Navigate Story Collections: Abraham Arkwright III and his Astounding Automatons Constance Ealdwine: (retired) Necromancer Matilda & Sophia Memoirs of a Mechanical Woman Two-Faced Fletcher and the Virtue The Zaraysk Panoply of Wonderment
Prokhor took a long drag from his cigarette. Savoring the relaxing tingling that the stick gave him, focusing on the burn, centering himself for just a moment.
This well may be the last moment of peace he would know for a solid 12 hours. The sun had just set and the moon was on its way to raise on the horizon and he had a few precious moments still.
Just a few more.
“I would offer you a drink.”
Prokhor turned to the voice as another joined him, he automatically held out another cigarette for the arrival.
“Thank you, Constance.” Prokhor said as the older woman took the offered cigarette. “I do not think that drink would be a good decision tonight.”
Prokhor took out a match and struck it, holding it out for Constance, pulling his eyes away from the darkening sky to look at the other who had sat next to him. Constance had her long grey hair tied back out of her way, she was wearing some black work clothes with her sleeves pushed up, showing off her thin and boney arms, even in the waning light, the circus master could see the scars in on the underside of those arms.
Her lined face was dark with exhaustion already. He could smell the earthy tones that she always had on nights where she had to do much physical activity. Constance was never a very physical woman, she tired easily and didn’t have much strength to speak of, a hanger on from a long childhood of illness, as she had explained to Prokhor after she had joined up with her traveling circus act.
Prokhor was certain that was only part of the full reason for her weakness in body. Necromancy was not easy on the spirit. No doubt that would manifest in a physical way on the old woman; even one who had stop the evil practice years ago.
“Are we ready?” Prokhor asked after Constance lit the cigarette, blowing out the fire of the match with a quick wave of his hand and tossing the stick away.
“As ready as we ever are on nights like this.” Constance reported. “I have everyone in the safest places they can be. But…”
She took a draw of the smoke. Prokhor knew what she was going to say even without reading her mind.
“I think we are too close to civilization. We should have moved further west before we set down for the night.”
“Yah…” Prokhor agreed with a sigh. “But I couldn’t risk waiting ay longer. What if we were still in motion? We cut it close enough as it is.”
Constance shook her head and didn’t argue. She had given Prokhor her option of the location that they touched down for the evening strongly enough. She knew as well as Prokhor did that it was pointless to argue about it now.
“I just hope everyone stays quiet.” Constance muses out loud, in a tone that was obvious that she didn’t believe that it was a hope she had much weight in.
Prokhor nodded his head, letting the cigarette burn itself shorter in his hand, watching it.
“Who do you think will be the most trouble?” He asked.
Constance let out a laugh, putting out the light as she let out a breathless laugh. “Are we taking bets on which of the circus will fare the worse tonight? That seems to be in bad taste, Prokhor.”
Prokhor found a smile.
“I’m asking honestly.” He explained.
“Well, in that case.” Constance said with a half shrug. “I think it might Divna.”
“Not Dimitre?”
“I gave him something to help him sleep. With luck, he will remain that way through the entire night. And his wife is with him in case anything might happen.” Constance continued. “Artyom always acts like he is going to fall to pieces on nights like this, but I think he is not going to the problem.”
“But Divna? Why do you think she is going to be a problem?”
Constance looked at Prokhor then, meaningfully, turned her eyes to the fading lights from the city that they had left.
“I think she is going to be a problem because we are still to close.”
“We’ll see.” Prokhor said.
“We will see.” Constance agreed. She looked back to the sky and let out a quick sigh, as if bracing for impact. “And we will see soon.”
There on the horizon, the full moon began to light the sky.
“What about you, Constance?”
The older woman looked at her friend.
“What about me?”
“Are you going to be alright tonight?”
She let out a breathless chuckle, looking back at the moon. “It’s been a long time since moon cycles made my blood move faster, Prokhor. The only thing I feel right now is weariness. Mark me; this night is going to get a lot longer before we see the end of it. The last thing you need to worry about is if your resident Fae Doctor is going to raise the dead on top of everything else.”
Prokhor nodded at her and put out the cigarette quickly, heading to the camp that they had set up.
It was time to make the last rounds of the tents before they were out of time.
He knew Constance was right, they were far too close to civilization to ride out the full moon without care… he had to make sure everyone was as secure as they could be.
The first tent that he checked on was where they had Divna, their contortionist. The aero faerie was trapped in a circle of salt and runes that Constance had placed down earlier. The faerie had stripped herself of all her clothing, her translucent wings shuttered and twitched ineffectively, feeling the changes in the air, but was unable to do anything in her prison. She was curled up against Eben, who was sitting in the circle with her; the giant, strong man was cradling her in his arms like a child.
Eben looked up from watching the fearie in his arms when Prokor entered. He nodded his great stone head at his master.
“Is she asleep?” Prokhor asked.
“No.” Eben said, his deep voice has a echoing effect in his chest. It was not unexpected from a Golem, or any other constructed man to sound that that. “Sleep will not come to any this night. It will soon be time.”
“I know… will you be alright in there with her?”
“Yes. She cannot hurt stone with the air.”
Prokhor nodded, looking at the shivering girl in Eben’s arms.
“You don’t suppose I can speak with her?”
“She is angry at you right now, Prokhor.” Eben reported, a little apologetically.
“I will apologize when we see the sunrise.” Prokhor said with a small smile, turning to leave the tent.
His next stop was the dark ‘animal’ tent.
He pushed the curtain aside and saw Dimitre on the ground, his head on Liliya’s lap.
“He is asleep.” Liliya said, not looking up from where she was running her hand through her husband’s black hair. The animal tamer looked exhausted already. “Why didn’t we move further from the city, Prokhor?”
“There was no time.” He answered, keeping a respectful distance from the couple. “I am sorry, but there was no more time. We needed to start getting everyone… locked down, I suppose you could say.”
Liliya sighed, looking up, her normally vibrant green eyes dark in the dim of the tent. “I am sure you did your best… but I still worry.”
“Do you need anyone else here? Anyone to help incase he starts changing?”
Liliya shakes her head gently.
“Just make sure everyone else is alright. I will stay here with my husband.”
Dimitre shifted in his sleep, but his human form still held. Prokhor prayed that it would stay that way. Full moons were not only hard for the fae… but also those who had been cursed by them. He closed the curtain behind him, starting for the other side of the circus grounds.
On his way, he saw the light on in Sonya’s cart, no doubt doing a long minute reading to see if there was any guidance that they should have.
His own cart was lit as well. Taisha, his wife, likely staying up with Innokenti to keep the mute child calm.
The cart he did take the time to stop in was the cart that the trapeze artist shared. Grigori was awake, and on either side of him were the twin fire dancers, his hands on their heads as they slept. The acrobat smiled at Prokhor grimly.
“Just to be safe.” He said as an explanation. “I don’t want any fires starting… like that month.”
The twins, Ildri and Yaroslav looked completely peaceful in their sleep… the circus master hoped they stayed that way. The two elementals were not usually that affected by moon cycles… but it was better to be safe then have another cart singed.
Prokhor left the cart and continued through the fairway… It was then that he heard it.
A loud otherworldly wailing started up from the tent where Divna was being kept. The cry of the contortionist carried over the air, racing out on the four winds.
He broke into a sprint, running as fast as his legs could carry him back to the tent he started with. The light of the full moon was bright enough to light his way, climbing ever higher into the sky, like a curtain rising from the stage. A stage that was not set. A crew that was not ready. Players that did not yet know their lines.
All he had was improvisation. And the first act was knife throwing.
“His fist was already covered with blood but he kept punching his enemy over and over and over until he could hear nothing but his shallow breath to state he was still alive. He smiled. Then turned to the wall, there, the clock still counted down the seconds. He didn’t have much time left.”
Artyom paused, looking over the gathered crowd of circus performers, all huddled around the dry area around a fire that was keeping out the winters cold in the eastern America country side, their eye wide, completely taken in by the story that the illusionist was weaving for them.
All of the listeners, except for one.
Divna let out a small sigh of boredom as she waited for Artyom to get on with the tale, sitting up on the support poles above the group. She loved to hear stories of all sorts, it was one of her favorite pastimes when the circus was on the move. There always seemed to be someone who was willing to tell her a tale of some thing or another. And, even when the humans weren’t able to come up with anything good, there was always Eben. That golem always had a story to tell her and the patience to deal with her flighty interruptions for further details. At least, that is what she could remember. It was confusing to be around creatures with a memory, they would recall things that Divna couldn’t, and they would sometimes be mad or annoyed with her for something that she did or said days after she had long forgotten what had happened. She didn’t think it was very fair for them to treat her like that. If it was really important, Eben would have reminded her as he always did, every morning when she wakes up.
She felt that people didn’t appreciate how long her memory was compared to other fae, she could remember back a whole ten days, which was a much longer memory then the day long memory of her kindred. Those of royal fae had much longer memories then the lesser pixies and faerie, ten days was an impressive number as one of the daughters of the faerie queen. Or at least, she assumed it was, she didn’t remember her sister’s very well. Eben told her that she had many sisters, but as two who they are or how long their memories were compared to hers was long lost to Divna. She did remember that her mother never forgot anything. (which, of course, to Divna, could mean that her mother’s memory was longer then her own, wither that meant that her memory was eons long or just 11 days)
Divna sighed again, this time with a much louder harrumph at the end, causing Artyom to look up from the gathered to glare at her. She just smiled sweetly. She knew that he was casting illusions for the day and traveling workers that Prokhor had hired on as they crossed over the flat land. Divna was not able to see the illusion’s casted by Artyom, his magic didn’t touch the minds of the fae. She just wanted to hear the rest of the story.
“And so, the man stood up from the lifeless body of his once rival and enemy. He brushed off the blood on his hand, the bits of torn flesh and hair that had clumped to his fingers dragged across, clumping together as it slicked off his body.” Artyom continued, his voice was still dark and ominous.
The effect on the audience was instant. Their faces all grew white and frightened. The change made Divna laugh. She never understood why human liked to hear storied that scared them. And then to be scared by something to mundane as their own bodies seemed very silly to the young fae. She kicked her feet back and forth as her bell like laughter was set loose in the covered tent.
Artyom glared up at her again at that and scolded her with a sharp motion of his hand. He didn’t want to interrupt the tale, and Divna didn’t want him to either, so she quieted down stilling her swinging feet.
“The man looked away from the gore that was once his fellow scientist and looked back to the table, back to the open book he had been reading before he was interrupted. And the clock still drove down the seconds to midnight. He had to know. He walked back to it, the stress and pain he felt from the fight drained away from him with each step he took closer to the book. Closer and closer, the stronger and more clear headed he felt. He looked down at the page and there, at the top of the page was the word, the word that he had his previous friend had devoted their entire lives to recreate: The Chimera.
“His eyes took in the page with a madness, looking over the tables the test that had been recorded within the page. The days and hours of testing and prodding. Moving farther and father away from the realm of humans and stepping into the realm of the gods. The realm that would create life. A new life.
“The man turned page after page, looking at the new information that had been written and there… at the end of the book… the empty equation… was completed!
“He shouted out in joyous triumph! Raising a fist in delight, the blood on his hand flinging out from he motion spattering over the page. The blood spread out over the page… and the candle light went out. The clock on the wall chimed in the darkness… time had run out. Perhaps, it really was over? He thought in the darkness.”
The men listening into the tale all jumped, Artyom was holding them strongly in this illusion.
“The man stopped in surprise at his own traitorous mind… but drew out a match from his pocket and struck it against the table. He had to see what the solution was!
“He moved the light closer to the book, shining the small button of light onto the page. There… at the bottom of the page, in fast hand written script, a font known well to him as his old colleague, was written thus:
‘Today, mankind becomes Gods. It is done. The Chimera lives!’”
The crew drew a breath all together, even Divna felt her breath draw in with a small gasp. They were all excited to hear what happened next.
“A rustling behind the man brought his attention back off of the book, he saw a great shape in the shadows. The sounds coming nearer to him. Then a sharp burning in his hand. The match had burned it’s course and the man was enveloped in darkness again. The sounds were drawing nearer. A dragging and a hissing reached his ears as he fumbled in his jacket to find another match. His blood covered hands were grew thick and sticky as his hands clammed up in fear. The smell of the gore on him and around him made him sick with fear and disgust. The creature was still drawing closer.”
Divna was on the very edge of the beam; her thin wings were standing up in excitement, wanting to know what happens next.
Artyom took a deep breath but he straightened, his face lost all the mystery that it was holding, instead it was replaces with an annoyed expression. Divna felt it as well. It was as if the room had all the tension let out of it, like a balloon with a small hole in it, letting the air out slowly, not even with the decency of the explosive pop.
Divna’s wings dropped, angry, and swung herself on the beam she was sitting on, hanging down by her legs. Her head collided with the new arrival who shattered the illusion of the room. The new arrival dropped to the ground, nursing their head where Divna struck it and she laughed. She didn’t feel any pain at all, but Innokenti deserved to be after their disgusting presence interrupted Artyom’s story.
Her loose fitting shirt popped up under her chin, briefly exposing her small chest to the open air, before she dropped from the beam. She smoothed down the cloth annoyed. She would much rather be without such useless articles on her body, but Prokhor insisted that she wear them. She needed to be decent, so he said.
She looked back at Artyom, hoping that he would send away the wretch and continue with the story. But she saw the crewmen all blinking themselves back into reality and Artyom was moving to Innokenti’s side. The story was over.
“Are you alright, Innokenti?” Artyom asked, helping the child to stand and giving them a close look over.
Innokenti nodded, a little pained expression on their face, rubbing the back of their head where Divna had struck them.
“What are you doing here?” Artyom continued to question, standing back up and huffing as he did so, turning to the men who were all talking among themselves and standing up to return to work. “And why did you interrupt my show? I was just getting to the best part!”
Innokenti flinched at the tone and dropped their gaze to the floor, clearly afraid and embarrassed. The expression was enough to make Divna laugh again.
Before the child could make any more to explain themselves, the workmen started to move out of the tent and into the rain. As they passed Artyom, they all complemented the tale, telling him that it was good story, that he should write it down and other such things as they filed out.
Artyom sighed heavily when the men had left, returning the where he was sitting in front of the fire and dropped his head into his hands, muttering in some language that Divna didn’t understand.
Divna turned her gaze from the illusionist and shot a loathing look at Innokenti, but Innokenti didn’t seem to notice her at all. The child walked towards Artyom and sat down across from him at the fire.
Artyom looked up at the child, confused at first. Innokenti drew their stick thin legs up to their chin and rested their head on their knees, looking up at Artyom hopefully. It was there, in the fire light, Divna noticed that the child was soaked through, their hair clung limply to their scalp and their ill fitting, genderless clothing dripped with rain water onto the ground giving off a steady patting sound.
Artyom smiled. And cleared his throat, straightening in his chair.
“Collecting all of his flagging courage, mixed with his raw desperation, the man drew out the last of his matches…”
It had been a very long time since I was able to sleep as soundly as I had. My sleep was like that of a dead man. No dreams or inspiration came to me that night, which was not unheard of for me and my father certainly. Images from dreams were not trusted in my household from a very young age. It was a pointless endeavor to chase such things after we had awoken. Dreams were not real. Just idle entertainment of the mind while we slept.
I arrived at my workshop and store front in good time. I looked up idly at the sign above the peeling pained windows. “Arkwright Timepieces and Repair” and under that sign was a newer placard that I had added to it after I took over the store from my father only a few years ago: “Tinkerer and Toy Maker; Walk-Ins Welcome.” There was one more sign on the building in the window of the door that read “Closed.”
I was the first to arrive that morning, which was not surprising. I felt a guilt like so many painful butterflies in my stomach for leaving my work unfinished last night. I was eager to return to it, even if I still had no clear vision.
Today was going to be a different day. I was well rested. My mind was clear. I was ready for anything that was bound to happen.
So I thought.
I opened the door to the shop. Everything was as I left it the last night. The clocks still ticking away calmly and accurately. Jeffy, the shop keeper and teller, would wind them when he arrived in that morning. I set the book of orders up on the counter for him then moved to the door to the work shop and unlocked it.
I hurried to light the lamp to illuminate the back of the room and moved in front of the automaton, still resting exactly where I left it the night before. I stopped dead in my tracks as I took in the state of the machine.
It was not as it was last night.
On the back panel of the open chest cavity of the automaton there had appeared a glyph. I had never seen anything like it. It looked nothing like any letter that I had ever seen from any alphabet. It had straight lines and splintered off into jagged shapes that turned down in itself. The entire symbol was about six inches tall and wide. But the symbol was not the strangest thing.
There was a pitch black liquid that appeared to be leaking out of the glyph. The liquid was running down the back of the metal, like a slow bleeding wound, and pooling at the bottom of the torso of the machine. It was very near the brim of the opening at this point.
I ran to pull the lamp off the wall and brought it over to the automaton. I pushed the light close to the dark liquid, trying to get a better few of this unexpected and completely unexplained phenomenon. The light did not reflect off the liquid; its darkness seeming to consume any of the light that touched it. I had never seen something so purely dark. A darkness that could not be penetrated. It swallowed up the light as if I wasn’t shining anything into it. The glyph was also of the same color as the liquid that seeped from it slowly.
I placed the lamp down next to me and hurried for my protective gloves, shoving them onto my hands. I could see they were shaking. What on earth had happened there last night?
I looked at the glove and rubbed my finger tips together idly. The glove was thick and air tight. I wanted to get a closer look at what exactly I was looking at. And, after minute of hesitation, I slowly reached my hand back into the machine, lowering my hand near the black liquid. With my other hand, I took up the light again, bringing it close so that I could observe any changes that my interaction may have on it.
I set my finger tips into the black liquid and it felt like I had plunged my hand into acid. The pain was unbelievable. It felt like my fingertips had been burned and was being peeled away.
I screamed out in agony and fell back, dropping the light as I landed onto the ground, gripping my right wrist with my other hand, holding it away from me in spite wanting to clutch my injury to my chest. I had to know what was happening. I had to see what had happened to me. There was no one else to help me.
I opened my eyes and forced myself to focus through the blur of pain. My teeth were grit tight and my breath came through in sharp gasps, trying to keep my panic and agony under control. I finally brought my right hand in front of my face. The finger tips of the gloves had been completely dissolved and I could see the cloth near it start to wither away, turning black and falling away slowly even as the thick cloth was still on my hand.
I let out some sort of strangled gasp and tore the glove off my hand, the jostling that that caused in my hands shot knives of pain up through my fingers and arm. I tossed the glove aside and looked at my fingers, dragging myself closer to the light that I had dropped. I still had all my fingers, but the skin that had dipped into the black liquid still had the liquid clinging in the cracks and creases of my finger tips, making my fingerprints stand out like a painting. But more alarming still, the lines seemed to be vanishing, burning and stabbing, as if the foreign liquid was forcing its way into my hand.
The panic that was battling with my pain won out and I felt a tightening in my chest. I had to get this off of me.
I forced myself to stand, ran to the washroom in the shop and turned on the water at full strength. I shoved my hand under the water and cried out again. The water felt like so many small razors slicing through my skin. But through will power alone, I held my hand there, watching through the tears that filled my eyes and ran down my rough unshaven cheeks. The black was not leaving my fingertips.
I reached for the cloth and the wall and started scrubbing at them, trying to get the black off, but all that did was make my legs buckle under me. The cloth felt like it was peeling back my nails from my hand.
My breath came in ragged. I looked at my hand and could only watch as the last remnants of the back liquid vanish from my fingers, none of it appeared to land in the sink. I didn’t have to strength to turn off the facet as I sank back down to the floor observing my hand.
The pain hadn’t stopped even though I could no longer see a speck of black on me. The stinging had moved up into the rest of my hand, it was a deep pain, like the bones in my hands were dissolving. But my hand kept its shape, so I could only assume that was not what was happening.
The color of the skin was the most alarming observation I could make about it. The skin on my hand white like a sheet, as if it was frozen, a blue tinge where the veins on my hands could be seen. There was no red or irritation, only this unnatural white. Even on the inside of my palms where I was accustomed to seeing browns and pinks were faded to stark white. Where the bone pain was, the white skin spread. The sensations moved up past my knuckles and blossomed over the back of my hand. All I could do was let the tears fall, moans escaping my lips unbidden, watching and waiting to see if the pain would stop before I blacked out from it first.
The spreading of this attack, for that was how this felt, seemed to be holding at the back of my hand. I had no concept of how long I was just sitting on the washroom floor, staring at my hand before the pain moved from a slicing agony to a deep bone ache.
I was just beginning to wonder if I was going to be feeling this agony for the rest of my life when I hear the sickening sound of a crack in from the workshop. I stood up, cradling my hand into my chest, and moved into the room where the sound had come from.
The black liquid had spilled over the edge of the of the automatons chest cavity and was now dripping onto the wooden table. A wooden table that was now hissing and popping like wood in a fire.
Another crack.
I was in motion before I realized that I had taken a step.
The automaton jerked forward as pieces of the table started breaking off. I made it to the back of the thing, holding it up by my good arm wrapped around the neck of the machine man, desperately trying to keep it from topping forward and spilling that unknown black substance all over my workshop.
The hissing grew worse and I peered over the shoulder of the automation and saw that a goodly amount of the liquid had sloshed out when I jerked it back and it was now eating away at the wooden floor boards. I could only hope that this wasn’t going to eat though the metal that was pressed against me as I fought to keep the machine in place.
The weight of the machine on my left arm was growing heavier by the second. I was already so exhausted from my fright and the pain in my other hand; I was not sure how long I was expecting to hold this thing in place before I dropped it all over myself.
It was just at that minute that I heard the shop bell ring as someone unlocked the front door.
“JEFFY!” I screamed out. “JEFFY! HELP ME!”
A moment later and the workshop door opened to see a very frightened and confused shopkeeper.
“Help me get this thing laying down!” I pleaded, the pain clear in my voice in spite by best effort to mask it for the other’s man’s sake.
“My god, boss! What on earth has happened in here?! What happened to the floor?!” Jeffy demanded, but did move over to my side and started to help me get a better grip on the automaton.
“I will explain it the best I can,” I started, then added quickly: “And for God’s sake, do not touch the black liquid!”
Fear was a completely foreign concept for the young man, little more than a boy but four times as entitled as the average. James never knew fear, because he always got exactly what he wanted when he asked for it without question.
He couldn’t explain why he did, it was just something that he knew he always could do, and from the moment words were able to form coherently in his mind and he looked his mother in the eyes and made his first demand, and he was always obeyed.
