by Karen Kincy
“Lie down.” Himmel’s tone offered no room for argument. “You collapsed in the street.”
“I remember.” Konstantin leaned against the window, not touching him. “You could have cuffed me.” He raised his hands.
“Damn it.” Himmel glared at him with glittering eyes. “Don’t joke about this.”
Konstantin touched his cheek, which stung from a scrape he didn’t remember getting. “Where are you taking me?”
“The Nachtigall, until further orders.”
Konstantin gritted his teeth. “Still following orders from the ambassador?”
Himmel said nothing, simply offered him a thermos. The steel warmed Konstantin’s hands. When he unscrewed the top of the vacuum flask, he smelled coffee. A quick swig scalded his mouth, though he hardly cared.
Himmel cleared his throat. “We need to recover the Eisenkrieger.”
“Weren’t you tracking me?”
“We lost your signal in the forest. Too much interference from all those damn trees. Konstantin, where’s the Eisenkrieger?”
“Hidden.” He stared at Himmel over the thermos. “You expect me to tell you?”
“If that machine falls into enemy hands—”
“It won’t.”
Himmel clenched and unclenched his mechanical hand. “You can’t be certain of that!”
“Stop this cab and let me finish what I started.”
Narrowing his eyes, Himmel leaned forward. “Which is?”
“I can’t tell you.”
“You can, and you will.”
Konstantin shivered despite the heat of the coffee. “Why? They might arrest you, too, unless you rat me out first.”
Himmel’s eyebrows descended. “You don’t trust me.” It wasn’t a question.
Konstantin stared at his distorted reflection in the thermos. “If I don’t tell you, then they can’t fault you for my mistakes.”
“You think this is a mistake? Thank God. I thought you lost your mind.”
When Himmel flashed him a smile, Konstantin relaxed a fraction. “I’m famished.”
“We can eat on the zeppelin.”
The cab halted at the airfield. Himmel opened the door, climbed out, and waited for Konstantin to follow. They hurried through a biting wind, which flung snow sideways into their eyes, and ducked into the airship shed. The Nachitgall, sleek and silver, floated below the massive arches. There wasn’t any time to feel homesick over the fine German engineering of the zeppelin; when Konstantin stopped in the airship’s shadow, Himmel nudged him with a hand between his shoulders. “Welcome back.”
Konstantin trudged up the mooring mast, his knees shaking on the stairs, and entered the nose of the zeppelin. Himmel marched him along the corridor. When they entered the dining room, Fang woofed from the rug.
Himmel pointed at the dog. “Quiet.”
Fang whined. Her claws clicked on the floor as she trotted to Konstantin. Her cold nose touched his hand before she licked it.
Konstantin smiled. “You kept Fang.”
“I’m a man of my word.” Himmel clenched his jaw, acting gruff again. He pulled a wicker chair from the table. “Sit.”
Konstantin sank onto the cushion, his body aching. “I’m not a dog.”
“Please.”
“Thank you,” Konstantin said dryly.
“Dog, come here.” Himmel whistled to Fang, who obeyed him, before he glanced at Konstantin. “You, wait there.”
Himmel left with the brisk walk of a Navy man, Fang following at his heel. Biting his lip, Konstantin considered bolting from the airship, but the thought of a proper meal anchored him to the chair. Himmel returned with an armload of food: dark bread, cheese, sausage, and a bottle of hard cider, which he unloaded on the table.
“Thank you.” Konstantin’s smile faltered. “Though this must be a bribe.”
“Yes.” Himmel sat opposite him. “If it means you will stay with me.”
He certainly didn’t mean to sound sentimental, but Konstantin’s throat ached nevertheless. “I’m sorry for lying to you.”
Himmel poured two glasses of cider and slid one across to him. He carved slices of bread, sausage, and cheese before assembling the best sandwich Konstantin had ever seen. The captain caught his eye. “You must be starving.”
Konstantin swallowed hard. “What’s the catch?”
Himmel set the sandwich in the center of the table. “You promise to never go on another insane suicide mission again.”
“I wouldn’t dream of going on…” Konstantin coughed at his glare. “I promise.”
