by Chris Paton
“But I am excited. I like to make noise when I am excited.”
Stepan rolled his eyes and then focused on the torpedo. The contrail was fizzing out and the warhead was close to detonation. He checked his watch and counted the last few seconds before impact.
The torpedo detonated with a muffled blast that sent a ripple of energy through the river, defying the current and pushing Akula off course. Stepan peered through the confused waters and saw the transport ship's propellers begin to turn as the ship leaned to port.
“A hit,” he said and nodded at Lena. “Not bad for a Cossack.”
“And I wasn't even drunk,” she said, her eyes shining in the gloomy interior of the submersible. “Think what I could do with vodka.”
“I don't doubt it.”
A string of Russian curses forced Stepan away from the porthole and onto one knee. With a wrench in one hand and a hammer in the other, Vladimir wriggled his body free of the pipes and sat up. He gave Stepan the look he saved for those moments preceding difficult command decisions. Stepan knew the outcome and nodded.
“We blow the balloons,” he said and waited for Vladimir to agree.
“What balloons?” said Lena.
“We have pontoons on each side of the hull,” said Vladimir. “There are candles that produce oxygen and we light them to increase Akula's buoyancy. Once the candles are lit, we seal the pontoons and release them from the hull. They rise to the surface and we unbolt the lead weights we have on the bottom of the hull. We should shoot to the surface. The trick,” he said, “is not to hit the balloons when we rise.”
“Light the candles, Poruchik Pavlutskiy,” said Stepan.
“Aye, Kapitan.”
Once the candles were lit, Vladimir released the pontoons and quickly loosened the lead weights. Stepan let go of the rudder wheel and removed the pistol from his belt. He gestured for Lena to do the same. Akula wobbled in the water as it ascended and the three submariners held onto the closest pipes as it bucked through the different stratas of the river.
The bow was the first to part of the submersible to breach the surface of the river, followed a second later by the top of the command tower. Stepan turned the wheel with one hand and unlocked the hatch. He raised it an inch and then threw it back until it clanged against the side of the stubby tower. With his pistol raised, he clambered out and onto the slippery deck of Akula. Lena followed as Vladimir opened a torpedo tube and retrieved the missile within.
“Vlad,” said Stepan. “Leave the torpedo and get on deck.”
“Just a second, Kapitan. I have it.”
“And I am telling you to leave it.”
Vladimir shoved the torpedo back in the tube and stuck his head out of the hatch. Stepan and Lena stood with their hands raised as a small flotilla of wooden boats filled with German soldiers circled Akula.
“You see what I mean?”
“I see,” said Vladimir as he gripped the sides of the tower and pulled himself out of the hatch and stepped onto the deck. “We don't have any options left, eh?”
“No,” said Stepan. “But Lena sank her first ship.”
“Da,” said Lena with a barely contained smile creased across her face. “Not even the great Ivan Timofeyevich has ever sunk a ship. I will be remembered in Cossack history.”
“If we survive that long,” said Stepan as he studied the soldiers while searching for the officer in command.
A thin man wearing an officer's uniform stood up and waved at him. He pointed at the pistols in their belts. “Throw your weapons into the river,” he said as his men tightened their grip on their muskets.
“Nyet, I will not,” said Lena.
“Do it,” Stepan whispered.
“Kapitan, do you know how long I have had these pistols?”
“No.”
“They have been in my family for...” she paused as Vladimir stepped in front of her and bent down to kiss her on the lips. Lena clasped her hands around his neck and returned the kiss as he lifted her off her feet. The soldiers whooped as Vladimir drew the pistols from the bandolier belt and tossed them into the river. Lena pulled back her head and scowled at the first and second splash, only to kiss Vladimir one more time.
“Marry me,” he said.
“When?”
“Today, tomorrow... now.”
“Da, I will marry you tomorrow,” Lena said and bit his lip. “Now put me down, I want to fight some Germans.”
