The Havoc Machine (3 page)

“You have caught my interest, Mr. Sharpe. You are a very interesting person to very many people.
Very
interesting.”

That set off several small alarm bells inside his head.

“I don’t want to offend,” Thad said, now with careful control in every syllable, “but I feel I should to point out that the parrot which has moved to a strategic spot on the table less than eight inches in front of you can deliver
more than two thousand pounds of pressure from the business end of that sharp beak, more than enough pressure to slice open your windpipe. I also have a knife on a spring-load that can open up an artery so quickly, you won’t even know you’re dead before the blade is clean and back up my sleeve. Finally, all those men over there, the ones you were scorning as small-thinking peasants a moment ago, seem to like me quite a lot, and I think they would be very upset if anyone tried something foolish.”

“Such a mental condition you have,” Sofiya tutted. “I believe the English word is
paranoia.
”

His muscles were growing tight with tension. The situation was unusual. Thad didn’t like unusual. It was too like hunting clockworkers. But tension made fights difficult. He forced himself to relax. “I deal with clockworkers all the time. One can never be too paranoid.”

“As you like, Mr. Sharpe. But I do not have a wish to harm you.” From the folds of her cloak, she produced a small purse, which she dropped on the table. It clinked. “I wish to hire you.”

That got Thad’s attention fast, though me made no move to touch the purse. “Dante.”

The parrot expertly tore the purse open, revealing the glint of silver and gold coins, a generous offering. “Pretty, pretty, pretty,” he said, plucking a coin from the pile with a claw and bending it in half with his beak.

Thad didn’t relax his guard. “People don’t usually hire me to kill clockworkers. They usually beg me, and I’m always happy to oblige. Why offer money?”

“You may do with the clockworker as you wish. It makes nothing to me. I want—or rather, my employer wants—
something else entirely. That is why we are offering you money.”

Now Thad leaned back in the hard chair. “Your employer?”

“I represent a third party. He does not go out in public and needs people to do for him. He heard you were traveling with the Kalakos Circus these days, and when they came to Vilnius, he asked me to arrange for your employment.”

“I’m not seeking long-term—”

“This is a single piece of work,” Sofiya interrupted. “And it is very similar to what you already do.”

“Money, money,” Dante said. “Pretty money.” He reached for another coin. Thaddeus absently moved the purse out of his reach and took a pull from his beer.

“You can see my face,” he said. “I would like to see yours. So I know who I’m dealing with.”

Without hesitation, Sofiya cast back her scarlet hood. Golden hair spilled across her shoulders and clear blue eyes looked out over finely molded features and a sharp chin. The small scar that ran along her left jawline was the only flaw to her beauty. Thad didn’t outwardly react, though inwardly he caught his breath. Such sweet loveliness ran a sharp contrast to the dull tavern and its sour drinks—and brought up bitter memories.

“Thank you.” His voice stayed carefully neutral. “Who’s your employer, if you please?”

“He is a person who hires people like me so he does not need to give his name.” Sofiya straightened her thick cloak. It must have been stifling in the heat of the tavern, but she showed no signs of sweating. “You usually kill clockworkers for no money at all, so I would have
thought the prospect of having extra coins would be an encouragement, no?”

“I just like to know what’s going on,” Thad replied.

“Darkness, despair, death,” Dante squawked. “Doom!”

Sofiya ignored him. “I will tell you. There is a castle ruin approximately half a day’s horseback travel south of Vilnius. A clockworker who calls himself Mr. Havoc has moved in to it, fortified it, and made it his own. He is quite brilliant, as all clockworkers are.” She paused to sip from her red glass. Was it wine? She had expensive tastes. “He has already managed many dreadful experiments with machines and men. The village nearby is quite terrified of him, but they lack the weaponry to assault his little fortress.”

“And you want me to go in there and kill him,” Thad finished.

“You are very forthright for such a handsome Englishman,” Sofiya said. “But I have already said that my employer does not care if you kill Mr. Havoc or not. He wants you to bring him a particular machine Mr. Havoc has created.”

