“You are behind, old man,” she grinned. “Sixty-three.”
Iris scowled. “Death is nothing to celebrate.”
Jiao looked slightly ashamed, but Danton only shrugged. “Ridding the world of these types is cause for celebration,” he said.
She sighed and shook her head. “We need to regroup. There are many inside, and no telling what else we’ll encounter.” She stood. “Gather the men. Reload all weapons. We will need them.”
No one moved.
No one wanted to disturb the precarious moment, teetering on the edge of impending disaster. Rachel’s heart kept time with the dull pulse of the Machine.
At last, the hooded man on the center throne stood. His black cloak obscured the motion of his feet, and he appeared to float down the steps of the dais. Even when he passed within three paces of her, she could not see his face. He moved past her, entering the star and advancing on the thing at its center. Slowly, as if he were either very old or the air was thicker, he bent and reached a shrouded arm down one side of the box. Half a foot from its base, the arm stopped, appeared to grasp at something, and wrestled with the object for a moment. The arm retracted and he straightened. Without turning, he backed away from the Machine, its hum suddenly changing in pitch. When he did turn, it was to point a crooked finger at Silas.
“What have you done?” The voice was cold and cracked. Even if his words were kind, they would have filled Rachel’s veins with an icy terror. “Fool! Answer me! What have you done?”
There was sweat on his forehead, but Silas did not back away. “I did what you bade me. I built your contraption. I never said I built it to be useful to you.”
The man stood there for a moment, silent and unmoving, before a strange sound bubbled up from his ancient throat. His ominous laughter was worse than his words, and she was glad when it ended. “In your valiant effort to thwart us, you will bring more suffering than you can fathom.” He laughed again. “The ring controls the Machine. When none control the ring… what then?”
There was silence as everyone formed their own answers. Without offering any further information, the mysterious man floated back onto the platform. The silver-haired, younger man gave the other cloaked man a worried look.
A grinding noise emanated from the Machine. Rachel took a step backwards as she felt another breeze stirring, pulling the air into the center of the star. Silas joined her as their guards shifted nervously. The piles of spare parts on the far side of the room rattled and quivered. More than wind was drawn to the Machine now. The sound of shoes skidding on the polished tiles made her look to her left and right. Brotherhood men dropped their weapons in confusion as they were dragged forward. Their eyes widened in fear as they turned and searched for something to grab on to. What started as a gentle tug, now turned into an insistent pull. One man lost his footing entirely; the sound of his fingernails against the flooring churning Rachel’s stomach. And then, the screaming started.
Bits of metal flew through the air, halting over the Machine, then rocketing down at the first victim. Screeches of pain assaulted her ears as the gears and rods embedded themselves into the man’s body. Panic spread through the guards and the rest of the Brotherhood men. As the bowler hats stampeded towards the door, Rachel noticed the three cloaked figures were already gone, likely escaped through a back passageway.
She clutched at Silas’s arm and dragged him back, behind the temporary shelter of a pillar. “How do we stop it?”
He wiped his face with the back of his hand. “I… I’m not sure.”
“You’re not sure?” she yelled, the din of the Machine’s workings becoming hard to hear over. “You built it! You’re the only one that could know!”
“I modified the design very slightly,” he shouted back. “The change was supposed to result in massive friction between the gears, heating it until it either threw a gear and stopped or…” Silas trailed off.
“Or what?”
“Exploded.”
She closed her eyes and thumped the back of her head against the column. “Magnificent. Tell me, what was your plan for when that happened?”
He shrugged. “Honestly, I thought I’d be dead by then and it would be of no consequence.”
New sounds interrupted their conversation. Gunfire. More screams as men trying to flee the Machine reversed course to escape a hail of bullets. Rachel risked a glance behind the pillar. To her horror, more bodies were bombarded with shrapnel, but not to an immediately fatal end. What was happening to them? What twisted goal did the Machine have?
Rachel grabbed his face and stared into his eyes. “Silas, what gruesome purpose does this invention serve?”
