“And that would be?”
She towed him toward the door. “It will be easier to talk about it after the cannon goes off.”
* * *
The machine crouched in the darkness, listening to the signal, and learning. It learned words like tunnel and darkness and metal and gears and memory and thought and knowledge and master. The knowledge came slowly, over a period of days, another new word that was part of the word time. Other spiders, ones similar but inferior to itself, brought the machine metals of many different kinds. The machine touched the metals, tasting them with its feet. It liked them, became excited by them for reasons it could not name.
It learned the world build.
Chapter Eight
When they got outside, Thad discovered that the circus was fully set up. The striped Tilt held court in the center with the smaller sideshow tents trying to get its attention. Waiting behind like servants were the wagons and tents where the performers lived, including Thad, and just beyond that, the row of train cars. A web of ropes and stakes wove itself over everything. Sawdust and straw crunched underfoot as a preemptive measure to keep down the mud, and Thad inhaled smells of animals and machine oil and frying food. Marcus was playing the calliope in the Tilt, and the strangely haunting and jaunty music wandered among the tents with the performers, some of whom wore bright costumes, some of whom wore ordinary street clothes. A bit of Thad’s fear and tension eased. It was the circus, and the circus was home.
He remembered running among ropes and canvas walls when he was small, playing jackstraws and deerstalker, listening to the rain fall on the roof on the wagon-the same wagon Thad lived in now-while his mother sang in Russian and his father sharpened knives, watching the everyday sight of one of the horse girls in her tight sleeves and bodice and one day feeling newly strange about it, stealing a kiss from Gretchen Neuberg behind clown alley, learning to swallow swords and pick locks and throw knives, catching the eye of a beautiful, dark-haired woman in the grandstand during a performance in Warsaw, announcing to his parents that he was leaving the circus to marry his Ekaterina.
Leaving had been difficult, but good. He’d had his new life in Warsaw. But bit by bit that life had been whittled away. Ekaterina died in childbirth. His parents passed away, and he inherited their old wagon. And then David. When the last fragment of his new life had slipped from his fingers, he had pulled the old wagon out of storage and gone on the road, ostensibly as a traveling tinker and knife sharpener, but really to hunt down clockworkers. And when he’d come across the Kalakos Circus eking out performances in Prague, it seemed perfectly natural to join up with them. It was coming home again, in a sad way.
It wasn’t truly the same, of course. Thad kept to himself these days. He avoided making close friends, avoided anything resembling romance. It was easier to pass time alone than to befriend people he would one day lose. Even if it meant being lonely.
Overhead, clouds were drifting in to cover the sun, and the air was chilly. Benny Mazur, the chief clown, stuck his head out of clown alley-the little tent where the clowns got ready-and called something to Nathan Storm, who was just passing by. Nathan nodded, then caught sight of Thad outside his wagon and dashed over, a wide smile on his face.
“Glad to see you’re upright, then,” he said in his light Irish brogue. He clapped Thad on the back. “Wouldn’t want to lose our sword swallower to some stupid pistol accident.”
“I told them,” Sofiya said quickly, “how you were cleaning your equipment and one of your pistols went off.”
“Oh. Yes,” Thad said. “Stupid.”
“And this one.” Nathan swept off his cap, revealing deep red hair, and kissed Sofiya’s hand. “Beautiful and brilliant. I hope you thanked her. She’s our Russian rescuer.”
“Spaceeba, ser,” Sofiya said with a laugh.
“Our?” Thad was becoming more and more confused.
“Tsar Alexander is quite the horseman, and he was taken with Miss Ekk’s mechanical horse-and her beauty. It was because of her that we were allowed to set up on the Field of Mars and, best of all, were called to perform for the court in a few days. So polish your swords, friend.” His eyes sparkled with an enthusiasm Thad hadn’t seen in months. “May I see the new hand, then?”
Thad wanted to hold back. But he was going into the ring eventually, and anyone who paid a few coins would see it. He may as well get used to showing it off now. He held it up and wiggled the fingers. The gears inside whirled with tiny zing noises.
