by Adam Dreece
“You leave for a few weeks to gather intelligence and come back with… this? You really are back to your old self,” said Richelle with a smile.
“I’ve been a good boy, I can have nice things again,” he replied with a roguish grin. “The contacts you had in the field were invaluable. Invaluable.”
Richelle was relieved. It hadn’t been hard to find people willing to help them break into Simon St. Malo’s study. It was quite another thing to get any information or help regarding the Fare. The news of Marcus’ capture had traveled like wildfire, burning their bridges and ties with even some of their staunchest allies. They’d had to make their way, unaided, to the Grand Lab near the border with Southern Teuton.
“Where on Eorth did you find a King’s-Horse, let alone one that was working?” she asked, mystified.
“Kar’m. They thought the MCM engine in it was burnt, they didn’t know how to reset it. It was damaged, but still worked. It cut my travel back in half. I guess it paid to listen to father go on and on about that mechanical horse statue of his. I never thought it was a real King’s-Horse.”
“You just… you just waltzed up to Kar’m and took a King’s-horse?” she asked.
Abeland nodded, opening one of the saddle bags and taking out his backpack. “You know me. Knock knock, hello? Got anything worth taking? Yes? Thank you.”
“I don’t believe you,” replied Richelle.
“Then feast your eyes on this,” he said, taking the unsealed MCM engine out of his backpack and holding it up.
Richelle was speechless. She gently took the six inch square engine from him and marveled at it. “What did it cost you to get?”
“A few good deeds and almost getting myself killed.”
“So cheap,” replied Richelle, getting a momentary glare from her uncle.
“I’d learned Kar’m had a Fare spy and… told Christina.”
“Creangle? You saw her again?” Richelle was surprised. She knew the complicated history between them. “And she let you have this?”
“Not exactly, I’ll explain later. Right now I need to know, how’s your team doing?”
“I’ll show you, come,” she said opening a false floor panel, revealing a spiral staircase. She reached around for a crank lantern and brought it to life. “Shall we?”
“After you,” replied Abeland, following her lead. “Have you heard anything else from father?”
“After the one Neumatic message, nothing, but it was enough. I got confirmation that he is in Relna. We have one reliable spy there.”
“One? Huh,” said Abeland. “How the mighty have fallen.”
“We will rise again,” replied Richelle. “I've got a solid team down here, it won’t take me long to build everything else up again. Lessons learned.”
“Lessons learned, indeed.”
As they descended lower and lower, the air became cool and moist, reminding them both of daring innovation. They’d witnessed some of the most incredible creations in labs such as this one over the years, not all of it working or practical, but all of it rousing and inspiring.
“What can one MCM engine do for us?” asked Richelle, trying to think how it could be incorporated into their plans.
Abeland chuckled. “If I hadn’t had several quiet hours to study it and ask myself that same question, I don’t know if it would have hit me. It’s not what one of these can do, it’s what several of these could do, together. If one can power a King’s-Horse, then what could, say, a dozen do?”
Stepping onto the creaky wooden floor, Richelle flipped a series of levers on the wall. The chamber filled with the echoes of gears grinding and water rushing until a corridor emerged from the darkness. As dots of light revealed themselves to be wall-mounted lanterns, Abeland smiled.
“You got it working? I’m impressed,” said Abeland. “But didn’t you have something else to keep you busy?”
Richelle smirked. “We’ve got a three-quarter size steam engine in testing. I told you having smaller teams would be better. They’ve been working almost around the clock. It’s amazing what a sense of purpose will do, regardless if you’re young or old. My team came together quickly, we were lucky. But they also don’t need a lot of babysitting. I check in with them every few hours, or when I sense something is off. I needed something to occupy my mind, so that I stayed out of their way and got this working, with a bit of help.”
“So, the smaller engine, does it fit in the frame?” asked Abeland.
“Almost, we need to make it a bit smaller. We were concerned it wouldn’t be powerful enough if we made it any smaller. But with MCM engines in series to complement it—”
“Exactly,” interrupted Abeland. “All we need is the steam engine to provide the essential lift, and the rest we will handle by MCM. Did I mention I got to see the Skyfallers in action?”
“No,” replied Richelle, stopping and wondering.
“They destroyed Kar’m. There was some assistance on the ground, but most of it was done from the air this time. These aren’t the same ones that destroyed the palaces of Myke. As I left, I found that they’d been moving them by rail. That’s why their limited flight time isn’t a factor. But Caterina has the steam engine plans, so it won’t be long before she can keep them in the air for days.”
Richelle face fell. “Why destroy Kar’m? That’s off-limits for… forever.”
“I think her message is that nothing is off limits, and that she can get to anyone. Anyone who knew about Kar’m will know they are not safe,” replied Abeland.
“That’s why you went there, wasn’t it? You found out about the attack and wanted to warn Christina,” said Richelle.
Abeland stopped and scratched the back of his head. “Actually, I didn’t.”
