“I was the midwife…” He let out a thundering laugh. “You're lucky you don't believe the Automaton was ever truly alive, Mr. Winthorp, or you'd be facing an ethical dilemma of world-shattering proportions.”
Nathaniel knitted his brows together. The man was talking enigmatic nonsense, but…“What do you mean by that?”
“By your own definition, I'd be a god!” He leaned back in the chair, and the wood let out another brutal screech under the strain. “Did Darby ever tell you about his unfortunate assistant?”
“I don't think…”
“Does the name Harrington ring a bell in your mind?”
“No.”
“There is something so wonderful about being as young as you are, Mr. Winthorp. You can simply pretend that the world was always the way it is now, and that the true cost in human blood it took to make it that way is simply a fairy tale that the older generation tells the younger to keep them in line.” Eschaton's voice dropped to a whisper, and for an instant Nathaniel could almost glimpse the man he had once been. “But the cost of progress is very real.”
Grüsser wobbled back into the room. He held a silver tray in his hands with two crystal tumblers, a pitcher of water, a towel, a bottle of whisky, a shot glass. If anything, he looked even more red-faced and terrified than he had before.
“Grüsser,” Nathaniel said, “what's the matter with you?”
The Prussian let out a choking cough.
“It's all right,” Eschaton said. “Why don't you show him? I'll take the tray.”
Grüsser handed over the drinks, and then slowly unbuttoned his jacket. As he removed it, it became obvious that there was a mechanical device of some sort hidden underneath of his shirt.
He lifted up the blouse to reveal a metal contraption that held a series of metal bands strapped around his body. It was a gorgeously manufactured piece of clockwork, but it seemed to be digging cruelly into the folds of his flesh. The highest of the rings was strapped low and tight around his neck, and seemed dangerously close to cutting into him.
It was obvious now that the ticking that Nathaniel had noticed when he first woke up had been coming from the device strapped to the Prussian, and it was going faster now.
Eschaton stood and placed the tray onto the flat of the chair. The tumblers shook violently, and the pitcher spilled some of its cargo over the side. Some it was taken by the towel, while the rest slipped off the tray, down the chair, and into a small puddle on the floor. Nathaniel wasn't thirsty enough to cry out yet, but he was thirsty enough to notice.
“I call this device my Chronal Suit,” Eschaton said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a large key. “The name is a bit indulgent, I admit, since it only changes the awareness of time and does nothing to time itself.” The bow end was large and square, and it looked like a larger version of one that might be used to wind up a child's toy. “Turn around, Grüsser.”
The Prussian spun in place, exposing a tin box on the back of the device. Eschaton stuck the key into it, then began to slowly turn it. The Chronal Suit emitted an almost comically loud grinding sound as Eschaton wound it. “And truthfully, the only person who fully feels the effect is the wearer. But I think Grüsser is most excellent at communicating his awareness, don't you?”
With each spin, the bands around his neck and chest noticeably relaxed, and Grüsser sputtered and coughed. “He ist ein madman, Nathaniel!” The words came out in a hoarse whisper.
Eschaton turned the key around and around until the mechanism was fully wound. The bands were slack now, but the ticking was louder.
Eschaton pulled the key free as Grüsser massaged his neck. “Please, Lord Eschaton, I don't want to die this way.”
“Sadly, Helmut, I don't think we've quite reached the point where I can consider you one of my children…yet.” He clapped him on the shoulder, and Grüsser noticeably flinched. “How long that will take is up to you.” Whether the twitch was born out of fear, or a shock from Eschaton's electrified body, it was impossible to say.
“We found poor Grüsser in the basement yesterday. He had been trying to make his way into the secret passage that Darby built for him to use his submersible. But unfortunately, all the doors had sealed shut during the birth of the Paragon.”
Eschaton waved his hand at the door. “All right, Grüsser. You should make it through the night. I'll see you in the morning.”
The Prussian took a nervous bow. “Thank you, my Lord.”
“And thank you for bringing us the drinks,” the gray man replied. “I'm sure Nathaniel will appreciate them.”
Grüsser nodded, and then slunk away, moving with slightly less urgency, but more grace, than he had before.
“Now then,” Eschaton said, picking up one of the glasses from the chair. “Where were we?”
Nathaniel frowned. “Is that what you have in store for me?”
“No. There's only one Chronal Suit, and it's Grüsser's. To be honest, my first instinct was to simply let you sit down here to rot, stewing in your own sickness and pain while I destroyed the old world around you. I'm sure that once your mind had softened sufficiently it would have been far more amenable to my way of thinking.” Eschaton filled a glass with water and held it up in front of the bars. It was close enough for Nathaniel to reach, but he'd have to reach through the bars to get it, and if they were electrified…
Nathaniel resisted the urge to try, despite his desperation. He wouldn't let the man torture him so easily. “You truly think I would become that much of an idiot?”
“I think that, given enough time in that cell, you'll begin to recognize that pride and righteousness are not the mighty sword and shield that Stanton taught you they were.” Eschaton wagged the glass back and forth, spilling some of the water onto the floor. “And maybe you'd begin to appreciate how easy it is to exploit the weak and unfortunate.”
