Most of those mechanisms had been damaged or outright destroyed when the Shell had first tried to take control of the building. Hughes’s damaged humanity had been insanely underprepared for the task.
“But what about me?” Eschaton let his hand fall on the steel skin once again. He could feel it feeding on him, hungrily grasping at the energy inside his body. This time, instead of tearing his hand away, he brought his mind to bear.
If he could gather his energy together, surely the opposite must be possible? He concentrated on letting the power draw back into his body, denying the hungry metal its meal. For a moment it almost seemed to be reaching into him, desperate to find the source of the spark that would give it vitality.
For a moment man and metal fought for control, and then, like a dog or horse that had been broken of its wild nature, the steel simply let go. Eschaton pulled his hand away and stared at his pink palm. He rubbed the skin over the stony surface of his arm, enjoying the sensation of soft flesh once again. As he lost himself in it, the flood of thoughts in his brain receded, and a smile appeared on his face. Fortified steel robbed him of power, but it could give him so much more. If his improved humans needed a leader, it would be one clad in shining skin.
A moment later the supple flesh began to transform back into a stonier form, taking with it the soft sensations of humanity. Not wanting to linger on his sacrifice, Eschaton’s thoughts returned to the task in front of him.
He pointed to the cart that had been used to bring the Mercurial Man into the room. “Gentlemen, if you would be so kind as to strap this metal husk to that cart and take him down to my laboratory, there’s a great deal of work to do before we can finally end this, and we don’t have much time.”
Chapter 19: Brothers and Sisters
CHAPTER 19
BROTHERS AND SISTERS
At first, the heat pouring off of his body had given him the extra burst of energy that he had been looking for, but once he had lost Anubis the suit had over-compensated, shooting him high up into the sky. That had sent Nathaniel into a panic, and as he rose into the night sky he lost his ability to control the heat that was pouring off of him. It took only a moment for the fuel inside of the suit to erupt, exploding outward and igniting as it made contact with his flesh. It was a painless experience, but there was no doubt that the Turbine had made his last flight.
As gravity grabbed him and Nathaniel began to tumble from the sky, he fully expected that his glass body would shatter on impact with the paving stone. He wondered what it would feel like to have his thoughts be literally strewn across the ground.
The impact was terrible and jarring, and for a moment he could feel nothing at all. Then, as sensation began to return to him, he could feel long cracks running deep into his flesh. But despite the terrible fall, he had not been shattered. Instead of the road, he had landed in the foul mix of dirt and stinking muck that filled the yard behind one of the tenements.
Realizing his predicament, he once again gave thanks that his sense of smell had been taken away by his purification, and wondered again at the strange silver entity that now lived inside him. It seemed that even though he had been robbed of his humanity, something in him now was determined to keep him alive far past anything that any mere human would have been able to withstand.
By the time he pulled himself back to consciousness, a number of the wretched tenants had come down to stand on the back stoop and stare. One blond-haired child pointed at him and said, “Seraph!”
It was at that moment when he realized that Darby’s wings were still attached to his back, and that he was, quite literally, burning. He was sure if he had been able to see himself, a creature of silver and fire covered in filth, he would have considered himself some kind of demon, but he was flattered that the child had chosen to put him on the side of God.
He sat up, slipping his arms out of the straps that had held the wings onto his back. He stood and looked at the remains of the contraption that had once let him soar through the sky. It was amusing that the child had considered him an angel only after he had fallen from heaven.
As broken as they were, it was hard to leave the wings behind. But there was no purpose to them any longer. He found himself pleased that there had been one last opportunity to take to the skies.
No one watching complained when he had grabbed a sheet from a clothesline on his way to the street. They were too awed by their celestial visitor.
As a sheet-covered figure on the streets of the city, he was more invisible than he would have been in his transparent skin. People in New York ignored what they didn’t want to see, and as he stumbled through the streets he had no thought of where he would go. Finally he came upon the idea of going back to the Stanton mansion. If Sarah was truly alive, as Anubis had told him, he was certain that she would return to her home eventually. Meanwhile, he was fairly certain that Jenny Farrows would take him in, no matter what his condition.
He arrived by the servant’s entrance, knowing that if anyone was going to recognize him in his altered state it would be the staff, but it couldn’t be O’Rourke. The old butler simply wouldn’t be patient enough to hear out his story of tragedy before either calling the police or attempting to do away with him. At the very least, he was sure that he would be facing a slammed door.
But he had been wrong about that. The old man had let him in without a word. Perhaps he was simply happy to discover that not all the members of the Stanton family were dead.
The butler had quickly alerted the maid, and she had been instantly sympathetic. He’d spent a day stashed in the basement, perilously close to stacks of highly flammable books and papers. Knowing what the consequences might be, he had turned the maid down when she had offered him a drink, and instead discovered that he could still eat food after a fashion, although watching his digestive process in the mirror had, in retrospect, been the most disturbing incident of his transformation so far.
After only a short period he had quickly become bored sitting around the Darby house. It had taken him only a little while to remember the hidden entrance into the walls, and even less time for him to begin exploring it once again.
