The Havoc Machine

Chapter Eleven

Nikolai 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.

They reached the doors and the guard shoved them open. Thad mustered up some strength to struggle, but he was overwhelmed. The guard who had hit him before was pulling back his fist again when a sharp voice cut through the chaos.

“Wait!”

The entire room fell silent except for the animals, who continued to growl and screech and bark. Tsar Alexander was standing head and shoulders above the crowd on the platform next to his throne, his uniform covered with dust. A small cut scored his forehead, but he appeared otherwise uninjured.

“Bring that man to me!” he ordered.

The guards exchanged quick glances, then turned and dragged Thad, stumbling, over to the throne and pushed him to the floor before it, grinding his face into the dirt. By now, more than half the courtiers and servants had fled the hall, but a nearly equal number of other servants and guards had rushed in to see what was going on, so the Nicholas Hall was still crowded.

“Let him up,” Alexander said.

The hands released him, and Thad slowly pulled himself upright. He was suddenly glad Dante wasn’t here to make insolent remarks.

“What is your name, peasant?”

“Thaddeus Sharpe, Your Majesty. Son of Lawrence.”

“What did you do, Thaddeus Lawrenovich?” Alexander demanded. “What happened here?”

Thad’s mind was finally beginning to clear, though his body still ached. “I…I saw the bomb under your throne, Your Majesty. I didn’t think. I just grabbed it and ran. The children-”

“My children were not injured, thanks to you,” the tsar interrupted. “This man with the clockwork shadow saved hundreds of lives today, including mine. He is a hero of Russia!”

With that, the tsar descended from the platform, seized Thad by the shoulders, and kissed him on both cheeks. Thad froze, stunned. The guards stumbled over themselves to fall back and salute.

“Get everyone out of the hall in case that wall comes down,” Alexander boomed, one arm around Thad’s shoulder. “Summon physicians for the injured. Send a messenger to the tsarina to let her know the children are fine. And someone find General Parkarov. I want a thorough investigation immediately!”

Uncomfortably aware of the heavy arm of the tsar around his shoulder, Thad still searched the hall for Nikolai and Sofiya, but he couldn’t find them. The tsar abruptly snapped his fingers and dropped his arm.

“Thaddeus Sharpe,” he said. “Sharpe! I thought I recognized the name. You are the man who kills clockworkers, are you not?”

Thad wouldn’t have thought he could be startled yet again today, but it turned out he could. “Yes, ser.”

“And you are associated with the trick rider and her automaton horse? I believe the ringmaster introduced her as Sofiya Ekk.”

“I am.”

“Such a lovely wife.” Alexander slapped Thad on the back. “I congratulate you, Lawrenovich.”

“We are close, ser,” Thad said quickly, “but not married.”

“Ah. Then I congratulate you twice.”

A large, gray-haired man in a blue uniform heavy with gold braid trotted over. “Sire, I hate to intrude, but it is not safe for you here. And by your order, I have an investigation to conduct.”

“Of course, General Parkarov.” Alexander turned to Thad. “You and Miss Ekk will visit the tsarina and me as soon as it is convenient. We have much to discuss.”

And he strode away. Just at that moment, Sofiya hurried up. Her cloak was missing, but she didn’t seem to be injured. “Thad! Are you well?”

“Sofiya!” Thad was seized with a confusing impulse to embrace her, which he quickly suppressed. “I’m perfectly fine. The tsar was-” He shook his head. “Where’s Nikolai? Is he all right?”

The look on her normally composed face gave him a terrible turn, and fear rushed over him. “You should come,” was all she said.

The guards holding Thad had scattered, and people of all sorts were trying to exit the hall. The circus folk who had animals were refusing to leave them behind, and were trying to turn the cages around to get them out. Old Frank, the elephant trainer, was desperately working to keep Betsy from breaking into a rampaging panic. Clowns staggered about like broken rainbows. A pair of physicians and their apprentices arrived, but they concentrated on the members of the court, most of whom bore only minor scratches but howled loudly at the idea of getting up to walk. Word came that soldiers would be bringing in stretchers from the barrack at the Field of Mars, but they wouldn’t arrive for some time. General Parkarov told several squealing court members-not all of them female-that they were welcome to wait for someone who could carry them away, and after the outer wall came down, he would be pleased to take their descriptions of what happened, if they survived. This solemn proclamation got most of them to their feet and out the door.