“Eat.”
“Yes, sir.” Konstantin took a bite, then moaned. “Ambrosia is a good sandwich.”
Himmel’s mustache twitched with a smile. He built his own sandwich with precise engineering. “Time for you to confess.”
Konstantin swallowed hard. “I’m taking the Eisenkrieger to the clockwork menagerie.”
“Why?” Himmel set down the knife.
“The Eisenkrieger provides the power required for temporal magic of that magnitude. Enough to reverse the countess’s psychothaumaturgy.”
“I’m not following you.”
Finishing the coffee, Konstantin met his gaze. “The science is all highly hypothetical, which is why I’m eager to experiment. If one inverts the typical application of temporal magic, one should produce an echo of the past.”
Himmel frowned at his sandwich. “Still not following you.”
“I want to bring back the ghost of the count.”
“You believe in ghosts?”
“There’s a scientific basis behind all supernatural phenomena.” Konstantin lifted a finger. “Without it, technomancy would be pointless.”
Himmel squinted. “What’s the objective of your mission?”
“If I succeed, the world will see the truth about Countess Zinoviya Victorova. She murdered her husband—”
“You don’t know that.”
“—and she continues to enslave souls for her clockwork engines of war.”
“True.”
“She won’t be a heroine to the Russians after they see my little demonstration.”
“The time magic makes no sense, but I’m dead certain of one thing.” Himmel looked in his eyes. “I won’t let you do this alone.”
Konstantin choked on his sandwich before swigging cider. “Pardon?”
“That’s the most sensible plan I’ve heard all day.”
“My plan? Sensible?” Konstantin was tempted to pinch himself. “Are you joking?”
Himmel poked his untouched sandwich. “Not in the slightest. You’re the best technomancer around. I trust you.”
“This makes no sense.”
“You may be absolutely horrible at subterfuge, diplomacy, and basic survival skills, but you understand the science of magic.”
Konstantin scoffed. “I’m not terrible at surviving. Look how long I’m alive.”
“With my help.” Himmel laughed. “And there’s more where that came from.”
hile Konstantin navigated, Himmel drove a truck through the slanting afternoon light. They found the Eisenkrieger hidden in the forest, the fuel gauge almost empty. Himmel rolled up his sleeves and hefted a diesel can, his arms flexing, before pouring fuel into the thirsty machine. Konstantin inhaled the familiar acrid aroma.
“Say when,” Himmel said.
“Fill her up.” Konstantin blinked, distracted by the captain’s muscles. “That should do it.”
He climbed into the cockpit, twisted the key in the ignition, and felt the engine tremble through his body. Himmel balanced on the running board of the truck, watching, while Konstantin piloted the Eisenkrieger into the back and brought it to its knees. Hopping from the cockpit, he braced himself on Himmel’s shoulder.
“Help me with the tarp?” Konstantin said.
Himmel arched an eyebrow. “That’s why I’m here.”
They covered the bulk of the machine and tied down the canvas. Breathing hard, they b
oth climbed back into the truck.
“Drive to Countess Victorova’s townhouse,” Konstantin said.
Himmel frowned through the windshield. “And?”
“It should have a servant’s entrance in back. On my signal, you march the Eisenkrieger into the ballroom. I’m certain it will take less than five minutes to hook up the Eisenkrieger to my temporal magic equipment.”
“You do realize the countess is throwing a masquerade?”
“Tonight?” Konstantin grimaced. “The Eisenkrieger wouldn’t count as a costume?”
“No.” Himmel let out a dark laugh. “But this means we can infiltrate the ballroom, if we buy ourselves masks and all that nonsense.”
“I’m not too horrible at subterfuge?”
“Let me do the talking.”
He slouched. “Yes, sir.”
“And the shopping.” Himmel’s fingers tightened on the wheel. “You should stay hidden.”
Konstantin stroked his beard. “I need to tinker with the temporal magic. Might I use your hotel room as a makeshift laboratory?”
Himmel arched an eyebrow. “Try not to burn down the building.”
“I won’t.”
“Or electrocute yourself.”
“That’s only happened once!” Konstantin blushed. “Technically, it wasn’t electrocution, since that implies a fatality.”
