Power Under Pressure (The Society of Steam)

by Andrew P. Mayer

  “Again I . . . apologize.” There was another pause. Longer than she had come to expect from him. “You were with . . . Emilio.”

  Sarah’s eyes widened. Was this an accusation? Jealousy?

  But when she thought about what to say next, she realized she had no idea what would be an appropriate response. She was still trying to come to grips with what had happened the night before, and now she found herself being interrogated about her relationships by a man made of metal. “That is entirely none of your business.”

  “I . . . apologize,” he repeated. “It seems that I . . . cannot do anything . . . right today.”

  Sarah sighed. She considered Tom her friend, but whether this was a “new” Tom or not, she was beginning to realize just how little time she had actually spent with the metal man outside of the presence of Sir Dennis.

  Being alone with him now, she was beginning to appreciate that he was like a child in many ways: easily confused by people, while curious about human emotions much the way that Adam must have been before he swallowed the apple. “No, Tom,” she said, swallowing the tattered remnants of her pride, “I should apologize. I know you’re not trying to hurt me.”

  “I only . . . wish for you to be . . . happy . . . Sarah.”

  She smiled at the thought of Tom having wishes. “I am happy, I think. Only, it’s a very complicated world for a woman.”

  “And for a . . . machine man as well.”

  She laughed, and then felt a sudden jolt of surprise. “Was that a joke, Tom?”

  He nodded. “Now that I have learned that I can . . . create things, I have been trying to make . . . humor. I think that it can . . . relax people.”

  Maybe Sarah had underestimated him. “That would rather depend on the joke, I think.”

  “It worked for . . . you.”

  “But it won’t always,” Sarah said, remembering how often her father’s occasional off-color remarks had made her mother put on a grim smile that was hardly genuine happiness.

  “I will keep that in . . . mind,” he said. The subtleties of human interaction were still a curiosity to him. Although, as far as Sarah knew, they were beyond the reach of any man or machine.

  “Now, Tom,” she said, grabbing one of his metal hands in hers, “since I am awake, dressed, and outside of my bedroom, what is it that I can do for you?”

  “I have . . . created something that I would very much like to . . . show you.”

  “What is it?”

  “Follow me.” Tom walked through the parlor and directly toward the front door. Sarah frowned when she realized she’d be walking across dirt yard in nothing more than a tattered robe and a pair of oversized boots. She had only managed to get dressed for a chat in the hallway, and now her already-inappropriate outfit was suddenly being pressed into service for an outing.

  Not only were the shoes difficult to maneuver in, she had hoped to keep the boots clean enough to remain “inside shoes.” The boots were sturdy enough to keep the soles of her feet from being penetrated by the occasional nuts and bolts that managed to appear everywhere in the house. “Where are we going, Tom?”

  “Not far,” he said, swinging open the front door, and letting her through. The breeze sent the wind up into her robe, reminding her again how utterly underdressed she was.

  It took only a few steps before she determined that they were heading to a small wooden building a few yards out from the house. It had been built as a temporary workshop where Emilio could work on restoring the machinery that had been rescued from the theater before pressing it into service.

  Sarah had actually suggested that they separate the primary workshop from the house entirely, sealing them off from the scents of oil and smoke that often wafted in from Emilio’s current studio.

  “I hope that you will not be . . . upset with me.”

  Sarah didn’t like the sound of that. “I think that’s going to rather depend on what you’ve done.”

  As they reached the shop steps, Sarah saw that things had come along much farther than she realized. Sitting in the back was the large boiler that Emilio was constructing to provide steam power to his tools. The tank stood upright, seemingly only waiting to be finished and painted. The wood platform that it sat on was also new, and there was an overwhelming scent of pine and fresh paint.

  The space was so different from Darby’s cave underneath the Hall of Paragons, and yet its purpose was the same. Sarah wondered just how much trouble Emilio could get into with his own laboratory—especially with Tom now here to help him.