He sucked in a breath. “I didn’t want to believe it, but after this I cannot deny it. This infernal contraption…” He swallowed. “It fuses man with machine, creating the ultimate servant… or soldier.”
Rachel felt sick. Looking over at the doorway, she saw the fighting. The Brotherhood were wildly swinging and slicing and firing at the attacking party. Some of these were familiar men. Her crew! Her protective instincts surged. She had to get them out of here. The rescue was appreciated, but if they didn’t leave now…
“Find the other way out.” She spun on Silas and pointed him the other direction.
“Other way?” He looked over his shoulder at her. “What other—”
“Whatever way those three cloaks went!” She cut him off. There was no time for this. “They didn’t use that door, ergo there’s another way. Find it! Now!” She gave him a shove and he started off, breaking free from the momentary grasp of the Machine. She let out a relieved breath as Silas disappeared into the shadows behind the dais.
Setting her sights back on the bottleneck of death at the door, she crept forward. Oddly, she did not feel the tug of the Machine’s magic when she broke cover. When she stood two pillars from the throng, a Brotherhood man went down, his billy club clattering towards her as he was yanked across the floor, howling like an animal crying out for death. Another look behind her told her why. Mutilated bodies lay in heaps, half steel and brass, half flesh and bone. The transformations were failed trials, each one unique in its monstrosity. The Machine appeared to be experimenting with configurations, determining which parts to keep and which to replace in each victim. It was unclear if it was any closer to success than when it began. Rachel was absolutely certain she did not want to see a functional hybrid. She scrambled for the club and charged forward, swinging at the closest bowler hat within reach.
The smell rolled out of the room, over the heads of the scrambling men, and Iris nearly vomited when it hit her. The odor of grease and scorched flesh knocked her back a pace. She barely fired a shot in time to fell a charging wild man. The look in his eye said it plainly enough if she did not already know it; madness lay beyond this doorway.
Unfortunately, so did Rachel. It seemed impossible, but she knew the captain was still alive, still fighting beyond all reasons for giving up. Another man broke through the defenses, this time faster than Iris. Her pistol clicked uselessly as she squeezed the trigger. She was out of ammunition.
A blast of air and a charge of electricity threw her to one side. As she scrambled to her feet, she looked up in astonishment. The discharge came from where she’d been a moment ago: where Edison Maclaren now stood, blinking in shock.
He turned and met her confused stare with a sheepish grin. “Told you I could help.”
“Thank you, Mr. Maclaren.” She tossed her singed hair over her shoulder. “But next time, perhaps you needn’t be quite so close to my side, hm?”
He saluted briefly and stepped away from her. “Yes, ma’am!”
A sudden explosion jettisoned smoke from inside the gathering hall and rocked the corridor. Men spilled out of the doorway, over and on top of one another. It was becoming difficult to tell the living from the dead in the mass of bodies. The fight seemed to be more outside the doorway than in the room on the other side now. As she slashed at another chargin
g madman, she thought she heard a familiar voice over all the other shouts of battle.
She shook her head to clear her confusion. That was Rachel’s voice, but was she yelling at them to fall back? That couldn’t be right. Unless…
Cold comprehension dawned on her. “Pull back!” she shouted over the raging battle. “Let them come out to us! Do not move past the doors!”
Gradually, the fight migrated outwards as the Brotherhood men were given some ground. This new position held less advantage, however, and the odd escapee fled down one of the branching corridors. They seemed to have no interest in their attackers, save for getting past them. Iris could imagine the horror they were running from. She’d seen as much in her dreams.
A few moments more and the melee was mobile. Men ran off in all directions, some fleeing, some pursuing. As a pair of burly figures rushed past her, Iris caught her first glimpse of Rachel since their separation at the monastery. Tears stung her eyes as relief washed over her. Even though the captain was currently embattled with several men in bowler hats and smudged with soot and blood, it was comforting to know she was relatively safe. It had been years since she and Rachel were apart for such an extended period of time.
