Khronos (Hanover and Singh Book 3) (5 page)

“A long day?”

“Yes.”

Egmont stopped pacing. “I have been
summoned
, Smith.”

“And you don’t like it.”

“No, I do not.”

“There’s not a lot you can...” Smith paused at the opening of the drawing room doors.

Marsland, the queen’s courtier, walked in, stepping to one side as a tall African officer of the 5th Queen's Own Hussars strode into the room, carrying his bearskin shako in the crook of his right arm.

“Noonan,” Egmont acknowledged the officer’s arrival with a brief wave of his hand. “This is Smith.”

Noonan walked over to Smith and extended his hand. “Major Noonan.”

“Yes,” Smith shook Noonan’s hand, “the Admiral mentioned you over a warm beer in
The Dog and Thistle
. Have you ever been there?”

“
The Dog and Thistle
?” Noonan let go of Smith’s hand and positioned himself between the armchair and Egmont. “Yes, it is a popular establishment.” He glanced at Egmont. “You know why we are here, Admiral?”

“You know I do, Major.” Egmont scowled. “Will Her Majesty be joining us?”

“I have spoken at length with Her Majesty...”

“Of course you have,” Egmont’s brass leg piffed as he resumed pacing.

“Her Majesty is,” Noonan shuffled his feet, “rather disappointed.”

“With what, exactly?” Smith crossed his legs and leaned back in the armchair.

“Careful, Noonan.” Egmont stopped pacing by the side of the drinks cabinet. Pouring himself a large measure of whisky in a cut glass, he leaned on the cabinet and glared at the Major.

“Careful?” Smith stared at Egmont. “Is there something you are not telling me?”

“I don’t know what you do, or do not know, Mr. Smith, but the Admiral and I had a very specific set of orders pertaining to the young woman.”

“Romney Wallendorf?” Smith shifted position.

“Oh no, sir,” Noonan watched as Egmont drained his whisky. “I am referring to the scientist, Miss Hanover.”

“Really?” Smith moved to stand up.

“Don’t get up, Smith.” Egmont slammed the glass down on the surface of the cabinet.

“Then do you care to explain, Reginald?”

“All you and your office need to know,” Egmont glared at Noonan before continuing, “is that Her Majesty has a particular interest in anyone going by the name of
Hanover
.”

“A very particular interest,” Noonan added. “So much so, Admiral, she has empowered me to seek alternative means of
satisfying
her interest.”

“Such as?” Egmont reached for the whisky decanter.

“Employing agents with the sole task of discovering the whereabouts of Miss Hanover, without the distraction of some worthless machine or other.”

“Worthless machine?” Smith pushed himself out of his chair.

“Who?” Egmont raised the glass to his mouth, crushing the whiskers of his white beard against the lip of the glass.

Noonan fished a square of paper from his pocket. “A man called Blaidd.”

“Blaidd?” Smith turned to look at Egmont. The Admiral drained his second glass of whisky.

“A Welshman, I believe.” Noonan stuffed the paper back into his pocket. “He came highly recommended, although I couldn’t tell you why. The man was in a bit of a sorry state when my men found him lying in an alley south of St James’ Park.”

Smith pushed past Noonan and walked toward the drawing room doors.

“Where are you going, Smith?” Egmont put down his glass.

“Out,” Smith turned at the door. “Where I can do something about this debacle you have set in motion.”

҉

“Dieter,” Luise whispered as the German mechanic standing in front of the officer turned and smiled. Leaning into Hari as the airship listed to starboard, Luise looked from Dieter to the German officer and back again. “It is good to see you again.”

“Hello, F-fräulein Hanover,” Dieter dipped his head smartly, steadying himself with a hand on the back of an empty chair.

“You know these people, Mueller?” Blom staggered to one side before recovering with a shuffle of his feet.

“Yes, Herr Blom. I instructed F-fräulein Hanover in the f-finer art of steamracing.” Dieter gestured at Hari. “Of course, Herr Singh was a lost cause.”

