by Chris Paton
My son has lived and survived as a rebel in the city for almost three whole months. I should trust him. “Nikolas,” he whispered as the guards finished binding his arms and stepped back. “What do you need us to do?”
“He is a child,” Kapitan,” Lena said and jerked her head towards Venzke as he drew his pistol. “There is nothing he can do.”
“He is my child. That is correct. But don't underestimate him,” Stepan said and stiffened as Venzke approached. “The German doesn't.”
Venzke stopped in front of Vladimir and pressed the barrel of the pistol into his forehead. Vladimir raised his eyes and stared at him.
“You are the last of the Russian soldiers we failed to catch.”
“Yes.”
“Your comrades went to the mines, and suffered alongside their wives, while you skulked in the city and made a nuisance of yourself.”
“Guilty,” said Vladimir and shrugged.
“Weak, more like.” Venzke jabbed the barrel into the bridge of Vladimir's nose. Vladimir grunted as blood trickled out of the cut and dripped along his cheeks and onto the tiles of the roof. “And you,” Venzke said as he took a step away from Vladimir to stop in front of Nikolas. “You and your emissary have caused more damage and setbacks to this operation than I wish to think about.”
“Thank you.”
“Careful, Nikolas,” said Stepan. He leaned forwards and tried to make eye contact, but Nikolas' gaze was fixed on Venzke.
“Your thanks is misplaced. Your disruptive strategies only forced me to make the people of Arkhangelsk work harder to mine more minerals for export as fast as humanly possible. Of course, being humans, it wasn't always possible.” Venzke smirked as he bent down and pressed his face close to Nikolas'. “Do you want to know how many died, or should I let the people of Arkhangelsk tell you when, or if, they leave the mines?”
Stepan watched as his son's body twitched, the hope and defiance he had seen earlier was in danger of turning to guilt. He needs me.
“Nikolas, look at me.”
“Oh,” said Venzke, “touching words from the father? Something to assuage your son's guilt? This should be interesting.”
“You gave people hope, Nikolas. Something to fight for. As long as they knew you were free, they could last one more day, and the next, and another after that.”
“But what if they couldn't, papa?” Nikolas trembled as fresh tears welled beneath his eyes. Venzke stepped back to gloat, slipping the pistol into his belt and crossing his arms over his chest. He nodded at the soldiers and beckoned for them to come closer.
“He has caused us nothing but trouble,” he reminded them. “This is his last confession.”
The soldiers laughed and shouted insults at Nikolas as they crowded around him and formed a semicircle, their backs to the door leading to the staircase, and their ears deaf to the first crash of timbers from the street below.
“Don't listen to them,” Stepan said and shuffled closer, his knees rasping across the roof as he pushed past Lena and rested his head upon his son's. “You are a survivor, Nikolas.”
“I am a coward, I hid.”
“You are a fighter – you fought back.”
“I am just a boy. I didn't want to fight.”
“You are a Skuratov. You fought for the people.” Stepan shuffled to press his forehead to Nikolas'. “I am proud of you, son. Your mother is too. And she is waiting for you. Don't give in now. Don't let this man break you after all you have done...” Stepan paused at a slight tremble that rippled through the surface of the roof beneath his knees.
“As touching as it is,” Venzke said and clicked his fingers. “You are now my bargaining chips. As soon as the Wallendorf woman arrives, I begin...” Venzke's words died on his lips at the sound of splintering timbers and crumbling masonry coming from the floor below. He turned to look at the doorway only to see the centre of the roof ripple like whirlpool as the wooden tiles burst upwards and a pair of bruised and bent hands erupted from the floor below, gripped the roof and tensed. The German soldiers tugged their rifles from their shoulders as a battered blue metal head rose out of the hole in the roof. Molotok hammered its fingers like pitons into the roof and clawed its way into a standing position. The emissary rose to its full height as the Germans fired their muskets, aiming for the grille plate protecting the lodestone inside.
