Khronos (Hanover and Singh Book 3)

by Paton, Chris

  “What about you?”

  Luise stopped and smiled. “We all have our weaknesses. Mine just happens to make me immune and uninteresting for demons.”

  “And Hari?” Jacques followed Luise up the stairs. “Why doesn’t he have to stay clear of them?”

  “Hari is,” Luise paused to enjoy the smile on her lips. “Hari has something extra, something the demons really don’t like.” Stopping at the top of the stairs, Luise waited for Jacques. “Whatever happens, just stay outside of the shadow vortex. Let Cairn try the machine and make up his own mind.”

  Jacques put down the lamp and held out his hands. “I’m sorry, the Captain wanted me to carry the machine.”

  “That’s okay, Jacques,” Luise pulled the machine from under her arm and placed it in Jacques’ hands. “Remember what I said. That’s all I ask.” Walking behind Jacques, Luise followed him through the passenger quarters of The Flying Scotsman. She paused outside a cabin before the stairs leading up to the dining lounge.

  “Is something wrong?” Jacques stopped.

  Opening her satchel, Luise pulled out the notebook, speaking aloud as she scribbled on a fresh page. “Lance, three stars and a circle around the third.” She paused, closing her eyes, her eyelids creasing. “A cloud... no,” she crossed out the last khronoglyphs, “not a cloud... darkness.” Luise shaded an oblong shape by the side of the lance and stars. She closed the notebook and returned it to her satchel.

  Jacques frowned. “I am not sure the Captain will appreciate us stopping. We had best be getting on to the bridge.”

  “Yes, of course.” Luise followed Jacques, her right hand tapping the banister at intervals. Clutching her satchel, she mumbled the new sequence of khronoglyphs as she climbed the stairs.

  Chapter 13

  The Amphitrite

  In the skies above Denmark

  June, 1851

  Noonan fidgeted between a tangle of pipes glowing above his head. He peered into the gloom along the crawlspace to where Smith crouched and waved at him. He crawled forward, the heat from the pipes encouraging the sweat from his body to run in streams beneath his arms, down his chest, pooling in the small of his back.

  “How are you doing, Major?” Smith reached into the opening of the crawlspace and gripped Noonan’s hand. “We’ll have you out in a moment, young man.”

  Noonan tumbled out into the hold. He nodded at Smith as the wiry old man, shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows, guided Noonan into a corner.

  “You’ll find it is a little cooler over here.” Smith sat down beside Noonan.

  “It’s a lot cooler than in there,” Noonan dipped his head toward the crawlspace. “The Devil himself couldn’t have invented a crueller workspace.” He looked around the hold. “Egmont?”

  “He is with the Captain,” Smith smiled. “He is a different man, hopping along the gangways, hanging from the rigging like he was twenty years younger.”

  “I am glad someone is having a jolly time of it. Who is captaining this ship?”

  “Airship,” Smith patted Noonan’s leg. “Why must you all insist on it being a ship?” Removing his glasses, Smith wiped them clean on the tails of his grubby shirt. “The Captain is rather reclusive, if you hadn’t already gathered that.”

  “I had an idea.” Noonan wiped his brow.

  “Well, he is as effective as he is shy. The Captain has pushed The Amphitrite faster than I believe she has ever flown before, if I am to believe the Admiral. We are very close to catching The Flying Scotsman. She is but a dark speck on the horizon, just ahead of us.”

  “And the Captain? Is he aware of our mission?”

  “He knows it is top priority. They don’t pull him out of the hangar for less it would seem.” Smith moved to position his back against the wall. “Slightly cooler,” he leaned back with a sigh. “It might be that neither you nor I ever meet the Captain in the flesh, but I hope you are ready to carry out the mission when we are within boarding distance of The Scotsman. The revised mission, I mean.”

  “Believe me, Smith,” Noonan leaned his head back against the bulkhead. “I am not interested in killing for the sake of killing.”

  “That didn’t stop you firing your carbine in St James’ Park.”

  “They were fugitives fleeing the scene of a crime. I had little alternative.”

  “And now? Are they not still fugitives?”

  “Yes, but now,” Noonan turned his head to look at Smith, “thanks to you and the Admiral, I have more information to work on, to form my own opinion.”

