by Chris Paton
“My dear sister, I am so sorry for everything I have done,” he said as he choked the words through a decade of guilt.
“Don't apologise. It's all right.”
“Is it? How can it be. I left you. I deserted you.”
“You were sent away.”
“Yes,” Jamie said and lifted his head to nod. “I was under orders.”
“And so was Admiral Egmont. He sent you away, on a perilous mission, half hoping you would not succeed.”
“I don't understand?”
“His orders,” said Luise, “were to get rid of you.”
“Me? Why?”
“Your name – ours, in fact. He was ordered to get rid of all the Hanovers that could be traced to the queen.”
“Now I really don't understand,” Jamie said and let go of Luise. She caught him by the hand as he took a step back.
“War is coming. A war with Germany, most likely,” she said and glanced around the Cossacks for a glimpse of Hannah. She found her standing by the side of Ivan and her most-trusted officer. Luise lowered her voice. “The Admiral was ordered to get rid of you, and me. He didn't expect you to return from Afghanistan. He hardly expected you to succeed.”
“And yet, I did,” said Jamie as a pulse of blue flickered beneath the skin of his hand. “More or less.”
“What happened to you?” Luise said and placed her palm on Jamie's chest. “What have you become?”
“I am djinn,” he said and broke away. “And I am hungry. I must eat, and rest, and then I will tell you my story, if you will hear it?”
“I will.” Luise felt a tug at her sleeve and looked down to see Emilia's hand.
“Hannah wants to talk to you and the man in the dirty white hat.”
“That would be me,” said Hari and held out his hand. “Pleased to meet you...”
“This is Emilia Ardelean,” said Luise as the two shook hands. “She is a most interesting young lady, and quite resourceful.”
“I see,” said Hari and smiled at Emilia. “I look forward to hearing more about you. But first, my friend must eat,” he said. Two Cossacks carried a large black pot into the centre of the circle. They placed it on the ground in front of Jamie and broke loaves of thick-crusted bread into rough chunks on copper plates. They gestured at the stew and Jamie began to eat.
“You're not hungry, Hari?” said Luise.
“I can wait. Let us talk to Fräulein von Ense.”
At a look from Ivan, the Cossacks relaxed and jostled around the pot as the cooks reached into deep cloth sacks and broke more bread onto the plates. Jamie spilt stew on his chin and shirt as the Cossacks pressed around him. One man tugged at his shirt and pinched his skin only to slap him on the back and press more bread into Jamie's hands. Jamie shrugged and dipped his bread into the stew. The word djinn was bantered about the group as they ate. Jamie ignored them.
“Your brother is a slow demon?” said Hannah as Luise and Hari joined her.
“He is djinn,” said Hari. “Something quite different.” Hari paused as Ivan reached for the kukri at his belt and drew it out of the scabbard. The Cossack's eyes shone as he turned the blade in the air. “From the Indian Gurkhas,” he said. He waited as Ivan said something in Russian.
“He likes it,” said Hannah.
“I thought so,” Hari said as Ivan gave him the kukri. “What are your plans for the city?”
Hannah unfolded a rough map of Arkhangelsk and spread it on the ground. Hari kneeled by her side as Luise peered over their shoulders. With small stones she picked up from the ground, Hannah placed one stone at a time on the map as she described the location and what they knew of their objectives.
“This building was once the town hall,” she said and place a large stone on top of a building that backed onto the river. “We know that Venzke, the German in charge of the occupation of Arkhangelsk, uses this building for his administration. There is a large wine cellar and Ivan says there is a tunnel and sewer system below that.”
“So you can get your men inside?” said Luise.
“Yes, if it comes to that. I am hoping that once we get inside the city, the Germans will not want to fight their own countrymen, and Venzke will be forced to give up. But,” Hannah said and bit her lip.
“You're not sure?”
“From what Herr Schleiermacher told me on the train, I am convinced he will not. There will be some fighting, but Ivan has promised his Cossacks will fight alongside Wallendorf's soldiers and the emissaries we have left.”
“Emissaries?” said Hari.
“Yes,” said Luise. “They have perhaps evolved since you last saw them.”
