Clockwork Menagerie: A Shadows of Asphodel Novella (13 page)

neumatics groaned and hissed as Konstantin walked
the Eisenkrieger from the laboratory. Infantry marched in field-gray uniforms, the color offering more camouflage than Prussian blue. Their swords glinted in the sun, a testament to the Hex’s ability to negate gunpowder. Bullets wouldn’t kill on today’s battlefield. The Archmages of Vienna promised the German Empire that the Hex would never fall.

Konstantin clenched his jaw. He knew where the Hex would be weakest, where a gunshot might pierce the thinnest magic in the air.

But he wasn’t a archmage anymore.

On the outskirts of Königsberg, trucks rumbled over the cobblestones, transporting soldiers in forest green uniforms—he recognized them as a light infantry battalion from the Alpenkorps, an elite alpine division. These
jägers
carried skis and mountaineering rucksacks, prepared for skirmishing and scouting in the grim winter of East Prussia. When Konstantin walked between their ranks, several jägers saluted the Eisenkrieger. He raised a giant arm in reply, gripped with an urge to protect them.

Konstantin tailed a company of jägers, along roads slick with slush, as they traveled northeast from Königsberg. The Eisenkrieger’s footprints imprinted the stubble in the fields. They stopped below a ridge cloaked with pines. On horseback, an officer rode to the Eisenkrieger, his mount shying away and kicking the snow.

Konstantin gestured at himself. “Falkenrath.”

“My orders failed to mention an Eisenkrieger, though we welcome the support.”

“Thank you.” He kept his face blank. “Where is the enemy?”

“Scouts report Russian cavalry to the east, heading toward the ridge.”

“How many?”

The officer’s mouth hardened. “At least twice our men.”

Konstantin curled the Eisenkrieger’s fingers into fists of steel. He was a scientist, not a soldier, but how could he abandon them?

In the calm before the storm, the jägers strapped on their skis and hiked up the ridge, while the mounted officer rode alongside on a road where the snow wasn’t as deep. Konstantin outpaced the men to the top of the ridge, then braced the Eisenkrieger between boulders, the frozen ground slippery underfoot.

On the other side of the ridge, between the trees, a flash of steel glimmered.

Should he warn the others? Or attack? The Eisenkrieger wasn’t exactly stealthy. Cursing under his breath, Konstantin lumbered downhill. He shoved through the forest, trees swaying, needles raining down, before he found the Russian cavalry at the bottom. When their officer shouted an order, they reined in their horses.

Konstantin stared down at the lead cavalryman. Neither one of them moved.

Arms swinging, he lunged into a charge, snow exploding with every footfall. Horses reared, whinnying, while their riders fought for control. The Eisenkrieger scattered the cavalry like bowling pins. When he turned around for another charge, the jägers skied down the ridge, zigzagging through the trees. They halted halfway down, unloaded crossbows from their backs, and unleashed a deadly rain on the cavalry.

Bolts pierced horses and men. Screams punctuated the galloping of hooves.

A cavalryman charged the Eisenkrieger, his saber clanging on the steel behind its knee. Spinning, Konstantin backhanded him and knocked him flying. He plucked another cavalryman from his saddle and tossed him into the trees. While the Russians struggled to maneuver, the Alpenkorps mastered the deep snow. Red splattered the white, misting the air, and Konstantin swallowed back a bitter taste.

The skirmish ended when the remaining Russians fled or surrendered their sabers.

Konstantin found the leader of the jäger company. “Sir.”

“Good work!” The officer lit a pipe in celebration. “The Eisenkriegers perform excellently, even the old prototypes.”

“Thank you, sir.” It sounded hollow to Konstantin’s ears. “I’m afraid I must depart.”

“Where next?”

He hesitated. “That’s classified information.”

Puffing on his pipe, the officer eyed him. “Understood.”

After Konstantin saluted the man, he abandoned the groans of dying soldiers.

One thousand kilometers separated Königsberg from St. Petersburg.

Konstantin glanced at the fuel gauge in the cockpit. The Eisenkrieger should get him halfway before its engine sputtered and died. The diesel-electric transmission, while remarkably efficient, didn’t allow for perpetual motion. His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. If he upgraded the power source to psychothaumaturgy, the Eisenkrieger would be unstoppable. Countess Victorova had a point, however evil.

Marching through the forest, he skirted the edges of farmland, keeping the Eisenkrieger hidden behind shrubbery and snowdrifts. He unfolded a map before taking a compass bearing. The border between the empires hardly resembled a forbidding black line. He crossed from Prussia to Russia, which looked like yet more snow.

After trudging hundreds of kilometers, he climbed from the cockpit to stretch his legs. Sweat dampened his skin, worsening the freezing wind. Wincing, he hopped from foot to foot, shocks jolting his numb muscles, and attended to the call of nature. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. Damn, he had brought all the necessary technomancy equipment, but neglected to remember fuel for his own body. How inconvenient.

Konstantin scanned the horizon. To the east and west, frozen fields offered no nutrition. He cupped snow in his gloves, held it in his mouth, and swallowed the melted ice. That slaked his thirst, though his stomach rumbled. When he jumped into the cockpit, he hit the back of his head, swore, and rubbed his tender skull.