“And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Don't you want to exploit people? Didn't you exploit Hughes and Grüsser?”
“Neither man was, as far as I know, either weak or unfortunate when I met them. Neither were you, for that matter. And as I told you before, I did nothing to them that they didn't truly want.”
“So you say,” he mumbled. “And what does Lord Eschaton want?”
The gray man replied without hesitation. “I want to remake the world and save humanity. To pull it back from the brink of its own folly and save the human race from its inevitable extinction.”
“And what kind of man is it that believes he can do that?”
“We already know that you would say he is a god. And,” he said with a moment of dramatic pause, “I am a compassionate one.” Eschaton slid the water through the bars.
Nathaniel, no longer able to control himself now that it was safely in reach, grabbed the glass from his hand and began to swallow it down desperately, the excess trickling down his face.
“Now, while you're enjoying that, perhaps you'll give me a moment to finish telling you the story of Mr. Harrington. Then I'll give you some whisky.” He handed Nathaniel the damp towel, moved the tray and its contents to the floor, and sat. “I know it's difficult to imagine that older men were ever as young as you are now, especially in our age of progress and enlightenment. And old men can seem sad, because even after their crimes are conveniently forgiven by history, they must still live with their sins. But I still think you may be interested in hearing this story.”
Nathaniel, his initial thirst at least somewhat satisfied, sat up, placed the empty glass down on the floor by the bars, and then took the miniscule journey back to his seat, dabbing at his damaged head with the cloth.
Eschaton waited patiently until he was seated before continuing. “I was originally hired as an engineer by Alexander Stanton. Does that surprise you?”
Nathaniel said nothing. It sounded doubtful, but if he was going to be a captive audience for a madman, he might as well avoid agitating him.
After a moment o
f silence, Eschaton continued, “I was straight out of the university—a man of simple means, but not without the training necessary to allow me to enter into your step-father's employment.”
“What did you do for him?”
“I made toys,” he said with a scowl. “Stanton became the Industrialist well before he ever met Darby, and he needed trinkets to prove his power. Or did you think that he made his own hat and gun?”
“I hadn't thought…”
Eschaton cut him off. “And when Darby finally appeared, Stanton handed me over to the old man like one man might lend another a pair of shears.” He adopted Stanton's upper-crust cadence by way of mockery. “'They're slightly rusty, old fellow, but I'm sure with a little clean and a sharpen, they'll get the job done.'”
“And Darby?”
“He believed he was the only genius in the world…” There was a note of sarcasm in Eschaton's voice that Nathaniel hadn't heard before.
Perhaps taunting him might work better. “Why didn't you just quit?”
“And miss my chance to work side by side with the ‘greatest inventor of our age'?” He laughed. “As miraculous as Darby may have seemed to you and the Stanton girl, he was ten times more so to me. And for a while it was perfection. I helped him with everything from the perfection of fortified steam to the creation of the Automaton himself.”
“But then I slowly discovered that genius is selfish. For someone to be considered a true visionary, it takes not only his own hard work, but also that of everyone around him. And only one man gets all the credit. If I was going to make a name for myself, I needed to create something all on my own.”
While he understood the impulse, unlike Alexander and Sarah, Nathaniel had always been content to enjoy the fruits of Darby's intelligence. His frustrations had come more from Sir Dennis's constant tendency to try to educate everyone about everything.
“I don't mean to be impertinent or rude,” Nathaniel replied—although if he hadn't been trapped behind the bars he would have been far more than that, “but what is the point of all this?”
Eschaton frowned. “I know that listening to others isn't the kind of thing you care for, Nathaniel, but if you'll indulge me a little bit longer, I think my intent will become clear.”
Nathaniel pointed to the silver platter. “Then, may I have some more water if you're not going to drink it?”
“Patience is a virtue. Once I've finished, I'll give you all the water you want.”
Eschaton clearly wanted his every move to seem manipulative and enigmatic, but as far as Nathaniel could tell, it was all the same nonsense. “I have nothing else to do.”
“Good.” He put his hands on his knees and leaned forward again. “I assume that as a protégé of Dennis Darby, you're familiar with fortified steam?”
“It's what powers my suit.”
“It is the secret that gives power to all the miraculous devices Darby created for the Paragons. It also was the animating force behind the Automaton.”
“I know that.”
“You seem to know a great deal, and yet your ability to remain staunchly ignorant in the face of a constantly changing world is outstanding. But,” Eschaton continued, “as miraculous as fortified steam is, it is directly effective only when driving inanimate machines. When exposed to living flesh, there is no reaction.”
“Darby had said that it was…” He paused while he searched for the word. “Inert! And that is, I think, usually considered to be a good thing…”
“Good only if you think that the goal of humanity, now that we have struggled to a point only slightly above that of the common ape, should be to remain forever unchanging. A good thing only if the only goal of invention is to ease the burden of our brief journey from cradle to grave, but never transform it. Do you think that this sad condition is where we should stay, Nathaniel?”
He shook his head. “You sound like Darby. Always going on about the future, and the possibilities that tomorrow will bring. Why not be content with the present?”
