by Lee Bond
“What are you …” The Queen of Ickford nodded. She’d figured out where he was headed, and so trained her spying eye on the tallest building near where Garth operated.
Her heart sank the moment the tall structure –a library, if she recalled properly- swam into focus. Not for the last time that day she wished for the powers of a true Queen…
The building her newfound friend was aiming for was already occupied and it was dead certain that them in their glittering, spiked armor would find cause to prevent Master Nickels from continuing onwards with his mission.
“Damn this day.” Agnethea hissed, wondering if there was anything she could do.
***
Dom spat a curse and struggled with a sincere desire to bash Book hard against the stone ledge. Nothing but splotchy static and gibberish writing, no matter what he asked, no matter how hard he pushed the miraculous device. The miasma had transformed itself from a simple haze into a bedamned roiling fog, somehow steeling itself ‘gainst the King’s new playthings.
Chevy brought his field glasses down and looked, bemused, at his partner’s irritated face. “Still not working, hey? That’s the trouble with you whippersnappers. Always nose in your fancy machines, not lookin’ up and around at wot’s goin’ on right in front of your face.”
Dom clenched his jaw for a good long second, knowing Chevy was taking the piss to calm him down; the situation was far bloody worse than Book not working. “What d’you reckon, then?”
Chevy pursed his lips. “Well, lad, it hain’t good, I tell you for true. The entire gearhead nation has mobilized, hey? Some are on the walls already, ready an’ waitin’ to start doin’ for those … whatever they are’s the moment they get within range. Quite a few more greyskins than I should like to see.”
Dom quirked a brow. “Oh?” Greyskins. He’d never properly run across one. Least, not as he could swear to.
Chevy nodded, spitting over the side of the building. “Aye. Now there’s most of all the gearheads here, some twenty or thirty thousand of ‘em. Of that? Close to five thousand of the pricks. Not to mention, I did catch sight of a few normal lookin’ folks as are actually Golems doing the same thing, for which I am glad. Then there’s…”
“I cannot believe you are saying that.” Dominic looked over at his partner, utterly incredulous. “You are pleased Obsidian Golems are present! If a Mistress were here…”
Chevy interrupted his interrupter smoothly. “If a Mistress were here, lad, I’d hand her a rifle and tell her to get her Matronly ass to a high point and be ready for my signal. With Golems out there, much as it’s right and proper to hate ‘em on sight, well, they do be tough nuts to crack, hey? Now mind your manners, lad, as I hain’t got to the bad part yet, son, which is something you need to know.”
Dom put Book down on the ledge and shielded his eyes. From their vantage point, the four lumbering figures were barely discernible through the smoke and haze of all that expended King’s Will. They were tall and vast and filled him with inexplicable woe. He motioned for Chevy’s field glasses and put them to his eyes, saying, “Most like, what, twice the height of the tallest King on record? That puts them at …” The Book Club Regular had no time to train the field glasses properly onto the Kings, as something unexpected happened. The glasses fell out of his hands. “Crikey!”
A boulder the size of a King’s fist flew towards the wall, clipping a double handful of gearheads and dashing them to the ground before colliding loudly with several buildings. There was a loud clamor, and as the two Gearmen stood and watched, nonplussed, those buildings collapsed, sending dust and debris about in a four block radius.
“Dollars to donuts says our Queen Agnethea hain’t going to like that overmuch.” Chevy quipped. He bent to pick up his binoculars, groaning and moaning about how old men shouldn’t always be expected to correct the mistakes of the younger generation and then stood, grinning, but it didn’t matter; Dom was back to his Book, fussing and hitting the precious thing as hard as he dared.
“Wonder why they hain’t just hoppin’ over the wall? Them fellas could damn near hop over the whole of the city if they tried. I seen ‘em proper. I know for a fact our King has done and gone given ‘em leeway.” Chevy asked, switching his binoculars back and forth betwixt the four gigantic machine men trying to batter their way inside. They were –as far as the wise old Gearman could figure it- roving to and fro in search of more stupendous rock-missiles, maneuvering through the ravages their birth had wrought upon the land without difficulty. Far sooner than later, one of them did just that; the furthest from where they were howled in triumph as he hoisted a mighty boulder aloft. It flew unerringly towards the all and, as before, gearheads and wardogs were sent tumbling to the ground like discarded children’s toys, buried beneath thousands of tons of rubble, lost to the fight.