If that's the sensitive part of the emissary, Stepan thought as he lifted his head to watch, then at this range, they might just bring it down. Molotok raised a hand to cover the grille as the Oberleutnant ordered his troops into a more disciplined attack – the front row firing and then keeling to reload as the second row fired.
“Molotok,” shouted Nikolas. “Why are you just standing there? Attack.”
Molotok turned its head towards Nikolas' voice, the lodestone flashing briefly between its fingers.
“I don't understand. Why won't he do something? He always does something.”
“It looks to me, Kapitan,” said Vladimir, “as if it is waiting for something.” He winked at Lena as he shuffled closer.
“I think you're right. But what?”
“Another emissary?” Lena said. She grinned and dipped her head in the direction of the corner of the roof. With the same methodic piton-jab, Kettlepot punched its fingers into the building and climbed over the edge of the roof behind the soldiers firing at Molotok. The second row turned to fire only to be harvested with a single swipe of the emissary's arm, sweeping the men off their feet and sending two of them tumbling off the roof. The men screamed as they plummeted to the street. The sound of their bodies hitting the street turned Stepan's stomach.
“That's it,” he said and pushed himself to his feet. “We have to go. Now.”
“No one leaves,” Venzke shouted and pointed his pistol at Nikolas. “Call them off,” he said and pulled back the flintlock hammer.
“No,” said Nikolas.
“Very well,” said Venzke and squeezed the trigger.
Stepan threw himself in front of the bullet as Venzke fired, dropping to the floor as Molotok leaped across the roof, crunching the tiles into dust and tangling its cloven feet in the timbers. As Nikolas screamed Molotok grasped Venzke within its arms and kept going, twisting as it neared the edge of the roof, the lodestone blazing.
“Molotok,” Nikolas cried as he turned from his father to his emissary. As the emissary began to topple over the edge, Lena dived over Stepan's body and crashed into Nikolas, knocking him to the roof as a musket fired. The bullet split the air above Nikolas' head and he followed its path with his eyes as it shot through the grille of Molotok's faceplate and extinguished the emissary's light. The lodestone cracked and the emissary slipped out of sight.
Chapter 35
Arkhangelsk
Arkhangelsk
July, 1851
“I'm finished,” Luise said and turned the copper plate towards Abraxas. “Will it do?”
“The sequence is what is important,” he said. “Your khronoglyphs are legible. Khronos will have difficulty resisting them.”
“Then what do we do now?”
“Ah,” said Abraxas as he attempted to sit up straight. He gave up and slumped against the wall. “That is the difficult part. This plate has to be pressed upon his skin. Direct contact.” Abraxas lifted his head and turned to look out of the door and onto the street. “Of course, if anyone can do it, your djinni friend can.”
“I'll get it to him,” said Hari. He reached forwards and took the plate from Luise's hand.
“Be careful,” she said as her fingers brushed his.
“Truly,” he said, “am I not always careful?”
“To be honest, Hari. No, you are not.”
“I fear you are correct, again, Miss Luise.” Hari dipped his head and when he lifted it again his eyes sparkled. “Now,” he said. “I must make a deal with a djinni to banish a demon. Since meeting you, there has never been a dull moment.”
“No,” said Luise. “There really
hasn't. But please remember, that djinni is my brother.”
“I could never forget,” said Hari. He picked up and sheathed his kukri and then stepped out of the building and into the street.
Clouds of dust blew in confused circles down the street as the djinni and the demon crashed into building after building. Hari winced at the devastation and searched for the safest place to call the djinni's attention. The centre of the street seemed to be furthest from the battle and Hari strode towards it, the copper plate tucked under one arm.
The battle bounced from the rooftops through the buildings and, from Hari's perspective, neither combatant seemed to have the upper hand. When in one moment Khronos' demonlight gave him the edge, in the next the djinni's brute strength overcame it. The djinni was faster, but the demon more stubborn. They were locked in an exchange of attacks and counter attacks where boredom rather than injury was more likely to end their conflict. And if they don't stop soon, Hari mused as he surveyed the ruined blackwood buildings lining both sides of the street, there will be nothing left of Arkhangelsk.
