by Karen Kincy
“Truthfully,” he said, “I’m terrified.”
Ardis laughed, and it brought her dangerously close to tears.
“It could be nothing,” she said.
“It could be something.” He raised his eyebrows. “I’ve always wanted a tiny minion.”
“Wendel!”
He struggled not to smile. “Did I say that? I meant baby.”
“You’ve always wanted one?”
“That’s a lie.” His smile faded. “Not always.”
“Oh.”
He met her gaze. “Not until you told me.”
The sincerity in his eyes left her breathless. She let out a shuddering sigh.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she said.
“What? Like what?”
“So hopefully.” She drank her lukewarm coffee. “It’s a long shot.”
Wendel rubbed the back of his neck. “How long of a shot?”
“I’m five days late. That’s all.”
“Late…?” Understanding cleared his face. “Ah.”
“I asked the doctor,” Ardis said, “and she told me to wait a week.”
Wendel squinted at the dregs of his coffee.
“Should you rest?” he said. “Should you even be piloting an automaton?”
“She didn’t say.”
“You should ask.”
She sighed. “Wendel. Don’t worry.”
But he stared out the window and bounced his leg with excess energy.
“Do you want a baby?” he said.
Ardis shrugged, her shoulders tight, since she honestly didn’t know.
“I’d make a terrible mother,” she said. “I’m a mercenary.”
Wendel glanced back at her. “You might have to set down your sword,” he said lightly. “Just long enough to hold the baby.”
Ardis smiled. “I would make you hold it.”
She imagined him carrying a baby—their baby—and felt a little flutter in her heartbeat. Damn, these were dangerous thoughts.
What was it about the idea that made her so giddy?
The waitress returned. “Your Berliner.”
“Thank you,” Ardis said, a bit more charitable toward the waitress.
Ardis bit into the German doughnut and savored how sweet it was. Though everything tasted a lot sweeter at the moment.
“Need anything else?” said the waitress.
“I’m fine,” Ardis said, because she was.
“The eggs.” Wendel closed the menu. “And today’s newspaper.”
Ardis devoured her pastry and licked her fingers clean. Her appetite was back with a vengeance. This couldn’t be morning sickness. But could she be eating for two? The possibility of being pregnant consumed her thoughts.
The waitress returned with the eggs and a newspaper. “Here you are, sir.”
Wendel spread the newspaper flat on the table and absently stabbed the eggs with his fork. Ardis tried not to stare at his food.
“Could I have a bite?” she said.
“Of course.” Wendel scooted the plate across. “We can order more.”
Ardis ate a forkful of eggs and helped herself to a second one. Wendel didn’t seem to be as hungry as she was. He frowned over the newspaper. His thumb rubbed the words, back and forth, until ink blackened his skin.
“The Russians,” Wendel said.
“What about them?” Ardis said.
The newspaper crumpled under his hand. “They are a day’s march from Königsberg.”
~
The lagoon glimmered like quicksilver. Wendel loped along the waterfront, and Ardis ran to match his long stride. He noticed her breathing hard and slowed, though he hadn’t stopped scowling since the newspaper.
At the doors to the drydock, the guards waved them inside.
“Archmage!” Wendel shouted.
Several people stared at him, none of them Konstantin.
“Have you forgotten his name already?” Ardis said.
Wendel wrinkled his nose. “I haven’t a clue what you mean.”
“You called him ‘Konstantin’ last night.”
“Did I?”
“When you thought he was choking.”
“That was a mistake.”
Wendel seemed even more on edge, and it was sharpening his words.
Ardis recognized someone, though it wasn’t Konstantin. A woman jogged along the wall, her white coat flying behind her.
“Archmage Carol!” Ardis said.
Carol waved. “Aren’t you one of the test pilots?”
“Yes, ma’am. We met in Vienna.”
“That’s right.” Carol cocked her head. “You scratched up one of the automatons.”
Ardis winced. “Konstantin told you?”
