Solomon Dark, Duke of Ferniethian. And it was no mean feat for me, even then. I had to join the redcoats, rise to the rank of sergeant and make sure I was posted to the barracks at the Royal Breeding House. I was the inside man for that blow against parliament, and Purity's mother – ah, now, there was a lady. Alicia Drake. As proud and as beautiful and as clever as any of us born free on the islands of Porto Principe. She worked out what I was about, all right, and she was the only one of those poor broken royalist songbirds they keep cooped up in the Breeding House with the gumption to help me organize the prince's escape.'
'You should tell Purity who you are.'
'How can I?' sobbed the commodore. 'I saw her mother fall during the prince's escape with a ball through her head – I thought she had died. Now I find from Purity that it was a glancing blow and that when Alicia recovered, she used her wiles to portray herself as a bystander caught in the crossfire to avoid the gallows, pleading her belly for her life. I believed my darling Alicia was dead. I didn't even know I had a daughter until Purity turned up here with her mother's name and the House of Ferniethian's eyes.'
'She will understand,' said Coppertracks.
'How can she ever do that? A father is someone you are proud of, someone to look up to. Not a fat old fool who abandons his family to a life of hell in parliament's dark, windy fortress of royalist brood mares. She would hate me for it. I would be a coward in her eyes. It would be more than I could stand and more than she could stand, too. Her life to date has already been ruined by my carelessness, and the mortal best I can hope for is to keep her safe now. I'll train her with every trick and wile that's kept me alive and out of parliament's hands, and I'll give my life to save hers if I have to, but you must promise me this, old steamer: you must never tell her who I am. Purity can never know.'
'You owe her the truth.'
'Not when the truth would hurt her more than the lie. I owe her a good life more than I owe her the wicked truth.'
'How much longer do we have left?' Coppertracks argued. 'Darkness is upon us from the north. Nothing can be guaranteed anymore. Not if the spirit of Legba of the Valves were standing guard over Tock House, or Elizica of the Jackeni for that matter. Would you let the truth die with one of you?'
'Let it be buried without either of our mortal bodies if it can,' said the commodore. 'I will keep Purity safe and that is all I can do.'
'I shall go along with your decision, dear mammal. But I fear it is neither the proper nor the correct one.'
'The people of the metal are an honest folk,' wheezed the commodore, 'you leave the lies to old Blacky. I've lived a life full of them to keep my poor skin safe from parliament's agents. And when the rest of those slippery slats turn up to make slaves of us all, you leave the killing to me. I've had a life full of that, too.'
'I will hope instead that the Army of Shadows' masters will prove amiable to reason and accommodation with the existing inhabitants of our land.'
'Is that so?' chortled the commodore. 'Well, I've got eight barrels of reason loaded upstairs and a knapsack full of shells to accommodate all-comers. And we'll see which of us is right about that point as well, before long enough.'
Coppertracks watched Commodore Black pack away Purity's practice arms, returning them to the storeroom under Tock House's grand staircase. Somewhere to the north lay the answer to the submariner's wager, getting closer by the day with the fall of every new Quatershiftian town. Ah yes, the small patterns and the large patterns. And something unexpected coming to disrupt them all. There hadn't been many answers in the corpses of the slat creatures that had attacked Tock House, their organs rapidly dissolving in a soup of their own acidic blood, and the pistol one of them had carried defied the steamman's understanding of modern science – a solid dark thing with almost no working parts, a heat agitation matrix inside capable of releasing bolts of fire from a rotating crystal inside its barrel.
Coppertracks resolved to throw the cogs of Gear-gi-ju that evening, to call upon the Loas to shed what wisdom they could on the matter of the invaders. As if every other steamman from the Kingdom of Jackals to the Free State wouldn't be summoning their ancestors at the same time.
It was interesting, mused Ben Carl, that nobody ever took his butler for anything other than what he appeared to be. Diminutive. Bland. Someone, who, if he stood still for long enough, would begin to blend in with the wallpaper. Just another member of staff from Wolfstones, the First Guardian's official parliamentary residence on the outskirts of the capital; just another piece of furniture adorning the rooms of state. With only the two of them in Carl's office at the House of Guardians, though, it was always a temptation to refer to the man by his true title of General. Where he stood in the ever-shifting secretive hierarchy of the Jackelian political police was hard to say, but somewhere near the top, Carl suspected. Possibly poised serenely on the apex of their sharp, dangerous little organization.
'You have another find?' asked Ben Carl as the man shut the door to his office.
Carl's supposed butler placed a burnt badge on his mahogany desk – the gate of parliament confining a wolf barely recognizable, so blackened was the circle of cloth. 'This was from one of the more recoverable corpses, First Guardian. The wreckage had flattened a farmer's oast house out in Halfshire.'
'Who would have thought it possible?' said the First Guardian. 'Who would have even thought it undesirable?' Carl touched the sides of his wheelchair. The Court of the Air had mangled his legs during the troubles, the brief, failed revolution that had been raised in his name so many years ago. He should have been glad that the Court had fallen. Fallen at last like he had, escaping from one of their black aerospheres as they lifted off the ground of the kingdom, intending to toss him in a cell to rot. Now the pictures the watchers in the sky had been sending had dried up and all he was left with was the terrified reports from refugees fleeing Quatershift and Catosia. The Army of Shadows. Everywhere. Killing and conquering and enslaving and feeding.
'We can preserve the peace in Jackals by ourselves,' said the general. 'Parliament's writ will not falter on our watch.'
Carl nodded. But then, who would watch the watchmen? Who would keep the political police honest now the Court of the Air had been destroyed? Dear Circle, what a turn of the wheel they had come to.
There was another knock at the door and one of Carl's aides entered on his command. 'Word from the southeastern frontier, First Guardian. The army of the Steammen Free State has been sighted assembling in the foothills near their mountains.'
'That is the best news we are likely to have all day. Thank the Circle for ancient treaties.'
The aide pulled a silver-plated watch from his waistcoat and checked the time. 'And the compatriots from our new treaty will be coming over from House Guards on the hour.'
'Three armies to face this strange new foe,' said Ben Carl. 'Jackelians fighting alongside Quatershiftians rather than against them. We live in interesting times. There has been no word from our embassy in Kikkosico, I suppose?'
The aide shook his head.
'The god-emperor's legions will stay dug in along the pampas,' speculated the general. 'Too much dissent in his provinces to risk sending his soldiers outside their borders.'
'They'll march out quickly enough when we prove we can turn the invaders back north,' said Carl. 'He'll be into Catosia and raising the imperial standard over the city-states like a terrier charging into a fighting pit.'
'Sooner him than us, then,' said the general. 'Anyone fool enough to claim Catosia will be raising their flag over an eternity of rebellion and trouble.'
'Oh, and your other appointment is here,' said the aide. 'The appointment we weren't certain we should accommodate.'
'You should always make time for old friends and supporters,' said the First Guardian. 'Show them in.'
The aide did as he was bid and returned with Molly Templar and Oliver Brooks in tow.
'The crows that fly before the storm,' said Carl. 'And now they're flying in pairs. Why does that not surprise me?'
'I'm hoping that you're well informed,' said Oliver. 'Well informed enough not to believe all that nonsense in the news sheets about the Army of Shadows being an exceptionally aggressive horde of polar barbarians.'
'Opinions seem to be mixed on that one,' said Carl.
