Metal and Magic

by Chris Paton

  “And what am I to do with this?” the djinni said and spun the copper plate within its fingers.

  “Press it onto the demon's skin and it will be forced back into the Passage of Time.”

  “Just like that?”

  “I believe so, yes.”

  “Hmm,” the djinni said and stared at Khronos. “He knows what it is?”

  “He will probably guess.”

  “And that is why he is running towards the building you were hiding inside? Look.”

  Hari looked and felt a great claw tighten around his chest as Khronos thrust tendrils of demonlight from his fingers and ripped the window and door frame from the building, exposing Luise and Abraxas in a shower of glass and timber. Hari heard Abraxas moan as Khronos flung the demonlight around the old man's body and dragged him out into the street. Luise reached for him and then backed away as Khronos lifted his hand, a missile of energy building within his palm. He launched the missile at Luise and Hari watched as she dove to the floor only to be rolled to the rear of the building as the missile exploded and sent her tumbling with the furniture and debris.

  “No,” Hari yelled and drew his kukri. He charged towards Khronos only to have his assault arrested as the djinni clapped a huge hand upon his shoulder.

  “Save my sister,” it said with Jamie's voice.

  “British?”

  “Yes, but not for long. Save Luise and I will send Khronos back to where he came from.”

  “You will have to hold the plate in place, British. I cannot tell you what will happen.”

  “I think we know, Hari. It's all right. I cannot live like this forever. I am just a vessel after all.”

  Hari looked the djinni in the eyes and was rewarded with the sad and distant look of the young man he had met on the Khyber Pass. It seemed to Hari like a very long time ago. The djinni smiled and, at a scream from Abraxas, its legs smoked into a tornado and it ploughed a furrow in the street as it charged towards Khronos. Hari followed. Khronos held the old man at arm’s length, a coil of demonlight wrapped around Abraxas' throat. It tightened as the djinni slammed into the demon's body, punching the plate into Khronos' chest.

  “This is your doing, Abraxas,” Khronos screamed as he tore at the djinni's grip with the blistering fingers of his right hand. Abraxas dangled from the demonlight in his left, and as the djinni lifted them into the air, Hari hacked at the tendrils strangling the old man.

  “Forget about me,” Abraxas said, his voice rasping through the coils of demonlight. “Save the girl.”

  “Right,” Hari said and brought his hands together in a namaste. Abraxas smiled as he rose into the air at the end of Khronos' tether. The air around Khronos shimmered and Hari caught a glimpse of a tunnel beyond the now and then. The entrance was at once black and fathomless, yet familiar, as if all the pasts he might have known were on display, leading to a multitude of future possibilities. Hari saw what he imagined to be several immediate futures, including one where the pale body of Jamie Hanover was torn from the djinni's body and dropped from the air to the street, and another where the djinni and the man inside it were dragged into the Passage of Time and lost forever as it was sealed. The air around him began to thicken, and Hari was torn between running to free Luise from her timbered tomb or waiting for that possible future when the djinni was released from the vessel, and Jamie was returned to the present. So long as the djinni maintained its grip on Khronos and the plate was pressed into the demon's chest, Hari knew one possible future was definite – that the demon would be gone for all time.

  But if Jamie falls from that height, Hari realised, without his djinni form he will die on impact. But, he looked towards where Luise lay beneath the rubble. Miss Luise needs me.

  “War is coming, Hari,” Jamie's voice drifted down from above, the same words he had spoken to Hari after the battle of Adina Pur, “and I want my sister to be protected.”

  “I understand, British,” Hari said and turned away from the battle in the air above him and ran for the building. Hari picked his way through the rubble and called Luise's name. He cupped his ears with his hands to listen for her reply and was rewarded with a cough and a whisper of his name. Hari strained to pull the wooden joists from the pile pressing Luise to the floor. The exchange of demonlight and the djinni's roar continued, licking the street in waves of fury. Hari continued to uncover one layer of debris after another until locks of Luise's strawberry blonde hair contrasted with the blackwood and dust. He slowed, prising one piece after another from her body until he could reach in and touch her face.

