrated as it boomed: ‘More appropriate to the dignity of my role, Oliver softbody?’
‘Indeed, Your Majesty.’
A spear of steam hissed into the chilly air from the king’s stacks. ‘Jump on the front then, young fastblood. I have a function to attend and a council to call.’
‘Are you sure Your Majesty?’ asked Oliver. ‘You wish to have me riding you like the children used to ride old Rustpivot back home?’
‘Rustpivot is still working at Hundred Locks? Ha, the old steamer. Oliver softbody, I am quite certain my courtiers will be scandalized. Which is precisely the point.’
Oliver climbed on King Steam’s prow and the monarch’s tracks rumbled forward, out of the hall and down a spiral ramp hewn out of stone. At the bottom of the ramp two centaur-like steammen knights flanked the monarch and they all thundered through the passages of the mountain, the din of metal hooves resounding down the palace walls. They slowed briefly to cross a busy corridor and a couple of steammen – each with single telescope-like eyes – jumped on the rear of the king’s body. For a moment Oliver thought they might be being disrespectful – bumming a lift from the monarch. But then he realized they were attendants, part of the ruler’s own slipthinker intelligence.
At the end of the corridor they burst into the throne room and a steamman retainer banged a crystal staff on the polished marble floor. ‘His Highness King Steam, protector of the Free State, monarch of the true people, guardian of …’
‘Enough!’ boomed King Steam. ‘We are here to honour the fallen, not list the latest titles my courtiers have dreamt up this week. Let the soulkeepers advance.’
The assembly of steammen in the throne room parted – near the front of the crowd Oliver saw Harry standing next to his opponent from the training bout, Master Saw. Out of the cleared passage came a line of skeletal steammen on tripod legs, bearing a sheet littered with the body components of one of the metal creatures. The only recognizable part was a steamman skull, corded cables dangling like dreadlocks from its scalp. The head of the skeletal funeral bearers advanced in front of King Steam.
‘Do you bear one of the people?’ asked the King.
‘We do.’
‘Can you commend his name to the people?’
‘The controller gave his life for the people,’ intoned the steamman soulkeeper. ‘We praise Redrust’s true name to Steelbhalah-Waldo.’
The funeral bearers sang in their strange machine voices, a binary hymn that echoed around the throne room. This was the only time the steamman’s true name could be revealed to anyone other than the king. During his death rites.
As the metallic chanting died away King Steam swivelled to face the courtiers and citadel officials. ‘What are left of our brother’s memories have been shared, what are left of his precious components have been dispatched to the chamber of birth. His place of falling is unknown to us, so let his deactivate shell stay not buried, but pass into the furnace of Mount Pistonfuda. Who keeps his soul boards?’
One of the funeral bearers stepped forward holding two crystal panels aloft on a purple cushion. ‘I hold his soul.’
‘Hold it well,’ boomed King Steam, ‘when you carry it though the halls of the dead.’
At the end of the throne room a wall began to rise into the ceiling, revealing an open cavern, millions of rows of crystal boards plugged into slots in the cavern face – mile upon mile of steammen dead lit by flickering red arc lights.
‘Perhaps there was a little truth to your imaginings of my mountainous form after all,’ one of King Steam’s mu-bodies whispered to Oliver.
In front of them the steamman funeral bearer began to convulse, his tripod legs shaking and trembling; then the creature stopped, his bearing changing. He seemed to swell and become more erect than the design of his form allowed.
‘Which Loa rides this body?’ the king demanded.
‘Krabinay-Pipes,’ cackled the funeral bearer, and seizing the contents of the cushion he took the soul boards and disappeared scampering into the half-light of the steammen hall of the dead.
‘Krabinay-Pipes is a crafty fellow,’ said King Steam to Oliver. ‘But he will find the controller his resting circuit in the hall. Now, where is the voice of Gear-gi-ju?’
A copper-plated steamman emerged from behind a pillar, dipping his skull in a bow. ‘Your Majesty.’
‘What say you on the matter of our two softbody visitors?’
‘We have been casting the cogs for days, Your Majesty. Hundred of seers until we grow faint from lack of oil and the Loas grow irritated from our questioning.’
‘As diligent as ever,’ said King Steam. ‘But in the matter of the old foe, how have the cogs landed?’
‘We cannot protect either of the two softbodies after they leave Mechancia,’ said the mystic. ‘They are safe as long as they remain in the capital. Once they leave, we may take no further part in their immediate affairs. Salvation rests in the young fastblood’s power alone, not ours.’
A sinking feeling hit Oliver. No help from Jackals’ oldest ally?
‘There is more though,’ said King Steam. ‘Something else. I can sense it behind your words.’
‘One of the people may offer assistance to these two soft-bodies. One alone.’
‘Name him,’ ordered the king.
‘By your command, Majesty. His name is Steamswipe.’
A gasp of disbelief swept the press of steammen in the throne room. Master Saw stepped for
ward from the ranks of centaur-like fighters. ‘This cannot be, the council of seers is surely mistaken?’
‘There is no mistake,’ said the mystic. ‘Much as we would otherwise, try as we might to find an alternative answer, the cogs only reply with a single name.’
‘He is deactivate, he is disgraced,’ said Master Saw. ‘If it is to be just one, let me go – or one of my knights.’
‘It is to be Steamswipe,’ said the Gear-gi-ju reader. ‘The cogs have spoken.’
The King waved his hand and Master Saw stepped back.
‘He would not have been my first choice for a champion,’ said one of the King’s mu-bodies. Oliver started. The King’s ability to inhabit multiple bodies and engage in simultaneous conversation was disconcerting. ‘Or even have featured at the bottom of the list.’
Oliver frowned. ‘But that steamman said he was deactivate. How can he be dead and help us?’
‘The word has many connotations for the people of the metal. Steamswipe’s soul boards have not been returned to the ancestors. He sleeps, his higher mental functions held in suspension, as punishment for his crimes.’
Oliver’s frown deepened. What kind of defective creature was the King trying to foist on them?
‘It was a crime of honour,’ said the King’s drone, noting Oliver’s expression. ‘He violated the code steamo of our knights. Cowardice. Steamswipe was one of seven knights we dispatched into the jungles of Liongeli on a vital undertaking for the people. His nerve broke and he abandoned his brothers to die there, choosing to save his own oil at the expense of his duty, his mission and the lives of his fellow warriors.’
‘Just the steamman I want watching my own back when things get difficult,’ said Oliver.
‘The Loas move in their own way,’ said King Steam. ‘But they know what is at stake – for all of us.’
Oliver shrugged. Well, why not. He already had most of Jackals’ constabulary, army and order of worldsingers waiting to push him off the gallows, not to mention the Court of the Air hunting Harry down while the Lady of the Lights’ mysterious foe was scouring the land to assassinate him. Why not add an unreliable steamman likely to bolt at the first sight of trouble to their fate-cursed party? It could hardly make things any worse.
