Djinn (The adventures of Hanover and Singh Book 4) Read online

  Contents

  Title Page

  Djinn insert

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  About the Author

  By the Same Author

  Djinn

  A HANOVER & SINGH ADVENTURE

  Book 4

  By Chris Paton

  Copyright © 2016 by Chris Paton

  Cover Art by Nicole Cardiff

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events or organisations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the author.

  www.chrispaton.dk

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  Chapter 1

  Adina Pur

  Afghanistan

  June, 1851

  At the bottom of a dark pit bored into the packed earth of the Cabool valley, Jamie Hanover lifted his hand to shade his eyes from the last rays of the day’s sun streaming down from above. Dust mites tinged with a blue glow swirled around him as he squinted in the glare; he waved at them, hushing them with a susurrus breath. The dust settled upon his scarred shoulders, clinging to the tight skin folded around his muscles. The mites avoided the azure blue spiral burned into his chest, settling instead upon his prominent ribs and the brutish raised welts of battle. The stone rasp of the pit lid caused a flutter of mites to lift off from his body and float to the surface in a cloud of blue dust. Jamie waited for the dust to clear the lip of his prison and the face peering down at him to drift into focus.

  The first thing to catch Jamie’s attention was a lemon, and it hit him squarely on his forehead.

  “Hey,” he said and knelt to pick up the fruit. “Who's there?”

  “Hello, British,” said a voice from the surface.

  “Hari? Hari Singh? Is it really you?” Jamie said, a grin spreading across his lips, stretching his matted beard.

  “Yes, it is,” Hari said and slipped a leg over the lip of the pit.

  “Wait, Hari. You won’t be able to get up again. Let me come to you.”

  “You can do that?” Hari paused, his leg poised. “But the Shah does not command it.”

  “You have lifted the lid. You command it.” Jamie's upper body turned a pale blue and stretched from the waist up as he pushed his palms flat against the thick air at the bottom of the pit. He stared at Hari as he ascended, catching the mystic’s eye and triggering a pang of guilt.

  “Jamie,” Hari whispered. “What have I done?”

  “You have done nothing. I became what I am through my own doing,” Jamie said as he drew level with Hari. He flattened his hands to his sides and his midriff settled its elongated form with a slow repetitive ripple. He held out his hand. “It is good to see you.”

  “And you, British,” Hari said and ignored the hand. He leaned over the lip of the pit and clasped his hands around the djinni’s broad shoulders.

  “Hari?” Jamie said, his brow furrowing into a thin frown.

  Hari let go. “There is not an ounce of fat on your body.” He stepped back to look at the djinni. “So many scars. Your body is furrowed like the fields of England.”

  Jamie’s face brightened. “So you went all the way to England? You took the boat?”

  “The Cotton Licker, yes,” Hari said and nodded. “And then a steamjammer, all the way to London.” His eyes twinkled in the evening sun. “That was an unusual voyage.”

  “And Luise?” Jamie reached out to grasp Hari’s arm. “Did you find my sister?”

  “Yes,” Hari said and looked at Jamie’s fingers tightening around his arm. “British?”

  “Sorry,” Jamie said and relaxed his grip. “I don’t know my own strength.”

  “Truly,” Hari said and straightened his sleeve.

  “But what of Luise?”

  Hari turned away from the pit. He walked to a boulder close by and sat down. Jamie settled his arms on the lip of the pit, the muscles tight as hawser lines rigged for a storm.

  “That is why I have come, British. Your sister needs your help.”

  “I have been here a long time – what feels like a very long time – tell me what I have missed.”

  “All right,” Hari said and adjusted the satchel strap across his chest. “I will begin with my arrival in London. I am afraid I was quite unused to city life, and I started my time in the Great Smoke as a guest of Her Majesty.”

  “You were in prison?”

  “Ah, I forgot that you would know such things,” Hari said and smoothed a hand over his beard. “Yes, I was in prison for a time, but it was Luise that helped me escape, and that led to many adventures, and, ultimately, back to Adina Pur, where it all started.”

  Jamie listened as Hari continued in some detail, pausing to explain one thing or another as Jamie asked for clarification. The subject of Slow Demons did not phase Jamie in the slightest, and Hari attributed the fact to the young man's condition. They talked long into the evening, as Jamie quizzed Hari on the specifics about the impediment machine and the Passage of Time.

  “This Khronos fellow,” Jamie said and frowned. “You are quite sure he has not harmed Luise?”

  “After I was tossed overboard, I admit to being preoccupied with my own survival, and I am ashamed to say I did not know how I might save Miss Luise. However, when I was picked up by Major Noonan...”

  “On The Amphitrite?”

  “Yes, exactly. A most intriguing airship. Noonan assured me that Luise was safe, although he did suggest she was hurt.”

  “Bleeding?”

  “I fear so, yes.”

  “Then we need to be going.”