  “Miss Luise,” he said. “Are you badly hurt?”

  “For once, I am more shaken than hurt. These beams,” she said and pointed at an A-frame construction above her shoulders, “seemed to fall in exactly the right position. If you can get me out, then I should be fine.”

  Hari moved the last remaining timbers trapping Luise and then pulled her out and onto the floor. He held her for a moment, wiping the dust and ash from her face as his fingers tangled within her hair.

  “Hari?”

  “Yes,” he whispered.

  “I...”

  “I know,” he said and kissed her.

  Their lips parted at a creak from the ceiling above them. Hari led Luise to the street and they looked up, far above them, as the Passage of Time swallowed Abraxas at the end of Khronos' leash and then the demon himself before grasping the djinni's body. Luise gasped as the smoke was drawn inside the Passage and a man was revealed, his pale, naked form suspended for a moment as the djinni was sucked from his body. The Passage sealed with a clap of thunder and Jamie fell. Luise pressed her head to Hari's shoulder, but Hari watched his friend fall. He heard the cry and felt the impact as it rippled through the street, and all was still as the sounds of battle diminished and were gone.

  “I must go to him,” Hari said and pushed Luise gently away from him.

  “I will come with you.”

  “You don't have to.”

  “He is my brother.”

  They held hands as they hurried to where Jamie lay, his body broken by the street and ravaged by the battles he had won, and the time he had spent in the djinn pit in the service of the Shah. Jamie's face was, to Hari's surprise, serene, as if the final expulsion of the djinni had left him with a calm, where his Qarin had finally been put to rest. He was absolved and all that remained was to get him home, to England, where he would rest forever in peace.

  Hari searched the street for a cart and found one in the space between two ravaged buildings. He left Luise to kneel by her brother as he pulled the cart over to Jamie's body.

  “He looks like he is at peace,” she said as Hari returned.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “I haven’t seen him like this since we were small, when he was running around the garden. He was naked then, too,” she said as Hari removed his robe and handed it to her. She draped it over Jamie's body and smoothed her hands on his cheeks. “Rest now, brother,” she said and kissed his lips and his forehead. A tear from her cheek caught in her hair and dripped down a single strand before it fell and blossomed on Jamie's cheek. Luise wiped it away and then stood as Hari lifted the body of her brother onto the cart.

  “Where will we go now, Hari?”

  “To London. We will bury your brother as a Hanover, the best of his kind.”

  “That could be dangerous. The Admiral said...”

  “Dangerous?” Hari smiled as he took Luise's hand. “I think we will manage. Besides,” he said, “I am curious to see if Shahin is still feasting on pigeons, or if she has acquired more exotic tastes. I would like to take her home.”

  “Home?”

  “Yes, I think it is time I show you my home, the deserts, the mountains and the villages.”

  “I should like that, Hari.”

  “And after that, well,” he said, “the world, perhaps?”

  “Yes,” said Luise. “I should like that very much.”

  Hari let go of Luise's hand
and gripped the handles of the cart. He turned the cart towards the river and pushed Jamie's body in the direction of the administrator's building as Luise walked by his side.

  Chapter 36

  Arkhangelsk Administrator's Building

  Arkhangelsk

  July, 1851

  “Nikolas,” Stepan shouted as his son crawled out from beneath Lena and scrambled to the edge of the roof. Stepan clutched his side and pressed his bound hands against the bullet wound. He stood up and stumbled to the edge as Nikolas leaned over it, reaching out for the impossible as the emissary crashed through the wooden dock and splashed into the river, the German administrator clasped between interlocking brass arms.

  “Molotok,” Nikolas cried as Stepan kneeled beside him and pulled him as close as he could within the constraints of the rope.

  “He's gone,” he said and rocked his son as he had done when he was a little boy when his mother was too weak to hold him. “Hush now. It's all right.”

  “It's not all right, papa. He's dead. Molotok is dead.”

  Stepan turned his head at the sound of footsteps. The blonde woman arrived on the roof together with Ivan and a party of Cossacks. The Germans were quickly disarmed and Stepan turned back to his son as the woman tongue-lashed them into submission. The Cossacks removed their prisoners and the roof was all but emptied.

