Skies of Steel: The Ether Chronicles

by Zoë Archer

  She nodded. “This has to be a puzzle or riddle. I’m certain of it. And listen.”

  They both fell silent. A soft ticking sound resounded through the chamber, like a massive clockwork device. “There is a mechanical component here. Meaning there’s a riddle serving as a security system. The question is: what’s the puzzle, and how do we solve it?”

  For the first time, she noticed seven white marble spheres the size of cannonballs around the perimeter of the chamber. Examining them closer, she discovered that some had crescents carved into them, and some bore other ovoid or nearly circular shapes. A kind of tinting had been applied to the surface of the spheres, making them appear partially white and partly dark. Only one was smooth, polished marble.

  “The moon,” Mikhail said, coming up behind her. At her curious glance, he explained, “These pieces of marble look like the phases of the moon.” He pointed to them in turn. “Waxing crescent. First quarter. Waxing gibbous.”

  The more she looked at the spheres, the more she realized he was right. The marble orbs were representations of the moon’s phases. Of course, a sailor and airship captain would know the night sky.

  “What’s the current phase of the moon?” she asked.

  “Waning crescent,” he answered without hesitation.

  She turned back to the astrolabe hewn into the floor. Constellations dotted its surface. “And where is the moon right now?”

  He closed his eyes, as if conjuring up the sky in his imagination. “In Virgo.” His eyes flew open, and she and Mikhail stared at each other. Could this be the solution they needed?

  “That ticking sound must be some device that keeps track of the sky and the moon.” She couldn’t keep the excitement from her voice.

  Before she finished speaking, he’d picked up the marble orb representing the waning crescent moon. He held it in one hand, though she was certain it would take all of her strength to get it a few inches off the floor. He strode quickly to where the constellation of Virgo was depicted on the floor, then closed his eyes again. Though she couldn’t read his thoughts, she knew he was recalling exactly where in the constellation the moon would be found at that moment.

  This small action reminded her that he had a whole life, a history and knowledge, of which she had no real understanding. He’d been a sailor, an airship captain for the Russian Navy. There was so much to him she’d yet to know and explore.

  He remained opaque, and she realized she wanted more. His thoughts, his feelings, the things he wished for in the depths of night.

  False as you are, you’ve no right to want more from him.

  But I do.

  Opening his eyes again, he set the moon carving down in a specific part of Virgo.

  For a moment, nothing happened. Disappointment hollowed her. She’d nearly convinced herself that they had solved the enigma, and were that much closer to freeing her parents.

  Mikhail glanced toward her. She could have sworn that there was sympathy in his gaze. As though feeling her frustration and dismay. Of all the times to finally gain a measure of his compassion, she felt herself stretched too thin now, veering dangerously close to either sorrow or rage. His concern made her all the more vulnerable.

  “Damn it,” she growled. Yet she wouldn’t let defeat claim her. “There has to be another way. Something we’re overlooking—”

  The entire chamber shook. She braced her legs wide against the force of the vibrations, looking around wildly for their source. Mikhail already had his ether pistol in hand as he glanced about the stone room, his gaze sharp and ready for any threat.

  There was a heavy grinding sound that shook the chamber even more. One of the large rocks that formed the wall slid to one side, then stopped moving. Revealing a dark space. Gas lamps flared to life inside, one by one, showing the space to be a small room.

  Cautiously, she approached, Mikhail right beside her. They stepped across the threshold to investigate. The room was perfectly round, its domed ceiling covered with blue and gold tile work, representing the night sky. But what held her attention was the thing right in the center of the room.

  A carved alabaster column stood waist-high. A richly embroidered cushion sat atop the column. And sitting on the cushion, gleaming brilliantly in the gas lamps’ glare, was the astrolabe.

  SLOWLY, DAPHNE ADVANCED. Part of her wanted to rush toward the astrolabe and snatch it up like a greedy child, this object that had taken every ounce of strength and mental agility to attain. Another part of her urged caution, and was, in fact, dubious that at last she and Mikhail had finally reached their objective.

