Power Under Pressure (The Society of Steam)

by Andrew P. Mayer

  Pulling himself back to his feet he turned to take another step toward his attackers.

  “No,” Anubis yelled at him. “We need to go!”

  He looked up at the jackal and saw that he was holding up the wings that Darby had created for him—the suit that had allowed him to fly across the sky in a previous life. With his new body there wouldn’t be any need to wear the protective garment with the wings.

  “I’ll be back for you, monster,” he told Eschaton as he ran up to Anubis and heaved the pack up on his shoulders. The suit felt much lighter than it had when he was simply a man. It took only a moment to strap himself in.

  “I’ll always be ready for you, Mercurial Man. After all, I’m your creator.”

  He felt his anger rising, but this would be the wrong time to rediscover his flame. “All you’ve done is given me the tools that I need to destroy you!” For a moment he was unsure whether or not the suit would still work, but when he turned the dial, the pack flared to life. It seemed that Eschaton was still more interested in studying Darby’s work than destroying it.

  “Grab onto the straps,” Nathaniel told Anubis. When the Negro grabbed onto him, he felt a slight wave of revulsion, but he was no longer a man of any color. What right did he have to judge?

  “Where are we going?” Anubis asked.

  “Up,” Nathaniel replied. The turbines engaged, and they lifted up into the air, slowly at first, and then gaining speed. They crashed through the stained-glass ceiling and into the night.

  Chapter 16: Destiny, Delivered

  CHAPTER 16

  DESTINY, DELIVERED

  Jenny Farrows nodded solemnly as the stone-faced lawyers in their black suits delivered the bad news to the staff of the Stanton mansion.

  To be honest, she could barely make heads or tails of what they were actually saying, but the intent was clear: her life as she had known it was now over. She had been expecting it for weeks, and their arrival had been almost a relief.

  Jenny had never had much patience for lawyers, and although she tried to never judge people simply by their appearance, these men were clearly, deliberately attempting to be imposing. They wore long, almost painfully old-fashioned tailcoats, with tall black hats, and thick mutton chops.

  They had arrived at nine o’clock exactly. Their timing had been so precise, in fact, that their knocking had almost been missed under the loud chimes of the old grandfather clock in the hall.

  And once the door had been opened, they had pushed past Mr. O’Rourke and marched straight into Alexander Stanton’s office. The old butler hadn’t really been himself since his employer’s death, and he sat sputtering while the lawyers slowly covered the old oak desk with piles of documents. When they took a crowbar to the locked drawers, Jenny had been forced to pull him away before he expired on the spot.

  She had tried to fix O’Rourke a cup of strong tea, but he shooed her away, holding a handkerchief to his eyes while complaining about the dust. She left him in the corner, the butler finally looking every one of his far-too-many years.

  The lawyers had been only the first of their visitors that day. Next came the movers, their thick leather shoes creaking across the floorboards of the house as they began to pack up the furniture.

  Finally the staff was brought to the office and asked to sit in chairs that had been brought from all over the house. Jenny could only imagine how angry Alexander Stanton would have been to have his sanctum invaded by servants. The lawyers were blissfully unaware of their transgression as they droned on and on about severance and final payments.

  Despite her lack of understanding, she had begun to cry almost immediately. One thing was made perfectly clear: the Stanton mansion was being emptied and everything inside of it was being sold off. Today would be their last day.

  The younger lawyer—and young was a relative term—shuffled through his stack of envelopes before picking one and sliding out a sheaf of white pages. He waved them through the air as if the words they contained might fly off the page. “This,” he said very loudly, “states that young Miss Stanton has been declared legally deceased.”

  He began to slip the document back into its folder and Jenny found herself wanting to scream. It was, after all, utterly untrue! She had, with her own eyes, seen Sarah Stanton alive and well only a few days ago! But the girl had sworn her to secrecy, and foolishly, Jenny had allowed Sarah to do it.

