Metal and Magic

by Chris Paton

  “Herr Bremen,” Hannah looked up.

  “Yes, that’s the one,” the orderly bent forward. “The gentlemen told me to look out for you. Said you might be feeling a little out of sorts.” He stepped back and eyed Hannah from the tips of her muddy boots to the last tangle of her dirty blonde hair. “Very out of sorts, he might have said.”

  “Did he leave a message?” Hannah stood. She took a purposeful step forward, forcing the orderly back onto his heels.

  “As a matter of fact...”

  “Yes?” Hannah smoothed her hands over the tails of her corset jacket. She stared the orderly in the eye as she waited.

  “He said, Miss von Ense, that you would find a change of clothing in your cabin, and that you should make yourself presentable for dinner at the Captain’s table.”

  “He did?” Hannah frowned.

  “Yes. He and the young lady on his arm were received by the Captain himself. Your Mr. Bremen certainly has some sway, and the funds to go with it, I should imagine. Now,” the orderly gestured along the corridor leading into the exquisitely decorated depths of The Regal Giant. “If you will follow me, miss.”

  “Thank you,” Hannah held out her hand. “I think I can find my way from here.”

  The orderly hesitated. “You know best, Miss,” he pulled the key from his pocket. “Cabin forty-four.”

  Closing her fingers around the key, Hannah turned her back on the orderly and walked along the corridor in the direction he indicated.

  “Dinner is at eight o’clock on the top deck,” he called after her.

  Hannah waved at him without turning, the soft hush of her boots absorbed by the thick carpet as she approached her cabin. Slipping the key inside the lock, Hannah unlocked and opened the door. She paused at the sight of the emerald green evening dress draped over the mahogany chair by the writing bureau. A pair of black heels sat squarely in the middle of the desk’s writing surface. Hannah picked up the card left on top of the toes of her new shoes, the surface indented by the nib of the quill with the words, I hope you have had time to think. Do delight us with your presence at eight o’clock at the Captain’s table – Bremen.

  Hannah crumpled the note in her palm, crossed the short distance from the writing bureau to the bed and flopped down onto the mattress. Pulling off her boots she tossed them into the corner of the cabin, the dull thud of them bouncing off the bulkhead almost masking the knock at the cabin door. Hannah let go of the note, letting it fall to the floor as she stood up and walked to the door.

  “Yes?” Hannah opened the door just wide enough to peer out.

  “Miss von Ense?”

  “Yes.”

  “Telegram.” Posting a beige envelope through the gap in the door, the young boy nodded once before turning and flapping down the corridor in shoes two sizes too big.

  Opening the envelope with her thumbnail, Hannah closed the door with her heel before crossing to the bed. She smiled at the initials of the sender printed at the end of the telegram. “LW,” Hannah sighed. “I might have been mean to your daughter, Luther Wallendorf, before she was a demon,” she looked out of the round window sealed within a thick brass porthole. “But I hope you can help me, her, all of us,” Hannah lowered her voice to a whisper. “We are going to need it.”

  Muffled shouts from the dockside pressed against the window as The Regal Giant whistled up a full head of steam as dirty Thames tugboats shunted the giant steamjammer away from the Northfleet docks and into the main channel leading out to the North Sea.

  ҉

  Far above the Northfleet docks, on the deck of The Regal Giant, Blaidd slipped into the shadows as the steamjammer’s crew secured the cable car and released the wire. Pulling a flag from his back pocket, the foreman waved to the men on the dockside, grasping the rail as the wire snaked out of the crane hook and thrashed into the river.

  Using the noise of the wire’s release as cover, Blaidd padded across the deck and inside the service door of the superstructure, dogging the door closed behind him. Blaidd shook the rain water from his sleeves, smoothing the thick black hairs on the backs of his hands on his brown leather cargo trousers. He wiped the wet hair from his forehead and smoothed his thick eyebrows, snorting quietly to clear his nose.

