The Havoc Machine (23 page)

“The colt was a brilliant addition,” he continued. “The tsar clearly enjoyed it, which means the court will also at least act like they love us, whether they truly do or not. Capital and brilliant both, Sofiya.”

She actually colored and smiled at him.

“He is sweet. It was fun to watch him be born.” Nikolai stroked the colt’s thin nose, an odd look in his strange eyes. “Does he have a name?”

“Not yet. But for now, little shadow, we must put him away. He has little room for springs and power, you see, and winds down quickly.” With that, she twisted the colt’s ear, and it collapsed in her arms. This didn’t seem to bother Kalvis, who merely waited behind the empty lion cage with mechanical patience. With several deft cranks and folds, Sofiya returned the colt to its state as a long box, which she slid back into Kalvis the same way it had come out. Thad had to admire the clever workmanship even as the reverse “birth” gave him a small shudder.

The show continued. Living horses and the new seal
act and the Flying Tortellis on their portable trapezes. Mordovo outdid himself with his Cabinet of Miracles. Through it all, the tsar showed polite interest, but never the enthusiasm he did for Sofiya. During Tina McGee’s act with her poodles, the tsar spoke to a servant, who bustled away and arrived behind the wagons a moment later. He gestured sharply at Nikolai and said,
“The tsar wishes to know when the little automaton will perform.”

N
ikolai looked at Thad, his eyes wide with fear, or an automaton’s version of it. Dread twisted inside Thad’s chest, and Sofiya’s face went flat again.

“The…little automaton?”
Thad temporized.

“The boy,”
said the servant impatiently.
“The tsar awaits.”

“I’m afraid the boy does not perform,”
Sofiya said slowly.
“He is new, and—”

“Is that what you wish me to tell the tsar?”
the servant said haughtily.
“That the circus he went through considerable expense to bring into this hall cannot accommodate his wishes?”

Sofiya floundered at this. Nikolai looked terrified now. Thad cast about in desperation. Sending Nikolai out there would be suicidal. He wasn’t trained as a performer, and if he made a laughingstock of himself, all the goodwill the circus had built up would vanish. The tsar might even take it into his head to punish them for wasting his time. It had been known to happen.

“The tsar awaits your answer,”
the servant said.

Thad’s eye fell on Mama Berloni’s changing screen strung between its poles. The lights from the chandeliers were so strong that the shadows of people moving behind it were sharp and crisp. Shadows. A wild idea came to him.

“Tell the tsar the boy is thrilled to appear next,”
he said.

The servant nodded and withdrew as Nikolai and Sofiya both gasped. Nikolai grabbed Thad’s hand with metal fingers. “Why did you tell him that? I can’t perform! I can’t do anything!”

“Do you trust me, Niko?” Thad asked.

“Yes.”

“Then trust me now.”

Out in the ring, Tina finished up with the poodles to polite applause. Thad had just enough time to get in a word with the now nervous Dodd, who ran out and blew his whistle for attention.

“Nikolai the Automaton,”
he called, and Thad heard the uncertainty in his voice. Thad’s own throat was dry as sandpaper and his heart beat like a hummingbird in his chest.

“Thad,” said Sofiya, “what are you—”

“Niko! Quick!” Without waiting to see if Nikolai followed, Thad strode out to the ring and bowed to the tsar. The eyes of the court were all on him. Thad didn’t suffer from stage fright, but he was nervous now, and his hands tried to shake. Only a lifetime of a sword swallower’s discipline kept them still.

He came upright. The tsar’s eyes were hard from his throne. The children spread out before him looked more expectant, more eager, and Thad suddenly understood that
they
had actually asked for Nikolai. He wasn’t sure
if that was a good sign or not. Thad turned, but the ring was empty—Nikolai hadn’t followed him. Covering his surprise, he whistled through his fingers and waved sharply to the wagon area. No response. Thad quickly made an exaggerated gesture of fatherly impatience with his brass hand and whistled again.
All part of the act, ladies and gentlemen, just building suspense.
The court gave a low laugh.

Still no Nikolai. Praying hard, Thad did a big comic windup and whistled as hard as he could. At last Nikolai appeared and edged into the ring in his new red coat, his eyes wide, his metallic jaw hanging slightly open. The women in the audience made little murmurs. Thad caught,
“Isn’t he darling?”
and
“What a sweet thing!”
and
“I wonder who built him?”
and
“Do you think that handsome man is a clockworker?”