He had been in the Industrialist’s room when Sarah had arrived, going through the drawers and marveling at all the outfits that Alexander Stanton had created for his other persona.
Holding a costume again, Nathaniel had been fantasizing about what kind of costume he might wear if he was ever to become a hero again—thinking that perhaps he could become what that child had imagined him to be, wearing a pair of glass wings.
Nathaniel had been lost in thought when the wall opened, revealing Sarah and Grüsser on the other side.
The fat German had run when he saw him, and it had taken the rest of them to stop Nathaniel from attacking the traitor. He supposed it was a good thing that they had. Grüsser had, in the end, been loyal to Sarah, and he supposed that had to count for something.
Finding him in her father’s closet had obviously been a shock, but she sent everyone else away, and they sat in the office. Sarah looked as if she had spent the last few months in an asylum or a nunnery.
But despite her lack of respectable clothing, or perhaps because of it, she seemed oddly suited to be sitting in her father’s chair.
“How do you feel, Nathaniel?”
He looked away. “I’m fine, Sarah, really.”
“It doesn’t hurt?”
“No.” He flexed his hands and watched the flesh at his joints flake and crack as he moved his fingers around. The silver inside him immediately moved to repair the damage. “It’s more strange than painful.”
“I’m truly sorry, Nathaniel.”
He nodded. “I’m sorry, too.”
Sarah canted her head to the side. It was a look she only gave when she was truly interested in something, or truly confused. “About what?”
“For the way I treated you that day in the Darby house.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. That was all a lifetime
ago.”
“Anubis told me that you’d met him. He said that you told him I always found a way to give up.”
Sarah’s eyes grew wide. “You met him?”
“We escaped from the Hall together. Did you know he’s a Negro?”
“I do,” Sarah said. “Where is he?”
“I don’t know. We were flying, and then my wings stopped working. He was falling . . .”
“No,” Sarah said. “Do you think he’s dead?”
“I don’t know. I fell from the sky as well. I could have been killed.” He took a pause for a breath. “Maybe you think I should have been.”
“Nathaniel, I never meant to—”
He cut her off, having heard all he needed to. Anubis hadn’t been lying to him about any of it.
He supposed he should have known. For a moment he was angry at her, all of his feelings of betrayal coming back in a rush. But beyond all that he heard Alexander Stanton’s final words. “He told me to protect you,” he said.
“Who?”
“Your father. I was there when he died—I tried to save him, I wanted to, but I had been . . .” He couldn’t tell her the whole truth. He had been drinking, and it cost Alexander Stanton his life. He couldn’t forgive himself, why would he expect her to? “It was terrible. He died in my arms.”
“Oh, Nathaniel.” Sarah stood up and walked around the desk to him. For a moment he wondered what would happen if he started to cry. Would the silver inside of him leak out? Would he start to burn again?
He gathered himself together. “He told me something else, something he wanted to tell you.”
“What was it?”
“Darby’s will. The old man had wanted you to become a Paragon, in his will.”
“That’s . . .” Sarah laughed nervously, and then stopped herself. “Section 106. That’s what it was.” She looked away from him, and put her hand up to her chin and drew in a deep breath. “Why didn’t he tell me?”
“He had it secretly removed.” Nathaniel felt a pang of guilt. He could see that she felt betrayed. “He was only trying to protect you, Sarah.”
She turned back to him, and now there were tears in her eyes. “You were all trying to protect me. And look how it turned out.”
“You’re alive, at least.”
“And so many others are dead, and you’re . . .” Sarah’s words trailed off.
“What am I, Sarah?”
“I’m sorry, Nathaniel. For a while I thought that perhaps I could be a hero. I thought that the world needed me. But now you’re here, and Grüsser.”
“You can’t rely on him, Sarah. I promise you that he’ll fail when you need him most.”
“He had some horrible device attached to his back. He was under Eschaton’s control.”
Nathaniel clenched his hands together and heard them crack as they splintered all over again. “I know all about it, but that’s what it takes to be a hero.”
Sarah leaned back against the desk, looking slightly deflated. “You all keep saying that, but who knows what we would do in that situation?” She shook her head. “Darby wanted me to be a Paragon, but the Paragons are gone now. Maybe none of us are that strong.”
“Look at me, Sarah.” She did, staring almost fearlessly into his face. He realized at that moment that he was still smitten with her. “It seems to me that while everything else has fallen, you’ve managed to climb up. I can’t say I understand it. Being a hero isn’t easy for anyone, but it’s what you do in those moments when the world is falling apart that makes you special. That day, on the bridge, it was you, not me, who faced off against that madman.”
When she raised her head, she was smiling. “I think that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Nathaniel Winthorp.”
“I love you, Sarah.” The words tumbled out in a confused jumble, but he made his way through all of them.
“I know you do, Nathaniel. I love you too, but not the way you want me to.”
He nodded and turned away for a moment. “I know. Who could love this monstrous thing I’ve become?”