  “And your loyalty to the Queen?”

  “Goes without question,” Noonan frowned. “But if you are asking me if I am ready to kill a young woman for the crime of having the same name as that of the Queen’s family,” he shook his head. “We are a long way from Buckingham Palace, Smith.”

  “And the Queen’s reach is not quite what it once was.”

  The skin of The Amphitrite rippled as the gears shuddered into a slower speed.

  “We’re slowing down,” Noonan sat up, peeling his sodden shirt from the bulkhead as he leaned forward.

  “We must have caught up with The Scotsman. I suppose the Captain will want to slow us down so as not to overtake.”

  Noonan stood up. “What kind of resistance can we expect, Smith?”

  “I have no idea. I would advise being prepared for just about anything.”

  “I can do that,” Noonan laughed.

  “You can do what?” Egmont swung into the hold through a hatch in the ceiling. Lowering himself to the deck, he slapped his palm on the skin of the airship’s gas bag. “Not a bad old boat, eh?”

  “Airship,” Smith shook his head.

  “Do you have news, Admiral?” Noonan tugged his shirt from his chest.

  “I do,” Egmont hopped over to the bulkhead and leaned against it. “We are coming up on The Scotsman – passing over it I should say. The Captain wants to hang back and approach it from above.”

  “And we should?”

  “Be ready for anything, Major.” Egmont grinned as he retreated from the hatch and disappeared from view. “Anything at all.”

  The shriek of the whistle shrilling through the hold caused Noonan to stumble as he reached for the ladder leading up to the cramped accommodation deck. With one hand grasping a metal rung he paused, looked over his shoulder at the crawlspace and let go of the ladder.

  “I am sure it is important,” Smith patted Noonan on the shoulder as he passed. “The Captain needs more speed.”

  “The Captain,” Noonan crouched at the entrance to the crawlspace. Lifting his hand he shielded his face from the heat of the pipes. “If I ever get to meet the Captain...”

  “What’s that, Major?” Egmont peered down from the hatch at the top of the ladder.

  “Nothing, Admiral,” Noonan wiped his brow. “Just contemplating meeting the Captain. That is all.”

  “Yes, well...” Egmont smoothed the white whiskers of his beard. “All in good time.” He pointed at the whistle. “Best get on with it man. We are closing on The Scotsman, and I have a feeling the Captain would like to get in front of it. Just a little more speed needed. For manoeuvring, of course.” Egmont retreated from view.

  “Just a minute, Admiral.” Smith stepped around Noonan and climbed the ladder.

  “What is it, Smith?”

  “Well, Reginald,” Smith glanced down at Noonan. “Don’t you think he has a right to know?”

  “To know what?” Noonan looked up.

  “About the Captain.” Smith descended one rung of the ladder. “It might explain a few things.”

  “The Captain is one of Her Majesty’s best kept secrets, Smith. Surely you, of all people, understand about secrets?” Egmont’s scowl tugged at his bushy eyebrows.

  “There comes a time, Admiral, when it is prudent to reveal a little knowledge for the sake of the greater good, and,” Smith nodded at Noonan, “to reward hard effort and inspire loyalty. The Major has stoked The Amphitrite’s bo
iler all the way across the North Sea, Admiral. He deserves to know for whom, don’t you think?”

  Egmont drummed his fingers on the lip of the hatch. He stared at Noonan as the Major stood, sweat dripping from his brow, his soiled shirt hanging from his shoulders.

  “Just give him a little bit of information,” Smith shifted his position on the ladder. “He doesn’t have to know more than the actual crew. Although, he is practically the crew as it is.”

  “On this voyage, out of necessity, yes.” Egmont stilled his fingers. “I tell you what, Noonan.”

  “Yes, Admiral.”

  “If you crawl back in there,” Egmont flicked his finger at the opening of the crawlspace, “and give us the power we need to manoeuvre, faster than our quarry, then I’ll introduce you to the Captain. There,” he looked at Smith. “Good enough?”

  “Admirable, Reginald. I am satisfied.” Smith descended the ladder. Walking across the deck, he tugged a handkerchief from his pocket and presented it to Noonan. “It’s little reward for now, but it is nonetheless a clean handkerchief.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Smith. Of course,” Noonan rolled the handkerchief, knotting it around his head like a bandana, “you could always take a turn in the boiler room.”