“Is that so?” Thad took another pull from his beer mug. It was only of middling quality, but it was beer and not
giras.
“You didn’t give me much information, Miss Ekk. How coherent is this Mr. Havoc? Does he go into inventing fugues quite a bit or only rarely? What sort of inventions does he specialize in? Who was he before he became a clockworker? Does he have friends or family who help him? Where does he get money from? Does he buy or steal to get materials? If he buys, who is his supplier? If he steals, who does he steal from?”

Sofiya spread her hands. “I am afraid I have already told you everything I know, Mr. Sharpe.”

“Why doesn’t your employer simply wait him out? The clockwork plague will kill this Mr. Havoc of yours in a couple of years, three at the absolute most.”

“No. My employer needs the invention now. But I see you are reluctant.” She gathered up the purse and made to rise. “I will find someone else, then. Good day, Mr. Sharpe.”

He caught her wrist. The skin was smooth. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it, Miss Ekk. I’m just suspicious of strange circumstances and a secretive employer.”

“The circumstances are this—you have the chance to rid the world of another clockworker, and make a great deal of money in the bargain by delivering one of his inventions to my employer. Will you do it?”

Dante bit the candle in half. “Done, done, done.”

“Done,” Thad said.

“Excellent. The invention is a spider the size of a small trunk. It has ten legs instead of the usual eight, and it has copper markings all over it. You will know it the moment you see it. I would approach the castle from the west. Our employer has information that says the west wall of the castle has an old doorway overgrown with ivy. The castle’s defenses are also weaker in that direction, which is lucky for you—us. That door will get you through the castle wall and into the ruins. After that, you are quite alone.”

“I’m never alone if I have Dante,” Thad replied without a trace of irony.

Sofiya got to her feet. “I have a horse waiting in the
back, and a basket of food. The moon is full tonight, so you can see. Take the main road south, then turn west when you reach the village of Juodsilai. The ruins are there. The horse is fast and should reach the castle an hour or two before dawn.”

“What, you want me to leave now? In the middle of the night?”

“Must you make extensive preparations?”

“No.”

“Do you intend to attack Mr. Havoc during daylight, when he can see you coming?”

“No.”

“Then we go now, Mr. Sharpe.”

“We?”

“I will come with you, of course.” A grim smile crossed Sofiya’s face as she hauled him toward the back door. “I am suspicious as well.”

S
ofiya towed him into a noisome alley ankle-deep in autumn mud. A chilly wind spun angrily between high, narrow buildings beneath a heavy moon, and Dante settled his brass feathers. Thad pried himself out of Sofiya’s grip and faced her. “I don’t take observers with me, Miss Ekk. I work alone.”

“That sounds lonely.”

“No one else gets hurt that way.”

“Yes, yes, yes.” She waved a hand. “You are the brave warrior who faces great trials by himself. How trite.”

“Listen, I don’t want you getting in the—”

“I? Get in the way? Ha!” She huffed beneath the scarlet cloak. “Frankly, Mr. Sharpe, I am waiting for you to die.”

“Die?” Thad echoed.

“Certainly. One of Mr. Havoc’s machines will likely drill through your skull like, how you Englishmen say, a hot knife through butter, and while the blood gushes down your ear and Mr. Havoc watches you twitch on his worktable, I will slip in to take his invention—and the credit.”

Thad stared at her. “Really?”

“No, you idiot.” She shoved him down the alley and seized his arm again. “I am going to stand outside this ruined castle and watch while you go in and then I will hope you
don’t
die. Otherwise I will have to find someone else stupid enough for this job.”

Thad allowed her to tow him along. “And you think I’m stupid enough, is that it?”

“You keep on your shoulder a brass parrot that does not like you much and can, in your words, deliver more than two thousand pounds of pressure from the business end of that sharp beak. Is that smart or is it stupid?”

“Stupid,” Dante echoed. “Stupid, stupid.”

Thad halted. “Then perhaps this employer should go get this invention himself.”

“No, no.” Sofiya held up her hands, and the red cloak spilled over her arms in a scarlet river under the moon’s silver shadows. “I have told you—our employer has a number of limitations and he cannot do for himself. If you do not wish the work, please say so and I will find someone else.”

“There
is
no one else, Miss Ekk, and we’re both aware of that.” He lowered his voice to a near growl. “I’m always willing to kill a clockworker, no matter what the circumstances, and I can definitely use the enormous sum of money you’re offering, but you can keep a civil tongue about it.”