  The astrolabe itself was beautiful, an intricate device of highly decorated and shaped brass, and it shined beneath the lamplight like the eye of a god. It held a slight patina from age and use—it was as ancient as al-Zaman had said, several centuries old at the least. The Accademia had one in its collection, but she’d never seen it, never handled the device. Her hands hovered over the astrolabe, as though reluctant to touch it.

  “Go on,” Mikhail urged. “It’s what we’re here for. No time for shyness.”

  Her laugh was strained, and she rubbed her damp palms on her trousers. Then, warily, reached out and picked up the astrolabe. It was the size of a dinner plate, with a ring at the top, which she used to lift it up. Though it wasn’t heavy, it had a satisfying weight, as though dense with use and importance. She imagined the man who’d fashioned it hundreds of years earlier, employing all the subtle and advanced skill of his culture to create this gracefully complicated implement. Whole empires had been forged using a device such as this. Her mind fairly spun with all the implications.

  “I have no idea how to use one of these,” she admitted.

  “I’ll give you a lesson,” he answered. “Later. Now, we need to get the hell out of here.”

  Very true. She gently tucked the astrolabe into her satchel, wishing she’d had the foresight to carry a scarf or something that might cushion it.

  Once it had been safely stowed, they left the small room and quickly strode across the larger chamber, with its carved mechanical floor. Reaching the doorway at the other end, they were confronted once again by the flight of stairs and its yawning abyss.

  “Oh, God,” she muttered. “We have to do this again.”

  “But now we know how.” He grinned, and she returned the cheeky smile. His audacity was contagious.

  Mikhail had to jump farther to reach the tapestries, yet he moved with speed and strength. He moved fluidly, powerfully, leaping onto the torn tapestry and impelling it closer to her. She took a running jump and grasped his outstretched hand. Amazing how, in such a short amount of time, she’d come to know the feel of his hand clasping hers, and the surge of confidence it gave her.

  They’d found their rhythm. It seemed instinctual now, as if they’d always known how to work and move together. She remembered Giovanni, a fellow professor at the Accademia. For all their shared interests, their similar backgrounds, she and Giovanni could never quite find a connection, a natural flow. Not like this, with Mikhail. As though they were two pieces of a machine that worked in deft harmony.

  Yet one part of the machine was untrustworthy. He thought he knew the depths of her treachery, but he had no idea. Not truly.

  He swung to the next tapestry, and she soon followed. In a matter of moments, they stood upon the other side of the chasm.

  “Impossible tasks aren’t so impossible, once you get used to them,” she said, eyeing the deep abyss.

  He looked offended. “No credit for your partner?”

  “Gallons of credit.” Which mollified him somewhat. Had he realized he’d called himself her partner?

  They hurried up the rest of the stairs, through the doorway into the corridor with the electrified grid. He nudged the grid with his boot. “Battery’s still drawing power, but it’s nearly full. The shock won’t be as dulled this time across.” He looked at her with a frown of concern. “It’s going to hurt. I’ll carry you.”

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sp; “I can handle a jolt or two.” She started across before he could argue to try to stop her. It was a struggle to keep from swearing aloud at each shock. It had to be endured.

  Finally, she reached the other end, and felt certain that whatever hair wasn’t confined in her braid now stood straight up. Her bones seemed to jump within her body. But she’d made it across on her own.

  He also made his way across, reaching the other end of the corridor. As he passed the battery, he grabbed it.

  Mikhail seemed utterly unfazed by the shocks. Naturally. He handed her the battery. “No words once we’re on the other side of the door,” he said. “Any of the guards hear us and fire a weapon, it’ll alert the other bastards.”

  “And trigger the locks on the windows and doors, too.”

  “Trapping us like whores in church.”

  Her brows lifted at the analogy. “We’ve got two options for getting out of here. The fastest way would be straight through the courtyard and out the front door. That entails sneaking past the guard standing sentry, and then finding a way through the door. Doubtless it’s got an even more impenetrable lock than any of the windows on the catwalk.”