  The mechanical man pulled a tarp off a nearby workbench. What she saw sitting on it made her heart flitter. “This is for . . . you . . . Sarah.” It was a gun.

  The design of the weapon was similar to the one that her father wore, and had clearly been constructed with a memory of that weapon as its intention.

  But the weapon was similar to the gun that she had once carried, as well: sticking out from the bottom of the gun was a metal sphere that had been screwed into the handle, clearly designed to hold fortified steam.

  “You’ve replaced it . . .” Sarah’s words trailed off as she picked up the gun from the table and held it in her hand. Feeling the comfort of it against her palm, she knew this was a newer version of the pneumatic weapon that Tom had given her the day the Darby mansion burned to the ground.

  She had managed to use that weapon only a few times before it had run out of steam (and almost gotten her killed), but it had also allowed her to steal Tom’s heart away from Eschaton, and saved her and Emilio from being skewered by the Bomb Lance on the ferry. And she had to admit, holding the weapon in her hand made her feel more like the Adventuress than she had in months.

  The new model of the gun was slightly lighter than the previous one had been, while still somehow feeling more solid as well.

  The gun’s design was different also. It looked far more like a flintlock than a Colt revolver, and instead of using a cylinder to set the weapon’s strength (as the previous gun had) there was a small dial by the grip that she could roll back and forth easily with her thumb. As she turned it, the small circle of brass switched positions with a satisfying click.

  There was also a number clearly marked on each position, allowing her to tell just how strong a blast the weapon was capable of—something else her previous weapon had lacked.

  As unladylike as the urge might be, she felt like hugging the weapon to her. She hugged Tom instead, her arms pressing into the metal strings that wrapped around his body. “Thank you so much, Tom! I can’t believe you created this for me! Why would you ever think I might be unhappy about that?”

  Just as Tom was about to reply, Sarah heard a distant shout from somewhere outside. At first she imagined it was someone arriving to drop off some scrap to the junkyard. Hopefully Emilio would be awake by now, and would take care of it.

  The voice yelled again, and she realized that it sounded quite distressed.

  “Sarah . . .” Tom said. “I think someone needs our help.” The yelling was louder now, and Sarah realized that whoever it was, he was shouting out her name.

  Sticking her head out the door, she saw a fat man crawling across the field. His clothes were drenched and burned, and his fingers were pulling against some kind of collar that seemed to be cutting into his neck. “Sarah! Gut God it is you! You are alive.”

  She took a few cautious steps before recognition hit her like a hammer blow. “Grüsser!” she shouted, and sprinted toward him, one of her boots flying free as she ran.

  As she crossed the field there was a sound like a shriek from the sky. “No! You must run . . .” the man said, and then collapsed onto the dirt.

  As she looked up something flew by Sarah’s head. It was a large black spot, moving far too fast for her to make any sense of it. “A bird?” she muttered, and then a moment later the workshop she had just been standing in exploded behind her.

  The force of the blast picked her up and tossed Sarah through the air before she cr
ashed to the ground. Sarah landed hard against the cold earth, the force of her impact slapping the air from her lungs. As she sat there, trying to regain her breath, chunks of wood and metal rained down around her, the debris from what had been the shed only moments ago.

  Despite the terror of the situation, Sarah could feel a familiar thrill coursing through her veins. The first time she had ever truly experienced it, that morning on the bridge, the sensation had seemed alien and terrifying.

  The surge of energy that travelled from head to toe was invigorating; a sensation of power and possibility that only arrived when Sarah was fighting for her life.

  It told her to get up, it told her to prepare to fight, and it told her to win! And as she listened to the sound of it in her head, she realized that it spoke in almost the same tones as the voice of temptation that had let Emilio pull her into bed the night before.

  By the time the fragments of the shed had finished raining down around her, she was sitting up. She turned to look at the place where the building had been. All that remained was a shattered shell, containing nothing but rising smoke and flame.

