The Champion by Morgan Karpiel Page A

narrow steps to the catwalk above. The mechanical spine of the war machine appeared in shadows and pieces, a looming pillar of black magnets wired to a heavy base of batteries. Eight tiers of rotating wheels had been suspended on giant bearings around the pillar, each bracing a circle of mirrors facing the center. Some mirrors were curved and some flat, all adjusted at different angles. At the top, a thick ring supported a metal cradle, its bed containing a layered bloom of thick crystal lenses, with a sparkle of blue at its heart.
    The diamond.
    Altogether, the machine was enormous, braced by six levels of catwalks, its glittering crown almost touching the copper dome above it.
    Nadira kept a neutral expression, willing the regal air of the Sultan in full costume as she climbed higher, ducking under warm pipes, and passing between benches of tools and hanging buckets stained with oil.
    The old scholar Isban appeared along the highest catwalk, the dizzying drop to the tower floor appearing through the mesh of metal grates beneath him. He stared up at her and blinked through green-tinged spectacles, smiling in welcome.
    The thief stood behind him, his tall outline appearing predatory in full black attire. His eyes set on her, devoid of sympathy or recognition. He nodded deferentially, even as the scholar bent at the waist in a full bow.
    “Grand Vizier, Your Majesty,” the old man rasped. “All is ready for the test. We’ve repaired the batteries. The casing, it seems, was vulnerable to the corrosives, but now I think we are fully prepared. In terms of the light, the blue stone should make all the difference. We’ve tried all the other diamonds in Your Majesty’s diverse collection, pinks, yellows, even a brilliant red, but it is the blue we needed, and your collection, while greatly attractive, is sorely lacking in blue.”
    If the thief understood any of this foreign diatribe, he didn’t acknowledge it. His attention slid to the lower catwalks, focusing on a group of guards that appeared on the stairs…members of her own security complement, no doubt.
    The thief considered them a moment, then looked up, his eyes narrowing on the Grand Vizier. The fat man was talking in his usual way, oblivious to everything but his own safety. “Should we really be here, at the top of the device? It seems to me that this could be quite dangerous.”
    “This is only a partial test.” The scholar leaned against the rail and directed a gnarled finger at the cluster of bright lenses beside the walk. “The machine requires full sunlight. We will retract only certain panels in the dome, thus providing only a modicum of power to observe the results.”
    Her guards were coming swiftly, their steps ringing on the metal.
    The thief glanced at them, his weight shifting, his movements measured and deliberate as he stepped to one side of old Isban. His hands flexed at his sides.
    Nadira pressed her lips together, unable to take her eyes off him. What are you thinking? What do see when you look at me?
    “Proceed,” the Grand Vizier commanded. “Let it be done.”
    The scene around her seemed to slow to quarter speed. She heard the professor call for the retraction of the upper doors, then the Grand Vizier urging her toward the guards for safety sake, the clatter of the security complement as they approached along the catwalk.
    Still, she seemed to see nothing but the thief, the graceful way he moved past the professor, no longer drawn to the machine, or the guards, but focused completely on her.
    Metal plates screeched under the dome, gears turning, chains snapping tight. The top doors ground open overhead, a crack of light spilling through a copper sky. The machine’s bloom of lenses glittered to life, the diamond flaring blue at its center. In an instant, the mirrors caught fire. The air inside the tower turned blinding, a thousand rainbows projecting through the haze.
    Nadira caught her breath, seeing the thief materialize from the