Nightfell Games (The Dashkova Memoirs Book 5)

by Thomas K. Carpenter

  "I had responsibilities," said the bird-skull. "One of those responsibilities included being sent here to help you by someone you trust."

  "Tell me who?" I asked.

  The skull squawked lightly. "I was forbidden to say."

  I let out an exasperated sigh and went back to studying the formulas, looking for anything interesting. It was clear the professor had been working on the papers before his disappearance, and the hrevanti had been in his office when we arrived. Ben had called them scholars from Otherland, so I supposed they could have been sent to collect whatever important information Professor Walker had gathered to show us.

  "Katerina," said Zora.

  "What?" I stammered out, annoyed by the interruption.

  "How is your daughter?" asked the bird-skull.

  A spike of ice went right through my chest. "What—? How do you know about her?"

  The skull suddenly went motionless.

  "Tell me how you know about her," I said, feeling a cold hand around my heart. I hadn't thought about Anastasia in a long time. Mostly because she'd severed all ties with the family when her husband deserted the Russian army. They'd fled into the cold north over twenty years ago to avoid punishment.

  "My apologies," said Zora. "I didn't mean to upset you."

  "Upset me? Would you like me to throw you on the ground and stomp your fragile bones to splinters?" I asked, hands shaking.

  "My heartfelt apologies, Katerina. I meant no ill in asking about your daughter. I spent a year in the woods being eaten alive by insects with only my knowledge to sustain me. It was something I thought about during that time and just remembered to ask. I was inconsiderate for asking," said the bird-skull.

  My anger deflated, pricked by the idea of being stuck in the skull of a raven and being picked apart by ants, beetles, and other insects.

  As a sigh left my lips, I considered my words cautiously, suspecting that Zora's origins were from Russia, or some region near it. I also considered that Zora could be an aspect of the goddess Zorya, who guarded the doomsday hound that threatened to eat the universe. It had sounded like a story the first time I read it, but after hearing Neva's explanation about whole universes being destroyed, I reconsidered my opinion.

  "As far as I know, Anastasia is dead," I said, which was the truth. Siberia was a cold and inhospitable place that the tsars exiled their enemies to. I couldn't imagine that she'd survived for long, since she'd been raised as a woman of wealth.

  "I grieve for you then," said Zora with a warmth that confused me.

  I remembered that I was to meet Franklin in the Thornveld at the third hour of the afternoon. A quick check of my pocket watch told me I would be late.

  I stood up quickly, knocking over the wooden chair.

  "I don't have time," I muttered, checking upward for signs of rain. Only a few wisps of cloud shaded the upper skies. "Zora, I need to leave. I cannot take you, so it's your duty to watch the papers."

  "What do I do if someone tries to take them?" asked the bird-skull.

  "Scare them," I said over my shoulder as I rushed inside.

  The gondola was waiting for me at the top of the platform in the Thornveld. I met Ben and Djata in a little cottage they'd had the galmi build so Djata had a place to sleep. I suspected that Franklin had taken my advice to not trust the stone men completely. The cottage served as a safe place to discuss plans.

  Djata wheeled into the room with a tray on his lap, on which sat a pot of tea and three white porcelain cups. He had lost the use of his legs a long time ago and researched alchemy so that he might one day restore their function.

  The delicious aroma made me close my eyes and inhale.

  "Is that Bohea?" I asked.

  Djata picked up the tray with his strong hands and leaned over to set it on the table. "It is."

  "It's my favorite," I said, quelling my impulse to pour the tea myself. I'd been busy all afternoon and had forgotten to make a pot. "I appreciate you making it for me."

  He screwed his face sideways and snorted. "Of course you would think I made it for you. No, this happens to be my favorite brand of tea, despite opinions that the world revolves around you."

  His condescending attitude hit me right in the forehead. I spit my answer back right away, the French in my accent coming on full. "Revolve around me? How dare you? I merely thought you might be genuinely pleasant for a moment. How silly of me to think such a foolish thing. I shall revise my thoughts, good sir, to assume that you are being a complete arse from this day forward."

