Metal and Magic

by Chris Paton

  “What?”

  “The hawk,” Hannah pointed upwards.

  Flapping between the rafters, Shahin dipped her wings, tucked them into her sides and dropped, shrieking to within a few feet of the ring of men before levelling out and flapping to gain height. Shahin dropped again, lower this time. She levelled out but a foot away from the crown of the tallest man’s head.

  “Hari?” Luise whispered.

  Hari stared straight up, following the flight of the hawk, the bloody knot at the back of his turban pressing into the top of his spine. Egmont ducked as Shahin swooped within half a foot of his head.

  “What’s he playing at?” Egmont shifted position upon his leg.

  “Damn bird,” Bremen shooed Shahin with his cane as she swooped above his head. The Germans covered their scalps and the ring of men dissolved. “If you don’t stop your bird’s acrobatics...” Bremen ducked again as Shahin looped faster and faster.

  “I’ll sort this out.” Sullivan primed both hammers on the snublock pistol. “Just like last time,” he sneered at Hari.

  Bremen’s men waved their pistols above their heads as Shahin looped and shrieked about the mill, parting the hair of the younger men, clawing the scalps of their seniors with her talons. Sullivan sighted the snublock pistol, drawing the sights a foot in front of the hawk as she dived.

  “Don’t be stupid, man,” Bremen slapped Sullivan’s pistol from his hand with the cane. “Watch where you are pointing that thing.” Bremen turned away from Sullivan as a flicker of movement between the fidgeting figures of his men caught his eye. “Romney Wallendorf, stop.” Bremen’s cane clicked on the stone floor as he chased after the German steamdriver.

  “Well,” Smith stooped beneath Egmont’s raised arm. “Quite a show, don’t you think?”

  “I have to admit,” Egmont paused to fend off another of Shahin’s wild swoops, “as a distraction she is most effective. Come on, Luise,” Egmont extended his arm and drew Luise into his side. “Let us try and get closer to the door.”

  “Just like that driver of Bremen’s,” Smith pointed at the door as he hurried along beside Egmont and Luise. “I don’t recall her name.”

  “Romney,” Luise grumbled.

  “Romney? Yes, that’s it.” Smith stumbled into Egmont as Shahin clipped the stone floor with the tips of her wings. “They’ll catch her soon if she flies that low to the ground again.”

  “Then let’s get out before that happens.” Egmont stumbled around the guards as they upturned wooden boxes of tools and equipment, blocking the bird’s path in an attempt to capture the hawk.

  “Wait,” the soles of Luise’s feet scuffed on the stone as she stalled. “What about Hari?” Twisting within Egmont’s embrace, Luise searched for Hari among the Germans running and ducking around the mill floor. Between the alternating beating of Shahin’s wings, the flashing of her talons, the priming of Polyphase pistols and the flapping of arms, Luise found Hari standing within a ring of men. Obscured by the tartan of Lady Harte’s men and the black German uniforms, Hari’s dirty white turban was all that could be seen of the Indian. Luise resisted as Egmont tried to drag her to the door.

  “We have to go, Luise,” Egmont pulled at her arm.

  “Come, Miss Hanover,” Smith stepped in front of Luise, blocking her view of Hari. “He will be all right.”

  “No,” Luise shouted as Shahin cannoned into a wooden box as Bremen’s men crowded her from all sides.

  Hari moved his head. Peering between the wall of men, he caught Luise’s eye. Bowing, Hari placed his palms together in a brief Namaste, lifted his head and winked.

  “Go, Miss Luise,” Hari mouthed.

  “Hari,” Luise jostled into Smith as she stepped forward.

  “Hari knows what he is doing, Miss Luise. Come now.” Smith turned the young chronologist by the shoulders as Egmont took a firm grip of her arm. The sound of Hari’s kukri being drawn from its scabbard gave Smith a moment’s pause. Looking over his shoulder he caught Hari’s eye. “Be good, Hari Singh.” Smith nodded and pushed Luise toward the door.

  “What now?” Bremen gave up his pursuit of Romney at the sound of the kukri singing through the frantic air inside the mill. The hawk screeched from within a thin wooden crate, two of Bremen’s men sat on it as the others drew their pistols and charged toward the men ringing Hari.