“Truly,” he said and turned to see Emilia talking to her emissary outside the circle of Cossacks. Three of Ivan's men interrupted with plates of bread and small bowls of stew. They handed them around the group and Hari's stomach growled as he dipped a chunk of bread in the stew and popped it into his mouth. He grinned at Luise and wiped stew from his chin with the back of his hand. “It has been a while since we last ate.” She smiled, holding the plate and bowl in her hands as the others ate.
“What about Khronos?” she said “Has there been any sign of him?”
“He must have stopped to refuel the flyer,” said the officer. “Perhaps three times. He may arrive soon, supposing he knows the way.”
“He is drawn by Abraxas,” Luise said and turned to Hari. “That's the name of the man in Arkhangelsk.”
“You discovered his name. That's good. But where will we find him? Have you had any contact? Any visions?” he said.
“No. I did try, but I found Khronos instead.”
“Then we must get inside the city and find him before Khronos does.”
“I think we all agree on that,” said Hannah. “There is just one slight problem – the gates of the city are well defended. We cannot get close, and our people inside the city are too few to take them.”
“Then we will have to force our way in,” said Jamie as he joined the group. He reached over Hari's shoulder and pinched more bread from his plate. “I am ready. Let us begin.”
“Begin? No, we must wait and plan our attack,” said Hannah. “If we are too...” The words hung in her mouth as Jamie's feet and legs lost their form, the djinnsmoke curling at the dust on the ground. Luise gasped at the sight of her brother as his chest expanded and the shirt he was wearing split at the seams and flapped away from his body.
“Are you ready, little man?” said the djinni, its skin flushed with blue tinged with flashes of orange.
“Truly, British,” Hari said and drew his kukri. He tucked the empty copper plate inside his satchel and made a short bow to Hannah and Ivan. The Cossack leader smirked and stared at the djinni while Hari took a step towards Luise. “Once we are inside the city, we will find Abraxas. I will return for you.”
“There is no need,” she said and waved at Emilia as she stood on a crate and filled Kettlepot's furnace with wood. “I have my own personal bodyguard. I will meet you inside the city, at the gates...”
“Once the fighting is over?”
“Hari,” she said, “the fighting is just beginning.”
“Of course.”
“But I have seen you fight. Please be careful.”
“Little man,” said the djinni. “I grow restless.”
“I must go. Meet me inside the gates.”
“Yes,” Luise said and leaned forwards to brush Hari's cheek with a kiss. He smiled and bowed.
“Miss Luise,” he said. Hari called to Hannah as he walked backwards behind the djinni. “Be ready,” he said.
“To do what? We have not made any plans,” she said and waved at the map on the ground.
“Take the initiative, Miss von Ense. Make the most of every opportunity.”
“When you are done,” said the djinni, “We have work to do.”
“This is your last task, djinni,” Hari said. “This is why I freed you from the pit.”
“And when this is done, wi
ll you free me from the man?”
“If I can, I will.”
The djinni turned upon the coil smoking from his lower body. He filled his lungs and nodded. “Good then,” he said and turned towards the city. The djinni paused at the burr of a propeller in the sky above, pointing at the Wallendorf flyer as it cleared the walls of the city.
“I see it,” said Hari. “Khronos has arrived.”
The djinni pressed its upper body down towards the ground. Its legs flattened beneath its chest like the coiling of a supernatural spring. Hari ran on ahead of the djinni, his kukri above his head and the war cry of the Indian Gurkhas screaming from his mouth. The djinni released the energy of the coil and blasted forwards, the wind from his passing tearing at Hari's robes as it streaked towards the gates of Arkhangelsk. The crack of muskets and the flash of gunpowder rippled along the top of the gates and the towers on either side. Hari pressed on as the bullets fell short, out of range. The djinni reached the gates a moment later, barrelling through them with a tremendous crack that quaked through the surface of the earth on both sides of the gates. The towers rocked as the gates evaporated into sawdust and splinters. The siege of Arkhangelsk was over and the battle had begun.