He knew there were limits. He spent most of his childhood seeing exactly how far he could push people to obey him. There were rules that he found. He had to be looking directly into eyes of the person that he was giving the order to. He also had to focus onto some sort of a warm center that he always had in his chest. It was always as natural as breathing for him. It never hurt to use it. In fact, it always left him feeling really good afterwards.
But as for limits? He had never found them. He could ask anyone to do anything and they would. Without question. Without hesitation. He never knew hardship, want, discomfort, denial.
Until the fateful day that the country he lived in went to war a letter arrived in the mail addressed to him. His service was required for his great country.
There was nothing that James wanted less. So he ignored the letter.
But that was not a solution. Soon his home was visited by men in uniforms, inquiring as to why he had not responded. If he was a patriot or a criminal.
James told them to go away and leave him alone.
And they did. But days later another group of men arrived, different ones. Now suspicious and angry as to why their last crew failed in their mission.
James told them all to go away and this time, go tell their superiors that they needed to stop pestering him.
They came armed the next time. Now fearful and sure that something strange was about.
James knew then that the only way he knew how to get out of unpleasant situations was not going to work. He didn’t have any other method.
That was when he decided that he had to run away.
He didn’t take anything with him. He didn’t need to. He could get food and transportation easily enough, but he didn’t have a plan of where he was going to go.
At first he really didn’t think that was going to be a problem, just go somewhere else that wasn’t his house and stay there for a while, then these people would forget all about him and he could go home, if he wanted to.
That wasn’t the case. He was found by the police before he was able to get completely out of town. They knew his face, they knew he was now a wanted man. He deflected their attempts the only way he knew how, but now it was too dangerous to stay there. He was discovering that did have limits, it was hard to use his… well powers, for lack of a batter word over and over again is such quick succession and it was hard to convince a group of people to obey him where he could only focus on one person at a time. The euphoric feels he got in his center started to ache and he felt like he had to fall asleep immediately.
He had to go further than his town. He was raising too much attention to himself.
So, he got himself into a car and drove for hours. He finally stopped when he got to another city. And he really thought he was in the clear.
Except… he didn’t take into account that the car that he took, while he told its owner to give to him, the owners family was less enthusiastic about the decision and reported it as stolen.
James didn’t stay there for long. He was stopped by the police again and this time, rather then pushing them away from him, he thought it would be a good idea to use them.
He ordered them to take him to the next biggest city from here. Surely, he wouldn’t be stopped if the police where taking him somewhere, that was not suspicious.
By the time that James was dropped off in Bloomington, the police that he had used to take him were considered missing and possibly dead, along with the police vehicle that drove them. Even as James got out of the car and told them to forget everything that they had seen about him, he knew that he wasn’t safe.
He needed another plan. Something fast. Something wouldn’t keep him in one place for long.
He was in this exact state of mind when he met Prokhor and the Zaraysk Traveling Panoply of Wonderment for the first time.
James was initially attracted to the circus that was breaking down and preparing to move on from a weekend of entertaining. There was a large enough crowd of people still milling about the activity of the area that he thought to blend in with a crowd. He detested crowds, there was no chance he would be able to control this amount of people at once, he avoided them with a violent passion. But now, he saw the value of their cover and safety.
“Don’t play games with me! I’m not here to play! Does it look like I’m here to play?”
A harsh voice caught James’ attention as he wandered about the closed fairway.
Curious, he followed the voice.
It lead him to a scene, hidden from the view of others by large crates and boxes with various Russian words written on them that James didn’t understand. What he understand was the three armed man in overly fine suits, aiming their weapons as one other man, up against the boxes. He man was tall and thin, his clothing had an odd mismatched look to them. He had the look of a circus performer. He held his hands out in front of himself, trying to look harmless as possible.
“No. No play.” The man said, his voice was thick with a Russian accent. But James could understand the English words without difficulty. “No need for fear. Will have money soon.”
“Yeah? Well ‘money soon’ is not what the boss wants. Boss wants ‘money now!’” The man in the center said, gesturing menacingly with the handgun at the much taller man, mocking his accent as he spoke. “Didn’t your show here just finish up for the weekend? And ain’t you a ring leader of these traveling freaks? Must have made something, eh boss? Give us what you got.”
“Need. I need more time.” The Russian said.
“Pay us. Now. Or it’s gonna get ugly.” The man in the center of the thugs said. “Say, ain’t your wife traveling with you?”
“I will pay. I need more time.” The Russian all but growled out. “Leave crew out of this.”
“Ah, did I strike a nerve, red?” the man said in mock sympathy. “Maybe you should have thought about your crew before you were stupid enough to borrow money without a plan to pay it back! Now, where is the money!”
“What are you talking about? He did pay you.” James said, stepping forward to the group.
“Wanna say that again?” The man in the center said, completely insulted and shocked that some stranger would think to step in-between them.
“Sure.” James said, unconcerned in the slightest at the weapon in the man’s hand pointed directly at him. The man had deep brown eyes and they were already flashing angrily to make contact with James odd ice blue eyes. He had their obvious leader before he could take another breath. He kept walking towards the group, putting himself between the thugs and the Russian. “First of all, you are not going to shoot anyone right now. So, go ahead and lower those weapons before someone gets offended.”
The man in the center, shrugged his shoulders easily and lowered his piece, much to the apparent shock of his two lackeys.
“Johnny, what the hell are you doing?” came a question from a man at his left, but James didn’t dare break the eye contact to address the other very confused men.
“Tell you men to lower their weapons too.” James ordered. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“We don’t want anyone to get hurt.” The man in the center, Johnny apparently, repeated. “It’s fine, boys. Put the guns away.”
James could make out their shifting in his peripheral vision but they obeyed and put the guns back into their holsters.
“That’s better.” James said, letting a smile break over his serious face. “We are all friends here, especially since this man has already paid you whatever he owes.”
“What the hell kind of scam you trying to pull here?” The second man asked, his tone was harsh and far beyond confused.
“It’s hardly his fault that you spent all the money that he paid you before you thought to return it to your boss, isn’t it?” James said, keeping eyes locked hard with the enforcer.
“Yeah… I guess it is.” The man muttered back, nodding.
“Johnny! This kid is some sort of freak! Snap out of it!” The man on the left said, drawing out his gun again.
James broke eye contact with the man in the center and grabbed recently rearmed thug on the left.
“But you SAW him receive the money!” James insisted, pouring the instruction into the man’s mind. “It was hard to believe that somehow the red was able to find the money to pay you all back but you’re not one to ask questions like that. You had the money, and you saw Johnny spend every dime of it. That was even more hard to believe, in fact you wouldn’t have believed if, if you hadn’t seen it with your own two eyes.”
The man on the left, lost his breath for a moment, his face twisting from rage to shock and worry.
“This is crazy… I’m getting out of here, man.” The last thug said, almost turning the running away, but James was faster, catching him in his gaze even as he started to feel a tiny discomfort in his center from the strain.
“But you saw it too!” James insisted. “You saw Johnny take the money and you saw him spent it all. All on consumables, but hey, you would definitely say that top shelf whiskey was worth it.”
“Hell yeah, I would.” The man said, relaxing with a small smile on his face.
“Well, I think that you had better get on your way then gentlemen.” James said returning his eyes to Johnny. “After all you have the money to deliver to your boss, or wait… I think you only have excuses to deliver.”
“Damn… we got to get out of here, boys.” Johnny muttered, his face going pale as a sheet as he turned away from James and to the two men that he was standing with.
Without another word the trio hurried away from them.
James felt a hand on his shoulder and he jumped, surprised at the contact. He turned and saw the Circus master was standing there behind him, a curious smile on his face. James almost forgot that the man was still standing back there during the whole thing.
“That was… impressive.” The Russian said, holding out his hand for James to shake. “Prokhor.”
“James.” He took the offered hand, but he felt a strange tingling unease start to grow in mind.
“Am not sure how well… how to say гипноз… will be on men like that. But, gesture is welcome.” Prokhor said, with a nod of thanks.
“Yeah, I guess you owe me now. Don’t you?” James said with a grin, a new planning forming in his mind.
“Is fair.” Prokhor said with a small grimace. “Do not have much. What is it you want?”
James looked hard into the eyes of the other man. They were very strange looking, he noted with no small interest. Ice blue. Shockingly so. Like James’.
“I want this circus. Make me your partner. You work for me now.” James said. He wasn’t sure what to do with a circus, but it seemed like a good way to keep moving undercover, at least until they got away from the city.
Prokhor laughed. James froze in place, not sure what went wrong.
“Oh no. That will not happen. Your tricks will not work on me, boy.” Prokhor said, returning his own eyes on James again. “No matter now impressive.”
As James looked into Prokhor’s eyes he felt something like ice cold worms twisting into his core, worming their way into his mind. Searching and digging into his memories. His thoughts.
“No!” James cried out, tearing his eyes away from the eye contact, is breath coming in hard as his heart hammered in his chest, the feeling gone as soon as the link was broken. What was… this feeling?
Prokhor laughed again, this time under his breath, leaning in close to James.
“You are in more trouble them I am.” Prokhor said. “I think, you work for me. Keep moving. Stay out of trouble. Both of us, stay out of trouble.”
James looked up, watching the man’s mouth, nor daring to look into the ice blue eyes of the other, as familiar as his own. It was the first time James wouldn’t dare meet another’s gaze. All he could do was nod his consent to the plan.
“Come.” Prokhor said, another laugh in his voice as he started away. “Much to do.”
It was them that James put a name to this feeling. Why he couldn’t stop shaking. Or why he was sweating. Or why he both wanted to get as far from this Prokhor as possible at the same time that he knew he didn’t dare go far from him.
“We have to leave the case behind!” the man in black shouted down the hall in the small cottage out on the outskirts of the town. “We can only take what we can carry! Hurry!”
Constance looked up in dismay at the sound of the voice, and then looked down at the case in her hands. There wasn’t much inside, she didn’t have much to begin with. There was little more than a second dress, a pair of boots and some stockings. Those were not such a huge loss, except that the idea of surviving on only the clothes on her back for a few days was not the most appealing thought.
She threw the case up onto the table, and opened it, staring at the books that he had packed. She ran a small pale hand over the dyed leather covers of the books. It was a meager collection, only six, but they were hers. Collected carefully, most traded but some she bought with money. She had read these books many times, she had the stories that they contained memorized.
And she knew she had to leave them behind.
There was no conceivable way for her to take them with her.
They were on the run again. She had to take only what she really needed.
Her bag of discouragements, her dagger, her staff. At least she didn’t have to grab the spell book, Simon had already collected that. He always took the spell book when they had to run. It was the first thing that he grabbed.
“How far away are they?” The man called again, running into the front room where Constance was trying to tear herself away from her books. He looked at her wide eyed, breath coming in fast. His dark coal eyes softened only slightly when he saw what she had packed into the case, but hardened his countenance quickly. “Constance. I need to know where they are.”
Constance nodded, somewhat numbly, her own heart starting to hammer in her chest.
She ran to the window and opened it.
“Corvus!” Constance called out into the air, letting her mind leave the confines of the small cottage and seek out the familiar light of her friend and partner.
Within seconds, she felt the presence of the familiar and a black crow flew to her out from the wooded area that surrounded the cabin. The bird landed on the window sill, looking at the young woman with dark intelligent eyes. She heard the thoughts in her mind.
Not far. Coming from the south. The mob is still getting bigger. Easily twice as big. Not good. Corvus reported, hopping from the window sill up onto Constance’s shoulder, the brisk voice in her mind a comforting sound, even if the news he brought with him was more then alarming.
“And how fast are they moving?” Constance asked, closing the window as she moved back to the front room, trying to think of anything else she sound be grabbing before they had to abandon the cottage.
Not moving too quick. Big flocks move slowly. Should be here before long. Hour maybe. Time is strange. Don’t forget the medicine.
Constance nodded her thanks. She had completely forgotten about her medicine.
The young woman was not a healthy sort, never had been. She spent most of her early life in a medical asylum when she became too much for her parents to manage and even after Simon found her, she still barred the weight of a weak body. The medicine helped her. It helped her energy, it helped her aching head and her shaking hands.
Simon was always working to make her stronger, teaching her the things that he did, but the lessons were hard and exhausting.
Her familiar helped in more ways than one.
“What did Corvus say?” The man in black, Simon, demanded, shoving more of the ceremonial daggers into his own pack.
“We have about an hour.” Constance recounted. “And the mob has gotten bigger.”
“Curse it all.” Simon growled, his black eyebrows coming together sharply. “Of course they move to attack us today! Of all days to burn the resident necromancers… someone had been watching the stars.”
Constance knew that their position in this part of the German woods had been long since compromised. A hunting party from a neighboring townstead had wandered too close to them. Simon didn’t realize there was one that had gotten away. If that man had even reported half of what he had witnessed… it was little wonder that there was a mob on the way to them.
“We should have searched longer for that body…” Simon muttered himself, before shaking his head an spitting onto the ground. “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. We have to be long gone before these savages arrive!”
Simon rushed out of the front room again, likely to start gathering what he could of the ingredients that they had been growing in the garden. Constance was quick to follow him.
The sun was just past the tree line and the chill of the woods had just begun to start to settle in as beams of light that were able to break through the branches offered less and less warmth.
Simon fell to his knees in the garden and started frantically cutting anything that still had viable seeds on them, Constance did they same, shoving the plants into her pockets.
“…cursed waste…” Constance heard him mutter under his breath as he sliced the plants to pieces. “…only decent when they are fresh… all over again… damnation…”
Corvus adjusted on her shoulder as she followed suit. She could feel the waste of everything around her in that moment. They have lived in this cottage for three seasons and it had almost looked like they had found a place that they would be able to practice. But the promise of fresh human ingrediance was too tempting an offer for Simon to pass up. He had really thought that they had found everyone in the party. They would not have ever known that they had missed one unless Corvus had caught sight of someone scrambling through the woods in the opposite direction. Fast like a hunted animal, Corvus had described.
Now they knew why.
The sharp howls of hunting dogs caught both of the necromancers’ attention.
“Of course… dogs. As if it couldn’t get any worse.” Simon said standing up from the dirt, reaching out to help Constant to stand. “We have to leave right now. Take what you have prepared. We are out of time.”
Constance rushed back to the house, Corvus leapt off her shoulder and flew just behind her, perching on the mantle where he could keep on eye on the goings on.
Dogs. What terrible creatures.
“I don’t know about that.” Constance said idly, shoving her second pair of boots into the pack. “They make wonderful pets for those who want to keep magic away.”
Terrible creatures .Corvus reiterated, fluffing his feathers as he did so.
Constance threw the pack onto her back and was about to run out of the room, when her eyes fell of the case again.
Leave them. Buy new ones. Can’t buy a new Constance. Corvus advised.
She knew he was right… but it didn’t make it any easier.
The dogs sounded closer.
“Constance! Hurry!” Simon’s voice was hard and commanding.
“I’m coming!” Constance promised. “So much for this place.”
Nasty business. Nasty man. No surprise.
Constance didn’t honor that comment with one of her own. Corvus was constantly telling her to leave Simon’s company. No matter how she explained it, the crow was never satisfied with her reasons.
“If all you are going to do is sit there like a bump on the wall, why don’t you go make sure we are still safe to escape from the west?” Constance snapped.
Corvus didn’t say anything else. As soon as Constance was out of the door, the crow went to the east, looking for the mob on it’s way.
“I have everything!” Constance lied. She didn’t even have a portion of everything. But she had what she couldn’t live without and that would have to do for now.
“Then run!” Simon commanded, taking hold of her hand with his free hand, staff in the other.
The two of them raced into the trees, neither of them looked back. At the very least, running blindly into the woods without a plan was better in the daylight, Constance was able to keep her feet under her and avoid any tangling roots that might snag onto her in the dark.
Not safe. Do not go that way.
Constance stopped dead in her tracks, Simon’s hand tearing out of hers. The man looking back at her in shocked surprised.
“What are you doing?” Simon demanded.
“It’s not safe!” Constance explained. “Corvus found-”
A gunshot stopped her words in her mouth, goose bumps rising on her arms in fear.
“Curse it all!” Simon hissed. “Where do we go?”
Constance listened for Corvus, but no words came.
“I don’t know. Corvus is too far away to hear!” Constance said, trying to keep the panic that she felt out of her chest.
“We have to find someplace to hide!” Simon said, his voice harsh and tense.
Another gunshot ripped through the air and Simon fell to his knees, crying out in pain.
Constance was at his side in an instant. Blood. He was shot in the arm.
There was a holler of triumph and pride in the air. A call. Constance didn’t speak enough German to know what it was that was said exactly, but given the context, she understood perfectly.
They found us.
“Damn it!” Simon cursed, shoving his hand into his wound, trying to suppress the bleeding. “Damn it all!”
Constance looked to the sound of the approaching people in the woods. Her mouth going dry.
“What are we going to do?”
“What can we do…” Simon said between teeth grit with pain and annoyance. “We can’t conjure anything until midnight! We have to think of something else!”
Anything that Constance may have said was lost as soon as she saw the figures of heavily armed men making their way through the trees, right for them. Some had rifles, others of them had sturdy looking sticks and stoned in their hands. All of them had a wild look of hate and disgust in their eyes as they looked at her.
Simon stood up, leaning heavily on Constance without the use of both his arms. He squared up his shoulders and placed his staff against the ground and glared at the attackers.
The mob slowed their approach, the men with the rifles gripped them nervously, pointing the barrels at the now standing pair of Necromancers.
Simon barked something to the men in a quick German that Constance didn’t understand. But, whatever it was that he said it made the men with the rifles grip them even tighter.
“Look more ominous.” Simon said under his breath.
Constance let out a quick sigh then also straightened her shoulders, pulling herself up and slamming down her staff alongside Simon’s. She put on the bravest face that she could muster. She tired to look aloof and disgusted with everyone around her. It was not easy to do. She felt foolish and exposed in the daylight. She was used to frightening off the occasional curious wanderer when she found them alone in the darkness of a moonless night with the hood of her cloak pulled up over her face.
It was easy to look like a creature out of someone’s worse nightmares when they could barely see you. But here, in broad day light with her hood down, she knew she looked little more than a skinny and sickly teenager with a pack on her back.
“I’m as ominous as I can get.” Constance hissed back, glaring at nothing in particular not trusting her face to hold steady if she made eye contact with someone. “We need another plan. There has to be something we can do. Something we can conjure.”
“The dead sleep too soundly this day. There isn’t anything to raise!” Simon bit back.
Constance looked up, she could see the faint outline of the moon that hung in the blue sky, barely giving off more light then a passing cloud would. There was nothing they could do with the celestial forms in this position… She looked back to the attackers around them. Al shaking in their shoes, muttering in frightened tones to each other.
They didn’t know.
They glanced at Simon’s blood like it was poison.
She had an idea.
Without thinking second time, she reached over to the wound in Simon’s arm, pressing her hand against it and squeezing, the rent flesh underneath it shifting, the blood pooling between her fingers as she irritated the skin around the injury.
Simon grunted in pain at her motion but didn’t move to stop her, he didn’t take his eyes off the armed men in front of them. His expression still like a thunderstorm.
She turned back around to face the men in front of her. She took her hands, now covered in blood and pressed against her mouth, the coppery smell of blood overwhelmed her senses, the blood on her lips bitter and sickening. Constance had to keep herself all together.
She had to scare them without any powers. And she was making this up as she went along. The people around her all stared in horrified curiosity. It was a good start.
Constance drew her hand away, leaving the thick fluid on her face covering her lower jaw, then rubbed her hands together to spread the crimson as far as it would go, rolling her eyes and muttering made up magic words under her breath.
They have lit the house on fire. Corvus’ voice came to her. I see you there. You need to push through and run north west.
Corvus! Perfect.
Constance finally leveled her eye on the man that stood the furthest away from the group. That would be the place to push through.
The man paled and stepped back as Constance watched him.
She put the most wicked smile she would muster on her face, her skin tingly under the drying blood on her face. She could only imagine the disaster she looked like in that second. She focused on the man’s face and tried to think of Corvus.
That one. Alright. Be ready.
Constance could feel Corvus approaching from overhead, coming in fast and low.
“Ich will…” Constance shouted, trying to remember the German words that he had heard. “…deine AUGEN!”
She held out her bloody hands and at that exact moment, Corvus came shrieking over head aiming right for the man that she had singled out.
The man screamed in terror as did all those around him. He reached to cover his eyes as Corvus scratched at him with his talons. Guns started going off, but Simon took Constance by the hand and raced as fast as he could into the opening that Corvus had made for them.
They didn’t slow their pace, even with Constance’s lungs burning from the mad race until they had found a collection of large boulders that hid from the trail that lead trough the dark woods.
Simon and Constance fell to their feet behind it, taking in air fast and hard. Constance rubbed her side, trying to make the stitch in her side stop and Simon gripped his arm again, checking for any undue heat.
It was during this time that Simon looked over at Constance and let out a breathless laugh.
“Ah… aren’t you a gruesome sight.”
“Haa… what?”
Simon gestured to her face and she brought a hand up to feel the dried blood on her face. It was stiff and uncomfortable and she tried to scratch it off.
He laughed again and moved closer to her, taking his sleeve and tired to help her scrub the gore off her face.
“I am very impressed, little Constance.” He said as he worked. “That was some very fast thinking.”
Constance could feel her face redden with pride as Simon complemented her. As Simon’s apprentice, he didn’t feel it was appropriate to complement her over just anything, lest she get to cocky for her own good, he had told her. But when he did, Constance always felt the words go straight to her head.
“Thank you,” Constance said, then took her own sleeve in her hand and kept rubbing off the blood. “I do wish you would stop calling me ‘little Constance!’”
Simon just chucked and sat back, looking at the wound in his arm and grunting in annoyance as he did.
“I suppose we should start thinking about a new place to live.” He said. “But stopping by somewhere were they have a doctor wouldn’t be unwelcome.”
“It would have to be somewhere far away from the gossip of this area.”
“I am not sure anyone will remember anything other then the girl with the blood on her face after your performance out there.” Simon laughed, looking back over to Constance. “What was it you said to them?”
“I don’t remember.” Constance laughed as well, her breath finally evening out even as her energy started fading like a long spent candle. “I think I said I wanted their blood.”
“No… no that is not what you said.” Simon continued, still laughing. “I think you said you wanted their eyes.”
Constance laughed again at that.
“No wonder they were so scared. When a woman with blood on her face says she wants your eyes… you believe her.”
