by Chris Paton
“But I do,” Hannah turned to watch as Noonan and Smith lowered Luise in a sling swinging below the stern platform of The Amphitrite.
“Who are they?” Schleiermacher beckoned to a group of riflemen. He pointed at the two men climbing down the rope ladder to join Luise on the ground. “Secure them.”
“It’s all right, Herr Wallendorf,” Hannah watched as a tall African man waved from the airship, disappearing inside the hatch as the airship manoeuvred away from the dock and turned its nose to the east. “They are British.”
“British?” Wallendorf grasped the pommel of his cane.
“Ja, British, but under the circumstances I think we can trust them.” Hannah led Wallendorf and Schleiermacher behind the riflemen as they surrounded the new arrivals.
“Fräulein von Ense,” Luise waved from where she sat on the ground. “We have a problem.” She pointed at the second airship closing on the dockyard.
“Ja,” Hannah jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “And another one out to sea.”
Luise turned to Egmont as he fiddled to attach his brass leg. “We seem to be surrounded, Admiral. Father,” she smiled.
“What’s that, Luise?” Tossing the brass leg to one side, Egmont grumbled.
“She said we are surrounded, Reginald.” Smith bent down. “Here, let me help you with that.”
Turning toward Hannah, Luise pressed her hands on her stomach. “I suggest we set aside our differences, and,” Luise smiled, “I am in need of a doctor.”
“Ja, I agree,” Hannah turned to the rifleman closest to her. “Find a doctor, quickly.” She watched as he hurried inside the command tent.
“Hans?” Wallendorf rested upon his cane.
“Yes, Herr Direktor?”
“It seems these women are taking control of the situation.”
“Yes, it does.”
“What do you suggest, Hans?”
“I suggest we let them, Herr Direktor.” Schleiermacher slipped the Severinson telescope inside a leather case he retrieved from the pocket of his coat.
Wallendorf looked up at the airship as it flew over the dock, casting its shadow over the men and machines below. Turning on his heels, he followed the airship with his eyes as it flew beyond the dock and entered a lazy orbit around The Regal Giant. “My daughter is on that ship, Hans.” Wallendorf gripped his assistant’s elbow. “I am not leaving without my daughter.”
҉
Lena slowed the horse’s gait to a walk, lifting her arm to push thin branches above her head, passing the branch into Stepan’s fingers as she ducked below it. Tightening her grip on the reins, she turned the horse toward a broad wooden dock of sun-paled grey timber. The horse’s hooves clopped onto the dock, stopping at Lena’s gentle tug of the reins. Reaching forward, Lena stroked the horse’s ears. Stepan shifted on the saddle behind her.
“Bryullov trains his horses well,” Lena patted the horse’s neck.
“What makes you think he trains them?”
“Father told me.” Lena twisted her body to look at Stepan. “Apparently, he didn’t trust anyone else.” She turned back to look across the river. “That was what my father liked about him.”
“That he trained his horses, or that he trusted no one?”
Lena tapped the tip of her finger on her lips. “Both. Probably.”
Stepan looked toward the far bank. He tapped Lena on the shoulder. “Look.”
Lena waved at a man on the opposite side of the river. Stepping onto a square pram with a broad wedge-shaped bow, the man waved while he waited for three more men to arrive.
“Cossacks,” Lena smiled. “They will row across to pick us up.”
“And then what, Lena?”
“Then you will meet my father.”
“It has been a long time since I last met Ivan Timofeyevich,” Stepan flicked at dust on his knee. “The last time I saw your father...”
“You tried to kill him,” Lena giggled. “Da, I know the story.”
Stepan took a long, deep breath as the men began rowing toward them.
“Don’t worry, Captain,” Lena slipped off the horse. Massaging her arm she slapped Stepan on the leg. “I will tell him how courageous you were, getting me out of Arkhangelsk.” Lena frowned. “Of course, that might not be enough.”
“Enough for what, Lena?” Stepan leaned forward in the saddle, glancing up at the soft splashes of the Cossack’s oars entering the water.
“Enough to stop him shooting you,” Lena grinned. “This is going to be fun.”