  “That is very flattering of you, Major, to suggest that an elderly gentlemen such as myself might be as strong as you are,” Smith smiled. “But we both know who must stoke the engines, don’t we?”

  “I’m to keep this, Mr. Smith?” Noonan fingered the handkerchief.

  “It is unlikely I will want it back, Major. You keep it.”

  “Come on then,” Egmont growled from the deck above them. “Look lively now, Major.”

  Noonan ducked inside the crawlspace. Keeping low, he avoided the blistering pipes above him, pushing himself to keep going until he reached the boiler room. Picking up the shovel, Noonan hunched over the coal bin, collected a shovelful and kicked open the door to the boiler. Recoiling from the heat, Noonan tensed his muscles and thrust the coal inside, one shovelful at a time, again and again until the whistle was still and he felt The Amphitrite’s acceleration ripple through the airframe. Noonan tossed the shovel onto the coal and kicked the door closed. Staggering back to the wall, he collapsed onto the deck.

  ҉

  The grinding of the great iron wheels of The Voskhod vibrated through the cab, zinging from the floor up, through the walls and into the handrail Stepan grasped with one hand as he leaned out of the window. His hair whipping in the night air, Stepan closed his eyes, feeling the bright light of the midnight sun through the grimy lids of his eyes. Stepan’s elbow rattled against the door as The Voskhod leaned into a slow bend. He retreated inside the cab and sat down in the seat next to Oksana. Lena dozed on a simple mattress of rough blankets at the back of the cab.

  “I don’t know how she can sleep,” Stepan stared at Lena. “Her forehead is...”

  “Her head is fine,” Oksana placed her hand on Stepan’s arm, pushing him back into his seat. “Let her rest.”

  “Yes,” Stepan smiled. “You’re right.”

  “You should rest, too.” Oksana pointed her thumb over her shoulder. “It is surprising how comfortable a bed of coals can be when you are dog-tired.”

  “I cannot rest just now, Oksana.”

  “It is a long way to Moscow.”

  “I was thinking we could stop earlier. Maybe one of the small villages...”

  “That have no telegraph station and support the Cossacks? I don’t think so.”

  “Lena is a Cossack, Oksana. You do remember?”

  “I don’t dislike Lena because she is a Cossack, Captain, although your history with her father should be enough to warrant that.”

  “Then why?”

  “Stepan Skuratov,” Oksana sighed. “I dislike her for her youth. Are you satisfied?”

  “Her youth?”

  “Yes.” Oksana shifted upon her seat. “And I am old, and quite content to dislike any pretty thing younger than I am.”

  Stepan turned in his seat. “She is pretty.”

  “And you are married, Captain,” Oksana thumped Stepan on the arm. “Remember that.”

  “You don’t have to remind me, Oksana Zhidkova,” Stepan smiled as he rubbed his arm. He smoothed his shirtsleeve over the leather band on his left wrist. Tapping the false watch face he unscrewed it. Gazing at the faces of his family, Stepan fell silent.

  “Go to sleep, Captain,” Oksana cupped Stepan’s chin in her hand. “Dream of Anna,” she squeezed his chin and withdrew her hand.

  “She is sick, Oksana.” Stepan looked up. “The English call it consumption. I call it death.”

  “She is sick. She is not dead, Stepan. You would do well to remember that also.”

  “It was all those years working in the mines.”

  “A lot of people did.”

  “A lot of people are sick,” Stepan sighed. “Mostly the wives, the men being busy in the skirmishes.”

  “Can’t change that,” Oksana turned her head, sought out Stepan’s eyes. “Go to sleep.”

  “Perhaps I will.” Stepan’s lips spread in a thin, languid smile. He screwed the face back onto the watch, covering the picture of his wife and son. Stepan swayed as he stood up, leaning into the bend together with The Voskhod. “A bed of coals, you say?”

  “You could do a lot worse.”

  Stepan brushed at his jacket. “I will be filthy.”

  “You already are,” Oksana laughed.