  “Why did he have to die, papa?”

  Stepan pressed his head to his son's and sighed. He opened his mouth to speak, only to find a girl kneeling beside him. She placed her hand on Nikolas' shoulder and said, “He is not dead, Nikolas.” The girl's Russian was awkward and stiff with accent, but understandable. “The Şteamƙin don't die, they just go quiet, until they are revived.” Nikolas lifted his head and looked at Emilia, his face softening as she smiled. “I bet if we get him out of the river, we can fix him,” she said and pulled a small knife from her pocket. She sawed through Nikolas' bindings and then Stepan's.

  “You really think so?” Nikolas said as he flexed his arms and wriggled his fingers.

  “Yep. And I will stay with you until he is back on his feet.”

  Stepan winced as Nikolas curled out of his arms and stood up. The blood seeped around his fingers, and, he realised, it wasn't slowing.

  “I might need some help,” he said. As Emilia cut through the last of his bindings he slumped to the floor.

  “Papa,” Nikolas cried, his face a mixture of hope and terror as those dear to him were returned and taken away in the space of a few heartbeats.

  “I am all right,” Stepan said. “I just need some help.”

  Vladimir slid across the tiles of the roof, a knife in one hand and a tangle of slashed ropes in the other. He gave the knife to Nikolas and kneeled down to inspect Stepan's wound. He tutted as Stepan squirmed beneath his prodding and investigating.

  “Why the fuss? It's no worse than you have had before, Kapitan.”

  “I was younger then.”

  “But no less reckless,” Vladimir said and grinned. “Bind it now and cauterise it later?”

  “Yes,” Stepan said and grimaced as Vladimir bound the wound tightly with a Cossack bandage. “How is Lena?”

  “She and her father,” Vladimir said with a sly grin, “are discussing terms.”

  “Terms?”

  “Of marriage. Apparently she is convinced I am the one. But, I fear, her father needs some reassuring.”

  “By which you mean he recognised you?”

  “He did,” Vladimir said and knotted the bandage. “That's the difficulty when enemies become allies, is it not?”

  “I will put in a good word for you.”

  “Don't even think about it, Kapitan. I think Lena is enjoying herself.”

  “Yes,” said Stepan as he looked around Vladimir's body. He watched as Lena waved one end of a frayed rope in her father's face, brow-beating the great Cossack leader with threats and accusations that even her mother would not deny. Stepan felt a pang of sympathy for Ivan, and then he laughed. It was over. Arkhangelsk was free and his family would soon be reunited.

  “And what will you do, Kapitan?”

  “Me? I haven't really thought about it.”

  Vladimir sat down on the roof and crossed his long legs. He wiped a spot of blood from the scuffed tip of his left boot. “I have a suggestion.”

  “And that is?”

  “Arkhangelsk could use a new administrator.”

  “No...”

  “One that is not afraid of Moscow.”

  “Vlad...”

  “And one that has the interests of its people at heart. Now and tomorrow.”

  “That's not me, Vlad.”

  “Really, Kapitan? Tell me, what else have you fought for these past few months?”

  Stepan sat up and pointed to where Nikolas chatted with Emilia in the shadow of her emissary. “My son,” he said.

  “And how many times have you resisted saving your son for the greater good of the city?”

  Stepan didn't answer, his mind suddenly spinning with each moment he had put off rescuing Nikolas when the mission, the people, and Arkhangelsk came first. He looked at Vladimir and nodded. “I suppose you might be right, Poruchik Pavlutskiy.”

  “Poruchik? Not for much longer. Why else do you think I am suggesting you take the administrator's position? I want to be Kapitan Pavlutskiy.”

  “And what will you do first as Kapitan?”

  “I will raise Akula, and train a new crew.”

  “Then you should know I promised one of the submersibles to him,” Stepan said and pointed to Ivan.

  “You mean papa?” Vladimir said and laughed. He uncrossed his legs and stood up, holding out his hand to pull Stepan to his feet. “Come, Nikolas,” he said. “Let us get your father downstairs. He needs to speak to the people.”

