Iron Horsemen (27 page)

I smiled as the man's large pupils darted back and forth. His tool belt carried the standard wrenches, screwdrivers, and a measuring stick, but also oddities I'd never seen before. A spanner to pry things apart, a rod with magnets at each end, and attached to his belt, a steam powered drill with thin hoses that led to another device on his belt before larger tubes ran to a series of tanks beside the table. They were the most amazing tools I'd ever seen. My thoughts drifted to Gears; he would love this place.

Grand Master Sinclair stepped forward. “Everyone, I'd like you to meet the Tinkerer, you're standing in his London workshop. This is Professor Armitage, his son Alexander, and you remember Baron Kensington, and his daughter Genevieve. The Tinkerer has been helping prepare the defense against the Iron Horsemen.”

“I've finished it, too,” the Tinkerer said in a thick Scottish accent. “We're all set. You have to see this, Archibald. It's my masterpiece.”

The Tinkerer led us to the front of his shop. He walked with a limp in his right leg, a metal brace hinged at the knee. A paint-speckled gray canvas tarp covered an object taller than the balcony above it, and I had to stop myself from reaching out to peek under it. Curiosity overtook me. The tarp hid a secret I desperately wanted revealed. I had a sudden feeling in my gut that I'd been on this whole journey to stand here, before whatever lay hidden. I sensed destiny, a chosen path, but I tried to mask my excitement and not be the giddy schoolboy leaping up and down. That was how the duke would expect a child to behave, and I was most definitely not the duke's idea of a child.

With a grand sweep of his arm, the Tinkerer pulled the tarp, unveiling an iron machine in the shape of an armored knight. Covered in plates like some kind of medieval armor, it stood the height of two men, with a red-crested plume of horsehair running down the center of its helmet. The right arm extended down to a three-fingered hand, but the left was permanently bent at the elbow. Covering the entire forearm was a large shield with a Templar cross in the center. Behind the shield lay a cannon and several other devices. Thick legs led to wide tracks on each foot.

The Tinkerer pushed on a release pin and the chest of the mechanized machine swung open. He tilted the helmet's visor up and I saw inside was big enough for a single man to sit.

The Tinker pointed. “The operator stands on the knees and reaches through the arms to the controls in the elbows. His head fits in the helmet and is covered by the visor. This is the only exposed part of the operator when the Iron Knight is in combat. I even padded the seat for comfort.”

I stared and tried in vain to keep my mouth closed. This was the most magnificent machine I had ever seen, better than the aero-dirigibles, even greater than Lord Kannard's Iron Steed.

Grand Master Sinclair slapped the Tinkerer on the back. “That boy wants to be a knight!” He chuckled as he walked over to me. “In time, maybe. But this isn't for you. It's for Baron Kensington.”

My heart sank, sinking to the floor along with the rest of my hopes.

Of course it wasn't for me. I was sixteen and nothing more than the son of a professor. Not an aristocrat from a noble line of ancient heroes. I wanted to kick myself for being so naïve, for thinking that a simple kid could achieve the greatness set aside for others.

I looked at the baron, sweat still clung to his brow and he leaned against his cane staring at the machine. He didn't look well enough to carry the burden. I wondered if my chance would come after all, but reminded myself that the Templar order had many more knights, greater men who would carry on for the baron.

Baron Kensington sighed. “I don't have the strength. We'll have to choose another.”

I was about to volunteer when a sweet English accent behind me said, “I will take responsibility.”

I spun around and glared at Genevieve. How could she deny my dream, my destiny? I saw the look on her face, the same fire burned in her eyes as the day I met her. I wanted to say something, but held my tongue. My father looked stunned while the baron shook his head, but Grand Master Sinclair smiled at her.

“My daughter will not be driving this machine.” The baron slammed his cane upon the ground which echoed through the shop. “I chose my own replacement. Fate has delivered us a warrior. Indihar Singh shall face the Four Iron Horsemen.”

Genevieve and I turned to Mr. Singh who simply bowed to the baron, accepting his offer.

