The Havoc Machine ce-4

by Steven Harper

  But this was Sofiya, the woman who had saved his hand and his life. And he himself had brought about her fugue state. Now she could save Nikolai.

  A machine. Why did he care about a soulless machine? In one shot, Thad could eliminate both of them. He hung there with a sword down his throat, divided in two.

  And what would happen when Mr. Griffin returned? Mr. Griffin, the strangest and most cunning clockworker Thad had come across to date. It would be foolish to face Mr. Griffin alone. He needed Sofiya. He needed Dante. He might even need Nikolai.

  Thad swallowed his anger and, feeling cold, reached into the little automaton’s head to hold the wheel as the clockworker had ordered.

  “Don’t be clumsy, boy,” she said. “And we can finish this.”

  Hours passed. The clockworker stormed about the Black Tent barking commands and pouring vitriol over Thad in equal parts. He kept his head down and obeyed as best he could, understanding fully why clockworkers were rarely able to work with others. Twice more the clockworker struck him hard enough to leave bruises, and only through great exercise of self-control did he avoid striking back. But slowly, steadily, the little automaton’s head came back together. It stopped twitching, though it didn’t move or speak as the clockworker set new rivets into his metal skull. She even produced needle and thread to repair his scalp with swift, tiny stitches. Hunger gnawed at Thad’s insides, and exhaustion dragged at his limbs, but the clockworker wasn’t finished yet. Without a pause, she turned to Dante. Her quick fingers disassembled his gears and wheels. A steady stream of invective punctuated her orders, berating Thad for letting the parrot fall into disrepair and filth. Without expression, he brought buckets of soap and water and a can of machine oil. In a short time, she had cleaned Dante out and put him back together again.

  “He needs new feathers and a new eye,” she barked. Her new dress was a wreck, and her hair was a tangled thornbush. “Heat up the forge and fetch that brass spanner. We can melt it down to make-”

  “Miss,” Thad interrupted, and this time he dodged her slap. “Miss, it’s time to stop.”

  “I decide when it is time to stop!” she howled. “You will-”

  He flung a bucket of cold water over her. It soaked her from head to foot. She gasped at him, her mouth opening and closing like a salmon’s. Cautiously, he waited a moment.

  “Thad?” she said at last in a small voice. “What happened?”

  “It’s me,” he said, and it was a relief to see the madness gone from her eyes. “You’re all right. We’re still in the Black Tent. It must be after midnight by now.”

  She looked around fearfully. “What did I do? Oh God, did I hurt anyone? Did any person-?”

  “Everyone’s fine,” he said neutrally. “You hurt no one.”

  “Then what’s this?” She touched his cheek where she had slapped him earlier, and he moved his head away. “I hurt you, didn’t I? Dear heaven, what else did I do? Tell me the truth, Thad. I have to know!”

  Another piece fell into place. “That’s the true hold Mr. Griffin has on you, isn’t it? About your sister.”

  She sagged, soaked and sobbing, into Thad’s arms. Thad caught her before she fell, then eased her onto a stool and backed away again.

  “Olenka can no longer walk because of me,” she wept. “I did something to her, I do not even remember what. She can’t even bear to look at me now, and who can blame her? I send her all my money so she can live and pay the doctors, and still it is never enough. I feel the monster.”

  Thad nodded. He felt flat, cold, and his words came out almost stony. He had allowed himself to get too close. He had forgotten her true nature. No matter what she said or did, this woman was a clockworker, volatile and dangerous, and he needed to remember that at all times. He wouldn’t kill her, not until she had helped him against Mr. Griffin, but he couldn’t trust her. His face throbbed where she had hit him.

  “I’d wondered about that,” he mouthed. “It’ll be all right. It wasn’t your fault.”

  “Then whose was it?” she demanded, still sobbing. “Every moment, I must keep myself under control, or I will do it again. I have done it again. I hurt you.”

  Was she truly sorry or was she trying to manipulate him again? Best to play along, regardless. “A few slaps and insults never hurt anyone,” he said. “And Griffin can’t hurt her, you know.”