  Getting to her feet, Sarah staggered back toward the building, discovering that her lost boot had also survived destruction. She slipped her foot back into it, and walked closer.

  “Tom!” she shouted desperately, but there was no response. The thumping in her heart increased as she looked around for any remains of the metal man—something that might let her know his fate. But the smoke was too thick, and she began to cough as she got too close, her eyes stinging from the acrid smoke.

  “Grüsser!” If she couldn’t find the Automaton she’d need to at least discover if the Prussian had survived the attack.

  Walking a few yards, she discovered the Submersible lying on his back. It was impossible to tell if he was dead or alive, but at least it seemed that all his limbs and his head still remained in their proper places.

  Sarah ran to him and knelt down by his side. “Grüsser, are you all right?” She gave the portly man a shove, and he let out an oddly reassuring groan.

  His clothes were soaking wet, as if he had simply risen up out of the river itself before he had arrived here. And perhaps he had: he was the Submersible, after all. His appearance had come only moments before the bomb that landed in the shed. And there was something attached to his back; a large box of some sort that seemed almost to reach out like a spider, with rings that encircled his waist and arms, with a thick pole that rose out of it, connected to a ring surrounding his throat.

  She peered directly down into Grüsser’s face, marveling at the fact that even though he was still clearly heavy, the man appeared to be oddly gaunt, the folds of his chin less full then they had been the last time she had seen him. “Sarah!” he croaked out, a pained smile forming on his chubby features. “You’re alive.”

  She nodded. “Of course I am, and it’s good to see you alive, as well.” It was very surprising to hear herself saying those words, and shocking to realize that they were true!

  He pulled himself up, a disturbing wheezing sound coming from his throat. “Le Voyageur is here . . . we must run!”

  Seeing that the Paragon had survived had raised a thousand questions, but hearing the Frenchman’s name had thrown them all out of her head except for a single one: “But then, why are you here?”

  “He has my ship. I’ve escaped, but . . .”

  “Wait here,” Sarah said, “I’ll get help.” She stood and turned toward the house, intent on finding Emilio.

  “There’s no time,” she heard the Prussian shout to her.

  She had taken only a few steps toward the main house when the same tearing sound that had preceded the last attack once again split the air.

  Preparing for what would shortly follow, Sarah dropped to her knees, her hands covering her head.

  The second shell landed a few yards away, crashing straight into the house. Despite her attempts to muffle the sound, the blast was deafening. For an instant the walls of the main house seemed to almost bulge as they tried to hold in the force of the blast, then they peeled apart, releasing a devastating blossom of orange fire with bright yellow tips, and black smoke at its center.

  As the deadly flower moved closer, Sarah closed her eyes. She was prepared for death, but didn’t have any desire to see it reach her. Then, she felt something hard pressing against her shoulders and suddenly she seemed to be floating through the air. Was this what it felt like to float up to heaven? It seemed different than she had imagined it.

  When she opened her eyes the dream was shattered. She was tumbling, not climbing. The world turned from blue to brown over and over again, her vision filtered through strands of silver wires that seemed to have wrapped around her, like some kind of fine metal fabric. “Tom!” she shouted a moment before the two of them impacted earth, the wind knocked out of her as she bounced hard against the mechanical man’s metal frame.

  They continued to roll, and Sarah no longer felt invulnerable, but fragile instead. The image of herself as a tiny bird in a metal cage fluttered through her head as they finally rolled to a stop.

  For a moment she simply sat there, unable to move from the Automaton’s wired embrace. “Tom!” she yelled more urgently, making it more of a scream than a shout. “Let me go!”

  She felt something release, and she tumbled onto the ground. Considering the state of the robe as she stood up, she doubted that her dignity had survived intact, but there were bigger issues than her dignity to be considered.

  She looked around for Grüsser. He had landed only few yards away, his clothes smoldering from the flames. Sarah ran and knelt down next to him. She wondered if the Frenchman had intentionally been targeting him. Or if she was the one the old man had been trying to destroy, and the Prussian had simply been in the way.