“Nice enough,” Nathan said. “Can you pull swords out of your throat with it?”
Thad looked at Sofiya, stricken. The idea that he might not be able to perform anymore hadn’t occurred to him.
“Probably,” she said. “He will have to practice first. Tell Dodd not to put him on the schedule until we are sure.”
“My lady.” Nathan kissed Sofiya’s hand again and left.
“I love the circus,” Sofiya said with a small sigh. “No one cares that I am…what I am.”
“And I am…confused,” Thad said. “Did you tell them you’re a clockworker?”
“They deduced rather easily when I rebuilt your hand, Thad. They also think I built Nikolai, and I have not persuaded them otherwise.”
“And it doesn’t bother-”
“No.”
“I don’t understand.” Thad was genuinely perplexed. “Three years ago, this circus gave shelter to a man who turned out to be a clockworker, and not only did he destroy their prize clockwork elephant, he also led a small army of other clockworkers into their midst, broke the dam at Kiev, and caused a flood that scattered half their performers. They hate clockworkers. With good reason.”
She threaded her arm into the crook of his elbow as they walked. “You need to stop seeing the world as either-or, Thaddeus Sharpe. Dodd needed to be persuaded, yes, but everyone was very impressed when I saved your hand. I also brought them the money from Mr. Griffin. This helped quite a lot.”
“And put them-still puts them-in the most terrible danger,” Thad pointed out sharply.
“They don’t know this.” Sofiya waved this away. “I also brought the circus a mechanical horse so it can still be the Kalakos Circus of Automatons and Other Wonders.”
“Did you promise not to go mad and kill everyone?” Thad asked.
“No, but I said I would look into replacing the elephant. That, and a performance for the tsar brought Dodd around.”
Thad was working his brass fingers like mad, trying to bring them under greater control. There was always a short delay between what he wanted them to do and what they did, and that would be deadly in an act like his. It didn’t seem real yet. It felt more like he was wearing a strange glove or a temporary splint that would eventually come off, revealing his real hand.
“I’m pleased to know everything is going well for you,” he said with a certain amount of grim irony. “What are you doing in the ring for the tsar, then?”
“You’ll see.” She smiled, and Thad noticed for the first time she had dimples. “Wait a moment. How did I not notice this before? You spoke Russian earlier!”
“Of course.” Thad managed a grin of his own. “My mother spoke it to me every day. To me, it’s as easy as English.”
“Then why have I spoken English with you all this time?”
“Perhaps clockworkers aren’t as smart they think.”
A cannon fired with a sound that boomed against Thad’s bones. He jumped. Sofiya took his arm.
“We must go,” she said in English again. “Hurry.”
He followed her through the maze of tents, automatically ducking under and around ropes and dodging stakes. “What was that? What’s going on?”
They reached the outer boundary of the area set aside for the circus. It appeared to be a parade ground or drilling field for the military and was the size of four polo fields spread out before one of the biggest, most ornate buildings Thad had ever seen. The building went on and on, in fact, block after block. It was
three stories tall, with white pillars and arched windows and bright yellow bricks. Decades of stamping feet had trampled the field into reddish dirt and dust. A series of wooded parks bordered two other sides of the field, and the remaining side faced a wide silver river clogged with small boats and rafts. The circus was set up near one of the parks, not far from the river. Across from them, in front of the long building, stood a grandstand much like the one inside the Tilt, though this one also had a partial roof on it. Men and women in colorful clothing were settling into seats.
“Marsovo Pole,” Sofiya said. The Field of Mars. She started across the flat dusty field toward the grandstand, her scarlet cloak stirring in the slight breeze. “It is named after the Roman god of war, of course. That building over there”- she pointed at the long, pillared structure-“is an army barrack. And that is the River Neva. The cannon is fired from the roof of the Peter and Paul Fortress on the other side every day at noon.”
“Why did we rush so? What is everyone gathering for?”