“There will be no fighting,” Stepan said as he tossed his pistol into the river. Akula shifted beneath their feet as the first German boat bumped into the hull. The officer ordered each of them into separate boats and then called out for the soldiers to row back to the docks. Stepan and Vladimir watched Akula as the hull began to slowly sink beneath the surface. Lena watched Vladimir.
“You are to be taken directly to Herr Venzke once we are back on land,” the officer said as his boat drew level with Stepan's. “He intends to use you to help stop this pathetic siege.”
“Pathetic?” said Stepan as he turned to face the officer. “We have sunk one of your ships – just the three of us. We are one hundred outside the gates and,” he paused as he caught sight of a pall of smoke rising from one of the buildings closest to the gates. The first sounds of battle carried across the river and Stepan stood in the boat to get a better view.
“Sit down, Kapitan,” the officer said and drew his pistol. “Sit down or I will shoot.”
“Save your bullet,” Stepan said and pointed at the docks. “The Cossacks are inside the city walls.”
The docks were lined with townspeople escaping the fighting at the gates and looking towards the sea for salvation. It reminded Stepan of the day the ships had arrived, and every day since. Not one had passed without him thinking of his son, and now, as buildings inside the city began to burn, the need to see his son and soon, pressed Stepan into a deliberate state of calm.
Venzke has my son, he remembered. Then that is where I will go. He sat down and concentrated, ignoring even Vladimir's gasp as Akula sank from view. Venzke has my son.
Chapter 32
The Gates of Arkhangelsk
Arkhangelsk Oblast
July, 1851
Hari ducked as the djinni tossed another bruised blue emissary over his shoulder. The bronze amour plates buckled on impact as the emissaries, one after another, crumpled upon the packed-earth streets and rolled into the blackwood buildings. The soldiers of the German Confederation beat a fighting retreat, covering the controllers as they unclipped the useless control boxes from their harnesses and dropped them onto the ground. With his kukri pointed level in front of his body, Hari dared the bravest of the soldiers to come forwards. None did. He cast a glance over his shoulder and understood why – the djinni's skin flared orange across its massive body. It grew a pair of legs from thick coils of fire smoke and strode down the street, its shoulders rising above the tallest of buildings. Hari jogged to get ahead of it and slow it down.
“Wait,” he said and waved his arms at the djinni. “We must wait for the others to join us.”
“What others?”
“The Cossacks, the Wallendorf soldiers,” Hari said. He whispered the last name to himself, “Miss Luise,” and held his arms outstretched. The djinni bent down to peer into Hari's face.
“You are a strange little man. You want me to fight, and I fight. Now you want me to stop. But,” it said and pointed a stubby orange finger in the direction of the river, “there is still much fighting to be done.”
“Truly,” Hari said and dipped his head in respect. “You are not wrong, but I wish to find someone and you will be most useful.”
“We had a deal, little man,” the djinni said and scowled. “You are not thinking of reneging on that agreement, are you?”
“I am not. We do have a deal, but the fighting is not yet over, as you pointed out. But I wish us to be cautious...”
“And to wait for your friends. Yes, tedious.” The djinni shrank in size but
retained the orange flush across its skin. “Does this colour bother you?” it said and tilted its head to look at Hari. “You seem ill at ease.”
“I confess, I prefer you to be blue,” Hari said and fingered the buttons of his shirt with his left hand. The kukri he let fall to his side as he took a step back from the djinni. The djinni's laughter caught him off guard and Hari felt the tattoo on his chest crackle with a burst of nervous energy.
“I find myself energised after my short rest and rejuvenation. Perhaps,” the djinni said as it gestured towards Hari's chest, “we would be more than equally matched this time, little man?”
“I do not doubt it, my friend.”
“Friend? Have we become friends?”
“You have always been my friend, British,” Hari said. “And no matter what you have become, I will honour that friendship.” Hari sheathed the kukri and pressed his hands together in a namaste, bowing to the djinni until the sound of metal feet clanking along the street behind him turned his head.