  Turning his palms upward, Blaidd traced the spirals burned into the skin with his index finger on first one, and then the other palm. A blue light gleamed briefly in his eyes. Blaidd moved quickly along the corridor, blurring past the paintings on the wall, speeding into the shadowy corners beyond the influence of the bulbs of sodium crystals burning in ornate iron fittings on the walls. He glided down the stairs and onto the lounge deck bustling with passengers decked out in their finest attire. Pausing on the bottom step, Blaidd rubbed his palms together, extinguishing his burst of speed. He strolled onto the deck, smiling at the passengers as he walked toward the quarter deck at the stern of the steamjammer, the light blue glow from his palms dissipating in the excitement of passengers exploring the decks.

  Blaidd paused by a large porthole on the starboard side of the steamjammer. In the light streaming in through a break in the clouds, he unfolded a parched piece of paper. “Number forty-four, eh?” Crumpling the paper he slipped it into his pocket, located the entrance to the next stairwell and strode towards it.

  A group of plump women in deep red dresses chattered slowly up the stairs. His hands clasped in front of him, Blaidd waited for them to pass. He smiled at the youngest and plumpest of the women causing her to skin to blush as vividly as her dress.

  “Lovely day for a cruise, eh?” Blaidd touched two fingers to his forehead.

  “Yes,” the young woman stuttered. “Quite lovely.”

  “Perhaps we’ll be seeing each other later?” Blaidd called out as the women passed him. He flashed a crooked smile as the young woman shivered at the thought. Blaidd descended the stairs, missing every second step, his footfalls echoing around the veneered walls of the staircase.

  The corridor of the upper accommodation deck was blocked by an orderly. Whipping the red sash away from the long-barrelled flintlock, the man gripped the handle. Blaidd held out his hands, palms facing the orderly, as he approached.

  “I don’t recognise you,” the orderly tugged the pistol an inch out of the leather holster.

  “And you don’t want to.” Blaidd closed the distance between them to three feet. He lowered his hands to his sides.

  “Are you from Northfleet?”

  “No,” Blaidd’s damp hair lifted from his forehead as he shook his head. “I am from the west.” He paused. “Wales?”

  “Wales?” the orderly’s brow wrinkled as he relaxed his grip on the pistol handle.

  “Abergavenny, actually. You’ve heard of it, eh?” Blaidd took a step closer.

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “A pity. Such a nice place. Spread my ma’s ashes on Mynydd Pen-y-fâl, I did. Other folk call it the Sugar Loaf.”

  “The Sugar Loaf?” The orderly shuffled a step back from Blaidd, stopping as his back bumped against the bulkhead.

  “It’s a mountain,” Blaidd nodded. Flicking his left hand toward the orderly, he grasped the man’s hand gripping the pistol. Blaidd clenched his massive fist around the orderly’s hand. “Of course, there are bigger mountains round and about.” Blaidd smiled as the orderly whimpered. Grabbing the man by the throat with his right hand, he squeezed the orderly’s windpipe. “I don’t much mind how big a mountain is, it’s the air that matters. Fresh it should be. Something you can pull into your lungs.” Blaidd took a deep breath. He cocked his head to one side and stared at the orderly’s red face. Blaidd exhaled. “Wouldn’t you agree? Air should be fresh?” Blaidd let the orderly slide down the bulkhead as the man passed out. Removing the flintlock pistol from the holster, he tucked it into the back of his belt. Blaidd dragged the orderly to a tall equipment locker and stuffed him inside. Breaking the handle off the door, he tossed it into a waste container recessed in the wall and walked along the corrido
r.

  The thick carpet swallowed Blaidd’s soft tread as he approached cabin number forty-four. Stopping to straighten his leather tunic, Blaidd made a fist and tapped his knuckles on the door. Steam from the bathroom drifted into the corridor as Hannah, her towel knotted beneath her arms, opened the door.

  “Miss von Ense?” Blaidd thrust the toe of his boot between the door and the frame as Hannah opened it. “You remember me, eh?”

  “Ja, I remember you.” Hannah’s fingers turned white as she gripped the edge of the door, bathwater beading on her flushed skin. “What do you want? Our contract has been fulfilled. You were well paid.”

  “Ah, yes, I was at that. But now,” Blaidd gestured at his foot holding the door open. “I have a new master and a new mission. Perhaps you can let me in and we can discuss it.”

  “Why?” Hannah moved her body and pressed her shoulder against the door.

