Djinn (The adventures of Hanover and Singh Book 4)

by Chris Paton

  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 and 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. Molo
tok 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.

  “No,” Nikolas cried and took a step forwards. Abraxas held out his arm and stopped him. “Do something,” he said. “Don't let him hurt Molotok.”

  Abraxas nodded and curled a flicker of demonlight into a missile and hurled it and then another, followed by two more, at Khronos. The demon drew the energy from his fingers back towards his body and shaped a shield in front of him. Abraxas' missiles pushed Khronos back a step with each impact. Nikolas ran to Molotok as the emissary pushed itself to its knees. The lodestone behind the grille faceplate glowed and Nikolas grabbed Molotok's head with both hands.

  “I love you,” he whispered and the emissary nodded, lifting Nikolas from the ground for a moment as he held on, never wanting to let go.

  “Nikolas,” Abraxas said as he hurled another volley of missiles at Khronos. “I cannot keep this up. Molotok must attack now.

  “No. I won't let him.”

  “You promised you would help me,” Abraxas said and Nikolas heard the man's voice falter as he grew weaker with every bolt of demonlight he cast.

  “No,” Nikolas said as Molotok lifted its head from his grasp and pushed itself to its feet. “Stop, Molotok. He can hurt you.” Nikolas wrapped his arms around the emissary's leg, but Molotok gently prised him free and set him on the ground. It bent its cylindrical head and the lodestone glowed a fierce red as if it was telling Nikolas to stop. Then the emissary turned and ran towards Khronos.

  It was Molotok's left fist that shook the demon off balance and forced him to lose command of his shield. With his right fist, Molotok punched the demon across the street and into the side of a building. The timbers crumpled as Khronos slid down the wall, landing, to Nikolas' amazement, on his feet.

  “Interesting,” Khronos said as he regarded the emissary stalking towards him. “Most of the metal beasts are inanimate stoves at best, but you remind me of another I have met.” He tilted his head and studied Molotok as the emissary began to circle him. “I wonder how you react to time?”

  “Step back, Nikolas,” Abraxas yelled as he stumbled along the street. “Get away from him.”

  “Why?” said Nikolas, but he sensed that he already knew why as the air grew heavy and time seemed to slip away from him. A vortex of light emanated from Khronos' body and expanded to encompass him, Molotok and Nikolas, if Abraxas had not pulled him beyond its reach. Khronos walked within the vortex as if he was enjoying a stroll in the park, while Molotok raised his fist and swung languid punches that missed Khronos every time. Nikolas watched as the demon paused in front of the fists, as if examining the fingers, touching them, sniffing them, and then letting the fist graze his cheek as if it was a caress.

  “Molotok will be trapped within that time vortex for as long as Khronos wishes. We must hurry away, before he remembers us,” Abraxas said and curled his arm around Nikolas' shoulders. “Come. Let us get out of sight.”

  “But Molotok?”

  “He is safe inside the vortex. Trapped, but safe.”

  “What about the demon?” said Nikolas as the old man guided him across the street and into a narrow alley between two blackwood buildings. “Can he get out of the vortex?”

  “He can and he will,” said Abraxas. “We must hurry.”

  Nikolas took one last look over his shoulder. Molotok continued to swing slow punches within the spinning vortex, but the demon, Khronos, the Father of Time, was outside the vortex and striding towards them, a missile of blistering energy in his palm and a murderous look in his eyes.

  Chapter 31

  The River Dvina

  Arkhangelsk Oblast

  July, 1851

  Akula was sinking. The tapping of Vladimir's hammer and Lena's curses, Stepan imagined, were all that was holding his submersible on a horizontal plane. Exiting the submarine pens had been easy enough, he reflected, their problems started when they encountered the first nets. The Germans had blanketed the river with great hawser nets that covered every possible location of the hidden submarine pens and fouled Akula’s propellers. Stepan had not considered for even one moment that the Germans might have anticipated such an attempt to take control of the river. Obviously, he thought as he applied as much pressure as he could on the rudder wheel, they knew about the submersibles. Someone must have tipped them off. Someone high up. Bryullov was the first name to come to mind, but Stepan rejected it. He is just not senior enough. This came from Moscow.

  Stepan took a breath of stale air and squinted through the bow-facing porthole screwed into the tiny conning tower. He steered Akula in a slow circle as Vladimir fought against time to plug the leak allow them to rise from the depths. Surrender was not a Cossack word, but neither was drowning. Stepan took his eyes from the porthole and looked at Lena. She needs something to do, something to attack.

  “Lena.”

  “Da?”

  “Open the port torpedo tube, the one on the left, and set the timer for thirty seconds.”

  “Kapitan?” Vladimir said as he lifted his head from the bowels of the submersible.

  “One of the nets is hanging from a transport ship,” Stepan said with one eye on Lena. She worked quickly, he noted. And shows no sign of claustrophobia.

  “You are going to sink the ship?”

  “I am going to force it out of the way at least. If we can cripple it, and it makes for the docks, then we have a way out.”

  “I understand, Kapitan, but Akula is sinking no matter what. When we pulled free of the last nets, we must have snagged a fin and it is loose now. That's why you have to put so much pressure on the rudder, and that is why we are sinking – we have a leak.”

  “All the more reason to do something drastic. Ivan and the German woman are counting on us to seal off the city. We will do our best.”

  Lena tapped the brass lever on a pipe to get Stepan's attention. “The timer is set. What do I do next?”

  “Give me a moment, I have to line up the front of the submarine with the transport ship.” Stepan bit his lip as he wrenched the rudder wheel to the right. Akula drifted though the water and bucked in the current. The starboard side of one of the crimson-hulled transport ships loomed into view and Stepan eased up on the rudder. He nodded at Lena.

  “Ready,” she said.

  “Okay, reach into the tube and pull the tag at the rear of the torpedo.”

  “Da,” Lena said and cursed. “It is spitting.”

  “It's supposed to. It's a propellant. Now, turn the dial to start the timer and close the tube.” Stepan listened for the clank as Lena closed the hatch to the torpedo tube and tightened the bolts with the lever. “Now flood it,” he said and looked at the largest of the three watch faces on his wristband.

  Lena turned a wheel at the front of the tube. The river hissed inside as s
he opened the torpedo tube door. As soon as the water mixed with the propellant the tube started to heat up. Lena shrieked with delight as the torpedo fsshed out of the tube and into the river.

  “I want to see it,” she said and squirmed out of the firing seat.

  “There's not much room,” said Stepan.

  “Pah. Move over, Kapitan. I want to see my torpedo.” Lena squeezed Stepan against the side of the conning tower with her body and pressed her nose to the glass. “Is that it?” she said and tapped her finger at a white contrail of bubbles fizzing through the water ahead of Akula.

  “Yes,” said Stepan.

  “Hah,” Lena said. “I like this.”

  “We are sinking, Lena.”

  “Nyet,” she said. “We are fighting, like true Cossacks. I didn't think it was possible to fight beneath the water. But now,” Lena lifted her head and raised her eyebrows at Stepan. “Now I believe anything is possible.”

  “Still sinking, Kapitan,” Vladimir said from where he lay in the water at the stern of the submersible. “I suggest we fire the balloons and go for the surface.”

  “Not yet, Vlad. Let's see if Lena's torpedo does the trick.” Stepan moved back to the porthole as Lena returned to the firing seat. She tapped the lever on the tubes as if counting the seconds to detonation. “This is supposed to be a quiet ship, Lena,” he said.