“Ahah!” Dominic gave a small cheer. “It ain’t much, as Book is still being a right fussy thing, but them monsters probably aren’t doing as they could because they quite literally can’t.”
“Say again?” Chevy’s brow furrowed. Surely King’s creations as mighty as these could do as they pleased.
“Too much King’s Will in ‘em, Book reckons.” Dom rapped book with his knuckles. “Like Book, here. And our armor, too. Well known fact nowt works proper around a single golem, hey, and we do know that this whole damn city is afflicted with miasma, greater than anything we ever seen before. Like as not, them not-quite-Kings need to, ah, thin things out a bit before they get in proper-like.”
“So what’s all this mean, then?” Chevy demanded angrily. “I mean, truly? There’s loads of men and women hereabouts as are totally innocent…”
“It means,” Garth said warily, no longer wondering that someone, somewhere, was fucking with him but one hundred percent certain of it, “that those fucking things aren’t like any King you’ve ever seen. It means they’ve got access to King’s Will.”
Dom gave an incomprehensible shout of surprise and launched himself at the intruder, instinctively knowing that this was the man they’d been hunting all this time. As he surged at Specter, Geared Armor drawing on the limited amount of Dark Iron coursing through the framework, Book clattered to the ground somewhere behind him.
Garth countered the first blow easily with a quick left-handed block, accepting the gauntleted fist hammering into his gut as easy payment for being able to grab hold of the attacking Gearman’s long coat. In a move reminiscent of the very dirtiest hockey battles ever, the ex-Specter yanked the gorgeous coat over his opponent’s head and wrapped a great swathe of it around the man’s neck. Then, because he wasn’t interested in trying to kill two guys who possessed talent and knowledge better suited for killing the monsters at the gates, he danced away.
And then, because he wasn’t entirely stupid, the dual cogswords slid from their arm sheathes. He just sort of … stood there, eyeing the Gearmen.
They stared back. Well, one stared. The other guy was yowling and shrieking as he tried to free himself.
Chevy counted to ten as slowly as he dared, literally stretching the time out to twice its length, mind percolating. This was Specter. The very thing they’d been encouraged to hunt. Standing there. Right there. Quick analysis of the man’s armor –buoyed by a terribly long time making snap decisions that’d all been life or death- warned Chevy that were he to engage Specter -who seemed quite content to stand there brandishing two of the most wicked-looking swords the Gearman had ever personally seen- the fight would either be long and arduous or quick and dirty.
No matter down which path their engagement strolled, like as not, it’d be him struck down at the end of the journey.
Chevril wrinkled his nose.
Some days it just didn’t pay to crawl out of bed, hey?
When Specter made no move to do for Dominic, Chevy gave his non-combative opponent a frosty nod. “Dominic, I am going to help you with your wardrobe malfunction, hey? It’s goin’ to be me an’ no one else at your side. So help me if you t
ake a swipe, why, I shall just let you flounder about for a bit more and yon Specter and I shall take a moment to laugh at you.”
Wondering what particular part of his little speech to Dom -who’d stopped cussing and struggling against his own untearable long coat long enough to admit he was defeated- had Specter laughing so hard he accidentally dug two long furrows into the rooftop with his swords, Chevy walked slowly over to his partner. Side by side, Chevril began the process of unwrapping the other man’s head.
Freed from the most embarrassing imprisonment he’d ever endure, Dominic’s hands were a blur as he pulled the augmented splashgun from its holster. As he took aim, he shouted warnings to Chevril to stay well away. Then he fired.
Garth went from nostalgic amusement to full ready the moment his heightened instincts –aided in great part by DarkBook, who was still truckin’ away on merging all his systems into one sweet-ass nanotech rig- picked up on Dominic’s furtive movements.
