Hearts of Smoke and Steam

by Andrew P. Mayer

  Sarah nodded and blushed. “I'm afraid so.”

  “Then maybe I should be apologizing to her.”

  “Is okay. My brother seems to like her.”

  “In the name of our Lord,” Jenny said, rolling her eyes dramatically skyward. “It's all far more than a woman of my years should have to take.”

  Sarah waited for a moment, unsure of how to respond to Jenny's feminine theatrics until her friend reached out and grabbed her hand. “Now that we've gotten that out of the way, I need you to tell me everything that's happened since that night you ran away. And if not everything, then I'm at least going to need a great many details. I've been terribly worried about you, Sarah.”

  “There's something I need to…” Sarah tried to hold her ground as Jenny marched over to a nearby stoop, but the maid was clearly stronger, and she ended up sliding Sarah two yards across the cobblestone sidewalk. “Hold on, Jenny.”

  “What's wrong, Sarah? Surely you have time to talk to me after all the effort I put into finding you.”

  “I'm sorry. I do want to tell you everything, and after I'm done we can go somewhere together and I'll tell you all the details over a nice cup of tea.”

  Viola gave her a disparaging look, but managed to not say anything, which was an achievement in itself.

  “But first I desperately need to get something from inside my apartment.” Sarah pointed at a nearby building. “And I need to do that before I can go anywhere, or do anything else.”

  “I see,” Jenny replied with a shrug. “And why is this Tuscan ruffian with you?”

  Viola reacted like she'd been struck. “Wait, how do you know where I am from?”

  “A housemaid deals with all sorts of people over the years, Miss Armando. I doubt there's a German, Italian, or Jew that I can't tell you at least the general area they hail from. And if it's an Irishman I can probably give you the address where they grew up.”

  Giving Viola no time to reply, Jenny spun to face Sarah. “All right, Miss Stanton, let's take care of your business so I can get my answers.”

  “This way,” Sarah said, guiding her little group up the stairs to the door. As they climbed the steps, she grabbed Jenny's hand and gave it a squeeze. “I'm so glad you're here. I've missed you terribly.”

  “You should be glad I haven't lashed you up and dragged you back to the house. What possessed you to color your hair?”

  “I was hoping it would allow me to hide better,” Sarah said as she slipped her key into the door. She was relieved to see that it still worked in the lock. “I should let you know,” she said as she pushed it open, “that I've recently had a bit of unpleasantness with the landlord.”

  “What did you do to him?” Viola asked, clearly keen to judge her actions once again.

  “I shoved him…a bit. He's a bit terrified of me I think.”

  “He must be a very tiny man.”

  As they entered the building, Sarah's eyes immediately turned to Mr. Grieves's door. She saw it sliding closed as she stepped in. If he was there, at least he wasn't going to try to confront her again.

  Sarah kept moving. “I'm on the third floor.”

  The three of them trundled up the stairs, Viola managing to make as much noise all by herself as the other two combined.

  She wondered if there was anything that Viola was capable of doing subtly or quietly. Perhaps that was part of her hidden charm.

  As they reached each landing, Sarah craned her neck to look down the halls and see if she could see any sign of the padlocks, but it seemed that no one had tried to replace them.

  When she reached to the door to her apartment, Sarah stifled a gasp. The entrance had been smashed in, and it sat wide open.

  Sarah felt angry and heartbroken. No matter how hard she tried to cover her tracks, it was hopeless. Her enemies had no trouble invading her life.

  “That doesn't look good,” said Mrs. Farrows, echoing Sarah's thoughts with the same eerie accuracy she had ever since they had first met. “We'd best be careful…”

  Viola pushed through the two of them and slammed the door open wide. “Anyone in here?” she yelled.

  “That girl doesn't do anything by halves, does she?” Jenny said, peering through the door behind her.

  “Her brother is much nicer.”

  Jenny frowned. “Boys can fool you, Sarah…”

  Viola had only taken three steps into the apartment before she let out a scream and was yanked out of view. Sarah and Jenny practically tumbled over each other as they sprang after her.