  It was still more of the nonsense, secrets, and lies that had already devastated the Stanton family. At least now, with the house finally gone, there was little more grief that could be added to the never-ending tragedy. Although, Jenny supposed with a grimace, if Sarah were to die for real, she would be the only one who would bear the burden of knowing that she had died twice.

  “As the family has no other heirs, the house will be auctioned off to the . . .” The lawyer stopped for a second as a loud, but muffled, shout came from outside the room. He waited a moment, cleared his throat with a loud “ahem,” and started again. “As I said, with the death of . . .”

  The commotion from the hallway was louder this time, and much closer. Jenny could make out words as well. “Well, I am here, and I would like you to get out of my house!”

  Jenny jumped to her feet, “Sarah!”

  “Now really,” the lawyer said. “That’s nonsense . . .” His words were interrupted by the shuffling of chairs as most of the other members of the house staff leapt to their feet and surged to the library doors.

  Jenny had reached them first, and when she threw the door back what she saw instantly brought fresh tears to her eyes. Not only was Sarah Stanton standing in the main hallway—alive and well—but she had brought Emilio, the Italian boy, with her. Grüsser also stood by her side, looking none too well.

  Sarah was clearly angry, her finger pointed at the oldest of the trio of lawyers, his crooked mouth hanging down at the shock at what must have been the doubly confusing reality of not only being chastised by a woman, but by one who was, by all accounts, deceased. “But . . . but you’re dead,” the old counselor sputtered, his shaking hand holding up the envelope that contained legal proof of her demise.

  Sarah seemed unimpressed by the man’s paper shield. “But as you can see, I am clearly alive. So, if you would be so kind as to have your burly gentlemen return what they’ve stolen from my house, I’ll send round my attorney to deal with the rest of this nonsense at my earliest convenience.”

  “Miss Stanton!” Jenny said again.

  Sarah turned to Jenny and beamed. “Jenny! I’m so glad to see you still here!” She came and gave her friend a hug. “I’m sorry I’ve been gone for so long, but I believe it’s high time that we got this house back into shape.”

  For a moment Jenny and the rest of the household staff were left speechless. Unlike the others, however, the only miracle of Sarah Stanton’s return was the fact that the girl had finally come to her senses. “But, Sarah, what are you wearing?”

  The girl’s clothes were a mess. She looked as if she had just broken free from an asylum, wearing nothing more than a plain black dress, her hair pulled up into a sad, straggling bun.

  “It was the best I could get under the circumstance.” For an instant Jenny was glad that Mr. O’Rourke had been unable to answer the door. If he had, he might not have let Sarah in.

  When she let go of the girl, Jenny realized the rest of the staff were clearly in some form of shock at the resurrection of their mistress, no matter what she was wearing. Most of them were open-mouthed, and a few clearly had tears in their eyes, Mr. O’Rourke included.

  Jenny let her matronly instincts take over, defusing the situation before it exploded into hysterics. “You heard Lady Stanton,” she said sternly. “It’s time to get back to work!”

  The staff glanced over at her, but they were still clearly too entranced by the still-living form of Miss Stanton to fully react. Jenny smacked her hands together twice, unleashing the sharp sound that was her trademark amongst the staff. “Chop chop! There
will be plenty of time for gawking later!”

  The familiar noise seemed to have broken the spell. Eloise, the youngest scullery maid, looked at Sarah and smiled before she walked through the door. “It’s good to have you back, ma’am.” The girl paused for a moment before continuing, a blush rising to her cheeks and the hint of a tear in her eye. “And it’s good you being alive and all, ma’am.”

  Sarah took the comment graciously. “Thank you, dear.” Jenny couldn’t help noticing that between the maid and the mistress of the house, it was the servant who looked far more presentable, but she forced herself to swallow her smile.

  If she had let the girl know that she’d found the comment amusing, it would take weeks to undo the damage. “All right, Eloise, we are all happy to see that Miss Stanton has returned to us safe and alive, but it’s time to get back to work.” She waved her hand in the direction of the girl, who managed to move as if she were somehow being blown by the wind that came from Jenny’s waving fingers. She waved it in the direction of the rest of the staff, blowing them all back toward their work like leaves in the wind. “Now the rest of you!”