Himmel laughed as he turned the corner. “If this doesn’t work, we’re both dead.”
“How optimistic of you.”
Parked behind the hotel, they unloaded the technomancy equipment and hauled it upstairs to Himmel’s room. Alone with his work, Konstantin locked the door and hunched over the desk, scribbling equations on hotel stationary.
Temporal magic could kill a man. Go too far in either direction, and you would die of old age, or you would have never been born.
He squinted at a plethora of variables and numbers. Too much of this was theoretical. Blowing out his breath, Konstantin leaned back in the chair and raked his fingers through his hair. Only an experiment would answer his questions.
A key clicked in the lock. Himmel returned with an armful of costumes. “Try these.”
He tossed the clothes on the bed. Konstantin fingered the sky-blue silk of a frockcoat, perhaps fashionable for his great-grandfather, and squinted at the ornate embroidery in silver thread. “I find masquerades absurd.”
Himmel’s eyebrows shot upward. “You do?”
“You don’t?” Konstantin laughed. “But you seem far too…”
“What?”
“Military?”
Himmel snorted. “I consider that a compliment.”
“You do keep your uniform immaculate.” Konstantin unbuttoned his jacket. “God, I hope they don’t see through our disguises.”
“They may already be spying on us.”
Konstantin shrugged on a silver waistcoat before fighting with the endless tiny buttons. “Could you give me a hand?”
Standing behind him, Himmel slid his fingers across his thigh. “Like this?”
“That’s rather distracting.” He sucked in a breath. “We don’t have much time.”
Himmel growled low in his throat. He bent over the buttons, frowning as he worked, his eyelashes shadowing his cheeks. Still distracting, though Konstantin supposed it was better than being terrified.
If they failed tonight, they would never go home.
Waistcoat buttoned, Konstantin unbuckled his belt and stepped out of his trousers. He tugged on a pair of silk breeches, followed by tights that clung to his calves. “Good God, these men loved to dress provocatively.”
Himmel laughed. “I’m not complaining.”
“You aren’t even dressed!”
Smirking, the captain stripped naked before donning his costume. The burgundy velvet suited him, as if he had strolled from the court of one of those ostentatious French monarchs. “How do I look?”
Konstantin handed him a mask and tied the ribbon behind his head. “Perfect.”
“Shouldn’t we powder our hair?”
“For heaven’s sake.” He made a face as he slipped on his mask. “We’re late.”
“Fashionably late.” Himmel struck the dainty pose of a dandy.
Konstantin laughed. “I had no idea you could look so ridiculous.”
“You wound me.”
Jittery with nerves, Konstantin hid his costume beneath a wool overcoat. He unlatched the suitcase holding his technomancer’s gauntlets—engraved steel, nicer than his first pair of bracers, which went down in a zeppelin shipwreck. Sweat from his fingers smudged the metal. He slipped them on, tightening the buckles.
“How will you hide those?” Himmel’s mechanical arm vanished under his gloves.
Konstantin tugged the sleeves of the frockcoat over his gauntlets. “This would be easier if these sleeves had a little more lace.”
“More?” Himmel snorted. “I think that’s quite enough.”
“Could you carry the catalyzer?”
Himmel grunted when he lifted the suitcase. “God damn, what’s in this? Lead?”
“Some of the components, yes, but we can’t leave it behind. The catalyzer lets me control the directionality of the temporal magic.”
“I’m going to nod like I understand.”
“Theodore, it’s not that complicated, just—”
“Konstantin.” He smiled. “Let’s go.”
Countess Zinoviya Victorova surely delighted half the city of St. Petersburg. Even as snowfall whirled in the wind, autos and carriages lined up outside her townhouse. Golden light spilled through windows onto the white.
When Konstantin shivered, Himmel found his hand and squeezed. “Steady.”
If only he could quash the dread squirming in his stomach. They climbed the steps to the townhouse and stepped into the lobby. After the footmen took their winter overcoats, Konstantin glanced at the catalyzer. On the outside it looked like an ordinary suitcase. He relinquished it to the footmen, who stored it in the closet.