  When they saw what lay inside, they both jerked to a stop. Inside the room, a man was holding Viola up above his head with one of his massive hands. He was ridiculously tall, and yet nonsensically fat, with a bowler hat that was pulled down too tightly on his head. Waxed red whiskers stuck out from either side of his face, drooping down slightly at the ends.

  He held her face up next to his, and Viola's body was stretched out across his huge belly, her feet floating just above the floor. She was kicking fiercely, but so far had only managed to connect with empty air.

  Sarah could feel her emotions shift, and the next words she spoke came out of her throat in a low growl. “Let her go.” A part of Sarah was shocked at just how easily she was slipping into being the Adventuress, although this was the first time she'd felt the hero come through without her having to put on the mask first.

  “I'm called the Ruffian.”

  “They'll call you No Balls if you ever let me go,” choked out Viola.

  Sarah kept her eyes locked on the man. “One of the Children of Eschaton, I presume.”

  “Just so,” he replied. The tall man laughed and hauled the flailing girl up slightly higher. “Do you read the Bible, Miss Stanton?”

  Sarah nodded. “I'm familiar with it.”

  “It says that those who reap the wind shall sow the whirlwind.”

  “And I'd say that goes both ways,” Jenny Farrows chimed in, her clipped tone barely managing to contain her anger.

  There was a stunned look on the man's face as he parsed her words; it appeared he hadn't considered the possibility that biblical retribution might work both ways. “It doesn't matter,” he replied with a shake of his head, “because if you come closer, I will, unfortunately, find it necessary to snap this girl's neck.” He jangled Viola slightly, and turned his head to the Italian girl's ear. “That is something that I may do anyway if she does not stop struggling.” His voice had clear traces of a German accent, and Sarah wondered if Jenny was calculating the location of his birth.

  Despite the warning, Viola began to fight and kick. Sarah looked her straight in the eye before she spoke. “Perhaps you should stop. I think this man is quite serious.”

  Viola went limp in his grasp, “I'll be good…” He lowered her down until her feet were just touching the floor. “…for now,” she said with a snarl.

  With the immediate danger passed, Sarah took a moment to look around her apartment. Clearly the man had been in it for some time before they had reached him. It seemed almost as if someone had taken the entire place and given it a good shaking, with everything that remained either smashed to bits or thrown to the floor.

  Sarah wondered if the look of shock on Jenny's face was due as much to the state of the place as it was from the threat they were facing. “It doesn't normally look like this,” she said by way of apology.

  “I should hope not. I'll just assume that this…gentleman is responsible for the mess and not you.”

  “What do you want?” Sarah asked him.

  He turned his head and nodded. “It should be obvious. I want the metal man's heart.”

  “It's not here,” Sarah blurted out. As she heard the words leave her mouth, they sounded like a lie.

  “This is…a shame,” the Ruffian said, not seeming to notice her deceit. He took his free hand and wrapped it around Viola's throat. She only managed to let out the beginning of a scream before her words were choked off entirely.

  “Stop t
hat!” Sarah said, jumping toward him. An instant later, she found herself being flung backwards, her face stinging from a slap that she hadn't even seen coming.

  She crashed into the wall, smashing the plaster, and slid to the floor. As she sagged to the ground, she wondered if the Adventuress's greatest skill was being thrown through the air by villains.

  She could hear Viola struggling harder now, and Sarah tried to pull herself up before it was too late. This was Emilio's sister! If she died, he would never…Sarah let the thought pass. It was no time to be thinking about boys.

  As she lifted up her head to look at the fat man, a strange look passed over his face. His eyes crossed, and his hands fell limp.

  Viola scampered out of the way before the Ruffian crashed to the floor. Standing behind him was Jenny Farrows, an iron in her hand.

  “The Ruffian indeed!” she said, and gave the man's unconscious form a jab with her foot.

  Viola, still coughing and rubbing her throat, joined in, kicking the man with far more intensity. “Bastardo!”