Hari raised his arm and called to the djinni in a sudden lull between bouts. Khronos picked himself up from the gutter outside a shattered window, fingers blistering with fresh charges of demonlight. He paused to watch as the djinni spiralled down to Hari, the smoke beneath his abdomen coiling into legs.
“What is it, little man? Can't you see I am busy?”
“Yes, but without this,” Hari said and pulled the plate from beneath his arm, “you will never win this fight.”
“And what am I to do with this?” the djinni said and spun the copper plate within its fingers.
“Press it onto the demon's skin and it will be forced back into the Passage of Time.”
“Just like that?”
“I believe so, yes.”
“Hmm,” the djinni said and stared at Khronos. “He knows what it is?”
“He will probably guess.”
“And that is why he is running towards the building you were hiding inside? Look.”
Hari looked and felt a great claw tighten around his chest as Khronos thrust tendrils of demonlight from his fingers and ripped the window and door frame from the building, exposing Luise and Abraxas in a shower of glass and timber. Hari heard Abraxas moan as Khronos flung the demonlight around the old man's body and dragged him out into the street. Luise reached for him and then backed away as Khronos lifted his hand, a missile of energy building within his palm. He launched the missile at Luise and Hari watched as she dove to the floor only to be rolled to the rear of the building as the missile exploded and sent her tumbling with the furniture and debris.
“No,” Hari yelled and drew his kukri. He charged towards Khronos only to have his assault arrested as the djinni clapped a huge hand upon his shoulder.
“Save my sister,” it said with Jamie's voice.
“British?”
“Yes, but not for long. Save Luise and I will send Khronos back to where he came from.”
“You will have to hold the plate in place, British. I cannot tell you what will happen.”
“I think we know, Hari. It's all right. I cannot live like this forever. I am just a vessel after all.”
Hari looked the djinni in the eyes and was rewarded with the sad and distant look of the young man he had met on the Khyber Pass. It seemed to Hari like a very long time ago. The djinni smiled and, at a scream from Abraxas, its legs smoked into a tornado and it ploughed a furrow in the street as it charged towards Khronos. Hari followed. Khronos held the old man at arm’s length, a coil of demonlight wrapped around Abraxas' throat. It tightened as the djinni slammed into the demon's body, punching the plate into Khronos' chest.
“This is your doing, Abraxas,” Khronos screamed as he tore at the djinni's grip with the blistering fingers of his right hand. Abraxas dangled from the demonlight in his left, and as the djinni lifted them into the air, Hari hacked at the tendrils strangling the old man.
“Forget about me,” Abraxas said, his voice rasping through the coils of demonlight. “Save the girl.”
“Right,” Hari said and brought his hands together in a namaste. Abraxas smiled as he rose into the air at the end of Khronos' tether. The air around Khronos shimmered and Hari caught a glimpse of a tunnel beyond the now and then. The entrance was at once black and fathomless, yet familiar, as if all the pasts he might have known were on display, leading to a multitude of future possibilities. Hari saw what he imagined to be several immediate futures, including one where the pale body of Jamie Hanover was torn from the djinni's body and dropped from the air to the street, and another where the djinni and the man inside it were dragged into the Passage of Time and lost forever as it was sealed. The air around him began to thicken, and Hari was torn between running to free Luise from her timbered tomb or waiting for that possible future when the djinni was released from the vessel, and Jamie was returned to the present. So long as the djinni maintained its grip on Khronos and the plate was pressed into the demon's chest, Hari knew one possible future was definite – that the demon would be gone for all time.
But if Jamie falls from that height, Hari realised, without his djinni form he will die on impact. But, he looked towards where Luise lay beneath the rubble. Miss Luise needs me.
“War is coming, Hari,” Jamie's voice drifted down from above, the same words he had spoken to Hari after the battle of Adina Pur, “and I want my sister to be protected.”