Another blast from Eddie’s weapon jarred her out of reflection. The tingle of electricity hung in the air as she watched the target drop, twitching with residual shock. Iris stepped over the prone figure and continued her forward progress, her own reloaded pistols firing at enemies who passed too closely. Her singular goal pushed her forward. Another shot. As the man fell, another at his back doubled over. Rachel savagely swung a billy club at his head and his skull splintered with a sickening crack. The two women faced each other, weapons still at the ready, panting from the rush of the brawl. Smaller fights continued around them, but the noise was reduced to a faint background as their eyes met and held. With a rush of emotion, Rachel and Iris flung themselves into a tight embrace. Iris could no longer hide her tears and they cascaded down her cheeks.
Rachel pulled back and held her friend out at arms’ length, grasping her by the shoulders. “Better late than never?” she asked with a sly smile.
Iris wiped the back of her hand across her face. “Nice to see you too. How was your holiday?”
Rachel barked a laugh. “Ha! The service was dreadful, the accommodations sub par, and the porter misplaced my luggage. To top it off, now it seems there’s an angry metal box out to destroy the world.” Another Brotherhood lackey strayed too near them in his flight and Rachel felled him with a swift swing of the club. “Not really one for the scrapbook.”
Iris smiled briefly, then frowned as Rachel pulled her to one side, out of the doorway. “What’s happened?”
“Silas built their Machine, but changed the design slightly. It’s working for the moment, but there’s no way of knowing how long it will continue.” Rachel craned her neck back into the grand hall, unable to disguise her trepidation. As the captain surveyed the interior, one of Yong Wu’s men charged inside. Her mouth opened to call out a warning, but it was too late. The man’s feet went out from under him and he was pulled, screaming, out of Iris’s sight.
Rachel turned away as the screams turned into garbled howls of pain. Iris dropped her pistols and covered her mouth with her hands. She was shaking. The smell of burning flesh assaulted her senses. She grabbed Rachel, pleading with her. “We must leave. Now!”
The captain closed her eyes and her voice dropped. “You know I can’t do that. Not if there’s a chance I can stop it.”
Iris knew the response before the words left Rachel’s lips. The captain felt responsible for the current situation. She might be a bit of a pirate, but she never abandoned her principles.
The grind of machinery grew louder. With a jerk, Iris’s back hit the wall behind her, her hands splayed against the surface as though something was trying to pull her through the solid stone. Rachel remained unaffected, but three other men were sucked into room, the Machine dragging them across the floor as they called for help. Looking around, everyone was being drawn in the same way, though the fighting had taken most people away from the center of the horror. Several men were in a position similar to Iris; others clung to wall fixtures and braced themselves in doorways. Another unfortunate flailed helplessly as he lost his tenuous grip. Rachel recognized the inventor’s apprentice and flung herself at the boy. Grabbing him around the waist, she managed to pull him to the side. As Eddie stuck to the wall, looking relieved but still quite petrified, the Machine claimed two more victims. She spun around in time to see Danton losing his grip on a support column.
Searching her brain for anything that might help, Rachel rushed across the wide hallway and pressed Danton against the column with her body. Reaching around the front of him, she grasped for his belt buckle.
“Don’t get any ideas, Monsieur DuSalle,” she said in his ear. She yanked the leather strap free from the belt loops. “I’m only doing this to save your life.”
“I assure you, Capitaine,” he grunted in reply. “I had no thoughts otherwise.”
“Can you clasp your hands together?” She pushed him harder against the pillar to bring his arms closer.
After a moment’s struggle, Danton managed it. “Done.”
“Hold tight,” she instructed and moved around to the back side. Using the belt, she bound his hands at the wrists. “That’s the best I can do for now, Monsieur DuSalle, but I’m not sure how long it will hold. Try not to die whilst I find a way to stop this madness.”
“I shall endeavor to make it so, Madame le Capitaine,” he said through clenched teeth.