That last comment chilled Thad, though he kept a smile on his face.
“Your Imperial Majesty! My lords and ladies!”
he called in Russian, breaking the circus tradition of speaking during a performance.
“May I introduce…my shadow!”

He turned to Nikolai. “Copy me,” he said in an undertone.

“Wha—?”

“Like you did with Dodd in the Black Tent. Be a mirror! Go!”

Thad raised a hand. Nikolai raised his own a fraction of a second later. Thad raised the other. Niko copied it. Thad backed up, Nikolai backed up. Thad turned a cartwheel, Nikolai did the same. Thad went on to other acrobatics—leaps, somersaults, and even a backflip. Nikolai matched him flawlessly. And then Thad danced,
an Irish jig that started out slow. Nikolai stumbled for a moment, and the audience gasped, but he caught himself and matched Thad step for step. Marcus at the calliope caught on and started playing. Thad sped the dance, faster and faster. Nikolai kept up with him. Thad switched to the knee-bending, boot-stomping folk dance Russia was most famous for, a dance his mother had taught him long ago. This time Nikolai caught the switch and matched Thad so closely that only a sharp eye could see he was actually a fraction of a second behind him. The court clapped their hands in time to the steps and even danced amongst themselves. Thad was panting a little now and starting to sweat. It was working. It was actually working! He felt a lump of…pride?…that Nikolai was impressing these important people so readily. But Nikolai was a machine, and his memory wheels allowed him to do this, nothing more. As well be proud of a printing press for turning out a newspaper. Still, the emotion remained.

Thad reached the end of the dance and started over from the beginning. Beside him, Nikolai copied, but then put on a burst of speed and overtook Thad. Startled, Thad sped up himself. The audience caught what was going on and, thinking it was part of the act, laughed. Nikolai went faster and faster, until Thad was flatly unable to keep up. With exaggerated defeat, he slunk away, leaving Nikolai in the center of the ring. Arms folded, the boy thrust his legs straight out in front of him so fast, they blurred. He pushed his palms on the ground and twisted his body, flung himself into the air, landed, and started over, just as Thad had done, but with inhuman speed. He landed and went into the jig, also extremely fast. The
court clapped and cheered him on. The tsar’s children were shouting and wriggling in their seats. Nikolai jigged and jigged, then slowed down and whistled exactly as Thad had done earlier. Almost caught out, Thad leaped to join him again. Together they slowed the dance until it came to the end. Nikolai turned and put up a hand. Thad matched it, trying not to pant. Sweat ran freely down his face now. Nikolai put up his other hand, and Thad copied him.

“Perfect,” Thad said without moving his lips. “Now turn and bow.”

They did so to thunderous applause. The two youngest children of the tsar couldn’t contain themselves and ran out to the ring, despite the governesses who tried to stop them. They surrounded the surprised Nikolai, pulling at his clothes and chattering excitedly. The applause and stomping from the court continued. And then the tsar—the tsar himself—rose partway out of his throne and applauded. This only increased the noise made by the court. Thad felt he might float away, and he wished Ekaterina and David could see this.

The tsar’s young children, meanwhile, were drawing Nikolai back to their little thrones at the tsar’s feet.
“You must sit with us. You will be our new brother. Sit with us!”
they chattered. Nikolai went with them uncertainly. Thad halted, his earlier euphoria evaporating. He had performed for high-ranking people before, and knew the etiquette—bow when you begin, bow at the end, and leave quickly unless told to stay. Operating outside the rules always turned into disaster for the lowest-ranked person, and that was always the performer. Thad didn’t
dare call Nikolai away from the royal family, but he wasn’t sure if he should leave Nikolai with them.

