Clockwork Menagerie: A Shadows of Asphodel Novella (8 page)

Himmel offered him a handkerchief. “Here.”

“Thank you.” Konstantin blew his runny nose. “Good lord, it’s cold.”

“It’s Russia.” Shaking his head, Himmel waved away the dirty handkerchief. “There’s the Kronstadt Naval Cathedral.”

Arches of white stone held blue-and-gold domes aloft. The cathedral stood as the island’s crown jewel, ringed by snowy rooftops. Magnificent, though Himmel didn’t bother taking a photograph; he waited as they flew north.

“I hear there’s a Fort Konstantin on Kotlin Island.”

“How do you know all this?”

“Maps.” Himmel’s smile flickered, gone in a second. “Look down. That’s the St. Petersburg Naval Engineering Institute.” The shutter clicked as he photographed what looked like any other forbidding building.

Konstantin scratched his beard. “What’s your expert opinion?”

“That’s our primary target for the laboratory’s location.”

Hope floated in Konstantin’s chest before fear dragged it down. “Strolling into a fortified naval base does seem a
bit
daunting.”

Himmel grunted. “Certainly isn’t your average jaunt in an airship.”

Staring through the viewfinder, Konstantin scanned the horizon. Silver flashed between the skyline. When the beast flew into view, his heart stuttered and stopped beating for a moment. A skeletal clockwork dragon, devoid of scales, soared across the heavens on wings of duralumin, every cog and rivet gleaming in its steel body.

“God,” Himmel croaked.

“The next iteration.” Konstantin breathed the words almost reverently.

Himmel gripped the railing, his knuckles white, as he watched the dragon spiral skyward. “Must be a test flight. Looks rough.”

It looked like a machine of sleek brutality, but Konstantin didn’t argue. The dragon flattened its wings before diving like a silver thunderbolt. An instant from hitting Neva Bay, its wings snapped open and slowed its fall. Skimming the surface, the dragon opened its jaws. Flames whooshed between its fangs and sizzled on the water. Hissing steam obscured the beast. When the cloud cleared, it had vanished.

Paler than bone, Himmel stared at the drifting haze. “Damn.”

“Are you all right?” Konstantin touched the back of his hand.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “We need to write a report.”

“What good will that do?”

Himmel grunted. “A fire-breathing dragon
might
interest the ambassador.”

“More useless paperwork.” Konstantin gritted his teeth. “We won’t win this war by writing down every move our enemy makes.”

Fortunately, he knew who could help him, even if the man wouldn’t do so knowingly.

It wasn’t hard to find Alexsandr Dmitriev.

The Russian loitered in the hotel restaurant, his elbows on the bar, toying with a shot glass. Konstantin greeted him with a nod.

“Good afternoon,” Alexsandr said. “What do you think of St. Petersburg?”

“Nice city.” Konstantin stared at the mirror behind the bar. His reflection looked pale, dark shadows under his eyes.

If only deception weren’t so damn complicated!

“Alexsandr, you have such lovely churches and cathedrals in St. Petersburg.”

“Are you a religious man?”

“Catholic.” Though lapsed, since he hadn’t attended church in years. “And rather curious about Russian Orthodoxy.”

Alexsandr grunted, a neutral noise, and glanced at his hands. “Understandable.”

“I’m enchanted by ecclesiastical architecture. The Kronstadt Naval Cathedral looks beautifully Byzantine.” Konstantin inhaled. “I plan to tour the island this evening. How would you recommend traveling there?”

Looking sideways at him, the Russian ran his thumb over his lip. “This evening?”

“Isn’t the evening light quite wistful? Might bring my camera, take a few photographs. Mean to collect an album of Russia.”

His eyes unreadable, Alexsandr smiled. “Ferries do not run to Kotlin Island in the winter. Take a ride on an icebreaker.”

“Excellent.” Konstantin faked a frivolous laugh. “An icebreaker sounds thrilling.”

St. Petersburg impressed him with yet lower temperatures.

Konstantin huddled below deck on the icebreaker, his teeth chattering, smiling and nodding whenever the Russian sailors glanced at him. They seemed perfectly content to guzzle vodka while wind howled outside.

Damn, he should have packed warmer clothes. Wolverine, or whatever they wore here. He tugged his scarf closer around his neck.

“Archmage.” An officer stared down at him. “Ready?”

Konstantin smiled through gritted teeth. “Yes, sir.”

