name to Steelbhalah-Waldo.’
The funeral bearers sang in their strange machine voices, a binary hymn that echoed around the throne room. This was the only time the steamman’s true name could be revealed to anyone other than the king. During his death rites.
As the metallic chanting died away King Steam swivelled to face the courtiers and citadel officials. ‘What are left of our brother’s memories have been shared, what are left of his precious components have been dispatched to the chamber of birth. His place of falling is unknown to us, so let his deactivate shell stay not buried, but pass into the furnace of Mount Pistonfuda. Who keeps his soul boards?’
One of the funeral bearers stepped forward holding two crystal panels aloft on a purple cushion. ‘I hold his soul.’
‘Hold it well,’ boomed King Steam, ‘when you carry it though the halls of the dead.’
At the end of the throne room a wall began to rise into the ceiling, revealing an open cavern, millions of rows of crystal boards plugged into slots in the cavern face — mile upon mile of steammen dead lit by flickering red arc lights.
‘Perhaps there was a little truth to your imaginings of my mountainous form after all,’ one of King Steam’s mu-bodies whispered to Oliver.
In front of them the steamman funeral bearer began to convulse, his tripod legs shaking and trembling; then the creature stopped, his bearing changing. He seemed to swell and become more erect than the design of his form allowed.
‘Which Loa rides this body?’ the king demanded.
‘Krabinay-Pipes,’ cackled the funeral bearer, and seizing the contents of the cushion he took the soul boards and disappeared scampering into the half-light of the steammen hall of the dead.
‘Krabinay-Pipes is a crafty fellow,’ said King Steam to Oliver. ‘But he will find the controller his resting circuit in the hall. Now, where is the voice of Gear-gi-ju?’
A copper-plated steamman emerged from behind a pillar, dipping his skull in a bow. ‘Your Majesty.’
‘What say you on the matter of our two softbody visitors?’
‘We have been casting the cogs for days, Your Majesty. Hundred of seers until we grow faint from lack of oil and the Loas grow irritated from our questioning.’
‘As diligent as ever,’ said King Steam. ‘But in the matter of the old foe, how have the cogs landed?’
‘We cannot protect either of the two softbodies after they leave Mechancia,’ said the mystic. ‘They are safe as long as they remain in the capital. Once they leave, we may take no further part in their immediate affairs. Salvation rests in the young fastblood’s power alone, not ours.’
A sinking feeling hit Oliver. No help from Jackals’ oldest ally?
‘There is more though,’ said King Steam. ‘Something else. I can sense it behind your words.’
‘
‘Name him,’ ordered the king.
‘By your command, Majesty. His name is Steamswipe.’
A gasp of disbelief swept the press of steammen in the throne room. Master Saw stepped forward from the ranks of centaur-like fighters. ‘This cannot be, the council of seers is surely mistaken?’
‘There is no mistake,’ said the mystic. ‘Much as we would otherwise, try as we might to find an alternative answer, the cogs only reply with a single name.’
‘He is deactivate, he is disgraced,’ said Master Saw. ‘If it is to be just one, let me go — or one of my knights.’
‘It is to be Steamswipe,’ said the Gear-gi-ju reader. ‘The cogs have spoken.’
The King waved his hand and Master Saw stepped back.
‘He would not have been my first choice for a champion,’ said one of the King’s mu-bodies. Oliver started. The King’s ability to inhabit multiple bodies and engage in simultaneous conversation was disconcerting. ‘Or even have featured at the bottom of the list.’
Oliver frowned. ‘But that steamman said he was deactivate. How can he be dead and help us?’
‘The word has many connotations for the people of the metal. Steamswipe’s soul boards have not been returned to the ancestors. He sleeps, his higher mental functions held in suspension, as punishment for his crimes.’
Oliver’s frown deepened. What kind of defective creature was the King trying to foist on them?
‘It was a crime of honour,’ said the King’s drone, noting Oliver’s expression. ‘He violated the code steamo of our knights. Cowardice. Steamswipe was one of seven knights we dispatched into the jungles of Liongeli on a vital undertaking for the people. His nerve broke and he abandoned his brothers to die there, choosing to save his own oil at the expense of his duty, his mission and the lives of his fellow warriors.’
‘Just the steamman I want watching my own back when things get difficult,’ said Oliver.
‘The Loas move in their own way,’ said King Steam. ‘But they know what is at stake — for all of us.’
Oliver shrugged. Well, why not. He already had most of Jackals’ constabulary, army and order of worldsingers waiting to push him off the gallows, not to mention the Court of the Air hunting Harry down while the Lady of the Lights’ mysterious foe was scouring the land to assassinate him. Why not add an unreliable steamman likely to bolt at the first sight of trouble to their fate-cursed party? It could hardly make things any worse.
High in the ceiling a hatch parted and a claw lowered a limp body to the throne room’s polished floor. There were mutterings of discontent from the courtiers and palace officials as architects moved around the warrior, adjusting his machinery, returning him to life. Steamswipe’s eyes started to glow, dimly at first, then fiercely — until finally a transparent lid slid down from his brow, protecting his vision. The creature’s four arms vibrated as sensation returned to them, two skeletal hands and two fighting arms, one a murderous-looking double-headed hammer.
His head inclined, taking in the King and the surroundings of the royal chamber. ‘How long have I been in suspension?’
‘A little over two hundred years,’ said King Steam.
‘Not long enough to atone,’ said Steamswipe.
‘The winds could grind the mountains of Mechancia to fine sand and still not enough time would have passed for you to atone, Steamswipe,’ said the King. ‘Nevertheless the cogs have called you. How will you answer?’
‘Is there a sword that will accept me?’ asked the warrior.
‘That remains to be seen,’ said King Steam. ‘More to the point, will you follow the call of the Steamo Loas? Will you wear the colours of the Free State and follow the code with whatever minor vestige of honour you still possess?’
‘If the Loas ride me,’ said Steamswipe, ‘I shall not refuse the call.’
‘Then that is answer enough,’ said the King. ‘We shall adjourn to the Chamber of Swords and see whether there are also arms that will bend to the will of the Steamo Loas.’
Oliver gripped onto the King’s marque of office as the steamman monarch, escort, Steamswipe and — seemingly — half the court, departed the throne room for a stately procession through the mountain stronghold. Some of the sights he saw left Oliver baffled — vast halls with row upon row of steammen seated behind machines, as still as statues and staring into space; forests of glass spheres with arcs of energy leaping and chasing each other across the globes; chasms of grinding clockwork crunching and turning, rolling like an old man’s tongue circling a boiled sweet.
Now deep inside the palace, the King led the party into a round room, small enough that most of the courtiers and hangers-on had to remain in the corridor jostling for a better view. There was an opening to another round room beyond, connected to the first in a figure of eight pattern.
‘Move forward, knight,’ commanded King Steam. Oliver watched the warrior advance into the centre of the next room, the clank of his four legs echoing off the walls.
‘There’s nothing here,’ whispered Oliver.
‘Wait and see, young softbody,’ cautioned one of the King’s mu-bodies. ‘The arms choose the champion, just as the times select the steamman.’
In the second room hatches popped open and the white walls slowly began to rotate. Instruments of destruction extended from the open spaces: swords, rifles, maces, things Oliver did not even recognize, all curves and blades — retracting and extending in an oddly delicate dance.