  “Up the stairs, then.” He cracked open the door. They both peered out, and seeing the top of the stairs to be clear, started up them.

  A patrolling guard suddenly appeared at the top of the stairs. The man’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth to shout an alarm. Mikhail became a blur as he leapt up the stairs and tackled the guard. From her position at the bottom of the steps, she couldn’t see everything, but caught glimpses of the guard’s flailing limbs as Mikhail grappled with him. The sentry abruptly stilled, his limbs hanging loosely. But she observed that the man’s chest still rose and fell. Mikhail must have knocked him unconscious. He appeared at the top of the stairs and motioned for her to follow.

  Relieved that they’d have a relatively easy route out, Daphne was about to start up the steps, when a voice in Arabic rang out.

  “Intruder!”

  She swung about to see that the guard in the courtyard had caught sight of her. Barely had she moved when Mikhail jumped down from the catwalk, right into the courtyard. He flung himself at the guard, and they fell to the ground. As the guard went down, he managed to fire a single shot into a column.

  Thunk! Thunk! Thunk! In waves, the locks on the door and windows all slid firmly into place. At the sound, her heart sank, too. There’d be no getting out of here.

  Mikhail punched the guard in the face, and the man’s eyes rolled back. Despite the fact that the guard was unconscious, the noise of other guards’ boots both inside and outside the vault meant the problem was far from over.

  A dozen sentries poured into the courtyard. Without hesitation, Mikhail launched himself at them.

  She’d never seen him fight before, nor had she ever witnessed a Man O’ War in the middle of combat, but the sight was mesmerizing. He was all action, strength, and purpose. No matter how many guards came at him, he met them all unwaveringly. She saw then how a Man O’ War truly was a weapon, for as the guards attacked him with their clubs and knives, he parried every move. He used the sentries against themselves, dodging their blows with remarkable speed so that the guards wounded one another. Everything was chaos, and yet he was in complete control, playing several moves ahead. They were mere mortals, but he was a mythological warrior.

  All of the guards focused their attention on Mikhail, but three more sentries came running, right at Daphne. Burdened with the battery, she couldn’t draw her revolver to hold them back. Spotting the extendable ladder on the ground, she used all of her strength to kick it toward the advancing guards. The ladder swiveled on its wheels, right into the feet of the oncoming guards. Tripping, they toppled like ninepins.

  Shouting came from outside the vault’s walls. More guards. She and Mikhail would be trapped if they didn’t get out, and now.

  “Mikhail!” she shouted.

  The guards surrounding him flew as he knocked them all back. He emerged from the melee, and she caught her first good view of him since the sentries had begun their attack. Instead of looking angry or beleaguered, he grinned broadly. As if he enjoyed this free-for-all. Which made a strange kind of sense. He was made for combat. All this skulking around must rankle the part of him that wanted nothing more than a stand-up fight. Still, it caught her by surprise, his battle-induced gratification.

  “Head for the door,” he called across the courtyard.

  “Can you break it down?”

  “Absolutely, if I had two other Man O’ Wars with me. Got another idea in this thick head of mine. Run, woman!”

  They both sped toward the front door. A large metal bolt barred the way, with a thick lock set atop the bolt. It would take at least ten Man O’ Wars to break through. Yet she and Mikhail were running straight toward it.

  “Throw the battery,” he commanded. “Right at the door.”

  She had no idea what he intended, but with the fallen guards all getting to their feet behind them, and the impenetrable door ahead of them, this wasn’t the opportune moment to question him.

  Mustering as much force as she could, she tossed the battery toward the door. Mikhail lunged in front of her. He drew his ether pistol and fired. With incredible accuracy, the bullet slammed into the battery. There was a spark, and then a massive explosion. Even protected by his solid bulk, she felt the force of it, fighting to stay on her feet.

  He grabbed her hand and pulled her toward what was now a gaping, smoking hole where the vault’s front door once stood.

  The sound of gunshots punctured the air. Bullets from the guards’ weapons sped through the air around her and Mikhail as they ran. She crouched low but kept on going. Dear Lord, she’d never been shot at before! There wasn’t time to pull her own revolver and return fire. All she could do was run, her hand clasped in Mikhail’s.