Alexander himself solved the problem. He nodded once at Thad and made a small gesture to the floor next to the children’s thrones. A hush fell over the court as Thad trotted over and went down on one knee next to Nikolai, who was standing by the tsar’s children. Thad felt a hundred eyes on him, all of them calculating. The court did not sit in the presence of the tsar, except at state dinners. Kneeling was barely acceptable, on the tsar’s order, and it showed great favor. Thad’s heart pounded again. This was a tricky and difficult position to be in, and the ramifications made him dizzy. He was sitting so close to the tsar’s platform that he could smell the tsar’s cologne. Thad saw Sofiya standing near the wagons. She blew him a kiss and vanished behind them. Meanwhile, Dodd hurried into the ring to announce the next act. This performance seemed endless. Thad’s knee dug into the earth while the tsar’s children continued to talk to Nikolai from their chairs, ignoring the clowns who entered the ring. Nikolai said little, only nodding his head.

Thad itched with curiosity. He was sitting mere inches from one of the most powerful potentates on the planet, and he wanted to stare up at the tsar, but he didn’t dare. His position was tentative enough without locking eyes with a king. He did, however, look sideways at the tsar’s boots. Father always said you could tell a lot about a man by his boots. These were shiny and black, well made and perfectly polished. Of course they would be. What else would a tsar—

A gleam caught Thad’s eye. The bottom of the tsar’s throne was swathed with golden cloth that hid the legs. Through a gap in the cloth, however, Thad saw metal. Something moved with mechanical regularity. As his eyes adjusted, he saw that the object was a clock. Its second hand clicked forward, and it was strapped to a bundle of something. A chill ran down Thad’s spine. Nikolai and the other children were only a few feet away from a bomb.

Thad didn’t even think. He plunged his hand under Alexander’s throne. The movement was so sudden, it caught everyone by surprise, including Alexander.

“What—?”
he demanded.

Thad yanked the bomb out. It was a clock attached with wires to a bundle of dynamite sticks, and the minute hand was nearly touching noon. The second hand was just ticking past the six—only thirty seconds before it exploded. The court gave a collective gasp. Even the clowns paused, Benny Mazur with a bucket of fake whitewash in his hand. A tiny moment of confusion and uncertainty rippled through the room. A small part of Thad knew what they were thinking. Was this part of the circus? Should we be alarmed? How dared he lay hands on the tsar’s throne!

Thad didn’t pause. He sprinted away from the throne platform, toward the bank of high windows along the southern wall of the Nicholas Hall. The Cossack guards stationed all about the hall, meanwhile, quickly recovered from their surprise. They drew both swords and pistols and shouted orders at Thad. He ignored them. Fifteen seconds left. His brass hand smashed the glass and struts from one of the windows. With his other hand, he flung the bomb into the courtyard beyond.

“Get down!”
he shouted, and dove.

The explosion rocked the floor and shattered every window on the wall. A hand of hot air slammed into Thad. Everyone who hadn’t dropped was flung to the floor. Choking dust swirled. The chandeliers swung like trapezes in a hurricane. Screams and shouts and animal roars and frightened screeches swirled through the hall.

A great panic followed. Performers, servants, and courtiers alike rushed in random directions, most trying to flee the room, others staggering about in confusion. Some sat or lay on the earthen floor with injuries from flying debris. The little hovering automatons had been blown against the far wall and smashed. Thad tried to rise, but the floor rocked, and he could only manage hands and knees. The Cossack guards recovered the fastest. Several ran to the throne to see about the tsar and his children. Others saw to injured lords and ladies. Thad, for his part, found himself surrounded by a contingent of uniformed men. Three of the guards had cuts on their faces from flying debris. They yanked him to his feet with rough hands. Thad tried to protest, but only coughed up dust. One of the guards punched him in the stomach. Pain exploded through him, and all the air rushed from his lungs. He couldn’t breathe. He tried to straighten, but the pain was too great. What had happened to Nikolai and Sofiya? Were they all right? He couldn’t see for the dust and the people. The guard kicked his legs out from under him, and he went down again.

“Get him out of here,”
said one of the guards.
“Take him to Peter and Paul’s for trial and execution.”

They dragged Thad through the chaotic crowd of people
toward a set of doors. His own panic started now. They thought he was responsible for the bomb. He remembered the clockworker’s death and tried to fight, but he couldn’t catch his breath and his limbs were heavy. “Let me go!” he gasped. “Sofiya! Nikolai!”

The guards ignored him. Their hands bit into his arms. They were almost at the door now. He caught a glimpse of Nathan, his clown makeup smeared with blood, helping Dodd to walk. Tina McGee cradled the limp body of one of her poodles in her arms. No sign of Nikolai or Sofiya.