  “Herr Bremen?” Hannah waited, hands clasped.

  “Hannah,” Bremen tugged his eyes away from the lone Indian, the crooked blade held above his head, standing within an ever decreasing circle of men. “He can’t possibly think...”

  “Herr Bremen,” Hannah coughed. “Shall I follow the girl?”

  “The girl?” Bremen smoothed his hand over his chin. “Fräulein Hanover?”

  “Actually,” Hannah unclasped her hands and smoothed the tails of her corset jacket, “I was thinking of Wallendorf.”

  “Yes, of course. Follow her. Bring her back.” He turned as a stillness descended upon the men. “We will need her...”

  “Herr Bremen?”

  “Go, Hannah,” Bremen took a step toward the centre of the mill. “I will handle this.”

  Hari’s first strike was a low sweeping cut as he dropped to his knees and felled the three men standing directly in front of him. Cartwheeling to the right, Hari avoided a volley of static charges as Bremen’s men discharged their Polyphase pistols. Two of Lady Harte’s Tartan Lads and a German buzzed to the floor, writhing in a wrinkle of electric snakes arcing between their bodies. Hari scraped his sandals upon the floor as he landed on his feet. Mason gripped him from behind as a German cast his pistol aside and launched himself at Hari. Slamming his heels into the German, Hari threw back his head to butt the Tartan thug in the chin. Mason let go and Hari dropped to the floor, cutting and thrusting the kukri in a series of moves opening his path toward Shahin.

  “Perhaps I should stay with you, Herr Bremen?” Hannah unbuttoned a ring of decorative metals from the front of her corset and twisted it into a pair of brass knuckles, the razor edge of each ring shone in the sunlight.

  “No,” Bremen placed his hand on Hannah’s wrist. He looked at the men, Germans and Londoners, lying on the floor, nursing wounds and calling out for help. Bremen shook his head. “Get the Wallendorf girl. Use Robshaw if you have to. I will deal with things here.” Bremen shooed Hannah out of the door. Lifting his cane, he twisted the pommel. Pausing for a moment after each successive click, Bremen gritted his teeth as the cane began to tremor within his grip. He looked up and searched for signs of Hari.

  Ducking electric discharges, knife thrusts and the sweep of green batons, Hari slammed one sandaled foot into the chest of the German sitting on top of Shahin’s crate. The second man he despatched with the flat of the kukri’s blade against the side of the man’s head. Hari tipped the crate and whistled Shahin onto his wrist.

  “Enough,” Bremen shouted. “You will stop.” Hari turned to face Bremen as the German staggered toward him, his cane jerking up and down within his grasp. “We had an agreement, Hari Singh.”

  “We had the beginnings of an agreement,” Hari smiled, his chest rising and falling, the hawk’s weight pressing upon his wrist. Hari eyed the erratic movements of the cane Bremen pointed at him.

  “And now we will finalise it.” Bremen raised the cane until it jerked but four feet from Hari’s chest. “Release the bird.”

  “Truly?” Hari’s eyebrow’s wrinkled beneath his turban.

  “Yes,” Bremen scowled.

  “Then I will.” Thrusting his fist forward, Hari launched Shahin toward Bremen just as the German discharged the percussive cane. Smoke and static shrouded the air between them, the report ringing around the walls like a whispering wave of energy hunting for the path of least resistance.

  Chapter 11

  Old Pye Polytechnic, Dept. of Chronology

  London, England

  May, 1851

  The glass crunched beneath the soles of Luise’s boots as she searched among the de
bris of her broken laboratory. Egmont removed his brass leg, cursing the seized cogs and wheels within as Smith tutted by the side of him.

  “Stop tutting and make yourself useful instead,” Egmont thrust the leg into Smith’s chest and folded his arms.

  “I’m not sure I can help with this,” Smith turned the limb within his hands.

  “Then pretend, why don’t you?” Egmont tucked his chin into his chest and scowled.

  “Admiral,” Luise toed glass out of her path as she picked her way over to Egmont’s chair. “I don’t think sulking is going to help.”

  “Quite,” Smith nodded. “But, Miss Hanover, I think our dear friend knows exactly what has to be done. Don’t you Reginald?”