Eyes widening slightly at the splashgun’s muzzle flash, Garth lashed with his right-hand sword without even thinking; the buzzing lethality of the teeth moaned and groaned as they took the brunt of the blast. Cascade errors ripped through the HUD for a perilous second. Functionality was restored a moment later at the cost of losing several layers of connectivity between his devices.
Without waiting to see if his armor could withstand another blast from that nasty looking gun, Garth lunged at Dom.
For his part, Dominic Breton was already drawing down for a second, better aimed shot.
Chevril hollered for Specter to stop where he was even as he leaped in front of Dominic, flailing his arms and shouting so hard the Gearman was all but certain that gearheads and wardogs of all manner would flock to the rooftop to see what was going on.
And then the bloodbath would begin in truth.
“Dominic Breton, you put your bedamned splashgun down or so help me I shall knock your teeth down your throat and you shall spend the rest of your days shitting ivory!” Chevy took a deep breath to calm his frayed nerves.
The Nannies had it all wrong, every single damn one of them.
Specter’s armor wasn’t similar to theirs. It were better, from top to bottom and all the way around again!
The Elder Gearman had no idea how the Book Club Regular had missed the smooth ease with which those deadly four foot lengths of whirring, snarling cogs had slid forth from their resting place, nor did he have any inkling as to how Dominic –hardly three hundred years old if he were lucky- imagined he could best a man who moved like smoke in a windstorm.
“He’s wot we been huntin’ for this whole month!” Dom shouted, veins bulging in his neck from the strain of trying to push past his friend. “He done for all them gearheads in the Pub, and them out there in the wilderness. He done for the Big King all on his lonesome, Chevy. Nanny Primrose give us the upgraded splashguns to do for this bloke and you’re standin’ there, helpin’ ‘im out! You step outta the way, yeah, and let me do for ‘im and I won’t say nothin’ to the Nannies.”
It was just then that the quartet each threw a house-sized boulder at their particular section of Ickford’s walls. The whole length of it gave a mighty, tremulous groan and collapsed into dust and twisted metal, leaving one long section of Ickford bare to the outside world.
And the metal monstrosities.
Chevy shut his eyes for a brief second. Any gearheads surviving that assault would be most lucky to dig themselves loose before King’s creations lumbered through there on those enormous, boulder-crushing feet.
Specter –Garth Nickels when he was at home and not killing gearheads in the most violent way imaginable- was at roof’s ledge, watching the wall collapse, counting the gearheads they’d lost because of their own stupid infallibility. DarkBook ran filters to bypass the eruptions of smoke, dust and, in some few cases, fire –that last left Garth to wonder what some of the more intrepid Ickfordians were storing in their homes- for a clear and unadulterated view of just what the fuck was going invading the small city.
“What is your problem, Chevy?” Dom hissed angrily, keen to resolve the issue and get back to the doing for Specter. He wasn’t entirely sure, but there’d been a moment there when the shot from his splashgun had hit the Specter’s sword … the gun, augmented to do for Gearmen, might not be powerful enough to turn their foe into soupy goop, but it might shut the man’s armor down long enough for the whole ordeal to be done quickly. “’e’s right there.”
Chevy nodded patiently. “Aye lad, he is. Right over yonder. Dancin’ from foot to foot over wot’s ‘appenin’ here in Ickford and like as not, we need ‘im.” Then, lest he lose his partner right there on the spot –oh, how he wished Dominic hadn’t had the helmet on for any length of time inside the walls for all the surliness he carried with him now- he added, darkly. “For the time being.”
“Wot you mean, for the time bein’?” Dom’s eyes fell on his Book, discarded in the heat of battle, lying right there by the man’s feet. Panic the size of the biggest King ever summoned trod over his already well-abused heart right then. If their greatest enemy to date were to look down instead of across the city … the Nannies would rise up out of the dust and earth and they’d do for him in a flash!
Chevy put a fatherly hand at the back of Dom’s neck, pulled the lad in until he were practically resting his forehead atop the lad’s. “Look out there, boyo, look out there and really see what’s come. King has decided that Ickford shall be no more. There’s four of them things out there, and they hain’t nothing we never seen before. There hain’t never been four Kings in the same spot, not never. They’s through the wall now, if yon Specter’s voluble and impressive cursing is a hint.”
“We’re King’s men, Chevril.” Dominic countered, just this side of hostile. “A tiny glimmer of Will inside each of them things knows that, and they’ll leave us well alone. I told you about that time down Rallye Estate way, did I not? When them gearheads called up that King and it done for them all, only it didn’t go down when the deed was done?”
Garth, staring gloomily through DarkEye at what was coming, was nevertheless paying attention to the heated, furtive discussion three feet behind him. One hand rest gently atop his stolen Book. He’d seen the one by his feet, and reasoned quickly on that the temporarily discarded one belonged to the idiot who’d tried to kill him not once, but twice.
He also reasoned that if he touched it, the now mostly calm Dominic would came at him with all barrels blasting.
There was also little doubt in his mind that once Dominic -who seemed to be all too serious and not nearly as … lax … in certain things as his older partner, who had the luck of being called Chevy- saw his Book, things wouldn’t just go pear-shaped but some kind of new, weird and altogether unlikely shape. Some kind of quantum-entangled uber-fruit shape. Probably Warped Watermelon or something.
DarkBook completed its work. The four lumbering shapes resolved crisply in the HUD. The grimmest curse he could think of shot from his lips.
Garth turned to the bickering Gearmen, waiting for the moment when Dominic saw Book, saying, “We’ve got a very terrible and serious problem on our hands, guys.”
“By all that is righteous! Chevy! He’s got a Book!” Dom grabbed for his splashgun yet again.
This time, Garth was well ahead of the surprisingly hotheaded librarian; he had his Heart Sniper pulled and pointed at the younger Gearman’s forehead before anyone could properly react.
The rooftop went cold and silent for a long moment.
Chevy took one look at the long barrel, ears quirking to the faint thumpthump, and to his embarrassment, stepped left. “God save the King, lad, you did it, you really done and went to build yourself a sniper rifle with a metal heart, didn’t you just?”
“How come you’re the only one who knows what this is? Properly, I mean?” They really didn’t have the time to be talking about this kind of stuff, but, hey, when did he ever really have the time to ask the questions he really wanted to ask
?
“Been around, lad.” Chevy admitted wearily. Behind the glinting, be-armored Specter, the majestically frightening mechanical men lumbered closer and closer to the city limits. They were moving awkwardly once more, no doubt a reaction caused by their exposure to the miasma.
Good. They all needed a few moments to get this madness sorted and shelved.
“I been around a long time.” Chevy reiterated, pleased that Dom was fully cognizant of how dire things were now. “And just as I have many, many years of experience, my younger partner and friend does not. Do you understand precisely how dangerous putting a heart into a weapon of any kind is, sir?”
“Vaguely.” Garth recalled Barnabas’ microscopic surge of terror that’d turned into bemused interest when he’d unveiled the Heart Sniper.
“He’s got a Book.” Dom interrupted the casual conversation over a gun’s lethality, seething. He could barely contain his anger. All concern over the impending threat had vanished. There were, to date, precisely two Books lost to the Book Club. One was presumably lost at the bottom of the body of water they all called Sucking Gallows, a miserably dangerous patch of ocean to south-east that no man who wore the Geared Armor would ever try to find. The other had been lost well over two centuries ago, and in such a manner as to discourage e’en the bravest Gearmen from hunting for it. “A Book.”
“Dominic here has a great capacity for pointing out the abso-fucking-lutely obvious, doesn’t he?” Garth cleared his throat impatiently. “And as much as I would love to hear about how dangerous this fucking gun is from someone who might actually want to tell me something worthwhile, I’ve got places to go and shit to do.”
“You know what those beasts are, don’t you, Specter?” Chevy asked, quite reasonably.
With the Dark Iron content in his blood at an all-time low, Garth found it really easy not to lose his shit over being called by his … dark side name. “The name’s Garth N’Chalez, actu… don’t try to pronounce it. You’ll only break your tongue. And yes.” He nodded. “I do know what those are, and they shouldn’t be here, and there’s about a bazillion percent chance that there’s not a goddamn thing anyone in this entire city can do. Like, at all. No. No. Don’t think you can move faster than me, Dominic.”