  Before Djata could reply, Franklin held his hands out. "Hold. Hold. Please, Kat. Please, Djata. Enough of your bickering. We have much to discuss. Can't we enjoy a spot of tea together?"

  "Fair enough," I said, sighing. "I apologize for my outburst."

  "I as well," Djata said, though I noted that he did not actually say the word apology. I decided to let it go today, for the sake of harmony.

  "Good," said Franklin with a slight eye roll. "We have much to discuss. The first is a response from our mutual friend, Santiago."

  Ben pulled out a scroll and handed it to me. A seal showing a shield with two wolves had been stamped into the red wax. The wolves appeared to have something in their mouths. I broke the seal and unrolled the missive.

  Santiago had a patient script that while readable, seemed foreign. His letters had extra loops and curls. I read the information twice, just to make sure I understood it.

  "What did it say? Was I right?" asked Ben.

  "Is that all you care about? Whether or not you were right?" I asked.

  "Well, I do hold a certain satisfaction in it," he said with a grin and a gleam in his eye. "When I'm not practicing the virtue of humility, of course."

  "Of course," I said, shaking my head. Djata looked on without comment. "Santiago confirms your analysis. The creature, despite my opinion otherwise, is a hrevanti. Which means Professor Walker is missing. Have you heard word from Harvard?"

  "They do not know his whereabouts," said Ben. "Have you determined anything from his notes?"

  "Nothing so far. It would help if I could borrow Djata to look over them. I lack the expertise," I said.

  "No time," said the scientist. "Our work here goes slowly. I barely have time enough to meet with the pair of you."

  "What are you working on that's so important? The city of Philadelphia is at risk. Did Ben not tell you about the prophecy?" I asked.

  Djata clucked his tongue dismissively. "Prophecies again? Chasing that dog's tail, are we now?"

  "The city will be overrun by monsters. I can only assume that Otherland is the cause. What can be more important?" I asked.

  "The Russian shield," he said smugly.

  "We're working on that," I said, nodding towards Ben. "That's why we went to see Neva." When I glanced over, he was looking sheepish. "What? I gave my word to her. She'll take me as her guardian if I fail!"

  He held his hands up. "We're still pursuing that option. But we must keep all avenues open. If one fails, the others must succeed."

  Chloris' words of warning about Ben echoed back to me. She was right. He was using me. I pushed that thought out of my mind. I'd made the choice to accept Neva's challenge, not him, and I'd done it for a reason. A damn good one, too.

  "Tell me at least what you're working on," I said, placing my hands in my lap.

  "We assume the shield is similar to the one we encountered with the gauntlet," said Ben. "Our friends in the Ottoman Empire have similar thoughts. We're working with them to create a device that might get us through the shield."

  "Is this device based on electricity?" I asked, receiving a nod from Ben. "How can you be of help to the Ottomans? They're decades ahead of us with that technology."

  "Do you remember Mr. and Mrs. Solomon from a few years ago? Well, I acquired that device he'd smuggled over. It's an electricity generator, albeit a small one, but it's allowed us some insights that we lacked before," said Ben.

  "You're certainly not going
to send over your equipment, nor give them your notes. They'll know you've already stolen valuable technology from them. So how are you going to help?" I asked, but as soon as I said it, I knew the answer. "Wait, you can't. You promised to be my second."

  The tight skin around his eyes creased with thought. The quasi-immortality powder could give a youthful appearance, but it could not change the person beneath. Wrinkles weren't just the aging of skin, but the habits of decades. In this case, a deep and resounding intellect.

  "I'm the only one who can make the trip to the Ottoman Empire, so I'll send someone in my stead," he said, giving me a wavering smile.

  By the way Djata had an annoying smirk on his broad lips, I knew it wasn't him, or he would have been scowling.

  "Don't worry," said Ben. "The person I will send is better suited for the role of a second than I. Besides, you two can discuss an important issue we have within the Transcendent Society."