Kettlepot, as Hari had learned it was called, strode ahead of the Wallendorf emissaries and the girl skipped along beside it. Luise, he saw, picked her way around the broken emissary parts littering the street, pausing at each of the German soldiers lying dazed or dead, their limbs wrenched at odd angles. She shuddered and walked on as the Cossacks removed weapons and souvenirs from the dead, hauling the wounded off the street and into the shelter of the broken gate towers from where they were treated and guarded. Kettlepot clanked to a stop beside Hari and turned its head to look at the djinni as it smoked above the ground in its diminished form not much taller than Hari.
This will be hard for Luise, Hari thought as he watched her as she stared at the being that was her brother but a short time ago. Hari took a step towards her but stopped when she touched the palm of her hand to her forehead as if she was in pain. He opened his mouth to speak but stopped when he recognised the look on her face. It was the same each time she had been contacted by the strange demon during the time they had stowed away on The Flying Scotsman. Luise looked up and confirmed Hari's assumption with a quick nod of her head.
“He is here,” she said. “And in some danger.”
“Khronos?”
“Yes. We must hurry.”
“If you know the way, Miss Luise, the djinni and I will follow.”
“I do,” she said. “It's this way.” Luise waited for a troop of Cossacks to pass before crossing the street and heading for a passage between two wooden houses – the occupants followed her approach from the safety of the first floor windows.
“And what about me and Kettlepot?” Emilia said. She knuckled her fists upon her hips.
“Too dangerous,” said Hari and nodded for the djinni to stay close. He took a step forwards and bumped into the massive frame of the emissary. The girl, he noticed, wore a satisfied smile on her lips as she walked beside Luise towards a side street. “All right,” he said and waited for the emissary to back off. “Just stay out of trouble.” Emilia stuck out her tongue and then ducked into the passageway behind Luise.
Hari struggled to orientate himself as they weaved between the buildings, darted across streets during lulls in the exchange of bullets between the Cossacks and the Germans, and climbed over and around crates and obstacles used to barricade some of the narrower streets. The djinni smoked above the ground at a steady pace behind Hari, while Luise, Hari noticed, was too intent on following directions to be distracted by her brother's mythical transformation. It is for the best. Perhaps later I can help her understand what has become of him. Thoughts of releasing the djinni from its human vessel worried Hari and, as they continued in a winding direction towards the river, he became increasingly concerned that releasing the djinni might leave Jamie so weak and sickened that he might die. He was barely alive when I found him in the pit, Hari remembered. So thin. Hari's thoughts flashed out of his mind at the sound of blistering missiles striking the buildings on the street at the end of the latest in a string of passageways Luise had led them down. She stopped as something struck the building ahead of her. Hari drew his kukri and jogged to the front of the group.
“Khronos?” he whispered as he drew close to Luise.
“Yes,” she said and pulled Emilia close. “Stay here while Hari and I go and have a look.”
“Kettlepot will...”
“Yes, I am sure he will protect you,” Luise said. “But I want you to stay here until we need you and Kettlepot. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Emilia said and leaned her back against the wall. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned her head away only to look up again as the djinni wafted past her.
“I will come,” it said.
“Yes,” said Luise. Hari thought she would say more, but the words seemed to die on her lips.
“Come,” he said and rearranged his robes for fighting. “Let's take a look.”
Khronos stood in the middle of the street. He raised his right hand and a ball of demonlight grew in his palm. He threw it at a building directly opposite Hari, before lifting his left hand and repeating the attack on the building. It seemed to Hari that the demon was in no hurry, and, as he studied the attack, Hari realised that each strike caused a wall of light to flicker across the building's facade. After another three strikes of demonlight, he could see that the wall was diminishing.
“There is a field of energy protecting the building,” he said. “But it is weakening.”
“Abraxas must be inside,” said Luise.
