Steven Harper - The Havoc Machine

“He needs new feathers and a new eye,” she barked. Her new dress was a wreck, and her hair was a tangled thornbush. “Heat up the forge and fetch that brass spanner. We can melt it down to make-”

“Miss,” Thad interrupted, and this time he dodged her slap. “Miss, it’s time to stop.”

“I decide when it is time to stop!” she howled. “You will-”

He flung a bucket of cold water over her. It soaked her from head to foot. She gasped at him, her mouth opening and closing like a salmon’s. Cautiously, he waited a moment.

“Thad?” she said at last in a small voice. “What happened?”

“It’s me,” he said, and it was a relief to see the madness gone from her eyes. “You’re all right. We’re still in the Black Tent. It must be after midnight by now.”

She looked around fearfully. “What did I do? Oh God, did I hurt anyone? Did any person-?”

“Everyone’s fine,” he said neutrally. “You hurt no one.”

“Then what’s this?” She touched his cheek where she had slapped him earlier, and he moved his head away. “I hurt you, didn’t I? Dear heaven, what else did I do? Tell me the truth, Thad. I have to know!”

Another piece fell into place. “That’s the true hold Mr. Griffin has on you, isn’t it? About your sister.”

She sagged, soaked and sobbing, into Thad’s arms. Thad caught her before she fell, then eased her onto a stool and backed away again.

“Olenka can no longer walk because of me,” she wept. “I did something to her, I do not even remember what. She can’t even bear to look at me now, and who can blame her? I send her all my money so she can live and pay the doctors, and still it is never enough. I feel the monster.”

Thad nodded. He felt flat, cold, and his words came out almost stony. He had allowed himself to get too close. He had forgotten her true nature. No matter what she said or did, this woman was a clockworker, volatile and dangerous, and he needed to remember that at all times. He wouldn’t kill her, not until she had helped him against Mr. Griffin, but he couldn’t trust her. His face throbbed where she had hit him.

“I’d wondered about that,” he mouthed. “It’ll be all right. It wasn’t your fault.”

“Then whose was it?” she demanded, still sobbing. “Every moment, I must keep myself under control, or I will do it again. I have done it again. I hurt you.”

Was she truly sorry or was she trying to manipulate him again? Best to play along, regardless. “A few slaps and insults never hurt anyone,” he said. “And Griffin can’t hurt her, you know.”

“He can. He said if I ever refused him, he would drag Olenka to me and push me into a clockwork fugue, just as you did, so I would finish her off.”

A finger of guilt crept up Thad’s spine. He had indeed pushed Sofiya into this fugue and upset her. But no. He was tired of balancing on a knife. Sofiya was a clockworker, and Thad knew clockworkers. He would keep a close eye on her, use her to find Griffin, and then he would have to eliminate her, too. Before she did more than slap.

“We won’t let Mr. Griffin do anything to you,” he said aloud. “We’ll stop him.”

Sofiya suddenly seemed to realize what she was doing. She straightened on the stool and turned her head to dry her eyes on her sopping sleeve, with little success. “Well, thank you, then. It feels better to hear someone say that.” She crossed the boxcar floor to the worktable and Nikolai the automaton. “But we have other things to attend.”

From a drawer she produced a flask of brandy that probably belonged to Dodd and emptied the contents down the automaton’s throat, then pressed a switch behind one ear. He shuddered all over and blinked several times.

“Nikolai,” he said. “My name is Nikolai.”

“Yes, it is,” Thad said. He suppressed the happy little thrill went through him at the sound of the boy’s voice and kept his voice neutral. “Are you all right?”

“I…I…” He hesitated, a machinelike pause. “I am operating well. I am fine. Yes. Fine.” He held up his metal hands and wriggled the fingers. “Fine.”

“What is the last you remember?” Sofiya asked.

Nikolai cocked his head. “I danced for the tsar. The children wanted me to sit with them. Thad reached under the tsar’s throne. And now I’m here in the Black Tent. What happened?”

“There was an explosion,” Thad said. “You were injured. Sofiya repaired you.”

“Did I die, then?”

The question caught Thad off guard. The automaton was still good at that. “I…don’t know if the question applies to something that was never-”

“You are not dead,” Sofiya said firmly. “Are you hungry?”

“No. But I think I will be soon.”

“Good. That is good.” Sofiya picked up Dante, who was his normal, shabby self, but still inert, and handed him to Thad. “I see I found the time for this as well. You’ll need to wind him.”

An enormous yawn split Thad’s head. Sofiya mimicked him, unusual for clockworkers, who rarely slept. Apparently not wanting to be left out, Nikolai followed suit.

“I think it’s food and bed for me first,” Thad said.

“Yes.” Sofiya staggered slightly. “I have not slept in over a week now, and I think that is the limit for even a clockworker.”

“I will watch you sleep, then,” Nikolai said. “And I will wind Dante.”

The exhaustion grew worse as they stumbled through the dark circus back to Thad’s wagon, where he and Sofiya downed a cold supper. By now, Thad felt numb, physically and emotionally. Sofiya was a clockworker, Nikolai was an automaton. He had stepped over the knife. Thad only vaguely remembered undressing and climbing into bed.

* * *

“Bless my soul! Sharpe is sharp! Applesauce! Bless my soul!”

Thad barely stopped himself from sitting up and cracking his head on the wagon roof. He was in his own bed above the wardrobe. Sunlight streamed through the side window of the wagon, creating a slanted square of gold on the opposite wall. It was chilly-no one had made a fire in the tiny stove last night. Sofiya lay sleeping on a pull-down shelf bed beneath the window. Dante was doing energetic somersaults on his hanging perch, and Nikolai stood beneath it with the tireless patience of a machine.

“Good morning! Good morning!” Dante chirped.

“That’s new.” Thad ran a hand through curly dark hair. His muscles were stiff and achy from everything that had happened yesterday.

“I taught it to him,” Nikolai said. “Good morning!”

“Hm.” Thad climbed down from the bed, shivering a little. He would have to get some coal for the stove. To his surprise, he was able to manage buttons when he pulled on his clothes. At the last moment, he remembered the strand of pearls the tsarina had given him and transferred them from yesterday’s coat to his pocket.

“What are we doing today?” Nikolai asked.

Thad regarded him. The little automaton, with his thoroughly inhuman face and hands and his utterly human eyes and voice, still acted the little boy, but last night had been a sharp reminder that he was indeed just a machine. The illusion of humanity was realistic, but like any skilled circus performance, it was still an illusion, and eventually it would end. It was foolish to become attached to an illusion. That road only led to pain and loss. It would probably be best to hand Nikolai over to Dodd after all. Nikolai would protest, perhaps even cry, but it would be nothing more than noise created by steel and wire. As well to become upset by sad songs played on the calliope.

“I think,” Thad said, “that it’s time for you to-”

“I’ll bet Dodd will want us in the circus now,” Nikolai interrupted. “We should work on our spot before the show this afternoon.”