Clockwork Menagerie: A Shadows of Asphodel Novella

by Karen Kincy

  They halted in a crooked street. Alexsandr hopped out and held the door. “After you.”

  Konstantin smiled, his heart thumping, and the Russian returned his smile. He craned his neck to peer at the building looming over them. Coal smoke grimed the ornate granite façade. Alexsandr knocked on the carved oak door with his silver-headed walking stick. A boy answered, blinking like a frog, and questioned them in Russian; Alexsandr answered with an irritated lift of an eyebrow before the boy backed away.

  “Right this way.” Bowing, Alexsandr waved them onward.

  Konstantin stepped into another world. Daylight streamed through a wall of windows; lamps hung from spidery brackets, glowing over workbenches where craftsmen bent over their creations. An elderly man nearest them tightened a screw on the legs of a golden grasshopper, which kicked twice on the table in response.

  “Welcome,” said Alexsandr, “to one of the finest workshops for the House of Fabergé.”

  Konstantin didn’t know where to look first. Lilies of the valley blossomed in pearl on a music box carved from jade; a sailing yacht in gold sailed over a crystal lake; enameled honeybees buzzed filigree wings.

  “Marvelous!” He bent over a bee. “What powers the clockwork?”

  The jeweler replied in halting German. “Is mechanical.”

  Konstantin doubted a honeybee so diminutive could operate on clockwork alone, and he saw no key or winding device. While flying from Vienna, they had been attacked by clockwork wasps. After dissecting a specimen, he determined it to be powered by psychothaumaturgy—a soul trapped in a diabolical mechanism. Much like the clockwork dragon, though the bigger beast possessed a soul of immense power.

  Himmel glanced around, his face impassive, rather less than impressed. “Is this it?”

  “Hardly.” Alexsandr’s smile didn’t touch his eyes. “You see, the demand for the House of Fabergé is considerable. Upon completion, our jewelry travels to the finest boutiques and palaces in Russia, including the homes of the Tsar himself.”

  “He must enjoy your trinkets.”

  Alexsandr didn’t blink. “Very much.”

  Baron von Bach coughed, with a pointed glance at Himmel. “Shall we continue? I’m positively famished.”

  “Certainly.”

  Konstantin fished out his pocketwatch; it was only five o’clock, hardly dinnertime. He wished he could inspect the workshop. These music boxes and mechanical bees, though only ornamental, hinted at a sophistication in technomancy he rarely encountered. Perhaps he could convince their chaperone to return another day.

  As they exited the workshop, he kept pace with the Russian. “Alexsandr?”

  “Please go on.”

  “May I inquire about your occupation?”

  A smile flickered over his face. “Tonight, your guide.”

  “Otherwise?”

  “In the Imperial Russian Navy, I am a Senior Lieutenant.”

  Himmel snorted, none too subtly, no doubt pleased he outranked the Russian. He served as a Frigate Captain for the German Empire before transferring to the Naval Airship Division and commanding his first zeppelin. When the Archmages of Vienna sought an airship captain, Himmel came highly recommended.

  This talented—and damned observant—man caught Konstantin staring at him. “Yes?”

  His ears burned. “Carry on.”

  Alexsandr glanced between their faces, his eyes sharpening, though he didn’t comment.

  God, this wasn’t going to work. He had to ignore Himmel or suffer the consequences. As if he could.

  The Grand Hotel Europe in St. Petersburg glimmered with ostentatious flourishes. Marble, gilding, and all the usual five-star luxuries adorned the lobby; silk damask wallpapered Konstantin’s room. When he tipped the porter for bringing his luggage, the hotelman pursed his lips at the apparently paltry amount.

  “Wait.” Konstantin dug out another handful of silver rubles. “Take these.”

  “Thank you, sir.” The porter took the money and bowed out of the room.

  With a grunt, Konstantin dragged a suitcase onto the rug and unlocked the clasps. He checked the technomancy equipment inside, running his hands over the dials and brass knobs. Everything seemed to be in order.

  Perhaps the exorbitant tip to the porter had been warranted.