  “Come now, Miss,” Blaidd glanced up and down the corridor. “These things are best discussed in private.”

  “I am not dressed for private discussions with...”

  “The likes of me? Sure, sure. I understand.” Blaidd leaned closer. “But we have unfinished business, and perhaps,” he flicked his eyes over Hannah’s body, “we can be of service to one another.”

  “Tell me what you want.”

  “All right,” Blaidd straightened. “I want the scientist. Hanover.”

  “Really?” Hannah relaxed her grip on the door. “What do you want with her?”

  “That’s my business, eh?”

  Hannah licked bathwater from her top lip. “And how do you think I can help?”

  “You might know where she is.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “I think you have influential friends, Miss von Ense. I think you can help me, eh?”

  “Let’s say you’re right, and I can help you. What do I get out of it?”

  “You know how I work. You know what I can do. I might be inclined to owe you a favour, eh?”

  Hannah drummed her fingers on the door, beads of condensation beading beneath her grip. “How did you find me?”

  “My new employer is most effective at tracking people within Britain.” Blaidd shrugged, “Less so on the continent. They have been following your master’s movements for some time. They believe you or he might know of the whereabouts of Miss Hanover.”

  “You are working for the English?” Hannah laughed. “I thought you Welshmen had principals?”

  Blaidd sighed. “I agree it is a little ironic.”

  Hannah pressed her bare foot against the toe of Blaidd’s boot. “Be in the lounge by the dining room at eight o’clock.” She looked at his grubby tunic and rain-sodden shirt sleeves. “Find something to wear and be ready to assist me.”

  “With what?” Blaidd removed his toe from the door.

  “With whatever I ask.” Hannah gripped the door handle and slammed the door shut. The flame light from the sodium crystals burning to both sides of the cabin flickered across Blaidd’s scar-lined face as the bulkhead absorbed the shock of Hannah’s door closing.

  “I say. You there,” a tall passenger stepped out from the adjacent cabin. “What’s all that noise?”

  “Nothing, sir,” Blaidd spread his hands wide. “I apologise.”

  “Well, no matter then,” the passenger recoiled from Blaidd’s dirty and dishevelled appearance.

  “However,” Blaidd studied the passenger. “That is a very fine suit you are wearing, sir. Will you be dining with your wife this evening?” He took a step closer.

  “My wife? Oh, no,” the passenger shook his head. “I am travelling alone.”

  “Really?” Blaidd’s mouth stretched into a crooked smile. “That is interesting.”

  Chapter 8

  Arkhangelsk

  Russian Empire

  May, 1851

  The last rays of the sun lit the tall lead-gilded windows of the Moryana Railroad Station with a burst of copper, red and gold. Stepan placed his hand on Lena’s shoulder, slowing the Cossack warrior to a slow walk as they ducked beneath the low brick wall and waited for the others to join them. Vladimir lugged the Puckle Gun over one shoulder, lowering it to the ground at Lena’s feet as he crouched by the captain.

  Stepan nodded at the ground next to him. “Take a break. We are almost at the gate.”

  Vladimir cast a glance over the wall at the station glowing in the sun before resting next to Stepan. “Are you sure, Kapitan? Sure you want to leave me to find Nikolas?”

  “Da, I am sure,” Stepan nodded. “But not happy about it.” He paused as the two Cossack men accompanying Lena scuffed their boots in the dirt as they slid to a stop beneath the lip of the wall, dropping three small crates of ammunition at their feet. Stepan looked at Lena. “We are all here then.”

  “You have a plan? Because I cannot drive a steam train.” Lena picked up a handful of pebbles from the ground.

  “I hope to convince some of the engineers to come with us.”

  “Convince?” Lena laughed, the pebbles rattled in the palm of her hand as she shook them. She tapped the barrel of the Puckle Gun. “I think we can convince them.”

  “Bad choice of words,” Stepan wiped the dust from his hands. “Remember, Lena Timofeyevich, these men and women are from Arkhangelsk. They are our people.”

  “Your people,” Lena jabbed the knuckle of her finger at Stepan’s chest. “My people are free, beyond the gates of the city.”

  “What is your plan, Kapitan,” Vladimir shushed Lena.