Epilogue
In the mountains above Adina Pur
Afghanistan
June, 1851
Perched on a rock, Hari removed his sandals and pressed his toes into the dirt and grit of the track leading to the mountain lookout above Adina Pur. Sipping from a canvas covered flask of water, Hari watched as The Amphitrite disappeared into the haze beyond the mountains. Hari screwed the lid on the flask and returned it to the satchel Noonan had given him. He fiddled with the kukri at his waist. Hari turned on the rock, staring up the mountain.
“Ah, Shahin,” Hari scratched at the dirt in his beard. “I wonder if you are well, my friend? Are you content with the plump pigeons of London, or do you miss the mountains of home?” Hari took a long, deep breath of mountain air. “Truly, I know what I prefer.” He stretched his lips into a sad smile. “Miss Luise,” Hari closed his eyes. “I must move quickly.”
Scratching the soles of his feet in the dirt, Hari opened his eyes at the rapid whirr of a charging handle. Hari inched his head to the right, stopping as he stared down the long barrel of a Lightning Jezail.
“Hello, Najma,” Hari raised his hands. “You are well, I trust?”
“Nightjar?” Najma looked to both sides. “Why are you sitting here? It is a trap. No?” She pointed at the sky. “Where is the big black bird?”
“The bird is gone, Najma. And, no, it is not a trap.” Hari rested his palms on his thighs. “I came looking for you.”
“Me?” The barrel of Najma’s jezail wavered.
“Yes,” Hari smiled. “Your father said you had not returned. He said you were looking for your brother.”
Najma thrust the jezail forward. “What do you know of my brother?”
“I know he is dead, Najma. I am sorry.”
“Dead?” Najma lowered the rifle. “He is not dead.” She lifted her chin. “He is missing.”
“No, Najma,” Hari pointed at a boulder in the distance. “I found your brother there, behind that boulder. Dead.”
“You would not lie?” Najma started to tremble.
“He had a hawk. Shahin was its name.”
“Yes,” Najma crossed her legs and sat down. She rested the jezail across her lap.
“Shahin was a dear companion of mine. She came with me after I found your brother.” Hari paused. “I do not know who killed him, Najma. Truly, I do not.” He waited as Najma wiped a tear from her cheek. “I can show you where I found him,” Hari stood up.
“Yes,” Najma rested the butt of the jezail on the ground and pushed herself to her feet. She followed Hari along the path, past the mountain lookout to the boulder.
“I will go first, Najma,” Hari placed his hand on her shoulder. “Wolves and dogs,” he explained.
“Yes,” Najma waited as Hari looked behind the boulder. “Is he there?” she looked up as Hari returned.
“Yes,” Hari nodded. “A little.”
Najma pressed the jezail into Hari’s hands as she walked up the path to the boulder. Stopping to take a breath, she walked around it.
Hari turned his back, looking out across the valley of the river Cabool. At the sound of small stones trickling down the path, Hari turned to look at Najma.
“I will take my jezail,” she held out her hand.
“Yes,” Hari handed it to her.
Najma looked at the ground, pushing at the stones with the tips of her sandals. “Thank you, Nightjar.”
“My name is Hari Singh, Najma
.”
“No,” Najma gestured at the mountains. “Up here, you are The Nightjar.”
“Yes,” Hari smiled. “I suppose I am.”
Najma leaned on the jezail. “Have you returned for your friend? The Englishman?”
“Yes. Jamie’s sister and I need his help.” Hari held his breath. “Is he here?”
Najma turned to look at the city. “He is in the pit.”
“I must see him, Najma.”
“Yes,” Najma nodded. “It is growing dark. I can take you to him now.” She started walking down the path. “The Shah grows bored with him. He says he costs more than he is worth. That there are not enough battles to keep a djinni.”
“That is good news.”
“Yes,” Najma increased her pace as they reached a steep part of the path to Adina Pur. “I am sure you will be able to talk him into letting him leave.”
“Thank you.” Hari slowed as Najma stopped in front of him. She turned, her eyes blazing in the fading light.