“That.” Sofiya pointed toward the River Neva. A wide road ran from the edge of the Field of Mars, between two blocky buildings, and up to a great pontoon bridge, easily four carriages wide and supported underneath by what looked like a long row of giant rowboats turned upside down. Thad dug around in his memory for what little he knew about Saint Petersburg and recalled that even though it was a city of rivers, canals, and giant islands, Peter the Great had forbidden permanent bridges on the grounds that they were ugly. But either pontoon bridges were exempted from his ban, or Tsar Alexander had changed the law himself-Thad couldn’t remember. The pontoon bridges weren’t high enough to allow anything but the lowest boats to slip beneath them, which curtailed ship traffic on the river but encouraged thriving schools of rowboats, skiffs, and rafts.
On the other side of the river was one of Saint Petersburg’s enormous islands. The bridge to it had been cleared of all traffic but for a single cart. The cart had no horse and no driver. It was painted gold and azure, and ornate designs and curlicues wound their way all over it like metal vines. Underneath the cart puffed a little engine that was currently following a strip of iron laid across the bridge. On the bed of the cart was golden cage of sturdy bars, and in the cage was a man. He was naked, and his skin was covered in dirt and filth. His hair and beard tangled into a greasy mess, and he clung to the bars with both hands and feet like a chimpanzee. Animal growls and snorts emerged from his throat.
By now Thad and Sofiya were closer to the roofed-over grandstand, and Thad could see the people better. Their clothing was rich beyond belief. The women wore enormous off-the-shoulder dresses of satin and velvet embroidered with metallic thread in geometric designs. The sleeves were narrow at the top and ballooned out toward the wrist, and the skirts were so wide and heavy with crinolines, a single woman might take up four spaces on the grandstand. Most sported fox or ermine wraps against the chilly air. One woman, looking pale and sickly, wore a formfitting cage of actual gold wire with tiny gears, wheels, and pistons in it that whirled and twisted the soft wire to bend it with her every move. All the women’s hair was elaborately styled, curled and piled high and laden with jeweled pins or combs. Their faces were painted with rouge and puffed with powder. Many of the men wore military uniforms-bright blue coats that dripped gold braid from their chests and shoulders over bloodred trousers. Mustaches and side whiskers were waxed and pointed, though actual beards were absent. Their shiny black boots were pointed, and some curled upward. The nonmilitary men wore elaborate coats of their own, ones that nearly reached their knees.
Little automatons zipped and scampered about the grandstand, either on spidery legs or flying with whirling propellers. They carried golden cups and pitchers of what Thad guessed was wine or coffee. He doubted anyone here drank giras. The automatons also brought little plates of dainty food, and linen napkins. One lady dropped her fur wrap, and a whirligig automaton dove in to catch it before it touched the ground.
A contingent of soldiers in blue uniforms and hats with rifles over their shoulders surrounded the grandstand, and to one side, motionless beneath the cloudy sky, stood several rows of automatons. They were vaguely human-shaped, with glass bulbs in place of eyes and unmoving speaker grills for mouths. Some had hands, others had something like chunky mittens. Many were dented or sooty. Curlicue designs crawled across a few of them.
Thad and Sofiya made their way to a place some distance from the soldiers guarding the grandstand at the edge of the Field of Mars. A few other people, presumably servants or other lower-born people who worked among the wealthy, had gathered there as well. The richly clad people were settling into their seats, laughing and talking and taking dainties from automaton-borne trays. The cart with the golden cage finished crossing the bridge, puttered down between the blocky buildings past a statue of Mars, and entered the field proper. The man inside continued to hoot and shout and even gnaw at the bars of his golden cage.
“That’s a clockworker in the final stages of his disease,” Thad said, speaking English to keep their conversation private. “That’s plain to see. But who are all these people?”
“The tsar’s court,” Sofiya replied tightly. “That woman wearing the gold wire is Maria Alexandrovna, the tsarina. Her health is poor. That boy next to her, the huge one who looks like he could wrestle a bear to the ground, that is her son Alexander III. They call him Prince Alexei to separate him from his father. I don’t see the tsar himself.”
“And what’s going to happen?” Thad asked, though he was fairly sure he knew the answer.