  “Easy now, young lady,” Jenny said, holding her back.

  Sarah had seen Viola angry before, but the rage on her face had reached a whole new level. “I'll tear his balls off!” Spit flew from her mouth, and she kicked the unconscious villain with enough force that he let out an involuntary moan.

  Jenny grabbed Viola's arm and hauled her back.

  “Don't you touch me!” the Italian girl said as she yanked her arm free, but she didn't try to kick the man again.

  Sarah tried not to rise to the occasion. “I'm sure you're angry, Viola, but we can't kill him.”

  “Go to hell, rich lady.”

  Jenny responded with a tone that sounded both matronly and angry simultaneously. “If you ever plan to be more than a beggar in this world, then you need to understand that there are some rules.”

  “Here's what I think of your rules.” Viola made a spiteful little laugh, marched forward, and tried to push past Jenny, clearly intent on attacking the unconscious villain laid out on the floor. In a thousand years, Sarah would have been unable to describe exactly what happened next: Jenny's hand shot out, and Viola toppled to the floor. The girl spun around and landed on her rump, facing the entirely opposite direction from where she had been heading.

  Jenny leaned down over her. “Now let's give the police a call, shall we?”

  Viola, clearly not pleased with the situation, smacked Jenny full in the face with a sound loud enough to echo off the walls. “I said, don't you touch me,” she hissed.

  Jenny appeared unrattled, despite the red mark on her cheek. Using the same hidden speed that she had before, she smacked the Italian girl back. “Impudent child.”

  Viola put her hand up to her face, her eyes wide. She opened her mouth to reply, and then simply closed it again.

  The two of them sat glaring at each other silently, and, looking down at Viola's clenched fingers, Sarah realized that the next move the girl made would not involve an open hand. “Ladies!” she said loudly.

  Neither one of them turned to look at her. “Ladies!” she said again, projecting her voice as much as she could without actually shouting. They continued their staring contest, but Sarah could tell that she had at least begun to gain their attention. “You've both come here to help me, and having the two of you fighting like common thugs is only going to give our scary friend here the chance to wake up. Now then, Viola,” she continued, marveling at her own confidence, “I need you to grab that washing line and tie up the Ruffian.” She pointed to the rope end that was sticking out of a pile of broken dishes nearby. She was relieved when Viola broke her stare to turn and look where Sarah was motioning. “And I'm assuming you have the needed self-control to secure him properly without choking him to death.”

  “He'd be better dead,” Viola said as she crawled out from under Jenny's shadow.

  “Jenny,” Sarah said as the maid straightened up from her confrontational pose, “can you come with me while we go and get what I came here for?”

  Jenny nodded and followed her as she walked into the spare bedroom.

  As they passed through the doorway into the small bedroom, Sarah heard Jenny curse under her breath. “She's a terror.”

  “Maybe she wouldn't have been so angry if you hadn't tumbled her onto the floor.”

  “I've dealt with her type before. Sometimes landing on their arse knocks their brains back into their head.”

  Sarah tried not to look shocked as she pulled open the door to the closet. She breathed a sigh of relief when she that all her clothes were still hanging there. Perhaps she should have brought her suitcase…“This isn't the Stanton house.” Sarah pulled the hangers down and threw the outfits onto the bed. “She was almost killed.”

  “Are you defending her behavior?” Jenny began to pull the clothes off the racks and fold them. “These are nice.”

  “They're my work clothes.” Sarah frowned at them as she thought of her job in the department store. She had missed far too many shifts to think about going back now. “But I don't think I'm going to need them anymore.”

  “Waste not, want not,” Jenny replied, and pointed to a carpet bag on the floor.

  “Fine,” Sarah said, and pulled up the moth-eaten old sack. “Whatever you're willing to pack for me, I'll take.” She leaned into the closet and saw that secret panel was still in place.

  Jenny let out a little laugh. “There's the petulant girl I remember.”

  Sarah looked over her shoulder. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

  “For better or worse, I think being out in the world may just have caused you to grow up a little bit.”