Sarah stepped forward and took his hand. “You and I would have been a terrible match no matter what you looked like. Not to mention that it would have been a scandal of epic proportions.”
His heart sank, but not as far as he’d expected it to. “And you’ve found that Italian fellow.”
“Emilio. Yes, I guess I rather have.”
“And he’s nice to you?”
She smiled. “He is nice. And an inventor.”
“Like Darby?”
“Different, I think. I don’t think anyone is going to be like Sir Dennis ever again.”
“I miss the old man. I think he would have been able to put a stop to all of this.” He stood up from his chair and sat on the desk next to her.
“That’s what Eschaton thought, too. It’s why he had him killed.”
Nathaniel looked around the room at all the things that had belonged to Alexander Stanton. Sarah had lost both parents now—the same as him. This home was hers now, as were the responsibilities that came with it. “You need to stop Eschaton.”
“Me? What am I supposed to do?”
“We’re all that’s left of the Paragons now. And if he has Tom . . . I know Eschaton wanted him very badly, he told me that himself. With the Automaton he must be very close to completing his plans.”
She shook her head. “I can’t do it alone, Nathaniel. I’ll need your help.”
He was stunned. “You’ll need my . . .” She wanted to lead them? Being a Paragon was one thing, but the idea that she would lead this group when there was a perfectly serviceable man to take on that role . . .
He considered denying her. What use would a woman be in battle? But then, what use had Darby ever been in a fight? It was his mind, not his fists that had made him a great leader. And what good had he ever been really? “The last thing your father said to me before he died was ‘Do more. Win.’”
She shook her head slowly, in wonder. “It certainly sounds like him.”
Nathaniel frowned. “I’m not sure that we could win even if we still had all the Paragons. He’s incredibly powerful now.”
Sarah closed the gap between them. “My father could be very demanding at times. Just do your best, and we’ll go from there.” It was ridiculous to think that she might give him orders, but looking at her, seeing the set of her jaw and the determination in her eyes, he realized that she possessed something that he never would.
Nathaniel laughed. “My best could be better.” He suddenly felt a burst of heat surging through him. “Sarah! Get away!” What had set him off? His anger? His resignation?
He stepped back from the desk, and looked around the room. The walls were loaded with books. If it came to it, he would run outside rather than see this house burn down like the Darby mansion.
“What is it, Nathaniel?”
“I’m not . . .” He held up his arms. They were rapidly filling with silver, and the panic that struck him seemed to be emanating from the very core of his body. “I’m not in control of what’s happened to me.”
She took another step toward him and reached out a hand. “Perhaps you just need someone to trust you.”
He shook his head. The heat was already starting to pour off of him. He needed to get away. “Stay back, Sarah! I’ll hurt you.”
“No,” she said firmly, “you won’t.” She took a step closer, and Nathaniel found himself jumping back.
“Now, take my hand.”
“I can’t!” He felt the old panic rising further. And underneath it all was the overwhelming urge for another drink. So many times he thought he had overcome his weaknesses only to rediscover them again and again. He had destroyed everything he ever cared about, except for Sarah. Now he was about to kill her as well.
“You can,” Sarah said, but he could see that the heat was affecting her. He needed to run. “You can,” she repeated, “you just can’t do it alone. None of us can. And I need your help, a
nd I need your power to stop Eschaton.”
He closed his eyes, but he could still see the world, blurred and refracted through his transparent eyelids. The panic swirled, like the silver inside of him. Then he could feel her hand in his. She must have been terribly burned, but as her fingers gripped his, he could feel the heat draining away. “All right, Sarah. You win.”
“We’ll win, together,” she replied, and when she brought her other arm around his shoulders and smiled, for an instant Nathaniel believed her.
Chapter 20: Declarations of Lust
CHAPTER 20
DECLARATIONS OF LUST
As he placed the living metal against the girl’s face, the Frenchman smiled with satisfaction. So much had happened in the short time since he had returned from his successful attempt to recover the mechanical man, and this would be the final triumph. “Thewe you go, my deaw. We are almost weady to begin.”
She looked up at him and smiled, the flesh still twisting underneath the mask. “Am I beautiful?”
It was a ridiculous question for so many reasons, not least of which was that female beauty had never much interested the old man, even in his more . . . virile days. But he knew enough to know that women often demanded a more subtle touch than the usual hammer blows he tended to wield. “You awe gowegeous,” he said, attempting to appease her. “But of couwse, we have so much mowe to do.”
She nodded groggily and smiled. The influence of the opium he had given her was fully in effect. “Now, my deaw,” le Voyageur said, picking up two vials and holding them out in front of her. “Siwver ow Gowd?” The metallic liquids inside swirled around, occasional bolts of light sparkling in each of them.
She squinted slightly and leaned forward, the mask shifting slightly on her face. Placing the vials back into their velvet-lined box, he reached out and gently pushed her back down against the metal table. “Relax, my deaw.” He pulled one of the leather straps across her and into the buckle before readjusting the plate. If it slipped while she was in the chamber there was no telling what the results would be.
Power Under Pressure (The Society of Steam) Page 29