Steven Harper - The Havoc Machine

The flames were consuming the bridge now, and eating their way toward Sofiya. The heat was intense, and the smoke clogged her throat. The burning bridge was already earning attention, though it was taking time in the aftermath of the spider invasion. Sofiya could be away before anyone managed to ask questions. With another glance at the confused spiders, she remounted Kalvis and galloped back to the circus.

* * *

He was the third one. His name was Nikolai. He was defective. But he had a mission. The signal in his head told him these things.

“Dante,” he grunted. “Thad. Sofi-ya.”

The signal in his head and the wheels that spun in his body told him what to do. It never occurred to him to question either, and that, said the signal, was what made him defective. But he didn’t care. It didn’t occur to him to care. He climbed up the stairs and lurched into daylight. It was difficult to walk. The signal fought with his memory wheels to command his legs and arms, but he didn’t care about that, either. He was the third one. His name was Nikolai. He was defective. But he had a mission.

“Sofi-ya,” he said again.

The last of the havoc spiders scampered away, following the trail of blood. Nikolai followed after, getting practice with walking, then shambling into a run. Running was somehow easier. A few people-humans-poked their heads out of windows or doors as he passed and just as hastily withdrew when they caught sight of him. Nikolai arrived at the bridge in time to see it erupt in smoke and flame. Some of the spiders fell into the water, and Nikolai knew that would end their existence.

Farther down the riverbank, he saw boats and rafts. Nikolai shambled down that way, followed by a number of spiders. The people at the boats all ran away when they saw him and the spiders, and he was able to get into a rowboat. Fourteen spiders got in with him. The oars took a little work, but soon he had the trick of it.

His name was Nikolai. He was defective. But he had a mission.

Red headquarters was in chaos. Zygmund Padlewski and the other men rushed about in all directions, some with grim determination, others shouting and gesticulating at one another, and yet others busying themselves with boxes and crates. Flatbed carts and hand lorries were piled up at one of the tunnel entrances. The spiders-Mr. Griffin’s spiders-ran in all directions too, most of them carrying bits of equipment. The clockworkers had varying reactions to this. Two continued to work. Two sprawled on the floor in a drugged sleep. And two more had apparently decided to join in the fun and scamper about. Nikolai held Thad’s hand tightly at the top of the high tunnel Thad had used the first time he visited Mr. Griffin’s lair.

The brain, the jar, and the machine that made up Mr. Griffin still took up a great deal of the floor space, and the machinery added its noise to the turmoil. Thad didn’t know what to make of any of it.

“Stay here,” he said to Nikolai. He had waited quite some time for Sofiya to return, and the longer he waited, the harder it had been to sit still. He had no idea where she’d gone and couldn’t follow her. The only thing he could think of was to come and talk to Mr. Griffin, who clearly knew more than he was letting on, but after the havoc spider attack, Thad had been unwilling to leave Nikolai alone or with anyone at the circus. He hadn’t counted on such disarray here underground.

“I want to stay with you,” Nikolai said. “It’s dark up here.”

“Pretty boy, pretty boy,” said Dante on Thad’s shoulder.

“You shouldn’t go down there,” Thad replied, but he was wavering. “I probably should have left you with Mama Berloni, but-”

“A son stays with the papa,” Nikolai stated firmly.

It was the wrong thing to say. “Stay here,” Thad barked, and climbed down the rungs to the main room without another word. Mr. Griffin, through what ever mechanism gave him sight, noticed him immediately.

“Mr. Sharpe!” he said smoothly. “Excuse the disorder. Everything is happening so quickly, and you’re here a little early. Master Primeval! I need you again.”

The clockworker with all the plants looked up from his work. “But my plastids are nearly-”

“Now!”

Primeval sighed, picked up a beaker, sniffed the contents, and set it back down in favor of a corked test tube. He held it up and grimaced.

“How can I be early when I wasn’t even planning to arrive?” Thad asked. Alarms were blaring in his head. “Perhaps I should just come back later, when I’m not disturbing-”

Primeval threw the test tube at him. Thad automatically twisted out of the way, and it shattered on the stones at his feet. Sweet-smelling dust puffed in a small cloud. The room rocked around Thad. Dizzily, he tried to keep his feet, but he was already on his knees.

“Later,” said Mr. Griffin from a long ways away, “can have so many meanings.”

* * *

“Pretty boy! Pretty, pretty boy! Doom!”

Dante’s voice pierced the darkness surrounding Thad, though his eyes were heavy. Something hard forced its way between his lips, and a cloying, licorice-tasting liquid trickled down his throat. The darkness sucked itself away from his brain and he bolted upright. The spider on his chest clattered away. He was lying on the floor where he had fallen.

“What the hell?” He spat out the rest of the liquid. Absinthe.

“It does taste dreadful, I know,” said Mr. Griffin. “Or rather, I vaguely remember. I haven’t actually eaten or drunk in years. It’s tremendously freeing in some ways, but there are times when I miss it.”

Thad got to his feet. A lot of the machinery in the room had been shifted about. Most of it was in wheeled crates with cables snaking from them. The clockworkers and their equipment were gone entirely, even Primeval’s plants. Zygmund and his friends, however, were still at their desks. Zygmund was speaking urgently into a wireless microphone, and one of the other men was tapping out code on a telegraph sender. Dante sat poised above Thad’s head on a high crate, which was scarred with fresh beak marks. Next to him were two spiders, bent and broken.

“Applesauce!” he squawked, and fluttered brass feathers. Thad put up an arm so Dante could climb down to his customary shoulder perch. With a sudden stab Thad thought of Nikolai. He whirled and looked up at the entry tunnel. Nikolai, half in shadow, looked down at him. He hadn’t moved. Thad breathed a sigh of relief.

All right, he thought. Niko is still here, and I’m not dead. That means Griffin wants us both alive. The question I have to ask is, why? And why did he say I was early?

“As you can see, we’re in the final stages now,” Griffin said from his speakers. They were now mounted in front of his jar. The pink brain tissue sat in the liquid, unmoving. “I apologize for drugging you with Primeval’s pollen, and regret that the antidote is absinthe, but a soporific is handy to have about. It lets me move the clockworkers with minimal fuss.”

“How long was I asleep?” Thad demanded.

“Only a few hours. It’s nearly sunset up top. And now we’re on schedule. The peasant uprising is about to begin!”

This wasn’t the response Thad had been looking for. “You can’t be serious! This is the wrong time. No one has arms, you don’t have enough organization, you don’t have-”

“This is the perfect time. We must move before the tsar can turn this anger into more hatred against clockworkers. The army lost its commanding officer and has fallen into chaos after that spider attack. The Field of Mars will be the perfect staging ground.”

“The circus is there!” Thad blurted. “People will be hurt!”