by Chris Paton
“Is Bremen gone?” Hannah folded her arms across her chest.
“A bold question.” Aether pulled out the chair from beneath the desk. The leather sighed as he sat on it.
“No more bold than entering a woman’s cabin and pursuing her into her bathroom. Have you no manners or etiquette in the...” Hannah teased at the opening of the robe.
“In the passage of time? Yes?” Aether folded one leg over the other and gestured at the bed opposite the desk. “Won’t you sit, Hannah?”
Hannah crossed the short distance to the bed and sat down. Sliding her hand beneath the pillow, she pressed the tips against the sharp edge of the knuckle duster before returning her hands to her lap.
“That’s better,” Aether unfolded his legs and leaned forward. “It is best that you try to forget about Herr Bremen. He is not gone, as you crudely put it. But neither is he separable from me. Were I to die then so would he.”
“Can I talk to him?”
“Oh, no,” Aether laughed. “This is not possession. I am not that kind of demon.”
Hannah waited until Aether finished laughing, staring at him as he wiped a tear from his eye. “A demon is a demon.”
“Perhaps,” Aether gripped the cuffs of his left sleeve, straightening it with a sharp tug. “As for your other question.” He paused to straighten his right sleeve. “We have a formal etiquette in the passage, a code if you will, something that Khronos demands.”
“Khronos. Is he in charge?”
“Yes.”
“Why is Khaos so frightened of him getting out, finding a body like you did?”
Aether leaned back in the chair. He studied Hannah.
Hannah enjoyed the beginnings of the smile playing across her lips. “Herr Bremen did not employ me for my looks alone. Your partner is very adept at using the female form she possesses to the maximum effect, but the language of the body can be so revealing, even when one tries one’s best not to show anything. Khaos is frightened of him. What is it that Khronos can do, exactly? If he were to escape from the passage.”
Aether tapped his fingers on his knees before answering. “Khronos would not need to escape, but neither can he just leave. If he were to get out then he would be interested in only one thing – returning to the passage all those who ever left it.”
“Something you wish to avoid because it is unpleasant?”
“Not unpleasant, Hannah,” Aether leaned forward. “Life is not unpleasant in the passage of time. Life is safe to the point of being uncommonly dull. There is only so much boredom one can stand.” Aether flexed his fingers and pointed at Hannah. “Surely, you know what it is like to be bored? How interminable it is. Unpleasant? Hah,” the chair creaked as Aether pushed himself back into it. “If only life were unpleasant. A little torture now and again. Pain one day, uncertainty the next. Oh, what I would give to not know what was in store for me from one day to the next.” Aether rested his elbow on the armrest and cupped his chin in his hand. “In the passage one wants for nothing. There is no sickness, no hunger, nothing less than everything one’s heart desires.”
“Then how did you come to be in the passage in the first place?” Hannah shook her head. “I don’t understand.”
“Do you not?” Aether lifted his head and took a deep breath. “Demons of Impedimenta, Khaos and I, me...” he paused. “We lived life to the full. We were true demons in corporeal form. Robbers, thieves, highwaymen, scoundrels and rogues.” Aether smiled. “We lived every day as if it was our last. We scorned every attempt to stop us, barrelling through barricades and ripping apart those who even thought about pursuing us. Seen through our own eyes we were the embodiment of life itself. And then, Khronos, from beyond time took away our purpose, he removed time from the equation and we had nothing left to live for. We were sucked into the passage and given everything we ever desired so that we might never again take or seek that which we did not have.”
“I can think of worse punishments.”
“Really? Then I am sorry for you, Hannah von Ense, for you have yet to truly live.” Pushing himself out of the chair, Aether stood and walked to the door of the cabin. Grasping the handle, he paused. “I came here tonight to tell you more about who we were. You seem to have gathered together pieces of information from your own observations. I have thanked you for your assistance. I will require further assistance in the coming days if Khaos and I are to be successful. After which I will reward you by letting you go. Your services, at that point, will no longer be needed.”
“How will you be successful?” Hannah fiddled with the robe as she stood. “What are you intending to do?”