“No, but he’s a terrible liar. Brought back one of the prototypes after a little expedition. Those marks didn’t buff out.”
Wendel scoffed with impatience. “Is he here?”
Carol gave him a once over. “And you must be the necromancer,” she deadpanned. “Pleased to meet you.”
“Charmed,” Wendel said. “Perhaps we can chat later over drinks.”
“Why not?” Carol didn’t blink. “Never had drinks with a necromancer. Or a disinherited prince, come to think of it.”
Wendel arched an eyebrow. “Count on the Russians arriving uninvited.”
“Let them.” Carol folded her arms. “We have some party favors for Saint Petersburg.” She jerked her chin toward the biggest automaton.
Wendel glowered at its metal knees. “Not nearly enough.”
“That’s why we’re here.” Ardis nudged him in the ribs. “To help Konstantin.”
This provoked a long sigh and a dark look from Wendel.
“Konstantin should be in back,” Carol said, “working with the captain.”
Ardis tried to be especially polite to counteract Wendel’s rudeness.
“Thank you, archmage,” she said.
Carol nodded. “Come back so I can outfit you for the automatons.”
“Will do.”
Wendel started walking, and Ardis hurried after him. They found Konstantin and Himmel sitting together by a workbench. Himmel’s wounded arm wasn’t in its sling. It rested on top of the workbench. Bandages wrapped Himmel’s arm, though they didn’t entirely hide the raw red scars zigzagging across his skin.
Konstantin pushed a pair of goggles over his head. “Good morning!”
“You seem chipper, archmage,” Wendel said.
Himmel grunted. “The antidote cured him completely.”
The captain looked considerably less awake, his hair rumpled from sleep.
“Myself,” Himmel said, “I need more coffee.”
Konstantin’s sky blue eyes twinkled. “I’m on my third cup.”
“Good God,” Ardis said.
“Woke early to work on this.”
Konstantin spoke with a sort of reverence. He hopped off his stool and fetched something from a table. He held it in both hands.
“My mechanical arm,” Konstantin said.
It was a work of beauty. Raw, with naked gears, but still beautiful. Konstantin had taken an armored gauntlet, the steel intricately articulated and engraved, and outfitted it with technomancy to power its movement.
“Theodore,” Konstantin said. “Would you care to demonstrate?”
The captain coughed. “Himmel.”
“Yes! Sorry.”
With an unintelligible grumble, Himmel lifted his arm. His tried to straighten his hand, but his fingers curled like claws. With his left hand, he dragged the mechanical arm across the table and fumbled with the buckles.
Konstantin bit his lip. “Let me help—”
“No,” Himmel said. “I need to do this alone.”
A blush flamed over Konstantin’s cheeks. He stared at the floor.
“Of course,” the archmage said.
Himmel tugged the mechanical arm over his own and tightened the buckles. Grimacing, he stared at the metal fingers. They
clenched into a fist, tiny gears whirring, then twitched open. He groped for a wrench and grabbed it.
“There.” Himmel attempted a smile. “That wasn’t impossible.”
Konstantin kept his gaze downcast. “I realize it’s rough, but I can adjust—”
“Thank you.”
Himmel said it so gruffly that Ardis couldn’t help but smile, and Konstantin’s blush reached legendary proportions.
“Bravo,” Wendel said.
Both Konstantin and Himmel glared at him.
“I’m genuinely impressed.” Wendel held up his hands. “Don’t look at me like that.”
Konstantin checked his pocketwatch. “We should get to work.”
“Exactly my thoughts.”
Konstantin looked sideways at Wendel. “You seem rather eager to help.”
“I find myself motivated by an army of Russians.”
Konstantin clicked his pocketwatch shut. “Mr. Tesla will arrive shortly. Then we can start his experiments in the field.”
“Oh, joy,” Wendel said.
Himmel dropped the wrench with a clank. “Losing your nerve?”
“Experiment away,” Wendel said. “Just try not to break your one and only necromancer. I hear they can be hard to find.”
Konstantin looked coolly at him. “We will do our best.”