  She looked back to the burning house. Although it had fared better than the shed had, the flames were already consuming what remained of the building. The fire was working its way up reams of material that covered the walls, sending a twisting column of smoke up into the sky.

  She felt a twinge of longing as she realized that somewhere inside the conflagration her costume was being burned up in the fire, not to mention the bed where she had so recently lost her innocence.

  “Emilio!” she said with a sudden panic. The last time she had seen him he had still been sleeping.

  Sarah saw that the laboratory was still intact, although a shocking amount of smoke was pouring out from the windows and underneath the roof.

  She tried to move toward it, but the smoke was thick. Then she heard a pounding sound from somewhere inside the wall of the train car.

  The heat was intense, and she could feel the sweat pouring out from her skin as she got close, as if it were being squeezed from her.

  She tried to grab the handle, but it was too hot to hold.

  Instead, a pair of welcome metal hands wrapped themselves around the steel. “It seems that you and I are bad . . . luck when it comes to the . . . integrity of . . . buildings.”

  She felt less surprise than she thought she might at Tom’s safe return. “This is not the time for humor, Tom. I need you to save Emilio.” She vaguely remembered Darby telling her that surviving explosions would be exactly the sort of thing that you needed to invent a mechanical man for.

  Tom seized the edge of the train-car door and shoved it open with terrifying ease, the iron lock screeching for an instant, before twisting away and popping it off into the air as if it were constructed from nothing more than tin.

  As the door slid back a cloud of smoke billowed out from the lab. Sarah found herself stumbling backwards even as she saw Tom dive in.

  She found herself being pushed back farther and farther by the flames and the smoke, and after finally finding what seemed to be a safe distance, more long seconds dragged past as she waited for someone to emerge.

  It was only an instant after Sarah was convinced that both man and machine had succumbed to the flames that Em
ilio came stumbling out.

  His head was covered by a leather mask with long rubber hoses dangling from either side. He was moving backwards, dragging a large wooden case behind him, his gloved hands pulling it by a steel handle that had been bolted to its side.

  A moment after, Tom reappeared. He joined Emilio and simply grabbed the box, hoisting it into the air and running out into the yard.

  Emilio ran directly toward Sarah, pulling off his mask as he got near. “Viola?” Emilio shouted as he got closer. “Have you seen her?”

  Sarah shook her head, and felt a twinge of guilt. She hadn’t thought of the girl after the first shell struck.

  She hadn’t seen Emilio’s sister since she had confronted her attempting to seduce Tom. But surely she wasn’t still inside the house? The idea that Viola would have to pay again after having been so badly hurt in the last fight seemed almost beyond imagining.

  Almost in defiance of her thought, something inside the building ignited with a throaty “woomf.” It was a sound that Sarah remembered from when the Darby house had been destroyed. She ducked down, expecting to once again be pelted with shrapnel, but this time the building gave way upward instead of outward, releasing a tremendous fireball up into the air as the roof disintegrated.

  Emilio let out a terrible scream. For an instant Sarah worried that he might have been hurt, but as she saw tears in his eyes she realized that it was a yell of frustration and anger. He had just lost not only everything that he had worked for, but the only family he had left in the world.

  Sarah ran to him and grabbed his arm. “Don’t worry, Emilio. I’m sure she’s safe.” The words sounded hollow as she spoke them, but the idea of giving up hope seemed so much worse.

  “Yes, Sarah.” Emilio nodded, but the tears in his eyes, and the defeated tone of his voice, were in complete disagreement with his words. Worse yet, his expression and posture made it clear that he believed they were already defeated.

  Sarah could feel his depression threatening to roll over her like a wave. The girl might be dead or alive, but Sarah realized she wasn’t about to sacrifice her own life, or that of the man she loved, to find out. She grabbed the arm of his jacket and pulled him forward. “Come on, Emilio, we need to go before he fires again.”