“If we are to remain on this side of the passage, Khaos and I must ensure that Khronos can never be allowed to follow us.” Aether let go of the handle and rested against the door. “He must not be allowed to get out.”
“You need the machine after all?”
“No,” Aether shook his head. “The machine itself is irrelevant. We can build our own. In fact, that is what I wanted to tell you. Khaos is enlisting the assistance of Roland and Percy in that particular project as we speak. But,” he tugged at his beard, “to answer your question, it is not the machine that interests me. It is the glyphs themselves. Scribing the correct khronoglyphs will allow us to seal Khronos in the passage for eternity, while allowing others to pass freely, beyond his power to control.” Aether scoffed. “A fitting end for the father of time.”
“But you told me, back on the riverboat, you already knew how to read khronoglyphs.”
“As I do,” Aether nodded. “But as in all things, there is always someone who knows more and is wiser than oneself. In this case, the first demon, to use your definition, to ever leave the passage is the man I need to find. For that I will need your help.” Aether glanced at the door to the bathroom. “And if your friend is as useful as you believe him to be, then perhaps there will be work for him too.” Aether waited as Blaidd slipped out from behind the door and entered the cabin. “Yes, Mr. Blaidd, you too have talents and I think they would be best used in our service rather than against us. You will find that your quarry, Miss Hanover, is currently trying to seek the same man that I am. She just doesn’t know him like I do. If you help us locate him, then you will locate her, and everybody will be accommodated.” Opening the door, Aether paused as he stepped out into the corridor. “One more thing.”
“Yes? And what will that be, eh?” Blaidd stepped between Hannah and Aether.
“Let me see your palms.”
“All right.” Blaidd lifted his hands and turned his palms toward Aether. “No harm in that.”
“On the contrary,” Aether peered closer at the spirals burned into Blaidd’s palms. “Marks like that have a habit of causing problems. You would do well to keep them covered. Where we are going, people don’t look too kindly on the signs of the djinn.”
“Djinn?” Hannah stepped around Blaidd. Pulling at his right hand she studied his palm.
“There are real demons in your world, Fräulein von Ense. We don’t need machines to conjure them. Only evil.” Aether smiled. “Goodnight to you both. I am sure you have plenty to discuss.” Aether’s shoes shushed along the carpet in the corridor as he walked away, a slow smile creeping across his lips.
҉
Sweating between shovelfuls of coal, Stepan flicked his gaze between the pair of emissaries sharpening the cutting edges of their massive broadswords on the iron tracks, and the bent form of Oksana bustling back and forth in the cab, turning dials up and down, tapping at gauges and glowering at Lena sprawled in the driver’s seat of The Voskhod.
“How much longer, Oksana?” Stepan leaned upon the shovel, sweat dripping from his forehead adding to the streaks and stains on his jacket.
“Not so long now. Faster if you stop interrupting me.”
Lena winced as she leaned forward in her seat to peer through the thick triangular window in front of her. “Two emissaries, and three men with rifles.” She turned around in her seat. “I cannot see the
controllers.”
“They are keeping them out of the way.” Stepan dumped another shovelful of coal inside the boiler. Kicking the door closed with his boot, he used the blade of the shovel to lock the door in position. Stepan tossed the shovel on top of the pile of coal, patting Oksana on the shoulder as he stepped into the cab. “I can’t get any more coal in the boiler, Oksana.” Stepan leaned around Lena to watch the emissaries through the window.
“Then we are ready.” Oksana wiped her hands on the soft leather apron bound around her waist. She tapped Lena on the shoulder. “Are you going to drive?”
“No,” Lena winced out of the seat and limped to the door on the right side of the cab.
“It’s getting worse?” Stepan kneeled beside her as she slid onto the floor.
“Only when I move.” Lena tugged the flintlock from her bandolier. “You never did pick up a weapon, did you?”
“No,” Stepan shrugged.
Lena laughed. “You wear the band of a sniper, and you won’t carry a weapon. What kind of soldier are you, Kapitan?”
