by Kady Cross
“Who’s Sam?” Mila asked, catching Emily’s wrist as though her strike was no more effectual than a leaf on the wind.
Relief washed over her—more potent than the pain in her arm. Mila needed to learn a better sense of her own strength, but Emily wasn’t going to hold a grudge.
“A friend,” she replied, gently pulling free of the girl’s grip. “You shouldn’t sneak up on people like that.”
“Sorry, but I had to wake you.”
Emily propped herself up on her elbow and peered into the darkness where she reckoned Mila’s head should be. “Is something wrong, lass?”
Light flared. Mila held a small lantern that looked to have been made out of a jam jar and various other bits of refuse. She set it on the bed between them and then opened her left hand.
In her palm were the remains of Emily’s spider—the very one she’d spied earlier. It was just a machine—she could build another—but she felt the loss of it keenly. Had it managed to send her location home before being destroyed?
“Why did you do that?” she asked.
“Because Her Majesty saw it and didn’t recognize it. I was afraid of what she might do when she realized what it was and that it was yours.”
She supposed she ought to thank Mila for her consideration, but she couldn’t find it within herself. By now the machines would have gathered the items needed to start the transplant. If her friends didn’t find her soon then she would have no choice but to start the process and then kill Garibaldi. The moment she did that her own life would be forfeit. She didn’t mind dying to prevent the Machinist from walking free…correction, she minded it well enough, but she was willing to sacrifice herself if she could take him with her.
“Get up and grab your things,” Mila instructed, climbing off the cot. “We’re leaving.”
This was an unexpected turn of events. “We are?”
In the lamplight the girl looked fierce—and a lot like Finley. “I may have been built rather than born, but I will eventually be every inch as real as you are. I have a heart that beats, lungs that breathe. I have a voice. A mind. The man in that vat is not my master and I will not be his flesh suit.”
The words flesh and suit were two that never should be used together, Emily thought with a grimace. But if Mila came with her, then Garibaldi would be vulnerable, and if he didn’t die on his own, he probably would once the proper authorities were called in. At the very least he’d be kept in a cell for the rest of his days.
The authorities would want to study Mila, which was another reason Emily couldn’t leave her. The girl hadn’t quite learned to lie, and she was too open for her own well-being. Anyone who talked to her long enough would find out exactly what she was, and then they’d find out about the organites. They might discover her connection to Griffin, as well. And that might bring people sniffing around King House, which was the last thing they needed.
But those weren’t the most important reasons to take Mila with her back to King House. The simple fact was that in this brief amount of time, Emily had formed an attachment to her. She felt responsible for her, as she might a younger sibling. She had to protect her.
Emily pulled on her boots. She’d gone to sleep in her clothes—she was safer that way—and grabbed some tools she couldn’t bear to leave behind. She had no problem stealing them, as they were top-notch, and more than likely had been used by Garibaldi himself.
“All right,” she murmured. “Let’s go. Do you know how to get us out of here?”
Mila nodded. “Follow me.” She extinguished the lantern, but when the cell door opened and the dim light from the corridor filtered in, Emily detected a subtle glow in the girl’s eyes. They were like a cat’s. Was that left over from her construction, or something new the organites had given her? They were the beginning of all life, and responsible for the evolutionary mutations occurring in people as well as machines. With the amount of “evolved” organites that made up Mila’s genetic code it was no surprise that she might have begun to evolve in her own way.
Every mutation just made her that more dangerous, and that much more in need of protection.
Down the rough corridor they crept. There was just enough light for Emily to see one foot in front of the other. She held the leather bag with her few belongings close to her body in case a grasping hand came out of the darkness.
They had to skirt the chamber where Garibaldi slumbered. “Victoria” sat in her chair, “plugged into” the Machinist’s tube. Emily could smell the rank deterioration of her flesh, see the further evidence of decay.
Soon, her metal skeletal system would begin to show through the rotting skin. She’d feel for the creature if it hadn’t abducted her.