“Then we must help him.” Hari turned to the djinni. “Are you ready?”
“For what, little man?”
“One last fight.”
“Him?” it said and pointed at Khronos.
“Yes, but he is not a man, but a demon.”
“Aren't we all?” the djinni said. Its eyes blazed as its chest began to swell.
“Truly,” said Hari and pressed his hand on Luise's shoulder to guide her out of the djinni's way. The space within the passageway stifled as the djinni grew, an orange hue flickering across its body as it hurled itself out of the passage and charged towards Khronos.
The demonlight in Khronos' right hand flickered as the demon turned, just a second before the djinni barrelled into him. Khronos slapped the demonlight onto the djinni's shoulder as they crashed into the ground. The missile blistered upon the djinni's skin and Hari caught his breath as the djinni's orange skin began to burn a fire red. Tendrils of demonlight snaked from Khronos' fingers. They twisted around the djinni's body like ethereal vines from a forbidden forest. The djinni roared, it grew to twice its largest size and snapped the vines from the demon's fingers. The demonlight tendrils fell to the ground, sparkling and crackling into the dust, and were gone. Khronos flexed his fingers for more but the djinni picked him up and hurled him across the street. The demon crashed through the blackwood timbers of a store and the djinni was quick to follow, leaping onto the side of the building and gripping the roof as it swung its body inside and disappeared from view.
“That's it,” said Hari. “Let's go.” He took Luise's hand and they ran across the street and stood by the door of the building with the failing shield of energy. The face of a tired old man bobbed at the window and the door swung open.
“Come in,” said a boy. The boy's thick Russian accent fooled Hari for a moment until Luise pushed past him and pulled him inside. The boy shut the door, only to pause for a moment as he spotted Emilia and her emissary between the buildings. “Molotok,” he said and Hari saw his eyes moisten in the light.
“Kettlepot,” said Hari and sheathed his kukri. “He is with us.” The boy nodded and closed the door, pausing at the last inch for one more look at the emissary. “We'll bring him over in a moment, but...” Hari paused as Luise called for help.
“Help me sit him up,” she said as Abraxas slumped within her grip. Hari kneeled down beside her and together they managed to lean the old man against the wall close to the door. “Abraxas?” Luise said and smiled. �
�I have waited a long time to meet you.”
“And I have waited a long time for you to come,” he said, his voice barely a whisper.
“You are hurt.” Luise started to search Abraxas' body for bleeding.
“You won't find any wounds. I am weakened. It won't be long before I am too weak to live.”
“You can't die,” she said as she stopped searching. “I need your help.”
“Selfishness doesn't become you, Miss Hanover,” Abraxas said and chuckled. A jolt of pain flashed in his eyes and great crash from the building opposite caused him to start. “However,” he said, “I think the help you need is exactly the kind I wish to give. Together we can send Khronos back to the Passage of Time...”
“And seal it for good.”
“Yes,” Abraxas said and fixed Luise with a brief but intense look. “Forever.”
“What must we do?”
“First,” Abraxas said and shuffled into a more comfortable position. “We need to inscribe a sequence of khronoglyphs onto something made of metal. Just like you inscribed the cogs of your impediment machine...”
“With your secret and cryptic help,” said Luise.
“Yes, I wanted to help you,” he said and glanced at the blood staining Luise's jacket. “Did I?”
“Yes, for a while.”
“Good. But we will need something – copper is best.”
“Copper?” said Hari as he peeked through the window. As the building imploded before him, he watched as Kettlepot picked up Emilia and carried her to a more sheltered position. Hari swallowed a feeling of guilty negligence and opened his satchel. “I have a copper plate.” He shrugged as he gave it Luise. “There was nowhere else to put it.”
“That will do,” said Abraxas. “Now, something to scribe with?”
“My toolkit,” Luise said and drew up her skirt. She paused at a gasp from the boy and then removed a bradawl from the leather garter. “I don't have a hammer,” she said.