Steven Harper - The Havoc Machine

“I need to speak to the tsar,” Thad panted. “He’ll see me. You remember!”

One of the guards drew a pistol. “You are not to see the tsar.”

Thad backed up and trod on Sofiya’s foot, and the other people in the crowd pulled away. “The tsar would not be happy,” Sofiya said sharply, “if he knew you were keeping one of his trusted advisers away from him.”

“Our orders come from General Parkarov,” the soldier snapped.

The general clearly didn’t want Thad talking to the tsar. That made it all the more important. Alexander had reached the stairs to the grandstand only a few paces away, though his back was to Thad and Sofiya. Thad thought about making a break for it, but the soldier cocked his pistol and aimed it at Thad’s chest.

Thad hoisted Dante high above his head. “Call it!”

“Bless my soul!” Dante shouted. “Sharpe is sharp! Doom! Doom!”

The sound of the parrot’s voice brought the tsar’s head around, and his eye fell on Thad and Sofiya. A smile broke across his face, and he gestured at them to join him on the stairs. The men were forced to give way, and Thad shot them a triumphant look.

“Thanks, birdbrain,” he said, setting Dante back on his shoulder. “I promise you some extra oil this evening.”

“Pretty boy,” Dante replied. “Sharpe is sharp.”

One of the soldiers yelped as Sofiya passed him on their way to the grandstand. Thad glanced at her. “What did you do?”

“Nothing important,” she sniffed. “Don’t keep the tsar waiting.”

When they reached the steps to the grandstand, they bowed and curtsied and joined the tsar at his royal box. The tsar sat and Thad and Sofiya stood while the court whispered wildly behind fans and gloved hands. Thad hovered, unsure what to do next.

“A fine day for a hanging,” the tsar said. “I know my wife rewarded you, but allow me to offer you a view from the royal box as my own thanks. Unfortunate about the circus, but there will be other days.”

“The circus?” Thad echoed. “I’m sorry, sire, but I haven’t heard.”

“I canceled today’s performance in favor of this.” He gestured at the gallows, where an automaton painted black was taking up a position at a lever that would open all six trapdoors at once. “Too much in one day stirs the masses.”

“They do seem agitated,” Sofiya said carefully. Maddie the spider slid backward on her shoulder, as if hiding from the tsar. The cages bearing their sad cargo rolled relentlessly up to the gallows and stopped. Soldiers armed with rifle and pistol moved up to each one. An automaton was hanging nooses from the crossbar with mechanical precision. With awful dread, Thad noticed three of the prisoners in the cages were children, not even twelve years old.

“Sire,” Thad said, “I was talking with General Parkarov. As an expert at spotting clockworkers, I advised him that the people he had arrested were perfectly normal and innocent, the children doubly so. I’m curious about the decision to-”

“Some of the ones in the first cages are definitely clockworkers,” the tsar said. “More are coming in a moment. Parkarov convinced me-quite rightly-that it would be best to rid Russia of them. Too dangerous.”

“Are the children dangerous, sire?” Thad asked. His entire body raged with the need to move fast, but he was hobbled by the power of the man sitting next to him. Every word had to be soft and polite and careful.

“Children of gypsies and Jews,” the tsar said dismissively. “No one will miss them. The other peasants were probably hiding clockworkers or plague victims, even if they aren’t clockworkers themselves. We’re getting rid of them, just in case. I’m being merciful in allowing them to be hanged instead of beaten and dismembered.”

“I see. But sire, aren’t you planning to emancipate the serfs? This seems…counter to that.”

The tsar looked honestly surprised. “I’m setting serfs free to bring Russia’s economy into the modern age, not to allow them to make assassination attempts or rise up against the throne. We are making an example of these. But enough of that.” He shifted on the padded bench. “Have you made any progress at finding the clockworker who tried to assassinate me, as my wife requested?”

Thad wanted to hit him. The man was as much admitting that none of the people in the cages had anything to do with the plot to kill him, but he was still planning to carry out their deaths. Thad looked at the children in their cages of gold and decided to risk the truth.

“I know who tried to kill you, sire,” he said slowly. “Though I do not know if you will believe me.”

“Death,” murmured Dante. “Doom, defeat, despair.”

Here, the tsar spun on his bench to stare at him. “Who was it? Tell me!”

At that moment, General Parkarov, without his pipe, marched with several aides out to the gallows. The band of automatons struck up a loud, brassy tune, temporarily overpowering the shouts of the crowd. A pair of soldiers arrested another demonstrator and dragged him, shouting, into the barrack building. The general noticed Thad standing next to the tsar, and the look he gave Thad was an icy blade. If the tsar didn’t believe Thad, the general would be a deadly enemy. But he couldn’t remain silent.

“It was General Parkarov,” Thad said. “His lands and serfs are double mortgaged, and he’ll lose everything in the emancipation. To stop you, he planted a bomb while he was inspecting the Nicholas Hall for safety, and then, when his plot failed, he brought you pieces of a spider and started this massacre to distract you-and me-from finding out what truly happened. I think now he’s trying to stir up the crowds against you.” A number of disparate thoughts were coming together now, and Thad spoke carefully. “He’s ordered his men to be deliberately brutal to try and make the people angry. He’s hoping for a lucky accident, or perhaps he has planned something more direct, and he’s going to blame it on an angry rioter. You should leave, sire, and have the general arrested.”

“I see.” The tsar ran a finger over his side whiskers. “Well, I didn’t survive all those military campaigns by cutting and running, did I? And it wouldn’t be good for the people to see a cowardly tsar.”

“But you do believe him?” Sofiya asked. Maddie peeped over her shoulder.

“I believe it is worth investigating,” the tsar said, “after the hangings.”

“But you can’t do that!” Thad exploded, then remembered himself and backtracked, heart pounding and mouth dry. “That is-apologies, sire-this isn’t necessary. You know none of those people had anything to do with-”

The tsar gave a curt wave that silenced Thad. “The clockworkers should have been executed long ago, and the others don’t matter. These events have their own momentum, and it would be difficult to…put a short circuit in this, I think the new term is.”

Thad’s heart sank. “Sire-”

“Enough. I thank you for your service, Mr. Lawrenovich. Have some wine. And how is that little automaton doing?”

“Despair,” said Dante as an automaton flitted up with a glass for Thad.

Thad watched in helpless dread as General Parkarov’s men dragged the first six people from the cages. They were bound with heavy rope and couldn’t fight back. The automaton band continued to play a disconcertingly merry tune that completely masked the chants of the people behind and beside the grandstand. The tsar sat, surrounded by the court, sipping wine as calmly if he were watching a parade. A hundred responses flicked through Thad’s mind-running up to the gallows to denounce the general or inciting the crowd to riot or even taking the tsar hostage. But none of them would end well. He looked at Sofiya. Her wooden mask had descended over her face, but he saw the tremors in her body. She was upset, angry. If she broke control and exposed herself as a clockworker, she would join the people on that gallows, and Thad and the rest of the circus too, for consorting with her.