Metal and Magic

by Chris Paton

  “Romney Wallendorf,” she said and folded her arms across her chest. “More recently known as Khaos, the slow demon released in London. The partner of Aether, the demon that took the body of my employer, Herr Bremen.”

  “And Direktor Wallendorf's daughter?”

  “Ja.”

  “I remember her from the steam race in London,” Luise said and watched as the men lifted the woman onto the dockside. This woman, Luise realised, knew the name of the mysterious man in Arkhangelsk. And with her help, we can start to put things right. Luise took a step towards the ladder.

  “Wait,” said Hannah. “She can be dangerous.”

  “She doesn't look it.”

  “All the same, let me go first.”

  Luise waited on the dockside as Hannah climbed down the ladder and helped the men position Khaos on the jetty. The slow demon coughed a stream of seawater onto the wooden jetty and the men rolled her onto her side. Hannah sent one of the men to find Wallendorf as she leaned closer and pressed her ear to Khaos' mouth. Luise leaned forwards without thinking, as she strained to hear what has being said.

  “Careful, Fräulein,” said the man Hannah ordered to search for Romney’s father. He caught Luise by the elbow and didn't let go until he was sure she was steady on her feet. “It's a bit of a drop.”

  “I am all right. Thank you.”

  “Well, I have to find Direktor Wallendorf. Don't fall off the dock,” he said and ran toward the command tent close to the siding shed.

  Hannah stood up and nodded to the men to lift the woman from the jetty to the dock. Luise waited as Hannah climbed the ladder and joined her.

  “She's very weak. I think her fight with the demon...”

  “Khronos.”

  “Ja,” Hannah said. “It has left her very weak. Romney is there as well as the demon. I think both of them will die soon.” Hannah took a long breath. “But I have a name for you.”

  Luise pressed her hands together and touched her fingers to her lips as she waited.

  “The man you are looking for in Arkhangelsk is called Abraxas.”

  “Abraxas,” Luise said and smiled. “Of course.”

  “He is a demon, Miss Hanover.”

  “Aren't they all?”

  “But can we trust him? I mean, it was him that gave you the means to release her,” Hannah said and sneered at the woman as an engineer carried Khaos up the ladder.

  “I realise that,” Luise said. “But if I am to undo what I have done, then I have to believe he can and will help.”

  Hannah opened her mouth to say something, but stopped as Wallendorf bustled toward the dock accompanied by an entourage of assistants and the doctor. Schleiermacher followed at a discreet distance. He glanced at the inert form of Kettlepot as he passed.

  “My dear daughter,” Wallendorf said with a wail as he cupped the woman's face in his hands. The engineer lowered her to the floor and Wallendorf sank to his knees. The woman's wet red hair clung to his sleeves like flaming seaweed. Wallendorf pulled her into his arms and kissed her forehead as the doctor made a quick examination.

  “I am sorry, Herr Direktor. She is very weak. We must take her to the hospital right away, or risk losing her.”

  “Yes,” Wallendorf said between gasps of breath. “Do what you must. You must save my dear Romney.”

  Emilia arrived with an armful of wood bundled within her harness. She caught Luise's eye and waited a discreet distance from the men as the doctor arranged for Wallendorf to accompany his daughter to the hospital. A steamcarriage arrived and the woman's limp form was placed inside. Wallendorf followed his daughter inside the carriage as the doctor climbed up to sit with the driver. Schleiermacher waved them off, sent the men back to the boats, and walked over to Hannah and Luise.

  “Well, that's that,” he said. “Did you get the information you need?”

  “Yes,” said Luise. “Now we just have to make our way north, to Arkhangelsk.”

  “Yes,” Schleiermacher said and turned to Hannah. “I must stay here with Wallendorf, and clean up this mess on the docks. Miss Hanover's friends will be arriving soon on The Tanfana. It is steamed-up and full of emissaries, troops and flyers. The only things we can't fit onboard are the walkers.” He paused. “Will you take command, Fräulein von Ense, and see this thing through to the end?”

