by Unknown
A rag was slapped over my face. Metal fingers crushed my jaw painfully. I lifted my arm to shove the cutlass into his side, but a sickly sweet smell filled my nose. The scent shot straight to my brain, wrapping it in a foggy, dizzying haze. The last thing I saw were Maurice’s gleaming, satisfied eyes.
* * *
The smells of seared flesh and burning coals woke me from my haze. My head pounded like a constantly firing cannon. I lay on a stone floor. Wincing, I drew back and raised my hand to cradle my aching head.
Only to feel a sudden tug on my wrist.
I opened my eyes and saw a chain connected to the wall, using my other hand to pull at it. The chain rattled but was too tight for me to slip free.
“Naughty, naughty pirate.”
My head snapped to the right, spotting Maurice glaring at me. His blood-spattered hands were on his hips, a sharply-angled frown on his face, and the now familiar madness in his eyes.
I took a moment to stand and absorb my surroundings. I was in a large basement filled with clutter. Piles of rusty wrenches and screwdrivers were stacked on tilting shelves or scattered on tables amongst cogs and battered scrap metal. The table on my right was covered in rusty medical tools, and my weapons. Painfully out of reach.
Glancing around again, I noticed the generators wrapped in sloppy wires and powering the dangling, bare bulbs. Their glow turning the basement a putrid yellowish-green. A small coal brazier sat by the far wall, sparks snapping and crackling inside it.
But none of that was what terrified me—and it wasn’t causing the horrid smell of infection and rot sticking to my throat like spoiled meat.
In the center of the room was a Hellion propped up on a canted, free-standing metal table, its mouth muzzled with leather and its chest and hips secured by thick leather straps. Its arms and legs were covered in metal limbs, identical to the ones Maurice wore.
“Is this your plan?” I snapped, unable to help myself. “Chopping off a Hellion’s arms and legs one by one?”
Maurice’s lip curled. He shook his head violently. “Don’t understand, don’t understand—this is the future!” He pointed to the Hellion, still strapped and gagged to the upright table. “They left us scraps, and we build from the scraps. We make new soldiers with better pieces! We turn their own soldiers on them.”
I won’t deny it—that last prospect sounded good. Damn good.
But I wasn’t stupid enough to think it would work. There was so much we didn’t know about the Hellions—how many there were, if they had a leader, what their goal was—and it wasn’t worth the risk of trying to find out.
“Well, we can leave you to that, then,” I remarked casually. “My crew and I aren’t Hellions, so you don’t need us for—”
“But I do!” Maurice barked. “I do need you! How else will I feed my army?”
Any amusement I had felt to this point disintegrated. My gaze cut to the Hellion again. Its red eyes gleamed with rage and hunger as it strained and tugged at its binds, eager to free itself.
And probably capable of doing so with its alterations.
“See?” gushed Maurice. “See how hungry he is? Can’t let my soldier starve, no, no. He’s going to be the first of many, many, many.” He suddenly gasped, his eyes widening. “The others. Must bring the others in! Keep them as incentive.”
Maurice jogged out of the basement and up the stairs. My heart leapt into my throat at the thought of Gemma and Nash, sleeping in the warm comfort of each other’s arms.
The idea of them being brought down here to be fed to a mutilated Hellion for a man who thought he could make an army...
No. I wouldn’t let it happen.
I tugged at the chain on my wrist again. It went taut, firmly connected to the wall. I spotted my weapons on the table beside me, resting next to a collection of narrow scalpels and surgical equipment. I reached for the closest scalpel.
The chain on my wrist jerked me back just as my fingers swiped the edge of the table. I stretched and strained, but the closest scalpel was just out of reach. If I pulled any harder on my arm, it was going to pop out of its socket.
Wait.
I judged the distance, and knew it would work. But damn, it was going to hurt.
Bracing myself, I set my jaw and ran for the table. The chain snapped taut once more, and an explosion of pain ripped through my left shoulder as I felt the bone separate at its joint.