“Are you speaking from experience on that one, Master Simon?” Constance asked, still chuckling.
Simon just looked over at her, a joke in him eyes and a smirk on his face. In a way, that answered her question better than his words would have.
Pasha stared hard at the bright orange gourd in front of her. She had set it up on a stool outside of her family’s winter home on that cold autumn day in Moscow. Her parents would bring strange and bad tasting things into their house on occasion, but this had to have been the most strange and most offending in taste.
But the fact that little four (and a half, she is quick to remind people) year old Pasha hated the taste of the vegetable was not the reason she pulled the plant out into the foul weather. She held no ill will for the thing. It couldn’t help the fact that it was disgusting in taste, or that it had slimy guts inside of it, or that its stems gave people splinters when they gripped them. She couldn’t blame it for those things, and it wasn’t for those reason that she brought it outside and was staring at it so intently. She brought it outside because it was about the size of a human head, and she needed to practice.
Pasha shifted on her feet, trying to get into the same position that she saw her brother take two nights before. He had stood with his feet a shoulder length apart, his back was stiff and his head was held high. Pasha imitated the stance as best as she could in her dressy shoes and her expensive lace dress, much different than the dark common clothes that she saw her bother wearing that night.
The child took a deep breath then held out her right hand, her fingers spread wide, just as her brother had done, leveling it on the pumpkin. She frowned at it in concentration then quickly made a fist with her hand.
The pumpkin still sat where it had.
She tried again. And again. Opening the closing her hand over and over. Re-adjusting her position and trying again. The pumpkin reminded unchanged.
Pasha glared at the pumpkin and stamped her foot to the hard ground.
“Break open already!” She shouted at the gourd.
“Pasha? What are you doing out here, little one?”
Pasha turned to the sound of her mother’s voice. The tall, fair woman was always dressed very well whenever possible. It was not a very practical thing to do when they were on the road as much as they were, being in an active side show that traveled around the Russian cities and provinces during the spring and summer. But in the fall and winter the band was stationary, and Pasha and her family got to live out the unforgiving Serbian winter in comfort in their large house. Her mother got to dress far nicer when living here then when on the road. She was invited to real parties and her father and uncles were all very busy with family business during this season. Her brother was also very busy lately. Mother said that he would take over the business one day and had to learn as much as possible. Mother said that he was gifted. That he had old blood. That he was a miracle in a long dead line, whatever that was supposed to mean.
Her mother had told her that someday she would be like her brother and that she should watch him closely to learn. But Pasha didn’t understand how he did that things he did and he never had enough time to play with her as much as she would like. He was always so busy helping father. She knew she would have to help herself.
Which was what she was trying to do at that instant.
“I’m practicing.” Pasha said, her breath making small clouds in the cold.
“Is… That’s the pumpkin that you uncle Yari brought over for us.” Her mother had not moved from the doorway, talking out at her daughter.
“Yes. I don’t want to eat it anyway.” Pasha said and moved her hand out to the pumpkin again and closed it into a fist again. Still nothing.
“What are you trying to do with it, little one?” Her mother asked, looking confused at her youngest child.
“I’m trying to make it explode with my brain!”
Her mother laughed in her abrupt and loud way. “And what gave you this mad idea?”
“I saw Antoliy explode a man’s head. Just like that!” Pasha slapped her hands together to accentuate the exploding sound effect that she was imagining.
“What did you just say?” Her mother was not laughing anymore; her eyes were wide with worry.
“Yes. A few days ago, I heard someone yelling. I was late though, everyone should be asleep so I followed the sound myself. It was coming from the basement!”
Her mother made no sound, so Pasha continued. She always loved telling stories, usually ones that she made up herself, but true stories were even more fun when she could tell them.
“Uncle Pavlov and Antoliy were down there with someone else. A stranger. I think he was crying. He was talking so fast! I think he was talking about money or land or something, I don’t remember that part. But then! Uncle Pavlov said something to Antoliy and he held out his hand, just like this…”
Pasha demonstrated the position she had perfected envisioning exploding pumpkins.
“…then he gripped his hand into a fist and SPLAT! The strangers head exploded into pieces! It was so gross! I saw BRAINS!”
Pasha’s eyes sparkled with excitement retelling the exciting story, but her mother looked like she would be ill. Her smile faltered at the unexpected expression from the listener of the tale.
“Pasha,” Her mother started, her face looking pale, even behind the makeup, “I think you should stop pretending as such morbid games and come inside.”
“But I think I’m really close! I think the pumpkin is starting to crack.” Pasha walked over to the vegetable and gave it closer inspection.
She heard the door close behind her and when she looked up, she saw that her mother had returned inside. She shrugged to herself and returned her attention to the pumpkin. There were some cracks… but she was pretty sure they were there before she started this exercise. She made a mental note to ask her brother how he does those magical things that he does.
After convincing herself that she hadn’t even dented it with her mental attacks, she set it down with a disappointed thump. What else hadn’t she tried yet? Maybe she should close her eyes when she tried to do this, she only saw her brothers back, maybe he also closed his eyes.
Pasha repositioned herself and closed her eyes, taking the same stance as before, trying to remember where the pumpkin was and wondering if she was pointing at it or not. She took another deep breath, held it in and closed her fist.
The sharp sound a crash made her eyes fly open.
Pasha was immensely disappointed to see the pumpkin was unchanged, but the muffled sounds of voices from inside the house perked her curiosity. The last time she noticed something like this, she got to see someone head burst, maybe she would see something better this time.
Pasha saw shadows moving in one of the side windows, where most of the noise seemed to be coming from. She rolled the pumpkin off its stool and moved it under the window. Pasha was pretty tall for her age, but she couldn’t see through the window without some sort of a boost.
She saw her father and brother inside and she immediately wished she hadn’t looked. They were yelling at each other and there was some blood running down Antoliy’s face. When her brother and father yelled at each other, there was usually hitting.
Her father took his far more slender 15 year old son by his shirt and slammed him up against the wall.
“You probably scarred her for life, you great idiot!” Pasha could hear her father’s booming voice through the glass. It was a voice that could be welcoming and mysterious to those that went to the side show that he ran and also terrifying and dangerous when he was cross at those that worked under him. Like his son.
“I didn’t know she was there! I thought she was asleep!” Antoliy argued back, he also had a commanding voice, like his father. His eyes held no fear for the man that held him roughly, only controlled anger.
Antoliy was always controlled. He had told her that he had to be. My anger is too dangerous, Antoliy explained to his sister one time during their play, I can’t really control myself when I am angry.
The older man brought his hand down across the young man’s face, knocking him to the ground with the open handed strike.
“What if it had been someone else? She saw you murder a man! What if it had been someone else, Antoliy?!”
Antoliy didn’t make any response, putting up no resistance and not defending himself. Pasha could see him shaking from the effort.
“It’s no wonder she isn’t showing any koldun blood in her, your carelessness is costing you sister her gifts!” Her father continued, turning away from his downed child. He rubbed his forehead in exasperation.
“Pasha doesn’t HAVE any gifts!” Antoliy spat, standing back up, the side of his face red from the strike. “She is normal! And I hope she STAYS that way!”
Pasha ducked under the window and covered her ears, sitting on top of the pumpkin. She didn’t want to know what happened next. Her brother’s voice echoing in her head.
Sophia let her breath out on the wind shield, watching with bored interest as it fogged the inside of the cab’s window. The fog wasn’t thick enough to block out the multicolored lights flashing by as the vehicle sped through the unfamiliar streets. She had tried to keep track of where they were going, letting the wonder of the ancient city keep her occupied, but a deep knot of anxiety was growing in her chest the further they got away from the airport.
Sophia lifted her left hand to the glass and drew a smiley face in the steamed window. The little drawing grinned at her blankly, the corners of its newly created face faded away into clear glass as the warmth of the window matched the heat from her breath.
“Hey, driver?”
Sophia lifted her eyes off her vanishing art to watch the reflection of her twin sister, Matilda, through the glass as she spoke. She had been told that their voices were so similar it was impossible to tell the difference, but Sophia had never bought that for a second.
“How much longer until we arrive?” Matilda asked.
“The estimated time of arrival is fif-teen minutes. Traffic is moving at a steady and expected pace. Do you have another inquiry?” The computerized voice of the cab broadcast to the two passengers.
“No. There are no more inquiries.” Matilda huffed impatiently and dropped back heavily into the seat she was fastened into.
“Would you like to upgrade your taxi for an audible tour of your travel route?”
“No. Thank you.” Matilda said, her voice more a groan then actual words. “Like I already answered you. I do not want an upgrade. Just keep driving and stop trying to get us to spend more of our funds here.”
“Understood. Thank you once again for choosing THEMIS Taxi Transportation Services.”
“Like we had any other choice…” Sophia muttered to the glass.
“Did you say something?” Matilda asked her sister, her tone edged with exhausted annoyance.
“No.” Sophia said, raising her voice slightly to be heard more clearly over the low murmur of the cab.
They fell into silence again. Sophia didn’t want to make small talk and her sister didn’t bother trying after the first few attempts. It was clear that the young woman was in no mood for words.
Sophia did not want to be here. She didn’t want to be England. She didn’t want to be in London. And she most certainly didn’t want to have an appointment with Dr. Ferchland.
She had no memory of the streets that they passed. It didn’t surprise her. It had been years since she had come here. She was only a little girl, no more than seven. She was scared and in pain. It was only logical that she didn’t remember anything about the unfamiliar city.
It was only when the cab stopped and she got out of the car did she finally have memories of this place. Something in the air or in the shadows carried unpleasant times of her childhood back to her.
~The shooting pain in her shoulder. Her heart beating unevenly in her chest. She had messed her pants on the trip over and was humiliated. Matilda wasn’t waking up when they arrived. She just wouldn’t wake up.~
The voice of the cab brought her back into the present.
“Thank you again for choosing THEMIS. You account has been charged for the service. Upgrade package summary are as follows: Transport of outmoded personal assistant. And. Transport of genetically flawed passengers. Please do not forget your luggage or you will be charged a disposal fee. Have a nice day.”
“I hope you get your carpets ruined when you go scrub off our ‘impurities’ you piece of scrap.” Matilda cursed at the cab as she stepped around the car to get the sister’s old ARCA (Arkwright’s Robotic Companion and Assistant) android, Lance, out of the storage compartment in the front.
Sophia hurried to her sister’s side, ready to help. Lance looked as miserable as a machine man could be all packed into the front of the cab in a slot that was far too small for him fit in a resting position. His legs were locked forward, hyper extended to fit and his arms were tightly locked to his sides.
Lance tired to move his head to look at the girls, but he was stuck securely.
“Hey there, Lance. You doing alright in here buddy?” Matilda asked, a small smile playing its way onto her face.
“Honestly, it is quite tight in here.” Lance reported. “I am not sure I will ever be able to walk upright again.”
“You are right. Perhaps we had better just pay the disposal fee and send ol’ Lance out to pasture, eh Sophe?” Matilda joked, looking over at her sister.
Sophia didn’t find her smile in time to reciprocate the joke.
“Ah, never mind.” Matilda sighed, getting to work prying their android assistant out of the compartment he was wedged in. “Sophia! Help me out here.”
Between the two of them (and some pointless encouragement from Lance) the twins were able to get Lance untangled from the cab just as an impatient buzzing started to play from the vehicle telling them to clear off.
“Yeah! We hear you!” Matilda shouted at the car, slamming the door for the recently vacated compartment closed as she stepped away. “Go on!”
The cab sped off and the two girls helped to guide Lance back into his normal standing position.
“That is much better.” Lance reported, his body giving off soft clicks and whirs as he recalibrated after his time trapped in the dark. “I do not see how those THEMIS androids can keep their sanity trapped in those small compartments. No windows. No one to talk to.”
“THEMIS bots don’t have any sanity to keep.” Matilda commented. “Those things have the mental capacity of a toaster.”
“And just about the same size if they can fit in cargo spaces that small.” Lance added.
The group moved out of the street and up to the buildings that were crowded in the industrial park in this strange corner of London. They sky was overcast and bright with the lights of the city all around them, even if the buildings in front of them were dark were it not for the street lamps around them and a bright piecing blue light that was more fit for a tattoo and piercing house illuminated a sign that read: ‘Dr. Donald Ferchland, Cybernetics and Orthopedics. By Appointment Only. No Walk Ins.’
Sophia felt her mouth go dry as she stood there in front of the building. She had no memory of this place, but her deep feeling of dread did not dissipate.
A hand slipped into her flesh hand and she jumped slightly, turning to see Lance was at her side. He didn’t say anything to her, just gave her an encouraging smile.
~Do not be afraid, Sophia. I am here. I will protect you.~
“I do not remember this place being such a dump.” Matilda commented, crossing her arms in front of her, her metallic arm hitching slightly as she moved it. “Did it look like this last time we were here?”
“I don’t remember.” Sophia said, honestly.
“It looks a little worse for weir, I’d say.” Lance answered, not letting go of Sophia’s hand. “But it has been years since I have seen it.”
“And this is the place?”
“This is the place. The doctor hasn’t moved his location.” Lance continued.
“Okay, let’s go. We are already late for our appointment.”
Matilda lead the way. The office was in the back of the small complex. They passed a legal office of some sort and a lavender packing plant warehouse if the overpowering floral scent was anything to go on.
It was only when they got sign of the door did Sophia stop in her tracks, Lance looking back worriedly at her.
“Hey, Mat. Hold up.” Sophia called out, her voice a little breathless as her chest felt tight.
Matilda looked back at her sister, and seeing the fear on her face, she crossed to her instantly.
“I don’t think we need to do this.” Sophia said, trying to keep her words steady even as she felt her face heating up from embarrassment and stress. “I mean, why do we need to see this guy? You are a better mechanic then he is. I’m sure. We don’t need to go to any other specialist. I think we can very well take care of ourselves.”
“Sophe.” Matilda started, then let out a quick sigh, trying to find the words that would comfort her sister. “I know you are not crazy about seeing this guy. But he is the best in business. And while I appreciate your compliments on my mechanical skills, you know that is some bull. I’m good. But…”
Matilda paused, looking down at the left side of her body. Her cybernetic arm and leg had uneasy tremors running through them, as they had been for weeks.
“There are things that I can’t fix. I would feel a lot better if we got a check up from someone who knows what they are doing.” Matilda went on.
“If he is the best in the business then why does he work out of such a dump?” Sophia argued, gesturing at the building with her flesh and bone arm.
“Okay, so he is the best in the business as far as we can afford to go see? Plus, he has experience with us. It makes since to go back.”
“Oh, so now not only does this guy work out of a shady back street office, he is also a budget doctor! I am filled with confidence.”
“He is the best in the business of people who will take patients like us!” Matilda snapped back, harshly. “I can’t believe you are trying to make a fuss right now. We are already here! What is your problem?”
“It is okay to be scared, Sophia.” Lance encouraged, giving her hand a small squeeze. “We are here. We will protect you.”
“I’m not scared!” Sophia said automatically, a more obvious lie never told. “I just. God!”
Sophia stopped and took a hard breath and held it, letting it out lowly. Starting again. “God, it was so terrible the last time we were here, Mat. You don’t remember. You were asleep for most of it.”
“Yeah, I think the words unconscious would be more accurate.” Matilda said, but her tone was softening. “I was unconscious because my implants were starting to reject being a part of the whole matilda gig. We were dying, Sophe, and this guy saved us. I think we should give him another chance.”
Sophia looked back at the building. Her uneasiness wasn’t going away, but she knew that Matilda was not going to back down on this one… and she was right. Her prosthetic limbs were starting to behave strangely on her as well. Ghosting, moving when she didn’t mean for it to, numbness, tremors, something was wrong with her. Matilda wasn’t able to find the cause. It could be something serious.
“Okay, let’s get this over with.” Sophia said through grit teeth.
-
Sophia really didn’t remember the doctors face at all. Donald Ferchland was a short man with wild and frizzy grey curls. He had a strong nose and obvious ears. He had a smile that was just a little too professional for Sophia’s comfort, but there was nothing about him that made her feel unsafe, especially with Lance standing right next to her.
The android could snap this man in half. That thought made her feel far more comforted then it should have.
“Look at you. Just look at you.” The man said, shaking his head slightly at the twins that were sitting in the office. His voice had a strong English accent that gave him an air of a tottering old professor rather than a cybernetics expert. “All grown up. I am so happy to see both of your again. Alive and well! I should have taken those bets when you were small.”
“I am sorry if we don’t remember you all that well, Doctor.” Matilda said. “My sister and I were very young that last time we saw you.”
“Yes. Of course. I am not offended. Your case is one of my most referenced! Conjoined twins in this day and age…” The man shook his head, before refocusing. “I am glad to have the opportunity to work with you both again. I am pleased that you are both in much better shape this time. Both conscious. Both in control of your bowels. Already in a better state then you were.”
Sophia felt her face heat up at the reminder.
“Tell me, how is life. How is the world treating you these days?”
“Like garbage, unsurprisingly.” Matilda said with a half smile. “I am working for THEMIS as a technician of robotics.”
“Ah, working for the enemy, eh?” Dr Ferchland commented, giving Lance who stood at the door a side glance.
“I can fix their machines easily enough and the break all the goddamn time I have security until the end of time.” Matilda laughed.
“Or until they make, so called, genetic imperfections illegal.” Sophia added.
“My sister is unemployed currently.” Matilda went on, giving her sister a withering look. “She spends most of her time coming up with conspiracy theories and sharing them with other nuts over the internet.”
Sophia looked at her sister offended, but didn’t honor the jab with a response. This was hardly the place to argue about the validity of her work with her sister.
“And your parents?” Dr. Ferchland asked. “I remember that they came with you the last time you were here.”
“Divorced now. For the best to be honest. Our mother is well and relieved that we decided to come and see you.” Matilda said and added nothing further to the statement. Sophia wasn’t surprised nor did she feel the need to add on anything more.
Their father had completely fallen out of their lives, which, like Matilda said, was really for the best. And their mother sent them well wishes ever so often, likely to make sure that they were still alive, and they got together for the traditional awkward family gathering, but that the extent of their contact. Their mother still lived in Washington in their old house while the twins had moved across the country to New York.
“So, what seems to be the trouble now?”
“Honestly, we need a check up.” Matilda said. “We have been noticing tremors, delays, pains. Those sorts of things. We would like those to stop.”
Dr. Ferchland narrowed his eyes in concentration, staring at the prosthetics on the woman in front of him, looking for anything out of the ordinary. After a moment, he sprung up from his chair and grabbed a pen and pad of paper.
“Alright,” Dr. Ferchland started. “Before I begin, I always like to double check that I have the correct information present in your files. You were dicephalic parapagus twins, correct?”
“Correct.” Matilda answered.
“And which one of you has the completed spinal column?”
“I do.” Matilda answered.
“I have the partial.” Sophia added.
“Yes, that is what the records show.” Dr. Ferchaland continued, then held out a chart for the two of them. “Would you kindly look over this and let me know if any of this information is incorrect?”
Matilda took the chart and held it so Sophia could see it. It was full of technical terms for different body parts separated into two columns with Sophia’s name over one and Matilda’s name over the other. The girls knew what all those words where, they had heard them all their lives. All the various artificial parts that kept them alive apart from each other.
“This is correct.” Matilda answered, handing the chart back to the doctor. “Those are the synthetics parts.”
“Have you noticed any problems with your internal synthetics?” Ferchland asked.
“Not that I have noticed…” Sophia said, trying to remember if she noticed anything was off. “But it would be good to check anyway?”
“Of course.” Dr. Ferchland said, making more notes. “And no bone pains of any sort?”
“Some shoulder pain, but that might have to do with the aforementioned behavior of the prosthetics.” Matilda added.
“How about you let me do the deciding on what is causing what, hmm?” the man looked up at Matilda at that, an annoyance in his smile that vanished as soon as he looked back down at his many indecipherable scribbled notes.
“How often do you have routine check-ups and tuning?” He asked.
“We have checks and tune ups bi-monthly.” Matilda explained.
“Good.” Dr. Ferchland said, mostly to himself. “And who is that you are seeing for these?”
“No one.” Sophia said.
Dr. Ferchland looked up sharply at that.
“I beg your pardon?”
“We do our own repairs in house.” Matilda explained. “We have a tuning schedule and keep it religiously.”
“I…” Dr. Ferchland started clearly caught of guard at this explanation. “I don’t understand.
“We, um.” Matilda started, her face flushing slightly as she fumbled for the right way to explain.
“We don’t have a doctor that we can see regularly.” Sophia took over. “There aren’t many cyber-biotics specialists that are willing to treat people like- Well. You know.”
Sophia hated the words. She never said if she didn’t half to. She heard it everywhere she went. Genetically flawed. Genetic imperfect.
Dr. Ferchland’s incredulous looks flickers into a sympathy that he quickly shooed away with a professional air. Standing up from his chair, muttering something about irresponsible doctors and something about ‘back in his day’ that Sophia didn’t catch the end of.
“Alright. Go ahead and get undressed while I get the office ready for diagnostics. Knock when you are ready.”
The man continued scribbling notes and muttering to himself as he went into the other room, closing the door behind him.
Sophia looked at her sister who just shrugged and started to unbutton her top. Sophia did the same. Within minutes, the two had removed all of their clothing, the spots where their synthetic parts started and their flesh parts ended as plain as day. Standing next to each other, it was like two pieces of a puzzle, the place where they were once connected now had perfectly symmetrical scars to each other. Sophia’s was the left side. Matilda was the right. Neither of them had any semblance of breast when they unfastened their shape wear that gave them the appearance of a feminine shape. Matilda wore hers all the time; Sophia only wore hers when she went out.
Lance fled their clothing into neat piles for lack of anything better to do.
“You feeling a little better about this, Sophe?” Matilda asked, frowning in frustration as she ran through some small movement tests with her left arm, watching and calculating the delays.
“Yeah, a little.” Sophia responded with a half shrug. It wasn’t a complete lie. Dr. Ferchland was something like a monster in her memory, but here in the present he was little more than a strange old man. Everything was brighter then she remembered. Warmer. Having her sister awake was a plus as well.
“Are we ready?” Matilda asked, dropping her hand back down to her side.
“Yeah. Let’s get all synced up.” Sophia said with a steady smile.
The soldier looked up at the voice and saw Lt. Griss staring back at him with a look on his face that told the younger military man that he was either about to start laughing or cringing depending on what the kid was going to do next.
