by Chris Paton
“Ja,” Hannah continued up the staircase. “I know. That is why we hired you then.”
“And now?” Blaidd lifted his foot to climb the staircase. He stopped as Hannah pressed her palm onto his chest.
“We will see. I am not your employer. We are...”
“Partners?” Blaidd suggested. He placed his right foot on the bottom step and rested his hands on his thigh. “Are we not?”
“For as long as we are helpful to one another, and not a moment longer.” Hannah’s lips curled over her teeth. “I don’t like you, Blaidd. Although our methods are not dissimilar.”
“You don’t have to like me, Miss von Ense.” Blaidd leaned closer. “But I advise you not to make an enemy of me, eh? I don’t need payment to hold a grudge.”
“Agreed,” Hannah turned away from Blaidd. “Keep your distance and your eyes open,” she called over her shoulder. “I will let you know if I need your assistance.”
“Always a pleasure,” Blaidd tapped two fingers to his forehead. He waited as Hannah climbed the stairs and disappeared from view. Running his hands over the oil paintings hanging from the bulkhead, Blaidd followed, sauntering among the passengers as they waited in the chandeliered lounge to be seated.
҉
Stepan slipped away from the carriage as the German riflemen prodded the barrels of their Polyphase rifles into Vladimir’s chest. The Poruchik groaned as they dragged him to his feet and marched him to the carriage they had converted to a guardroom.
Watching from behind the dusty iron wheels of a locomotive, Stepan hid in the shadows, the steady thud of the Drakon spewing eleven shots per cylinder at the emissary clanking toward its position. A quick glance at the guard carriage urged Stepan to move as the three riflemen chained Vladimir to the carriage wheels and split up to search the area. Stepan used the cover of the locomotive to dart across the gap to the station entrance. Clambering up and onto the platform, he ducked behind a trolley of left luggage as he scanned the station interior.
The splinter of glass from a window on the opposite platform caught Stepan’s attention. Sliding around the leather trunks and hat boxes, he moved to a better position to observe the platform opposite and the railroad tracks beneath him.
On the opposite platform, crawling through the shards of broken glass sticking out of the wooden window frame, Lena Timofeyevich cursed as she dropped to the platform floor. Scooting back to the wall, she ducked beneath the frame, wincing as she moved a bloody hand to open a leather pouch on the bandolier buckled across her chest. Clumps of dirt and grey dust coated her shoulder length black hair, lining the creases in her sheepskin tunic.
Stepan watched as Lena tamped a musket ball into each of the pistol’s barrels, tugging the cap off a small horn of powder with her teeth. Lena paused before priming the pan of the flintlock pistol, catching Stepan’s eye as he waved to her from the other side of the station. Lena finished priming the pistol, capped the horn, securing it behind a leather loop on the bandolier before waving back at Stepan.
Scuttling away from the luggage, Stepan slid over the edge of the platform, crossed the tracks and pulled himself up and onto Lena’s platform. He crawled over to sit next to her beneath the window frame.
“You’re hurt,” Stepan flicked Lena’s hair away from her forehead to reveal a gash the length of his middle finger.
“It’s nothing,” Lena moved her head away from Stepan’s touch. Looking around the station, Lena turned her gaze back to Stepan. “Where is your Poruchik?”
Stepan rubbed his palm over his face. “Tied up. Out there,” he pointed outside the station. Ignoring Lena’s stare, Stepan continued, “They are looking for me. It looks like they found you.”
“I am still alive.”
“You are hurt, Lena Timofeyevich. Let me help you.”
Pressing a finger to Stepan’s lips, Lena scuffled onto her feet. She lifted her head over the lip of the window frame and peeked out onto the ground turning into shadow. Searching for Yuri and Dmitri, Lena gasped and scrunched back onto the floor.
“What?” Stepan whispered.
Lena jabbed her thumb in Yuri’s direction. “Can you hear the Drakon?”
Stepan listened. “No.”
“They have them, or they have killed them.”
“They could have run away.”
“Cossacks don’t run, Kapitan.”
“Well, we might have to, if we are going to get out of Arkhangelsk.” Stepan pointed at a stairwell at the back of the deserted station. “The engineers will be down there.”