  They crossed the threshold of the vault and hurried out into the street. Several dazed sentries lay on the ground, knocked down by the blast to the door.

  A dozen more guards sprinted toward them. Mikhail dropped her hand and faced the guard closest to him. He grabbed the man’s rifle and broke the weapon in two, then threw the pieces to the ground. The guard stared in shock at what had been his gun.

  Close as she was standing to Mikhail, she could feel his body’s eagerness for battle. He lurched toward the other advancing guards, then he suddenly changed direction. He grabbed her hand again and sprinted down an alley, towing her behind him. The guards shouted and gave chase, more bullets flying.

  “You get us out of here,” he growled to her. “I’ll throw a little lead in their path.”

  She hurried ahead of him. He shot back at the pursuing sentries. A few men cried out and fell.

  With such chaotic noise behind her, Daphne ran as fast as she could, weaving her way through the shadow-strewn maze of the city, hoping to lose their pursuers. She knew the city well enough, but all her mental maps scrambled in the heat of being hunted.

  She turned down an alley and cursed. “Dead end,” she snarled. She glanced around them. A balcony was some fifteen feet above them, and a rooftop another ten feet higher, but there were no other doors or ways out.

  However, retracing their steps meant they’d come face-to-face with the guards. Mikhail, however, didn’t appear troubled.

  “Climb on my back,” he said.

  Immediately, she did as he directed, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The pack he wore dug into her stomach, but she paid it no mind. “I’m not exactly light as thistledown.”

  He threw her a deadpan glance over his shoulder, letting her know exactly what he thought of her warning.

  “Hold tight,” he advised. Then she felt it as he crouched slightly—the astonishing sensation of his powerful body coiling, tensing, as if a steel bow were being drawn. And loosed.

  It was indeed like being an arrow shot from a bow. For they flew up straight into the air. Her breath felt knocked from her lungs, her abdomen. Sh
e managed to glance down to see the faces of the guards staring up, their mouths all open in wonderment.

  Flight stopped as Mikhail grabbed hold of the balcony’s railing and pulled them both up. Yet he wasn’t finished. He balanced on the edge of the railing and jumped to grip the edge of the roof. The guards seemed to come to their senses, for they began shooting. Their bullets punched holes in the walls, clouds of plaster flying.

  Mikhail hauled himself and Daphne up onto the roof. Only when he took several steps back from the edge, did he say, “You can let go now.”

  And only then did she permit her death grip on his shoulders to loosen. She slid down to stand on the tiled roof, her legs like blancmange. From their vantage, she and Mikhail had a view of Medinat al-Kadib’s skyline, the buildings crowded haphazardly together, jostling for position beneath the night sky.

  The guards’ shouts could still be heard below, followed by their footsteps.

  “They’re going to look for a way up,” Mikhail said. “We need to keep moving.”

  She willed her legs back to stability. The danger hadn’t passed, and she needed to hang on to her courage.

  “Afraid of heights?” he asked.

  “Not tonight,” she answered.

  A flash of admiration glinted in his eyes, and then he turned away. He leapt from rooftop to rooftop, agile as a jaguar. His long coat flew out behind him with each vault. She followed, grateful that the city’s age meant the distance between buildings was minimal. Her own jumps weren’t half as nimble as his, and more than once she had to scrabble for a handhold on a tiled roof, or steady herself to keep from tumbling into nothingness. Whenever she found herself struggling for balance, he was there with a steadying hand and even more steadying presence. But her confidence grew after each jump, as did her stability. Soon, she could vault the narrow space between structures without a stab of panic, and land with confidence.

  As she and Mikhail danced across the city’s rooftops, a strange kind of pleasure bloomed in her chest. Far above the streets, she felt herself and Mikhail separate from the world, two secret creatures who lived for flight and movement, drawing strength from the star-strewn sky above. Liberating. Exhilarating. And together, they had solved the riddle of the astrolabe. It had taken both of them to decipher the enigma.