The kid, Josh, shrugged noncommittally and looked back over to the muddy French landscape outside their makeshift bunker. The rain had stopped a while ago, but it still looked miserable out there. One would have to be in pretty desperate way to go out in that and leave the relative comfort of the tent.
“What are you talking about?” Josh asked, with a casual shrug.
“You can’t be seriously going out there.” Lt. Griss continued. “We finally get a moment to rest and you are going to use it to look at equipment?”
“What can I say, I’m curious.” Josh continued, this time with a smile that gave himself away.
“You are such a nut.” Griss muttered to himself. “But, hey, like I’m going to tell you what to do with your rest time. Go on.”
Josh grinned at the other briefly and left the tent and went to the where the heavy machinery and equipment was being held. He had heard that they received some state of the art war machines from back home that morning. He had to see it.
He saluted at the men on guard and they returned it.
“All’s well, Private?” One of the men asked after he finished saluting.
“Yes, sir.” Josh replied.
“Can we help you with something then?” The other asked, raising a dark eyebrow at the younger soldier.
“Oh, no sir. I was just…” Josh started, a little hesitant, but the first one who spoke continued.
“You are one of the greens, right?”
“Y-yes sir, I hadn’t realized it was so obvious.”
“It’s not that.” The other guard said, chuckling a little to himself. “All the green horns want to see the ‘machine men’ after they hear about it. I’m telling you. Those things are weird. Off putting. You are better off without.”
“I’d still like to see it if I may?” Josh continued with a small shrug.
“I don’t see why not. Don’t touch anything and don’t cause a fuss and we won’t catch any hell about it. Clear?”
“Sir, yes sir!” Josh cheered with a salute, beaming.
The two guards waved him in and he walked into the area where all the tech was stored. There where more than a few car parts, many boxes of things that he would need a checklist and a five minutes to sort through.
Then, a sound caught his ear.
Radio static… radio whining… What the devil?
Josh jumped behind a heavy box next to him, listening to the sound, trying to find where it was coming from. He listened hard, slowly moving he head out from the cover he found to peer around in the low lighting of the shed.
There. In one of the colder corners of the shed. The source of the sound. There were two figured that were huddled in the corner around a radio. Josh felt his heart stop in his chest.
Spies?
He ducked down behind the box again, feeling for his small firearm at his side. He knew it was loaded and ready to be shot, but.. he had never shot anyone before. He could feel his hands growing damp as his heart raced.
He strained his ears, listening for any voices over the sounds of the radio and his own heart beat in his head. He couldn’t tell.
He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. He had to get help. He had protect the base.
Josh jumped out from the boxes and held his gun steady shouting: “FREEZE! PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND DON’T MOVE!”
The two men by the radio stopped still, not moving at all.
“I said put your hands up! NOW!” He commanded and then slowly the two placed their hand up and onto their heads, just at the two guards from outside arrived, eyes wide and hands on their rifles.
“The hell is going on in here?” The first guard spoke, his voice was loud and worried, looking at the two that were kneeling by the radio. “Who are you? Stand up slowly! Do not try anything or so help me I will shoot.”
“Please. Do not shoot.” Came a reply, it had an off sound to it and then the one nearest to the radio stood up and turned around. The light in the room glinted off a metallic face framed by an ill fitting military cap. The eyes of the machine man glowed with a red tint that set Josh back a few steps, but he kept his gun in his hand, watching the other soldiers for guidance.
“Hey! You stand up too!” The guard shouted gesturing to the other person that was still seated by the radio.
“Do as he says, Zim.” The metal faced person said and then the other stood as well. This one was much shorter than the first, who must have been an easy six feet and generous change. This one was about as tall as Josh, also with a metal face and glowing white eyes. This one kept its head low, looking up at the guards and Josh was a sort of apprehension that was clear to the young private.
The lead guard moved over to the machines, keeping his gun raised. He looked down at the radio then switched it off with a snap.
“What the hell you doing with that radio? Answer me, spook!” The guard demanded, shoving his gun forward threateningly.
“We were just looking for something to listen to. Honestly.” The tall machine man answered. “We had found a small French radio show back in Paris that we were trying to find again.”
The guard looked at them with dark suspicion, then dropped his gun to his side and took the radio up into his hands, looking it over. I could see from where I was standing that it was a receiver, there was no way for it to broadcast anything into the airways.
At length he stood up, radio still in his hands.
“You are not to touch anything here. I should not have to tell you this. If we find you tampering with anything in here again, I don’t care how much you cost, I will put you in the ground. Are we clear?”
“Yes, sir.” The first said.
“But… the radio…” The second said and the first looked over sharply at the second.
“What about the radio?” the guard said, getting in close to the small machine.
“There was a woman on the radio… in Paris… She was singing such a beautiful song. If you are not using the radio, can’t we borrow it for a while? Please?” The machine asked.
The guard raised the butt of his gun and slammed it into the side of the machines head, causing it to fall backwards.
“Hey! He understands sir.” The first said, there was a change in the tone that gave the room a chill. “I do hope you will be patient as he adjusts to the new requirements of him here.”
“I shouldn’t have to be patient with our equipment.” The guard growled, still with the radio in hand and stalked back to where the other guard and Josh were waiting.
“Told you they were odd.” The other guard told Josh before following the other with the radio.
Josh stayed put, still watching.
The first machine man went the helped the other that was attacked to stand, straightening the other’s ill fitting civilian wear.
“Ow… I think I’m dented.” The smaller one whined, rubbing the spot where it was struck. the metal of its fingers gave small scraping sounds as it inspected itself for damages. It had a metal dome of a head that Josh could see plainly now that the things hat fell away.
“Let me see…” The taller one instructed and pulled the smaller hands away. “Ah, don’t be a baby, you are fine. Just a little paint got scratched. Nothing to worry about.”
Josh was completely entranced by the metallic creatures in front of him, he had never seen anything like them and all he could do was stare until they both started staring back at him. He then looked down, embarrassed.
“Is there something we can assist you with, private?” The taller one asked, tilting his head to the side and holding out a hand as if offering a help to a fallen person.
“I’m sorry” Josh started, not really sure where to start and feeling very awkward. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble back there. I just wanted to see you, to be honest.”
The taller one dropped its hands to its sides.
“You didn’t get us in trouble, private. We were the ones messing with the radio. Please, if you wanna closer look come on over, we won’t bite ya.”
The tone of the automaton was friendly if still a little strange sounding to Josh. The voice had a bit of an echo to it that he could hear now that he was standing closer to them and the static was no longer masking smaller sounds. It had a bit of a crackle to it like the gramophones that reminded Josh of his old family home back in Carolina. He wondered briefly how the things were able to speak and almost asked them. Almost.
He looked over at the smaller one and noted that there was a nasty scratch near the right temple of the things head. Josh found himself wincing in a sympathetic pain as the automaton shook its head. There was no rattle that sounded off from inside the things head, so he assumed it was fine. Again that was all he had to go on at this point.
“I’m Josh. Private Josh Kirkland.” Josh introduced himself, stopping when he was about a foot away from the tallest machine. At this closeness Josh predicted that the thing was an easy 6 foot and 3 inches. The clothing that it was wearing were clearly old civvies, but they hung off the creature as if it was being worn by a skeleton.
“Hello Private Kirkland. It is nice to have a name to go with the face. My name is Isaac.” The taller machine, Isaac explained, tapping one of its hands against its chest giving off something of a hallow sound. “And the little guy behind me is Zimran. You could call him my little brother, I suppose.”
The smaller automaton, Zimran, waved a hand, but didn’t say anything. It wore the some sort of clothing that the Isaac wore and Josh couldn’t help but wonder why they were wearing clothes of any sort.
“I knew we sort of got off to a rough start here. It’s nice to meet you.” Isaac continued and held out a hand to me as if asking for me to shake it.
Josh happily took it, careful not to grip too hard on the hand and risk damaging it. The metal was cold on his skin and the strength that he gave was mirrored perfectly, not gripping too tightly. He could feel small vibrations through the hand as it moved and adjusted the grip to give the hand a smart shake.
The machine let go and took a small step back, clearly waiting for Josh to do something next. He wasn’t sure what exactly he should do. Should he ask more questions? Should he try to see what was in the machines? Josh remembered that he was instructed not to mess around with anything in this room but did that count with the clearly self aware machines in front of him?
“What were you trying to do with the radio?” He asked instead.
Isaac let out a hiss of steam that seemed something like a sigh then turned back to look at Zimran.
“You can thank, ‘ol Zimmy over here for that one.” Isaac said, reaching up and giving the other a small push causing the smaller to adjust their sanding gait a little with another whine. “Someone fell in love with a voice over the air ways… again.”
“That is not true!” Zimran bit back, not looking at Josh. “I am not falling in love! I just thought her voice was pretty. I never asked you to find a radio for me! You were the one that wanted to see if you could hear from Ishmael.”
“Ishmael?” Josh asked, raising an eyebrow, trying to keep up with what was being said.
“I guess we both had our reasons for wanting to mess around with the radio.” Isaac said, not paying any mind to Josh at that moment. “I would be lying if I said I didn’t check the frequency that I thought he would be usin’ out there. We are probably way too far out of range.”
“What is Ishmael?” Josh tried again, walking over to stand next to the machines.
“Ishmael’s my big brother.” Zimran said, finally looking at Josh. “He used to send us little messages though the radio when he was able. But now that he was sent out with another team we haven’t heard anything from him at all… I think Isaac is scared.”
“I am not scared at all, Zims!” Isaac correcting then turned to look at Josh. “Ish can take care of himself. He might not be as old as I am, but I am sure that he will be able to manage whatever those that… rented, I guess is the correct word, us want him to do. Just like we will be able to do the same when our time comes.”
“And what is it that you are going to be doing with us here?” Josh asked, honestly curious as to what the purpose of these strange machines were.
“We do not know.” Isaac said, giving the young soldier a small shrug. “I’m not sure anyone knows. They taught us to do all sorts of things before we were sent here. More then a few of those things I will be just as happy to go without using, to be completely honest.”
“I’ve learned how to be a medic!” Zimran added helpfully. “I would like to be able to help with those sorts of things. More healing. Less hurting.”
“You don’t want to talk about such things, Zims.” Isaac said, the voice of the machine softening slightly in a sort of concern that Josh wasn’t sure to take seriously or not, it was very hard to tell with the synthetic sound of the voice itself. “Remember what Ish told you.”
“Why do you call him your big brother? Are you sort of related?” Josh asked instead, trying to break up the awkwardness that was threatening come over them.
“We are all brothers! All made by our creator, Abraham Arkwright III.” Zimran chirped, straightening with a proud clink as he said so. “Isaac was built first, then Ishmael, then me.”
“Do you have a family back home, Private?” Isaac asked.
Josh let out a small sigh as his mind went unbidden back to his home. The memories of the old house with it’s strange creaks in the foul weather. The thing would likely be a symphony if it were build out here in the French country side.
“Yeah. I got a family back home.” Josh finally answered.
“Any brothers of your own?” Isaac asked.
“Or sisters?” Zimran continued.
“I have a little sister. Jill.” Josh reported. “Yeah, our parents went with Josh and Jill, how is that for naming conventions?”
“Those both seem like wonderful names to me.” Zimran said.
Josh couldn’t help the grin that came over his face as he watched the smaller of the machine men. Its tone was so genuine and friendly, the air it gave off was nothing like the other one. The taller seemed reserved and quiet, like it expected some sort of violent behavior to come at any second, but the smaller seemed so… trusting. He couldn’t help but warm up to it.
“What is your family like?” Josh asked, but as soon as the words left his mouth he questioned whether or not it was the right thing to say.
But the little machine jumped slightly and reached into one of its pockets, pulling out a photograph with very delicate movements.
“This is my family!” Zimran explained, holding out the picture to Josh in its metal palm. Being so close to the machine’s hand, he couldn’t help but marvel at how carefully crafted it was, delicate finger joints on all three of the long fingers and thumb. There were creased in the inside of the palm to help with gripping. Whoever designed them took great care to make them look as human as possible. Josh was so distracted he almost didn’t catch what was on the picture.
In the picture was a small family. There was a pale man in the center wearing gloves, next to him was a woman of about the same age with long light colored hair and standing next to them were two nearly identical young men. Behind them, were more machine men.
“That’s father there in the center.” Zimran explained, pointing to the man with the gloves.
“Abraham Arkwright III.” Isaac clarified. “He is the one who built us.”
“Yeah! And that’s our momma!” Zimran went on, pointing to the woman in the picture.
“Ruth Arkwright. Fath-Abraham Arkwright’s wife.” Isaac continued. “She didn’t have any direct influence of our creation. But she does look out for us like a mother would, I think.”
“And that’s Asher and Ashton.” Zimran pointed to the two other boys on either side of the couple in the center. “Those are our father’s sons. Those are the ones that he made with Mamma Ruth. They are not like us. They are more like father. He didn’t build them in a lab.”
“As far as we know.” Isaac added with a jaunty wink at me. Josh wasn’t sure what to make of that so he just let out a nervous laugh and hope that was the correct response to the situation. “Twins, I think is what they were called, created at the same time.”
“Isn’t momma Ruth something amazing?” Zimran went on. “Not even father can manage to make more than one of us at a time!”
“And what are those behind the family?” Josh asked.
“Ah! Those are the other sons!” Zimran cheered then started pointing to each. “That one is Isaac, standing the closest to Father. Then there is me to the right, and next to me is Joksha. And standing at the end near to Ashton is Ishmael. He is the one that we were trying to listen for on the radio.”
Josh could not miss the third automaton in the picture. He towered over the rest of the family. It was easily the largest and most intimidating built. Even in a still shot it looked like it could break a human in half.
“There are more than this, but they weren’t built yet when this picture was taken.” Zimran added.
“And, where is this Ishmael now?” Josh asked, looking back up to the machine that held out the picture for me to see.
“Like we said, we don’t know.” Isaac said, the voice that came from the other was quiet and pained sounding. “We were all sent out together, but they split us up. Didn’t tell us where they were taking him.”
“But then we heard him on the radio a few days ago!” Zimran added. Taking the picture and placing it carefully into his pocket again. “He had gotten on a radio in the new place that he arrived at. He wasn’t able to tell us any details of where he was, but he said that he was safe and he would try to radio us again as soon as he was able, so we would know that he was still safe.”
“Then there was a lady on the radio.” Isaac added, prodding Zimran slightly in good humor. “I’d say we were doomed the moment we turned on.”
“We were listening for word of my big brother!” Zimran defended shoving Isaac back but the other machine did not budge in the slightest. “This had nothing to do with the singer! You are embarrassing me for no reason at all! Do not be mean to me!”
Isaac made a sound that more resonated out of the chest then broadcast out of the mouth of the machine. Like a chuckle of a child that was hiding in a closet. You knew the sound came from somewhere but there was no clear location of where. It was a deep, mischievous and disconnected sound.
Josh laughed as well. These strange creatures reminded his painfully of his life back home. Teasing his little sister. Giving his pals at school a hard time for their crushes. Things that he assumed all people experienced.
Fletcher scanned the horizon again through his pair of well worn binoculars, the light from the open, unclouded moon shone bright on the empty landscape around him. The emptiness of the Salt seemed to stretch on in every direction; there was no sign of anything passing through this part of the territory. He had told his crew that he would take watch while Prospera and Lucius disembarked to try to find something on sand and salt bottom of that myth once called the ‘sea.’ It had only been myth for Fletcher, he was long born in the midst of this world. This world where water was more valuable than air. Bullets more precious than company. And fuel for their land ships more treasured than fuel for their own bellies.
“You seen anything out there at all?”
Fletcher finished his scan before dropping the farseeing glasses. He turned and saw Lucius, his first mate, had set himself next to his captain on the top of the lead ship of mix-matched and oddly shaped vehicles that traveled the expanse of the Salt known as The Virtue.
“Nothing. Nothing but Salt as far as the eye can see,” Fletcher muttered with a stiff sigh as he righted himself from where he was lying on his stomach, stiff from remaining in the position for so long. “I thought you were with Prospera?”
“I was,” Lucius said, his voice trying hard to keep an optimistic edge that resounded too forced and false to be comfortable. “We found nothing. She said she was going to keep searching for a while longer.”
“She sent you back here?” Fletcher asked, raising an eyebrow at his friend.
“She said I was no use to her. Rather rude, actually.”
“Give her some space,” Fletcher said. “Our boatswain has much on her heart. I doubt she will be willing to listen to your usual antics.”
“And now you are the one being rude!” Lucius said with a laugh, but sobered quickly enough, staring out at the expanse around them, seeing the small flicker of light as Prospera continued her search, the sound of her cycle echoing dully to the stopped Virtue.
“You are certain that this is the place that we were told to be looking?” Lucius asked, his voice was low and serious.
“Enzo checked the charts over. There is no mistake in his calculations,” Fletcher assured. “If there is a mistake it was in the information given, not the charts.”
“Don’t tell Prospera you said that,” Lucius warned, rubbing the side of his face as if remembering strikes there in the past. “She gets in a way when someone questions her, even if she is retelling the words of others.”
Fletcher only nodded as they continued to watch the light from the cycle flash from place to place as the driver searched. Searched for any sign of her sister’s kidnapper.
Prospera was from the Spire. An oasis in the middle of the Salt that few believed existed out of the dreams of water starved madmen. A place where water flowed from a thin mountain and green was found in abundance. It was a place that was too good to be true and many lost their lives perusing the fable of such a place.
It was no fable, as Fletcher and his crew of pirates and oil drillers found.
They now patrolled the border of the Spire, raiding those foolish enough to make it this close to the treasure of the Salt. Trading resources and fuel for water and food. It was a good deal, Fletcher thought. He had been in far worse places.
It was on one of their returns from their long digs that they heard of another ship that had been causing havoc in the Salt. A great black ship that belched fire and acid and was uncanny at finding the scouts sent from the Spire, known as Seeds, and destroying their convoys.
It was on its latest raid that they finally were found out, as one of the Seeds escaped and was running through the Salt to find help. The Virtue found her first and she told them of the horrors she had seen. The dead bodies of her sisters that were sent before her. The fire and death. The Dragon.
The girl was with their doctors now and Fletcher and his crew were scouring the Salt for any sign of this trespasser.
It had been two days since they started their search.
“You don’t think The Dragon is real?” Fletcher said, but he knew the answer. There was many on his crew that had brought forth doubts at the girl’s story.
“She was weak from hunger and mad from thirst when we found her,” Lucius admitted, speaking in a whisper as if he was afraid his words might be carried to ears that would kill him for suggesting such a thing. “I am only worried that we are chasing shadows out here.”
“Never thought I would hear you echoing Avernus’ words to me,” Fletcher commented with a wry smile.
“Our Quartermaster is skeptical and greedy.” Lucius said, mirroring the expression on his captain’s face. “But you know he has a good nose for things like this.”
“Things like what, exactly?”
“Things like knowing when it is wild geese we are chasing down.”
Fletcher let out another sigh and looked through the binoculars again, this time watching Prospera. He watched as she dismounted her cycle and ran her hand through the dark salt.
“As you said, Avernus is a skeptic.” Fletcher said. “But Prospera knows her fellows of the Spire. If she says the girl is telling the truth, I believe her.”
Fletcher heard a sigh at his side and felt Lucius adjust position.
“I just hope you have a good way of explaining that to the crew when we have been out here for seven days with no sign of any Dragons.”
“Well, we haven’t been out here for seven days, we have been out here for two and I think they can survive having their patience exercised,” Fletcher bit back, dropping the binoculars to send a sharp glare at his first mate who put his hand up defensively at the look with an apologetic smile.
It was as he was watching the face of his first mate when the pale blue of the moonlight was replaced with a hard red light. The smile gone in an instant and his hand flew to the gun at his side. Fletcher spun back around so violently he nearly jumped off the top of the vehicle.
There was a red burning flare that had shot up from where Prospera was searching. The white light of her cycle was racing toward them as the red continued to shoot up into the air. They couldn’t hear the hiss of the signal flare, but they heard a loud grating clank that echoed over the Salt.
Fletcher peered into the darkness of the night and saw sand beginning to bulge up, as if a great serpent was rising up out of the ground below them.
The mound of salt and sand broke away and a large black land ship appeared on the horizon, letting out a large jet of fire as the thing roared up out of the place it had been hidden below the ground. A sheet fell away from it like a snake’s egg as it turned to chase Prospera, the red from the fire illuminating the Salt and casting long shadows down to them as the cycle streaked forward to where The Virtue was waiting for her return.
“Angles of grace! Here she comes!” Lucius yelled out.
Fletcher said nothing. He had to get the ship moving.
He shimmied down the side of the vehicle and jumped into the wheelhouse, grabbing the string for the horn and pulling it hard and fast. The blast of the horn shook the land ship, two long blasts to signal the warming.
All hands on deck.
The Virtue roared to life herself, the motors in the vehicles that made up her parts all starting as one. The wheel twisting and turning as the helmsman took control over their linked system. Fletcher heard smaller blasts of horns going off to signal that they were linked it, and Fletcher waiting until he heard all seven of the other’s signal before he made the final signal. Locked and secure.
The Virtue lurched forward, all her mechanisms working as one. Fletcher got out of the wheel house and drew his shotgun out from the strap on his back. He climbed back onto the top to find that Avernus, Enzo and Phoebe were already standing ready with Lucius, all armed and alert, looking out at the Salt, watching as The Dragon approached them, jetting more fire and letting out another loud roar in challenge.
“I guess you lost that wager, Avernus! There she is! Coming in hot!” Lucius whooped, but there was a nervous edge to his voice that Fletcher knew would not be resolved until Prospera was back onboard.
“Now is not the time for this, you fool!” Avernus shouted back, the light from the approaching ship lighting his face and twisting his features with more shadows. The marked tattoo of the third eye on his head standing out ominously in the night. “Captain! Your orders!”
“We need Prospera secured and armed as soon as possible!” Fletcher called out over the noise. “Get the guns and crew ready for a fight! We are off to slay a dragon!”
“Aye aye, sir!” The gathered called and moved to their tasks.
Fletcher moved to the signal light and flashed a formation code to the helm who was keeping all the vehicles moving as one. The links and bars that held The Virtue together moved and shifted as the flotilla move to accommodate the formation. The landships stopped in a net position and started to aline with the trajectory of the other barreling towards them.
They had to take the thing alive.
Fletcher navigated over the walk rails between the ships to find the docking section for the scout cycles. Prospera had doubled back and was matching the speed of the accelerating flotilla. Fletcher was nearly deafened by the signal horn from the docking car and the side panel opened. She looked up briefly to see Fletcher watching her and gave a fast nod, pulling her cycle into its bay.
