Khronos (Hanover and Singh Book 3) (12 page)

Stepan nodded at the ground next to him. “Take a break. We are almost at the gate.”

Vladimir cast a glance over the wall at the station glowing in the sun before resting next to Stepan. “Are you sure, Kapitan? Sure you want to leave me to find Nikolas?”

“
Da
, I am sure,” Stepan nodded. “But not happy about it.” He paused as the two Cossack men accompanying Lena scuffed their boots in the dirt as they slid to a stop beneath the lip of the wall, dropping three small crates of ammunition at their feet. Stepan looked at Lena. “We are all here then.”

“You have a plan? Because I cannot drive a steam train.” Lena picked up a handful of pebbles from the ground.

“I hope to convince some of the engineers to come with us.”

“Convince?” Lena laughed, the pebbles rattled in the palm of her hand as she shook them. She tapped the barrel of the Puckle Gun. “I think we can convince them.”

“Bad choice of words,” Stepan wiped the dust from his hands. “Remember, Lena Timofeyevich, these men and women are from Arkhangelsk. They are our people.”

“
Your
people,” Lena jabbed the knuckle of her finger at Stepan’s chest. “
My
people are free, beyond the gates of the city.”

“What is your plan, Kapitan,” Vladimir shushed Lena.

Pushing himself onto his knees, Stepan peered over the lip of the wall. Scanning the ground between the gates and the dormant trains and carriages idle on the tracks, he spotted two emissaries and their controllers patrolling either side of the main lines leading into the centre of the station. Stepan sat on the ground crossed his legs and smiled. He drew a crude square in the dust at his feet with his finger.

“We are here,” Stepan leaned forward and drew a cross in the middle of the line furthest away from him. “Put the
Drakon
here, Yuri. Your friend...”

“Dmitri,” Yuri punched his comrade on the shoulder.

Stepan tapped the cross in the dirt. “Dmitri can help you. It is up to you to get the attention of the emissaries and keep them busy. Vlad?”

“
Da
, Kapitan?”

“You and I are going to storm the gates while they open up with the Puckle Gun.” Stepan drew small oblongs in the dirt. “We can use the trains and carriages for cover.”

“How many emissaries did you see?”

“Just two, Vlad. It shouldn’t be a problem. I think the Germans are stretched pretty thin no matter how many machines they have unloaded.”

“They are still unloading,” Lena crouched on her heels. “Dmitri heard some of the stividors talking before he joined us.”

“Then we need to move fast before they can get more emissaries down here.” Stepan drew a large rectangle in the centre of the perimeter he sketched in the dirt. “This is the station. Vladimir and I will get inside and find the engineers.”

“Just like that?” Lena rocked back and forth. “It will not be easy.”

“That is why you are staying put until I call you. They will already be on edge. No reason to spook them further with a Cossack in tow.”

One by one, Lena tossed the pebbles from her hand onto Stepan’s dusty diagram. “I can be very persuasive. Perhaps you will need me sooner? Besides,” Lena upturned her palm and emptied the last of the pebbles on top of Stepan’s map. “I tend to get bored easily.”

“Another reason to keep you out of trouble until we need you.”

“Kapitan,” Vladimir tapped Stepan on the shoulder. “The sooner we get going, the sooner you can return. To Anna and Nikolas.”

Stepan traced his finger around the face of the fake watch. He looked each of them in the eye, lingering for a moment on Vladimir. “You all know what to do?”

Lena stood up. “Everybody but me.” She took a step closer to the wall and peered over it. “Perhaps I will do this my way?”

“Lena?” Stepan scuffed the map as he spun to his feet.

“See you inside the station, Kapitan,” Lena placed both hands on top of the wall and vaulted over it, landing on the other side with scrunch of pebbles and grit beneath her boots.

Yuri slapped Dmitri on the shoulder. Grasping the barrel of the Puckle Gun in his hand, he dragged it closer to the wall. Dmitri opened the wooden crates of ammunition and began loading the first cylinder to be fired.

“Lena,” Stepan hissed as he leaned against the wall.

