Infernal Machines

by Jacobs, John Hornor

  ‘Let us go,’ I said. ‘Ready?’

  Carnelia, hair bedraggled and water streaming down her face, nodded.

  ‘You can get your gun? Your sword, sissy?’ I asked.

  ‘Yes,’ she said, impatiently. ‘My hands are not bound securely, my pistol is hidden but within reach. Shadow has my jian covered with yon cloak. Let us be on with this.’

  Beauty does not trip down the long staircase of generations, nor does strength and grace. It glides. Impatience, from my father, had found a merry dance it could do in Carnelia, as it had in Gnaeus, to his own end. And like Gnaeus, the prospect of violence only made her antsier.

  ‘Remember our brothers, sissy. Gnaeus and Secundus,’ I said, and looked at her closely. As if I could impregnate her with caution simply through my gaze.

  ‘Never shall I forget them. One the buffoon, the other a beloved pawn,’ Carnelia said, the words twisting her face painfully. ‘I will be careful, sister. I can feel my Qi brimming. I will not die today.’

  I put my hand on Tenebrae’s shoulder to indicate my readiness and squeezed. He drew his pistol, adjusted his swordbelt and gestured for Carnelia and Lupina to advance in front of him.

  We marched down to the shipyard. Lascars, porters, stevedores and wharfmen took notice of our approach, some coiling hemp, others knocking cork into the bungholes of casks. Two legionnaires, standing near an office door, smoking cigarettes, perked up as we drew near.

  Before they could ask for identification, Tenebrae withdrew the leather message cylinder containing his orders and, holding it over his head, said in a loud voice, ‘Take me to the commander of this ship, by order of the Emperor!’

  ‘He is on the Typhon, sir, preparing to cast off,’ said one of the legionnaires.

  Tenebrae nodded and then surveyed the shipyards. A dumpy portmaster and his servant peeked their heads out of the door, eyes wide.

  ‘These two are enemies of the state and enemies of our Great Father. I have taken them into custody.’

  ‘A woman? And her—’ The legionnaire peered at Lupina. ‘Dwarf servant.’ He seemed puzzled.

  ‘Take me to the captain, sir, and I will explain it there,’ Tenebrae said, holstering his pistol. ‘And guard these two. Tamberlaine will want them questioned closely.’

  The legionnaires marched us to the ship without asking to see Tenebrae’s orders, training their carbines on Carnelia and Lupina. Once we neared the Typhon the soldiers called to the two lascars on deck for permission to board. The lascars looked at Tenebrae’s stern countenance, his ‘prisoners’ in tow, and bade us board.

  We did. It truly was a small ship – one shrouded swivel at the rear, right below the stack – a curiously tall, narrow, and fluted thing, with an intricate vent on the crown – and a second swivel at the fore. There was a small station in front of the stack, where a man could stand, braced by a steel bulwark and railing, with some levers and wheels – a modified pilot’s roost. Between the fore and aft was a deck the size of a contubernium’s tent, fifteen by fifteen paces, and a runner that traced the perimeter of the bulwark. There were two entrances to below – one on either side, fore and aft, of what passed as the deck. What was alarming was how much of the vessel was of steel. Black, painted steel. Surely it was too heavy to float, even for such a small ship? Even more curious was its level in the muddy waters of the Tever – its draught must have been minuscule.

  One of the lascars went below deck and returned shortly with the first officer, who was pulling on his broadcloth jacket. A tall, lanky man with thinning hair, hard jaw, and a long nose.

  ‘What’s this, now? Prisoners? This isn’t a transport vessel, man!’ The man scowled at the lascar who had fetched him, but his alert gaze fixed upon Tenebrae and his brow furrowed.

  Tenebrae gave a sharp fist to chest salute and stated his rank once more.

  The first officer waved his hand, dismissing it. ‘And why are you here, Mister Praetorian?’

  ‘Our agents got word of these enemies of the state and we took them into custody. I need to speak with your commander. It is a matter of utmost urgency,’ Tenebrae said.

  ‘I’ll need a little more to work on than that, sir. And who is this?’ The first officer looked dubious at best, suspicious at worst.