Within moments, she was at his side, her rifle in her hands, flanked by Lucius.
There was no time to speak to each other as a signal horn from the helm blasted.
“Everyone get down! We are about to collide!” Fletcher called out, dropping to the metal below him and taking hold of one of the many secure rails that were there for that very purpose. He didn’t even have to think of how to loop his arms and belt against the rails. The Virtue was no stranger to this sort of violence and slamming herself into other landships.
The roar of The Dragon was drowned out by the smashing of metal against metal as it was caught between the two sides of the flotilla, crashing into the back of their net of thick steel bars at the back. The Virtue lurched backwards as the momentum of The Dragon slammed against them.
Fletcher grunted as he was pushed from one side to the next as the ship changed direction to close off the front of the net so that their now captured target could not escape the way it had come in. Within moments, another loud clang, signaling that the bars in the front had been relined vibrated through the landship and another blast from the helm told them that they were safe to begin boarding and disassembling their target.
Fletcher unfastened himself and stood, along with the other. His crew all shouting and cheering in victory at their catch, looking over to see the black landship in their clutches.
A shot of super heated blue and red flame licked up the side of The Virtue. The heat made Fletcher flinch back in surprise and pain, just avoiding getting scorched himself. The Dragon’s engines roared and The Virtue structure shook as it worked to free itself, slamming its wheels back and forth to try to shake free from its captivity.
The fire flew out from it again.
“It will tire itself out before long,” Lucius commented, watching as the bars lowered underneath the machine and linked together to prepare to lift the thing off the wheels. “I wouldn’t risk my good looks on that just yet.”
“You would risk that for nothing!” Prospera said, her voice was filled with anger, her eyes flashing at the man speaking. “We have no time to wait for this! They have my sister inside!”
A gunshot ricochets off the hull of The Virtue and the pirates lunged down to avoid the fire.
“Live fire! Live fire!” Fletcher shouted out and, almost in a direct echo, one of the vehicles let out a signal to inform the rest of the flotilla that guns were being shot.
Prospera and Fletcher had their guns in their hands instantly, moving to the edge, cautious of flames to appear at any moment.
As they looked into the net, they saw about six masked and begoggled raiders climbing on the top of The Dragon; two of the six were crouched down with long scoped rifles, aiming and shooting up at any heads that appeared in looking at them, while the other four slinked and slid to the exhaust pipes on each side of the landship with large gallons at their sides. They moved over the ship like cockroaches, all too familiar and fast as they moved around the coal black machine.
Prospera took a shot at one of the men with the jugs, catching him in the center of his back. He screamed in pain and dropped the jug, a clear liquid sloshing out and splattering on the metal around him. Everywhere the liquid touched started giving off a dark smoke and the metal underneath it hisses and softened at an alarming rate.
“I won’t let them escape!” Prospera growled. “Come on, Fletcher! To battle!”
Fletcher reached out and took her rifle without looking at her at all, he knew this formation as well as the formations of his ship. He got as low as possible, bracing himself against the hull and peering at the men below, he had to take out the snipers.
“Four shots,” Prospera said.
“More than enough,” Fletcher muttered, lining up the first shot.
The rifleman on the right swung his scope to look at the standing Prospera, completely missing Fletcher. It was the last mistake he made.
Fletcher took the shot, the gun slamming against his arm and the scream of the rifle leaving a small and familiar ring in his ear as the light flashed out with the bullet. The bullet found its target just as Prospera leapt off The Virtue and landed on The Dragon.
The other rifleman swung around to try to line up a shot to take, but Prospera was on him faster. Her knife was out in her hand as she pushed the barrel of the gun out of her way, the shot going far stray. She let out a fearful shriek and bared her golden fangs at the man in her clutches.
Fletcher couldn’t see the man’s face through the mask, but he did hear his scream as she plunged her dagger into his chest and rent it out with a spray of gore that colored her clothing in the wind that charged around the flotilla.
With the last sniper down, Fletcher secured the rifle and jumped down into the pit as well. His boots knocked heavily against the hull of the other landship and he drew back out his shotgun.
“Take the ones on the port side!” Fletcher called to Prospera, checking to see that he was loaded. “I’ll take the starboard!”
“Aye!” Prospera shouted back then slid down the side to attack the two on her assigned side.
Fletcher linked his belt into a side railing and slid down to the side of The Dragon, shotgun at the ready. The raider on the side was working frantically, pouring the acid down into the funnel near the exhaust piping. Fletcher lined up the shot just as the man noticed his movement. He took the shot but the man had ducked just a moment too quickly, the bullet pinging off the armour plating of the machine he was still linked to.
The raider had righted himself before Fletcher could fire off another shot, leaping with practiced dexterity on to the pirate captain. They grappled savagely, Fletcher desperately trying to throw the other man off of himself while hands struggled to get side arms free for use.
Fletcher took hold of his saber, but the raider predicted his movement, grabbing at it as well. The heat from the side of the machine made Fletcher’s body slick with sweat and the raider couldn’t keep him trapped down. The sword came up out of its scabbard in Fletcher’s hand and was swung down at the raider’s crown.
The man was quick. He twisted his body to move Fletcher out and around, pinning himself between the armour of The Dragon and Fletcher’s body. The sword swung down all the same, but instead of biting into flesh and cloth, the blade struck the dark metal, splintering the shining weapon as it left nothing more the a scratch on the outside of the vehicle.
The hilt fell out of Fletcher’s hand as both the combatants covered their faces to shield them from any metallic shards. The closeness to the other man allowed Fletcher to catch a rasping laugh of triumph from the other.
He was out of weapons.
The raider recovered first, swinging Fletcher back around and bashed his head against with the side of The Dragon. Fletcher growled, forcing himself to keep focused as his vision swam dangerously and his head pounding in agony from the strike.
He struck at Fletcher’s face while scrambling for the belt that held the man in place. Fletcher kneed him in the side while tearing at the other’s hands to keep himself cemented to the side.
Then there was a horrible sucking sound from the mounted exhaust pipe. A pipe that was pointing right at the two of them.
Fletcher’s was sure if the other man heard the noise, but Fletcher acted first.
Fletcher let go of the hands of the combatant, and slammed his full weight against the man’s side, twisting him in front of the pipe.
It was not a moment too soon.
The Dragon roared a wet and sloshy sound and where fire was shot before, clear liquid sprayed out of the pipes as heave as a downpour. Fletcher ducking into the raider’s chest as a shield against the acid as the other man shrieked in pain as the corrosive acid worked its way through his back.
It was easy for Fletcher to shove the man off of him, the raider falling down under the wheels and out of his sight. But he was too early.
A blinding pain ripped through his arm and chest. Fletcher scream matched that of his attacker and he fell heavily against the strap on his side, desperately wanted to grip where the acid was on him, but he had just enough mind to know not to touch it. The hateful liquid burned like a fire, making his skin pop and blister, sticking to his clothes that were dissolving like sugar. The smell of the iron around him rotting and melting only added to his lightheadedness from the pain.
His teeth were chattering together as he tried to take in breath. His vision darkened. The last conscious thought he had before the darkness overtook him completely was if The Virtue had gotten The Dragon off the ground, which of the vehicles would be the one to crush him.
-
Fletcher’s first conscious thought once the darkness pulled away was that the afterlife sounded a lot like Melanie and Phoebe bickering.
He opened his eyes to see the familiar ceiling of the medical car in The Virtue. His arm and cheek ached dully, but the searing agony was faded.
He turned his head to look at the room around him. The twin doctors, Melanie and Phoebe, were both there as he had heard and, indeed, were bickering as usual. He looked at the other bed that the two were standing over and saw an unfamiliar face resting there. It was a woman had dark hair and the delicate features, features that both Prospera and the other women from the Spire shared.
They’d got her.
Fletcher let out a sigh of relief and closed his eyes again.
“You always wake up too fast.”
Fletcher opened his eyes again to see Phoebe kneeling down next to his bed, giving him a half grin.
“You would heal faster if you just let yourself sleep,” she went on, her dark curly hair bouncing with the movement of the vehicle.
“It’s not like that is my fault,” Fletcher said back, his voice was raw from his screaming and parched from lack of water. “I am sure you could wake the dead with the way your sister and you argue.”
“Well, we will not have to try that today. You live. The girl lives. No one else was seriously injured,” Phoebe recounted, pleased with the words. “I’d say it was a successful rescue.”
Fletcher looked down at his chest and arm.
Resting on his burns were slices of bright oranges. Fletcher stared at them in confusion.
“Why…?”
“Miracle fruits, those little things are.” Phoebe said, starting the familiar rhyme, but her sister spoke up before she could complete it.
“Keeps you from scurvy and other nasty diseases, delicious to the palate and it counters the effects of Siren Tears,” Melanie said, shaking her head in small wonder.
“But don’t eat those,” Phoebe warned with another smile. “They are soaking up that nasty stuff and if you think Siren's Tears will do a number on the outside of your body…”
Phoebe let the rest of the thought play out with a raise of her eyebrows and a puff of her cheeks. She then changed the subject to the matters of the ship. Prospera was in command while he was in medical, as expected. Avernus was the one that dragged him to them. The amount of damage done to the hold. The rate that The Dragon was being disassembled. Normal ship business.
Fletcher just closed his eyes and listened to the voice of the doctor as it mixed with the rumble of the wheels underneath him.
52 Short Stories in 52 Weeks Challenge
Week 3 – Retelling a Fairy Tale
St. George and the Dragon
Special thanks to Sheva ( @shevathegun ) for assistance with editing!
“You have to obey me! I have given you a direct order!”
Ishmael stood stock still, staring at the man in front of him. The person suddenly seemed far more small then any other human he had ever seen. Face flushed, eyes glaring hard at the machine man standing in front of him; breath starting to come in hard as the emotion fueled outburst worked through him. Ishmael wondered idly what it must feel like to have the feeling of adrenaline. Suddenly having energy forced through you, heightening the fight or flight reflex born in all living beings.
It was always something of a hang up for his other brothers. If we did not have a fight or flight reflex, did that mean that we are not living? Ishmael did not have the answers to such complex questions, and he knew Isaac didn’t either, but unlike Isaac, Ishmael wasn’t one to make up facts when he didn’t know them. He didn’t think there was anything shameful in admitting that he didn’t know that answer to something. That was only a way for him to improve on himself and increase his knowledge of all things. Granted, his love for knowledge wasn’t as all consuming at it was for his other siblings, like Jokshaw, but curiosity was something all the sons of Abraham seemed to share with each other.
Curiosity. Wasn’t that a human trait? Did not the desire to learn and better ones self make them more human than a simple fight or flight reflex? Again, Ishmael wasn’t about to have the answers, but in that moment, he didn’t need the answer either. Not in the face of this strange adversary that had presented himself to the machine in such an aggressive and hostile way.
He moved his eyes over the target that he was assigned. There was a human, bound, laying on the ground, apparently unconscious. The clothing that he wore was stained from over long weir and too little replacements. He knew the symbols of the old German uniform, even from the position the other was in. The man was obviously no threat to anyone in the room. He was just laying there.
Ishmael looked back to the man who was still glaring at the tall automaton, his look of rage was mixed with a look of expectancy. He had the coat and the pin of the Scientific Society of Man proudly displayed.
There was still one more person in the room and Ishmael twisted to look at the silent form on Dr. Xerxes Strand. He stood with his arms crossed, no pen or note paper in his hands. A real sense of unease twisted in Ishmael’s dark element core. Xerxes was a man of many notes, the fact that he had none was more than alarming. Ishmael also didn’t like that there was no sign on Master Arkwright with them.
Where was Master Arkwright?
“Where is Master Arkwright?” Ishmael asked, turning back to the other scientist in the room.
“That is unrelated to the command I have given you!” The man in front of him said again, pointing a finger at the bound man on the floor in the cold room. “Kill this man, at once!”
Ishmael could feel a rattle threaten to break out over his form that he refused to let out. His dark element only twisting faster and stormier inside of himself.
“Why do you want me to kill this man?” Ishmael asked, not moving at all.
“The only reason you need is because I commanded you to do so!” The man said, but before he could continue, Xerxes walked up beside the man.
“Ishmael, what orders did Abraham give you before you were sent to the lab here?” Dr. Strand asked, his tone was cool and in control, quite the counter to the other researcher in the room with them.
“Master Arkwright told me that you would be running some tests to see how well equipped I would be to help the United States of America in their efforts to aid our allies in Europe.” Ishmael recounted.
“And what did he tell you to do to help us?” Xerxes continued.
“To obey all orders and submit to any tests that would be done.” Ishmael answered, without hesitation. He had a perfect memory in all things.
“Well, then what is the problem here?” Xerxes asked, no smile lighting his features. “The test we are asking you to submit to is right in front of you. Your orders for this test are to kill this man.”
“But I do not wish to take the life of this man.” Ishmael countered. He could see that the command was given to him and he was technically disobeying Master Arkwright, but he didn’t want to take any life from anyone. It was a desire. Human’s had desires. Human’s had wants. Was this so hard for the others in the room to understand? They were also human as far as Ishmael could tell.
“Your ‘wishes’ are of no concern to me, nor are they the concern of the government. You will do as you are commanded.” The other scientist said again, the strain on his face was so worryingly powerful, Ishmael feared that he would rupture something serious if he kept on at his current rate of stress.
But Ishmaels vague disgust at witnessing the person in front of him injure himself did not outweigh his desire to keep the unnamed prisoner alive.
“They are your concern.” Ishmael said, still not moving in any way forward or in retreat. “I see no reason why this man should die. I see no reason why I should obey you in this way. As far as I am aware, this man has done nothing wrong.”
“Ah, wrong and right. How fascinating.” Dr. Strand said, walking up closer to Ishmael. “You feel that you are the arbiter for what I right and what is wrong? I am surprised you think you understand such matters.”
Ishmael was unsure how to respond to this.
“I do not claim to understand such matters.” Ishmael countered, but the dark matter did not stop twisting inside of his core. “But I know I do not wish to harm this person who had done nothing to me or to my family.”
“You need a reason to kill. That is what you are saying.” Xerxes said with a grin that made him look like he just found a hidden treasure on another man’s land.
Ishmael said nothing.
“Speechless, all of a sudden, I see.” Xerxes said, then walked towards the phone that was on the wall and dialed a number that Ishmael did not catch.
“It’s Xerxes. We need another machine sent down here if you are not in the middle of an experiment over by you… That should be fine with me… Yes, see that it is sent to us… We will be waiting. Thank you.”
Xerxes hung up the phone and returned to his place at the door. Both Ishmael and the other doctor looked at him with confusion in their expressions, though on the doctor it was easier to see the inquisitive look on his face then on the automaton’s. There was not much of an expression range on the steel face of the other.
Xerxes only looked unconcerned and just when Ishmael was beginning to think that their method was wait until boredom caused Ishmael to obey the strange an cruel order, there was a knock at the door and Xerxes opened it to reveal another doctor in a lab coat and Ishmael’s youngest sibling, Midian.
Midian brightened considerably when he saw his older brother, the small stress tremors that Ishmael could see in the others small form vanished almost completely and his back straightened with a confidence that he was lacking only moments ago. Ishmael felt a warm pride in his core as he watched his little brother walk into the room. But he stopped suddenly when he saw the man bound on the floor.
“Oh no!” The young automaton called out and started for the injured man. “Injured! Injured! Help! Will Help!”
“Stop at once!” Xerxes commanded and Midian halted so suddenly he toppled forward, landing on the hard ground with a loud metallic smash. A smash so violent that the bound man started and opened his eyes.
“But… Injured…” Midian started again, slowly starting to right himself.
Ishmael let out a hiss of built up steam as he watched his youngest brother work to write himself. He wasn’t as complicated as Ishmael was and he had developed some sort of speech impediment after Ishbak was disassembled so violently. But the little automaton had found his calling when it came to repairing and healing others.
But the hiss was cut out suddenly when the unnamed doctor retrieved a strange metallic device from the lab table and moved towards where the automaton was working to write itself. The doctor shoved the rod down onto the back on the machine and with a flick of a switch the thing came to life with electricity, shocking and burning electrical currents though the metal man that was on the ground.
The air was lit with electric snapping and a strange popping sounds and garbled cries that only barely reached above the sounds of the popping.
“STOP!” Ishmael commanded, taking a step forward, his heavy form stomping on the ground. The doctor pulled away and looked at him with a grim expression. “DO NOT DO THAT. IT DAMAGES HIM.”
“I am aware that it damages him.” Xerxes said coming to stand in front of Ishmael. “That is part of this exercise.”
“Why. Why do you want to hurt Midian?” Ishmael asked, his dark matter twisting faster. He could sense the black tendrils reaching up further in the back of his torso, demanding that he do something to protect his brother from this situation. His family was in danger.
“It is all part of the experiment.” Xerxes explained his tone was conversational and calm, like he was explaining something to a colleague. “You seem to need some sort of motivation to complete orders. A sort of reason that you can call back to when making choices. This is your motivation.”
With another nod from Xerxes, the other doctor kicked Midian over and shocked him with another bolt from the rod. The popping scream ripped from the smaller automaton again and Ishmael took another step forward.
“DO NOT DO THAT. STOP!” Ishmael said again, but this time the shocks did not stop.
“You want him to stop.” Xerxes said, stepping right in front of the machine man, gripping the front of his chest panel and pulling him down to look at him. “If you want him to stop, then do as we command. Kill that man and Midian will be saved.”
Ishmael looked at the man in the corner, now fully awake and his eyes were wide and terrified at the display in front of him. He couldn’t seem to look away. The machine man turned back to his little brother, prone of the floor, screaming in an agony that only Ishmael and his brothers could understand. The electricity would be snapping around the dark element core fastened on them, threatening to break and destroy them for good.
“Kill him and save your brother.” Xerxes cooed.
Ishmael looked back to the man and back to Midian, conflict was keeping him rooted in place. Midian would never forgive him, but they were killing him.
Taking a life would be heinous, but if it were to save one of his own? These were conflicts he could barely justify thinking let alone process. He wanted his master to be here at his side, helping him make the right choice.
Then the cries of his brother took on a different tone. A desperate and unearthly howl. Even Xerxes jumped at the clear and horrible sound that came from the little automaton writhing on the floor.
Ishmael knew that sound. It was the same sound the Ishbak made the night he was murdered by that ignorant mob of heartless humans.
Instantly he was back there. Trying to get to his brother as they tore him open and shattered his dark element chamber. Powerless to do anything to help him. Master Arkwright injured and crying out for him to stop. Begging for him to go back. Not to leave Ishbak behind. But he knew he had to get his master to safely. Protect his family. That was always his priory. Isaac didn’t speak to him for weeks after, as if his older brother could see some solution to save everyone that he just couldn’t fathom.
I was going to happen again.
It was never going to happen again.
Ishmael all but threw Xerxes across to room from where he was standing and in three strides, he had the other scientist by the throat.
The man gasped, completely taken off guard. He brought the socking stick against the arm of Ishmael and the pain signals blossomed over him, but the dark tinged rage was stronger than any electrical shocks and the doctor only screamed in pain as the electricity he tried to place on the machine was transferred to his fleshy neck.
The doctor dropped the stick instantly with a strangled cry and Ishmael held on. Watching as the man’s struggles weakened. Then stopped.
But it wasn’t enough. Not for what had almost happened his family. Again. What had almost happened to another of his brothers.
He smashed the doctor against the floor with such a force that he felt the bones in the man’s neck give away, as if he had broken a doll. And, indeed when he removed his hands from the flesh around his neck, the head lolled about bonelessly, the skin around where his hand was only moments ago was bruised black in a perfect impression of the machines three fingered hands.
Ishmael pulled back and looked at his hands as if he wasn’t sure what they may do next, untrusting of his own form. He could feel the dark element fading back into the case where it was housed. Perhaps that is what the feeling of adrenaline was for humans? A fight or flight response?
Except there was no flight. There was no desire to escape the situation, only to end it in whatever way necessary. And the fastest way to go about that was to destroy the object that was causing the pain. Destroy the human that was hurting Midian. Destroy a human.
The thought disturbed him.
Ishmael caught a small movement and looked down to see Midian had crawled over to his side and moved toward the recently deceased doctor.
“No… hurt… help… Help me, Ishmael…”
Ishmael reached down and helped his little brother to stand, even though he didn’t look away from the dead body resting motionless at their feet. Ishmael could see that his brother was badly injured, one of his arms wasn’t moving and he could only hope that the core wasn’t compromised in any way. He would have to get him back to Master Arkwright to know for certain.
“Now… don’t I have an interesting problem on my hands. All of a sudden.” Xerxes muttered, walking over to stand buy the dead doctor as well.
Ishmael pulled his brother further away from the man and took a defensive position in front of him. He wasn’t about to take any chances with Xerxes, who was more and more plainly being labeled as the threat every passing second.
“I did find what would be deemed worthy of killing, to your machine sensibilities. But you didn’t kill the correct target. You did not see following orders as the preferred way to remove yourself from the unpleasant situation. Instead you went right for the object that was causing the harm. I suppose that is a very evolved way of processing a problem I was unaware that you had a ability to choose. I know that the experiments with the newer models were inconclusive.”
Ishmael didn’t say anything; just watched the man. Wanting to be ready for anything but in reality he knew that he had to keep Midian safe, who was now trembling and he could hear a whine from a loose gasket inside the mechanics of his younger brother. He would need help and repairs, quickly.
“You should take your brother out of here now.” Xerxes said. “I can see as well as you he will need repairs. I do hope in the future we can count on your cooperation so that we won’t need to use such motivating factors. But who knows.”
Ishmael didn’t say anything, but instead lifted his little brother up into his arms and carried him out of the room. He was about four steps away when he heard a gunshot go off and echo down the hall. Ishmael did not slow his pace. His family was the most important thing. Get Midian to safety, all other matters were secondary.
The young Russian man looked up from where he was sitting with his papers, doing his last minute checks to assure that everything was in order in the meager warmth of the cabin on board the Evangeline. Any others of the passengers were doing the same, but they hardly looked up at the call meant for the man. The trip from St. Petersburg to New York had been a long one and no one was in a mood to be disturbed, perhaps they were all deep in prayers for a respite from Prokhor and his crew of circus performers.
Prokhor saw the speaker was his wife, a young woman with a funny face and wide eyes that took in the world like there was a secret punch line that she was waiting to find. She had on her warmest dress and a thick head scarf to block out the cold Atlantic air, but her nose was flushed pink from wind.
