Metal Emissary by Chris Paton

it.”
    “How will it know it is the Shah?”
    Hari pointed at his eyes with two fingers. “It can see.”
    Nazari turned to regard the emissary with closer scrutiny. “And what language is it speaking, mystic?”
    “It is the German language,” Hari winced at the scraping repetition of guttural consonants. “It is not a pretty language.”
    “What are Germans? What country do they come from, mystic? They are new to me.”
    “They are new to all of us,” Hari sighed. “But I think we will soon know them all too well.” He pointed at the gates behind them. “Perhaps we should close the gates.”
    “And trap it inside the city walls?” Nazari shook his head. “I do not think so.”
    “It will never leave,” Hari pointed at the emissary. “Its job is done.”
    “Then what do you fear? It seems harmless enough. You say it will do no more.”
    “But it has a master and it is him I fear.”
    A runner from the city wall approached Nazari, dust settling upon his bare feet as he skidded to a stop. “Subedar Major Nazari,” the messenger bowed. “A messenger from Peshawar has come. An army approaches,” he stared wide-eyed at the emissary.
    “What?” Nazari gripped the messenger’s arm.
    “Two of them,” the man shook and pointed at the emissary. “And many more,” he paused. “Many things and not so few men.”
    Nazari released the messenger. “Back to your post,” he turned to Tarek as the runner raced back down the street toward the gates. “I must speak to the Shah,” he pointed at Hari. “He will come with me. Make your men ready on the walls. Find the mountain guns, the ones we stole from the British.” The commander glanced at the emissary before taking Hari by the arm. “Come with me, we are going to see the Shah.”
     
    ҉
     
    Bryullov pushed the barrel of the flintlock pistol into Jamie’s cheek. He nodded at the open palm of his other hand. Jamie reached inside his greatcoat and removed the flintlock pistol tucked inside his belt. Bryullov gripped the barrel and slid the pistol inside his pocket.
    “You are going to stand now,” he glanced at the blood seeping through the bandage around Jamie’s thigh. “If you can.”
    “I can stand.” Jamie worked his way up the low wall, relaxing a little as Bryullov took a step backward and lowered his pistol. “You are Russian?”
    “I am,” Bryullov touched his finger to his forehead in mock salute. “You are British? No?”
    “You knew that,” Jamie stared at Bryullov.
    “I did. I guessed. But what service? That I cannot make out. You seem,” Bryullov paused as if seeking a word, “somewhat out of place.”
    “I am a lieutenant in Her Majesty’s Royal Navy,” Jamie rested against the wall. I might as well be cooperative, he thought. I am a long way from home.
    “Her Majesty’s Navy,” Bryullov chuckled. “I would never have guessed.” Stroking the tip of his beard, Bryullov regarded Jamie. “What is a navy lieutenant doing in the mountains above Adina Pur, I wonder?”
    “One of life’s great mysteries, I suppose,” Jamie smiled.
    “Not for much longer,” Bryullov waved the barrel of the pistol in Jamie’s direction. “We can talk more in a moment. But first, I would very much like for you to empty your pockets. All of them.”
    Jamie drummed his fingers on the surface of the mud wall behind him.
    “You seem to have misunderstood me,” Bryullov took a step toward Jamie. He raised the pistol to Jamie’s forehead. “Empty your pockets. Now.”
    Flexing his fingers, Jamie stared at Bryullov. Reaching inside his greatcoat he withdrew the leather case containing the Severinson telescope. Jamie placed it on top of the wall.
    “No,” Bryullov waved the pistol, “that you can give straight to me.” The Russian smiled as he recognised the manufacturer’s inscription engraved into the leather case. “I lost mine,” he held the telescope like a trophy before slipping it into the pocket on the other side of his