  Sarah tugged out the loose section of the wall at the back of the closet. “I'm not sure how I'm supposed to feel about that, Mrs. Farrows.”

  Sarah couldn't see the woman, but she heard the familiar snap of a skirt being shaken out. “That's the funny thing about growing up, Sarah; it doesn't matter what your opinion is about it, it happens anyway.”

  Sarah pulled out the rosewood box. And when she lifted the lid on the container, she breathed another sigh of relief. Pressed into the velvet padding was the lead key that Peter Wickham had given her. She pulled it free and slipped the chain around her neck.

  She lifted it up and dropped it into her blouse, feeling the cold metal against her chest. “I have to admit that lately I've begun to feel like two different people.”

  “Well, even if you're not quite as ladylike as you should be, I'm starting to like some things about the new Sarah Stanton.”

  Sarah said, “I was never all that ladylike to begin with.”

  “That's as may be, it still suits you. Everything except for the hair…”

  Viola poked her head in around the door. “I think the Ruffian is waking up!”

  Sarah was amused to hear the Italian girl say the man's villainous name in her accent. Were a costume and a new title all it really took to change yourself in the eyes of the world?

  Sarah barged in front of Jenny and stuffed the rest of her clothes roughly into the bag. “It's fine. I'll take them all. Let's go.”

  Jenny took a step back. “After you, Lady Stanton.”

  Sarah walked past her. She could feel her face becoming a grim mask as the fat man came into view. He was bound and helpless, and he looked up at her with a wide-eyed expression, as if he was surprised by his predicament. Viola had certainly done an impressive job tying the man up. There was a thick cuff of hemp around either wrist. The line then looped down and formed a similar bind around his ankles.

  He was an ugly man, to be sure, but there was something almost innocent about him, as if he were just a naughty child and not a cold-blooded murderer. He also, unfortunately, reminded her a bit of Grüsser. “What's your real name?”

  “Brandon. You girls are making a very large mistake.”

  “I agree,” said Viola, placing her hands on her hips. “We should have killed you when we had the chance!”

  Sa
rah knelt down toward him. She took a breath and tried to act like the more “grown-up” version of herself that seemed to have impressed Jenny. “Is she right, Brandon? Should we have put an end to you? Or are you going to behave?”

  He swallowed loudly enough for her to hear the air as it travelled down his throat. “It will make no difference. Lord Eschaton will get what he wants from you sooner or later.”

  Sarah considered the situation for a moment and leaned closer. She could hear the rope creaking as the powerful man tested his bonds, and from the sound of it, the hemp wouldn't hold for long. “I have a message for Lord Eschaton. Do you think you could give it to him?”

  The Ruffian slowly nodded. “I suppose I could.”

  “I want you to tell him that he needs to stop, because whatever it is that he thinks that he's doing, whatever his plans are, the Society of Steam will put an end to them.”

  Brandon's eyes grew wide for a moment, and then he let out a laugh. “And you are the Society of Steam? I don't think he'll be very frightened…”

  “We were good enough to stop you.”

  The man frowned like a naughty baby. “I'm just not very good on my own, I'm afraid.”

  “Will you take my message back to him?”

  “Yes,” he said with a nod. “But I don't think it will help. He wants to destroy the world.”

  “Thank you.” She stood up and turned to the two other women. “It's time to go.”

  “And how will I escape?” the Ruffian asked them in an almost pleading tone.

  “I'm sure Mr. Grieves will come find you soon. Or you'll tear those ropes apart.”

  “But I am going to tell the police about you as soon as I can,” Jenny added, “so I hope for your sake that either way, you're gone shortly.”

  “We will meet again I think.”

  “Then next time,” Sarah said furrowing her brow, “I'm going to let my friend do what she wants.”

  Sarah turned and led the women out into the hallway, letting them pass her before she descended the stairs. The carpet bag was unwieldy, but she supposed she was glad for the clothes. “Viola, I want you to give the address of the yard to Mrs. Farrows.”