That made her think of the big spider with the awful doll head. Where was it? She raised her gaze and saw it—tucked into a corner in the ceiling. Had it seen them? No, it was sleeping; she could hear its snores— the only noise other than the instruments in the lab. The other automatons who were sentient must also be resting. The others would have been powered down.
Mila had moved ahead and Emily quickened her pace to catch up. The girl had longer legs and far more grace than she ever would. That was courtesy of Jasper, she reckoned.
A loud bubbling noise turned her head. Garibaldi moved in his tank, as though caught in the throes of a nightmare.
Mary and Joseph. Were his eyes open?
Her companion opened a door and hissed at her—a gesture for her to hurry up. Clutching the bag tight so it wouldn’t rattle, Emily sprinted over the threshold, heart hammering.
They were in the catacombs where she and Finley had come. She remembered passing by this very spot. As the door closed behind them, she turned to examine it. There was barely a seam in the wall, and a small grate at eye level that a person would miss if they weren’t looking for it. That explained why she’d felt as though someone was watching them—someone had been.
“Is this what the world looks like?” Disappointment practically dripped from her tongue.
Emily smiled. How could she not? “No. This would be just a wee part of it.” The girl was in for a huge surprise once they made it street-side. She reached out and took Mila’s hand in hers. “Come on then, the exit’s this way.”
Side by side they hurried down through the dark passage. They made a turn into a tunnel that was much brighter lit than the one they were currently in. “That’s our way out,” Emily said, squeezing Mila’s fingers.
The girl squeezed back. Emily gritted her teeth. What a bloody strong grip!
As they neared their exit, a man appeared ahead of them. Mila froze, pushing Emily behind her. “Stay back.”
Emily stumbled around her. “Wait. I think I… Sam?”
“Em?”
A ragged sob caught in her throat. He had come for her, just as she knew he would. She bolted toward him. His steps quickened, closing the distance between them. She grinned like an idiot. She’d never been so happy to see him.
Sam’s grin faded as he glanced past her. He reached for her. “Get down!” he yelled as he seized her by the arms and thrust her out of the way. Emily spun into the wall, the rough stone scraping her cheek. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something lunge at Sam.
The smell should have alerted her. It was “Victoria” and she wasn’t alone. Several machines closed in on them. Mila was already fighting two. She might have needed to learn how to read, but she certainly didn’t need to learn how to fight.
Sam pulled a large hammer from his back—the kind workmen used to knock through walls. Holding it with both hands, he swung hard and fast. It connected with the Victoria automaton’s head with a sickening clanging-squish sound.
The head rolled to a spot not far from Emily’s feet. There was a little blood, but it was old and the flesh was split, the head completely caved in on one side. Gray matter leaked onto the ground. Emily was not a squeamish person—she’d performed surgeries on people— but that disembodied head lying rotten and open…th
e smell…
She wretched. Her stomach was empty, and the bitter taste of bile gripped her tongue. She forced herself to move. The Victoria automaton’s body still fought, even though the head was gone, presenting a horrific sight. Sam hammered at it until it fell, and then brought the weapon down hard for one final blow.
“Get out of here,” he growled at Emily, his face splattered with gore. Hoisting the hammer, he approached the oncoming machines.
He didn’t seriously expect her to leave him, did he? To leave Mila? She was made of stronger stuff than that. She had her honor, and she would not turn tail and run like a bloody coward. “I’m not leaving.”
Sam struck another automaton and pulled a small sphere from his pocket. She recognized it immediately.
“Mila!” she cried, running to the girl, who had knocked one of the machines across the cavern and was taunting another. “You have to get out of here.” At least out of the radius of that little metal ball, or her remaining automaton systems would shut down, and Emily didn’t know if that would cause irreparable damage or not.
But it was too late. Sam had already thrown the device into the fray. It beeped three times and then vrrrroosh!
Three of the ten remaining machines instantly shut down, falling limp where they stood.
Mila was not one of them. Emily’s heart gave a sharp thump. Mila was more human than machine now.
And so was that bloody doll-headed spider. A living creature with no conscience and terrible strength. It leaped on Sam with deadly grace. The lad snapped one of the creature’s limbs like a twig. The spider screamed—a high screech that felt like spikes being driven into her ears.