  “And what is that, Mr. Smith?” Luise gingerly pulled the Admiral’s leg from Smith’s grasp. Brushing the litter from the tabletop, she cleared a space for the limb and arranged a collection of tools on the surface. Luise opened the flap of the limb and set to work adjusting the cogs and wheels within.

  “He wants me to go and see Victoria.” Egmont shuffled in his chair.

  “Who’s Victoria,” Luise peered inside the limb as she talked.

  “My dear girl,” Egmont’s mouth formed a reluctant smile. “Just how often do you get out of the laboratory?”

  “I spend a lot of time here. That is true,” Luise looked up. She sighed at the mess of glass and broken equipment.

  “The Victoria the Admiral is referring to, Miss Hanover, is none other than the queen, herself.”

  “Really?” Luise stopped what she was doing. She set the small screwdriver in her hand upon the scarred work surface of the table. “And you can do that? Just call on the queen when you like?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t put it like that. No,” Egmont sighed. “Not anymore. I have nothing like the access I used to enjoy.”

  “Why not?” Luise lifted her skirt and fiddled a smaller tool out of her garter belt.

  “It’s a long story and clearly something you were either not taught in your history lessons, or have, mercifully, forgotten.” Egmont unlocked his arms and smoothed his hands around the stump below the knee of his right leg. “Did Jamie never mention Trafalgar?”

  “No,” Luise shook her head. “But then Jamie and I hardly talked.”

  “Yes, of course. Well,” Egmont pushed himself upright in the chair and pointed at his leg on the table. “I will need that. Unless I must take the wooden spare that Jenkins keeps in the carriage.”

  “You can have this one in just a moment.” Luise’s nose rubbed at the side of the metal flap as she adjusted the position of the last cog inside the leg. “The cogs had clicked out of alignment.” She placed her tools on the table, closed the flap of the leg and presented it to Egmont. “The steam suspension should work now, Admiral. Although you might want to add a little more water and fuel to the boiler.”

  “Dear girl,” Egmont took the leg from Luise’s hands, popped another wooden brick inside the burner and strapped the leg to his stump. “Thank you.”

  “You are welcome.” Luise smiled, lifted the hem of her skirt and slipped the screwdriver back into her garter belt.

  “And what will you be doing while I am hobnobbing with Her Majesty, Smith?”

  “Organising the troops, most likely,” Smith rubbed a wrinkled hand across his brow.

  “And what about Hari?”

  “I am sure Hari will find us, Miss Hanover. We won’t have to go looking for him,” Smith smiled. “Not so long as you are around, anyway.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” The blood in Luise’s cheeks spread slowly to her neck.

  “It is not for me to question the loyalty of Hari Singh,” Smith’s eyes reflected the early evening light filtering in through the broken window. “But I do believe Hari is more than a little taken with you, Miss Hanover.”

  “Taken with me?”

  “Oh, dear girl,” Egmont pushed himself out of the chair. The tip of the steam-cushioned leg splintered a wedge of glass with a crack. “When this is all over, we have to get you out of the laboratory more often, and not just to pose in the arms of some playboy racer.”

  “Admiral,” Luise thrust her hands to her sides and splayed her fingers.

  “No, no more. I haven’t time.” Egmont stomped toward the door. His hand on the door knob, Egmont turned, “Smith?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’ll organise your people?”

  “I’ll fill the streets with the poorhouse workers. They’ll earn more in one day than they do in a year.”

  “Good. I’ll have Jenkins send word to Captain Willard. He can coordinate the cordon around the Derby. Bremen said he would be there. I am sure he intends to keep up appearances.”

  “And you think he will have my machine with him?”

  “He intends to get it out of London.” Smith tucked his slim hands inside the half-pockets on his jacket and pointed his wrists at the floor. “I think it is a safe bet that he will use the race as a diversion.”

  “But he knows we have exposed him now.” Egmont began turning the doorknob.

  “Which is why your meeting with the queen is of the utmost importance, Reginald. Bremen is counting on you to fail to rouse the suspicions of Her Majesty.”

  “No pressure then,” Egmont grumbled.

  “No more than usual.” Smith waved as Egmont left the laboratory. “Now, Miss Hanover, do you think there is anything worth salvaging from this mess?” He cast a long look around the mess of broken equipment and splintered shelves.