Sofiya led Thad through the chaos to a pillar that held up the inside wall. “You didn’t see,” she explained quietly. “He chased after you when you ran with the bomb, and he failed to drop to the floor. The blast caught him.”

Thad’s feet crunched over broken glass and chunks of debris, and his stomach roiled with dread. Nikolai was sitting on the far side of the pillar with Sofiya’s dusty cloak bundled round him. At first, Thad couldn’t see anything wrong. His hair was mussed. The upper half of his face, the human half, looked perfectly fine, and the metal lower half showed nothing strange except dirt. But then Nikolai turned to look up at Thad. The other side of his skull had been peeled away, revealing thousands upon thousands of tiny wheels and gears. Sparks snapped and cracked across them.

“Th-th-thank y-you,” he stammered. “Th-thank you f-f-for taking m-me out-out-out-out of there. I–I-I don’t have-ave-ave one. M-M-Mr. Havoc-oc-oc called me boy-boy-boy-boy.”

Thad stared. “What’s wrong with him?”

“Something hit his head, where most of his memory wheels are stored,” Sofiya said. “It creates problems.”

“The victim-im-im of th-the cu-cu-cuckoo’s b-b-brood parasitism-ism-ism will f-f-f-feed and t-t-t-tend the baby-baby-baby cuckoo,” Nikolai sputtered, “even w-when the baby p-p-pushes the nat-nat-natural b-born offspring out and begin-in-ins to outg-g-g-grow the nest-est-est.”

Thad looked down at the automaton that fizzled and sparked at his feet, the worry he had been feeling drained out of him. He had been starting to think of Nikolai as more than he was, but now Thad could see he was still nothing but a machine. “Can you fix this?”

“Perhaps.” Sofiya’s face was stony again. “But nothing is certain. Perhaps we should talk about this elsewhere. That wall may come down, you know.”

Nikolai was unable to walk. Thad flung a fold of Sofiya’s cloak over his head and picked him up. “We can’t go far.”

“What? Why not?”

“The tsar and tsarina want to see us.” And he explained.

Sofiya’s eyes went wide, and she automatically tried to brush the dust from her clothes. “What of Nikolai?”

“We’ll have a servant put him a closet. No one will bother a broken automaton.” The words came out harsher than Thad had intended, but he didn’t back away from them.

“Thaddeus Sharpe!” Sofiya gasped. “That is-”

“Ser,” said a soldier. “If you and the lady will follow me, the tsar wishes to see you as soon as is convenient.”

It turned out “as soon as it is convenient” meant several detours. A small army of servants ushered Thad and Sofiya into bathing chambers, where they were scrubbed, perfumed, and dressed in smart new outfits. Sofiya’s cloak was whisked away for cleaning, and her ruined circus costume was exchanged for a rich green gown trimmed with gold ribbon and sporting utterly fashionable and thoroughly impractical pagoda sleeves. Thad’s new valet polished his brass hand and dressed him in a dark linen suit tucked into shiny boots under a long evening coat. Nikolai was not stuffed into a closet, but a footman was assigned the task of standing guard over him, to Sofiya’s evident relief. Sofiya gave Thad a number of dark looks, which Thad pointedly ignored. At last, Thad and Sofiya were escorted down the maze of corridors and hallways of the Winter Palace.

The palace was still in disarray. Servants scurried in all directions. People talked in hushed tones. Soldiers stomped about everywhere, often stopping hapless serving girls or boys to search them. Thad had no idea how much of it was military bluster and how much was part of General Parkarov’s investigation.