Richelle raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
“I’d learned they had the MCM shortly before catching a satchel of messages. I pretended I’d got them via tube, which she knows nothing about, apparently. Anyway, I did save her life, and that of her father’s, before leaving with the MCM and the King’s-Horse.”
Richelle was impressed, as ever. “You’re always so focused.”
They stood before the grand double doors at the end of the corridor. They were four times the width of a normal wooden door, and were more than a foot thick. Pulling a hidden lever, they opened, bringing with it a moist underground breeze, the sound of underground rivers and the sounds of their team working away.
As Richelle and Abeland walked up to the huddle of a dozen inventors, scientists and engineers, they stopped and turned to focus on him, like grazing deer hearing a noise.
“I’ve brought you all a present,” boomed Abeland. “Something right out of fairy tale and myth.” The team’s intense focus was tangible. Abeland pulled out the MCM engine. “One unsealed, mercury-copper-magnetic engine.” The intelligible chatter made him smile. “Here,” he said, handing it to one of them and climbing on top of a table. He whistled and waved over the people at the rows of dry-docks behind them, busily working away.
Once everyone was gathered, he said, “We all know that my father, Marcus Pieman, has been a man ahead of his time. When he showed me this facility eight years ago, I thought him mad. Why build a fleet of airships that were bodies without a heart and lungs? It seemed like he was pouring a king’s ransom into the abyss, money for nothing, but I was wrong. Once we have the steam engine the size we need it, and once we make more of these wonderful miracles,” he pointed to the MCM engine one of the inventors was holding above his head, “then we will truly end the Era of the Abominator. Soon, those who stand in our way will fear the skies. We will show what the Fare claims brings the fury of the sky is nothing compared to our Hotaru!”
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
The World, with a Wink
“Moving me again? I’ve not even got half way through my book,” said Marcus as he sat up. The jail door clanked closed and soft footfalls approached. For a moment, he wondered if Caterina had tracked him down, despite the best
efforts of the royal dignitaries. He still couldn’t believe how his begging for meeting with them turned into having the protection of the representatives for the Southern, Eastern, Lower and Independent Kingdoms. If Caterina could turn the tables on him, well, he could turn them once again.
He put the book down and stood up, straightening his fine cotton shirt and brown vest. He stroked his clean-shaven chin and glanced around the cozy cell he hadn’t even had the chance to call home yet.
“It took me a while to track you down. I don’t believe anyone even knows this jail is here, save for those who put you in it. This must be more than four hundred years old,” said the approaching figure.
Marcus glanced about. “A fair guess, I’d say. How did you find me, Mister Jenny? It’s been a long, long time.”
“Someone tried to get a Neumatic message to you. They were sloppy. I happened to be within ear shot when they were caught.” Mister Jenny reached into his backpack and pulled out the message, still in its cylinder. He noticed that Marcus’ eyepatch was in tatters. “You used the coin, didn’t you? The one you keep in your eyepatch.”
Marcus smiled, “You knew about that?”
“More of a long running suspicion than an actual guess,” replied Mister Jenny.
“You’re looking good. It’s been far too long,” said Marcus.
“It has. And you look remarkably good for a man that was supposed to be dead several times over in the past few weeks alone. But then again, you Piemans are remarkably hard to kill.”
Marcus laughed. “Well, I wasn’t at my best until an old friend reminded me that everything can change in the blink of an eye. But now, I’m ready to pull the sky down.”
The weeks since the attack on his presidential palace had gone by almost entirely unnoticed by Marcus. His dreams were stuck on the moment he’d held Nikolas’ unconscious body in his arms, his world destroyed. He’d fought like an animal as Silskin ordered his men to take him before he was eventually knocked out. Since then, he’d been lost in a sea of grief.
It had been a great gamble, taking one of the most brilliant minds and hoping that he would create the next great engine on his own. Nikolas had been Marcus’ only true friend, but even so, he’d never managed to bring himself to be honest with Nikolas. When Isabella had died, he no longer knew what Nikolas was up to. He’d waited as long as he could before taking him off the board, concerned that one of his enemies might learn the man had secretly invented something that could tip the scales.
When Ron-Paul Silskin had told him that Nikolas was alive but his mind gone, that he was little more than a demented old man in a decaying shell, it had crushed him. Marcus had risked everything, and in doing so, lost his only friend and his own sense of self.
“You may see him, but only for ten minutes,” said the guard, shoving the distraught Marcus into the room with Nikolas and closing the door. It was the second time they’d been together. The first time Nikolas had still been unconscious in his hospital bed. Marcus had confessed and apologized for everything, though it did nothing to ease his burden.
The room housed a fireplace and two large chairs, but little else. Nikolas was seated, counting his fingers. His beard was white and bushy, his hair long and messy. Marcus’ eyes welled up, knowing that his friend would have never allowed himself to be so unkempt.
Nikolas took no notice of Marcus stepping into the room and sitting opposite him. He stared at the painting above the fireplace and mumbled nonsense at it before pointing at his toes angrily. After a moment spent smiling, he returned to counting his fingers.