My hip bumped into the table with the weapons and stars dotted my vision. I hissed through my teeth and grabbed the scalpel with the smallest blade. In the middle of the room, the mechanized Hellion began thrashing on its table.
I quickly shuffled back to my place at the wall. Lowering my arm felt like washing it in fire, but I blinked my vision clear, stuck the blade in the shackle’s lock, and started to twist until I heard the lock click. I let the shackle drop from my wrist and discarded the scalpel. I gripped my left arm and winced.
Time to fix it.
I walked back to the table where I’d taken the scalpel from and wedged my damaged arm between it and the wall. Positioning myself carefully, I shoved forward. I jerked my dislocated shoulder back into place. Fresh pain stabbed through me, but I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed it away.
Once the pain dulled to a tolerable throb, I pulled my arm free and grabbed my weapons.
Then I heard Gemma scream.
The sound was like a bullet to the heart.
For that single, awful second, I couldn’t breathe. Then I heard more commotion—stomping and shouts—and I knew she and Nash were awake and fighting.
I ran across the basement, toward the door but slid to a stop by the Hellion.
I recalled the way Maurice touched Nash, the terrifying strength those muscles had. I couldn’t fight him.
But maybe I didn’t have to.
I stared into the Hellion’s eyes and balled my free hand into a fist. Then I slid the blade of my cutlass along my wrist.
Pain and blood pulsed from my hand. The Hellion jerked and twitched in a hideous fit. I stepped back and flicked the cutlass again. The blade hacked through the leather restraint on its right wrist. The Hellion lurched forward and swung its metal claws, but wasn’t close enough to slash me.
It wouldn’t take long to free itself, though. Not with the scent of my blood enticing its nose.
I smirked, offering it a challenge.
“Come and get me.”
I turned and raced up the stairs. The Hellion screeched behind me. The gag was already off. Everything else would follow. I just had to make sure Nash, Gemma, and I were gone before then.
I bounded out of the room and raced for the main floor of the cobbler’s shop. Just in time to see Nash fly across my line of vision and crash into the wall on my right.
I winced when he struck wall, knowing he was hurt by the way he crumpled into an awkward heap on the floor.
“No!” Gemma screamed.
I snapped my head toward the sound of her voice. She hadn’t noticed me. She was too busy wildly stabbing her knives at Maurice.
He stepped back and swatted at her, but she was too quick, deftly rolling and dodging his strikes. But all it would take was one hit to cripple her, and I had no idea how badly Nash was hurt.
I darted forward, creeping up on Maurice’s back. I watched the way his metal exoskeleton moved, and timed my strike perfectly.
The cutlass sliced into the back of a knee joint as Maurice moved. I felt it grind against my blade, and heard the metal screech as the cutlass twisted. He dropped down with an alarmed cry, the back of his elbow swinging around and driving into my gut.
Air was forced out of my lungs, and I bent in half. It felt like my insides had been crunched in a fist. I staggered back, wrapping a hand around my middle. When I opened my eyes, Gemma was staring at me in horror. Maurice had shifted his attention from her to me.
“Go!” I shouted.
Gemma hesitated, but I lunged at Maurice before he could remember she was there. He dropped
his shoulder, my sword sliding over his iron arm. Metal screeched as it skidded across the surface.
Maurice swung his free hand at my ribs again. I jumped back and dragged the blade down toward his chest. Maurice shrieked and staggered back.
I watched his arm stretch toward me, tucking and rolling before he could land his punch. Kneeling and using both arms, I swung the cutlass toward the side of his leg. The blade crashed into the second joint, sending a shudder up my arms and tearing another outraged cry from Maurice.
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder. Gemma was helping Nash to his feet. He touched the back of his head carefully, but stood on steady feet.
Heavy metal fingers curled around my back and closed around my ribs. They squeezed, robbing me of breath. I tried to throw my arm back, hoping to catch him in a sloppy, backhanded strike, but he dropped me at his feet.