The phalanx of servants who had shepherded them through the baths took them to a heavily carved door and opened it. Thad forced himself to enter with firm steps and without gaping. Suddenly dealing with a mere bomb seemed easy. The opulent sitting room beyond had an enormous white fireplace. Shards of colored glass were inlaid in the chimney, and they threw sparkling scraps of light across the floor. The furniture was all white and gold, as were heavy carpets that seemed too fine to walk on. Every inch of the white ceiling and the baseboards had been done in gold scrollwork. Trays of food and bottles of wine occupied various end tables. An automaton played a balalaika softly in one corner. The tsar, also in a fresh uniform, sat in a wingback chair near the fireplace, and in the chair next to him was a small, delicate-looking woman with black hair and gray eyes-Tsarina Maria. Strands of pearls were woven through her elaborately braided hair, and the chair could barely contain the great yellow dress with its voluminous skirts and layer upon layer of crinoline. A dozen servants, male and female, waited in the background. Despite his awe at being twice in the same room with royalty in one day, Thad couldn’t help wondering how many peasants a single strand of the tsarina’s pearls would feed.

Sofiya is rubbing off on me, he thought as he bowed before both of them. Sofiya curtsied.

Tsarina Maria came to her feet and rustled across the floor to take both Thad’s hands in hers. They were small and cool, and her eyes were almost luminescent with emotion. “Thank you, thank you, thank you, Mr. Lawrenovich.” Her Russian carried a German accent. “I already lost one child years ago, and now you have prevented me from losing five more. I cannot thank you enough.”

“Majesty,” Thad replied, feeling more than a little overwhelmed. “I only did what any man would do.”

“No other man did,” Maria pointed out.

Thad coughed. “May I present Sofiya Ivanova Ekk?”

“Not his wife,” said the tsar.

“I’m sorry I missed your performance today, Miss Ekk,” the tsarina said, “though considering what happened, perhaps not extremely sorry. Come and sit. We will have cake and wine or perhaps tea.”

The servants seated them at chairs rather lower than the tsar’s and tsarina’s and set plates of food and drink at their elbows. Sofiya took her place with elegant grace, as if she had been dining with kings all her life. Thad nervously managed to take his own chair without stumbling, and he was careful not to use his brass hand for the wineglass, in case he spilled. Like the rest of the palace, the room was warm, almost stifling. Later, Thad learned it was because Tsarina Maria’s health was poor, and the entire Winter Palace was heated for her comfort.

“Now, then,” said the tsar with a gold cup of wine in his hand, “you must tell me from the beginning what happened and how you found the bomb.”

With a sidelong glance at Sofiya’s cool demeanor, Thad did so. It occurred to him that this would probably not be the last time he would tell this story.

“We must toast your bravery.” Alexander raised his glass. “To Thaddeus Sharpe Lawrenovich, without whom any of us would be sitting here right now.”

They drank. The wine was smooth and soft and perfect. Thad eyed the food tray-decorated cakes, pate, cold chicken braised in wine, soft cheese, baked salmon, poached pear tartlets, pickled mushrooms, and caviar rolled into strips of sturgeon. He didn’t dare try a bite-his stomach alternated between tight tension and black nausea. The excess of wealth and power exuded by this room and its people made him uneasy and unhappy, and he wanted nothing more than to escape to familiar surroundings as soon as possible.

“You must be rewarded, Mr. Lawrenovich,” the tsarina said. From around her neck she removed a long strand of pearls strung with gold wire. “Accept this favor.”

It was on the tip of Thad’s tongue to refuse such a rich gift. But the circus man in him stepped up and snatched control. “Thank you, great lady,” he said, and slid the strand into his breast pocket. “It is too much.”

“Not compared to lives of my husband and my children,” she said with a sniff. “Now tell me, where did you get the little automaton? My children won’t stop talking about it. Did you build it yourself?”

“No,” Thad said quickly. “I took it-him-from a clockworker some time ago.”

“Yes! You are the famous clockwork killer,” Alexander said. “I have heard your name. How many clockworkers have you destroyed?”

Sofiya’s face remained perfectly impassive, and she fearlessly downed caviar and mushrooms. Thad flushed, then felt foolish for flushing. Why should he feel bad about slaying murderers like the one who had killed his son? The Tsar of Russia was praising him for it, for God’s sake. And yet the feeling remained.

“I don’t…keep track,” Thad said.

“It’s been that many, has it?” The tsar raised his glass again. “You do a great service to mankind. The tsarina and I would enjoy hearing of your exploits.”