  Hari nodded in the gloom. The dusty white turban on his head reflected the pale blue light emanating from Jamie's body. He watched as Jamie stretched and flexed his muscles, the light pulsing along his veins with each movement.

  “Are you well, British?”

  “I have been better,” Jamie said and snorted. “The Shah has lost interest in me, and Subedar Major Nazari has no need of me. I am, of late, redundant. Though I have fought many battles, and have gone through many changes. I appear before you, in my placid blue form. I must warn you, when we travel together, it is the fiery orange and yellow colour that should put you on your guard.”

  “How will you travel? Do you not need a vessel?”

  “Hah, and I thought you were the authority on all things mythical and mysterious.”

  “And yet you are the djinni.”
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  “True,” Jamie said and raised himself out of the pit to sit on the lip. The coil of blue smoke beneath him shrank and solidified into a pair of legs and Jamie swung them over the side. He placed his bare feet upon the dirt surrounding the djinn pit and bunched his toes. His body paled to a pit-white pink. Hari stifled a gasp as the young man's battle scars and trophy marks reddened in jagged lines and whorls upon his skinny frame. His eyes were drawn to the anti-clockwise whorl of azure blue tattooed on Jamie's chest – the sign of the djinn. “Naked as I am, this body is my vessel. I am free to wander within it, at the command of whoever removes the lid from my prison.” Jamie looked around and gestured at the empty space between him and Hari. “The lack of guards suggests how useful I have become.”

  “Then now is the time to leave, British. Though might a I suggest we find you some clothes?”

  “Clothes would be appreciated. And food. I have a desperate hunger for the Shah keeps me intentionally lean and irritable.”

  “Clothes and food will be our first priority. Perhaps Najma can help us. I will find her.”

  “Najma,” Jamie said and smiled. “If I had a slowing machine I would use it every time I saw her. To capture her image in time.” He laughed. “Listen to me. I have become sentimental since last we met.”

  “Truly,” said Hari. “But if that is the worst of traits you have developed since your internment in the djinn pit, I think you can be thankful. Come, let us find you some clothes.”

  The city was quiet as Hari led Jamie through the shadows and sidestreets to Najma's residence. He knocked softly on the door and smiled as she opened it, the warm light from the lantern in her hand lit her face.

  “Nightjar?” she said. “The djinni? He is with you?”

  “Yes. And he is in need of clothes...”

  “And food,” said Jamie.

  “I think clothes first,” said Hari.

  Najma stepped back and opened the door. She flicked her eyes upwards and turned her head away from Jamie as he walked into the room, half hidden as he was behind Hari. Najma nodded at a wooden chest against the wall.

  “Clothes,” she said. “In there.”

  Jamie moved to the trunk and rummaged through the contents until he found a pair of trousers, sandals, and a long white shirt. He dressed as Hari talked.

  “What about the Shah. You said he was keen to take you for his latest wife?”

  “Not any more,” Najma said and spat. “Lucky for me.”

  “Truly,” said Hari. “Then perhaps you would be interested in coming with us?”

  “Where to?”

  “The city of Arkhangelsk,” Hari said and paused. “It is in Russia.”

  “Russia?” Najma's eyes lit up with a surge of flame. She glanced at her father's lighting Jezail, hanging on two hooks attached to the packed-earth wall. The flame in her eyes flared for a second before she took a breath and nodded. “I will come with you. I have business in Russia.”

  “What business is that?” said Jamie as he joined them in the middle of the small, earthy room.

  “Revenge,” said Najma. “Justice. I have business with the Russian: Kapitan Lev Bryullov.”

  “Him?” said Jamie. “The man who left me to die in that pit?”

  “Yes.”

  “Najma,” said Hari. “We do not know if he is even in Russia. It may be a lost cause.”

  “He killed my brother, Nightjar. I will have justice. And then I can return home to my village.”

  “Then it is agreed. We will travel together. Although, I must warn you both, we are heading towards danger, of the mythical and the mechanical kind.”

  “Emissaries?” said Jamie. “I have destroyed my fair share. As for the mythical. I am the embodiment of myth, but I should warn you, I will not always be easy to control. At my most passionate, I am most terrible. I cannot always tell friend from foe.”

  “Then it is up to me, my friend,” Hari said and placed his hand on Jamie's shoulder, “to direct your passion and to help keep you under control.”

  “And how will you do that?”

  Hari let go of Jamie and unbuttoned his shirt. He pulled his shirt sides apart and revealed the anti-djinn mark tattooed on his chest. Jamie recoiled and Hari quickly buttoned his shirt.

  “I know that mark,” Jamie said and smoothed his palm upon his chest.

  “And I promise only to use it if absolutely necessary.”

  Jamie nodded and retreated to the chest of clothes. He closed the lid and sat down to put on his sandals. Najma placed the lantern on a low table in the middle of the room and took the lightning Jezail from the wall. Her eyes gleamed as she tested its weight and ran her fingers over the kill marks scored into the olive wood stock. She slung the Jezail over her shoulder and took a step forward.

