Heart of Steam & Rust (Empires of Steam and Rust) (2 page)

That had to be her first order of business: returning home.

No. Strike that. Her
second
order of business. Her first had to be keeping these people from discovering the truth about her.

That shouldn’t prove hard.

Everyone she’d encountered so far had been easy to scan. Clearly, none were trained to resist mind reading.

Perhaps they’d never even heard of psychic powers here. Their science, at least what she’d seen of it to this point, seemed decades behind that of her world.

Her world...

She shook hands with a highly decorated soldier loitering near the front door. “Good to see you again, too, General Markov. No, it was nothing. Don’t worry about it. I’m sure the Section will send someone over to brief you if it’s important to your work. Thank you for your concern.” He had heard she was being released, wanted to see her in person for some reason—she worried him—but she didn’t dare linger to try and ferret out why.

She needed to get home before she was discovered.

Lina exited the hospital, pausing briefly at the top of the long marble stairway and taking a deep breath of Moscow’s crisp spring air.

It didn’t smell right. The air was dirtier here, tainted with soot and the tang of oil fires. Apparently, this archaic world generated more smoke to produce their steam.

A fat airship buzzed lazily overhead—not a sleek Russian helioship, more like a dirigible or a bloated zeppelin. Certainly a Fifth Section machine—this entire complex was devoted to the bureau, according to the minds she’d read—and probably among the best airships this world had to offer.

A chill ran down Lina’s spine, and her stomach twisted. She was powerful where she came from, used to certain luxuries, the best her position could offer. Having to live
here
would be like falling into the middle of a research expedition without proper supplies, like being stranded on a primitive island with no hope of returning to civilization.

A car—a sleek, black sedan with bulbous curves, like the native airship—waited for her by the curb at the bottom of the steps. A tall, lean man just shy of thirty years old stood beside it, holding open the rear passenger-side door.

He was dressed in a long, drab service coat with lieutenant’s markings on the shoulders. He smiled when he spotted her. To Lina, his mind was an open book.

His name was Pyotr Gregorov and he was her, or rather Lina
Viktorovna’s
, aide. She could see his devotion to her both in his mind and on his handsome face; his eyes practically sparkled as he focused on her.

As she stepped toward the car, Lina felt for a moment that he wanted to kiss her, but instead, he offered a crisp salute. She returned it.

“So good to see you again, Captain.”

“And you, Lieutenant.”

His emotions swirled: joy, nervousness, a pang at her injury. Would he have died, too, from grief, if she had perished from the gunshot? The vast emptiness of life without her stretched out before him. For a moment, the bleak scenario flashed through his mind. Then he re-focused:
Business, must keep it business.

She found his thoughts almost … embarrassing.

“Shall I drive you to your apartments, Captain?”

“Yes please … Pyotr.”

She felt his delight as she spoke his name, a sweet sensation that he had feared he would never experience again.

She paused at the door, let her hand brush his; his skin felt warm, nearly sweating. The touch thrilled him.

How easily she fooled this man!

Briefly, Lina gazed at herself in the polished black paint of the car’s door. She’d not dared to ask for a mirror in her ward room. Nor had she risked searching for one during her hasty exit. Now, free of the secret facility’s confinement, she snatched a glimpse.

She felt only mild surprise that her dark reflection looked familiar. As near as she could tell, this Lina Viktorovna was a dead ringer for her: a doppelganger.
Good
. That should make it easier for her to adjust, to fool people.

Lina settled herself into the back seat of the car. The seats were upholstered in white leather, comfortable for sitting … or even reclining, she imagined. The car was fitted out in leather and chrome and polished wood, like an early Rolls Royce, but an emblem on the dash proclaimed it an “Orlovich”—apparently a good quality Russian imitation. Pyotr slid into the driver’s seat, seeming happy that things were back to normal.

If only he knew!

“Before you take me home,” she said to him, “I would like to stop for a newspaper. I imagine I’ve missed quite a lot.”