  “Very well, Oksana.” Stepan patted the woman on her shoulder. He bent to pick up a blanket from the floor. Draping it over Oksana’s shoulders, he kissed her on the top of her head. Shuffling past Lena to the coal bin beside the boiler, Stepan turned around and sat on the coals. He reclined onto his back. Stepan smiled at the opening refrain of The March of the Common People as Oksana’s voice lifted above the rattle of the rails, tugging at his eyelids until he closed them and drifted off to sleep.

  ҉

  The German soldiers guarding the bridge stepped to one side as Jacques, holding the impediment machine at arm’s length, approached the door. One step behind the crewman, Luise noted the Tesla pistols tucked into the holsters hanging from the guard’s belts. Gripping her satchel, Luise followed Jacques onto the bridge.

  “You see, Herr Blom,” Cairn gestured with an extravagant wave of his hand, “she is cooperating.”

  “She has little choice, Captain,” Blom clasped his hands around the opening of his jacket, squeezing the buttons between pudgy fingers. “Not when we have her friend in our custody.”

  Luise stifled a gasp with one hand as she followed the Oberleutnant’s gaze. “Hari?” Pushing past Jacques, she ran forward, reaching for the knots binding Hari’s hands as he fidgeted within the grip of two German soldiers.

  “It is all right, Miss Luise,” Hari caught Luise’s eye as more guards approached her from behind.

  “But your arms, Hari.” Luise struggled as the guards pulled her away with a firm grasp of her shoulders. “Release him,” she wheeled around within the guards’ grip, staring at Cairn first and then Blom. “Let him go, or I will not help you.”

  “Really?” Cairn withdrew the flechette pistol from its holster. He pointed it at Hari. “I think you will do exactly as we say, Miss Hanover. Furthermore,” he pulled back the firing hammer with his thumb, “I think you will do it right now.”

  “The machine cannot help you...”

  “That is for me to decide.” Cairn lowered the pistol. He nodded at the leather armchairs, one on each side of the wheel. “Wait there, Jacques, in the chair opposite mine.”

  “Jacques,” Luise fidgeted between the guards. “Remember what I said.”

  “It’s all right, Jacques.” Cairn holstered the pistol, the scars burning red around his eyes. “No matter what Miss Hanover might have told you, might have warned you about, there is nothing to fear.”

  “If you say so, Captain.” Jacques sat down on the port side of the wheel, resting the impedi
ment machine in his lap.

  “I do, nephew,” Cairn smiled. “But forgive me a moment. We must get rid of a distraction. “Master Whyte?”

  “Aye Captain?” The door to the Captain’s galley swung open as Whyte stepped onto the bridge.

  “Is the lifeboat ready?”

  “Aye,” Whyte pointed to the balcony in the recess below the bridge window, in front of The Flying Scotsman’s wheel. “It is secured to the railing as ordered.

  “Well then, Blom. It is your turn I believe.” Cairn gestured at the guards holding Luise. “Bring her along. It will make for good entertainment.”

  “Hari?” Luise watched as Blom’s soldiers pushed Hari around the wheel and down the steps to the balcony beneath the bridge window, the stars pricking at the glass. Luise struggled across the deck in the grip of her guards as Hari was pushed onto the balcony. Cairn and Blom followed.

  “Hari Singh is far too distracting, Miss Hanover, and I need you to be focused on my needs.” Cairn reached around Hari and pulled at his belt. Hari’s robes sagged around his waist as Cairn removed his belt and the kukri in its scabbard. He handed them to Blom. “I am not an animal, Miss Hanover,” Cairn picked at the knot in the rope tethering a single lifeboat to the railing. “But neither do I let too much sentiment cloud my purpose.” Pulling the rope free he thrust it toward Hari. “Lift up your hands, Hari Singh, and hold on to the rope.”

  “Hari,” Luise pushed forward.

  “Miss Luise,” Hari struggled with the soldiers, flinching at the sound of Blom’s hand striking Luise’s cheek.

  “There is simply no need for that, Miss Hanover,” Cairn sighed. “So long as your friend can hold on to the rope,” he cast a quick glance at the ground below, “he should be fine.”

  “Murderer,” Luise screamed. “There is no harness.” Rushing forward again, Luise doubled over as Blom punched her in the stomach. Her satchel sliding off her shoulder, Blom took it from her.

  “Stop,” Hari lurched forward.