“Don’t worry, Kapitan,” Lena pulled a long, double-barrelled flintlock pistol from inside her sheepskin, grasping the handle in her left hand. “I will be very discreet.” Walking back to the wall, she beckoned to Vladimir. As he leaned in close she grabbed him by the lapel and kissed him. “For Russia,” she smiled as she released him. Stepan stared at Vladimir as Lena slapped the Poruchik on the cheek, turned and skipped into the brush and gorse struggling to grow between the railroad tracks.

“Don’t look at me, Kapitan,” Vladimir shook his head.

“There should be a chapter on Cossacks in the training manual.” Stepan nodded at Yuri before pulling Vladimir in a low run toward the gate.

“I’m not sure one chapter would be enough, Kapitan.” Vladimir bent his back as he ran alongside Stepan. “But it would make for an interesting read, I am sure.”

“Focus, Vlad,” Stepan glanced over the wall as Lena darted from one carriage to the next. “At least she is moving quietly.”

The boom of the first of Lena’s two barrels echoed between the carriage sides, masking the ricochet of the lead ball as it bounced off the triple-layered brass plates of the emissary closest to her. Stepan paused to watch as the Cossack dropped to one knee, steadied the pistol in the crook of her right arm, breathed out and fired. Hidden behind a gunpowder cloud, Lena stood and ran for the cover of a large, rusting locomotive. Vladimir pushed Stepan onward.

“She
was
moving quietly, Vlad,” Stepan smirked.

“She is doing her part, Kapitan,” Vladimir flinched as the
Drakon
belched fire from its position at the wall behind them. “Now we must do ours.”

Stepan lurched forward. No longer wary of being spotted, he ran along the wall, sliding to a stop at the gates. Vladimir scuffed to a stop beside him, looking over Stepan’s head at the second emissary as it hesitated under its controller’s hand while Lena led its partner away from the station.

“We can’t go, Kapitan.” Vladimir pointed at the emissary. “It might not be looking this way, but neither is it leaving its post.”

“Not yet, no,” Stepan pushed Vladimir back behind the cover of the brick gate post. “Perhaps the...”

The thud of musket balls impacting the dirt and the occasional pling of metal turned their heads. The emissary took a massive step forward, its controller turning it toward the incoming fire, using its brass bulk as a shield.

“It is working, Kapitan.” Vladimir slapped Stepan on the shoulder.

“Wait,” Stepan gripped Vladimir’s arm as the lieutenant took a step forward. “The controllers are rarely alone. There will be some men with Polyphase rifles, or worse.”

“There can be nothing worse than a Puckle Gun,” Vladimir grinned. “I think that will keep them busy.”

“Yes,” Stepan pushed past Vladimir. “There,” he pointed at three men with rifles exiting a carriage behind the emissary. Stepan held up his hand. “Wait.” Vladimir hovered at Stepan’s side. Crouching, his head was nearly on a level with Stepan’s. “Okay, go.” Stepan leaped forward, running toward the nearest carriage, the sound of Vladimir’s flat footfalls urging him on.

Vladimir paused at a cry of pain piercing a beat in the
Drakon
’s breath. He slowed to a stop in the open between the carriage and the gate.

“Vlad,” Stepan hissed. “Move.”

“That was Lena, Kapitan,” Vladimir took a single step forward.

“Damn it,” Stepan thumped the side of the carriage. “Come on, Vlad.” Fists clenched, Stepan took a step out of the shadow of the carriage.

“I am going to save the Cossack, Kapitan. You must get to the engineers.”

“Don’t make me order you, Poruchik Pavlutskiy,” Stepan raised his finger.

“It would be the first time,” Vladimir flinched at the frazzled report of a Polyphase rifle, twisting to the ground under a bolt of energy as it zapped into his shoulder.

“Vlad,” Stepan ducked low as a second and a third blister of charged particles bracketed his position. Retreating into cover, Stepan looked for signs of life from the Poruchik, but Vladimir did not move, the dust around his body puffing into his uniform as the riflemen jogged to his position.

҉

Bulbous cauldrons of sodium crystals illuminated Murrayfield Hydrogen Park’s tallest wooden tether derrick, casting timbered shadows across the road leading to the passenger embarkation port. Sitting in the shotgun seat by the side of the driver, Egmont slapped the side panel of the steamcarriage with his palm. The Admiral turned in his seat as Noonan rolled down the window and stuck his head out. “We’ve arrived,” Egmont pointed at the ground crew waiting for them at the base of the derrick. “Wake up Smith.”