“Do tell,” Sofiya said with patently false eagerness. “He won’t speak of it to me, ser.”

Thad saw the opening and exploited it. “It’s man’s talk,” he said. “Your Majesty might insist, of course, but such stories are…indelicate.”

“Why do you do it?” the tsarina asked before her husband could respond. “Clockworkers are dangerous. If they got hold of you, they could kill you. Or much worse.”

“It seemed necessary at the time,” Thad replied quietly. “Clockworkers are dangerous, yes, which means they endanger.” It was very hard to say these things with Sofiya in the room, true or not. Her eyes were perfectly calm, but he felt bad, hypocritical even.

“Clockworkers have their uses,” the tsar said. “They build fantastic machines. But they also bring filth into the world, as you have pointed out. Once we have wrung every bit of use out of them down in the Peter and Paul Fortress, we exterminate them.”

“We have seen,” Sofiya said mildly. “It was very instructive.”

What the hell was she doing? “I have heard,” Thad put in as a way to guide the subject in a new direction, “that the Chinese venerate clockworkers, call them Dragon Men and give them places of honor in their emperor’s court.”

The tsar made a disgusted sound. “Oriental barbarians. Not even the Cossacks would be so foolish. I assume you know what happened in Ukraine.”

“I do,” said Thad.

“That is what comes of letting clockworkers run around loose.” The vehemence in the tsar’s voice turned the air to bile. “They must be caged and controlled before they-”

“Now, now.” The tsarina patted his hand. “You mustn’t let yourself get worked up. You’ve already had a difficult day.”

“Yes, yes.” Alexander drained his cup and it was instantly refilled. “Difficult. Hm. You have a talent for understatement, my dear.”

“If I may, ser,” Sofiya spoke up. “Is it true that you have been thinking of emancipating the serfs?”

He eyed her over the rim of his cup. “These words have reached the streets, have they?”

“Rumors and speculation,” Sofiya said. “I know the landowners largely oppose the idea, and I myself wonder why such a wise man as the tsar would-”

“Huh!” Alexander snapped his cup down. “The landowners. They want to keep Russia in the dark ages. We are trapped with feudal ideas in a feudal economy. No other empire uses serfs in this day and age. Men must own their own land. Ownership creates pride and foments new ideas. Like Peter the Great before me, I traveled widely in my youth, and I have seen what new ideas can accomplish-navies and railroads and telegraphy and airships and electric power. None of these things were invented in Russia. Our people are stifled, and it’s to the good of the country that they are granted the freedom to do as they wish.”

This was clearly an old argument, but it had steered the conversation away from clockworkers. Thad shot Sofiya a grateful look, which she now ignored.

“So the rumors are true?” Sofiya asked pleasantly.

“You are too blunt for court, my dear,” the tsar said. “Your attempts to tweak information out of me are blatant. But everyone already knows. My legal scholars are drawing up the ukaz as we speak. When the new law is finished and signed-probably sometime in January-the serfs will be freed of their obligations to the landowners. Except for taxes, of course. No empire can run without taxes.”

“Is it possible, then,” Sofiya continued, “that the person who planted the bomb was a landowner who doesn’t want you to accomplish this feat?”

Alexander stroked his chin. “The thought had occurred. Do you have information about it?”

“Only speculation. It is why I-”

The door burst open, and General Parkarov dashed into the room with a box in his hands. He gave a perfunctory bow before the sovereigns. “Your Majesties. I have news of the investigation.”

The tsar half came to his feet. “What did you find, General?”

“These.” From the box he extracted two spiders, or what was left of them. They had been blown to pieces. He laid them on a table. Thad recognized them as ones that belonged to Mr. Griffin. His skin went cold despite the heat of the room.

“We found these bits in the Nicholas Hall.” he said. “Two working spiders escaped us. They are not ones employed by the Winter Palace.”

“Did they plant the bomb?” Alexander asked.

“I am certain.” The general’s eyes glittered as he spoke. “I inspected the throne room myself before you entered, and there was no bomb. No one approached the throne after my inspection, so it must have been these spiders who planted it, sent by a rogue clockworker. We must find him before he strikes again.”