  The next suitcase contained something far less interesting: his clothes for tonight’s dinner. Konstantin dressed in a suit with a white waistcoat and spent a full ten minutes before the mirror, tying and retying his cravat. He pinned a golden edelweiss to his lapel, the flower symbolizing the Archmages of Vienna. It would hardly do to look shabby around the Russians, no matter what Baron von Bach said about the dress code.

  Sure enough, Alexsandr met him in the lobby wearing a formal uniform. Metals gleamed across his chest, overshadowing the rather insignificant edelweiss. Konstantin forced a polite smile. “Good evening, Herr Dmitriev.”

  “Alexsandr.” He smiled crookedly. “No need for such formalities.”

  Konstantin coughed. He meant to flatter him, not be flattered, though this did accelerate the process. “Where are we eating dinner?”

  “Zinoviya Victorova, the dowager countess, has graciously invited us to her home.”

  “Sounds lovely. Shall we wait for the captain and the ambassador?”

  “They left already.” Alexsandr arched an eyebrow. “We will be fashionably late.”

  “Then let’s go.”

  With a slight bow, Alexsandr escorted him from the Grand Hotel Europe. Despite his admittedly impeccable manners, the ice in his eyes sent a prickle over Konstantin’s skin. Would the Russian even allow him to walk through the streets of St. Petersburg unescorted? He doubted he could sneeze without it being reported.

  They took a cab in silence, stopping outside a magnificent townhouse, more of a mansion. Konstantin did his best to look bored, as if he encountered luxury every day. Honestly, he was rather sick of royalty, particularly princes.

  Like that bastard of a necromancer, Wendel, who had had the nerve to kiss him…

  “Archmage Konstantin?” Alexsandr gave him a peculiar look.

  “Sorry. I find my mind wandering. Please, after you.”

  They entered the townhouse together. In the salon, guests mingled beneath glittering chandeliers. No sign of Himmel anywhere. Cradling a flute of champagne, Baron von Bach chortled as he gossiped with a gray-haired lady.

  “Is that the dowager countess?” Konstantin said.

  “No.” Alexsandr touched his elbow, startling him, and nudged him to the left. “Her.”

  A slim young brunette tilted her head, listening to a gentleman, diamonds sparkling in her ears. Red and gold butterflies perched in her hair, as if she were the most delectable flower, wings quivering in the slightest breeze.

  Squinting, Konstantin wove through the crowd to stare at the butterflies.

  Clockwork, of course.

  “Do you like them?” She peeked through her eyelashes, a head shorter than him.

  “They are exquisite.”

  A smile bent her lips. “Have we met?”

  “Now we have.”

  Her laugh chimed like birdsong. She held out a gloved hand so he might kiss the air above it. “Countess Zinoviya Victorova.”

  “Archmage Konstantin Falkenrath.”

  “Charmed.”

  If she thought he was flirting, she hadn’t the slightest clue. He never flirted with women. Well, he never flirted at all.

  Bravely, he plunged onward. “May I ask where you acquired your butterflies?”

  “Don’t you know?” The countess arched her eyebrows. “I suppose you wouldn’t.”

  His stomach knotted. How had he blundered? Were the butterflies a memento from her late husband? God, he hated diplomacy.

  “My apologies,” he said, sweating. “This is my first day in St. Petersburg.”

  “You are such a sweet young man.” She patted his wrist. “These butterflies are my own. It’s a little diversion of mine.”


  “A little diversion?” He shook his head. “What a modest thing to say.”

  Zinoviya averted her eyes. “It wouldn’t be proper for a lady such as myself to boast.”

  When the butler rang the gong, everyone proceeded into a dining room decorated with endless blue-and-white china plates. Konstantin found himself seated at the countess’s left; he spotted Himmel sitting across the table. The captain flicked his eyebrows upward in greeting, and Konstantin couldn’t help smiling.

  Just seeing him made him giddy like a lovesick boy.

  The young lady opposite Konstantin returned his smile, mistaking it as a compliment to her beauty, and fanned her pink cheeks. He tried not to wince; pretending to court the ladies in St. Petersburg would hardly be productive.

  Except, obviously, Countess Victorova herself.

  As the footmen poured white wine, Konstantin leaned closer to his target. “What other clockwork marvels have you created?”