She bowed, and Thad couldn’t tell if the gesture was meant to mock or not. “My apologies. I am very often forthright, especially these days.”

He blinked. “What does that mean?”

“It means we have to leave now. Our employer wants
that invention as quickly as possible, and I am coming along because I do not entirely trust you not to run away with the invention or destroy it once you leave the castle. But you can kill the clockworker or not, as you wish.”

Thad let this pass and followed her down the dark alley again. “And once I give you the invention, you intend to kill me?”

“What?” She glanced back at him. “Ah. Like me, you have many suspicions.
That
I can understand. No, Mr. Sharpe. I have no reason to kill you. And if I did, there would be simpler, less expensive methods to accomplish it than than offer you money and send you to a castle. I could, for example, offer myself to you and kill you while we copulated.”

Thad flicked a glance of his own down the alley. “No,” he said. “You couldn’t. But I understand your point.”

“Point is sharp,” Dante said. “Sharp on point.”

“Shut it, bird.”

Sofiya cocked her head. “So why
do
you keep this talking bird if you only tell him to shut up? And in such bad shape, too. I could arrange for him to be fixed.”

“I’ll take your money, but I don’t explain myself to you,” Thad snapped. “Let’s go, then.”

“As you say. Our mount is just around the corner.”

They rounded the corner. Standing in a small cul-de-sac was a magnificent brass horse. Golden skin etched with fine designs gleamed in the moonlight and curls of steam wisped from its nostrils. Its mane stood up in a stiff wire brush. Thad stopped short, and Dante hunkered down on his shoulder.

“No,” Thad said.

Sofiya looked puzzled. “No?”

“I’ll find my own horse.” He turned and stomped away.

“But—”

Thad strode off without looking back. Dante clung to his shoulder, wordless for once. Out on the stony street, Thad found a closed carriage for hire and paid the driver to take him to the southern edge of Vilnius, the capital city of Lithuania. By now, the only foot traffic on the street consisted of men stumbling home from the taverns. Through the carriage window, Thad also caught sight of a plague zombie lurching through the shadows. Its clothes were ragged, its skin in tatters. It seemed to have only one foot. Thad grimaced in loathing. He supposed he should feel pity, but all he could dredge up was disgust. The vile things spread the clockwork plague everywhere. Most people who caught the disease died quickly. Others lost brain and muscle function and shambled through the rest of their short lives as zombies. And a tiny few…

The memories, always at the back of his mind, muscled themselves up to the front. They were nearly ten years old, but they tore and bled like yesterday’s wounds. To stanch them, Thad reached up and grabbed Dante. The brass feathers and exposed gears poked his palm.

“Say it,” he hissed.

Dante neither moved nor spoke.

“Say it!”
Thad barked.

Another pause. Then Dante opened his beak wide. From somewhere inside, gears and memory wheels spun and from the mechanical parrot’s throat came the tinny voice of a little boy:
“I love you, Daddy. I love you, Daddy. I love you, Daddy.”

Thad sighed, then set his jaw and let Dante go. The parrot shifted on Thad’s shoulder and muttered, “Bad boy, bad boy. Bad, bad, bad.”

“Shut it.”

Dante fell silent.

The driver had seen the zombie, too, and flicked his whip to make the horses pick up the pace. Thad watched the creature fade into the chilly night. His jaw ached. He realized he was grinding his teeth and forced himself to relax. The zombie wouldn’t last more than a few more days anyway, not in this weather. Rumors floated around about an angel with a sword, or perhaps a clawed hand, that cured the plague with a touch. Supposedly this angel traveled Europe with a mortal man who sang with a heavenly voice. The pair were spreading the cure everywhere, and one day the clockwork plague would end. Thad snorted and slouched lower on the worn leather seat. People would believe anything. The only cure for the plague was death.

The carriage bumped through the streets until the buildings abruptly ended. Farmland, walled estates, and small plots of scrubby trees stretched to the south, but crouched on one of the fields at the town’s edge was a complex of tents and wagons scattered around a single enormous tent. To one side on a spur of iron track sat a long train, complete with locomotive and caboose. The colors of car and canvas were muted in the moonlight, as if a rainbow had fallen asleep. Thad paid the driver and loped into the network of wood and canvas.