  ‘I am Livia Cornelius of the House Cornelius, sir, and I was the agent that discovered these traitors,’ I said, in my haughtiest voice. ‘I would invite you to lead us to your commander immediately. Time is of the essence. We must take them to the Emperor.’ There is no subordinate officer that can take being dressed down by a woman and keep his dignity intact – capitulation or refutation are his only recourse and I was wagering that this man, by the look of him, would capitulate. Now to wave the olive branch. I lowered my voice. ‘Surely you have heard what happened in Occidentalia? In Harbour Town?’ I held out Fiscelion. ‘Why do you think this vile summoner would have an infant? What do you think this abominable piece of filth intended to do with this child?’

  The first officer’s face froze: he was a man who, when confronted with horror, or events out of his control, took careful stock of himself. Gave nothing away.

  He pursed his lips. ‘Follow me. You two,’ he said to the lascars. ‘Stay here, and make ready to cast off.’

  We followed him below deck, through the curious round metal door with the circular locking mechanism at the centre of it and down into a main room, cramped and tight, with a lascar making notations upon a ledger, and a man sitting in a centre chair, looking at us curiously as we entered. Unlike the first officer, he was older, and shaggy with a beard and a full head of wild hair. His countenance was logy, full of slumber. I had met him before; where, I did not know – at some family or state function.

  ‘What is the meaning of this, sir?’ he said to Tenebrae. Tenebrae saluted again, the Imperial salute, and restated his name and rank. ‘And why have you brought these … people to me?’

  I spoke, introducing myself. ‘Captain—’

  ‘Titus Curius, of the Regulus family. And this is my first officer, Spurius Albinus.’ He pointed at Fiscelion. ‘I know of you, Madame Cornelius, and I have heard of your family’s recent fortunes. Both their ups, and downs.’ He arched an eyebrow. ‘Why have you brought an infant on board the Typhon?’

  ‘Captain Regulus, as I was investigating some discrepancies in our family interests here in Rezzo—’

  ‘Interests? Commercial interests?’ Senatorial participation in commerce and industry was prohibited by law, the Lex Claudia, until the last two centuries, when those laws were stripped away due to the burgeoning and wealthy equite class – the senators, and Emperor Salvanius, too, wanted to partake personally of the wealth coming from the new utilisation of infernal combustion and the coin generated from this new industrial age. Yet there was still a stigma when a senatorial family engaged in commerce. Operating a business, rather than investment, was not only frowned upon, it was a source of rumour and speculation. Rume takes its name from rumour; snark is its handmaid; gossip its currency.

  ‘We have some interest in some granaries and import business here, along with a silver smelt,’ I lied. It was easy. I’d listened close to Father’s clients – when I was a girl, I’d ensconce myself in Tata’s office with a stylus and parchment and draw pictures of horses or caricatures of my father’s clients. I knew he was a patron to those with businesses in this area, the Viducus clan in particular, and if called on the lie, I could bluff convincingly. I hoped. ‘Which leads us to this woman.’

  Regulus looked at Carnelia. ‘What of her?’ He looked discomposed. Our story was moving fast enough for him not to look at any part too closely.

  ‘She was a senior scrivener and accountant at the smelt, except her tallies had been turning up short. After some investigation, we found her with this— This Occidentalian indigine.’ I did my best to scowl. ‘In their possession, engineering charts and summoner’s notes.’

  ‘What has this to do with the Typhon?’ Regulus asked. I nearly rolled my
eyes.

  ‘Have you not heard of the events of Harbour Town?’ Tenebrae asked.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Dreadful stuff, that. Dreadful.’

  ‘Have not your praefecti or navarchs debriefed you on those events?’ Tenebrae asked.

  ‘Of course!’ Regulus said, a little bluster entering his voice. He sat upright. ‘What are you saying here?’

  ‘We are saying, sir, that an engineer with the motive, silver, and an infant or other suitable sacrifice can wipe even our eternal city from the face of the earth,’ I said.

  ‘And these,’ he said, halting. ‘They were—’

  ‘Medieran agents.’

  He stood, colour running from his face. ‘Ia’s grace, save me.’

  ‘We need transport, now, to Rume. Quickly. This woman must be questioned by Tamberlaine’s agents.’

  Albinus looked doubtful. He said, ‘If you have her and her collaborators in custody, why would—’

  ‘Because, First Officer,’ I said, raising my eyebrow, ‘she might not be working alone. And there are other infants in this world.’