“Truly,” Hari let go of Luise’s hand. Tugging a napkin from the lap of a passenger, he held it to his mouth as he made his way to back to Luise.

“Hari?” Luise smoothed her hand on Hari’s arm.

Hari shook his head. He looked at the German officer and glanced at the door to the bridge.

“And what are you doing aboard
The Flying Scotsman
?” Blom flicked his fingers, beckoning to the officers seated at his table. “There is no record of you on the ship’s manifest.”

“They came aboard just before we launched,” Jacques handed Hari an empty bowl he swiped from the buffet table. “Just in case, Mr. Singh.”

“Thank you,” Hari clutched at the bowl.

Jacques turned to Blom. “I was just taking them to see the Captain.”

“Why?” Blom reached out toward Luise. Gripping the strap of her satchel with his right hand, he nodded at the two officers approaching from behind them. “What is this?”

“It’s none of your business,” Luise pulled at the strap. “It’s personal.”

“Nothing belonging to stowaways is
personal
. I will see it.”

“Please,” Hari wiped the napkin across his mouth. “Please, do not touch my friend.”

“Mueller,” Blom’s fingers turned white as he gripped the satchel strap, “you will inform the Captain that he must change course. We are to proceed directly to mainland Germany.”

“But these are my f-friends, Herr Blom.”

“It is
Oberleutnant
Blom, you stammering f-fool,” Blom’s knuckles cracked as he slapped Dieter across the face with the back of his left hand, toppling the German mechanic onto the deck of the dining room. “Your friends are wanted by the Confederation.” Blom pointed at Hari. “His face is particularly memorable from the drawings we received from Herr Bremen’s assistant in London. Don’t you think?” Blom turned to the officers standing behind Hari and Luise.

Picking himself up from the floor, Dieter turned to Hari and Luise. He straightened his jacket. “I helped you in London.”

“Yes,” Luise nodded. She flinched as the officer behind her took hold of her shoulders.

“I will be happy to help you again.” Dieter glanced at Hari. “Especially as Hari is not f-feeling so well.”

“Your help,” Hari shrugged at the grip of the man behind him, “will be most appreciated, Dieter. I am,” he gagged, “not feeling at all well.”

“Mueller,” Blom let go of Luise’s satchel and took a step toward Dieter. Making a fist, the knuckle of his index finger extended, Blom stabbed it into Dieter’s chest. “You are a traitor to your nation.” Blom pulled back his fist as Dieter reeled before him.

“
Ja
, maybe,” Dieter wheezed. “But I am still their f-friend.” As the airship rolled to starboard, Dieter launched himself into Blom’s legs, felling the overweight officer like a rotten tree, straight into the dinner table behind him. Screams and curses pierced the tense air circulating through the dining room as the passengers of nearby tables scattered, scrambling further to starboard to escape the brawling Germans.

“No,” Jacques slid into the side of the heavy buffet table. “Not that way. Not to starboard.”

The Flying Scotsman
heeled over, filling the windows on the starboard side of the airship with the cold, grey threat of the sea. The burr of the propellers increased in pitch, spinning faster on the starboard side to counter the wild roll of the airship.

Hari grabbed the belt buckle of the officer restraining him, pulling him off balance as they slid toward the starboard windows. Luise tumbled past Hari as the German holding her by the shoulders released his grip, clawing his way up the deck to port. She slid through a debris-field of smashed porcelain service. Plates half-filled with slices of roast meat, gravy and potatoes, spun through the air, crashing to the deck among the splinters of cups and saucers as the airship continued to heel violently to starboard.

“Luise,” Hari called out as he slowed his descent, gripping the legs of a dining table screwed to the deck with thick metal plates. Planting his feet, one on each leg, he grabbed Luise’s arm as she slid past him.

“Hari,” Luise clambered up the table. She stared into the eyes of a grey-haired passenger dangling from the table leg beneath Hari. The woman’s eyes widened as her fingers peeled away from the smooth wooden leg. She gasped as Luise gripped her arm. Hari grunted with the extra weight. The deck sloped, leaning at forty-five degrees. Flirting with the sea, the airship began to lose altitude.