“Ruined, ruined, ruined,” Maurice bellowed. “My army needs food! They need it!”
He raised one of his metal feet over my head, ready to smash my skull, but a silver and black blur dashed into my vision, crashing into him and knocking him off me. I rolled away, looking up and realizing that it wasn’t my crew who’d saved me, but a monster.
The Hellion and the metallic man slammed together with a crunch of steel. Joints groaned and clanked together as they fought, trying to punch and gouge whatever they could reach. The Hellion bent down and Maurice let out an agonized scream. Just like that, it was over for him.
I tried to run for the door, but metal hands seized my coat and yanked me down. I blinked out of my daze, and watched the Hellion descend toward my face.
I swung my sword across its throat, gushing blood onto my chest and neck. I closed my mouth before the liquid could sneak past my lips, but there was no avoiding the sharp, coppery scent under my nose.
The Hellion jerked and twitched on top of me. I tried to throw it off, but it refused to die, lunging at me again instead—
Thwack!
A massive fist wrapped in brass knuckles slammed into the Hellion’s jaw. A lean shadow knelt down and shoved a gleaming knife into first the Hellion’s right eye and then the left. The creature shrieked sharply once, twitched, then fell still.
Gemma and Nash straightened their backs, breathing heavily with adrenaline. My whole body felt sore and battered, especially my chest and left shoulder, but I was alive and the Hellion was dead. That was all that mattered to me.
And Maurice…
I glanced at his face, grimacing at the savage rips and tears left by the Hellion’s fangs. No matter what he’d done or would have done to us, I hadn’t wanted him to die. Our enemies were in the skies, not on the ground. I pinched my eyes shut to breathe away my fresh aches.
“Sawyer? Are you okay?”
I opened my eyes. Nash’s hand was outstretched to me, concern in his eyes. Gemma hovered beside him, one hand resting casually on his shoulder. She frowned when I didn’t immediately take her lover’s hand.
“There’s a lesson here, captain,” she chided. “You might not be able to trust every stranger, but you can trust the ones who stick with you.”
I scowled, but she made a good point. Gemma and Nash could have abandoned me. Instead, they saved me. They were waiting for me to take extended hand, and the leap of faith that came with it.
“Really?” I said. “I would say the lesson is that crazy inventors and Hellions don’t mix.”
I took Nash’s hand.
Purchase and Possess
Stephen Blake
Breakfast was minimal. If I was going to spend hours squashed into the Turk, an empty stomach—and bladder—were important.
I’d learnt that lesson the hard way. It was my job to sit inside the clockwork machine and operate it; usually getting the mechanical ‘Turk’ to write messages to people from their deceased loved ones. The machine was effectively the upper half of a man sitting at a writing desk, or at least a clockwork representation of that.
Madame Juno always said I was the last option. She was a genuine medium.
I liked a drink in the Crown occasionally and they always said spiritualism was a sham, a fake. They were fools, because she really could speak with the spirits—but she could not guarantee the spirits would want to talk to us. When they declined to do so, my role was to make sure the customers left satisfied. Of course, being under four feet tall and able to read and write was the main reason I had a job here, and wasn’t stuck in a freak show like my Mother.
I enjoyed my work. I was treated pretty well, paid a fair wage, and got the chance to see some amazing things. My place of work might well be a cramped, hot clockwork machine, but it was located in the largest room within a magnificent airship.
Madame Juno would have the ship hover over special locations relating to the deceased we hoped to contact. She said it helped to hang above the mortal realm but close to heaven.
Everyone seemed jittery today. I was told I’d probably not be needed, but the client was paying extra to be seen immediately. As all the arrangements were being rushed, everyone was a little agitated. He was due at eleven this morning.
I grabbed my trusty cushion and slipped inside the machine. It offered me a surprisingly good view of the room, which was decorated to resemble any well-to-do house. Wooden panelled walls, thick red drapes, and in the middle, a large round table.
I stayed quiet, as I heard footsteps approaching.
“Hey, Mary, are you in there?” asked John, Madame Juno’s brother.