“Yes,” he said. “I anticipated that, Captain, and had the latest edition delivered to your apartments this morning. I also asked the bureau to prepare a summary of news events since you were shot. I also scheduled a Section briefing for you tomorrow morning, just to catch you up.”

“Not
too
early, I hope,” she said, languidly running her fingertips over the upholstery and settling herself in.

She felt another tiny thrill shoot through him as he watched her in the rearview mirror. “10:30 AM. I know your preferences, Captain.”

“Well done … Lieutenant.” And just to titillate him further, she flashed him a very warm smile.

TWO

Her apartments lay on the third floor of a long housing complex constructed in Late Imperial Style with plenty of windows, arches, and even a few columns. She accepted Pyotr’s offer to accompany her to her door—the better to read his mind and gain more insights into her situation—and they silently rode the elevator up to her place.

She got the impression that he wanted
something
to happen at her flat—something romantic—but nothing had to date. So far as she could tell, his love for
his
Lina had never been reciprocated.

A woman opened the door to her apartment—Anna, her maidservant, Lina gleaned from reading Pyotr. Anna was nearly as glad to see Lina alive as Pyotr had been. Yet, Lina also caught a vague current of unease beneath the joy—similar to what she’d felt from General Markov earlier. Anna loved her mistress, but feared her as well.

The girl felt especially uneasy about whatever Lina kept in the closet off of the master bedroom. Anna didn’t know what lay behind that locked door, but she suspected nothing good. Though she knew Lina worked for Russian security—the maid needed clearance just to work in this building—the girl had no clear idea of exactly for which organization her boss worked.

That was fine with Anna; there were many secrets in Russia, after all. But something about the locked door was
not
fine.

Lina made a mental note to check behind that door as soon as possible.

Her rooms faced northeast, toward the Moskva River, though her view was partially obstructed by intervening buildings. Imperial-style furniture filled the apartment tastefully—not too few, not too many—and every chamber was neat and clean. Lina approved, though the accommodations were not as nice as those she enjoyed back home.

Another reason to return to her world as soon as possible.

Pyotr became somewhat nervous after they entered, so she dismissed him. She still had a lot to figure out, and didn’t want to be distracted by psychic emanations of puppy love.

“Is there anything you need, Miss?” Anna asked.

“A bath. I’ll draw it myself. Did they bring the newspaper?”

“This morning’s. And a parcel for you, as well.”

“Set them both on my bed. Then go about your business.”

The girl curtsied. “Yes, Miss.”

Lina breezed through the bedroom, heading for the master bath, not wanting Anna to guess she’d never been in either one before.

The bedroom was a large, bright chamber with gold-trimmed white walls, featuring yet more tasteful imperial furnishings and a big plush bed with frilly pink satin sheets. The bed was more luxurious than Lina preferred, but she supposed it would do. Apparently her counterpart liked creature comforts more than she.

Not that Lina didn’t appreciate the finer things in life, but becoming accustomed to such frivolities was a sign of a weak mind. Though her apartments back home were nicer than these, her taste in furnishings leaned toward Scandinavian simplicity.

Still, that bed
did
look enticing, especially after her hospital stay.

She noticed the door—the one that frightened Anna—as she passed through the bedroom, but she didn’t try it; plenty of time for that later.

She also avoided looking into the gilt-edged wall mirror as she entered the bathroom. No sense getting caught staring at her own reflection by the maid.

Perfunctorily, she twisted both taps on the tub—a big cast-iron affair, enameled in white and gold. More creature comforts, though perhaps she could get used to them.

The newspaper and the parcel—a plain brown package, about the size of a pie box—lay on the bed when she re-entered the room; Anna stood near the door, expectantly.

“Anything else, Miss?”

“No,” Lina replied. “You can get back to work.”

Anna curtsied again. “Thank you, Miss.” She exited the room and closed the door behind her.

For the first time since she’d awoken in the hospital, Lina breathed easy.