  “He can. He said if I ever refused him, he would drag Olenka to me and push me into a clockwork fugue, just as you did, so I would finish her off.”

  A finger of guilt crept up Thad’s spine. He had indeed pushed Sofiya into this fugue and upset her. But no. He was tired of balancing on a knife. Sofiya was a clockworker, and Thad knew clockworkers. He would keep a close eye on her, use her to find Griffin, and then he would have to eliminate her, too. Before she did more than slap.

  “We won’t let Mr. Griffin do anything to you,” he said aloud. “We’ll stop him.”

  Sofiya suddenly seemed to realize what she was doing. She straightened on the stool and turned her head to dry her eyes on her sopping sleeve, with little success. “Well, thank you, then. It feels better to hear someone say that.” She crossed the boxcar floor to the worktable and Nikolai the automaton. “But we have other things to attend.”

  From a drawer she produced a flask of brandy that probably belonged to Dodd and emptied the contents down the automaton’s throat, then pressed a switch behind one ear. He shuddered all over and blinked several times.

  “Nikolai,” he said. “My name is Nikolai.”

  “Yes, it is,” Thad said. He suppressed the happy little thrill went through him at the sound of the boy’s voice and kept his voice neutral. “Are you all right?”

  “I…I…” He hesitated, a machinelike pause. “I am operating well. I am fine. Yes. Fine.” He held up his metal hands and wriggled the fingers. “Fine.”

  “What is the last you remember?” Sofiya asked.

  Nikolai cocked his head. “I danced for the tsar. The children wanted me to sit with them. Thad reached under the tsar’s throne. And now I’m here in the Black Tent. What happened?”

  “There was an explosion,” Thad said. “You were injured. Sofiya repaired you.”

  “Did I die, then?”

  The question caught Thad off guard. The automaton was still good at that. “I…don’t know if the question applies to something that was never-”

  “You are not dead,” Sofiya said firmly. “Are you hungry?”

  “No. But I think I will be soon.”

  “Good. That is good.” Sofiya picked up Dante, who was his normal, shabby self, but still inert, and handed him to Thad. “I see I found the time for this as well. You’ll need to wind him.”

  An enormous yawn split Thad’s head. Sofiya mimicked him, unusual for clockworkers, who rarely slept. Apparently not wanting to be left out, Nikolai followed suit.

  “I think it’s food and bed for me first,” Thad said.

  “Yes.” Sofiya staggered slightly. “I have not slept in over a week now, and I think that is the limit for even a clockworker.”

  “I will watch you sleep, then,” Nikolai said. “And I will wind Dante.”

  The exhaustion grew worse as they stumbled through the dark circus back to Thad’s wagon, where he and Sofiya downed a cold supper. By now, Thad felt numb, physically and emotionally. Sofiya was a clockworker, Nikolai was an automaton. He had stepped over the knife. Thad only vaguely remembered undressing and climbing into bed.

  * * *

  “Bless my soul! Sharpe is sharp! Applesauce! Bless my soul!”

  Thad barely stopped himself from sitting up and cracking his head on the wagon roof. He was in his own bed above the wardrobe. Sunlight streamed through the side window of the wagon, creating a slanted square of gold on the opposite wall. It was chilly-no one had made a fire in the tiny stove last night. Sofiya lay sleeping on a pull-down shelf bed beneath the window. Dante was doing energetic somersaults on his hanging perch, and Nikolai stood beneath it
with the tireless patience of a machine.

  “Good morning! Good morning!” Dante chirped.

  “That’s new.” Thad ran a hand through curly dark hair. His muscles were stiff and achy from everything that had happened yesterday.

  “I taught it to him,” Nikolai said. “Good morning!”

  “Hm.” Thad climbed down from the bed, shivering a little. He would have to get some coal for the stove. To his surprise, he was able to manage buttons when he pulled on his clothes. At the last moment, he remembered the strand of pearls the tsarina had given him and transferred them from yesterday’s coat to his pocket.

  “What are we doing today?” Nikolai asked.