“Come on, Prokhor!” She called up to him.
Prokhor folded up his papers and secured them in his jacket pocket and stood to follow his wife out of the cabin.
The sea air hit him full in the face as soon as he stepped out and made him pull his jacked in closer in against the cold. He was glad that he hadn’t shaved since the voyage started, his dark beard was warm and comfortable.
“This way! Hurry!” His wife called, waving him over to the railing of the ship, the wind tugging at her scarf and skirt.
Prokhor closed the distance and stood with her at the rails, he placed an arm around her and she nestled closer into his chest, sighing happily to share his warmth.
“Do you see it?” She asked excitedly, pointing out over the ocean.
Prokhor tired to take in what she was gesturing to when he saw a glimmer of a green spire in the distance.
“I see something out there, Taisha…” He said, squinting against the bright sunlight as he peered at the object out in the ocean. “But I can’t make it out.”
“We are almost there.” Taisha breathed. “Finally. We are almost there.”
They stared at the object for the while as it very slowly came nearer.
“You should go get the others.” Taisha said with a grin.
“Why?” Prokhor asked.
“We should all see it together!” Taisha said with a laugh. “America is almost here. We should all see it together! Hurry. Find the others.”
Prokhor let out a quick but happy sigh at the suggestion. At the very least he should let the rest of his troupe know that they were nearing the port and they should prepare themselves. Checking papers and making sure they had account of their traveling cases that they had brought with them.
Giving Taisha a small squeeze he moved away from her warmth and went to locate the rest of his circus.
-
It was not hard to find them, even though the ship was large, there were not many places that they were welcome to travel about. And, while the journey was without trouble externally, they had found ways to rub their fellow passengers the wrong way from time to time, as the cooped up performers got progressively more bored on their journey.
He found the first of his crew right where he had left them that morning, in the common quarters trying desperately to keep to themselves. Grigori, the only acrobat from the original troupe that was willing to go with Prokhor on his journey to America, saw the man enter the common room gave him a tired smile. The two other’s that he was sitting with turned. Liliya, the animal tamer and Sonya, the fortune teller.
“All’s well, Prokhor?” Liliya asked, her dark eyes taking in his face with concern.
“So far.” Prokhor recounted with a half smile at the other. He was happy to see Liliya out with the others. She spent most of her time on the ship keeping their ‘special cargo’ company in the storage under the ship. She looked far paler and less healthy for her time doing so, which little surprise to him. The monstrous creature that they called Dimitre was not pleased to being transported over the water. The only way to keep him calm was for Liliya to remain at his side most of the time, only able to escape when the cursed man fell asleep.
“You should all be sure that your papers are in order.” Prokhor when on, tearing his eyes away from fretting over Liliya, once they made it to land and they all got solid ground under their feet they would be stronger. “It seems that we are nearing land.”
“God. Finally.” Grigori cheered, his grimace of a smile turning into a real beaming grin that he was known for. He was handling the voyage better than most of the circus. Things had to be very wrong for Grigori to be caught in a foul mood.
“Can you see the city yet?” Sonya asked, pulling out her folded papers from her worn purple and black dress. Prokhor noticed that she had done quite a bit of repair work on it these past few days. Sonya was typically the guardian of two rather rowdy twin siblings and their time in the cramped quarters of the ship did nothing to help settle them. Prokhor wasn’t sure she would be able to get the scorch marks out of the fabric.
“Not yet.” Prokhor answered. “There is something out there; it’s too far to make it out just yet.”
“Is it the statue?” Grigori asked, excitedly.
Prokhor just shrugged at that. The gesture was enough to send the gathered into motion. Liliya dug out her papers and rushed from the table, heading down to the storage hold. Grigori and Sonya started for the deck.
-
Prokhor followed after Liliya, heading to the lower cabins on the ship to where the circus had their ‘private’ quarters. They were on a sleep rotation so that everyone could get some rest to themselves rather than pile all twelve people into one room. It wasn’t ideal, but it was survivable.
Prokhor got to the room and rapped on the outside of the door. Their lock didn’t work so they had formed a sort of barricade behind it to prevent people from sneaking in and out of their quarters. The only down side to it was that the when the doors were shut, no one could get in without waking the sleepers inside.
The door opened only seconds after Prokhor knocked. A very frantic looking Artyom was inside. His normally sharp and clean appearance was in turmoil and his mustache in a desperate need of wax.
“Oh! Prokhor!” Artyom, the circus’ ‘master of illusion,’ cried out as soon as his eyes fell on the ringmaster. “Thank heavens you are here! Hurry! You must get in here!”
Prokhor was not swept in by the overblown tone of the other man. If Artyom was not crying with some sort of invented crisis, Prokhor would have assumed something was truly wrong.
Artyom pushed the door open the rest of the way and Prokhor went inside to see that the twins were in the cabin as well. The two looked over at Prokhor as he entered. Both had their fire red hair fastened down in a way that made them look far younger than their fifteen years. Ildri, the girl, gave Prokhor a warm smile but her brother, Yaroslav, only looked relieved to see the ringmaster.
“Prokhor, you have to stop him.” Yaroslav demanded, gesturing helplessly to the state of his hair. “I look like a child!”
Prokhor lifted his hand to hide a smile. The boy was little more than a child, but he wasn’t about to provoke this situation any further.
“Artyom, what are you doing?” Prokhor asked, his voice controlled to keep the giggle out.
“Prokhor,” Artyom started, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself, then held out his arm to present the twins to the other. “Just LOOK at these two. They are skinny. They are pale. They look like they might collapse at any second!”
“I suppose they look a little worse for wear.” Prokhor commented while he took in the state of his two fire dancers. “But I could say the same for all of us. Not to mention yourself, Artyom. You look terrible.”
“I KNOW!” Artyom cried out, pressing his hands up through his hair in dismay. “I’m a tragedy!”
Taking a deep breath, Artyom placed his hands purposely at his sides, then leveled Prokhor his most severe stare that a sharp nose and dark eyebrows could allow and continued:
“As bad as I look, this is not about me.”
“That might be the first time I have ever heard you say that.” Prokhor interrupted.
“Prokhor! Please! This might be life and death!”
Prokhor forced himself not to roll his eyes. “Ok, Artyom. Please tell me how this is a life and death situation.”
“They look sickly!” Artyom bit.
“They look like they have been on a boat for weeks with very limited chances for bathing.”
“Don’t you hear what I am saying, Prokhor!” Artyom cried, baffled that he could be making light of this. “If they look sickly, they are never going to pass inspection!”
A sharp spike of fear shot through Prokhor at that. He had forgotten about the rumored inspection when they would arrive on shore. As he stared at the twins again the possible critiques against them started to populate in his mind.
“I will be fine once we make landing.” Artyom went on. “But those two? I do not think a second wind will come as easily!”
“We are not sick!” Ildri said, indignant. “And even if we were. I do not see how making us look like children will help us pass any sort of test.”
“Many things can be excused because a child is young!” Artyom argued back. “And besides, people are more sympathetic to children!”
“This plan is as stupid as you made us look.” Yaroslav folded his arms in front of him and leveled an angry amber eyed glare at their magician.
Prokhor was hardly listening to them. His mind rushed to his wife. How did Taisha look, was she healthy looking? What about Liliya, he knew she did not look well at all. Would they be separated once they got to shore? Would anyone be sent back? All the worse scenarios played out in his mind, one on top of the other.
“You can fix this.” Prokhor said, leveling a commanding stare at Artyom.
“Me?” Artyom asked back, looking taken aback. “Did you just say that I, Artyom the Magnificent, can fix this?”
“Yes.” Prokhor said again, his mouth working to catch up with his mind. “You are our illusionist, you can cast an illusion over us. Masking any possible imperfections.”
Artyom let out a strained and strange laugh.
“Yes, I suppose I could do that, except there is one very large problem with your plan.”
“That being?”
“Perhaps you have forgotten how my powers work. I would not blame you for, it has been frightfully mind numbing, this whole experience. Almost made me regret agreeing to go along with you at points…”
“Why won’t it work, Artyom?”
“I can’t work my illusions when I am on the water! I hate this blasted element! How am I supposed to work with it all around me? You think I would look like this on purpose?” Artyom gestured to all of himself as if he was the ugliest work of art anyone had ever brought forth into the world. “I can’t even keep myself together, let alone anyone else! No, Prokhor. The only way to fix this will be good, old fashioned, make up and wardrobe!”
Prokhor forced himself to put the fears in the back of his mind. Artyom clearly had a plan. Artyom’s plans, while often far more complicated then they needed to be, had a high success rate. He didn’t have time to worry about them, he had to find the rest of the circus.
“Whatever you are planning, you had better do it quickly.” Prokhor said turning toward the door again.
“Are we almost there?” Ildri asked, her face brightening again. Even her brother looked hopeful at the suggestion.
“We are almost there.”
-
Prokhor knew he had to find Liliya again. The threat of inspection was hanging over him and she was the first person that flew into his mind, her dark eyes, the dry patches on her skin, her thin and paleness. The twins would be fine; Artyom was worrying himself over nothing, as usual, but Liliya? Prokhor had to find her.
It was while he was on his march to the lower levels that he saw Antoliy and his little sister, Pasha. The tall tattooed man was down on one knee in front of the little dark haired child, he had their papers in his hands, talking to her in a low voice.
Prokhor wasn’t sure if he should just walk by them, but Pasha looked up and saw him and ducked into her brother. The other man looked up, his eyes dark with suspicion and challenge. When he recognized Prokhor, the expression softened, into a curious frown and he picked his little sister up and turned to face the ringmaster.
“Prokhor.” Antoliy said with a small head bow. “I hear we are nearly to America.”
“Yes.” Prokhor returned the bow, a little formally. “The trip is almost over.”
Antoliy looked over at his sister who just hid her face into his shoulder. He sighed, then turned his eyes back to Prokhor.
“Thank you. Again. For bringing us with you.” Antoliy said.
“You do not need to keep thanking me, Antoliy.” Prokhor said. “I would do what you can to clean yourselves up before we arrive.”
Antoliy nodded in understanding and walked on to the quarters. Prokhor watched his back for a moment, Pasha twisting around to keep an eye on him. They were a strange pair. Prokhor only know Antoliy from his reputation, which was a brutal and savage enforcer for a dangerous family, but when he came to Prokhor and begged him to take his sister to America with them, he didn’t know how to refuse and took them both.
Antoliy assured him that he was an accomplished acrobat, but Prokhor had yet to see his audition. For now, it was enough to have another person traveling with them, especially one who was not afraid of a fight.
-
Prokhor was not stopped on his way into the cargo to where the ‘live animals’ for the circus were being kept. The men who watched the area knew just about everyone in the circus by first name they saw them so often.
He couldn’t help but be heartened by the sight the greeted him in the hold. Too often he came into the hold to find their little contortionist, Divna, laying face down on the large crate that held Eben, moaning and muttering soft curses in an ill sounding tone. The small aero faerie did not travel well over long distances and she did exceptionally badly over water.
But not today.
Today, Divna was sitting up on the crate, bobbing her head happily in the dim light from the lamp that Liliya brought with her to illuminate the windowless hold. Liliya was over to the right of the hold where Dimire sat in a large open bar cage.
“We are almost there, Eben.” Divna said out into the air, her tone still sounded ill but at least she looked more energetic. “That day you have been telling me about for as long as I can remember.”
“That is not such a long time,” Prokhor commented, walking over to where she was sitting on top of the crate, “when you have a week long memory.”
There came a deep rumble from the box that she sat on.
“That is so rude, rocks for brains!” Divna scolded, smacking the side of the box with her heals. “Eben says I have a just a WEAK memory! I say we leave him on the ship forever!”
“You would be very unhappy if I did that.” Prokhor said with a smile. “Besides, we what kind of circus would we be with a strong man?”
Divna seemed to consider that conundrum for a moment.
“A circus must have a strong man. We will keep Eben. Until we can hire one that isn’t made out of stone.” Divna suggested.
There was another rumble in the crate and Divna giggled and patted the top of the box contentedly.
“We are almost there.” She said, closing her eyes in the darkness. “I can feel the land getting closer. We are almost there.”
Prokhor moved away from her and went to where Liliya was sitting in front of the cage. She had a hand in between the bars as she stroked the head of the creature that was trapped inside. Prokhor always found that he was surprised with the way that Dimitre looked. Three days ago, he appeared to be a bear with a lions mane and tiger stripes. Today he looked to be a black wolf the size of a bear. He rested with his eyes open, watching Prokhor as he moved closer to Liliya. When he got within three feet of Liliya, the wolf growled weakly and stood.
“Dimitre. Shhh. Be calm.” Liliya soothed.
Dimitre let out an unhappy huff, but flopped back down onto the hard flooring of the cage. Prokhor felt a twinge of sympathy for the cursed man. He had been unable to hold a consistent shape since they left St Petersburg and any human shape was completely out of the question. His curse had full control of him. The most Liliya could do was keep him from hurting himself on the iron bars around him.
“Liliya.” Prokhor started, looking at the woman worriedly. “We need to talk.”
“The only thing you need to do it let poor Rasputin out for a while. Poor thing is cramped from being in that cage.” Liliya said with a tired smile, turning to face Prokhor.
She looked even worse in the poor lighting in the cargo. Her face was shallow and the dark rings around her eyes looked like bruises.
“I am fine, Prokhor.” She said, her smile fading. “It is nothing a good rest will not fix. The land will calm Dimitre and then I will be able to rest easy.”
“I thought I was the mind reader.” Prokhor teased, trying to keep his tone lighter than his heart felt as he went to where their capuchin monkey, Rasputin, was waiting impatiently to be let out.
Prokhor unlocked the latch and the little monkey scampered out of his cage and climbed up the tall circus performer in record time, chirping happily and immediately setting to grooming Prokhor’s hair.
“Liliya.” Prokhor started again. “What are you going to do about inspection?”
“I think that once Dimitre is on land, he will be able to hold the wolf shape for a while. I do not think you have to worry about him.”
“I’m not worried about him. I’m worried about you.”
Liliya raised an eyebrow at him. “Me? Why? I’m fine.”
“I am worried that you will not be allowed to land with us. There will be a physical inspection before we disembark.”
“And who told you this?”
“Artyom.”
Liliya scoffed.
“I trust him on this one Lili.” Prokhor said. Letting her old childhood nick name slip out without meaning to.
“I would be more concerned with that stowaway that Taisha has picked up.” Liliya said, turning back to Dimitre, a sullen edge to her voice. “That little wretch isn’t going to be going anywhere with us if there is any sort of inspection.”
Prokhor flinched at the reminder. ‘Innokenti’ was the name that Taisha gave the child when they found the skinny stowaway on board with them. The ship’s crew was furious, but Taisha claimed it as one of the children that they brought with them. Prokhor also agreed. It was a lie, but he couldn’t well sit by and let violence come to a child, no matter how desperate they appeared.
Since then, the child was never far from Taisha’s side. Innokenti was like her shadow. A silent shadow. Never saying anything. Shying away whenever someone reached for them. Thin and mute. Prokhor had caught small glances of a scar on the child’s neck, but was never able to get close enough to see exactly what it was.
If Liliya even had a chance of failing the inspection, Innokenti most certainly would not.
“Taisha will be heartbroken.” Prokhor said.
“So will you.” Divna chimed in from her eavesdropping.
Prokhor turned to look at the girl who giggled and continued.
“Eben says that Taisha claimed the kid. If Innokenti doesn’t pass inspection, she will have to go back with them. They won’t send a child back without their parent.” Divna explained.
Prokhor was in motion before the thought fully processed, he didn’t even realize that Rasputin was still perched on his shoulder until he was on the main deck, looking for Taisha. There was a larger crowd then when he had left, it seemed that most of the passengers were there, all silent in awe.
Looking for a familiar height, Prokhor saw Antoliy standing a good head above everyone else. He had to find Taisha. He weaved into the crowd, keeping his eyes low, looking for the familiar head scarf.
It was while he was searching that he felt someone take hold of his hand. He looked and saw Taisha, her eyes damp.
“Taisha, we need to do something about Innokenti. I have heard-”
“Prokhor… look…” Taisha whispered, looking away from Prokhor and up past the rails.
The man turned his eyes out over the water. There, with flame in hand and a book in the other, her head adorned with a spiked crown, stood the statute. The sightless eyes looked out to them, as if welcoming them to their new life.
Prokhor felt tears in his own eyes, the stresses and fear that had beset him only moments ago placed on pause. They were nearly there. So far away from his homeland. So far away from his family that he left behind to start a new life here. A new life with no assurance other then the vague guidance of his friend and future seer.
Prokhor gripped Taisha’s hand tightly. He had no words to say, no thoughts to think. A new life for them was about to start and suddenly it felt all too real. All he could do was hold on to her until the world caught back up to him.
There was a gentle knock on the door to the trailer and Lottie looked up from the mirror where she was correcting any small imperfections in her face with paint and other makeup that would stay on her artificial skin. She stood up from her seat without a single squeak to her joints, and chanced a glance at the time piece that she had set up over her dresser that she lived out of while the carnival was moving around the country for the season. It was just about 8:45 pm. Almost show time.
She opened the door to the trailer and saw her old friend the Tall Man standing outside. He leaned over slightly as to be able to see inside her trailer to look at Lottie. He was all done up in his performance clothes, but he also wore an unassuming hat to make himself not appear so eye catching while he wasn’t actively entertaining the people that passed through.
Lottie smiled at the other, her small understated smile. It was as big a smile that she could give with her somewhat limited expression range in her false body.
“Good evening, my friend.” Lottie said, and if one couldn’t see her smile, could hear it in her voice. “I am just about ready for my 9 o’clock show.”
“I, uh, I talked with the boss jus’ now. Before I knocked, I mean.” The Tall Man said, clearing his throat quietly. His tattooed brow was creased in worry that was also unmistakable in his usually loud tone. “I told him it was a bad night. He said you don’t have to do the show.”
Lottie frowned, her painted eyebrows coming together slightly, the small porcelain panels rubbing together gently as she did so. “There is no need for that. I want to do the show.”
“I’m tellin’ ya, Lottie. It’s a bad crowd here tonight. Rowdy and mean.” The Tall Man shook his head with a quick sigh. “I got meself into a row with a group that had been drinkin.’ I’ll have a shiner in the mornin’, mark me I will.”
Lottie looked up at her friend’s face but he pulled his hat down lightly to hide his right eye.
“How on earth did they reach you up there?” Lottie asked concern in her voice.
“I wasn’t expectin’ it.” He muttered. “I lean in to tell ‘em off and next thing I know, onna the other mates clocks me before I can blink.”
“Are you alright?”
“I’ll live I think. But I do think that it would be a good night to stay in.” The Tall Man continued, still looking concerned. “I mean, boss says you can have the day, take the day.”
Lottie shook her head.
“I want to do that show. How will I get money if I don’t?”
“If it’s money your worried about, I can give ya-”
“Absolutely not.” Lottie cut him off with a smooth wave of her hand. “The only time I will ever accept money from you is if you come to a show yourself as a paying customer.”
“Lottie… Don’t be stubborn, girl.” The Tall Man said, his expression softening to a pained and tired expression.
“I’m doing the show. I didn’t get all dolled up for nothing. Besides, I’m the Mechanical Woman. What do you think the show goers will be able to do to me?” Lottie tiled her head to the side, playful.
The Tall Man didn’t seem convinced, so Lottie reached out to pat his arm comfortingly.
“If I didn’t perform every time someone got into a fight on the carnival grounds I would be a squeaking and rusting mess. It will be fine.”
“I am not sure about that. But if you are set on it, I’ll e close by, jus’ incase.”
Lottie nodded in understanding then stepped back into the trailer. “I am going to be late. I will see you in a few minutes.”
And with that, Lottie closed the door.
-
The Tall Man didn’t move for a moment, thinking if there was anything else he could add on to this argument that would convince Lottie to stay in her trailer for the remains of the night. But when nothing came to him, he started for the fairway to get to the tent that Lottie would be doing her “Marvelous Mechanical Woman” act.
There was already a crowd forming around the tent, but the Tall Man could easily see over all their heads. He could see the painted sign that had a picture in the likeness of Lottie in a fashionable and revealing dress. He also saw Dick up in front of the tent with a mega phone, not currently making any announcements, but as soon as the ‘lizard man’ saw the Tall Man, he brought his hand up and moved his finger in s small circle.
‘We wrapping up here?’ Dick mouthed.
The Tall Man shook his head.
Dick looked stunned then held up a finger, telling him to wait.
“Ladies and gentlemen! Well… mostly Gentlemen, it seems, thank you so much for your patience!” Dick announced. “Please step right up and see the Marvelous and Magnificent Mechanical Woman! The only one in the entire world! Is it a woman? Is it a machine? Only you will be able to make that call after she has reveled it all! Step right up and see for yourself!”
The tent opened and Dick started collecting money and letting people into the tent. He waved over the tall man as he did this.
“What’s all this about, stretch?” Dick asked, still counting money quickly as he did so. “You tell the boss the situation?”
“Yeah, I did. He said that Lottie could have the night off.”
“And?”
“And she said she wanted to do it anyway.”
Dick looked at the Tall Man as if he had told him that he had rode in on an invisible unicorn.
“You did tell her about the… crowd here tonight, right?” Dick asked.
Then, as if to make his point, the next person in line looked at the sign blearily, clearly drunk and said in slurred words.
“Iss’is the show where th’ gurl gits nekid?”
Dick looked up at the Tall Man with an expression that said ‘see?’
“Well, I did say that she will reveal it all!” Dick said turning his eyes back on the drunk and gave a lewd wink, taking the money out of the man’s hand before he could change his mind.
The drunk stumbled into the tent and Dick turned to the next person.
“Listen, Stretch. It’s her call. If she wants to have the show, I say more power to her. Would I do it if I was her? No way.”
The Tall Man didn’t look comforted in the slightest. He watched the group people stream into the tent, displeased with the turnout. Over half looked to be the shiftless sorts that loved to cause trouble for carnivals like theirs.
“Hey, if you are gonna get all broody, go do that in dark corner somewhere.” Dick commented, looking back at the Tall Man. “You are getting a little scary just standing behind me there all silent and angry.”
The Tall Man sighed and walked away to the back of the tent to wait for Lottie to arrive.
He didn’t need to wait long.
Lottie rounded the way in her long tan trench coat and a low brimmed hat that covered her face to hide her identity. She did glance up just in time to catch the Tall Man’s eyes.