“Because the present never lasts,” he said angrily. “And I wanted to discover if fortified steam couldn't be something more than a fuel for mechanical destruction. I wanted to see if there was a way you could access its power directly. But until Darby had created the Automaton, I wasn't sure it was possible. After all, if fortified steam could allow a machine to mimic a man, then shouldn't it be possible to create something that imbued a man with the attributes of a machine? Why not create a stronger, more efficient humanity? And that was when I came upon the idea of fortified smoke.”
Nathaniel found himself intrigued in spite of himself. “Fortified smoke? What are you talking about?”
“My dream—a caustic gas based entirely on what Darby considered to be the undesirable qualities of his beloved gas. It would be less stable, but capable of interacting with organic matter, and with flesh.
“And such a material already existed! It was a by-product of Darby's early processes, but when I asked him about it, he called it a perversion of what he had created. He forbade me to investigate any further.” Eschaton let out a thundering laugh. “Can you imagine?”
But Nathaniel could envision it. It would have been exactly what he would have expected Darby to say.
“But it also meant that he knew the truth, he was simply afraid to the take the next, obvious step.”
Nathaniel had heard these kinds of rants before. Many villains considered themselves to be misunderstood “men of genius.” But unlike all of the previous madmen he had encountered, Lord Eschaton actually had worked with Darby, and he had already managed to defeat the Paragons. This was more than mere bravado. “But you weren't afraid.”
“Not at all—and in that, Nathaniel, we're not so different after all. We both have, from time to time, ignored our elders in pursuit of the vision of our desires.”
“Mine only left behind empty bottles, not dead men.”
He replied with a smile. “I never said that we were equals.” He held up his arm and let electricity crackle over it. “But you could still become so much more.”
Nathaniel didn't like the threatening tone in Eschaton's voice. “Are we done? Can I have my water now?”
“Almost—just a little patience.” The gray man planted both feet on the floor and reached down to grab the small glass on the ground. He flipped it over and put it on top of the whisky bottle. “Here you are,” he said, slipping the liquor through the bars. “This should entertain you.”
“Thank you,” Nathaniel said glumly. He would have rather had the water, but he reached out for it anyway.
Eschaton's other arm grabbed him and pulled Nathaniel up against the bars. He was surprised, but not shocked. The gray man smiled at him, and let him go. “I can be benevolent.”
Nathaniel didn't say a word. He just poured himself a small glass. If nothing else, it would dull the pain of this lunacy.
“At that time I was still confused in my morals,” Eschaton continued. “I decided that if anyone was going to be the victim of my experiments, besides some small stray animals of course, it would be myself. So, I set about to create fortified smoke and apply it to living flesh.
“I did my work in secret, utilizing whatever parts of Darby's lab I could gain access to. But the one piece I couldn't create was Darby's Alpha Element: the unique metal that energized the steam and gave it its unique properties. And Darby kept the only sample around his neck.”
Darby remembered the key that the Bomb Lance had taken. “That's what you stole from him!”
“Not quite. The Alpha Element is useless for creating fortified smoke. But he had created an earlier sample, one that created a steam that was ‘impure' and highly poisonous. He claimed to the world that it did nothing, but I knew he was lying. I had seen the results. I had christened it the Omega Element, and I stole it from his vault.
“Once I had taken the Omega Element, I tried dozens of combinations to get what I wanted. And it was when I added coal smoke to the water va
por that my fortified smoke was born. Unfortunately, it also had a devastating effect on organic matter. My intention had been to hybridize a new form that would bring the powers of the smoke and steam together, and so I pressed on. When I discovered a nonlethal blend, I exposed myself to what I had planned to be a small amount of gas.
“But we all make mistakes,” he said with a sigh. “And the smoke ate right through the tubing I had built to contain it, and the gas slowly filled the room. By all rights I should have been dead, and for a short time perhaps I was.
“Darby found me hours later and took me to safety. When I awoke, I found that instead of killing me, it had transformed me.”
Eschaton leaned back, showing off the results. “It stripped the fat from my body and bonded with my muscle tissue in a way I don't yet fully understand. At first it left me crippled and weak.
“After he realized what I'd done, Darby was furious and terrified. He told me that I was lucky to be alive, but that he could no longer trust me. Once I proved myself capable of walking, he threw me out into the street. I tried to turn to Stanton for help, but he would have nothing to do with me.
“But I had seen the future, and once I managed to regain some health, I refashioned myself as a villain. Calling myself the Clockwork Man, I used my intelligent bombs to rob banks and fund the laboratory I would need to recreate my experiments. But the Paragons soon managed to catch up with me, and even my exploding men were no match for them.
“After that, I simply built devices for other villains. It kept the Paragons busy and away from me while I studied my own condition and gathered my resources.”
Nathaniel took his next draught of whisky directly from the bottle, not bothering to pour it into the glass this time. “You said you were crippled in the accident.”
“Even without the Alpha and Omega Elements, I was slowly able to improve my body using a regimen of pure smoke and steam. And during those years I was able to uncover more about what had happened to me. But I wasn't able to recreate Darby's metals, and I needed them not only to complete my own metamorphosis, but to continue those experiments.
Hearts of Smoke and Steam Page 23