Steven Harper - The Havoc Machine

“It’s also the Lithuanian way of saying your luck will turn for the worse,” Thad spat. “Did you think I didn’t know?”

Sofiya laughed quietly. “You are not superstitious. You use scientific knowledge. You know from experience how the clockwork plague works, for example. These people”-she gestured at the room-“think the plague comes from the devil. They think that when someone catches the disease and it turns them into a shambling mound of flesh that wanders through the streets feeding on garbage until their brains rot away, God meant it as a punishment. And they think that when the disease makes someone into a clockworker who creates glorious and impossible inventions-”

“-and goes mad and does horrible things to innocent to people,” Thad put in.

“Doom, destruction, death, despair,” said Dante. “Doom!”

“Shut it,” Thad ordered.

“They think this also is a punishment from God,” Sofiya finished as if no one had spoken. “Their church tells them so. But we know it is nothing more than a disease that acts as a disease must.”

“The plague is a curse, and the faster we eradicate everything connected with it, the better,” Thad snapped. He found his left hand was shaking, and he forced it to still.

“I told you we think large,” Sofiya said with a nod. “And I am glad to see that you can react as a human being, Mr. Sharpe.”

Thad clenched his teeth. “Why are we talking about this? What do you care about the clockwork plague?”

“You have caught my interest, Mr. Sharpe. You are a very interesting person to very many people. Very interesting.”

That set off several small alarm bells inside his head.

“I don’t want to offend,” Thad said, now with careful control in every syllable, “but I feel I should to point out that the parrot which has moved to a strategic spot on the table less than eight inches in front of you can deliver more than two thousand pounds of pressure from the business end of that sharp beak, more than enough pressure to slice open your windpipe. I also have a knife on a spring-load that can open up an artery so quickly, you won’t even know you’re dead before the blade is clean and back up my sleeve. Finally, all those men over there, the ones you were scorning as small-thinking peasants a moment ago, seem to like me quite a lot, and I think they would be very upset if anyone tried something foolish.”

“Such a mental condition you have,” Sofiya tutted. “I believe the English word is paranoia. ”

His muscles were growing tight with tension. The situation was unusual. Thad didn’t like unusual. It was too like hunting clockworkers. But tension made fights difficult. He forced himself to relax. “I deal with clockworkers all the time. One can never be too paranoid.”

“As you like, Mr. Sharpe. But I do not have a wish to harm you.” From the folds of her cloak, she produced a small purse, which she dropped on the table. It clinked. “I wish to hire you.”

That got Thad’s attention fast, though me made no move to touch the purse. “Dante.”

The parrot expertly tore the purse open, revealing the glint of silver and gold coins, a generous offering. “Pretty, pretty, pretty,” he said, plucking a coin from the pile with a claw and bending it in half with his beak.

Thad didn’t relax his guard. “People don’t usually hire me to kill clockworkers. They usually beg me, and I’m always happy to oblige. Why offer money?”

“You may do with the clockworker as you wish. It makes nothing to me. I want-or rather, my employer wants-something else entirely. That is why we are offering you money.”

Now Thad leaned back in the hard chair. “Your employer?”

“I represent a third party. He does not go out in public and needs people to do for him. He heard you were traveling with the Kalakos Circus these days, and when they came to Vilnius, he asked me to arrange for your employment.”

“I’m not seeking long-term-”

“This is a single piece of work,” Sofiya interrupted. “And it is very similar to what you already do.”

“Money, money,” Dante said. “Pretty money.” He reached for another coin. Thaddeus absently moved the purse out of his reach and took a pull from his beer.

“You can see my face,” he said. “I would like to see yours. So I know who I’m dealing with.”

Without hesitation, Sofiya cast back her scarlet hood. Golden hair spilled across her shoulders and clear blue eyes looked out over finely molded features and a sharp chin. The small scar that ran along her left jawline was the only flaw to her beauty. Thad didn’t outwardly react, though inwardly he caught his breath. Such sweet loveliness ran a sharp contrast to the dull tavern and its sour drinks-and brought up bitter memories.

“Thank you.” His voice stayed carefully neutral. “Who’s your employer, if you please?”

“He is a person who hires people like me so he does not need to give his name.” Sofiya straightened her thick cloak. It must have been stifling in the heat of the tavern, but she showed no signs of sweating. “You usually kill clockworkers for no money at all, so I would have thought the prospect of having extra coins would be an encouragement, no?”

“I just like to know what’s going on,” Thad replied.

“Darkness, despair, death,” Dante squawked. “Doom!”

Sofiya ignored him. “I will tell you. There is a castle ruin approximately half a day’s horseback travel south of Vilnius. A clockworker who calls himself Mr. Havoc has moved in to it, fortified it, and made it his own. He is quite brilliant, as all clockworkers are.” She paused to sip from her red glass. Was it wine? She had expensive tastes. “He has already managed many dreadful experiments with machines and men. The village nearby is quite terrified of him, but they lack the weaponry to assault his little fortress.”

“And you want me to go in there and kill him,” Thad finished.

“You are very forthright for such a handsome Englishman,” Sofiya said. “But I have already said that my employer does not care if you kill Mr. Havoc or not. He wants you to bring him a particular machine Mr. Havoc has created.”

“Is that so?” Thad took another pull from his beer mug. It was only of middling quality, but it was beer and not giras. “You didn’t give me much information, Miss Ekk. How coherent is this Mr. Havoc? Does he go into inventing fugues quite a bit or only rarely? What sort of inventions does he specialize in? Who was he before he became a clockworker? Does he have friends or family who help him? Where does he get money from? Does he buy or steal to get materials? If he buys, who is his supplier? If he steals, who does he steal from?”

Sofiya spread her hands. “I am afraid I have already told you everything I know, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Why doesn’t your employer simply wait him out? The clockwork plague will kill this Mr. Havoc of yours in a couple of years, three at the absolute most.”

“No. My employer needs the invention now. But I see you are reluctant.” She gathered up the purse and made to rise. “I will find someone else, then. Good day, Mr. Sharpe.”

He caught her wrist. The skin was smooth. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, Miss Ekk. I’m just suspicious of strange circumstances and a secretive employer.”

“The circumstances are this-you have the chance to rid the world of another clockworker, and make a great deal of money in the bargain by delivering one of his inventions to my employer. Will you do it?”

Dante bit the candle in half. “Done, done, done.”

“Done,” Thad said.

“Excellent. The invention is a spider the size of a small trunk. It has ten legs instead of the usual eight, and it has copper markings all over it. You will know it the moment you see it. I would approach the castle from the west. Our employer has information that says the west wall of the castle has an old doorway overgrown with ivy. The castle’s defenses are also weaker in that direction, which is lucky for you-us. That door will get you through the castle wall and into the ruins. After that, you are quite alone.”