As the icebreaker docked, he trudged above deck. Christ, it was even colder on Kotlin Island. He hoped his camera would function. A few degrees lower, and the shutter might freeze. He cradled the poor machine in his gloves.

The Kronstadt Naval Cathedral towered above the city, a guardian angel. Walking closer, he ignored the stares of Russians in the street. He stopped in the snow and photographed the cathedral, holding his breath so he wouldn’t fog the lens. Sunset gilded arch upon arch of milk-white stone and domes in celestial blue.

Nobody questioned him, the absentminded tourist.

The St. Petersburg Naval Engineering Institute wasn’t far from here. Only a few blocks to the west; when he closed his eyes, he could see the photographs Himmel had taken. Konstantin meandered through the streets, stopping only to raise his camera. He pretended to take pictures; he had a limited number of plates.

When he arrived at the Naval Engineering Institute, he hit the riskiest part of his plan. Since he didn’t speak a word of Russian, he had to improvise with his tourist disguise. Biting the inside of his cheek, he tried the door.

Unlocked. Perhaps luck was on his side.

He let himself into the building. In the chilly marble lobby, a uniformed official at a desk frowned and fired off some important-sounding Russian.

“You speak German?” Konstantin attempted an aloof smile.

The man shook his head, abandoned his desk, and left him alone in the lobby. In a minute, he returned with a boyish cadet.

“Good evening,” Konstantin said. “I’m here on behalf of the Archmages of Vienna.”

He was an archmage, wasn’t he? It was a believable lie.

“Can I help you?” The cadet spoke with a thick accent.

Going for imperious, Konstantin looked down his nose at him. “You have laboratories here, yes? I was promised a tour.”

The cadet glanced at his superior. “By who?”

“Whom.” Konstantin arched his eyebrow. “Alexsandr Dmitriev, to be specific. They say St. Petersburg produces the finest technomancy in Russia. Am I in the wrong place? Or will you be so hospitable as to enlighten me?”

The cadet squinted; perhaps he didn’t understand the polysyllabic words. His superior huddled with him, and they conversed in rapid Russian, their eyes darting back to Konstantin. Fear gripped his gut in its fist.

“Well?” Konstantin fetched his pocketwatch. “I don’t have all day.”

“Yes, sir, of course.”

Sweating, Konstantin followed the cadet deeper into the Institute. The camera strapped to his neck felt heavier and heavier. He stopped himself from fiddling with it so he wouldn’t look suspicious. They ventured down an endless corridor lit by kerosene lamps, portraits of important Russians glowering from the walls.

How big was this building? Where was the laboratory?

What if there was no laboratory, just a dungeon where they would torture him until he confessed all the archmages’ secrets?

How ridiculous. Konstantin fought a nervous laugh.

“This way, sir.”

A door groaned open on rusty hinges. Beyond, darkness gaped like the belly of a whale.

“This is it?”

“Yes, sir.”

Konstantin gripped the camera to hide his trembling hands. “The lights?”

“Yes, sir.”

The cadet ducked into the shadows. A heartbeat later, electric lights buzzed on above. Adrenaline spiked Konstantin’s blood.

This was the laboratory.

onstantin would recognize psychothaumaturgy
equipment anywhere.

A sinister steel chair dominated the room, looking as if it might electrocute whoever sat on its black leather seat. Tubes of tempered glass flickered with unearthly violet light—likely one of the noble gases, best suited to channeling souls. On a worktable, a colorless crystal glittered on velvet. His throat tight, he walked to the gemstone, hesitant to touch its icy facets. Within its heart, a wisp of light flickered.

Some unfortunate soul, imprisoned by technomancy.

“Konstantin Falkenrath.” Countess Victorova’s voice startled him.

He composed himself before turning around. “This must be your laboratory.”

Zinoviya eyed him with a flawless smile. Her gown of cobwebby silk lent her the look of a ghost. “Did you receive an invitation?”

Konstantin’s heart raced so fast he felt dizzy for a spell. “Forgive my curiosity.”

“May I see your camera?” She slinked closer, her gown rustling on the concrete. “It looks like a lovely piece of equipment.”

He couldn’t refuse, not without abandoning his charade.

Konstantin lifted the camera from his neck. One moment, Zinoviya cradled it as sweetly as a baby; the next, the camera tumbled to the floor. He lunged with outstretched hands, too late, the lens cracking upon impact.