Dieter ducked another blow from Blom as the German’s bald head bludgeoned into the back of an elderly couple clinging to one another as they slid slowly along the deck. Letting go of Blom’s legs, Dieter clawed his way to a cluster of passengers clinging to a table.

“There is no room here,” the passengers beat at Dieter like shipwrecked survivors beating the nose of a shark in warm waters.

“There is plenty of room,” Dieter shielded his head as he grappled for a handhold on the table leg closest to him.

“You are too heavy. Find your own table.”

Dieter gave up, distracted by a scream as the first of
The Flying Scotsman’s
passengers fell onto the large panes of glass in the starboard window. The passengers fell silent at the sound of creaking glass, fissuring across the thick pane, competing with the burr of the propellers, replacing the screams of the children with the silence of horrid fascination. Dieter slid into a jumbled line of chairs snaked between two support beams. Small children hung from the chairs like fruit.

“Hari,” Luise’s arm trembled, her fingers shaking. “I can’t hold her much longer.”

Hari stared past Luise, locking eyes with the man lying spread-eagled on the splintering glass. Letting go of the table, Hari braced his legs, gripped Luise’s wrist with both hands and heaved her along the deck. “Get your knees on here.” Hari wrapped one arm around Luise’s waist and pulled her up as the deck of the airship pitched another twenty degrees. Reaching around Luise, Hari grabbed the old woman by the arm and pulled her onto the table legs. “Hold on.” He shifted position to make more room.

“Thank you, Hari.” Luise sat on the table leg, her legs dangling over the side. She pushed at the woman’s feet as Hari pulled her over the table leg opposite Luise. Hari pulled himself up onto the edge of the table. Planting one sandaled foot against the deck for support, he cast a quick glance at the man quivering on the window.

“Miss Luise,” Hari tried to smile. “I am going to try something rather drastic.”

“Hari?”

“It is all right,” Hari smoothed the folds of his shirt on his chest. “I am feeling much better. Truly,” he nodded. “There is nothing better than a little drama to occupy the mind.” Hari flinched as a second passenger, a young girl, slid out of her parent’s grip and onto the pane of glass of the window next to the man.

“Hari...” Luise stared into Hari’s eyes. “I am not sure what you can do.”

“Neither am I.” Pushing off from the floor, Hari slid onto the surface of the table. Gripping the edge with both hands, he rested his chin on his knuckles. “I will be all right, Miss Luise. But...”

“But?” Luise reached out to grab Hari’s hand. “There can’t be any buts, Hari.”

“In the event that I do not succeed,” Hari looked around the dining room, smiling when he spotted Dieter pressed up against a metal strut rising from the deck to the supporting network of the airframe above it. He turned back to Luise. “You must go with Dieter to Arkhangelsk. Find the man who sent you the note. Uncover the secrets of the khronoglyphs.”

“I can’t do all those things without you, Hari.”

“You
can
, Miss Luise.”

Luise’s cheeks dimpled, collecting a tear from the corner of each eye. “I can,” Luise sniffed. “But I don’t want to.”

“I know, Miss Luise,” Hari slipped his hand free of Luise’s grip. He wiped a tear from her cheek.

“Be careful, Hari Singh.”

“I will be careful and good. I promise.” Hari smiled, let go of the table edge, and slipped out of Luise’s sight.

Chapter 4

Arkhangelsk

Russian Empire

May, 1851

Kapitan Stepan Skuratov slowed as he approached the end of the street. Waiting for Poruchik Vladimir Pavlutskiy, Stepan pulled back the sleeve of his uniform jacket and checked the three timepieces on the leather band around his left wrist. The gravel crunched beneath Vladimir’s feet as he stopped by the side of Stepan.

“I never did understand,” Vladimir turned Stepan’s forearm to look at the watch face on the inside of the wrist, “why you need three watches, Kapitan?”