  For a moment there was confusion amongst the rest of the staff. The butlers, footmen, maids and cooks all seemed unsure exactly what it was that they were supposed to do next.

  Jenny let out a sigh. It had clearly been far too long since there had been anyone in the house to do anything for. Jenny gave Sarah a long look, letting her know that she considered her responsible for this terrible state of affairs.

  “My friends and I could use something to eat,” Sarah said helpfully.

  “And a bath, and some clothes!” Jenny added, shaking her head slightly at the thought of the mistress sitting at the head of the dinner table looking like an urchin.

  Finding their purpose, everyone moved at once, expertly sliding past each other as they filed out of the office and into the hall.

  In an instant they had fallen back into a pattern that had never seemed to quite come together since the day Alexander Stanton had died.

  After only a few seconds the room was cleared of the household staff, besides Jenny. She remained behind with Sarah, Grüsser, Emilio—and the lawyers, who simply stood quietly in the corner.

  Jenny was so thrilled by Sarah’s return, she was still tempted to embrace her again, even if she had only arrived at the last possible moment before they had all been turned out of their home.

  Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Jenny instead nodded in the general direction of the heavily-bearded gentlemen. Even though their features were hidden by their whiskers, there was no denying that the look on their faces was very sour indeed.

  Sarah returned her nod, and walked over to the lawyers. “Can I help you with anything further today, gentlemen? I’d think you’d have your hands full making sure that all the family belongings were being returned to their proper places.”

  One of the lawyers turned to her. He was tall and thin, and Jenny thought the man’s pinched and glaring features along with the unkempt gray eyebrows sticking over the top of his spectacles made him look a great deal like an owl. “Well, Miss Stanton,” he hooted.

  “If that is indeed who you are . . .” another one of the lawyers intoned.

  “You have picked a most inopportune moment to return,” the owl lawyer said.

  Sarah turned to the man who had questioned her identity. He was the youngest of the three, although that didn’t make him actually “young.” His beard was scraggly and long. He’d clearly grown it out to try and make himself look older.

  Sarah seemed equally unafraid of all of them, no matter their age. “Were you actually trying to tell me that you don’t think I’m Sarah Stanton? Certainly a room full of servants who recognize me should be enough proof that I am who I say I am.”

  The third lawyer was taller but rounder than the other two. “Unless,” he intoned, “you’ve brought the entire household into your scheme.”

  “It’s her,” Emilio said innocently. “Who else would she be?”

  “A more important question is,” the round man said, “exactly who are you?”

  Jenny watched Sarah’s brow furrow. “This is ridiculous,” Sarah said. “I want you to bring back my things now, and then I want you all to vacate my house, immediately.”

  “Dead or alive,” the tallest lawyer intoned, “you’re not in much of a position to demand anything.”

  “And whether or not you’re here in fact,” the round one chimed in, “you’re still legally dead.”

  “But she’s not actually dead,” Jenny reminded them.

  “That,” the owlish man said, leaning forward so that he was peering at Jenny over the top of his spectacles, “is for the courts to decide.”

  “Ach!” Grüsser said. “I have had more zen enough ov zis nonsense!” He blustered forward. “Do you know who I am?”

  The round lawyer answered him. “Yes. I believe you’re Helmut Grüsser, the Submersible.”

  “Und am I legally dead?”

  “No,” the tall man replied, “but I do believe you’re wanted for questioning in connection with the murder of Alexander Stanton.”

  “Vas?” He shouted out, his face suddenly turning so deeply red that Jenny half expected to see steam rising up from his ears. His hands had balled into fists, and Jenny could see that things were quickly heading from bad to worse. If they were going to rescue the household, they would need the help of someone else. “Sarah,” she said stepping forward, “doesn’t your family have a lawyer?”

  Sarah nodded. “Quite right, Jenny. Mr. Cleeves will be calling on you gentlemen soon.”

  “We know him very well,” the tall one said.

  “He was the one who signed the paper declaring you deceased,” the round one added.