She was used to deceiving people. It was part of her job back home, and her psychic gifts made it easy. Yet, having to lie constantly to everyone she met all the time...!
That
she wasn’t used to.

She picked up the paper and looked at the headline. Reading it felt as though she’d just stuck her finger in an electrical socket.

1915!

“Bozhe moi!” she gasped.

Decades earlier than the date where she came from—even before the Great War. So, this was not only a different world, but a different
timeline
as well. That certainly explained the archaic technology and accoutrements. She wondered, briefly, what other differences she would discover.

Brain reeling, she tossed the paper back onto the bed, next to the box full of briefings.

The date didn’t matter. She wouldn’t be here long enough for it to matter.

Getting home; that was the only thing that mattered.

That and, right at the moment, whatever was behind Anna’s much-feared door.

Lina tried the handle, but of course it proved to be locked.

Here was a puzzle not so easily solved. The maid didn’t know the key’s location; if she had, surely her curiosity would have gotten the better of her long ago. And the fear of
knowing
what lay beyond was not what Lina had read in the girl’s mind; rather, it was fear of the unknown.

Pyotr would not likely know, either, and he wasn’t here to read in any case. Nor, of course, was the actual owner of the key.

Which made this mystery harder to crack.

Where would she hide a key if she were
this
Lina?

Not behind the romanticist paintings on the walls, nor in the dresser drawers, nor beneath them, either. All too obvious. Inside the bejeweled Easter egg or the
matryoshka
nesting doll of the Empress on the mantle? Too portable, too easily pilfered. Perhaps in the bathroom drains or the toilet tank? Too hard, too easily lost, and too revolting.

The hiding place had to be unlikely, not obviously valuable and not easily moved, but easy to get to when the other Lina wanted it. Perhaps concealed somewhere in a hidden panel. The bedposts?

No.
The fireplace.
The mantle’s ornate carvings could hide many slots, many secrets, but...

The brass andirons holding the fireplace logs ... Was that the smudge of a sooty fingerprint near the top of the left-hand one?

Yes … the ball-shaped finial element below the spire would make a perfect hiding place for something that could neither melt nor burn … like a key.

No fire currently burned in the hearth, but Lina examined the andiron carefully before touching it, making sure the metal was actually cool ... and that the object held no hidden traps. Having discerned it to be safe, it took her only a few moments to figure out how to unscrew the ball and extract the key lying within.

Yes, she and this other Lina seemed to think alike—at least to some extent.

After examining the closet door for traps as well, she inserted the key in the lock, opened the door, and, pausing only long enough to make sure no one was watching, slipped inside.

Beyond the threshold lay not a closet, as Anna had surmised, but an entire room. It was windowless, though draped in black curtains, and held a variety of arcane furnishings, including a human skull, a crystal ball, and a small altar with black candles. Strange symbols and the outline of a large pentagram were woven into the ornate rug covering the floor.

So,
this
was Lina Viktorovna’s secret, the part of her life that neither her maid nor Poruchik Yakov had the clearance to know: Lina’s counterpart was a practitioner of the dark arts.

And apparently, from what she’d read in Yakov, though he did not know the details, Lina’s mysterious practices had been sanctioned by the state. Perhaps they were even a vital part of her job.

But what
were
those arts? What could the other Lina do? Could such superstitious nonsense actually
work
in this place?

Lina’s guts fluttered uncomfortably. Hers was a world ruled by science, and while her mental capacities were beyond those of normal people, they still obeyed the laws of physics—even if the laws controlling her gifts were not yet fully understood. Her powers were a discipline, exercises she practiced and honed. But magic...!

Could her other self truly have been a witch? And without her doppelganger’s supernatural ability, could Lina pull off this masquerade?

She didn’t feel at all sure, which bothered her. Lina had lived at the top of the food chain in her world for a long time; the idea of not being in control of her own fate unsettled her profoundly.

How could she find out about her duplicate’s powers? Who would know?