“Sorry I’m late.” Lottie said with a little smile, handing her hat to her friend, who took and started worrying the brim nervously in his hands. “How’s the turn out?”
“There’s lossa people here.” The Tall Man reported. “It’s not too late for you to change ya mind.”
Lottie started to unbutton her jacket as well and didn’t bother giving a response.
“There you are, Lots!”
Lottie looked around the Tall Man to see Dick round the corner, still with his megaphone in hand. He whistled at her as she took off her jacket and handed it to the Tall Man. Lottie was wearing her performance dress which was a lovely, fashionable little thing that glittered in the light. It looked very tacky in the dark lighting behind the tent but fantastic in the lights inside.
“You should take a picture.” Lottie said, while rolling her eyes at the whistle from the other.
“I’m sure you will last longer than any picture I could take.” Dick said with a grin, giving her another one over with his eyes famed in his grey and green scaled skin. “You got a full house tonight. I guess it’s a good thing you are here.”
“I still think it’s a bad idea.” The Tall Man insisted again weakly, taking Lottie’s jacket from her as well.
“It will be fine. Dick. Go ahead and announce me.” Lottie said with a nod to the other.
“Right-o.” Dick agreed and opened the back tent flap to announce Lottie on the stage to those inside, his long tail hanging limply behind him like a part of a fancy coat.
“It will be fine.” Lottie repeated, then paused as she heard the loud jeering from the inside of the tent as Dick tried to introduce her. “But I would feel better if you stayed close. Just in case.”
The Tall Man inclined his head and said: “Always.”
“-it is my pleasure, and yours in a moment, to introduce, Lottie, the Mechanical Woman!”
Lottie gave the Tall Man another smile, then entered the tent, letting the flap close behind her.
-
Lottie walked up onto the stage just as Dick jumped off it to start her music. The small tent was mostly full, but she could see empty chairs at the back. Not exactly a full house, but Lottie was happy for it. She didn’t much care for big groups of people. There was a reason she preferred mid day shows, when there were mostly the young and curious (along with ever skeptic guardians) who came to see her and ask questions about how she was made and, if she was lucky, to explain some of the science behind it.
Crowds like this, crowds in the evening, usually just wanted an entertaining show then to go on their way to the next thing.
The music started, an old recording of smart jazzy song from the 1930’s. She moved as robotically as she felt comfortable. Reaching out her hands and fingers, moving them about to show their dexterity and the very small and delicate hinges that gave them their movement. She moved her head from side to side, blinking deliberately, like a doll.
“Git on wit’ t’already!”
She stopped moving at the call from the audience, her eyes focusing on the disruptive heckler. The people around him agreed with him and laughed.
Lottie looked over to Dick in the corner who motioned to the man that had spoken and made a fist and nodded with a question on his face.
Lottie shook her head slightly. If they wanted her to get on with it, she supposed that she should and go back to her cart.
She unfastened the top of her dress and allowed the fabric to fall from her shoulders. All the people in the audience leaved forward, some started whistling as she did so, but the whistling stopped when they saw the body that was under the dress.
Her chest was like a fashion dolls, perfectly formed, but hard and without human features. It had lumps at about where a normal human would have breasts and a fashionable waistline. Instead of pores and nipples, she had small lines all throughout to allow for easy movement and bending in her hard form. Lottie demonstrated this a bit, leaning back and side to side, allowing the viewers to see how the panels moved and shifted around her as she moved.
The audience was completely silent.
Lottie then returned to her standing position. It was time for the big reveal.
She moved her hands up to her left shoulder and found a very small locking mechanism that kept her chest panels together. Then moved to the right to unlock the one on that side as well. Then together, right where her collar bone would have been if she still had a skeleton. Pressing her fingers into the small movement gaps in her neck, Lottie pulled her chest open like shuttered windows.
The lights in the room dimmed slightly so that the lights inside Lottie chest cavity could show off the workings inside. Inside, attached to the walls of the chest cavity, like ribs were seven electric lamps, unlike anything the gathered had ever seen before. They glowed with a soft white light, small flashed could be seen as currents moved from the lamps to the wiring that ran all though her to give her feeling.
And, to close the act, as always, she tiled her head back slightly so that the audience could see the rune at the back of her neck. The soul rune. That is what her father had called it. The most important and miraculous part of her whole structure.
The audience was still in rapt silence as the music stopped and Lottie closed her chest panels and took a small bow.
There were a few claps, then a voice broke in again.
“Tha’ wassit? Jussa phony light show?”
Lottie looked up again at the heckler, starting to put her dress back on, not interested in the slightest in explaining anything to this crowd. The man was standing, his face was red, both from too much drink and misplaced aggression.
“I wantit t’see sum nekidness! Not th’s!” The man said again, looking around at the people around him who also started standing, also red in face. “Boo! Boo!”
More people started booing and standing, getting closer to the stage. Dick tried to take back the stage, but the audience was pushing too close together.
Lottie turned to escape out of the tent, when she felt a sharp ‘pain’ signal in her right arm.
She cried out and looked to her limb… to find it laying on the ground next to her, along with a large tomato. The food had clearly mostly rotted away and a great heavy stone was in the center of it.
Lottie gripped her now empty right shoulder socked and look up in horror at the crowd in the tent, all of which were looking at her in various states of shock and horror themselves. The girls arm just broke off as far as they could tell.
In a flash, the Tall Man was in the tent. He took one look at Lottie, the arm, and the audience and his countenance changed dangerously. He snarled a low an animalistic sound deep I his chest.
“No! Don’t.” Lottie said, her voice was barely louder than a whisper. “Just get me out of here. Please.”
The Tall Man looked back at Lottie and seemed confused, as if he wasn’t sure exactly where he was. At that moment, Dick took the stage.
“Stretch, take the arm and get her out of here! I’ll deal with this.”
The Tall Man nodded numbly and picked Lottie up in his hands as if she weighted nothing, taking up and arm as he righted himself.
In two strides he was out of the tent and rushing to Lottie’s trailer. There were man performers and carnival workers that were alerted to her scream who can come out to see who was amiss, but no one said anything when they saw the Tall Man taking Lottie away.
The door to her trailer was open moments later and she was set down in her chair. Lottie inspected her arm in her left hand, looking for were the break started and where to start with repairs.
“Stupid…” She muttered, rubbing off any tomato smears she found on the limb. “…so stupid.”
The Tall Man didn’t say anything, but got out Lottie’s tool box from under her rarely used bed. Lottie looked up sharply at him as he handed it over to her.
“You want to say, ‘I told you so’.”
“I don’t. What can I do to help?”
Lottie looked down at the arm and let out a sigh that seemed to come from her very core. She lowered the missing limb into her lap and placed her face into her left hand, covering her eyes and shaking her head very slightly.
“I would like to be alone for a while.” She made out at length. “We’ll get to work on this in the morning. I just want to be alone.”
Without another word, the Tall Man left her trailer, closing the door securely behind him with a force that made it clear to any and all curious and concerned onlookers that she was not to be disturbed for the rest of the night.
-
“Who?”
Dick didn’t bother looking up from his cigarette to see who was speaking. He pointed to the quartet of stumbling drunks heading out toward a long walk home after their carnival activates.
“That’s them.”
“I’ll be back.”
“Is it worth asking if the boss knows what you will be up to tonight? Or should I make something up for you?”
“…I don’t think anyone will be askin’ for me. But should they, make somethin’ up.”
“Have fun. Don’t make any messes that would be hard to explain.”
“I never have before.”
Dick looked up at the back of the Tall Man as he stalked after the destructive hecklers, his black clothing melting into the darkness of the night around them. Within moments, Dick lost sight of the other. He chucked darkly and took another drag, blowing out smoke, invisible in the night.
The bell on the side of the door chimed in welcome as Constance entered into the shop. She was dressed a little warmly for the weather, to be sure, with her long black skirt and black loose knit shawl over a grey long sleeve buttoned up blouse that was fastened all the way to her neck, but she didn’t look uncomfortable in the slightest. The woman took off her wide hat as she looked around the store, smoothing down her grey hair as she did so.
The shop was quite a bit larger then she had expected it to be from the outside of the building, nestled in the middle of other shops and hardware stores in the surprising deserted downtown Caribou that early evening. Curiosity shops were not much to look at in her experience, but when she had spied it on the journey through the city heading for the flat area that Prokhor meant to set up his circus for the week, Constance knew that she would return as soon as possible.
Constance took in the shop around her. There didn’t seem to be anyone inside the store, not even a shop keeper. She smiled discretely. Good. While she loved looking around at items of the past, she found the caretakers of such things to be an over fussy and unpleasant sort in her experience. She would much rather browse alone. She knew what she was looking for and could find it far better than any shop keeper could.
She pulled out a small crystal and rubbed her thumb against it. As her hand warmed the stone side it started to give off a glow. Constance smiled wider. She hoped that there would be something of value in this store, now she knew she was on the right track.
It was always surprising what one could find in these shops of unwanted items. She found most of her favorite enchanted items from stores like these, nasty little items just waiting to spring their curses on whoever should place it into their home. But Constance had a favorite, she loved magic mirrors. Magic mirrors are very dangerous in the wrong hands and Constance knew exactly how to handle them, but to be honest she didn’t take them for the good of her common man, she was a collector of old enchanted mirrors.
Perhaps it was a hanger on from her wild youthful days of Necromancy.
She found a small silver hand mirror setting with its face down on a table over filled with odd trinkets from a bygone age. The back of the mirror was carved in delicate roses and thrones, it was a very lovely piece. Constance lightly tapped the handle of the mirror with the crystal in her hand but the light didn’t change.
She picked it up with her free hand and looked her reflection briefly. Her own age worn face looked back at her. This mirror, while pretty, was quite common. The exact opposite of herself, she mused.
“Hello? Someone in here?”
Constance looked up from the mirror and saw an older gentleman with stark white hair and a cane walk out from whatever back room he had ferreted himself. He looked over at Constance and cleared him throat in surprise.
“Ah, I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in.” He continued, he had a slight Eastport accent. “Can I help you find somethin’?”
“I’m quite alright, thank you.” Constance said with a curt nod of her head and a grimace, disappointed that the silence of the room had been broken.
“You not from around here, are ya?” The man continued, squinting at her through his low setting spectacles.
“Ah, but what gave it away, I wonder?” Constance uttered under her breath. She had meant to work on her American accent, her Northern England accent tending to draw too much attention herself when she would really rather blend into the background.
“You come in with those carnies?”
Constance looked up at the old shopkeeper, who was watching her with a suspicious eye now. He shuffled nervously under her glance, moving his eyes from her mature face to the object in her hands to the tables around her, as if checking the inventory to be sure that she hadn’t stolen anything.
“There are no ‘carnies’ in your area as far as I can tell.” Constance said, dryly. Setting down the hand mirror where she had found it and continued to saunter through the store, looking for something astounding. “There are no carnivals anywhere here. There is, however, a circus that has just recently chosen a place for their revelries; no doubt they will be set up tomorrow and ready to receive charming guests, such as yourself.”
The man scowled at the explanation. “Same thing, really. And you are with them.”
“I travel with them, if that is what you are trying to get at.” Constance said, almost rolling her eyes at the other, but she was still too engrossed in her search to give the other any of her attention. “But I’m not going to juggle or do any magic tricks, as I said, I travel with them. I’m not a performer.”
“Then what do you do, exactly?” The man asked, but his tone was anything but curious.
“I am a doctor, of sorts.” Constance answered. “You would be surprised how often my skills are needed in a place like the Zaraysk Circus.”
“Doctor, eh?” The shop keeper echoed, still not convinced, but at least he had settled down some in his chair, watching her closely, but with less suspicion. “Suppose you expect me to believe that you studied overseas with that accent of yours?”
Constance ignored the question. She wasn’t about to explain the ins and out of fae medicine or how she came to learn them. Alchemy, medicine and necromancy have much in common and it is not a hard thing to imagine that if one if proficient in one, they will be skilled at the others with little effort.
“Your establishment seems rather deserted for a Friday evening, shop keep.” Constance commented, taking a look out the window again and noticed only a few people, all in a hurry to get somewhere, not looking up from the ground in front of them.
The man scoffed. “These people don’t know quality wears when they see them. I am often watching over a deserted store lately.”
Constance frowned as she watched one resident make it their destination just across the street; it looked like a tailor shop. The person outside stopped and looked up, glancing behind him and around him as if worried that he was followed. He them went into the store and closed the door behind him with so much hurry that the open sign hanging in the window fell down.
Turning her eyes away from the window, she continued around the store. No doubt there was some new trouble in this town that would find them. There usually was. She wasn’t really sure how much of that was just bad luck, and how much of it was seeking them out like a malevolent force determined to make life difficult for the Zaraysk Panoply of Wonderment. But right now, Constance was on a break and she wanted to enjoy herself.
And she meant to enjoy herself by finding a new magic mirror to add to her collection.
Constance moved toward the corner of the store and paused, she caught her reflection again in a large standing mirror that was half covered by sheet. She let out a determined sigh and navigated to the mirror.
“Do be careful back there!” The shopkeeper called. “You break anything you are buying it!”
Constance continued to ignore the patron and pulled the cloth off the mirror. She turned her back to hide the crystal and saw that it was glowing brighter than it had before. She looked into the mirror and looked at herself. Looking for any distortions in her form, avoiding looking into her own eyes until she knew for sure what sort of mirror it was.
The refection on the glass was hazy, as if something had been smeared on the inside of the reflective glass. But it followed her movements perfectly. Constance tapped the crystal against the glass of the mirror gently. There were no further changes to it. Confused, she looked up into her own reflected face. It was the same if still hazy. Something was off about this mirror… but it wasn’t enchanted.
She looked at her reflection behind her and her eyes froze on the shopkeeper. He did not appear as he had looked to her. Here before his face wore a hard scowl of distrust, now his face was warped. His eyes were replaced by black gaping holes. His hair was completely gone and his skin was white and green like corpse. His nose was sunken into his face and his mouth was hanging open, another gaping black hole as his eyes appeared. The head moved slowly looking over to Constance’s back. The head of the thing started twitching and shaking the longer it stared at Constance.
She turned around to look at the shop keeper. He appeared normal, looking over at her with a raised eyebrow.
“Before you even ask, I have idea what is wrong with that mirror. And, no, there is no further discount on it.”
Constance looked back into its hazy surface and saw the changed and horrible face still watching her.
Frowning, Constance moved to the other side of the mirror. Hanging from the other side of the mirror was a mask. It appeared to be an old child’s mask for old hollows eve. It was mostly white with browning around the eyeholes and edges were it would have been worn. It had a wide, off putting painted smile on it. Constance felt unnerved just looking at the thing.
Rising up the crystal again, she placed it on the material of the mask. The crystal flashed brightly and Constance pulled it away quickly. She looked over from the mirror and saw the shopkeeper had glanced away for a moment and she let out a small relieved sigh. The man looked back up at her and gave her a suspicious glare, so she looked back to the mask.
There was no question this thing was evil.
Constance sighed. She wanted a new mirror not to exercise a clearly possessed mask.
For a moment, she thought about just walking away from the object, act like she had never seen it, over it up with a cloth and let someone else deal with it.
But she knew that was not going to happen. She had seen it. And while it wasn’t her responsibility to take care of possession off the clock, whatever was left of her twisted little conscious wouldn’t let me sleep well that night if she left this thing there. And she knew she would need a good sleep tonight after the work of setting up the tent that she would no doubt be asked to ‘supervise.’
Constance looked around and found an unused coat hanger setting lose buy and she used it to hook around the strap on the mask that was hanging onto the mirror. As she pulled away from the mirror, she could feel resistance, as if she were pulling apart magnetic toys. It didn’t want to let go.
“Listen here, you possessed thing.” Constance muttered. “I’m not sure if you are a spirit or a daemon at this point, but if you are the former, I’m here to help you. And if you are latter, you are coming with me whether you like it or not so you might as well keep your fight for when you really need it.”
The mask popped off the mirror with evil whispers barely reaching her hearing, swinging dangerously close to Constance’s arm, but she pulled the thing away from her before it touched her. Now was not the time for any risks.
“Daemonic whispering…” Constance noted dryly. “That’s a good sign.”
The mask swinging from the coat hanger, Constance came to the other side of the mirror and looked into it one more time. The haze was still there, but the shop keeper appeared normal. She smiled a little sadly in disappointment. There was nothing special about this mirror other then its close proximity to such an evil object had corrupted its glass. The thing was even more worthless now then it had been a moment ago.
“Made your choice?” The shopkeeper said, then looked in disgust at the mask. “You have queer tastes, unsurprisingly. I should be paying you to take that thing out of my shop.”
“Oh, will you?” Constance asked.
“No, I’ll take the money for the mask. I just won’t touch the mask.”
“A wise decision.” Constance said with a grimace of a grin at the other. She was going to have her work cut out for her tonight between helping the circus getting set up AND exorcising a possessed child’s mask.
She could tell already, she was going to need to open one of her precious bottles of fine Merlot to survive the night with her sanity.
Eben followed his companion’s pointed finger up to the moonless night sky that was bright with countless stars, trying to deduce to which cluster she was pointing too. The two friends were enjoying being out in the free air of the Russian countryside, neither of them affected by the cold weather and wet ground under them as they laid down on their backs side by side, watching the sky slide by them on it’s slow journey from dusk to dawn.
Eben liked to be close to ground like this. It made him feel strong and secure, something that he would be missing when they boarded the train tomorrow to move down the main circus circuit line.
“That is the constellation Perseus.” Eben explained, guessing were his friend was pointing.
“And what am I supposed to see for Perseus?” The girl asked again.
“Perseus is standing with his sword drawn over his head.” Eben shifted closer to the other stargazer, his overgrown constructed from dwarfing the other’s small and delicate size. He moved a large hand up and traced the outside of the constellation. “And in his hands is the head of Medusa the Gorgon. It is the red blinking star right there. Do you see it?”
The girl sat up, staring hard at the sky where Eben pointed. Her skin gave off a slight glow, as all fae did on moonless nights, her wings, as thin as air, popped up from their resting down her back like a shimmering cape.
“Divna? Do you see it?” Eben asked again, although he already knew the answer. Aero Faeries had little attention for things so far and unreachable as the stars in the sky, but Divna seemed genuinely interested in them, even if she couldn’t understand them or remember the stories that Eben told her about the hero’s depicted in the black and blue sky. But Eben didn’t mind, he liked telling stories and Divna’s miserable Faerie memory meant that he could tell the same story a thousand times and to her, it would be like the first time she had ever heard it.
Divna flopped back down next to Eben on the ground, giving an impatient huff as she did. “I don’t see anything up there. Nothing but a bunch of dots.”
Eben gave his usual chuckle, little more then a rumbling in his chest. He felt her swat his arm at the sound.
“Don’t you laugh at me, rocks for brains.” She scolded. It wasn’t the most creative insult for a construct that was out there, but it was Divna’s favorite.
“You shouldn’t hit me, you will only hurt yourself.” Eben advised.
Divna wasn’t listening, she just pointed to Perseus again. “So why does he have a head with him?”
“Perseus cut off Medusa’s head as a gift to a king. People were turning into stone if they looked at her.” Eben went on.
“That sounds like it was the problem of the people looking, not her fault.” Divna commented. “Why does he have a sword drawn?”
“Perseus is going to rescue Andromeda, a princess that was to be sacrificed to a great sea monster.” Eben pointed out the other constellations that represented these other characters.
“If he had the head with him, he should just show the monster that thing, then it would turn to stone and sink to the bottom of the ocean.” Divna suggested.
Eben chuckled again. “That is exactly what he did. He turned the monster to stone and rescued Andromeda.”
“All that from a bunch of white dots in the sky.” Divna mused, sounding utterly confused. “I don’t get it.”
Eben didn’t respond to that, just letting the stillness of the night and the beauty of the sky fill the silence. It was on nights like these, Eben was happy that he would never forget. He liked to think that he was keeping the memories for Divna and should she ever need them, Eben would be able tell her everything that she had experienced. It may sound like a strange relationship to humankind, but for those outside that group, it made perfect sense.
“I don’t want to go back on the train.”
Divna’s voice was so quite, Eben was not entirely sure she had spoken but when he looked at the other, and saw the worry in her face, he knew it was her. To be honest, he was rather surprised she remembered that the train ride was going to be happening soon. He didn’t bother telling her during their morning ritual of catching up on the latest major events that Divna had forgotten overnight. She would only get upset when he told her that they were going to get back on the rail ways, so he avoided the topic completely.
It seemed to be a rule among the non-humans that they all did very poorly over long distance travel. While it wasn’t as bad as going over water via boat would be, trains made them both very uncomfortable and left them feeling very disoriented after the journey was over.
“I do not like the train either, Divna.” Eben agreed. “But wherever the circus goes, I will go as well.”
Divna seemed to consider those words for a while, staring up at the sky. Watching the occasional shoot star sparkle and lose it’s shine.
“You think I could fly up there and get one of the stars?”
Eben shook his head gently. Divna always asked him this when they watched the stars. “What would you do with one of the stars of you got one?”
“I think I would give it to you.” Divna answered.
“Me? What would I do with a star?”
“What wouldn’t you do with a star?” Divna grinned at Eben at that, her eyes sparkling with humor.
Humor tended to go over Eben’s head most of the time, and Faerie humor was completely incomprehensible to him. But he gave his rumbling chuckle all the same, to which Divna popped up and pressed her small head against Eben’s chest and giggled as the vibrating buzzed in her head. After the laughter subsided, Divna kept her head on his chest.
“Promise me that we will do this again after the train ride?” Divna asked, still not lifting her head.
Eben gently laid his stone flesh hand on the top of her head and said simply: “I promise.”
Fletcher let out a wild hoot at the retreating men into the sea air around him.The battle had been a long and frightful, but, at last, he was seeing headway. He could hardly believe that they were pulling this off.
The day would be theirs after all.
No sooner had such thoughts of victory crossed his mind as a new invader jumped aboard the ship. This new man was tall and fair, not like the rest of the crew, and while he wore a blue jacket, he wore faded white underneath in the style of the kingdom of Prussia. But Fletcher only scarcely took note of the unusual dress, it was the scar on his face, a long and painful looking line that cut down from below the stranger’s eyes down past the neckline of his shirt, that he recognized. The sniper from below.
Fletcher ground his teeth in anger at the appearance of the man, but was also pleased to get a chance to kill the man that so soundly crippled his lower deck. The man did not draw any firearms, only twin cutlasses in each hand.