  “And I’m sure you’ll get to know him much better now that I’m no longer dead.” Sarah’s voice was rising with each word, “So until then, could you please leave?”

  The men, clearly startled to have been challenged by a woman, stared at each other quietly for a moment. Then, as if they had communicated in some unspoken language, the men began to simultaneously bundle up their papers. “All right, Miss Stanton,” the owlish one said. “But we’ll be expecting to hear from Mr. Cleeves in the next few days.”

  “Fine,” Sarah said, “But if you’ve emptied my room . . .”

  “No, Sarah,” Jenny said, hoping that the girl was probably looking to find something decent to wear, no matter how badly out of season it might be. “Your things are still here.”

  “Well, that’s some good news, at least.” Sarah replied. “Now, Mr. O’Rourke, if you could be so kind as to see these gentlemen out . . .”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He nodded. “And it is good to have you back, ma’am.”

  Jenny’s eyes widened with surprise. Had the old butler just given Sarah Stanton a compliment? It was almost unbelievable. But then again, a lot of things about the day were turning out to be stranger than she had imagined possible.

  Sarah and the others waited in silence while the lawyers vacated the room. Even though she had won this battle, Jenny couldn’t help but notice that Sarah wasn’t smiling.

  And as the office door shut, Sarah sighed and plopped herself down into the large leather chair behind her father’s desk. The springs let out a slight groan as she leaned back in the seat. She let out a longer, weary sigh. “I knew I never should have come back.”

  As happy as she was to see Sarah back in the family house, her time away had clearly done nothing for her manners. “Then why did you?”

  “They blew up my house!” Emilio said.

  “You mean your junkyard? What happened?”

  “It vas le Voyageur,” Grüsser said.

  “Who’s that?” Jenny asked the Prussian. “And pardon my asking, but where did you come from? Last I heard, you were with King Jupiter.”

  And then another question suddenly and violently sprang into her mind. “And where is Viola?” And then a
nother: “And what happened to Tom?”

  “Enough!” Sarah said, sitting up in the groaning chair. “I know there’s a lot to catch up on, Jenny, but we don’t have very much time.” Seeing her sitting in her father’s seat, it was impossible for Jenny to ignore just how much like Alexander Stanton Sarah had become over the last few months.

  “Well, I’m glad you came back when you did, or you would have found nothing but empty halls.”

  “Is very nice,” Emilio said. The boy looked uncomfortable, unsure how he really felt about such a residence after the one he’d come from.

  “Everyone needs a home,” Jenny said.

  “And I had one, in Brooklyn.”

  Jenny just shook her head, refusing to say again how she felt about Sarah living in a junkyard.

  “And now that we are back,” Sarah continued, “It won’t be long before Eschaton knows we’re here.”

  “Und by ze looks of der lawyers,” Grüsser added, “Ich don’t think zat he vill need to use any of his powers to stop us.”

  Jenny crossed her arms and stared at the motley crew. “I know that this is all terribly important, but perhaps you should all take a moment to compose yourselves before you go gallivanting after a villain who can throw bolts of electricity through the air.”

  Sarah nodded. “Quite right,” she said, surprising Jenny with her agreement. “We need a plan.”

  “Sarah,” Emilio said, “Maybe you need to sleep first?”

  “I am tired, my dear,” Sarah said to the Italian boy, adding even more questions to Jenny’s list, “but I have a few things I need to check on first.”

  Jenny had hoped for more of a reunion before she was going to be forced to reveal all that had happened since the last time she had seen Sarah, but it seemed that the new mistress of the house was bound and determined to deny her any opportunity to take things slowly. “Sarah, before you open up the wall, there’s something I should probably tell you first.”

  “I’m sure it can wait, Jenny,” Sarah said. She grabbed the gas lamp and gave it a pull. There was a solid thunk as the mechanism that controlled the secret panel engaged, and the portrait of Alexander Stanton began to rise up into the ceiling, along with the wall behind it. “I know you must think it’s terribly important, Jenny, but I’m sure that whatever it is, it can wait until after I’ve had a chance to check on—”