“How do you know?”
Stepan’s lips creased into a thin smile. “My father was an engineer, before my mother became sick. I used to spend my weekends down in the workshop. We’ll find someone down there. I am sure about that.” Stepan moved to a crouch. He stopped at a slap on the arm from Lena.
“And Vladimir?” Lena flicked the barrel of her pistol toward the tracks leading toward the gates of the railyard. “You are going to leave him? He was going to look for your son.”
Stepan coughed as he took a deep breath, the dust withering from his uniform and into his lungs. He turned toward Lena, wrapping his hand around her leather bandolier and pulling her forward. “Don’t tell me what I know already.” He let go. “We are in a military situation. One thing at a time, one objective at a time. First, Moscow. Second, Vladimir. Third,” Stepan paused. “Third is Nikolas and Anna.” He pointed at the stairwell. “Are you coming?”
“Da, I’ll follow you.”
Stepan peeked over the sill of the window, ducked back down, nodded to Lena and ran to the stairwell. The Cossack followed, limping as she skirted around the luggage trolleys idling outside the empty ticket office. Stepan caught Lena’s arm as she slowed before the stairs. He pointed at her leg.
“It is nothing,” Lena shrugged free of Stepan’s grip. “I got too close to the mechanical man. It swung its sword and I was too slow.” Turning to her right, Lena tugged at a loose flap of fabric in the trousers covering her right leg. “The tip of the sword caught me.” Lena slapped Stepan on the arm. “Stop staring at me and show me how we are going to get out of the city.”
“All right. But first...” Stepan paused. Placing his hand on Lena’s shoulder, he pulled her to the top of the stairs.
“What?” Lena turned to look in the direction Stepan was staring.
“An emissary,” Stepan whispered. “Let’s go.” Dragging Lena by the arm, he led her down the stairs and into the bowels of the station.
Clanking between platforms one and two, its torso rising above the edge on either side, the emissary ground the tip of its broadsword along the iron tracks. Sparks flying from the tip lit up the descending gloom inside the station as the light faded over Arkhangelsk.
҉
Hannah placed her hand over the top of her glass as the waiter approached with a new bottle of wine. She watched as he moved on to the next diner, the Captain of The Regal Giant, and filled his glass. The Captain reached for it, the cuff of his voluminous shirtsleeve engulfing the glass, as the waiter began to serve the diner seated beside him. He turned toward Hannah and raised his glass.
“Not drinking, my dear?”
“Nein,” Hannah smiled. “I must keep my wits to follow the conversation.”
“Oh, yes,” the Captain lifted the glass to his lips, scratching his nose with his thumb as he drank. “Most fascinating, don’t you think?” Setting his glass down on the table, he leaned in close to Hannah. “Do you know Herr Bremen well?”
“A little,” Hannah picked at the bow on her dress. She glanced up at Aether sitting at the end of the table, Khaos clinging to his right arm. Beyond them, seated at a table with three young men, Hannah watched as Blaidd impressed his dinner companions as he sliced his meat with a butterfly knife. “I was seconded to his staff only a short while ago.”
“And what is your role on his staff?” The Captain lifted his half-empty glass to his lips and drained it. “Does it have anything to
do with this Impediment Order? It sounds awfully intriguing.” He raised his glass, tipping it back and forth to catch the attention of the waiter. “My friends and I,” the Captain gestured with his glass at the three men and their wives leaning toward Aether, “were commenting, just the other day, how badly we were in need of a new society or some such, an exciting distraction from the humdrum of English life.” He paused as the waiter refilled his glass. “This order, influencing time itself, why,” the wine sloshed over the lip of the glass as the Captain set it down on the table, “it is just the tonic for me and my cronies. Just look at them.”
Hannah followed the Captain’s finger around the table as he pointed at first one and then the next foppish businessman and his elegant wife, all equally engrossed by Aether’s conversation and enraptured by the charms of Khaos punctuating each sentence with a twist of her fiery hair, or a well-timed laugh. She turned away.
“I understand why they might need more excitement,” Hannah tapped the tip of her finger on the white tablecloth, “but is it not challenging enough to Captain a steamjammer?”