Chapter 30
The Administrator’s Building
Arkhangelsk
July, 1851
Nikolas craned his neck to stare up at the trapdoor in the floor of his cell. He lowered his gaze to the first and only handhold bolted into the wall. Too high, he thought. Even if I jump. He sighed and waited for inspiration, although, if he would only admit it, he was not excited about crawling back into his cell, not when he was already free. The flicker of blue demonlight from Abraxas' hands caught his attention, and Nikolas watched as the old man shaped a series of three steps, like thick rungs on a luminescent ladder. Now I can reach the handle, he realised and tried to ready himself for what he might meet inside the cellar.
“That's great, Abraxas, but how do we know they are not waiting for me? As soon as I pop my head through the trapdoor, the guards might tie me up, and then I won't be any help to Molotok at all.”
“They are not waiting for you. They do not even know you have gone.”
“How do you know?”
“Listen.” The soft demonlight flickered as Abraxas lifted his eyes towards the ceiling. “You can't hear anything, can you?”
“No,” Nikolas said as he concentrated on every little sound inside the tunnel and above it.”
“Good. Then you must climb, before I lose focus and the steps dissolve.”
Nikolas climbed. He reached the top step and pulled himself up on the handle beneath the trapdoor. Abraxas raised the demonlight below him and Nikolas felt like he was being pushed into the cell and it occurred to him that Abraxas had no reason to help him, unless his story about needing Molotok to help him defeat a demon was true. The old man seemed powerful enough without Nikolas' help. What if he really was working for Venzke, and now that he had returned Nikolas to his cell, he would collect a reward, or perhaps even help Venzke with his interrogation. Such thoughts, and others, much darker, jostled for attention within Nikolas' mind, and it was only then that he realised Abraxas was standing on the other side of the iron door locking Nikolas in the wine cellar.
“Nikolas?” said Abraxas. “I am here and we must hurry. I need you to pay attention now. No more daydreaming.”
“But how did you get past the guards?”
“What guards?” Abraxas said, a playful smile rippled upon his lips.
“Did you knock them out?” Nikolas said as the old man shaped a tendril of demonlight into a key and forced it into the lock. Nikolas imagined the key changing shape to meet the lock's configuration before turning. A moment later and he was free, the door swinging open on its hinges, and Nikolas grabbing handfuls of the broken wine rack and stuffing them inside Molotok's furnace.
“They poured water inside him to put out his fire,” he said as Abraxas handed him more wood. “We're lucky they placed him on his side so the water could drain out of the holes in the furnace. Otherwise we would never get him started before the guards came back.”
“Oh, I sent them on an errand. They will be gone quite some time.”
“Still,” said Nikolas. “We shouldn't hang around.”
“I quite agree. Do you have enough wood?”
“To light the furnace? Yes. But we'll need water for the boiler. They drained that too.”
“Of course. I will find some.”
Nikolas' shadow leaped onto the cellar walls as he used the matches from the shelf to light the pages of a book he tossed inside the emissary's furnace. Abraxas returned with a pitcher of water. It smelled and looked like it came from the sewer, but, Nikolas reckoned, they didn't have time to be choosy. He emptied the pitcher into Molotok's boiler and waited for the emissary to steam into action.
“How long will it take?”
“Not long,” said Nikolas.
“Good,” said Abraxas. They both turned at the crash of people shouting outside the door. It opened and four guards leaped inside followed by Venzke. The self-appointed administrator of Arkhangelsk sneered as he pointed at Abraxas.
“You,” he said. “Meddling again?”
“Just a little.”
“And you, boy. You think this piece of metal is going to save you this time?”
Nikolas said nothing, but behind his back, his fingers were crossed as he willed Molotok to hurry up.
“Guards,” Venzke said as he drew a flintlock pistol from his belt. “Seize them and tie them up. I won't have any more mistakes. Use chains if you have to, but make sure they don't escape.”
“Ja, Herr Venzke,” said the senior officer among the soldiers. He directed the men to move forwards and called for more from the street.