“They said…” started Marcus. His throat tightened and his eyes filled with tears. “They said you kept calling for me. Are you doing okay?” He leaned into the high-backed chair. “You look… you look…” Tears rolled down his face.
Nikolas’ eyes darted around the room and then suddenly stopped. He stared intensely at Marcus’ feet. “Nan nan, Marcus. Nan nan no me nan.”
Marcus closed his eyes and tried to find meaning in the words, but failed. “Nikolas, I don’t understand.”
“Bargy no nan. Getto ears, na me. Walls no me ears nan. Da getto ice. Ban dina. Yes?” said Nikolas, getting on all fours and tapping the wooden floor.
Putting his head in his hands, Marcus emotionally broke. He sobbed for minutes as Nikolas babbled and continued to act strangely, crawling around the floor.
Nikolas startled him by shaking him, his eyes intense. “Marcus. Bargy nas. Shakes nan man. Nan nan get ears. Diggo ice bin seen, yes?”
“I don’t know what—” and then Marcus stopped himself. A memory at the back of his mind had twitched. His eyes narrowed as he noticed a pattern. He glanced at the painting and then the opposite wall. “Nan ears hass, no?”
Nikolas shook his head and sat back in his chair. “Bargy bin seen.”
“Nan nan,” said Marcus.
“Yes,” replied Nikolas.
A relieved smile crept across Marcus’ face, which he casually hid behind a hand. The number of words had a pattern, with nonsense words hiding the occasional one of interest. He stared into Nikolas’ eyes and saw the distant look replaced with the fire he’d always known. Nikolas winked, and Marcus chuckled. You old sneak, he thought. As Nikolas broke the pattern and went on to count his fingers, Marcus wondered how long he’d be able to keep the act up. It didn’t matter, there would be no need for it soon.
When the guard opened the door, he did a double take at Marcus’ changed expression. The man before him wasn’t the broken one he’d let in, but the man he’d heard legends about. Marcus held a torn eyepatch in his hand and stared intently at the young guard.
“Tell the royal dignitaries that must have arrived by now that I will meet with them in one hour. You will fetch me new clothes and a razor. Also, there’s a special message you will send for me.”
“Why would I do that?” asked the surprised guard, glancing down the empty hallway.
Marcus stuck out his hand. The guard looked at it and hesitantly shook it. Marcus leaned forward and whispered, “That’s a thousand crown coin now in your hand. Either you die when I tell them you were bribed, or you live in the world I’m about to take. Your choice.”
Sitting down on the metal bed chained to the back wall, Marcus stared at Mister Jenny. “So, Mister Jenny, what can I do for you?”
“I wanted to let you know that your grandson, Beldon, is alive. He goes by the name Bakon Cochon, and I’ve been asked to kill him by Caterina. I’ve got him safely hidden in the Teuton embassy on the other side of Relna. I was wondering if you’d like to join him.” Jenny pointed at the cell. “Unless you like the trappings of this new life better?”
Marcus stood up and straightened his vest. “I have to say that, while I appreciate the history, I don’t appreciate the decor.” He carefully studied Mister Jenny’s face. “You have the means for getting me through all of the checkpoints and narrow streets to the embassy? That could very much change things.”
“We have to move quickly, though,” replied Mister Jenny.
His eyes narrowing, Marcus glanced away. “You know, it took me years to discover why you’d left, that Gaston Maurice and the little band calling themselves The One True Fare had killed your wife and daughter. And then, to learn that your daughter was actually alive and used as a leash on you, that was heart breaking.”
Jenny was clearly caught off guard.
Marcus pushed the cell door open, and then remembering his book, stepped back in and picked it up. “I heard you tried to rescue her once, with nearly disastrous results.”
“How could you know?” asked Jenny. “No one knew.”
“Nearly no one, but you see, I am Marcus Pieman.” He put the still unopened Neumatic cylinder on the bed. “And one thing that people tend to forget is that, more than anything else, my business is to know things.” He gestured forward. “Shall we?”
Mister Jenny turned and walk to the jail door when suddenly two shots went off. He slumped to the floor.
Marcus tossed the smoking book aside. He walked over and stared at Jenny in his final moments. “For so long you walked a fine line, but Caterina freed you, and you chose her side. I would have been killed as I fled, and even if I’d made it to the embassy, I don’t know who I can trust. My Mister Jenny would have never presumed that I would go with him. That was sloppy, rushed.”
“I am going to beat Caterina at her own game.” He gave Jenny a wink and stood up, then walked back into his jail cell and closed the door.
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ABOUT THE AUTHOR
In 2014, Adam burst onto the indie author scene, putting an end to over 25 years of writing short stories that few ever saw. The Yellow Hoods series quickly became a best seller. In 2015, he became a full-time author and put aside his 20-year-long career as a software architect.
Adam enjoys engaging with readers and students, whether at events or online. You can follow him on Twitter @adamdreece, or on his blog at AdamDreece.com. You can also check out his Amazon author page. Also, feel free to send him an email!
He lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada with his awesome wife, amazing kids, and a lot of sticky-notes.