“For my sake.” Ardis arched her eyebrows. “And I’m waiting for your orders.”
~
Konstantin wasn’t joking when he said experiments in the field.
Ardis swigged from a canteen and swallowed water that tasted metallic. Her hair clung to her sweaty forehead. She rubbed it away with her sleeve, glanced around to see nobody watching, then flopped back on the grass.
Above her, an automaton knelt, its steel skin rippling with reflected clouds.
Her automaton, she supposed.
Ardis had piloted it before, in Vienna, and recognized the gouge on the automaton’s knee. The consequence of an assassin’s blade, from that time when she and Konstantin marched it into a coffin factory to rescue Wendel.
“You need a name,” Ardis said to the automaton.
Technically, the smaller automatons were designated Knight class, while the single large automaton was a Colossus.
“Fritz?” she said. “You look like a Fritz.”
Ardis breathed in the brisk scent of crushed grass, then let out her breath. After a few hours in the cockpit, the heat of the automaton felt smothering. Thank God they had stopped for a lunch of cheese and rye bread.
Overhead, a zeppelin hovered under the clouds. A man leaned from the gondola and waved at them. His metal arm flashed in the sun—Himmel. He wasn’t wearing a captain’s hat, but he was well enough to scout.
Ardis sat upright and waved back. She glanced across the field.
A second Knight automaton knelt in the grass. Konstantin and Tesla bent over a panel in its back. Still tinkering with wires.
“Damn!” Konstantin said. “We need to recalibrate it again.”
Tesla stood with his hands on his hips. “I’m positive this should work.”
Wendel wandered away from them and tossed a breadcrumb to Krampus. The raven swooped and caught it in midair.
“Wendel!” Konstantin said.
Wendel didn’t look back. “Yes?”
“We need you.”
Wendel laughed dryly. “I’m in high demand.”
He sprinkled the breadcrumbs onto the grass. Krampus landed and strutted across the muddy footprints of the automaton.
“Come here.” Konstantin flapped his hand. “Help us with the harmonic transmitter.”
“I have absolutely no clue what that means,” Wendel said.
Tesla brushed away his comment. He hadn’t bothered to be irritated by the necromancer, not even when Wendel complained.
“If each automaton has its own frequency,” Tesla said, “there will be no interference.”
“Your necromancy functions on the same principle,” Konstantin said.
Wendel held up his hands. “I will take your word for it.”
Nearby, another pilot leaned against a tree. She spotted Ardis staring and crossed the field. Ardis brushed crumbs from her trousers, climbed to her feet, and held out her hand. The other pilot had a firm handshake.
“You must be Ardis,” said the pilot. She spoke English with an Australian accent.
Ardis nodded. “I didn’t catch your name.”
“Steph,” the pilot said.
“Australian?”
“I am.”
“You’re a long way from home.”
Steph smiled. Sunlight brought out golden glimmers in her brown hair.
“Takes one to know one,” she said.
Ardis glanced at her automaton and patted his hip. “This is Fritz.”
“You named him?” Steph laughed. “I hadn’t thought of that. I suppose it’s best not to get too attached to a prototype.”
Ardis was no stranger to losing things in battle. But battle seemed so far away today.
“Have you heard about the Hex?” Steph said.
“What about it?” Ardis said.
“Rumors say the magic is creeping into Russia.” Steph folded her arms. “Gunpowder doesn’t work for a few miles beyond the border. They say the archmages planned this all along, and the Tsar is less than thrilled.”
Ardis rubbed the back of her neck. “It won’t end the war.”
“Right.” Steph snorted. “I hear the Russians have swordsmen on horseback. Cossacks.”
“Swords can still kill you.”
Steph nudged the automaton with her boot. “But wait until they see the automatons.”
Ardis didn’t mention the clockwork dragon. She wasn’t sure if the archmages wanted everyone to know about it. To fear it.
Carol came running across the grass.
“Gear up,” the archmage said. “Both of you.”