  Pushing himself onto his knees, Stepan peered over the lip of the wall. Scanning the ground between the gates and the dormant trains and carriages idle on the tracks, he spotted two emissaries and their controllers patrolling either side of the main lines leading into the centre of the station. Stepan sat on the ground crossed his legs and smiled. He drew a crude square in the dust at his feet with his finger.

  “We are here,” Stepan leaned forward and drew a cross in the middle of the line furthest away from him. “Put the Drakon here, Yuri. Your friend...”

  “Dmitri,” Yuri punched his comrade on the shoulder.

  Stepan tapped the cross in the dirt. “Dmitri can help you. It is up to you to get the attention of the emissaries and keep them busy. Vlad?”

  “Da, Kapitan?”

  “You and I are going to storm the gates while they open up with the Puckle Gun.” Stepan drew small oblongs in the dirt. “We can use the trains and carriages for cover.”

  “How many emissaries did you see?”

  “Just two, Vlad. It shouldn’t be a problem. I think the Germans are stretched pretty thin no matter how many machines they have unloaded.”

  “They are still unloading,” Lena crouched on her heels. “Dmitri heard some of the stividors talking before he joined us.”

  “Then we need to move fast before they can get more emissaries down here.” Stepan drew a large rectangle in the centre of the perimeter he sketched in the dirt. “This is the station. Vladimir and I will get inside and find the engineers.”

  “Just like that?” Lena rocked back and forth. “It will not be easy.”

  “That is why you are staying put until I call you. They will already be on edge. No reason to spook them further with a Cossack in tow.”

  One by one, Lena tossed the pebbles from her hand onto Stepan’s dusty diagram. “I can be very persuasive. Perhaps you will need me sooner? Besides,” Lena upturned her palm and emptied the last of the pebbles on top of Stepan’s map. “I tend to get bored easily.”

  “Another reason to keep you out of trouble until we need you.”

  “Kapitan,” Vladimir tapped Stepan on the shoulder. “The sooner we get going, the sooner you can return. To Anna and Nikolas.”

  Stepan traced his finger around the face of the fake watch. He looked each of them in the eye, lingering for a moment on Vladimir. “You all know what to do?”

  Lena stood up. “Everybody but me.” She took a step closer to the wal
l and peered over it. “Perhaps I will do this my way?”

  “Lena?” Stepan scuffed the map as he spun to his feet.

  “See you inside the station, Kapitan,” Lena placed both hands on top of the wall and vaulted over it, landing on the other side with scrunch of pebbles and grit beneath her boots.

  Yuri slapped Dmitri on the shoulder. Grasping the barrel of the Puckle Gun in his hand, he dragged it closer to the wall. Dmitri opened the wooden crates of ammunition and began loading the first cylinder to be fired.

  “Lena,” Stepan hissed as he leaned against the wall.

  “Don’t worry, Kapitan,” Lena pulled a long, double-barrelled flintlock pistol from inside her sheepskin, grasping the handle in her left hand. “I will be very discreet.” Walking back to the wall, she beckoned to Vladimir. As he leaned in close she grabbed him by the lapel and kissed him. “For Russia,” she smiled as she released him. Stepan stared at Vladimir as Lena slapped the Poruchik on the cheek, turned and skipped into the brush and gorse struggling to grow between the railroad tracks.

  “Don’t look at me, Kapitan,” Vladimir shook his head.

  “There should be a chapter on Cossacks in the training manual.” Stepan nodded at Yuri before pulling Vladimir in a low run toward the gate.

  “I’m not sure one chapter would be enough, Kapitan.” Vladimir bent his back as he ran alongside Stepan. “But it would make for an interesting read, I am sure.”

  “Focus, Vlad,” Stepan glanced over the wall as Lena darted from one carriage to the next. “At least she is moving quietly.”

  The boom of the first of Lena’s two barrels echoed between the carriage sides, masking the ricochet of the lead ball as it bounced off the triple-layered brass plates of the emissary closest to her. Stepan paused to watch as the Cossack dropped to one knee, steadied the pistol in the crook of her right arm, breathed out and fired. Hidden behind a gunpowder cloud, Lena stood and ran for the cover of a large, rusting locomotive. Vladimir pushed Stepan onward.