Noonan pulled his head back inside the carriage, causing it to rock as the driver slowed to a stop. Egmont clambered down from the seat and waited for Noonan and Smith to join him.

“That wasn’t so bad,” Smith wiped his glasses.

“Inside, maybe,” Egmont prodded his cheeks with a gloved hand. “Up top it was a little chilly.”

“I thought you were used to the weather, Reginald?”

“Don’t get smart, Smith. It is everyman’s right to grow old.” Egmont coaxed movement into his brass leg by bending his knee back and forth while Noonan collected their luggage. He stopped the Major as he passed. “Expecting trouble, Major?”

“You said we should be prepared,” Noonan jerked the long canvas rifle case in his right hand. “I took the liberty of procuring a Lightning Jezail from the captured weapons armoury.”

“A Lightning Jezail,” Smith reached out to touch the canvas case. “I haven’t seen one of those since I stopped campaigning in India.”

“This one is likely
from
one of your campaigns.” Noonan nodded toward the waiting crew. “I had best get all this loaded into the elevator.” He strode past the two men.

“Don’t get too friendly with the Major, Smith,” Egmont kicked at a stone with the steam-powered suspension tip of his brass leg. “He is an instrument to be used. That is all.”

“And yet,” Smith looked up at the Admiral, “I have found such instruments to be far more easily wielded if one shows an interest.”

“Is that how you recruited Singh?”

“Hari?” Smith’s cheeks creased with a broad smile. “Hari recruited himself. He was perfectly suited as a pundit in every way. He once told me of the time he stared down a steam-powered
warphant
, just to impress a girl.”

“In India?”

“Yes, on the banks of the river in the Indus Valley, near Leh. A beautiful area. Such a rich palette of brown and green and blue. A watercolour artist’s dream. You would love it, Reginald.”

“I am hardly an art connoisseur, Smith. Although that Turner fellow has a good eye for a seascape.” Egmont gestured toward the elevator as Noonan finished loading the last piece of luggage. “Are they smoking?”

“What?” Smith stared at the ground crew as they lounged on the luggage and assorted crates inside the elevator, filling long-stemmed pipes with plugs of tobacco they pinched from leather pouches on their belts.

“They are a belligerent lot,” Noonan scowled as he approached. “Wouldn’t lift a finger to help with the luggage. Carping on about extraordinary hours, and going home to their wives and sweethearts.” He fixed Egmont with a stare. “I don’t trust them, Admiral.”

“We don’t have to trust them, Noonan,” Egmont brushed past the Major. “We just have to
order
them about.” Stumping up to the wooden elevator, Egmont waited for the steam to finish piffing out of the valve in his brass leg. He stared at each of the ground crew, lingering over the older men, pointing at the most surly of them. “You,” Egmont thrust out his hand, two fingers pointing at the man’s chest. “Are these miserable swabs yours?”

“Beg your pardon, sir?” the man stood.

“Admiral,” Egmont took a step forward. “That’s my rank.”

“Admiral, sir...”

“Just the rank, you pathetic cur. If this was my ship I would have you keel-hauled all the way from Scotland to Denmark.”

“Beg your pardon, Admiral,” the youngest member of the crew slid to his feet. “You can’t keel haul on an airship,” he sniggered.

“No?” Egmont grabbed a length of hawser line coiled on a crate at the entrance to the elevator. “Let’s find out, shall we?”

“Now, wait a minute, Admiral,” the senior crewman raised his hands.

“We don’t have a minute,” Egmont threw down the rope and jerked his thumb at Smith and Noonan as they joined him. “We didn’t have a minute before, and we sure as a mermaid’s frozen nipple don’t have one now. You might not recognise the rank of a Major in the Queen’s Own 5
th
Hussars, nor his companions, but,” Egmont pointed up at the airship tethered from the thick mast at the top of the derrick, “I think we can agree that when the Queen orders her private, and experimental, airship to be fuelled and stocked in short order, there is a damn good reason for doing so. I’ll have each of your names by the time this elevator reaches the airship, and if any one of you as much as thinks a belligerent, treasonous thought,” Egmont picked up the end of the rope. “Well, there won’t be much left for his favourite squeeze to take hold of after I have had him keel-hauled by the...”