“At the same time?” Ardis said.
Carol grinned. “Cross your fingers. The control systems should be working.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Steph sprinted across the field.
Ardis clambered into her own automaton’s cockpit. She fit her feet and hands into the automaton’s boots and gauntlets. She reached for the ignition by her chest and twisted the key. The automaton rumbled to life.
“Come on, Fritz,” Ardis whispered.
Carol cupped her hands to her mouth. “On my mark!”
Ardis braced herself—any interference would wrench her arms and legs.
“Stand!” Carol said.
Ardis tensed her legs, the muscles in her thighs already aching, and braced herself with giant metal knuckles on the ground. She brought the automaton to its feet. The pneumatics in its joints hummed and hissed.
Steph’s automaton lumbered upright and waved.
Ardis waited for a delayed command, a yank to her arm, but her automaton didn’t budge. Tentatively, she lifted her foot and crunched the grass. The automaton across the field stayed motionless. Which was a first.
“Archmage?” Ardis managed to sound cool and calm. “It appears to be working.”
Carol gave her two thumbs up.
A boom shook the ground. Her heartbeat thudding, Ardis turned around.
The Colossus thundered onto the field, every footfall a minor earthquake, and towered over them all. In the cockpit of the automaton, Natalya saluted the archmages. Awe tightened Ardis’s chest, and she saluted back.
Konstantin punched the air in victory and did a little dance.
Tesla hid his smile behind his hand. “I was right.”
His eyes glistening, Konstantin looked like he wanted to hug the man.
“Yes, Nikola,” he said, “you were. And I’m forever—”
“Sir!” Carol bent over a wireless receiver. “A telegram from the zeppelin.”
Konstantin’s smile wilted. “Yes?
“The Russians are advancing.”
Ardis curled her hands into fists. The automaton’s
knuckles glinted in the sun.
“How many Russians?” Konstantin said.
“The zeppelin reports a scouting party,” Carol said. “At least two dozen men.”
Konstantin’s mouth thinned into a grim line. He glanced at the zeppelin.
“Any sign of the clockwork dragon?” he said.
“None.”
“Commander Volkova,” Konstantin said. “I want you to lead the automatons into battle. Drive the Russians back.”
“Yes, sir,” Natalya called down.
The Colossus thudded across the field. Ardis followed in the automaton’s footsteps, Steph marching alongside them. The zeppelin floated above like a silver sentry, though it could do little to help in combat.
Natalya held up a hand. “Wait.”
They hesitated at the edge of the field. Dry winter grasses rattled in the wind. Dark-needed pines bristled ahead.
“Split up,” Natalya said. “Try to flush them out of the forest. I will be waiting.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ardis said.
Steph saluted and marched into the forest. Twigs crashed underfoot. Branches whipped back into place as her automaton passed. Ardis swallowed, her mouth dry, like she hadn’t drunk a drop from her canteen. The Australian seemed overeager to meet the enemy—an automaton wasn’t a ticket to invincibility.
Ardis lowered her automaton’s head and strode into the forest.
She pushed aside branches with her arms. Needles rained to the ground, and a pinecone pinged off the automaton’s shoulder. The scent of pine sap crept into the cockpit. Even from this height, she couldn’t see far through the gloom.
Ardis stopped and peered through the mist.
There. Ahead. A man in a gray jacket lay on his stomach under the bushes. A Russian. He thought he was hidden.
Ardis wondered what he intended to do, but wasn’t sure she wanted to find out.
She grabbed a fallen branch—more of a log—and held it like a baseball bat. Back in San Francisco, she had never played baseball. None of the boys wanted a girl on their team. Today, however, she had other plans.
When Ardis walked past the Russian, he surged to his feet and unsheathed his sword. Ardis swung the wood in her hands and knocked the blade clean out of his hands. He staggered and braced himself against a tree.
She swung again and hit him in the head. He crumpled to the ground.
Ardis dropped the wood and stared down at the Russian. Had she killed him? She waited until his breath clouded the air.