“He said he was going to catch us supper,” the jezail rattled in her grip.
“Supper?”
“Bryullov, the Russian. It was here,” Najma pointed at the lookout post. “We caught the Englishman here. Bryullov walked up the path with his pistol...”
“Yes,” Hari nodded. “Tell me more.”
“He killed...” Najma shook. “He must have killed Kahn, and then he pretended he would take me to Russia.” She waved her hand at the mountains. “Away from all this.” She took a breath and continued down the mountain. “I hope he is dead.”
“He is not here?” Hari jogged to catch up.
“No,” she shook her head. “He left after you did.”
“I see.” Hari was silent as they approached the gates. Tucking his robes around his neck, Hari dipped his head as Najma led him past the guard and the torches casting shadows in the desert.
“Shall I go to the Shah?” Najma stopped in the middle of the street.
“It is not too late?”
Najma laughed. “The Shah likes me, Nightjar. I think he is looking for another wife.”
“That is good.” Hari pointed at the courtyard at the end of the street. “I will go to the djinn pit. You will send for me?”
“Yes,” Najma bowed her head. “Thank you, Nightjar.” Her eyes glistening in the soft lights illuminating the street, she lifted her head, turned and disappeared down a side street.
Hari walked on. Passing a fruit stall he chose a lemon and paid for it. Tossing and catching the lemon as he walked, Hari slowed as he approached the djinn pit. The last of the evening light lit a crack in the thick stone lid. Hari walked over to the pit, held the lemon over the crack and let go of it.
“Hey,” a dusty young voice echoed up the walls of the pit. “Who’s there?” Hari leaned over the lid and pressed his face into the crack. “Hari?”
“Hello, British.”
“Hari Singh? You came back?”
“Truly,” Hari smiled. “I have come to get you out.”
Chapter 1
Adina Pur
Afghanistan
June, 1851
At the bottom of a dark pit bored into the packed earth of the Cabool valley, Jamie Hanover lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the last rays of the day’s sun streaming down from above. Dust mites tinged with a blue glow swirled around him as he squinted in the glare; he waved at them, hushing them with a susurrus breath. The dust settled upon his scarred shoulders, clinging to the tight skin folded around his muscles. The mites avoided the azure blue spiral burned into his chest, settling instead upon his prominent ribs and the brutish raised welts of battle. The stone rasp of the pit lid caused a flutter of mites to lift off from his body and float to the surface in a cloud of blue dust. Jamie waited for the dust to clear the lip of his prison and the face peering down at him to drift into focus.
The first thing to catch Jamie’s attention was a lemon, and it hit him squarely on his forehead.
“Hey,” he said and knelt to pick up the fruit. “Who's there?”
“Hello, British,” said a voice from the surface.
“Hari? Hari Singh? Is it really you?” Jamie said, a grin spreading across his lips, stretching his matted beard.
“Yes, it is,” Hari said and slipped a leg over the lip of the pit.
“Wait, Hari. You won’t be able to get up again. Let me come to you.”
“You can do that?” Hari paused, his leg poised. “But the Shah does not command it.”
“You have lifted the lid. You command it.” Jamie's upper body turned a pale blue and stretched from the waist up as he pushed his palms flat against the thick air at the bottom of the pit. He stared at Hari as he ascended, catching the mystic’s eye and triggering a pang of guilt.
“Jamie,” Hari whispered. “What have I done?”
“You have done nothing. I became what I am through my own doing,” Jamie said as he drew level with Hari. He flattened his hands to his sides and his midriff settled its elongated form with a slow repetitive ripple. He held out his hand. “It is good to see you.”
“And you, British,” Hari said and ignored the hand. He leaned over the lip of the pit and clasped his hands around the djinni’s broad shoulders.
“Hari?” Jamie said, his brow furrowing into a thin frown.
Hari let go. “There is not an ounce of fat on your body.” He stepped back to look at the djinni. “So many scars. Your body is furrowed like the fields of England.”
Jamie’s face brightened. “So you went all the way to England? You took the boat?”