  "What is that?" I asked, sensing that Ben was trying to distract me.

  "We're down a member since Adam Smith's death. Djata has continued to refuse my invitation, so we're forced to find another. I've asked the same of the others, to suggest potential names of our next member, one who shares our devotion to the Enlightenment, but also someone who brings something to the Society that we don't already possess."

  "No small task," I said.

  He clapped his hands together triumphantly. "But a task you are well suited for."

  I frowned at Ben. "You're not going to tell me who you're sending as my second, are you?"

  He quirked a smile and winked. "Now, what would be the fun of that?"

  Chapter Eight

  The train station in Germantown was a cathedral of wrought iron. At each corner, a tower of iron twisted into the sky, the apex fixed with a gas lamp that burned against the cloudy night, which hid the bright moon that would be full in two days.

  I wondered if the designer had owned stock in an iron foundry, thus profiting from the building of the station, or if they had only learned how to work one material.

  With a cowl hiding my identity, I stood apart from the others waiting on the platform. A poster with my likeness on it had greeted me upon arrival. I was quite aghast at the liberties taken with my appearance. The sneer the artist had affixed to my lips made me into a villain, while my hair had never looked that voluminous. I should have been thankful for the modifications. While they may have added to my sinisterness, they lessened the likelihood of identification.

  The train announced its arrival through a slow, steadily increasing vibration in the wrought iron. At first, I only felt it in the balls of my feet, but then a faint rattling in the iron grew until it was a cacophony of ill-formed bells.

  When the engine, brightly painted in crimson and gold, stopped at the platform, releasing steam to billow into our faces, I removed my fingers from my ears. The others on the platform did the same.

  Ben had not told me who I would be meeting at the station, only a day and a time. He went on to explain I would have no problem recognizing the individual, which left me both curious and worried.

  The train had come from New York, which left me hopeful that it would be Thomas Paine. He and I had worked well together in the investigation of the Rothschild family.

  The passengers exited in a steady wave. A family in woolen cloaks hurried off, followed by a couple of soldiers who gave a backward glance as they jumped onto the platform. When the next passengers, including a young Dutch couple with suitcases and eager pink cheeks, practically ran out of the car, a stone formed in my gut.

  I heard screeching. It reminded me of the primate house at the zoo in Munich. Except I couldn't figure out why it was coming from inside the train.

  Stumbling out of the train came a man in a dark cloak spread wide as if it was a set of wings. Gripped in each hand was a birdcage containing a creature the size of a small dog. The horrific noises were coming from inside the cages.

  Despite the neat beard and shoulder-length curly black hair, I recognized Voltaire at once by his peculiar nose that came to a sloping point. He'd also tried to kill me a few years ago and that left an impression.

  He spied me, let loose an exasperated cry of relief and handed me the cages before I could refuse, and ran back inside. The cages were heavy, and the ruckus they were causing had me concerned they would draw unwanted attention. But when I looked up, I saw the station deserted.

  Voltaire returned a moment later with a suitcase, glancing over his shoulder to the cloudy sky as if he expected something to be there.

  "Katerina," he said with a nod.

  I lifted the cages. "What in the blazes are these?"

  He looked around, face pinched with worry. "I can explain in the carriage. Quickly, quickly. I dislike being in the open."

  Voltaire raced ahead of me, cloak flapping, so I was forced to follow. The furry creatures kept clawing at the sides of the cages and howling as if they were injured, making balancing tricky. When we reached the steam carriage, Voltaire threw his suitcase in back and prepared to get in.

  "We can't ride with these. I'll go mad," I said, holding the cages up.

  Rather than answer, he glanced all around, then implored me with a worried motion. "Put them in back. I'll explain."

  Once inside the carriage, the creatures showed no signs of abating their screams. A headache was forming between my eyes already.

  "Drive," he said, tapping on the steering column.

  I crossed my arms. "Explain. Now."