  Thad regarded him. The little automaton, with his thoroughly inhuman face and hands and his utterly human eyes and voice, still acted the little boy, but last night had been a sharp reminder that he was indeed just a machine. The illusion of humanity was realistic, but like any skilled circus performance, it was still an illusion, and eventually it would end. It was foolish to become attached to an illusion. That road only led to pain and loss. It would probably be best to hand Nikolai over to Dodd after all. Nikolai would protest, perhaps even cry, but it would be nothing more than noise created by steel and wire. As well to become upset by sad songs played on the calliope.

  “I think,” Thad said, “that it’s time for you to-”

  “I’ll bet Dodd will want us in the circus now,” Nikolai interrupted. “We should work on our spot before the show this afternoon.”

  That stopped Thad cold. With everything that had happened, he hadn’t even thought of-

  Someone pounded on the door. This brought Sofiya awake, and she snapped upright. Her hair stood out in a golden haystack. “Who? What?”

  “Doom,” said Dante.

  Now what? Thad reached for the door, wishing things would slow down for just a moment so he could catch his breath and sort things out. Nathan Storm was on the steps, dressed in his customary Aran sweater and fisherman’s cap. He was handsome man, no doubt about that, and more than one woman in the circus had lamented over his romantic choices.

  “Oi,” he said. “Sleepyhead! We’ve been wondering when you were going to make an appearance.”

  “What do you need, Nathan?” Thad asked tiredly.

  Nathan brandished a handful of papers. “We’ve been getting notes and telegrams all morning from Lord Snootyfruits and Lady Tenderslippers. Every one of them wants you and Nikolai to dine with them or attend their parties or appear in their boxes at the ballet. Three of them are offering marriage to various daughters and sisters.”

  “Oh God.” A year ago, even a month ago, Thad would have been thrilled at this development. Now it just filled his chest with heavy dread.

  “And Dodd wants you back into the ring,” Nathan went on relentlessly. “The show must go on. The Stilgores were both hurt yesterday-he twisted his ankle and she broke her arm when the explosion knocked them off their stilts. The lions and Betsy are still nervous and in no condition to go in front of an audience. That means we’re short, short, short. You and Sofiya and Nikolai are our new headliners.”

  “Told you,” Nikolai said.

  “Bless my soul,” said Dante.

  “Grand! Your parrot is fixed,” Nathan said with relentless cheer. “Can you do you the pirate sword swallower again? We could use it.”

  “Not yet,” Thad hedged. “Look-”

  “Oh, and some soldiers are looking for you.”

  “Soldiers?” Thad was on full alert now. “What do you mean soldiers?”

  “My Russian isn’t the best. Something about General Parkarov wanting to talk to you about your promise to the tsarina? They’re coming now. Jesus, Thad-what have you been doing, then?”

  Even as Nathan spoke, a contingent of four stern-faced soldiers in red uniforms came around another wagon into view. Thad swallowed. Sofiya, dressed in a simple dark skirt and blouse, came to the door.

  “What is happening?” she demanded.

  “Another trip to the Winter Palace, I expect.” Thad held out his arm so Dante could leap down to his shoulder, then moved down the steps so he wouldn’t have to touch Sofiya. “You stay with Nikolai.”

  “What do I do about these invitations?” Nathan asked.

  “Refuse politely and invite them to the show,” Thad said.

  The soldiers said little beyond repeating what Nathan had said, that General Parkarov wanted to see Thad-not Sofiya. At least he didn’t seem to be under arrest. But they took him across the Field of Mars toward the barrack on the western side, not to the Winter Palace.

  A line of wheeled cages stretched across the muddy field like a twisted parody of a train. The cages were crammed with men, women, and even children. Some cried out and reached through the bars. Others huddled inside like frightened animals. A few were clearly dead. Their clothes said they came from all classes, from street poor to well born. Even as Thad watched, horrified, a team of automatons hauled at the cages, tugging the train toward the bridge, the same one the clockworker had come across earlier in his cage.

  “What’s this?” Thad asked, eyes wide. “What’s going on?” But the soldiers didn’t answer. They firmly marched him into the wide blue barrack. The interior didn’t match the stunning exterior-long, twisting hallways of scuffed wood, no real attempt at decoration, the heavy smell of tobacco and sweat, spare offices, occasional sitting rooms, and long rows of barrack rooms. Soldiers of all ages in various states of dress rushed everywhere, looking harried. Uniformed boys as young as five dodged around carrying messages, laundry, and parcels. Thad wondered how many had been conscripted.