“Well, yes,” the Captain squinted at Hannah, focusing on a spot in the middle of her face. “But I leave all that to my First Officer.” He leaned closer to Hannah. “I am more of an honorary Captain,” he whispered. “Captain Percy, brother of the owner.” He tapped his nose and winked. Leaning back in his chair the Captain smiled at Hannah over the lip of the glass. “I must say, it was good of Herr Bremen to find a dinner date for me this evening.”
“Yes,” Hannah turned her attention to Blaidd as he cleaned the butterfly knife on his napkin and returned it to the pocket of his tunic, closing it with a flick of the wrist. “Very good of him.”
“Are you having fun, Fräulein?”
Hannah started as Khaos slipped a hand over her bare shoulder, tracing a feint blue light over her pale skin. Her shoulder sagging, Hannah made an effort to straighten her back as Khaos placed her lips to Hannah’s ear.
“Just play your part, sweetness, and you will be rewarded, or,” Khaos flicked her tongue inside Hannah’s ear, “punished,” she whispered. “The decision is yours.” Placing her hands either side of Hannah’s head, Khaos turned her to look at Aether. “Look how he slows their minds.” She moved Hannah’s head to follow a faint tendril of blue light creeping from one passenger to the other. Khaos let go at the scrape of a chair across the deck.
“Oh, Miss Wallendorf,” the Captain pushed back his chair and stood up. “Please, join us.”
“Thank you, Captain,” Khaos slid into the man’s seat as he rested his hand on the back of the chair, the black ruffles of her blood red dress curled around her ankles.
“How unconventional,” the Captain nodded at Khaos’ bare feet.
“Oh, I hardly follow convention,” Khaos curled her hair around her ear. “What about you, Hannah?” Khaos smoothed her hand along Hannah’s thigh, picking at the embroidery leading down to the hem of her dress.
“Rather more conventional, I am afraid,” Hannah pulled away from Khaos and reached for her empty glass. She lifted it in the air, tipping it back and forth for the waiter to see. “The Captain is very interested in the Impediment Order. Perhaps you could tell him a little more? Show him some measure of power, even?” Hannah held her glass steady as the waiter refilled it.
“Oh, yes,” the Captain drained his glass. Holding the glass out for the waiter, he cocked his head, turning his left ear closer to Khaos.
“Once initiated, members of the order are introduced to the learned ways of ordering and manipulating time.” Khaos lifted her hand, placing her index finger on the back of the Captain’s right hand. Smoothing a faint blue light from her fingertip, she drew lazy circles on the man’s mottled skin until, his fingers wilting, he dropped the wine glass. Khaos caught it in her right hand, splashing a tiny drop onto her fingers. Lifting the wine glass to her lips, she licked the wine from her fingers, absorbed the light and let go of the Captain’s hand.
“Amazing,” the Captain rubbed his hand. “Completely numb.”
“Not numb, my dear Captain Percy,” Khaos returned the Captain’s glass to his left hand, “but stilled. Members of the order learn how to still or slow time.” Khaos turned her gaze upon Hannah. “Wouldn’t you agree, Hannah dear?” Hannah took a long sip of wine, staring at Khaos as she drank.
“Miss von Ense?” the Captain set his glass on the table. “Can you also still time?”
Khaos chuckled, “Hannah is still new to the order, Captain, but she is soon to be initiated. Something I know she is looking forward to.” Khaos slipped her hand around Hannah’s knee, a pulse of blue light flickering across her knuckles as she squeezed.
“Tell me more,” the Captain reached for his glass.
The light from the candles flickered in Khaos’ emerald eyes, burning brighter than the green of Hannah’s dress. She waited until the waiter was finished refilling the Captain’s glass. “What more would you like to know, Captain?”
“Oh, something about this Cronos fellow, I think. He sounds rather interesting.”
“Khronos,” Khaos paled. Tracing the tip of her finger around her ear, she clawed at her lobe as she spoke, “is...”
“Yes?”
“Khronos is ancient.”
“Ancient?” the Captain spluttered wine into his glass. “I didn’t think one could be ancient.” He looked to Hannah for support. “One is either old or dead. Never ancient.”