  She lifted her shoulders in a little shrug. “This and that.”

  He sipped his wine, which tasted crisp with a hint of honey. “Have you studied technomancy at university?”

  “I leave such professional work for men more capable than me.”

  “You seem quite capable.”

  Her smile turned wistful. “Ever since my dear husband passed on, I have found such solace in decorative clockwork.”

  “Yes, it’s quite captivating.” He glanced into her eyes. “As are you.”

  She hid her smile behind her hand, demurely, as the footmen served borscht, a traditional cabbage soup garnished with dill and sour cream. Across the table, Himmel glanced at them and narrowed his eyes, no doubt eavesdropping.

  Konstantin smoothed his napkin. “May I look more closely at one of your butterflies?”

  “Why, certainly.”

  She unpinned an insect, a lock of her chestnut hair tumbling, and cradled it in her palm. With utmost delicacy, Konstantin transferred the butterfly to his fingertip, where it perched, legs prickling his skin, wings flexing. He peered at the tiny coil of its proboscis, as if a mechanical butterfly might need to drink nectar.

  “I would love to dissect this,” he murmured. Seeing her face, he hastily added, “Not that I wouldn’t reassemble it afterward.”

  The countess returned the butterfly to her hair. “I’m sure you would to do a splendid job. You have such long fingers.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you play the piano?”

  “A bit.”

  “I would love to hear you play.”

  “It would be an exceedingly short concert, one or two songs at most.”

  Zinoviya laughed. Himmel cleared his throat, though when Konstantin looked at him, he shook his head. Who knew why?

  After the soup course, they dined upon filet of salmon, followed by a salad of beets and walnuts. Zinoviya chatted with the gentleman to her right, who seemed approximately a century old and almost deaf, while Konstantin pondered the most productive methods of flirtation. At last, he thought of something.

  “Are you fond of travel, Countess Victorova?”

  “Yes.” Her eyes focused somewhere faraway. “The late count brought our family to many countries during his service to our Tsar.”

  “Vienna?”

  “Once.”

  “When you return, I would be honored to show you my laboratory.”

  “How generous of you,” she said airily, as if she received such invitations regularly.

  Grimacing, Himmel sliced his finger across his neck. Oh, dear. Perhaps it would be best not to reveal too many secrets about the Archmages of Vienna around so many potential spies. His ears on fire, Konstantin finished his salad and polished off two more courses: beef stroganoff, then tarts stuffed with cherries.

  Zinoviya’s spoon chimed against her wineglass. “Wasn’t dessert simply magnificent?” Murmurs of approval rippled around the table. “Though we have yet another treat. Shall we all see the clockwork menagerie?”

  onstantin!” As the guests filed from the dining room, Himmel fell in step beside him. “What are you playing at?”

  “Pardon?”

  Grabbing his elbow, Himmel muttered in his ear. “You and the countess.”

  “Are you… jealous?”

  The captain laughed and let him go. “Are you insane?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Don’t look so offended.” He laughed again. “You really have a way with women.”

  Somehow Konstantin detected sarcasm. “Don’t laugh at me. It might prove useful if I earn the favor of the countess.”

  Himmel clapped his forehead. “God, leave the poor widow alone.”

  “Was it that bad?”

  “Worse.”

  Konstantin groaned. “What an utter waste of my time.” He hesitated. “Other than this clockwork menagerie, of course.”

  “Of course.” Himmel stroked his mustache. “Walk with me. Explain this technomancy.”

  Konstantin’s pride wasn’t wounded enough to refuse him. “If you insist.”

  Her hands clasped, the countess waited outside an imposing pair of oak doors. “Thank you all very much for coming tonight.”

  Von Bach puffed like a rooster. “My pleasure, Countess Victorova.”

  With a smile, she summoned the footmen. They opened the doors to a ballroom with enough mirrors to rival Versailles. There wouldn’t be any room for dancing, however, with the clockwork beasts wandering about.

  A rooster with feathers of blood-red enamel bristled as it crowed; chickens pecked at the marble, their clockwork ticking. A fantastic peacock fanned its gilded tail, glittering beneath a chandelier. Near the windows, a little blond boy laughed and clapped his hands as a great black bear danced on mechanical paws.