“I command a submersible now, Lena. My shooting days are over.”
“Did fighting Cossacks give you such a change of heart?” Lena pressed her hand on Stepan’s chest. “If they did...”
“It has nothing to do with your father, Lena. If that is what you are asking.”
“Then...”
Stepan braced his body with a hand on the rail running the length of the door as The Voskhod shuddered into life. “I made a promise to Anna, when she got sick.” He took a breath. “As soon as I could see how precious life was, I lost the stomach for killing.”
“These men will kill you, Kapitan,” Lena waved the pistol in the direction of the emissaries and the riflemen taking position on both sides of the track. “Without hesitation.”
“Yes, I know.” Stepan stood and pulled on the heavy door, sliding it shut and locking it.
“Great,” Lena let the pistol fall in her lap. “Now even I can’t shoot.”
“You won’t have to, Lena.” Stepan squeezed the Cossack’s shoulder. He smiled. “How are we doing, Oksana?”
Oksana whistled as The Voskhod picked up steam and the wheels began to turn. Twisting in her seat, she grinned at Stepan, beads of sweat pricking her lips beneath the heavy leather and brass goggles. Oksana reached for the chain of The Voskhod’s steam whistle and gave it a good, sharp tug.
The emissaries stepped onto the track, the grinding of their swords lost in the shrill blast of the locomotive’s whistle. The controllers, hidden behind packing crates and spare iron wheels, glared into the boxes hanging from the harnesses strapped to their chests, the green glow of the Tesla screens painting their faces a sickly pallor. Free of passenger cars and wagons The Voskhod picked up speed, smoke billowing from its triple stacks as it charged toward the emissaries.
“Hold on, Lena,” Stepan grinned. Standing up, he joined Oksana at the wheel, holding onto the back of her seat as she gave the whistle another blast.
The first of the emissaries to meet the plough end of The Voskhod leaped onto the locomotive. Arms spread wide, its stubby brass fingers splayed for purchase, the emissary slid along the cylindrical boiler of the locomotive, peeling off and squealing to the ground as its companion crumpled under The Voskhod’s wheels.
“More speed, Oksana,” Stepan stumbled over Lena as he jumped to the door to watch the emissaries fall beneath the onslaught of The Voskhod. He ducked as blasts of charged particles zinged against the door as the riflemen leaped from cover to plaster the escaping locomotive.
“Hah,” Oksana spat at the dial in front of her, wiping the dust and grime free with her thumb. “Next stop, Moscow,” she tapped the dial and gave the whistle one more blast as The Voskhod thundered out of the railyard.
҉
“What is it we are looking for, Miss?” Jacques waited at the door of the cargo hold as Luise scrambled over the packing cases and crates, dropping out of sight inside the office Hari had created for her. Jacques twisted the key of the oil lantern he carried by the handle and shone the beam around the hold.
“Got it,” Luise crawled up over the side of the crates and dropped onto the metal grille walkway below. Straightening the hem of her skirt and repositioning the satchel strap running across her chest, Luise carried the impediment machine under her arm. She joined Jacques at the door and gestured at stairs at the end of the corridor. “I have my machine. Let’s see if your uncle is wise enough not to use it.”
“What do you mean?” Jacques followed Luise into the corridor. “If you don’t think he should use it...”
“Why get it for him? Do you think I had much choice in the matter?”
“Maybe...”
“Or not, Jacques. You were the one to tell us how intolerant of stowaways your uncle is. It seems he is even more intolerant when there is something he wants.”
“But if it can help him?”
Luise turned at the stairs. She leaned in close to Jacques, loose strands of her hair tickling his face as they blew in the draught from the cargo hold. “Listening at the door, were you, Jacques?”
“Master Whyte told me,” Jacques took a step back.
“Listen carefully, Jacques. This,” Luise lifted the machine under her arm, “is not to be played with. I have already told your uncle it will not help him. That they will not help him. But he would not listen.”
“Why would you tell me this?”