  “Well, my notes for a start.” Luise brushed glass from a loose floorboard beneath the worktable with the sole of her boot. Pressing the left hand side, she lifted the board up and out of the floor. Luise reached into the space beneath the floor and removed a square parcel of oilcloth bound and buckled with a leather belt. She placed the parcel on the tabletop and smiled. “I always knew that loose board would come in handy.”

  “What do you have there, Miss Hanover?” Smith cleaned his glasses and moved closer to inspect the parcel.

  “My notebooks, and,” Luise pulled a worn leather satchel from the broken drawer beneath the table, “everything I ever learned about khronoglyphics.”

  “Khronoglyphics?”

  “The glyphs engraved on the cogs of my impediment machine.” Luise slipped the satchel over her shoulder and tucked the bundle of notebooks inside. She stopped and smiled at the frown wrinkling Smith’s forehead. “Mr. Smith, did you really think those demons came out of nowhere?”

  “Well...”

  “Oh, come now, Mr. Smith,” she teased. “A few spinning cogs are hardly enough to make demons, let alone slow time.”

  “I did wonder,” Smith tapped the tabletop with his fingers. “Anything else?”

  Luise’s cheeks dimpled with a smile. Smoothing her hand over the satchel, she looked around the laboratory. “Perhaps,” Luise pressed the fingers of her hand to her mouth, the tip of her middle finger tickling the columella of her nose. “Now where is it?” Crossing the floor of the laboratory, Luise tugged at broken drawers and smoothed her fingers upon the shelves. “Here,” she grasped a metal object shaped like a fossilised horseshoe crab. She presented it triumphantly to Smith. He took it in both hands, turning it in the light.

  “What is it, Miss Hanover?”

  “A remote device,” she smiled, “for starting the Impediment Machine.” Luise opened her satchel and dropped it inside.

  ҉

  Hari flinched at the sharp pain needling the soft tissue in the apex of his finger and thumb. He opened his eyes and lifted his head to see Shahin pecking at his hand. Her flight feathers ruffled, the hawk pecked again. Hari caught her head within his hand and stroked the feathers on top of the hawk’s head with his thumb.

  “You are alive,” the last word caught in Hari’s throat. He coughed. Hari let go of Shahin and propped himself up on his elbows. The mill was empty but for the splintered wooden crates, paper litter, mud, blood and grease staining the floor. Hari gri
pped the kukri lying next to him and stood up. He held the bent blade in a loose grip while turning first left and then right to take in the emptiness.

  “Impressive, isn’t it?” A young man stepped out from beneath the wooden scaffold in the centre of the mill and walked toward Hari.

  “Do I know you?” Hari lifted the kukri, the tip of the blade pointing directly toward the stranger.

  “Perhaps by reputation.” The man stopped a foot from the point of Hari’s blade. “My name is Robshaw. The Germans left me here to watch over you.”

  “Robshaw?”

  “Yes. I am a friend – I should say acquaintance – of Luise Hanover’s.”

  “Ah,” Hari nodded, “the steamracer. I saw your picture once on the cover of a newspaper. You are famous?”

  “I have made the headlines a few times, yes.”

  Hari slid the kukri inside the scabbard at his waist. He looked up. “Why did they not kill me?”

  “I think they wanted to leave you a message.” Robshaw tapped his chest with his thumb. “I am the messenger.”

  “What is the message then?” Hari plucked splinters from his shirt before buttoning it. Robshaw stared at the anti-djinn mark until it disappeared beneath the dirty white cotton of Hari’s shirt.

  “It is quite simple. Herr Bremen wishes you to stay away from the Derby.”

  “Stay away?”

  “Yes.” Robshaw fiddled with the buttons of his jacket. He looked up as the wind caught the wooden door swinging upon its hinges against the frame.

  “You seem rather subdued for a steamracer.” Hari watched as Shahin stalked behind Robshaw. The hawk stopped at patch of blood on the stone and pecked at it, her beak tapping upon the stone. “Do you like being a messenger for the German Confederation?”

  “I can’t say that I do.” Robshaw let himself be distracted by the tapping of Shahin’s beak. He turned to watch her. “Are you are friend of Luise’s?” Robshaw stared at the hawk.

  “Yes,” Hari took a step closer to Robshaw.

  “Then you must do something for me, for Luise.”