  “What?” she said as Hari held up his palm to stop her. “I am ready.”

  “Truly,” he said and smiled. “But let us eat and rest for a little while. The city gates are closed for the night. We will leave at dawn.”

  Chapter 2

  Hamburg Dockyard

  The German Confederation

  June, 1851

  Luise Hanover waved the doctor to one side and looked out at the activity on the dock. Since Noonan and the mysterious Captain of the The Amphitrite had flown off to begin their search for Hari, she had been enveloped in a whirlwind of two parts preparation and one part panic. The panicking, she realised, was mostly contained within the body and mind of one soul: Luther Wallendorf, the Direktor of Wallendorf Industries. It was his metal emissaries and mammoth walkers that his assistant, Hans Schleiermacher, directed to strategic positions around the dockyard. The German woman who had caused Luise and Hari problems in London by appropriating the impediment machine, was actually quite competent, Luise mused. She watched as Hannah von Ense helped Schleiermacher position the emissaries, fielding questions from junior and senior officers on matters of munitions and tactics. It was clear to Luise that there were very few people on the dockyard who had any idea of what to expect should the slow demons come all the way into the port. Hannah and herself were two of them, while Admiral Egmont and Mr. Smith of the Indian Bureau of Cartography, had disappeared with some troops in search of the Wallendorf train. Unfortunately, Luise thought, that left her in the field hospital tent together with the doctor and the very distracting Herr Wallendorf. Luise wished she could at least walk around the tent, but the doctor had forbidden it.

  “You need to rest if your blood is to clot, Miss Hanover,” he reminded her.

  “I am aware of that, doctor. But there is so much I could be doing,” she said and propped herself up on one elbow. “Tell me, at least, has there been any sign of the second airship? The Flying Scotsman.”

  “It was spotted circling the steamjammer just beyond the entrance to the docks about an hour ago. You were under hypnosis at that time – a rather novel approach to treating haemophilia – and missed quite the light show. It was as if bolts of blue lightning were being hurled up and down from each vessel. It was most exhilarating.”

  “I am sure it was.”

  “And then, the airship gained height, rather quickly, to get beyond range. It has been hiding above the clouds ever since.”

  “If it is above the clouds, how do we know it is there?”

  “You haven't seen the new Wallendorf flyer, have you?” The doctor stood up and placed his hand on the Direktor's shoulder. “Herr Direktor, perhaps you would be pleased to tell Miss Hanover about your flyer? It might ease your mind, and give you something else to think of other than your daughter, Romney.”

  Luise watched as Wallendorf turned his head slowly to look at the doctor. His cheeks were as pale as his white beard and his hands trembled upon the pommel of his cane. He looked at Luise with bloodshot eyes, darting from left to right before they settled upon her face. She wasn't sure if she wanted to be alone with Wallendorf. It seemed prudent for him to remain close to the doctor.

  “I thought you said I couldn't wa
lk?”

  “I did, but I remembered we have a wheelchair. Fräulein Ense's telegram to Herr Schleiermacher suggested we should be prepared for everything, and I like to think we are.” The doctor walked to a wall of crates and equipment and retrieved a steam-powered wheelchair from behind it. “It is fully fuelled and, for an inventor such as yourself, the controls are quite intuitive.”

  “Part inventor,” Luise said as she lifted her legs off the hospital cot and allowed the doctor to help her into the wheelchair. “Part scientist – it's the science, mostly.”

  “Then we will have plenty to talk about later. But let us go and see the flyer. There seems to be a lull at the moment, and,” he leaned forward and whispered, “I think the Direktor could use the distraction.”

  “I agree,” Luise whispered back as she watched Wallendorf fumble with his cane.

  “If you can manage?” the doctor said. “Then I will lend the Direktor my arm.”

  “I can manage,” she said and looked at the wheelchair controls. It was surprisingly comfortable, she thought, given that the leather upholstery was stuffed with rather less padding than the British posterior preferred. Luise smoothed her hand over the ignition switch and leaned over to check the pilot light was on. The wheelchair employed gas to burn the wood bricks in the furnace. The twin exhaust pipes wove their way around the chair's fuselage, as Luise imagined it, extending a few feet above the back of the chair. The gas roared as it passed over the pilot light and ignited, casting a well-directed flame over the bricks. Luise felt the chair rock gently and the power surge through the pipes.

  “Thank goodness Hari isn't here,” she said to herself as she thought of his maniacal driving through the streets of London in a steamcarriage. Thoughts of Hari lingered for a moment and Luise wondered where he might be and what he was doing. She took a breath and resolved to be strong for him. “For both of us,” she said and engaged the wheelchair drive system with a tentative push of her thumb against the lever at the end of the armrest on the right of the chair. Steam piffed out of the exhaust pipes and Luise motored out from beneath the shade of the field hospital awning. She slowed as she caught up with the doctor and Wallendorf.