“Remember to fetch that for me later,” Konstantin whispered to Himmel.
“Before or after I break into the party with a giant machine?”
“Before, preferably.”
“Relax.” Himmel glanced into his eyes. “No one knows who we are.”
“Yes, sir.” The breath whooshed from Konstantin’s lungs.
They left the cold marble of the foyer and wandered into the ballroom. Mirrors reflected the whirling pageantry of the masquerade. Baroque music, Vivaldi, wafted from a string quartet beneath the chandeliers. A clockwork chicken pecked near the feet of a lady in a golden gown from an Imperial Russia centuries ago. She laughed and covered her mouth with her fan. Two gentlemen dressed like harlequins admired the clockwork bear. The beast shuffled on its hind legs, eyes bright with captive intelligence.
Nausea gripped Konstantin’s stomach. Was the count’s soul aware of its cage?
He needed to examine the bear, without an audience. When the harlequins stepped into the crowd, he moved behind the clockwork beast. Its shaggy pelt, skinned from a real animal, hid any screws or rivets. Extrapolating from his dissection of the clockwork dragon, the bear had a psychothaumaturgy crystal at its heart.
Where had Himmel wandered off to? He needed the catalyzer, then the Eisenkrieger.
Sweating under the silk of his costume, he threaded through the crowd. The countess glittered beneath the chandeliers, her ivory gown dripping pearls, and smiled demurely as an old gentleman wheezed out words. Her little son held her hand, his eyes downcast, and fidgeted until she let him go. A pair of ladies cooed over him, but he dodged their affections, no doubt tired of being an adorable pet at these parties.
The boy ran to the clockwork bear and clapped his hands. The bear’s paws thudded together, its mouth gaping, mute. It couldn’t even roar. Why would the countess give him a voice? Konstantin had to make him speak.
A Napoleonic hussar approached, half of his face masked. “Dobriy vecher.”
&
nbsp; He knew that voice. Alexsandr Dmitriev.
Fear gripped Konstantin’s gut. He didn’t understand the Russian. Nodding with a rictus grin, Konstantin tried to mingle, but Alexsandr caught him by the arm. “Have we met?” He spoke in German, suspicion clear in his voice.
“Nyet.” Konstantin yanked away from his grip.
Alexsandr’s smile curved below his mask. “Yes, I believe we have.”
“Damn.” Konstantin elbowed Alexsandr in the stomach and sidestepped into the crowd. He whirled around, hunting. “Himmel!”
The captain walked over, his stride casual, and leaned by his ear. “Keep your voice down.”
“Alexsandr saw me,” Konstantin whispered. “Get the Eisenkrieger; I’ll get the catalyzer.”
“We have time for this time magic?”
“Now or never.”
“Understood.” Himmel vanished into the crowd.
His heart hammering, Konstantin ran from the ballroom and ducked into the coat closet, ignoring the protests of the footmen. He grabbed the suitcase containing the catalyzer—God, it was heavy—and hauled it into the ballroom. When he jostled a lady’s bustle, he apologized on reflex, in German.
Jesus Christ! Could he be any more clumsy?
The clockwork bear dropped to all fours when it saw him. Konstantin knelt, his fingers slippery with sweat, and unlatched the suitcase. Brass and glass gleamed on the catalyzer. He set the dials to the correct settings, matching the frequency with that of his technomancer’s gauntlets, and estimated the radius of effect for the bear.
The little boy watched him with enormous blue eyes. “Chto Vie delaete?”
Konstantin shook his head. “I’m afraid I don’t speak more than a few words of Russian, and I’m far too busy with this bear.” An insane laugh escaped. “Run along to your mother! She’s not too busy constructing evil at the moment.”
The boy blinked and said nothing, petting the bear’s head.
Where was Himmel? He couldn’t do anything without the Eisenkrieger, and around him, the guests of the masquerade started to circle him. The ladies hid their gossip behind fans, and the men sent him sideways glares as the circle tightened. They knew he was the enemy; they knew he was up to something.
At least he had an audience.
Alexsandr returned with Zinoviya. He dipped into a formal bow, waving at Konstantin and his technomancy. “Countess.”