Taking quick stock of any available weapons, Rachel ran back to Iris. As she looked the first mate up and down, she noted the remaining glass vials strapped to her chest. “Lovely harness, Iris dear. Might I inquire about the ampoules?”
“The green are poisonous gas, purple, an acid solution.” Her eyes were tightly closed and she seemed to be struggling to breathe. “Yellow… explosive.”
“Thank you.” Rachel freed two of the bottles of golden liquid. “I’ll only be a moment.”
She didn’t wait for a response. Armed with her new weapons, Rachel slipped back into the lair of the Machine, wary of further explosions. The first blast came from one of the attempted hybrids, but Silas’s alterations meant the Machine could possibly go the same way. The air was hot and ripe with the stench of grease and burning human remains. Choking back a gag, she surveyed the scene. Dozens of bodies littered the floor; their passing marked by pools of blood and discarded scraps of metal. The earliest of the victims were identifiable by the large chunks of missing torsos or heads, the more recent ones missing only limbs or facial features. One man’s face was ripped completely from his skull, leaving only a bleeding, bony mask in its place. A brass pipe protruded from his mouth, a thin wisp of smoke evidence of internal combustion of some sort. She looked away, her focus shifting to the pulsing box at the heart of the eight-pointed star.
She froze. At the base of the Machine, a figure twitched mechanically. Four clunky appendages clanged against the stone tiles as a limp body flopped in response. The man, facing the floor, moaned plaintively, not alive enough to scream, not wounded enough to die. Boxy parts were fused to his limbs, giving him the appearance of a four-legged spider. As she rolled one of the vials in her hand, deciding if she could hit her target from her current position, the Machine preempted her intentions and commanded its gruesome puppet. The metal stumps clomped heavily as it turned in her direction. The temperature rivaled the engine room of the Antigone’s Wrath. Sweat beaded and dripped down her face, leaving tracks in the residue that coated her skin. After the hybrid rounded on her, the man’s tortured face gazed out, silently pleading for her to end his misery. The Machine’s hum shifted from low rumble to a squeal of gears and springs, and the hybrid charged. Without further hesitation, Rachel lobbed one of the vials at the approaching monstrosity.
The resulting blast threw her backwards. She slid across the flo
or, slipping on slick blood and skidding into a corpse. When the smoke cleared, all that remained of the hybrid was a battered, burned ribcage and a pile of scrap.
The Machine idled, as though considering its next move. As Rachel pulled herself to her feet, her muscles complained of fatigue and abuse. Not seeing any other immediate threats, she squared her shoulders and approached her opponent. With every step forward, the temperature increased. Standing outside the gold-lined star, Rachel had to shield her face from the rolling waves of heat. Again, the motorized sound grew louder and higher in pitch, this time accompanied by cries of pain from outside the room as the pull increased. She dared another step. Cogs and tubing and plating of all shapes and sizes whizzed past her head, en route to a new target beyond the room. Terror gripped her heart as screams carried above the whine of the Machine. There was no more time. With an inferno beating at her, she hurled the second vial, barely able to turn away before the resulting explosion sent her flying.
As she pushed herself up, she looked over at the Machine. It was toppled over to one side, smoke trailing up from the dent on its flank. Still, its droning persisted, albeit in a broken protest of what it used to be. Groaning, Rachel hoisted herself to her feet. Metal pieces en route to the unfortunate target dropped to the ground, several of the cogs spinning like a child’s top. The Machine’s power came in furtive spurts of temperature and noise as she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. A few parts flew at her, bouncing off of her body in a last ditch effort to defend against her attack. She pushed through a final layer of heat and threw herself at the battered box.
It screeched and wailed as Rachel turned it over with a loud clunk. The ring was still embedded in the face. She looked around for a weapon. The only suitable item nearby was a large steel pipe impaled in the torso of another corpse. With a grunt she dislodged it, along with bits of entrails fused to the metal. Rachel swallowed the urge to vomit, instead focusing her rage on the cause of all this misery and death.
Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) Page 27