  "They're badgers," he said, waving his fingers at the speed lever, indicating I should engage it.

  "That's not an explanation," I said, wincing from the noise. "Have you got the barrel fever? You look like a lunatic with those things. How did you stand it on the train?"

  He clasped his hands in front, squeezing, and glanced out the front window. "They are a particular necessity."

  "A particular necessity? You're obnoxious enough without screaming badgers," I said.

  He raised an eyebrow. "Let it be known that you were first to draw blood and they're not screaming, they're in love."

  "Whatever they are, I think I might claw my ears out soon," I said.

  He started to speak, and I would have sworn that he was going to begin with “Princess,” but he changed tack and said, "Miss Dashkova. I realize I did not treat you so well, trying to murder you and all, but I swear on my heart of hearts that it was the lack of powder. Despite our soiled history, I would recommend that you start driving this carriage right now before you get us both killed."

  His intensity convinced me that it was time to move. We were on the dirt road that went south along the coast a few minutes later, the gas lamps on front cutting through the darkness.

  "Are we safe now?" I asked, finding myself glancing out the window though I didn't know what I was looking for. The badgers weren't screaming as loudly now, as if they had tired.

  Voltaire studied the night skies, placing his fingertips on the windows, tilting his head back and forth.

  "I wish it were day," he said. "Then I might be able to see it."

  "See what?" I asked.

  "The garguiem," he said. "It followed me here."

  The word was French, though I didn't understand the connection since it had to do with building architecture.

  "Like you and Ben, I have been investigating the occult. Ben mentioned your prophecy in his latest letter. A disappearance and a couple of deaths led me to the New York countryside, deep into the Dutch farmlands, looking for monsters. Unfortunately, I found one," he said.

  "Why the badgers?" I asked.

  "The creature cannot stand the noise. It attacks only when it's quiet," he said.

  He had huge bags under his bloodshot eyes and his hands kept gripping the empty air.

  "You haven't slept in days," I said, receiving a nod from Voltaire.

  He gave a sardonic laugh. "In my years of studying philosophy, I always thought it would be my beliefs that would get me
killed. Lord knows that both the Catholic Church and the French government tried to kill me a time or five. Now I am forced to stay awake or be eaten by a flying winged jackal."

  "So you've seen it?"

  "It is, how can I say, an elusive beast, but I caught a good look at it once. If I hadn't figured out that it only attacks in silence, I'd be eaten already," he said.

  "How do you know if it's still following you?" I asked. "I wasn't planning on staying awake until the first contest. I need to be ready. Much is at stake."

  Voltaire shrugged sheepishly. "My apologies, Katerina, it was not my intention to bring this thing with me. I hoped the train ride would confuse it and for all I know, it has, and I'm just being paranoid."

  We drove for a few hours longer, though it felt like days with the badgers crying in back. I preferred to travel during the day, but no inn would sell us a room with these noisy creatures, so I decided to go straight through, but eventually I needed to stop, when I couldn't hold my water much longer. The badgers seemed to enjoy being out of the carriage and were only lightly howling when we set their cages on the side of the dirt road in the golden light of our lantern. I thought we might be somewhere in Virginia, but it was hard to tell.

  While we were stretching our legs, I asked, "Why the badgers? Why not bang pots and pans to keep it away?"

  He shook his head. "Mechanical noises don't seem to work. The gentleman upon whose farm I encountered the garguiem had trapped the pair of badgers when they were digging in his fields. He planned to breed them for some experiments."

  "He was a scientist?" I asked.

  "Yes, or so that's what his wife explained. He's missing. I'd returned to ask her more questions after my investigations into the other deaths. I'd hoped she'd found his body somewhere on the farm. I fear the garguiem might have eaten him. Some of the others had been mauled quite viciously by the creature," he said, then after a pause, "though the strange thing was the manner of their death. They did not die from the bites, but rather..."

  He tilted his head, listening.

  "But rather?" I asked, while thinking about the professor at Harvard University.