“Because they would be interested in you, Jacques. And that should concern you, if not your uncle. You need to stay as far away as possible.” Luise turned and began walking up the stairs.
“What about you?”
Luise stopped and smiled. “We all have our weaknesses. Mine just happens to make me immune and uninteresting for demons.”
“And Hari?” Jacques followed Luise up the stairs. “Why doesn’t he have to stay clear of them?”
“Hari is,” Luise paused to enjoy the smile on her lips. “Hari has something extra, something the demons really don’t like.” Stopping at the top of the stairs, Luise waited for Jacques. “Whatever happens, just stay outside of the shadow vortex. Let Cairn try the machine and make up his own mind.”
Jacques put down the lamp and held out his hands. “I’m sorry, the Captain wanted me to carry the machine.”
“That’s okay, Jacques,” Luise pulled the machine from under her arm and placed it in Jacques’ hands. “Remember what I said. That’s all I ask.” Walking behind Jacques, Luise followed him through the passenger quarters of The Flying Scotsman. She paused outside a cabin before the stairs leading up to the dining lounge.
“Is something wrong?” Jacques stopped.
Opening her satchel, Luise pulled out the notebook, speaking aloud as she scribbled on a fresh page. “Lance, three stars and a circle around the third.” She paused, closing her eyes, her eyelids creasing. “A cloud... no,” she crossed out the last khronoglyphs, “not a cloud... darkness.” Luise shaded an oblong shape by the side of the lance and stars. She closed the notebook and returned it to her satchel.
Jacques frowned. “I am not sure the Captain will appreciate us stopping. We had best be getting on to the bridge.”
“Yes, of course.” Luise followed Jacques, her right hand tapping the banister at intervals. Clutching her satchel, she mumbled the new sequence of khronoglyphs as she climbed the stairs.
Chapter 13
The Amphitrite
In the skies above Denmark
June, 1851
Noonan fidgeted between a tangle of pipes glowing above his head. He peered into the gloom along the crawlspace to where Smith crouched and waved at him. He crawled forward, the heat from the pipes encouraging the sweat from his body to run in streams beneath his arms, down his chest, pooling in the small of his back.
“How are you doing, Major?” Smith reached into the opening of the crawlspace and gripped Noonan’s hand. “We’ll have you out in a moment, young man.”
Noonan
tumbled out into the hold. He nodded at Smith as the wiry old man, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, guided Noonan into a corner.
“You’ll find it is a little cooler over here.” Smith sat down beside Noonan.
“It’s a lot cooler than in there,” Noonan dipped his head toward the crawlspace. “The Devil himself couldn’t have invented a crueller workspace.” He looked around the hold. “Egmont?”
“He is with the Captain,” Smith smiled. “He is a different man, hopping along the gangways, hanging from the rigging like he was twenty years younger.”
“I am glad someone is having a jolly time of it. Who is captaining this ship?”
“Airship,” Smith patted Noonan’s leg. “Why must you all insist on it being a ship?” Removing his glasses, Smith wiped them clean on the tails of his grubby shirt. “The Captain is rather reclusive, if you hadn’t already gathered that.”
“I had an idea.” Noonan wiped his brow.
“Well, he is as effective as he is shy. The Captain has pushed The Amphitrite faster than I believe she has ever flown before, if I am to believe the Admiral. We are very close to catching The Flying Scotsman. She is but a dark speck on the horizon, just ahead of us.”
“And the Captain? Is he aware of our mission?”
“He knows it is top priority. They don’t pull him out of the hangar for less it would seem.” Smith moved to position his back against the wall. “Slightly cooler,” he leaned back with a sigh. “It might be that neither you nor I ever meet the Captain in the flesh, but I hope you are ready to carry out the mission when we are within boarding distance of The Scotsman. The revised mission, I mean.”
“Believe me, Smith,” Noonan leaned his head back against the bulkhead. “I am not interested in killing for the sake of killing.”
“That didn’t stop you firing your carbine in St James’ Park.”
“They were fugitives fleeing the scene of a crime. I had little alternative.”
“And now? Are they not still fugitives?”
