Steven Harper - The Havoc Machine

A tall, blocky stone building in front of the hole bore a copper sign on the wall out front. The sign read BIBLIOTEKA ROSSIYSKOY AKADEMII NAUK, or LIBRARY OF THE RUSSIAN ACADEMY OF SCIENCES.

Brass spiders covered the walls and ceiling inside of Thad’s wagon, and they stared at him with unnerving mechanical eyes. He saw his face reflected back at himself a thousand times. Thad tried to ignore this and concentrate instead on the speaker box in Sofiya’s lap. She was sitting on one of the pull-down benches while Thad stood with his back against the door. In the distance came the faint sound of the calliope, creating a rhythm to help the circus set up. A warbling sound emerged from the speaker, and Sofiya adjusted some of the dials until it cleared. Thad was afraid of that box and what it represented, and he hated that he was afraid of it. He remained rigid, refusing to let the fear show.

“Are you there now, Mr. Sharpe?” asked Mr. Griffin’s chocolate voice from the box.

“You know I am,” Thad replied. “And I’m sure you know we’re in Saint Petersburg.”

“Indeed. Excellent work, including whatever you did during that inconvenient stop in the countryside.”

Thad’s skin pricked under the spiders’ stare. “Thank you.”

“One of my little friends went missing during that stop, by the way,” Mr. Griffin continued. “Have you seen it, by chance?”

Ice water poured down Thad’s back and his rib cage felt too tight. Sofiya’s face stayed rigidly set in stone, though Thad saw her fingers go pale around one of the speaker dials. The spiders clicked among themselves as if whispering together.

“I don’t keep track of your things,” Thad said shortly. “Would you like to go back and look for it on the tracks?”

“Not necessary. I have more.” If Mr. Griffin had possessed hands, Thad was sure he would have waved one. “I just dislike being wasteful. How is Nikolai?”

“He’s well.” The words nearly choked in the Thad’s throat. I’m making small talk with a clockworker. “At the moment, he’s with Dante, watching the circus put up the tents on the Field of Mars.”

“So glad to hear it.”

“Why?” Thad asked abruptly. “Why do you care what happens to Nikolai?”

“I have an affinity for mechanicals,” Mr. Griffin said. “Are you surprised?”

“You’ve arrived in Saint Petersburg, as you requested, sir,” Sofiya put in. “I believe that ends our business relationship, does it not?”

“How much does the circus know?” Mr. Griffin countered.

Thad tensed. “They don’t know anything. They think you’re an eccentric rich man who pays on time.”

“And how much do you know, Mr. Sharpe? Tell the truth. I’m missing a spider, and that makes me…unhappy. Don’t bother fingering those knives you enjoy so much. You can’t move faster than one thousand, two hundred and forty-seven spiders. No, it’s two hundred forty-six. I forgot.”

Now Thad’s mouth was dry. He thought about jerking the door open and fleeing, but that would leave Sofiya in Griffin’s taloned clutches, and in any case, he didn’t think he’d get very far. Thad hated this. Thad hated him. Griffin had invaded Thad’s home, his very life, and twisted it into something unrecognizable.

“You haven’t answered my question, Mr. Sharpe.” Griffin’s too-smooth voice took on a condescending tone. “Have you lost the power of speech? Perhaps you need help to find it again.”

A spider leaped onto Sofiya’s neck. She didn’t move, but she did cry out, and a trickle of blood ran down her pale skin between the spider’s claws. Through it all, she continued to hold the speaker box. Thad started toward Sofiya, then stopped himself when all the spiders in the wagon snapped their claws in unison against the wooden walls and ceiling. Sofiya gritted her teeth.

“Stop it!” Thad shouted. “She didn’t do anything!”

“How much do you know, Mr. Sharpe? Speak!”

“I know you’re a clockworker,” Thad said quickly. “I thought at first that you hadn’t boarded the train, that it was a decoy or something similar, but I changed my mind. I know you need Sofiya and me for some sort of master plan, even though Havoc’s machine was destroyed. That’s all. I swear it.”

A long pause followed. Sofiya sat perfectly still, the spider still on her neck. Tension lay thick and heavy as sulfur fog in the room.

“What happened to my spider?” Mr. Griffin asked at last. “My precious little spider?”

Thad glanced at Sofiya. Her eyes were wide and white. It was his fault she was sitting in the chair with a spider on her neck and a clockworker determined to do something horrible to her. He set his jaw. “I-” he began.

“I destroyed it,” Sofiya interrupted. “I shot it with an energy pistol.”

The spiders in the room turned as one to look at her. “And why would you do that to me, Miss Ekk, when I am watching your sister?”

“It would have given me away.” A calm seemed to have come over her. “So I shot it.”

Mr. Griffin said, “Interesting. Please put the speaker box on the floor, Miss Ekk.”

“What are you going to do?” Thad demanded as Sofiya obeyed. Her hands were shaking.

“I expect my employees to follow my commands. You poked about in forbidden places, destroyed one of my spiders, and tried to cover it up, Miss Ekk. Like a child, there is only one way for you to learn proper behavior.”

Thad said, “Now look-”

“Miss Ekk, please give your energy pistol to Mr. Sharpe.”

Slowly, Sofiya produced the pistol from the folds of her skirt and handed it to Thad. Their fingers touched, and Thad’s eyes met hers. Her face held rigid calm, but her hands were ice cold. She maintained such control. Thad couldn’t imagine how she did it. He felt every spider in the room staring at him.

“Mr. Sharpe,” said the box, “I want you to shoot one of her hands off.”

“What?” Thad said in disbelief. “I’m not going to-”

“Yes, you are, Mr. Sharpe. Miss Ekk cost me a hand, metaphorically speaking, and she will pay for it with one of her own. You were involved in some way, so you will administer the punishment. If you do not, my spiders will take you both apart, and Miss Ekk’s sister, and I will find someone else to work for me.”

Thad stared at the round little pistol. It crossed his mind to fire it at the spiders, but the pistol only contained one shot at a time.

“Mr. Sharpe,” said Griffin’s horrible chocolate voice, “if I do not receive payment for my missing hand in three seconds, everyone in that wagon will die. One…”

Pale and shaking, Sofiya held out her left hand. A small, stupid part of Thad assumed she had chosen her off-hand.

“Two…”

Thad held up the pistol. He couldn’t quite comprehend what he was about to do. Guilt and fear, two of his most familiar friends, filled him like sour milk in a glass. Sofiya nodded at him, her eyes never leaving his. His mouth was dry as sand.

“Three.”

Thad pressed the barrel of the pistol to his own left palm and pulled the trigger.

A red explosion of pain ripped through his hand. The pistol clattered away and he dropped to his knees. The tearing, burning agony ran all the way up his arm. A smell of cooked meat permeated the air. Most of his hand was gone. A blackened, pulpy mess that showed yellow bone was all that remained. He had dipped his hand and wrist in molten lead, and the horrible pain consumed his entire being. There was nothing in life but the pain. Flakes of charred skin fluttered to the floor. Thad’s throat was raw from the screaming.

“An interesting choice, Mr. Sharpe,” said the speaker box.