“The Cotton Licker, yes,” Hari said and nodded. “And then a steamjammer, all the way to London.” His eyes twinkled in the evening sun. “That was an unusual voyage.”
“And Luise?” Jamie reached out to grasp Hari’s arm. “Did you find my sister?”
“Yes,” Hari said and looked at Jamie’s fingers tightening around his arm. “British?”
“Sorry,” Jamie said and relaxed his grip. “I don’t know my own strength.”
“Truly,” Hari said and straightened his sleeve.
“But what of Luise?”
Hari turned away from the pit. He walked to a boulder close by and sat down. Jamie settled his arms on the lip of the pit, the muscles tight as hawser lines rigged for a storm.
“That is why I have come, British. Your sister needs your help.”
“I have been here a long time – what feels like a very long time – tell me what I have missed.”
“All right,” Hari said and adjusted the satchel strap across his chest. “I will begin with my arrival in London. I am afraid I was quite unused to city life, and I started my time in the Great Smoke as a guest of Her Majesty.”
“You were in prison?”
“Ah, I forgot that you would know such things,” Hari said and smoothed a hand over his beard. “Yes, I was in prison for a time, but it was Luise that helped me escape, and that led to many adventures, and, ultimately, back to Adina Pur, where it all started.”
Jamie listened as Hari continued in some detail, pausing to explain one thing or another as Jamie asked for clarification. The subject of Slow Demons did not phase Jamie in the slightest, and Hari attributed the fact to the young man's condition. They talked long into the evening, as Jamie quizzed Hari on the specifics about the impediment machine and the Passage of Time.
“This Khronos fellow,” Jamie said and frowned. “You are quite sure he has not harmed Luise?”
“After I was tossed overboard, I admit to being preoccupied with my own survival, and I am ashamed to say I did not know how I might save Miss Luise. However, when I was picked up by Major Noonan...”
“On The Amphitrite?”
“Yes, exactly. A most intriguing airship. Noonan assured me that Luise was safe, although he did suggest she was hurt.”
“Bleeding?”
“I fear so, yes.”
“Then we need to be going.”
Hari nodded in the glo
om. The dusty white turban on his head reflected the pale blue light emanating from Jamie's body. He watched as Jamie stretched and flexed his muscles, the light pulsing along his veins with each movement.
“Are you well, British?”
“I have been better,” Jamie said and snorted. “The Shah has lost interest in me, and Subedar Major Nazari has no need of me. I am, of late, redundant. Though I have fought many battles, and have gone through many changes. I appear before you, in my placid blue form. I must warn you, when we travel together, it is the fiery orange and yellow colour that should put you on your guard.”
“How will you travel? Do you not need a vessel?”
“Hah, and I thought you were the authority on all things mythical and mysterious.”
“And yet you are the djinni.”
“True,” Jamie said and raised himself out of the pit to sit on the lip. The coil of blue smoke beneath him shrank and solidified into a pair of legs and Jamie swung them over the side. He placed his bare feet upon the dirt surrounding the djinn pit and bunched his toes. His body paled to a pit-white pink. Hari stifled a gasp as the young man's battle scars and trophy marks reddened in jagged lines and whorls upon his skinny frame. His eyes were drawn to the anti-clockwise whorl of azure blue tattooed on Jamie's chest – the sign of the djinn. “Naked as I am, this body is my vessel. I am free to wander within it, at the command of whoever removes the lid from my prison.” Jamie looked around and gestured at the empty space between him and Hari. “The lack of guards suggests how useful I have become.”
“Then now is the time to leave, British. Though might a I suggest we find you some clothes?”
“Clothes would be appreciated. And food. I have a desperate hunger for the Shah keeps me intentionally lean and irritable.”
“Clothes and food will be our first priority. Perhaps Najma can help us. I will find her.”
“Najma,” Jamie said and smiled. “If I had a slowing machine I would use it every time I saw her. To capture her image in time.” He laughed. “Listen to me. I have become sentimental since last we met.”
“Truly,” said Hari. “But if that is the worst of traits you have developed since your internment in the djinn pit, I think you can be thankful. Come, let us find you some clothes.”