Steven Harper - The Havoc Machine

The palace was still in disarray. Servants scurried in all directions. People talked in hushed tones. Soldiers stomped about everywhere, often stopping hapless serving girls or boys to search them. Thad had no idea how much of it was military bluster and how much was part of General Parkarov’s investigation.

The phalanx of servants who had shepherded them through the baths took them to a heavily carved door and opened it. Thad forced himself to enter with firm steps and without gaping. Suddenly dealing with a mere bomb seemed easy. The opulent sitting room beyond had an enormous white fireplace. Shards of colored glass were inlaid in the chimney, and they threw sparkling scraps of light across the floor. The furniture was all white and gold, as were heavy carpets that seemed too fine to walk on. Every inch of the white ceiling and the baseboards had been done in gold scrollwork. Trays of food and bottles of wine occupied various end tables. An automaton played a balalaika softly in one corner. The tsar, also in a fresh uniform, sat in a wingback chair near the fireplace, and in the chair next to him was a small, delicate-looking woman with black hair and gray eyes-Tsarina Maria. Strands of pearls were woven through her elaborately braided hair, and the chair could barely contain the great yellow dress with its voluminous skirts and layer upon layer of crinoline. A dozen servants, male and female, waited in the background. Despite his awe at being twice in the same room with royalty in one day, Thad couldn’t help wondering how many peasants a single strand of the tsarina’s pearls would feed.

Sofiya is rubbing off on me, he thought as he bowed before both of them. Sofiya curtsied.

Tsarina Maria came to her feet and rustled across the floor to take both Thad’s hands in hers. They were small and cool, and her eyes were almost luminescent with emotion. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. Lawrenovich.” Her Russian carried a German accent. “I already lost one child years ago, and now you have prevented me from losing five more. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Majesty,” Thad replied, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. “I only did what any man would do.”

“No other man did,” Maria pointed out.

Thad coughed. “May I present Sofiya Ivanova Ekk?”

“Not his wife,” said the tsar.

“I’m sorry I missed your performance today, Miss Ekk,” the tsarina said, “though considering what happened, perhaps not extremely sorry. Come and sit. We will have cake and wine or perhaps tea.”

The servants seated them at chairs rather lower than the tsar’s and tsarina’s and set plates of food and drink at their elbows. Sofiya took her place with elegant grace, as if she had been dining with kings all her life. Thad nervously managed to take his own chair without stumbling, and he was careful not to use his brass hand for the wineglass, in case he spilled. Like the rest of the palace, the room was warm, almost stifling. Later, Thad learned it was because Tsarina Maria’s health was poor, and the entire Winter Palace was heated for her comfort.

“Now, then,” said the tsar with a gold cup of wine in his hand, “you must tell me from the beginning what happened and how you found the bomb.”

With a sidelong glance at Sofiya’s cool demeanor, Thad did so. It occurred to him that this would probably not be the last time he would tell this story.

“We must toast your bravery.” Alexander raised his glass. “To Thaddeus Sharpe Lawrenovich, without whom any of us would be sitting here right now.”

They drank. The wine was smooth and soft and perfect. Thad eyed the food tray-decorated cakes, pate, cold chicken braised in wine, soft cheese, baked salmon, poached pear tartlets, pickled mushrooms, and caviar rolled into strips of sturgeon. He didn’t dare try a bite-his stomach alternated between tight tension and black nausea. The excess of wealth and power exuded by this room and its people made him uneasy and unhappy, and he wanted nothing more than to escape to familiar surroundings as soon as possible.

“You must be rewarded, Mr. Lawrenovich,” the tsarina said. From around her neck she removed a long strand of pearls strung with gold wire. “Accept this favor.”

It was on the tip of Thad’s tongue to refuse such a rich gift. But the circus man in him stepped up and snatched control. “Thank you, great lady,” he said, and slid the strand into his breast pocket. “It is too much.”

“Not compared to lives of my husband and my children,” she said with a sniff. “Now tell me, where did you get the little automaton? My children won’t stop talking about it. Did you build it yourself?”

“No,” Thad said quickly. “I took it-him-from a clockworker some time ago.”

“Yes! You are the famous clockwork killer,” Alexander said. “I have heard your name. How many clockworkers have you destroyed?”

Sofiya’s face remained perfectly impassive, and she fearlessly downed caviar and mushrooms. Thad flushed, then felt foolish for flushing. Why should he feel bad about slaying murderers like the one who had killed his son? The Tsar of Russia was praising him for it, for God’s sake. And yet the feeling remained.

“I don’t…keep track,” Thad said.

“It’s been that many, has it?” The tsar raised his glass again. “You do a great service to mankind. The tsarina and I would enjoy hearing of your exploits.”

“Do tell,” Sofiya said with patently false eagerness. “He won’t speak of it to me, ser.”

Thad saw the opening and exploited it. “It’s man’s talk,” he said. “Your Majesty might insist, of course, but such stories are…indelicate.”

“Why do you do it?” the tsarina asked before her husband could respond. “Clockworkers are dangerous. If they got hold of you, they could kill you. Or much worse.”

“It seemed necessary at the time,” Thad replied quietly. “Clockworkers are dangerous, yes, which means they endanger.” It was very hard to say these things with Sofiya in the room, true or not. Her eyes were perfectly calm, but he felt bad, hypocritical even.

“Clockworkers have their uses,” the tsar said. “They build fantastic machines. But they also bring filth into the world, as you have pointed out. Once we have wrung every bit of use out of them down in the Peter and Paul Fortress, we exterminate them.”

“We have seen,” Sofiya said mildly. “It was very instructive.”

What the hell was she doing? “I have heard,” Thad put in as a way to guide the subject in a new direction, “that the Chinese venerate clockworkers, call them Dragon Men and give them places of honor in their emperor’s court.”

The tsar made a disgusted sound. “Oriental barbarians. Not even the Cossacks would be so foolish. I assume you know what happened in Ukraine.”

“I do,” said Thad.

“That is what comes of letting clockworkers run around loose.” The vehemence in the tsar’s voice turned the air to bile. “They must be caged and controlled before they-”

“Now, now.” The tsarina patted his hand. “You mustn’t let yourself get worked up. You’ve already had a difficult day.”

“Yes, yes.” Alexander drained his cup and it was instantly refilled. “Difficult. Hm. You have a talent for understatement, my dear.”

“If I may, ser,” Sofiya spoke up. “Is it true that you have been thinking of emancipating the serfs?”