Sunset stained the clouds bloody. He nudged his feet into the pilot’s boots. When he walked the Eisenkrieger a few steps forward, the joints in its legs groaned. If he stopped too long, the pneumatics would freeze up.

Muscles aching, he powered the Eisenkrieger onward.

Silence grated on his ears. To amuse himself, he sang Christmas carols while night fell. Thank God the enemy couldn’t hear him. Or anyone, for that matter, since he wasn’t known for having perfect pitch. Konstantin laughed, a croak of a sound, and climbed from the Eisenkrieger to eat another mouthful of snow.

The fuel gauge drifted toward empty. Konstantin double-checked his map. Detouring to the next train refueling station would be his best bet for diesel. Soon enough, he spotted a lonely shack along the railway. Nobody manned the pump. He piloted the Eisenkrieger onto the tracks and hopped from the cockpit. After some cramming, the nozzle fit into the diesel intake. Shivering, he stared at endless wilderness.

Howls echoed in the distance. Wolves.

Adrenaline jolted Konstantin. He gripped the nozzle, the stink of diesel piercing the air, and peered into the shadows. If he didn’t fill the Eisenkrieger’s tank, he wouldn’t have enough fuel to get to St. Petersburg. Though if wolves shredded his flesh, he also wouldn’t get to St. Petersburg. Why did Russia have to be so wild?

Diesel spilled from the overflowing tank, trickling onto his boots. “Damn!”

He released the trigger and kicked snow over the spilled fuel. When he jammed the nozzle back into the fueling station, a wolf loped from the trees and watched him with gold eyes, wind stirring its grizzled pelt.

Konstantin jumped back into the Eisenkrieger and broke into a run. The wolf fled into the forest, too intelligent to try biting into steel. Nevertheless, he couldn’t stop his heartbeat from hammering. He swore, at length, words that would have earned him a flogging at his Catholic school. Perhaps this why he was a lapsed Catholic.

When he spotted a city, glittering reflected in the sea, he unfolded the map across the dashboard. This had to be Narva. How far away was St. Petersburg? Two hundred kilometers? Lord, he couldn’t do arithmetic on such an empty stomach. Hands trembling, he refolded the map and returned it to his coat pocket.

“Schnitzel,” Konstantin muttered. “Schnitzel and sauerkraut.” He chanted the words, fantasies of feasts dancing through his head. Once he returned in triumph to Vienna, he would gorge himself to the point of exploding.

While dawn gilded the world, St. Petersburg shimmered like a mirage on the horizon. Konstantin blinked, eyes threatened by tears, until beeping in the cockpit interrupted the moment: the wireless telegraph receiver.

He fumbled for a pen and wrote in the margins of the map. The incoming message read:

this is the nachtigall

Himmel? His hands shaking, Konstantin tapped out a reply.

how did you find me

The replies came in rapid-fire Morse code.

zeppelin detected your signal near st petersburg

meet me in twenty minutes

coordinates to follow

Konstantin jotted down the coordinates and checked the map. The location would put him on a streetcorner in the outskirts of St. Petersburg. In a thicket of firs, he dropped to his knees, climbed from the cockpit, and hid the Eisenkrieger under boughs bristling with needles. The camouflage resembled gardening debris, but his head whirled from starvation, and he could hardly park the machine on the sidewalk.

On foot, Konstantin staggered deeper into St. Petersburg and navigated the streets with his map in hand. An aroma more heavenly than a flight of angels trickled on the breeze. “Coffee!” He breathed the word like a prayer.

A café waited for him across the street, a block away from the coordinates. Himmel wasn’t here yet. Why couldn’t they have a debriefing over a cup of coffee? He combed his hair with his fingers, straightened his clothes, and reached for the door—the instant before a hand gripped his elbow and yanked him back.

“Konstantin!” Himmel glared at him. “What the devil are you doing in St. Petersburg?”

“There’s no time to tell you,” he stammered. “Let me—”

“Don’t.” Shaking his head, Himmel exhaled in a cloud of white. “Walk with me. Now.”

“But the coffee!”

Himmel dragged him down an alley, fingers bruising to the bone. “When Königsberg reported the Eisenkrieger stolen, I had my suspicions.” He leaned close his face. “But I don’t know
why
you decided to steal a valuable prototype only to march it straight into enemy territory. Have you completely lost your mind?”

Konstantin forced himself to meet the captain’s stare. “You wouldn’t understand.”

“Tell me.”

“I can’t.”

Himmel glanced around before lowering his voice. “Do you have any clue how lucky you are? I found you before Baron von Bach did. He’s furious about the Eisenkrieger, and called you a threat and a traitor to Austria-Hungary.”

Konstantin’s knees wobbled. “I’m aware of the technicalities.”

“Does the law mean
nothing
to you?”

“The law won’t stop the countess, unless we prove her guilty of psychothaumaturgy.”

“Psychothaumaturgy.” Himmel spat the word. “Again with magic. Why won’t you leave it alone? Why won’t you stop?”

Staring at the ground, his eyes on fire, Konstantin said nothing.

“Look at me.” Himmel waited for him to obey. “What law did you plan to break next?”

His mouth twisted into a smile. “This technomancy? It’s too experimental to be illegal. They haven’t invented the laws yet.”