Nikolas felt his chest tighten as the guards approached. The words: I am trapped, tumbled though his mind. He waited for Abraxas to do something with his demonlight, but the old man seemed more interested in what was happening outside the cellar. Nikolas turned his attention to the guards and Venzke. They were all looking towards the cellar door, and the officer standing there looked pale. He turned to address Venzke, and Nikolas decided the man was scared.
“They have taken the gates and have entered the city,” he said.
“Who has?” said Venzke.
“The Cossacks, and...”
“And?”
“Some kind of demon. It crashed into the gates and tore down the towers. It is ripping the limbs from our emissaries while the men are making a fighting retreat into the buildings.”
Nikolas tugged at Abraxas' sleeve. “Khronos?” he whispered.
“No, I don't think so,” Abraxas said. “Listen.”
Venzke stuffed the pistol into his belt and clicked his fingers at the guards. “Two of you, remain here. You,” he said and pointed at the third. “Come with me.” Venzke gave Nikolas one last look. “You have caused me a lot of paperwork these past few months. Once I have sorted out the mess at the gates, and dealt with the Cossacks, I will be sure to deal with you and your family – if there are any left.” Venzke marched out of the cellar leaving the two guards between Nikolas and the street. The men shifted upon their feet, flitting their eyes from the door and back to Nikolas and Abraxas.
“You could leave us,” Abraxas said. “What possible harm could an old man and a boy cause that could be worse than a horde of angry Cossacks rampaging through the city?” The men whispered to one another in German as smoke from Molotok's chimneys began to fill the room. The men twitched their noses and turned to face the emissary as Molotok sat up, glanced at Nikolas and then swung its legs over the side of the cart. Nikolas ducked, pulling Abraxas to the stone floor as the men fired their muskets. The bullets ricocheted off Molotok's armour and around the walls until they ran out of energy and tumbled to the floor. The emissary reached out to grab the men only to close its brass fingers around thin air as they dropped their muskets and fled from the cellar a
nd into the street.
“Come on,” said Nikolas as he helped Abraxas to his feet. “Now's our chance.”
Nikolas gave Molotok the thumbs up sign and the emissary did its best to reciprocate, lifting its arm with a great brass thumb pointed upwards. It followed as Nikolas led Abraxas onto a street full of confused citizens congregating between buildings, clouds of spent gunpowder drifting between the houses, and the sound of metal being wrenched and tossed around the city. Nikolas looked up and caught a glimpse of what looked like an emissary's cloven foot as it sailed over the town hall and out into the river. He started towards the river, tugging at Abraxas' sleeve, but the old man stood rooted to the packed-earth street as a huge figure strode towards them. The man's fingers seemed to Nikolas like they were three feet long, but, he realised, it wasn't the man's fingers, but tendrils of demonlight, the same as Abraxas'. A quick look at the old man confirmed that he too was casting demonlight and all of a sudden Nikolas knew the man's name: Khronos.
“Now is the time I need your friend to fight for me, Nikolas.”
Molotok twisted to watch Khronos as the demonlight extended from his fingers and scorched funnels in the street. I could run, Nikolas thought. Molotok and I could escape to the river and get a boat or something. Even as he thought it, Nikolas knew he would not run, not yet. The old man had helped free Molotok after all. But what if this demon can rip arms and legs from emissaries like the one at the gate? The thought lingered as Molotok rushed forwards, fists clenched and arms in attack position.
“Abraxas,” the man roared as his fingers blistered, the tips of the tendrils crackling like lightning whips.
“You have found me, Khronos. I suppose you have come to settle up, and return me to the Passage?”
“Return you to the Passage of Time? Hah,” Khronos said and laughed as Molotok drew closer. “Why should I reward you when I can kill you?” Khronos' first blast of energy was directed at Molotok. The emissary took the brunt of the demonlight whip on its globus tank. The flails at the end of the whip screeched through the first layer of armour and blistered the paint from the emissary's chest. The red star that Nikolas had painted with his fingers shortly after he had found Molotok was removed at once. As the demonlight from Khronos' backhand whipped above the street, the demon struck at Molotok's legs with the tendrils protruding from his left hand. The emissary looked down as the demonlight spun around its legs and pulled it off balance and onto the street.