Hannah watched as Khaos scratched the skin from her earlobe, blood colouring her fingernail as it clung to the skin beneath the cuticle.
“Well,” the Captain continued, “tell me, Miss Wallendorf,” he knelt down beside Khaos. “What can one do to be a part of the order?”
Recovering, Khaos traced her hand around the Captain’s ear. “My dear Captain,” she smoothed her fingers though the wisps of thinning hair at the back of his neck. “We are very exclusive. You do understand?”
“I do,” the Captain nodded. “But I will do most anything to be accepted. You can rely on me. Utter discretion, dedication and loyalty. Unquestionable loyalty. My ship is yours.”
“Romney,” Aether leaned his elbows on the table and rested his chin on the back of his hands. “What are you and the good Captain talking about down there?” The dinner guests turned their heads in line with Aether’s. Hannah shrank back into her chair.
“We were just discussing what it requires to become a member of the order, dearest.” Khaos released the faintest tingle of blue light from her fingers as she smiled at the diners seated around their table.
“I too should very much like to know, Mr. Bremen,” the man sitting to Aether’s right leaned over the table. “My wife and I...”
“Will be most welcome,” Aether took the hand of the man’s wife in his own, spilling a trickle of blue light over her fingers. “All we ask is...”
“Utmost loyalty,” the Captain pushed himself to his knees and reached for his glass. “A toast to the impedime...”
“My dear friend,” pushing back his chair, Aether stood and walked around the table as Khaos took the glass from the Captain’s hand and helped him back into his seat. “Frivolity and a good wine enjoyed with friends is the mark of a good evening by all accounts.” Aether placed his hands on the Captain’s shoulders. “All we do ask, Captain, beyond loyalty, is a little discretion. Hmm? After all,” Aether looked at each of the guests sitting around the table, “what is the point of having an exclusive club if everybody knows everything about it?”
Hannah watched as each of Aether’s dinner guests nodded, raising their glasses quietly, smiling as if they were in complete agreement. She cast a glance at Blaidd as he conversed with the men sitting at his table, his head cocked to one side with an ear pointed toward her.
“Now then, ladies and gentlemen,” Aether let go of the Captain’s shoulders and clasped Khaos’ hand within his own. “Can we count on your support?”
Chapter 10
Arkhangelsk
Russian Empire
May, 1851
Taking two steps at a time, Stepan pulled Lena down the station staircase, through a service door, and into a train maintenance shed with two locomotives parked on tracks leading up a gentle incline to the surface. He pointed at a work area at the far end of the underground shed, opposite the exit. Picking their way around work tables, winches, coal spilling from reserves piled against the wall, and wall to wall tools of all sizes, Stepan and Lena slowed as they approached a thick wooden door in the far wall.
“This is the office.” Stepan pressed his ear against the door. “Yes,” he nodded, “there is at least one person inside. Let’s find out who it is.”
“Let me go first,” Lena drew her pistol.
“No, Lena. It is most likely an engineer. I don’t remember any of them being a day under sixty. I am sure he will not be a problem, and I don’t want you scaring him with that.” Stepan pressed the pistol toward Lena’s chest. She slipped it between the bandolier straps.
“After you, Kapitan,” Lena took a step back, nursing her bloody right hand.
“Okay,” Stepan leaned against the door, gripped the metal handle and turned it downward. The door creaked as he pushed it open.
“Who’s there?” a voice croaked out from the gloom of the windowless office.
“Kapitan Stepan Skuratov,” Lena shouted from behind Stepan’s shoulder. “And ten men from the Imperial Navy.” She grinned at the clatter of metal and porcelain coming from within the office. “Better than a pistol,” Lena laughed.
“Lena,” Stepan hissed. “Shh.”
“What?” Lena pushed Stepan toward the door with her left hand. “It is one old man. Get inside before the emissary finds us.” Following Stepan inside the office, Lena paused at the sight of a hunched engineer, with long grey hair tied in a messy bun, a large metal wrench wobbling in a two-handed grip. “Not a man,” Lena frowned. “Who is she?”
“My name,” the engineer let the head of the wrench wobble to the tabletop between them, “is Oksana...”