“This is not necessarily-” Sofiya began.

“Do that,” Alexander ordered. “Whatever it takes. Send your men. Search the city. Bring him-or her-in.”

“Majesty.” Parkarov bowed and withdrew.

Sofiya looked like she wanted to say more, but the tsarina said, “Disgusting! Horrifying that some monster out there wants to murder my children!”

This time the tsar patted her hand. “We’ll find him, my dear. And then we can watch the machines tear him to pieces, as he deserves.”

“Ser, I wonder if you’ve considered-” Sofiya began.

“Mr. Lawrenovich,” Maria interrupted, turning to Thad, “you’re an expert at hunting clockworkers down.”

Uh-oh. Thad could see where this was going. He flicked his eyes toward Sofiya, but she just shook her head helplessly. “I…yes,” he said, trying to think.

“Then join the men,” she said. “Use your skills. Find that clockworker for me. And kill him.”

* * *

The machine was enormous now, both physically and mentally. Its body had added so many memory wheels and creation devices that it could no longer move about. It squatted at the intersection of five tunnels, taking in more and more and more metal, whatever the spiders could bring. It controlled a great many spiders. They skittered about the tunnels and the city above, giving the machine a perfect picture of the place. Half a dozen spiders were stealing books from the engineering section at the Library of the Russian Academy of Sciences and flipping through them at blinding speed, transmitting words and concepts to the machine, then leaving them about for the puzzled men in the library to reshelve. Already there was talk of hauntings and poltergeists, despite them being men of science. The Master did not mind as long as the machine and the spiders were not caught.

The machine sent tentacles of wire and pipe through the tunnels. This was one of the few places in Saint Petersburg that actually had tunnels, an attempt on behalf of the Academy at a sewer and cargo transportation. The high water table meant tunnels were difficult to dig and expensive to maintain, however, and the project had been abandoned. The machine had taken advantage of the train tracks already laid down to transport the materials it needed, especially metal and books.

Many of the books were written by people called clockworkers. These clockworkers were held in a prison in the Peter and Paul Fortress on yet another River Neva island of the sort Saint Petersburg seemed to be prone. Most of the books hadn’t been written so much as dictated, and some of them rambled rather a lot, though their insights into physics and engineering and clockwork technology were proving invaluable, and they allowed the machine to continue its improvements. The clockworkers seemed to interest the Master very much, though he seemed to espouse no interest whatsoever in the clockwork plague that spawned them. The machine noted both these facts without emotion and continued its research and its improvements.

By now, the main part of the machine occupied the entire rather large intersection of the five tunnels beneath the Academy, and it no longer resembled a spider with ten legs, but was instead a chaotic mass of pipes and gears and boilers and claws and wheels and belts and mechanical hands. A cabinet that resembled a small brass wardrobe stood prominent in the center of this mass. The doors stood tightly shut. Next to it, a twisted chute coiled to the ground. The machine chuffed and puffed, and from an aperture at the top of the chute emerged a spider, gleaming and new. It spiraled down the chute and clattered to the concrete floor of the tunnel. It stumbled about drunkenly, then righted itself and scampered about as if excited. It bobbed on its new legs and made a squeaking sound. The machine chuffed and puffed again, and a second spider spiraled down the chute to land near the first. It also staggered. The first spider recoiled for a moment, then scampered over to investigate. The second spider came fully upright and, like the first spider, bobbed up and down, exploring its legs. The first spider extended a leg to touch the second. Abruptly, the second leaped on the first and tore at it with all eight of its own legs. The first spider squeaked in dismay and tried to disentangle itself, but to no avail.

The machine extended two mechanical hands, plucked the two spiders apart, and held them wriggling at a distance from each other. The second continued its attempted attack on the first, and the first recoiled in the machine’s grip. Aggression. Interesting.

The machine tossed the first spider into a hopper, sucked it inside, and crushed it to squeaking pieces. The second spider wriggled furiously in the machine’s hand until the machine set it down, whereupon it rushed about in angry circles. The machine exuded a third spider. This time, both of them fought until the machine sent a signal of its own that stopped them. The spiders came reluctantly under control even as the machine exuded a fourth aggressive spider.