“But, father—”

“No, Genevieve. You have the heart of a Kensington, a brave warrior, but you are just a young girl, the only part of your mother I still have. You'll not throw your life away at the hands of Lord Kannard. Indihar is a tried and tested warrior. He has the skills to meet the Knights of the Golden Circle on the battlefield and not survive, but defeat them.”

Sinclair nodded. “Your father is right. Mr. Singh is the best and logical choice. You both did a hell of a job rescuing the professor, saving the baron, and bringing Indihar here. You should be damn proud of everything you've accomplished, and I'll make certain her majesty hears of this. You've got my admiration if no one else's.” He cast a quick glance at my father.

Genevieve pleaded. “I can help.”

“You already have, my dear, but—”

“I'm just a girl, right. I know.” Genevieve stormed off toward the main door of the shop.

The baron shook his head and looked to Sinclair who shrugged his shoulders.

I wondered why no one was going after her. They just let her run off into London, upset, and vulnerable to Golden Circle henchmen. I shook my head in disbelief.

Grand Master Sinclair slapped Indihar on the back. “We should get you familiar with the Iron Knight's systems. Tinkerer will you show you how to operate it. Professor, bring that chair over here for the baron.”

I started to head after her, when my father called, “Alexander get back over here. You'll help the baron, and fetch any tools these men might need.”

I stopped in my tracks, but didn't turn around. My father wanted me as an errand boy, not a knight, but leaving would mean certain punishment. I flinched as the large metal door on the far side of the shop slammed shut. Genevieve wasn't coming back, she was walking home. She'd be exposed for the entire crossing through London, and none of these men
would go after her. Even though it meant certain exile from any future plans, I ran for the door. After all, I had already garnered so many punishments due, what was one more? I took off running, but a nagging thought gripped my mind, and stopped me again.

She was betrothed.

To chase her would mean nothing but foolishness to these men. Sinclair caught my eye and winked, with a slight motion, he pointed toward the shop doors. I continued, as my father yelled, “Get back over here.”

“No.” Again, the power of those words overwhelmed me and I darted out the door in search of Genevieve.

A small scrap yard surrounding the building was littered with old parts waiting for the Tinkerer. I realized I was in the industrial section of London as the towering smokestacks around me belched choking black smoke into the sky.

I searched for any sign of Genevieve. No one stood or moved within my sight, except for the blades of a scrap-piece windmill the Tinkerer must have put together. I noticed the gate of the outer fence swinging in the breeze. She'd made it to the street. I ran after her, and realized there was only one way to go, only one road led back to her home. I jogged after her, knowing I had to find her before a Knight of the Golden Circle did.

I spotted Genevieve's halo of hair and ran to catch up with her. She moved through a crowd of Londoners, and I lost her twice as I darted over the cobblestones. I knocked into a woman carrying a parasol. “I'm sorry,” I said but paid little attention and continued to scan the crowd. After a deserved smack to the head, I ran off and left the woman with another apology.

I looked up, dark storm clouds settled over London and a glint of bronze zipped over the river. “Rodin!”

I followed the soaring dragon as it flew above the crowd.

Rodin dipped below the retaining wall that lined the river and popped back up to land in the crowd. I rushed forward and found Genevieve leaning against the railing watching the boats cross under London Bridge. Rodin sat on her shoulder getting his head rubbed as he tucked his wings in and wrapped his tail around her.

I slid up alongside Genevieve, and rested on the railing. She turned, surprised to see me. I smiled and shrugged my shoulders.

I saw the puffiness of her eyes. “They were wrong.”

“The older I get, the more my father wants me to become a proper lady, but why teach me to use the sword if he's
never going to allow me to use it.”

“Yeah, all my father cares about is that I don't upset Eton.”

“Parents.”

I smiled. “That's why running around Europe was so much fun.”

“Back to reality, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” I turned back to the river, kicking the railing with the toe of my boot. “Reality.”

Genevieve turned. “It was fun while it lasted, right?”

“It was. Remember Gibraltar and the pomegranate we shared?”