“Yes, I’m snug as a bug in a rug,” I called back.
“Good lass. Look, this one’s a strange one. Just stay quiet, listen, and we’ll give you the word if we need anything. My sister reckons this one shouldn’t be too hard given he’s after his dead wife. Ought to be a good connection, she says.”
With that, he spun on his heel and dashed out of the room.
I felt that odd, queasy sensation I always got when the airship lifted off. I took gulps of air and fought the urge to throw up.
I’m always fine; it just takes a few minutes to adjust, a bit like when I’m on a boat.
My vision was not great inside the Turk, but I could hear well enough. I heard voices entering the room. Madame Juno came into view first. I saw through my peephole as she took her normal seat at the large round table in the middle of the room. She was wearing black again. She had done ever since her son died last year.
John took his usual seat next to her. He effectively acts as her bodyguard. Some people don’t like the messages they get. What seems like a casual remark can set someone off in an instant because it might mean something much more between the spirit and the one left behind.
I recognized some of the crew as they wheeled in something mechanical. As the group parted, I saw it was one of those fancy automatons. It looked like the very latest, most expensive kind. The brass on it was so buffed it almost looked like it was made of gold. The machine appeared human in shape, about six feet tall, maybe slightly taller. The face of it was a flat plate, with two eyes but no mouth or nose. They usually try and make them appear human, but this time no one had bothered. Daylight streamed in through one of the large windows, and I could see now that scratched upon the front and back of the machine were various symbols. I didn’t know what they meant, but I recognised some of them from Madame Juno’s books on the occult.
My attention snapped back to the room. A gentleman spoke, his voice rich and smooth, like I imagine the finest of wines. “I trust, Madame Juno, that you will be able to make contact with my late wife quickly?”
Madame responded. “You told me you wanted to talk to your wife. You wanted to understand the truth of her death. I wish to help you with that. You said nothing about this.” She waved her arm toward the statuesque automaton.
“I think we have reached the stage, my good lady, to forego any pretence. I know who you are, hence the reason I have put you into my employ.”
I heard the rising annoyance in Madame Juno’s voice as she replied, �
�I don’t doubt that you know who I am, Mr. Spence, since we sat not far from one another all the way through my son’s trial. That, however, does not answer my question about what your plans are for the automaton.”
I could just about make out the lower half of Mr. Spence’s face. I could see that he was grinning. I shuddered involuntarily. Luckily, no one in the room seemed to notice.
Mr. Spence spoke again. “The machine has a purpose. I wish to contain the spirit of my wife. This will be the vessel used to hold her.”
I almost gasped.
Madame Juno’s face remained very still. I couldn’t tell if she was angry or not. She gave no hint of her true emotions. Her voice was very matter-of-fact when she replied, “So, that explains the symbols and glyphs etched into the metal. Do you intend to live as husband and wife again?”
The cane held by Mr. Spence slammed down hard on the table. He leaned forward, allowing me for the first time to see his full face. I almost wish I hadn’t seen it. His face was contorted; spittle flew from his mouth. “How dare you,” he cried. “What kind of man do you think I am?”
Madame Juno was as calm as a still lake. “I think nothing, I merely ask the question. So now I shall ask it differently. What are your plans for your wife?”
“Absolutely none of your business is what my plans are.”
The two stare at each other until at last John intervenes. “Perhaps, we should all have a glass of wine before we get the séance started?”
If ice had formed on the windows at that point I would not have been in the least surprised. That’s how frosty the atmosphere was. Madame Juno and Mr. Spence downed their small glasses of wine in one swift motion, whilst John sipped his, glancing furtively from one to the other.
The silence was broken by Mr. Spence. “How soon can we get started and, therefore, finished?”
Madame Juno said nothing.
John seemed to realise that there was not going to be any cordial chit-chat in this case, and cheerfully intervened. “If perhaps you could wait in your quarters, we shall take the airship to the site of your wife’s death. Once we are in place we will begin the séance.”