“I understand, British,” Hari said and turned away from the battle in the air above him and ran for the building. Hari picked his way through the rubble and called Luise's name. He cupped his ears with his hands to listen for her reply and was rewarded with a cough and a whisper of his name. Hari strained to pull the wooden joists from the pile pressing Luise to the floor. The exchange of demonlight and the djinni's roar continued, licking the street in waves of fury. Hari continued to uncover one layer of debris after another until locks of Luise's strawberry blonde hair contrasted with the blackwood and dust. He slowed, prising one piece after another from her body until he could reach in and touch her face.
“Miss Luise,” he said. “Are you badly hurt?”
“For once, I am more shaken than hurt. These beams,” she said and pointed at an A-frame construction above her shoulders, “seemed to fall in exactly the right position. If you can get me out, then I should be fine.”
Hari moved the last remaining timbers trapping Luise and then pulled her out and onto the floor. He held her for a moment, wiping the dust and ash from her face as his fingers tangled within her hair.
“Hari?”
“Yes,” he whispered.
“I...”
“I know,” he said and kissed her.
Their lips parted at a creak from the ceiling above them. Hari led Luise to the street and they looked up, far above them, as the Passage of Time swallowed Abraxas at the end of Khronos' leash and then the demon himself before grasping the djinni's body. Luise gasped as the smoke was drawn inside the Passage and a man was revealed, his pale, naked form suspended for a moment as the djinni was sucked from his body. The Passage sealed with a clap of thunder and Jamie fell. Luise pressed her head to Hari's shoulder, but Hari watched his friend fall. He heard the cry and felt the impact as it rippled through the street, and all was still as the sounds of battle diminished and were gone.
“I must go to him,” Hari said and pushed Luise gently away from him.
“I will come with you.”
“You don't have to.”
“He is my brother.”
They held hands as they hurried to where Jamie lay, his body broken by the street and ravaged by the battles he had won, and the time he had spent in the djinn pit in the service of the Shah. Jamie's face was, to Hari's surprise, serene, as if the final expulsion of the djinni had left him with a calm, where his Qarin had finally been put to rest. He was absolved and all that remained was to get him home, to England, where he would rest forever in peace.
&nbs
p; Hari searched the street for a cart and found one in the space between two ravaged buildings. He left Luise to kneel by her brother as he pulled the cart over to Jamie's body.
“He looks like he is at peace,” she said as Hari returned.
“Yes,” he said.
“I haven’t seen him like this since we were small, when he was running around the garden. He was naked then, too,” she said as Hari removed his robe and handed it to her. She draped it over Jamie's body and smoothed her hands on his cheeks. “Rest now, brother,” she said and kissed his lips and his forehead. A tear from her cheek caught in her hair and dripped down a single strand before it fell and blossomed on Jamie's cheek. Luise wiped it away and then stood as Hari lifted the body of her brother onto the cart.
“Where will we go now, Hari?”
“To London. We will bury your brother as a Hanover, the best of his kind.”
“That could be dangerous. The Admiral said...”
“Dangerous?” Hari smiled as he took Luise's hand. “I think we will manage. Besides,” he said, “I am curious to see if Shahin is still feasting on pigeons, or if she has acquired more exotic tastes. I would like to take her home.”
“Home?”
“Yes, I think it is time I show you my home, the deserts, the mountains and the villages.”
“I should like that, Hari.”
“And after that, well,” he said, “the world, perhaps?”
“Yes,” said Luise. “I should like that very much.”
Hari let go of Luise's hand and gripped the handles of the cart. He turned the cart towards the river and pushed Jamie's body in the direction of the administrator's building as Luise walked by his side.
Chapter 36
Arkhangelsk Administrator's Building
Arkhangelsk
July, 1851
“Nikolas,” Stepan shouted as his son crawled out from beneath Lena and scrambled to the edge of the roof. Stepan clutched his side and pressed his bound hands against the bullet wound. He stood up and stumbled to the edge as Nikolas leaned over it, reaching out for the impossible as the emissary crashed through the wooden dock and splashed into the river, the German administrator clasped between interlocking brass arms.