“Remember the monkeys?” we said in unison.

Genevieve smiled and looked out over the dark water. “I almost wish we were back in Paris. I could have stayed a few more days.”

I tried not to show my excitement. I felt the same way. “Sorry you didn't get to keep the dress.”

Genevieve laughed and covered her face with her hands. “I can't believe we stole that! You're such a ruffian.”

“We didn't steal it; we just didn't pay for it right away. It was a nice dress, sorry it became a sail.”

“It was a very pretty sail.” Genevieve's head lowered and her shoulders drooped so much that Rodin began to shift and stir. “Alexander, Finn told you, didn't he?”

“You're betrothed to the duke's son.”

“It was arranged when I was five years old.”

“When you were five?” I took a step back. “Are you serious?”

“It's an old tradition of our family, of most noble families. The marriage is a union of our land and holdings, our status within the royal family. It's complicated.”

I huffed. “Is he a troll or something?

A smile came to Genevieve's face as she bit her lip and shook her head. “No, he's not.”

“I bet he's older. Thirty, forty, something. With a fat gut, a bald head, and bad breath.”

“He's eighteen.”

“Figures,” I groaned. “Have you even met him before?

“Our families are friends.”

“Indihar told me that his parents didn't even see each other until the wedding day.”

“You talked to Indihar?”

“No, he mentioned it on the Sparrowhawk.”

“It's not like that, but I have to confess I haven't seen him in months, he's been traveling in Africa.”

Why did he have to sound so perfect? “Of course, he's an aristocratic adventurer.” Now I was certain I didn't stand a chance.

She averted her eyes. “Now that we're back, I have duties, responsibilities.”

“I understand, even though I'm not nobility.” I released her hands.

“Alexander, you're nobler than anyone I know. You gave so much of yourself on this quest. You deserve—” She took my hand.

“Please, you were the amazing one. You defied the whole world to save your father.”

Genevieve blushed and looked down at the churning waters of the Thames.

“You're the most amazing girl I've ever met. You wear pants!”

Genevieve giggled and hugged me. I didn't release her, and she never pulled away, but some ladies walking by gasped and we finally separated.

I started to make a snide comment under my breath, but London wasn't like America, their proper nature made them keep everything bottled up behind those high collars. Sometimes it made me want to shake these people out of their tailored wool armor.

“I'm sorry I didn't tell you about being betrothed.”

I mumbled. “It's okay … I understand. I don't care.”

“You don't?”

I snapped my head up.
Did she not like that I didn't care?
“What?”

Genevieve shuddered and turned away. “Nothing.”

A moment of silence hung in the air, waiting for me to fill it, but every word I wanted to say got stuck. Finally, I blurted out one question, the one I'd come to ask.

“May I walk you home?”

“I would like that,” Genevieve wiped tears from her cheek, and I wished I had a handkerchief to give her. A gentleman would have had one.

We strolled along the cobblestones, through the narrow shadowed streets with towering brick buildings on either side. We passed a large house under construction and strange noises filled the air, drowning out our conversation.

The nagging ache in the pit of my gut almost doubled me over. Just like at Eustache's house.

Genevieve stopped, her expression changed, and she began to look around for trouble. We turned toward the house. A large wall built of wooden planks surrounded the perimeter and towered high above the street.

I gritted my teeth against the pain and leaned in to Genevieve. “Not even the carriage drivers can see over this wall. Let's check it out. Shall we do some lurking?”

Genevieve smiled. “After you, Master Lurker.”

Pounding metal and the shrill whirring of steam-drills echoed out from behind the wall. We crept along the perimeter trying to peer in between the slats.

Genevieve motioned me over. “I found a plank with a loose knot.”

I pulled my knife out and Genevieve drew closer.

“Captain Baldarich always said to be prepared.” I pressed the blade against the edge of the knot and worked it free.

I peered through and saw workmen in tattered clothes modifying the inside of the house with huge copper coils and other strange contraptions. Every worker seemed to be African, Asian, or Indian.