  “What people?” said Nikolas as he slipped beneath Stepan's left shoulder and helped Vladimir walk his father across the roof. Emilia walked behind, the familiar clank of her emissary rumbling through the tiles.

  “Them,” Vladimir said as he stopped by the doorway. Stepan stifled a gasp of pain – or was it anxiety, he wondered – as he looked down upon the people of Arkhangelsk gathering on the street outside the administrator's building. He recognised a thin woman in the crowd and smiled as Anna waved up at him.

  “Your mother is there,” he said and gave Nikolas a quick squeeze.

  “Yes,” said Nikolas. “She looks well.”

  “Good Cossack food,” said Ivan as he joined them with Lena grinning behind him. She won the first battle, Stepan realised and smiled as she tangled her fingers between Vladimir's as they continued through the splintered doorway.

  Stepan grimaced his way down the stairs, all the way to the remains of the front door, the frame bearing the distinctive silhouette of an emissary. He wondered how Emilia's emissary was going to get down from the roof, only to hear the crowd gasp and turn to watch as it climbed down the way it had come with the girl clinging to its neck. The emissary stepped onto the street at the same time Stepan walked onto the first step in front of the crowd. They hushed as Hannah left the Germans in the custody of the Wallendorf soldiers and joined Stepan on the top step.

  “Kapitan Skuratov,” she said. “I have heard a lot about you.”

  “You speak Russian?”

  “A little,” she said. “Perhaps enough to put things right, with your help.”

  “Of course.”

  “Then you will take the administrator's job?”

  Stepan thought for a moment as he scanned the crowd. Anna waved at him and nodded. Everybody knows but me, he thought. “Yes,” he said. “I will.”

  “Then I will pledge as many emissaries as needed to work the mines.”

  “At what cost?”

  “I think we can work something out.”

  Stepan beckoned for Anna to join him, smiling as she weaved her way between the people. Nikolas let go of his father and leaped off the step to embrace her. He hugged her as Hannah raised her
voice and spoke to the people of Arkhangelsk.

  “The emissaries came her under false pretences and you have suffered at their hands,” she said. “That was yesterday. Today marks a turning point, a day when the emissaries will be put to work by you and for you. Some of them,” she said and winked at Emilia, “will do this out of love, others will have to be guided, and we will teach you how. Let this day be the last of tyranny and the first of a prosperous future, under the new leadership of Administrator Skuratov.” Hannah finished by clapping her hands. The crowd cheered and clapped and Stepan felt a swell of pride as they began to sing The March of the Common People, louder and louder with each verse.

  Through the tears streaming down his face he noticed a cart at the edge of the crowd. He wiped his eyes to see a young woman and an Indian man pulling the cart up the street towards the gates of the city. Stepan noticed a body in the bed of the cart and he beckoned for Hannah to come closer.

  “Who are they?” he said, raising his voice as the crowd began the fourth verse.

  “That is Miss Luise Hanover and Hari Singh.”

  “And the man in the cart?”

  “I believe that is the body of Jamie Hanover. He was a Lieutenant with the British Royal Navy.”

  “And where are they going?” Stepan said as he watched the cart roll towards a bend in the street.

  “They are going home,” said Hannah. “Finally.”

  Hari stopped before the bend and looked back. He caught Stepan's eye, pressed his hands together and gave a short bow with his namaste. The woman by his side paused to wave and then they were gone, the cart disappeared around the bend, the dust from its wheels settling as the crowd began the sixth and final verse welcoming in a new age for the people and the city of Arkhangelsk.

  About the Author

  British by default, Chris Paton (1973) has English and Welsh parents, and a Scottish surname. But it is his Welsh heritage - something about dragons - that seems to drive Chris' writing. Graduating from Falmouth University in 2015, Chris has a Master of Arts in Professional Writing, and a couple of other degrees that help pay the bills. Chris' favourite books include any genre with a bit of magic, giant squids and spaceships. Chris is a teacher by profession and a canoeist by choice. He lives in Denmark with his wife, Jane. You can find him in Denmark or online here: