Iron Guns, Blazing Hearts

by Heather Massey

  After giving Arthur a final, worried glance, she returned to the cab with Logan’s assistance. Once inside, he studied the controls. He glanced up at her approach. She answered his unspoken question while gesturing to the driver’s seat. “It’s the only way, Logan.”

  “I figured that,” he murmured, resting an encouraging hand briefly on her shoulder. Then a wicked grin split his face as he hefted the Remington. “I’ll ride shotgun.”

  A tingle ran down Violet’s spine. All her previous arguments with him vanished from her memory. Partnering with Logan this way made for an electrifying moment. She half contemplated recording their adventure and submitting it to The Lady’s Fireside Collection upon her return home.

  Logan closed the hatch while Violet occupied the driver’s seat. The layers of her clothing provided little padding against the hard metal, but in her excitement she hardly noticed. Logan settled into a crouch next to her, the Remington cradled in one arm.

  Violet manipulated levers and flicked the necessary switches. Several excruciating minutes later, the steam carriage roared to life, deafening in its fervor. Perfect. They might actually breach the Iron Scorpion’s fortress with neither excessive time loss nor protracted labor.

  “Head due north on the road,” Logan told her, raising his voice to be heard above the cacophony.

  Violet pulled one of the rough-hewn levers down, and the iron steam carriage lurched forward. A long, narrow slit at eye-level revealed a view of the dim road ahead. Two more on either side, spaced equally apart, yielded additional means by which to navigate. As a chilly wind escorted a mysterious insect straight to her cheek, Violet discovered the slits had no glass or other barrier. She longed for her brass goggles. But they were probably smashed and lost forever among the train wreckage. She sighed. So much for traveling in comfort.

  Violet estimated they were going about forty miles an hour. The ride was smoother than expected, but she worried an important part or two might break down again. Other fretful thoughts followed. Would the gaining carriages coming from the south force them to stop? Or worse–the carriage could tumble into a deep ditch and crush them all.

  As an antidote to her negative musings, she turned to more practical considerations. They still didn’t have a clear plan for rescuing her father. “What should we do when we arrive?” she asked over her shoulder. When Logan didn’t immediately answer, she panicked. “Logan!” she shouted. “What will we do once we arrive at the Iron Scorpion’s fortress?”

  Still no answer. She glanced back, startled by his appearance. The brim of his hat veered down at a sharp angle. A shiver ran through her. The potent glare he displayed would have cowed the Devil himself. When had he become so dangerous? But then again, she couldn’t deny her attraction to that particular quality. Wild and untamed, he represented everything lacking in her tame, methodical life.

  Then Logan spoke in the ominous tone of a man who had nothing to lose. “Like I said before–improvise.”

  Chapter 5

  In Which Our Intrepid Heroes Discover a Nightmare of Terrors Within the Lair of the Iron Scorpion

  Violet gritted her teeth. It was no wonder that steam carriages had yet to supplant traditional methods of travel. When the wheels of the iron steam carriage collided with a particularly high bump in the uneven road, her body rose involuntarily. With equal force, the hard seat collided with her sore bottom, sending teeth-clenching pain all the way up her back.

  She’d experienced the discomfort while operating the contraption for the past half hour on the road to the Iron Scorpion’s fortress. Up, down, pain. Up down, pain. As a mental distraction, she’d already formulated designs for half a dozen types of seats that would provide cushioning for drivers of horseless carriages.

  During the journey, Logan thoughtfully gave her sips of water from one of the canteens. But it was never enough for her parched mouth. Operating the levers proved a challenge since her palms were slick with both blood and sweat. Eye strain was becoming an obstacle all by itself. Soot-filled air constantly assailed her through the window slit. Under these conditions, the double holster around her waist wasn’t romantic or thrilling, it was a damned nuisance.

  Violet thought about her stalwart companion. How did Logan cope with sore muscles and unrelenting thirst during his travels? By being a professional, that’s how . She pictured herself in Logan’s shoes and squared her aching shoulders.

  As they neared the fortress, the black clouds above threatened to quench all light. Violet was blessed with excellent sight, but the monochromatic terrain seemed to blend every detail together. She suppressed a shudder. They had to reach the fortress before sunset, because spending the night in this cursed wilderness was simply not an option.

  But all other fears were laid to waste when she spotted several huge, lumbering bulks in the road ahead. What manner of nightmare was heading toward them now? Violet blanched in terror as the dark shapes shifted, solidifying into three iron steam carriages bearing down on them. Had the Iron Scorpion learned of their impending arrival?

  “Logan!” she shrieked.

  In a flash, he was beside her. “I see ’em.”

  Violet welcomed his nearness. She wished she could release the controls for a moment of brief respite against his solid chest. Panic bubbled inside her. “I can’t fight them, Logan. I don’t have the strength for the appendages. Should we turn around? What about heading off the road? But that might damage the carriage. I don’t–”

  Logan clamped a large, strong hand upon her shoulder in such a way that instant reassurance shot to her overworked brain. “Steady, now,” he said in a low drawl while peering out the window slit. “Ignore them. Keep moving forward. For all they know, we’re on an important job for the Iron Scorpion himself.”

  His advice was sound. The calm he exuded, exemplary. No wonder his services as an agent were in high demand, or so she estimated. Violet took one deep breath, then another. She fed the engine a dose of steam power, and they proceeded at full tilt. The carriage forged ahead, altering its path neither right nor left.

  The oncoming carriages continued to advance. Violet cast her gaze upward, marking the position of the chain in case they had to launch the appendages.

  “Don’t worry about that none,” came Logan’s authoritative command. “Focus on the road. Don’t change direction no matter what they do.”

  Violet nodded, gulped. She channeled all her determination into maintaining their position. You can do this . The boiler belched and snorted. Steam hissed through pipes. The sprocket wheels gorged themselves on the pockmarked road.

  Then the first of the advancing carriages increased its speed. Violet wondered if Arthur had enough sense of self-preservation to jump if she crashed into it. Her heart sank. Of course he doesn’t . Now, it was too late to teach him.

  The first enemy carriage continued to accelerate toward them. The distance between the two closed so much that Violet thought she could see the face of the other driver. Had Logan misjudged the situation? His plan now seemed like sheer folly. She braced herself for the inevitable crash and hoped the carriage could withstand the impact.

  At the last second, the oncoming carriage swerved to its right. The others followed suit. They appeared to be passing them. Violet would have grinned in relief if her jaw hadn’t been so stiff with tension.

  “Get down!” Logan shouted, and pressed her head lower until her face nearly rammed the controls. Together, they crouched below the window slits. The other three carriages rumbled past with a deafening clamor.

  Only until all three had disappeared behind them did Logan release her. “You all right?”

  Even though her insides felt like they’d been reduced to jelly, Violet nodded.

  He gave her shoulder a squeeze. “You done good.”

  Violet allowed herself a brief smile before returning her attention to the controls.

  “We’re almost there.” Logan pointed. “Do you see that?”

  Violet narrowed her eyes
. “What should I–oh!”

  About a mile ahead, bright blue flares from an unknown energy source illuminated an enormous citadel of metal and stone. There it was: the Iron Scorpion’s lair.

  The whole area had the stark, industrial look of a mining facility, multiplied by a hundred. Her gaze shifted from the web of endless girders to the massive hills of poor rock piled along the outer wall. Near the center of the fortress, three colossal smokestacks rose into the sky. Their wide mouths purged foul black smoke. The Byzantine design of the structure roused Violet’s scientific sensibilities, but its monstrous nature ate away at her heart.

  As they closed in on the final distance, other details became visible through the gloom. Hundreds of gas lamps blazed with light both along walkways and inside windowed chambers. Ahead of them, the road gave way to a fortified double gate. Topped with sharp spikes, it yawned wide as though attached to a beast of prey. Was the Iron Scorpion so arrogant he feared no intruders? Violet pursed her lips. That kind of force unleashed upon innocent people would be nothing less than catastrophic. Once they secured her father, they’d have to find a way to end this bizarre madman’s reign.

  Logan spoke rapidly against her ear. “You’re doing fine. Concentrate on moving forward. We’ll rescue your father no matter what. Listen, once we’re inside, can you carry the Titan?”

  Though every muscle screamed its protest at the idea of further exertion, Violet answered immediately. “Yes. I built it light enough so that the average woman could carry it on her back.” Not that any woman other than me would have anything to do with such a weapon . Would Logan consider that quality a plus or a minus?

  “Good. When we stop, put it on. But don’t use it unless we have no other choice. Then we’ll exit the carriage–”

  “And retrieve Arthur.”

  “And…right. Have one of your Schofields in your hand and shoot-ready at all times. You will also stay behind me–at all times.”

  Logan paused to give her a pointed stare. Violet bit her lip. He obviously wanted to avoid a confrontation like their previous one. “No charging ahead. Understood.”

  He nodded. “Also, do what I say without question. The same goes for hi…your automaton. We’ll need to avoid discovery while we search.” Logan paused to take a deep breath. “Now, where in that rat’s nest do you think we might find your father?”

  “I’d estimate a laboratory of some kind, one hidden deep within the fortress. Possibly it’s the same place where the Iron Scorpion conducts his own experiments. Ideally, it’d be located at or slightly below the surface in order to maximize access to all energy sources. But I’m not certain .” Her eyes went wide. “Surely we won’t have to check every room of that place?”

  Logan grimaced. “Let’s hope not. Just keep your eyes peeled for possibilities.”

  The gate fast approached. Violet wiped sweat from her forehead. Oddly, there didn’t appear to be any kind of guard post. Having paid off the local marshals, perhaps the Iron Scorpion believed he had nothing to fear, least of all a Trojan horse-style infiltration.

  She turned to Logan with a look of alarm. “Where should I stop this thing?”

  “In the darkest corner you can find.”

  “But what if they attempt to communicate with us?”

  “Don’t respond, no matter what.”

  Violet nodded in acknowledgment. They traveled through the open gate without incident. Unfortunately, the cavern-like interior was better lit than she had first surmised. Enormous spherical gas lamps cast a wide, harsh net of light across what appeared to be the main receiving area. To the left, she spotted a row of at least eighty steam carriages identical to the one they’d appropriated.

  The conditions were deplorable. Soot and filth coated every surface. She wondered if the workers lumbering back and forth were slaves. They wore drab, ill-fitting clothes made all the more desolate by their bleak expressions. Were they truly here by choice? If so, she couldn’t imagine what the Iron Scorpion offered them for their services. She compressed her lips into a thin line of disapproval. Promises and lies, most likely .

  Movement caught her attention. She glanced through the left-hand slit. Was that stocky man there with the gleaming metal arm waving her forward? Violet hastily steered the carriage toward a wide corridor hewn from rock. Crates and all manner of mechanical apparatuses lined its craggy walls.

  At that point, either the acceleration lever shifted of its own accord or Violet’s sweaty hand slipped. She moved quickly to adjust its position.

  But not quickly enough. The iron carriage pitched forward out of her control.

  “What’s happening?” Logan snapped.

  “The acceleration lever is stuck!” With a moan of frustration, she attempted to dislodge it. And she did–so much so that the entire lever popped out. Violet stared dumbly at the rod in her hand. Surely that would solve the problem?

  But instead of stopping, the carriage sped up. Violet yelped, and then shut her mouth as she recalled Logan’s instruction about stealth. But apparently the notion had slipped his mind, for she heard him exclaim something like “Oh, sheeyet” when the carriage barreled toward a towering stack of crates.

  Violet grabbed the steerage controls. Several sharp yanks later, she managed to swing the carriage around before impact. Right after pulling parallel to the wall, it slammed into the crates with an alarming crunch of metal against wood.

  The force of the collision sent her careening off her seat. She was aware of landing on something much more comfortable than iron–Logan caught her before she made contact with the floor. Grunting with effort, his strong arms steadied her.

  She barely had time to register exactly where her bottom had landed when he unceremoniously tipped her from his lap. His hat fell off in the process, but he ignored it. Reaching up, he jerked the ceiling chain down. A shudder passed through the carriage as the appendages launched.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  “Get yer guns,” he ordered.

  Violet jumped to her feet. Logan had already unloaded the steam gun from its case. She strapped on the power pack and slid the attached rifle into the holster across her back. Then she freed one of her Schofields and hefted it in her right hand.

  Logan slipped his arms into the brass harness. Of course! The appendages might create enough chaos so they could slip away unnoticed. As unnoticed, she hoped, as whispers in a storm. Logan’s act cemented her faith in his ingenuity.

  She stood ready by the hatch. Logan manipulated the appendages at random, the effort and strain showing in the way his muscles threatened to burst through his clothing. And presently, at this highly inappropriate time, Violet couldn’t help but notice how tightly his trousers clung to his thighs and buttocks. With great effort, she forced her gaze away.

  Would Logan’s attack prove efficacious? She peered through the left window slit. Despite the “emergency,” the denizens here seemed hesitant to respond. Those who had were too busy dodging the thrashing appendages.

  “Is it clear?” Logan asked through clenched teeth.

  Violet saw no one in the immediate vicinity. “Clear enough,” she said.

  With a sweep of his arms, Logan made the appendages thrash wildly one final time. Then he pulled his arms from the harness, jammed on his hat, and drew a Colt. “Stand aside,” he ordered.

  Rushing the hatch, he threw it open and leaped out.

  Violet followed as quickly as possible, silently cursing her impractical heels. Even so, she nearly twisted an ankle during her landing. Logan grabbed her arm and began pulling her down the corridor.

  “Wait!” she cried, resisting him. She turned toward the carriage. “Arthur! Get down and follow us!”

  For a brief, harrowing moment, the automaton didn’t respond. Violet had the terrifying thought that perhaps the carriage ride had damaged it beyond repair.

  But then Arthur detached himself from the carriage and scrambled down. Wondrously, his movements seemed even more smooth and
graceful then before.

  Violet expelled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. “This way, Arthur!”

  Seconds later, they dashed down the nearest corridor at a dead run.

  * * * *

  Relief unknotted the tension in Violet’s chest as she left the receiving area behind. She, Logan, and Arthur embarked on the search for her father.

  The Iron Scorpion’s fortress was characterized by oddly shaped rooms and seemingly endless subterranean passages. The passages were about thirty feet wide and boasted cathedral-like ceilings. Violet wondered if the oversized corridors were a reflection of the Iron Scorpion’s arrogance. She couldn’t determine any other reason for those kinds of spacious interiors.

  The distant, unrelenting rumble of what must have been a powerful furnace followed them everywhere. As Violet and her companions rounded yet another corner, she wondered if the Iron Scorpion’s mind was as twisted as his domain. How the madman maintained any kind of order around here was a mystery. If they kept to the shadows, they were bound to pass through undiscovered. At least, she hoped so.

  They advanced deeper into the fortress, conducting cursory examinations of the chambers they passed. While many were nondescript storage rooms, others showed signs of activity. Violet caught glimpses of workshops, boiler rooms, and coal processing facilities. The energy level was high. Did anyone here ever sleep? All hinted at some kind of despicable purpose. No wonder the Iron Scorpion had abducted her father. If the villain managed to break him, he’d have access to knowledge that could increase his power a thousand-fold.

  The search suffered numerous delays since they had to evade a near-constant parade of workers. Some trudged along with mining tools, singly or in packs, while others guided motorized steam carts stacked with coal, machine parts, and other supplies. Logan steered them into any and every available hiding place, often with little more warning than a sharp shove to the back. Actually, he avoided touching Arthur at all. Violet was the one he pushed and pulled and prodded as they raced for cover.