  “What a fantastic expenditure of money,” Himmel said dryly.

  Konstantin arched an eyebrow. “Undoubtedly.”

  The captain pointed to the peacock. “That’s entirely clockwork?”

  “It’s difficult to tell without dissection.”

  “You and your dissection.”

  The little blond boy ran to the countess, who bundled him in her arms. “Mama!”

  Chin in hand, Konstantin stalked over to the black bear. The monster settled on its haunches, paws dangling, claws carved scythes of jet. The bear stared at him with golden gemstone eyes, waiting for something.

  The hairs on his arms stood at attention. Those eyes…

  “Impressive.” Himmel cocked his head. “Why not a grizzly?”

  Baron von Bach joined them. “Because the Victorov coat of arms has a black bear. I understand the countess intended it as a gift for the count’s birthday, though the poor fellow bit the dust prior to the occasion.”

  Himmel grunted. “How did he die?”

  “Yacht accident. Most unpleasant. Drowned under the ice.”

  The men fell silent as Countess Victorova glided closer. The baron dipped his head as a courtesy. “Countess, please excuse me.”

  That left Konstantin groping for words while Himmel abandoned him with a little smirk. He decided to play dumb; perhaps Zinoviya would lower her guard. “Countess, if I’m not mistaken, the bear’s eyes look like chalcedony.”

  Her earrings glinted as she shook her head. “Chrysoberyl from Siberia.”

  “Isn’t that rather rare?”

  “Yes, though I find it quite practical.”

  “Aha!” He snapped his fingers. “The Sokolov Effect.”

  “I believe you mean the Silvestrov Effect.” She corrected him with a gentle smile, though her eyes hardened around the edges.

  “Remarkable.” He struggled to keep a straight face.

  “How sweet of you to play coy.”

  “Coy?”

  Countess Victorova tilted onto her toes as she whispered in his ear. “Aren’t you the man dissecting my clockwork dragon?”

  Words shriveled in Konstantin’s throat. “Pardon me?”

  “You would love my late
st experiment.” Her eyes glittered, liquid in the light. “Perhaps you might see it for yourself.”

  “Christ, are you confessing?”

  She laughed, her earrings swaying. “Oh, dear, didn’t you know?”

  Heat scorched his face. He had been trotted out like a pawn on the chessboard, ignorant of the bigger players. “Why you?”

  “Tsar Nicholas finds my talents useful.”

  “Your clockwork dragon killed dozens of men.” He hated how his voice shook.

  “And your hands haven’t been stained by a drop of blood.” She glanced at her gloves. “You have quite the reputation yourself.”

  His stomach plummeted. “I don’t know what you heard.”

  “What do you call them? Eisenkrauts?”

  “Eisenkriegers.”

  Her teeth flashed in a smile. “Perhaps we should compare notes.”

  Himmel wandered back, tension in his jaw. He caught Konstantin’s eye and shook his head. The little boy skipped over to Countess Victorova, flinging his arms around her leg, and peeked out from behind her skirts.

  Himmel crouched to his height. “Privet, malyish.”

  The boy stared at him, eyes bugging, and the countess touched his shoulder. “Sweetheart, say hello to the airship captain.”

  He shook his head and ducked behind his mother.

  Himmel’s mustache twitched in a smile. “Pardon us.” He steered Konstantin away.

  “Wait, I want to ask her about the clockwork dra—”

  “No, you don’t.” Himmel glared at him. “Now isn’t the time.”

  Alexsandr lurked nearby, no doubt committing every word to memory. Konstantin gritted his teeth and put on a polite smile to survive the rest of the night, which proved to be a torment of idle chat and diplomatic pitfalls.

  Snow whirled through the night outside Countess Victorova’s townhouse. Konstantin tailed Baron von Bach to the street, where an auto waited at the curb. The ambassador smiled, his cheeks rosy from wine. “Falkenrath.”

  “Sir, if I might have a word?”

  “Certainly.” Maybe Baron von Bach felt magnanimous tonight. “Ride with me.”

  Konstantin ducked into the auto. As its engine revved, the words tumbled from his mouth. “You knew about the countess?”