  Regulus strode to the steps that led to the Typhon’s deck and bellowed, ‘You dullards! Cast off, immediately.’ He turned back to us. ‘The pier at Xirtia, I would imagine, would be quickest to the Imperial Palace.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tenebrae said. ‘With all due haste.’

  Above deck came the light sound of the ringing of a bell and a soft shift in the balance within the main room. The Typhon was away.

  ‘You,’ First Officer Albinus said to one of the lascars. ‘Rouse Ysmay and get him to stoke the daemon.’

  ‘Mister Albinus, if you’d take the pilot’s chair.’ Albinus ducked his head in deference and settled into a chair with an odd-handled contraption that hung from the boat’s ceiling. Inside it looked to be mirrored glass. He placed his face to the device as if he were peering through a fence or narrow window and said, clearly, ‘We are away from shore. Where is that engineer?’

  A lascar came in with a wan, pale blond fellow in tow. He wore worker’s clothing, dungarees soot-stained and dirty with an ill-fitting tunic and a variety of wrenches, pliers, awls, calipers, and other instruments of both summoning and mechanical manipulation.

  ‘Mister Ysmay,’ Captain Regulus said. ‘Let’s waken this daemon and set him to turning screws, shall we?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ysmay said, looking curiously at first Carnelia and Lupina, and then Tenebrae and myself. For their part, our ‘prisoners’ were doing a fine job acting the part. Both were sodden and bedraggled, dripping through the grating that passed for a floor. It was becoming apparent that this room was what, in other ships, would be considered the pilot’s roost. It was hard to fathom how this could be, below deck, but the device that Albinus peered through gave some indication – and I recalled the intricate device at the apex of what I thought was the stack. There was some correlation there.

  The forward side of this command centre was covered in gauges and gewgaws, levers and handles, and another swivel chair with a peering device like Albinus’, matched on the aft side of the space. I had to assume these chairs controlled the deck guns at fore and aft of the ship. It was all contained here.

  ‘How big of a crew does she require?’ I said. ‘It’s a marvellous vessel.’

  ‘She’s no frigate,’ Regulus said, preening with false modesty. ‘She’s what the praefecti are calling a Cormorant Class Scout Ship.’

  ‘She is lovely. But her crew?’ I asked.

  ‘That’s the beauty of her. Everything is what Mister Ysmay calls—’

  ‘Automated, Captain,’ Ysmay said, turning a lever at the fore. He tapped a gauge with the back of a finger and then cranked a handle. The craft shuddered and then thrummed slightly – the vibrations of the screws turning.

  Tenebrae said, ‘I would witness this from on deck. It’s a wonderful craft.’ He took three long strides and hopped up the stairs to the upper deck. Ysmay looked puzzled. His mind worked, puzzling us out. I did not think we had much time.

  Albinus, his face still pressed to the sighting machine, swivelled in his seat and back again. He disengaged from the peering mechanism, twisted a large multi-handled wheel, and then pressed his face back to the ocular device.

  ‘With its automation, the Typhon runs on a skeleton crew. Six lascars, myself and Mister Albinus. And the engineer. We are sleek. We are compact. And we are fast,’ Captain Regulus said.

  ‘I am so glad to hear it,’ I said. I shifted Fiscelion in my grip, pushed back my cloak. My hand fell near my sawn-off.

  Carnelia coughed, either feigned or real, I could not tell – she was drenched from rain – and something about the sound drew one of the lascar’s attention. Lupina looked at me, wild-eyed, and without words I knew her fear was for Fiscelion.

  One of the lascars shifted, looking alarmed. ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘I don’t know if these prisoners are—’ He reached forward, placing a hand on Carnelia’s shoulder and tugged, in order to turn her around to face him.

  Her cloak dropped to the ground, revealing her unbound hands. Unbound hands that held a pistol.

  The lascar gave a strangled cry. Echoed by other sailors. Carnelia shoved the pistol into the man’s stomach. She cried, ‘Everyone, remain still. I will ventilate him!’ giving her best impression of my husband. It was such a Hardscrabble phrase.

  At the edges of my vision, I perceived Albinus moving. Things spiralled out of control. Regulus fumbled at his waist, pawing at his sidearm.