  He was shown to a rather larger office redolent with overly sweet tobacco smoke. General Parkarov was waiting for him, pipe in mouth. He greeted Thad heartily.

  “We need you down in the Peter and Paul Fortress,” he said.

  “You speak English?” Thad asked in surprise.

  “Yes, and I would enjoy the chance to practice. Come-my driver is waiting.”

  They trooped back outside, where a two-horse carriage awaited them. The line of cages was already gone, but another line of empty ones was taking its place. In the city beyond, Thad’s ears picked up hoofbeats and crashes and screams and the occasional pistol shot. His mouth went dry and his brass hand clutched the side of the carriage as he and the general boarded.

  “What is happening, General?” he demanded. “Please explain!”

  The driver whipped up the horses and carriage jolted forward. “You know that my investigation into the bombing turned up those foreign spiders in the Nicholas Hall,” the general said. “That can only mean one thing-a clockworker used those spiders to place the bomb under the tsar’s throne. We must find him. Even if the tsar hadn’t ordered it, I would do so.”

  “Actually, I’d like to discuss that with you, sir,” Thad said carefully. “No clockworker would use a tool so blunt as dynamite. It-”

  “Clearly one did.” The general waved Thad’s objections aside. “It is well known that a number of clockworkers run about loose in Saint Petersburg. They come here from Poland and Belarus and Lithuania, sniffing for the money they need for their inventions. It’s the only thing that stops them-not having enough money or materials to build what they want. That, and men like us.” He clapped Thad on the back. “Ah, the bridge.”

  The horses clopped onto the massive pontoon bridge that spanned the River Neva. Traffic was light this morning, allowing the carriage to make good time. The boats turned upside down to make up the pontoons barely bobbed on the inky water. Skiffs and small boats glided about, hemmed in by the low bridges that divided the Neva into sections. To Thad’s left, the wide, deep river flowed around a number of large islands, where it emptied into the Gulf of Finland and ultimately, the Baltic Sea. The breeze on the bridge was cold and smelled of fish. Thad wished he had worn a heavier coat.

  “Do you know Saint Petersburg?” the general asked, and continued before he got an answer. “There to the west is
Vasilyevsky Island. You see the Kunstkammer there on the bank, Russia’s first museum, founded by Peter the Great himself! I am related to him, you know, on my mother’s side.”

  “Are you?” Thad asked casually. “Do you have estates, then?”

  “Oh yes. Quite extensive. I am forced to stay here near the tsar and can only visit irregularly. Would you like to visit yourself? My holdings are very beautiful in the spring.”

  “That sounds wonderful. Let me ask Ringmaster Dodd about his plans for the circus, and we can talk of it later,” Thad replied, careful to be vague. He pointed at Vasilyevsky Island, which spread across the horizon to the west. About half of it seemed to be wooded. The other half was grown over with buildings. “What’s that building near the museum?”

  “Ah! The Russian Academy of Sciences. Human beings work there. No clockworkers. I have heard your ringmaster is a tinker. He might enjoy talking to some of our good Russian engineers, yes?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Past it, downstream, are the docks, of course. The pride of Saint Petersburg! They are the reason my cousin Peter the Great wanted this city built in the first place-to give Russia a good seaport. Everything imaginable comes into Russia through those docks. Cousin Peter ordered a foundry built down there, in fact. Much easier to smelt raw ore brought in by the ships when the foundry is by the shipyards. My cousin Peter was a great thinker!”

  And the general certainly didn’t want anyone to forget who his cousin was, Thad mused. “A great man,” Thad repeated.

  “And up ahead”-the general pointed with his pipe to where the bridge led-“is the other big island of Saint Petersburg: Petrogradsky. Beside it”-he pointed again, this time to a smaller island ahead and a little to the left and entirely ringed with a high stone wall-“is our destination, the Peter and Paul Fortress. That was also built by-”