“It’s a circus,” she said. “A lovely, delightful circus.”
The courtiers were taking notice of the clockworker in his golden cage. A number paused in their conversation to point or laugh or snicker to one another behind glittering fans. The cart stopped in front of the grandstand, and a silence fell over the entire Field of Mars.
“The machines will think!” yelled the clockworker in Russian from his cage. “They think and they decide which way to cut like silver knives slice silken flesh. You walk on edge and one day you will be pushed over the side. The machines will make you swallow the knives. Swallow the knives!”
He urinated through the bars, and the court laughed. Prince Alexei leaped to his feet and bounded down the steps to the field, where he opened the cage door and bodily yanked the clockworker to the ground by the shackles attached at his wrists and neck. The burly young man had more than a head on the clockworker, whose starved ribs showed through his skin. The clockworker landed badly on his side, and Thad heard the wet snap of bone giving way.
“Come now!” called Alexei to the clockworker, but obviously addressing the assembled court. “Invent something for us!”
The clockworker didn’t seem to notice one of his arms was broken. He looked blearily about, as if searching for something. “The machine grows and grows, but it cannot think. It sends fingers and toes in all directions, searching for a way to think. It wants to think. It has to think.”
“Fingers! As you say!” Alexei brought his heavy boot down on the clockworker’s hand. It crunched. This time the clockworker howled. Thad felt sick, and his new brass hand clenched. Sofiya looked green.
Alexei laughed and gestured at the assembly of automatons. “Mechanical seventeen Borovich. Awake! Come!”
One of the automatons blinked to life and stepped forward, out of line. It marched toward the prince with precise metal steps. “What do you command, ser?” Its voice was heavily mechanical, nothing at all like Nikolai’s, or even Dante’s.
Alexei handed the automaton the ends of the clockworker’s chains. “Hold this. Now march. Double time!”
The automaton marched at the speed of a trotting horse, dragging the clockworker across the gravel behind it. The clockworker howled and spat and bit at the chains, his eyes wild as exploding stars. Stones tore open his skin and his broken arm flopped uselessly. Sofiya grasped Thad’s upper arm with pale fingers. Thad didn’t know how to react to all
of this. The man was a clockworker, and who knew what he had done or who he had done it to, but this kind of torture wasn’t anything Thad wanted to be part of. Thad killed clockworkers quickly, a mercy they rarely gave their victims.
“About face! Forward march!”
The automaton reversed itself and dragged the clockworker to Alexei, who halted the machine and turned to the assembled crowd. “What are you waiting for? Come and play!”
A few courtiers, mostly men but a few women, trundled down the steps to the field. Alexei drew back his foot and kicked the clockworker in the gut. Thad winced at the sound of boot meeting flesh. The clockworker gasped for air and tried to double over, but his chains prevented it. One of the other men was carrying a cane, and he smacked the clockworker in the face with it. Another man threw a rock at the clockworker, while a woman timidly nudged at him with her toe, then backed away with a giggle. In the grandstand, the tsarina looked on, waving her fan within her own cage of wire.
“He built that automaton, and all the others,” Sofiya murmured. “They force him to build these things for Mother Russia, and then they do this to him. It is how every clockworker in Russia finds an end.”
Other courtiers came down from the stands now. They crowded around the clockworker and Thad couldn’t see much. They kicked and punched, and his howls and screams grew more agonized. Sofiya’s lips grew pale. Thad wanted to leave or least look away, but he was rooted to the spot and couldn’t move. He was immensely glad that Nikolai wasn’t anywhere near. The servants and other commoners gathered nearby watched with rapt attention, and applauded or cheered whenever the court did. The soldiers remained at attention, though their eyes remained on the show.
“Enough now!” Alexei barked. Everyone backed away, revealing the clockworker. His face was a ruin, and blood streamed from his nose over a mouth filled with broken teeth. Both eyes were swollen shut, and his abraded body was covered in bruises and open wounds. Thad was torn between throwing up and wanting to fire a pistol between the man’s eyes to end his misery.
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