  Luise watched the German woman as Hannah frowned and did her best to avoid Schleiermacher's eyes. Images of the warehouse in London, when Luise was forced to use the impediment machine as Bremen and Hannah watched, flashed through her mind. Hannah had been there from the start, and yet, thought Luise, she has changed or been changed by her interactions with the demons.

  “I will do it,” said Hannah. “For Herr Bremen.”

  “Good,” said Schleiermacher. “There are some things you need to know. Walk with me and I will tell you what you can expect in Arkhangelsk. Herr Bremen set some things in motion that may cause some problems on your arrival in Russia.”

  The dockside emptied as the men returned to the boats and Schleiermacher briefed Hannah on the way to the rail yard. Luise was alone for a moment until a flicker of movement caught her eye and she saw Emilia step out from the shadows of a derrick and carry her horde of firewood to the back of the emissary. She let the wood fall to the ground, pulled her control box between the emissary's legs and used it to stand on as she opened the door to the furnace. Luise joined her and handed her the small pieces of wood.

  “Thanks for looking after Kettlepot,” Emilia said as she filled the furnace.

  “It was my pleasure.”

  Emilia stepped down from the control box and fished inside her pockets for a flint striker and a handful of kindling and dried moss. She closed her hands around both and looked at Luise.

  “Where is Arkhangelsk?”

  “In the far north of Russia,” said Luise. She thought for a moment and then asked, “Would you like to come?”

  “Can I?”

  “If your parents will allow it, yes.”

  “And if I didn't have any of those?” Emilia said and pressed her lips tight.

  “Then you would have to take responsibility for your own actions.”

  “Then I will come, and Kettlepot will come too.”

  Luise smiled and helped Emilia step onto the control box. “I was rather hoping you would say that,” she said.

  On the third strike of the flint, the kindling caught flame and Emilia gripped the sides of the furnace as she blew the flames onto the wood. Smoke billowed out and around the young girl's head. Luise reached up to pinch a spark from Emilia's hair.

  “Thanks,” Emilia said and jumped down to the ground. “He's got enough water to get steamed-up and walk over to the rail yard. But I am going to have to clean and grease everything before he is at his best again.”

  “You will have plenty of time on the train,” said Luise. “I can't imagine a Wallendorf train doesn't have an engineering car. I will see to it that you have full use of it, and all the help you need. In fact,” she added, “I will help you and you can tell me all about the Şteamƙin.”

  “It's a deal,” said Emilia and reached up to swing the furnace door shut. She held the control box in her hands but ignored the levers inside. “Come on Kettlepot,” she said and pointed her nose toward the rail yard. “We're off on an adventure.”

  Luise hid a smile behind her hand and walked alongside the odd pair. The blast of a steam whistle in the distance, and a pall of smoke, announced the arrival of The Tanfana and the next leg of her journey toward Arkhangelsk, and, Luise hoped, Hari Singh.

  Chapter 7

  The Great Southern Plain

  Arkhangelsk Oblast

  July, 1851

  Mishka jumped. Stepan leaned into the butt of the long rifle and anticipated the Cossack's movements. The bend of the knees, the leap, the landing. He didn't want to kill Mishka, and if he did kill him, Stepan didn't want the first death by a bullet from a rifle he fired to be Cossack. He had killed enough of the
m already. The two year skirmish with the Cossacks had been hard on Stepan. He had been away from home many months in a row. He had missed some of the important moments in Nikolas' young life, including one birthday, and he had missed the signs of Anna's illness. Stepan had lived by the rifle, and lived for the kill. Something, he thought about often, and something he never wished to repeat.

  “And yet,” he said, “here I am.”

  Stepan pulled the trigger and blew the ushanka from Mishka's head as the Cossack landed after another jump. Mishka lifted his hands to his head, ran his fingers through his hair and roared with laughter.

  “I am rich,” he said and pumped his arms in the air.

  Stepan rested his chin on the stock of the rifle and closed his eyes. Images of Anna, before and after the sickness from the mines gripped her lungs, spooled through his mind. He erased the image of his wife with a brisk shake of his head and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He grasped the fork rest in his left hand, jerked it out of the ground and turned to march back to the table as the Cossacks scrabbled for their share of the money. Stepan reeled as Mishka, soaking wet from his crossing of the river, rushed past him to make a grab for his money.

  “Well done, Kapitan,” Ivan said as Stepan approached the table. “You have not lost your touch, I see.” Lena nodded her approval from the table as she slapped at the hands of the men trying to grab her share of the winnings.

  “I'm pleased I could amuse you and your men.”

  “They are just as much yours as mine now, Kapitan. I expect you to lead a small company of Cossacks. More will be arriving by the day and we need to practice.”

  “I'll teach the men as much as I can,” said Stepan. “But what I really want is to see Anna.”

  “Then you will be pleased to hear I have sent a man to make sure she meets us at the gates of the city,” Ivan said and puffed a cloud of smoke from his pipe.

  Stepan relaxed beneath Ivan's arm as the Cossack commander draped it across his shoulders. He led Stepan toward a hidden camp in the trees beyond the crates and boxes of ammunition. Ivan stopped at the fire pit in front of the tent and gestured for Stepan to sit on one of the upturned crates.

  “The summer light makes for late evenings, Kapitan. Let us rest and drink. We can tell war stories. And, tomorrow maybe, you will see your Anna,” Ivan said and winked. “Perhaps you want a good Cossack woman to keep you warm tonight, eh?”

  “No,” Stepan said and slid the rifle from his shoulder. He leaned it against the trunk of a tree close to the fire pit. “Just a drink.”

  “Yes, it is best.” Ivan ducked into the tent and returned with two bottles of cloudy spirits. “Made with water from the Laya River. It has kick. Better than anything you will ever find in Moscow. That is why I love my country,” he said and tossed a bottle to Stepan. “Everything north of Moscow and south of Murmansk.” Ivan sat down and removed his pipe from his mouth. He tamped the last twists of smouldering tobacco on the ground and placed his pipe on the crate next to him. He popped the cork from the bottle and raised it. “To Arkhangelsk,” he said and took a long pull of vodka.

  “To Arkhangelsk,” Stepan said and drank. He waited for the sting of raw spirits, coughed and took another long drink.

  “Slow down, Kapitan,” Ivan said and laughed. “We have the whole night.”

  “That is what I am afraid of.”

  “Tell me of this submersible before you are too drunk to speak,” Ivan said and moved to sit on the ground. He rested his back against the crate and Stepan did the same.

  “It is small,” Stepan said and paused as Lena walked through the trees and sat next to him by the fire pit. She took the bottle of vodka from his hands, took a long swig and then waited for him to take it. When Stepan took the bottle, Lena prepared a fire in the pit. “But manoeuvrable.”

  “Under the water?”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you see?”

  Stepan took another pull of vodka, and smiled as the alcohol loosened his tongue and relaxed his muscles. It was a long ride, he mused.

  “There is a window in the command module and another in the very front of the submersible.”

  “How?” Ivan said and frowned. He looked at the bottle and compared the contents with the bottle Stepan drank from.

  “How what, Ivan?”

  Ivan farted and raised his bottle to his lips. Lena laughed and pulled a wooden box of matches from her pocket. The sling for her arm hung loose around her neck.

  “Breathe?” said Stepan. “How do you breathe underwater?”

  “In the submersible, da,” Ivan said and reclined to make himself more comfortable on the ground.

  “We burn a chlorate candle – a small one. It gives off oxygen as it burns and we pump that around the ship with fans. There is only one problem.”

  “What's that?” said Lena. She reached over the fire and pulled the bottle of vodka out of her father's arms. Ivan nodded his head and started to snore.

  “The candle burns at a very high temperature. It can destroy a ship if it is not insulated and strict protocol is observed.” Stepan lifted the bottle in his hand and pointed at Ivan with his middle finger. “I am not sure your father has the discipline for a submersible, Lena.”

  “My father is a true Cossack,” she said and lifted the bottle to her lips. She emptied it and tossed it toward the opening of the tent. “But he would make a lousy pirate, Kapitan Skuratov.”

  “And what about you, Lena?”

  “Me?” Lena said and crawled over to Stepan. With a wicked grin pasted upon her face, she gripped his jacket beneath the arms and straddled him. “I am a good Cossack,” she said and kissed Stepan on the forehead. “But I would be a most excellent pirate. When Vlad and I are together, we will sail under the water on many adventures.” Lena laughed and rolled off Stepan and onto the ground. She kicked at the fire and sent flames crackling and sparking in the light of the midnight sun. She held out her hand for the bottle and Stepan gave it to her. Lena lifted it to the light and swirled the last of the contents in a slow circle. “To the pirate life,” she said and finished the vodka.

  “To the pirate life,” Stepan said and smiled. He waved as Lena staggered to her feet and pointed at the tent. She pulled a pistol from inside her jacket and waved it at Stepan.

  “I sleep in there,” she said. “If you come in, I will shoot you.”

  “I am sure you would.”

  “Da, Kapitan. I will shoot any man that comes inside the tent. Unless...” she said and frowned.

  “Vladimir?”

  “Da, Vlad,” Lena said and brushed the hair from her face with the back of her hand. “If you see him, tell him I am in the tent.”

  “In the tent,” Stepan said and nodded.

  “Shh. Not so loud.” Lena pointed the pistol at her father and giggled. “My father is Ivan Timofeyevich.”

  “I know.”

  “He must not know about Vlad,” Lena said as she wobbled around the camp fire to place her hands around Ivan's ears. Stepan rolled to one side to move out of the line of fire of Lena's pistol. It was pointed straight at him.

  “I won't say a thing,” he said with a mock salute. “You have my word, Lena Timofeyevich.”

  “Da? Good,” she said and stood up straight. She fiddled the pistol into the fold of her jacket, picked her way around the crates and crashed through the tent door. Stepan smiled as he heard Lena curse on landing.

  “Goodnight,” he said but there was no answer.

  Stepan moved closer to the fire and crossed his arms beneath his head. It wasn't the first time he had slept outside on the brink of battle. But it was the first time he had slept around a camp fire in a Cossack camp. How times change, he mused and closed his eyes. The image of Anna returned. They were together in a forest outside of the city. The soft light of summer turned her brown hair gold with an aura of energy that captured the wood dust and made it shine like tiny stars between the trees. It was the day Stepan had asked Anna to marry him
. He was due to leave the following day to lead a company of Imperial Russian Marines on a mission to kill or capture the Cossack rebel, Ivan Timofeyevich. Anna had said yes, on one condition.

  “Anything,” Stepan had said.

  “That when the mission is over, you will never fire a gun again.”

  “Never again. I promise.”

  But the mission, Stepan remembered, had become a war, and he had fought many months before returning to Anna and their new born son.

  “Nikolas,” Stepan said and opened his eyes. “Where are you now?”

  Stepan sat up and slowly pulled himself to his feet. He took a breath and walked over to the tree to retrieve the rifle. He slung it over his shoulder and picked up the empty bottles before making his way to the boxes of ammunition. The majority of the Cossacks slept on or near the table, but the few who were awake nodded at Stepan and helped him find powder for the rifle. Stepan searched among the pile of fork rests and found one to his liking. He walked down to the river and found a tree on the river bank. He placed the bottles on a branch of the tree and paced out one hundred paces. Two Cossacks carried a crate of empty bottles down the the river. They placed them on the branch next to Stepan's, before walking back up the bank and sitting on the ground to watch as Stepan zeroed in his rifle with shot after shot until the sun crept over the horizon with the dawn of a new day on the Great Southern Plain.