The arrival of the new opponent on the deck did not go unnoticed by others on the upper deck. Three pirates leapt to overtake the new arrival, before he had even taken a sturdy footing. The oldest son of the Carpenter took the lead and sliced high at the man’s neck. The strike was fast and strong, but the enemy was far faster than the sword. He tucked in low, the three young sailors reeling to get back up. He dragged the two cutlasses across the back of their legs in one quick strike, causing all three to cry out in pain, before he returned to standing, driving each sword through the sides of the lads so savagely, the blade protruded out the other side.
The scarred man yanked his blades back and with a dread flourish, struck out at the carpenter. The boy fell instantly, his hands numbly fumbling to keep his internal organs from sliding out into the blood slick deck.
The man spun the swords easily in each hand, twirling and slashing the blades in an intimidating way, the blood from his last kill flicking off in each direction. Fletcher saw it as a challenge, but unfortunately, so did Prospera. The Boatswain was never one to back down from a challenge once it had been placed in front of her, regardless of the opponent. This was one of her greatest strengths and weaknesses, it made her an impeccable leader for the crew to have, there was no better go between for the crews needs and the captain’s needs.
Prospera stepped forward, placing her well-bloodied dagger into its scabbard at her hip, her saber at the ready in her other hand. The man looked her over quickly, obviously assessing the woman in front of him. He changed his stance slightly, placing one foot behind the other and dropping the tips of the swords down. All traces of the confident grin were gone and a serious concentration had taken it’s place.
The scarred man lunged at Prospera, bringing up the swords suddenly from under himself. The woman spun out of the sword lunge at the last possible minute, dragging her dagger back out of it’s scabbard, it’s usual metallic ring was muffled by its wet exit, blood and the white liquid that made up the poison that her scabbard was filled with flew out at the attacker as she sliced viciously at the man’s face. He fell back instantly at the unexpected appearance of the toxins, flinching he felt the milk-like substance spatter on his face.
Without breaking stride he lifted one of his gloved hands and wiped the poison away from his eyes and mouth. He brought the liquid up to his face and appeared to be inspected it, still holding on to his sword, but that was all the opening that Prospera needed. She jabbed her thin and deadly sharp saber forward, aiming to the side that that was distracted by her first attack.
Impressively, the man blocked her attack using only one sword, without even as much as looking at where she was coming from. Almost as if he was expecting it.
Prospera seemed to see the same and her eyes lit with fury, tumbling back and lunging forward again, the two blocked and locked blades, twin cutlasses verse a poison dagger and a sabre.
Fletcher looked to Lucius and Avernus, they were both transfixed on the fight in front of them. As seemed to be all of those aboard the crew. The captain, struck his quartermaster lightly on the shoulder and seemed to break him from the spell.
“The day is not won yet! Let’s run these dogs off our ship!”
Avernus blinked twice, as if not understanding what was being asked of him. But then he nodded, with only a ghost of a smile on his face. He wiped off his sword quickly and turned started at one of the Spanish soldiers that did not appear to be paying him much mind. As if it were a shot the rang out, the combatants started at it again. Both sides feeling bolstered, Fletcher’s crew from their tides still on their side and the Spanish from this stranger that was holding his own impeccably well against the Boatswain of the Virtue.
Fletcher was not about to let this heartening take hold and he moved in to fight the scarred man with Prospera. She saw him coming at first her eyes hardened with offence.
“I got this, Fletcher!” Propsera hissed out as she ducked under the opponent's swing and he blocked the light strike that the Captain opened with. “There are plenty others to fight, leave this whoreson to me.”
“It’s personal.” Fletcher said back, much lower in tone, it was more a growl then actual language.
Prospera chanced a quick look at her captain, and she his face was hard with grief and rage. While she was fully confident that she could kill his man alone, she also understood revenge when she saw it. She let the issue drop without another word and turned her attention fully onto her wild opponent.
The man’s dark brown eyes only grew more hard and serious when Fletcher joined into the fight. There were no lines of panic or strain on his face, only serious thought and calculation.
Every opening that Fletcher saw to take, the man was able to block. No matter where Propsera was able to push him, he was always on balance and unmovable. It seemed impossible to Fletcher for anyone to be able to defend against two attackers, each with two blades, but this stranger had no trouble keeping them at bay. He had to try something different.
Prospera’s poison dagger was their greatest asset. If they could even nick the skin of the attacker, they could then keep him on the defensive until the paralysis kicked in. As fast and as hard as the man was working to keep them at bay, the poison would work very fast. The key was to get Prospera and her knife close enough to scratch the man.
This was a far harder feat than either of them expected, the man’s defense was like an iron door. In spite of him only being able to keep his eye on one of them at a time, he always seemed to know where to block.
Fletcher was about to suggest that they try to get the man to go on the offensive and see if an opening appears when he heard a cry from down the deck. It was a cry that was familiar to him, Lucius.
The Captain chanced a look down the combat riddled way and saw his first mate was downed. He slashed at the enemy who was bearing down on him and the man landed on top of him with a heavy looking thunk. Another pair of sailors dragged the fair haired man to his feet out from under the dead sailor. Lucius looked dazed and winded, unable to defend himself.
Fletcher looked back to Prospera to indicate that he was going to help his mate, but he caught the eye of the man instead.
Seeing the man was distracted, Prospera replaced her dagger to give it another coat of the poison. No sooner had the hit touched the scabbard when the man raised up one of his boots and placed it on Fletcher’s hip, kicking off the man, throwing him back, and tumbling over Prospera’s hunched form.
As fast as Fletcher could blink, the man dislocated Prospera’s saber arm and grabbed her hand on the poisoned dagger, dragging it out of the scabbard and pressed it threateningly on her throat. He must have been of impressive strange to be able to trap his Boatswain in such a way.
Fletcher gave out a wordless cry, and the man spoke: “Order your men to lay down your weapons.”
The man’s voice was deep and dangerous, it had a strong Germanic accent, but Fletcher understood his words perfectly.
“You are the captain.” The man continued, still holding strong to the struggling Prospera. “Order your men to lay down their arms.”
“Don’t do it, Fletcher! Don’t you dare!” Prospera spat out through teeth grit with pain.
The man didn’t even look at Prospera. He navigated her hand with the dagger to slice into her shoulder, the poison and blood running into the wound. Prospera flinched and Fletcher's eyes grew wide with panic.
“It is tetrodotoxin, puffer fish poison.” The man explained, “it is fast acting and the clock now ticks. Lay down your weapons and she might be treated.”
“Fletcher.” Prospera shook her head, very carefully. “Don’t do it.”
Fletcher’s mind raced with any possibilities, he could hear the commotion around him, heavy weights hitting the deck around him, each one could be one of his men. Lucius was in peril. Prospera was dying in front of him.
The day was lost.
Fletcher glared venomously at the man in front of him and dropped his cutlasses to the ground.
“Dearly beloved, we are gathered today to pay our final tribute of respect to that which was mortal of our deceased loved one and friend, Abraham Arkwright.”
The reverend paused for the minute in front of the large gathered crowd of mourners at the otherwise quiet church yard. I looked up from where I had bowed my head when the man started the funeral service and allowed myself a minute to glance at the people around me. My mother sat next to me on my left, a handkerchief in her hands, dabbing her eyes, but there was too much pride in her aging eyes to look sad. To my right was my wife, but her eyes were filled with tears of sorrow, my children were sitting next to her sad and subdued at the service for their grandfather. On the other side of my mother was my twin brother Ashton, his eyes were hard and angry, but that was hardly a new expression on his face since our pa passed away. His wife was on the other side of him and his kids. I couldn’t tell what state they were in, but I could only assume it mirrored his own face.
Ashton was still so bitter over the whole thing. I didn’t know how he had the energy to keep so angry in the midst of everything else.
“To you members of the family who mourn your loss, we especially offer our deep and sincere sympathy.” The reverend continued, looking down at the podium where a large black bible rested for him to recite from. “May we share with you the comfort afforded by God's Word for such a time as this:
“‘Do not let your hearts be troubled. Trust in God; trust also in me. In my Father's house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.’ Such is written in the gospel of John chapter 14 verses1-”
The Reveren’s southern accented voice trailed off, and I looked up again at the man in front of the gathered. The man seemed shocked for a beat, staring out at the back of the church. He cleared his throat and then continued:
“...verses 1-3”
I looked behind to see what had caught the attention of the reverend.
The crowd that came to remember my Pa suprised me. I saw members of his science organization that I had never met. I saw old friends of his from Chicago that I knew only from old photographs. I saw old house keepers and household staff that I recognised from my childhood.
But all those people were not what caused the Reverend to pause.
At the very back of the room, peering in from the front door, was Isaac and Ishmael, my Pa’s first and second Automatons.
I chanced a glance at my brother and groaned as I saw him stand up from his chair and start to march to the back of the church. I looked at my wife briefly with an apologetic smile, that she returned with watery eyes and nodded. I was up in a moment and started after my brother.
“Ashton… hold on there, don’t make a scene over this…” I called gently, but in truth I should have just shouted it, Everyone in the church was already staring at my brother and I. Even the Reverend stopped speaking to watch how our family drama would continue to play out, even after the death of our father.
The door closed as the metal men pulled away from it, but Ashton all but kicked the door open when he reached it. I took off running to catch up with him before he did something even more stupid.
The room outside the chapel was deserted of human life, but there were seven metal human shapes in various states of distress. Pa’s automatons.
“You freaks got a lot of nerve showing yourselves here.” Ashton spat, pacing back and forth, looking at all the machine’s in turn.
“Ashton! I think you have made a fool enough of yourself for one day!” I reprimanded and grabbed my brother by his arm. But he span around and threw himself in my face, his normally pale complexion was livid red.
“Let me go, Asher!” He shouted at me. “These things have no place here! On Pa’s funeral!”
I heard several vents of steam and glanced at the automatons. Shuah and Midian had hidden themselves behind Ishmael, who was easily the tallest thing in the room. Those two were the youngest of the bunch after the destruction of Ishbak many years before. The two had obvious stress tremors running through them that told me of a boiler burning too quickly, a common quirk of all them when situations around them become more than they could process.
Medan and Jokshaw gripped each other, as usual. Those two were never far apart in any situation and this was no different. Isaac stood in front with Zimran at his side. Zimran looked so much smaller than he was when he stood next to Isaac, but he didn’t flinch at the scene unfolding in front of them.
“We do have a right to be here, Master Ashton.” Isaac started, walking forward with his knees bent to appear smaller and less imposing to my twin. “Father made us. Father gave us life. We all want to remember him like you do.”
“Don’t you dare call him that!” Ashton said again, his voice was low and he got up in Isaac’s face, turning away from me and shrugging out of my grip. “I will not stand here and listen to this disrespect on the day of my Pa’s funeral!”
“We do not come with disrespectful intentions.” Isaac continued, not backing down. “We wanted to say goodbye to father together with all the others.”
“Stop. Calling. Him. That. You were never his children!” Ashton screamed out, his words cut through me like a knife. “You were just a mistake he kept on making. I am his son! Not you! You are just his things! Things got got him laughed out of any respectable end he might have had! If any of you monsters had a soul I curse you all to the devil himself!”
The silence in the air chilled my to my core.
“I can only hope Pa left some of you to me in his will.” Ashton seethed through eyes filling with rage and grief fueled tears. “So that I can disassemble you piece by piece!”
Without waiting for a response, Ashton turned on his heel and stormed back into the sanctuary, all eyes were on him and I. I watched him return to his seat and I saw my mother lean over to him. I can only imagine what she was saying to her other son.
Instead of following him I turned back to Isaac and Ishmael, all the other’s had gathered around the two eldest, looking for some sort of comfort or protecting from all of this around them.
“I… I am sorry about all that.” I said at length, my voice was quiet and controlled and seemed like a whisper compared to my brothers blustering. “Everyone grieves differently, I suppose.”
“That is what we want.” Ishmael said at last, while his faceplates were set in with stoicism, but the expressive eyes that were my pa’s pride and joy showed exactly how much pain and hurting the words of my brother placed on him. “We only beg to have time to grieve the loss of Master Arkwright. We did not mean to cause such strife.”
I nodded my understanding and placed a hand on the arm of the tall Automaton and reached out to take hold of Isaac as well. The other’s surrounded me and came close beside me. I could feel the radiating head off the younger automatons that had yet to be properly insulated.
Here they all were, my father’s true legacy. They still needed so much work and looking after.
“Pa loved you all like sons.” I said, emotion thickening my throat. “And you will have your time to grieve. All of you. Come inside with me.”
“But… Master Ashton…?” Isaac said, looking unsure and worried. His voice box crackling.
“You leave my idiot brother to me.” I promised. “If I’m going to be looking after you now, I might as well start.”
“Ya mean we can go inside with the others?” Zimran asked, looking up at me with an expression I could only describe as hopeful.
I found that my words did not come then, tears swelling in my eyes, so I just nodded and after a time made out the once syllable: “Yeah…”
Only then did I return to the chapel, leading a procession of metal men. All needed to grieve as much as any human at the loss of their parent. Regardless of my brothers callous comments, these seven usual creatures behind me were also my brothers and I meant to look after them as such.
Antoliy rushed into the cart, completely out of breath. He had sprinted all the way across the carts on the train that the Zarazky circus has been riding on for the past two days as they traversed the flat and uninteresting American countryside. He almost ran into a steward on his way down a narrow hallway, leaping into the air and twisting his body to avoid hitting the man, and jumped completely over him.
“Pardon me.” Antoliy muttered under his breath as he left the man behind him, just finished up his scream of terror from having a full grown Russian immigrant vault over him.
He didn’t stop running until he saw Grigori in front of the ‘room’ that he and his sister Pasha were sharing on his trip. Grigori was dressed in an unassuming way, as usual when traveling by train.
Grigori looked at the approaching man though his long bangs and appeared surprised by the sprint.
“Antoliy? Are you alright?”
The man stopped just short of the door and looked at Grigori sharply. “What has happened? Is Pasha alright?”
Grigori looked stunned for a few moments before answering. “I-I think she is alright. She just refuses to open the door and I left wallet in there.”
“But… Artyom told me that she was having an emergency?”
Grigori looked dryly at the taller man. “And you believed him?”
Antoliy looked at Grigori without understanding. “Why would Artyom lie to me?”
“Well, I do not think that he thinks he lied to you…”
“Yбирайся!” a yell called from inside the room.
“Pasha! Are you alright in there?” Antoliy called against the door, he went for the handle and found the door was locked. “What is happening?”
“Just-Just go away!” The voice replied.
“Pasha? Open the door!” Antoliy commanded, knocking on its surface.
“Just leave me alone!”
“This is going well.” Grigori offered, a ghost of a smile on his face.
Antoliy just looked at the other, his expression unamused.
“Pasha, I’m coming in!” Antoliy informed and before the girl inside could voice a protest, Antoliy focused his attention on the lock.
With a small command, the door was wrenched open, pulling the lock off its hinges with a loud crack.
Grigori jumped back in surprise as the door splintered at its locking point. “My God! I don’t think it needed all that.”
Antoliy looked annoyed at the mess he had made. It was getting harder and harder to focus enough to move small objects lately. He has suspicious as to what the cause of that was, but he would deal with it later. He had a shouting sister to deal with without worrying about the door.
“You monstrous BRUTE! Look what you did to the door!”
Antoliy walked into the small cabin and stopped short when he saw his sister. Her long dark hair was a sickly green color the man knew had not been there this morning.
“What the devil?”
Pasha’s frown faltered as she seemed to remember the travesty her head had become.
“I told you to stay out!!”
Pasha grabbed a shawl off the back of one of the chairs and wrapped it around her head… but not before Grigori entered in and saw her newest addition.
“Wow… Pasha… you look-”
“Do not talk to me!” Pasha said loudly. “You are as bad as him!”
Without waiting for a response, the girl stormed down the hall leaving the two men and the damaged door behind.
“What on earth…?” Antoliy asked, bewildered.
Grigori started to look through the cabin for his wallet, when he noticed a too-large box crammed into the trash receptacle. Curious, he reached in the brought out an expensive looking box. On it’s cover was written ‘Hollywood Blonde’ and it was followed by some doctors signature, promising the user majestic flowing blonde hair like the film stars. The man handed the box to the other who looked over it while shaking his head slightly.
“Pasha…” Antoliy groaned, rubbing his eyes tiredly.
Grigori took back the box and the two men looked at each other. There was a sly look in Grigori’s eyes.
“Don’t you dare.” Antoliy warned. He knew if Grigori started…
Grigori barked out a laugh which was quickly followed by more. Antoliy couldn’t help himself and also joined the laughter.
“What the HELL happened here?!”
Their laughter was cut short suddenly as the two turned to look at the door. The steward the Antoliy had vaulted over previously was standing the hall, gaping at the door.
“Ah… well…” Grogori started, walking forward quickly to the man , his Russian accent thickening as his heart rate increased. “I can explain all of this.”
“No, they can’t,” a smooth voice purred from down the hall.
A door opened in a neighboring cart and James slid out from the room that he had acquired (for he certainly didn’t buy it) for himself.
“They can’t explain what happened… But I can.”
-
Pasha didn’t stop running down the hall, she felt her face burning with shame. She knew that she was acting immaturely, locking the door like a seven year old.
When she heard the laughter or her brother and partner behind her, her face burned even redder in embarrassment. She knew they were laughing at her. And they should, she told herself, I look like a sea witch.
She was almost convinced that she would rather jump off the train then face those boys again, she heard a small and sharp whistle.
She turned automatically and saw Innokenti standing at the last cart on the train.
The young mute lowered the whistle and gave Pasha a curious look; there was no sign of a smile on their face.
Pasha could feel her walls start to come down and before she could think twice, Innokenti grabbed her wrist and led her into the cabin.
The cabin was much less impressive than the one that her brother and her shared. This was only slightly larger than the washroom that her cabin had. Innokenti led her to the chair and sat her down, kneeling in front of her.
“I’m an idiot.” Pasha explained, her voice thicker than she expected it to be and that only made her more upset. She quickly tore off the shawl over her head and buried her face in it, tried to hide the traitorous tears that were falling. Such a stupid thing to cry about, she mused, but then again, she was going to look absolutely frightful until it grew out.
She raised her eyes and saw Innokenti looking hard at her hair, the mutes eyes narrowed as they took in the green shade, as if sizing it up.
Then, without warning, Innokenti stood and moved to the large trunk in the corner of the room. Innokenti retrieved a small bottle from the trunk and a pack of cigarettes and walked back over to the girl. The mute held out the pack out to her with a shy smile.
Pasha rubbed her face again and sniffed, trying to keep her nose from running and took one of he offered cigarettes.
“Thanks.” Pasha said, happy to get some tobacco.
Innokenti pulled out a collection of matches and lit one, burning the edge of the cigarette. While Pasha took a soothing draw, Innokenti moved the light under the small bottle that they held, warming the bottom of it.
Pasha found her eyes wandering while Innokenti was doing… God only knew what. Her eyes fell on a mirror and she felt her eyes burning again. She looked terrible. The dye that she put in her raven hair was supposed to turn it blonde, like Lillian Gish, but it didn’t look right, so Pasha added more of the hair bleach… then it turned a horrible green.
Pasha was just contemplating how green hair would look on the cameras when Innokenti moved behind her. The mute ran a hand through her hair then took the bottle. Innokenti opened it and Pasha smelt a strong scent of lemon. Innokenti directed her to move her head back and then poured the warm liquid on her head. Inokenti quickly started to knead the lemon scented oil into her scalp, then running their hand down the length of her previously dark hair.
Pasha didn’t say anything. She never knew what to think of Innokenti. While they appeared to be the same age, about 13, she never felt that she had much in common with the other. Innokenti being a mute didn’t make things any easier. She felt odd when talking, not knowing if Innokenti liked hearing other speak, or if it offended them in some way. They were closer when they were younger, but at 13 Pasha found that she was uncomfortable around many people that she had no problem being around before.
Pasha decided to keep quite and enjoy her cigarette while Innokenti worked. Once she was about halfway spent, the door to Innokenti’s room flew open.
“Idiot! Quick! I must have some ginger drops!”
Innokenti released Pasha’s hair and moved to the trunk.
Pasha looked over to the new addition, not that she needed to see his face to know that Artyom had entered.
He was still dressed to the nines, as usual. His hair was greased back and his moustache was waxed exquisitely. His eyes fell on Pasha and her unfortunate hair.
“Oh, Pasha my sweet. It is worse than I feared.”
Pasha pointedly looked away from the illusionist. “A lot of help you were. I told you to keep my brother away.”
“I TRIED, my sweet!” Artyom cried, clutching his stomach. “I told your brother that you were in the middle of a crisis and were not to be disturbed.”
Pasha rolled her eyes. “Well, no wonder he came to check on me if you told him THAT!”
Artyom looked wounded. “Pasha! This IS an emergency!”
Innokenti, after rummaging through the trunk, found a brown bag and handed it to the man in heavy make-up.
“Ah, finally! My insides have been trying to murder me for the past unbearable 15 minutes!” he said in his theatrical voice and popped a few candies into his mouth.
“What is wrong with you?” Pasha asked as Innokenti returned to her side and continued to move the oil through her hair.
“In the food cart, I discovered that they had crab cakes on the menu. I hadn’t had any of those since I lived in the palace! I simply had to try it! It appears that the garcon on this journey is lacking in-um- culinary skill…” Artyom’s voice trailed off, he sniffed the air suspiciously. He moved the back closer and took a sniff then looked at Innokenti.
“Are you just rubbing oil with lemon juice in her hair?”
Innokenti nodded quickly, not looking up from the work.
Artyom just shrugged, then took another candy from the bag. “Well, anything to get the dreadful color out.”
With a flourish, Artyom left the cabin.
“Thanks for that Artyom…” Pasha mumbled.
She felt a weight on her shoulder and looked up to see Innokenti giving her a half smile.
“Well, it is a terrible color.” Pasha conceded.
Innokenti didn’t respond to the observation but instead, stepped away from the girl and looked critically over the work. Seemingly satisfied, Innokenti handed the rest of the bottle to Pasha with a match. Innokenti motioned for Pasha to wash out her hair and reapply the oil.
“You think this will work?” Pasha asked, moving closely to the mirror and looking at the root of her hair. To her surprise, she saw the green fading away.
“Oh! Look at that! This might work after all!” Pasha turned back to the mute. “Thank you, Innokenti. Спасибо.”
Innokenti smiled at the girl, appreciating the mother tongue.
“You know, if you need anything yourself…” Pasha started awkwardly before turning to walk back to her room. She knew that she had a few apologies to make.
