Steven Harper - The Havoc Machine

That stopped Thad cold. With everything that had happened, he hadn’t even thought of-

Someone pounded on the door. This brought Sofiya awake, and she snapped upright. Her hair stood out in a golden haystack. “Who? What?”

“Doom,” said Dante.

Now what? Thad reached for the door, wishing things would slow down for just a moment so he could catch his breath and sort things out. Nathan Storm was on the steps, dressed in his customary Aran sweater and fisherman’s cap. He was handsome man, no doubt about that, and more than one woman in the circus had lamented over his romantic choices.

“Oi,” he said. “Sleepyhead! We’ve been wondering when you were going to make an appearance.”

“What do you need, Nathan?” Thad asked tiredly.

Nathan brandished a handful of papers. “We’ve been getting notes and telegrams all morning from Lord Snootyfruits and Lady Tenderslippers. Every one of them wants you and Nikolai to dine with them or attend their parties or appear in their boxes at the ballet. Three of them are offering marriage to various daughters and sisters.”

“Oh God.” A year ago, even a month ago, Thad would have been thrilled at this development. Now it just filled his chest with heavy dread.

“And Dodd wants you back into the ring,” Nathan went on relentlessly. “The show must go on. The Stilgores were both hurt yesterday-he twisted his ankle and she broke her arm when the explosion knocked them off their stilts. The lions and Betsy are still nervous and in no condition to go in front of an audience. That means we’re short, short, short. You and Sofiya and Nikolai are our new headliners.”

“Told you,” Nikolai said.

“Bless my soul,” said Dante.

“Grand! Your parrot is fixed,” Nathan said with relentless cheer. “Can you do you the pirate sword swallower again? We could use it.”

“Not yet,” Thad hedged. “Look-”

“Oh, and some soldiers are looking for you.”

“Soldiers?” Thad was on full alert now. “What do you mean soldiers?”

“My Russian isn’t the best. Something about General Parkarov wanting to talk to you about your promise to the tsarina? They’re coming now. Jesus, Thad-what have you been doing, then?”

Even as Nathan spoke, a contingent of four stern-faced soldiers in red uniforms came around another wagon into view. Thad swallowed. Sofiya, dressed in a simple dark skirt and blouse, came to the door.

“What is happening?” she demanded.

“Another trip to the Winter Palace, I expect.” Thad held out his arm so Dante could leap down to his shoulder, then moved down the steps so he wouldn’t have to touch Sofiya. “You stay with Nikolai.”

“What do I do about these invitations?” Nathan asked.

“Refuse politely and invite them to the show,” Thad said.

The soldiers said little beyond repeating what Nathan had said, that General Parkarov wanted to see Thad-not Sofiya. At least he didn’t seem to be under arrest. But they took him across the Field of Mars toward the barrack on the western side, not to the Winter Palace.

A line of wheeled cages stretched across the muddy field like a twisted parody of a train. The cages were crammed with men, women, and even children. Some cried out and reached through the bars. Others huddled inside like frightened animals. A few were clearly dead. Their clothes said they came from all classes, from street poor to well born. Even as Thad watched, horrified, a team of automatons hauled at the cages, tugging the train toward the bridge, the same one the clockworker had come across earlier in his cage.

“What’s this?” Thad asked, eyes wide. “What’s going on?” But the soldiers didn’t answer. They firmly marched him into the wide blue barrack. The interior didn’t match the stunning exterior-long, twisting hallways of scuffed wood, no real attempt at decoration, the heavy smell of tobacco and sweat, spare offices, occasional sitting rooms, and long rows of barrack rooms. Soldiers of all ages in various states of dress rushed everywhere, looking harried. Uniformed boys as young as five dodged around carrying messages, laundry, and parcels. Thad wondered how many had been conscripted.

He was shown to a rather larger office redolent with overly sweet tobacco smoke. General Parkarov was waiting for him, pipe in mouth. He greeted Thad heartily.

“We need you down in the Peter and Paul Fortress,” he said.

“You speak English?” Thad asked in surprise.

“Yes, and I would enjoy the chance to practice. Come-my driver is waiting.”

They trooped back outside, where a two-horse carriage awaited them. The line of cages was already gone, but another line of empty ones was taking its place. In the city beyond, Thad’s ears picked up hoofbeats and crashes and screams and the occasional pistol shot. His mouth went dry and his brass hand clutched the side of the carriage as he and the general boarded.

“What is happening, General?” he demanded. “Please explain!”

The driver whipped up the horses and carriage jolted forward. “You know that my investigation into the bombing turned up those foreign spiders in the Nicholas Hall,” the general said. “That can only mean one thing-a clockworker used those spiders to place the bomb under the tsar’s throne. We must find him. Even if the tsar hadn’t ordered it, I would do so.”

“Actually, I’d like to discuss that with you, sir,” Thad said carefully. “No clockworker would use a tool so blunt as dynamite. It-”

“Clearly one did.” The general waved Thad’s objections aside. “It is well known that a number of clockworkers run about loose in Saint Petersburg. They come here from Poland and Belarus and Lithuania, sniffing for the money they need for their inventions. It’s the only thing that stops them-not having enough money or materials to build what they want. That, and men like us.” He clapped Thad on the back. “Ah, the bridge.”

The horses clopped onto the massive pontoon bridge that spanned the River Neva. Traffic was light this morning, allowing the carriage to make good time. The boats turned upside down to make up the pontoons barely bobbed on the inky water. Skiffs and small boats glided about, hemmed in by the low bridges that divided the Neva into sections. To Thad’s left, the wide, deep river flowed around a number of large islands, where it emptied into the Gulf of Finland and ultimately, the Baltic Sea. The breeze on the bridge was cold and smelled of fish. Thad wished he had worn a heavier coat.

“Do you know Saint Petersburg?” the general asked, and continued before he got an answer. “There to the west is Vasilyevsky Island. You see the Kunstkammer there on the bank, Russia’s first museum, founded by Peter the Great himself! I am related to him, you know, on my mother’s side.”

“Are you?” Thad asked casually. “Do you have estates, then?”

“Oh yes. Quite extensive. I am forced to stay here near the tsar and can only visit irregularly. Would you like to visit yourself? My holdings are very beautiful in the spring.”

“That sounds wonderful. Let me ask Ringmaster Dodd about his plans for the circus, and we can talk of it later,” Thad replied, careful to be vague. He pointed at Vasilyevsky Island, which spread across the horizon to the west. About half of it seemed to be wooded. The other half was grown over with buildings. “What’s that building near the museum?”

“Ah! The Russian Academy of Sciences. Human beings work there. No clockworkers. I have heard your ringmaster is a tinker. He might enjoy talking to some of our good Russian engineers, yes?”

“I’m sure.”

“Past it, downstream, are the docks, of course. The pride of Saint Petersburg! They are the reason my cousin Peter the Great wanted this city built in the first place-to give Russia a good seaport. Everything imaginable comes into Russia through those docks. Cousin Peter ordered a foundry built down there, in fact. Much easier to smelt raw ore brought in by the ships when the foundry is by the shipyards. My cousin Peter was a great thinker!”