  It was all going to Hell, and I was not one to wait for its arrival.

  I withdrew my shotgun and shot Captain Regulus in the face.

  ELEVEN

  I Woke In The Earth And Pulled Myself Up

  ‘STUFF IT,’ FISK said to Praeverta, as Gynth slung Beleth’s trussed body to the ground near the Bitter Spring. We had replaced the gag. Fisk grabbed a still-smoking bit of wood and jammed it into the engineer’s stump to cauterise the wound (or further torture him, I could not tell) and watched with a blank, abject stare as the engineer squirmed and writhed in his bindings. Gynth stood watching, big hands twitching.

  Praeverta’s cohort looked at Gynth curiously. Few had witnessed a vaettir up close – only the elders could remember a time when dvergar and vaettir co-existed, if not peacefully, then with far less bloodshed and some rudimentary trade. When I was young, my mam would tell tales of stretchers coming to our villages with carcasses and meat, and leaving with clothing and steel. Though there were other tales of them terrorising villages, stalking the inhabitants, and only leaving once some offering was made.

  The vaettir are our native cousins – gynth – but on the whole, they are capricious, if not violent.

  The dvergar matron moved to stand in front of Fisk. He brushed past her. ‘What have you done, you bloody idiot?’

  Fisk filled one of Praeverta’s Vaettir’s buckets with water and set it to cool, away from the spring. He removed the saddle from the horse he’d been riding and tacked it out with his own gear. The horse sucked down the cooling water in one, continuous draught.

  ‘I shortened the engineer a hand, Madame,’ he said. ‘So that the whore’s son cannot work his tricks.’

  ‘Neruda had need of an engineer!’ she said.

  ‘And he’ll get one,’ Fisk said. ‘One lacking a right hand.’

  Praeverta cursed in my mother’s tongue, voluminously and with much invention. Inbhir looked miserable when she finally turned her displeasure to him to ask if he could’ve stopped Fisk.

  I said to her in dvergar, ‘Leave Inbhir be, Matve. There was no stopping the human. This man—’ I gestured to Fisk ‘—he is a stormfront.’ Ye ven drimma val. There is no negotiating with the mountain, there is no bartering with the river, or the sea. They do as they will. Dvergar is elegant, and a simple phrase can contain multitudes.

  She pursed her lips, thinking. ‘And you, why do you spend your days in his company? Is there none of the mountain left in you?’

  I took off m
y hat, the old beater, and spread my hands. ‘You were so kind to me when we first met, to welcome home a long lost mountain’s son. He, at least, has not denigrated me for my blood.’

  ‘Pah. All Rumans prefer to view this world with their boot on our back.’ Her look intensified. ‘But that will not remain so.’

  ‘I would not mind living in a world where Rume does not hold the reins. But I would not have wholesale bloodshed and death. I drank my fill of it. Look west.’ I grabbed her arm and pulled her to the mouth of the gulley, where the western sky was visible. Her compatriots hopped up and followed, outraged I would lay hands on Matve Praeverta. She jerked her arm away. I pointed at the western sky. In the distance, a smear. Smoke caught by crosswinds and borne miles upon miles over the Hardscrabble. A thousand lives turned to ash. ‘Harbour Town is in smoking ruins. The heavens bear witness. Are the Medierans better masters? I have met Neruda. I do not think he would want this, either.’

  ‘We want no masters,’ Praeverta said. ‘And don’t sully his name in your mouth, dimidius. You are a creature of nothing, fighting for nothing, standing for nothing.’

  She turned and walked away.

  And that, I am afraid, left me speechless. I had always been on the outside, looking in, child of no nation that wanted me. Not Rume, not Dvergar. In my long years, only Illina, Fisk – and Livia – Gynth and the land had accepted me for what I am. The Hardscrabble shows no favourites and loves us all equally. It would hug you to its breast and never let you go. But to say my compass – the one that turned in the chambers of my heart – kept no bearing, found no true north, it rocked me back on my feet. Was it not enough to try to stay kind in a world that would grind you to dust? Was camaraderie and bravery, respect for fellow man and dvergar, enough in this monster of a world? To be measured as worthy by my people, must I break all bonds and take up arms against those who had welcomed me as much as I’d been welcomed anywhere? But she had it right: I was a child of no nation.