The ground beneath Emily’s feet began to quake. Thud. Thud. Thud. Measure. Rhythmic.
Footsteps.
Slowly, she turned her head to gaze farther down the corridor—into the dark. The footfalls became steadily louder, the ground trembling. The grinding of metal joints, beginning to rust, joined in as a shadow began to emerge from the dark.
It was huge—at least twelve feet high, the top of it just inches lower than the ceiling of the tunnel. It was solid, made of what looked to be sheets and rods of iron carefully crafted and welded together. It had been devised to build train tracks underground, and it was very much like the machine that had killed Sam.
She’d saved him once from one of these monsters; she would not lose him to one now. Emily’s fists clenched as she decided to stay and fight. A flicker of movement caught her attention and she looked down.
The Victoria automaton’s eyes were open. No, they were blinking. Blinking at exactly the same time the small light on the front of the digger flashed.
They were communicating. There were no visible connections so it had to be through the Aether. Why hadn’t the decaying automaton shut down when the sphere went off? Or was it now receiving power from the behemoth? The big machine must have been out of detonation radius—that was the only explanation. Unless…unless Garibaldi had somehow found a way to control his “children” through the Aether. Was he powerful enough to withstand the sphere’s power?
As the mechanical beast drew closer, she spied what looked like a large pickle jar in its torso. It was filled with a greenish goo that bubbled and churned. It looked just like the stuff Garibaldi “slept” in inside his tank. “Victoria” had plugged herself into that tank to communicate with the Machinist.
Was her wild suspicion correct? Was Garibaldi controlling these machines?
As if answering her question the thing’s “hands” came up, the large, serrated shovels of each half snapping together like lobster claws. The thing was headed right for Sam, which was proof that the bloody thing was in Garibaldi’s control. He knew about the attack. He knew what the sight of such a machine might do to Sam.
“Get out!” she shouted at Mila. She knew what she had to do, but this was all for nothing if the girl didn’t escape.
Mila looked bewildered. “I can’t leave you!”
“You have to! Go, now!” Emily picked up a large brick and tossed it to her. Mila coshed her opponent with it until the machine clattered to the floor. And then—with only a moment’s hesitation—she ran toward the light, toward the exit. One of the automatons followed her, but it wouldn’t get far if it went topside.
Emily turned her attention back to the digger lumbering toward Sam. Garibaldi was going to kill him; she knew this without a doubt. She didn’t think, she simply acted. It was the kind of behavior she normally chastised Sam and Finley for, but now she understood it. That bone-deep reaction to someone you love being in mortal danger.
Sam turned as she ran toward the machine. The huge spider had four of its legs wrapped around him and was attacking with the others. He was bleeding but still standing. Another machine struck the back of his knees, buckling them, taking Sam to the ground. The digger moved faster, eager to stomp him with its huge feet.
She jumped.
“Emily!” Sam’s cry echoed in the dank darkness. She didn’t even look. She couldn’t be distracted, not now. The sole of her boot came down on the digger’s thigh. She used that momentum to propel herself onto its back. Great arms swung, trying to reach her, but she flattened herself against the metal, warmed by the machine’s engine.
Her feet found the footholds maintenance workers would use to make repairs. She used these for balance as her fingers pried open the panel high in the center of the digger’s back. It was stuck hard, and she had to pull with all her strength.
The panel flew open. Emily dug her heels in and managed to keep hold of the panel door so she didn’t fall off. The digger was almost to Sam, who was trying to struggle to his feet with four automatons battering him.
The digger pivoted as Emily drove her hand into its control center. The stone wall came flying toward her as the machine sped backward. She leaped up, grabbing the digger’s head and just managed to avoid being crushed to death by wrapping her legs around the monstrosity’s head.
“Em!”
She peered around the digger as it jerked sideways toward Sam. He rose to his feet despite the amount of metal trying to drag him back down. “I’m fine!” she yelled. Quickly, she maneuvered her body into position so she could hang upside down, her feet locked around the machine’s neck as she faced its back.
Emily drove her hands into the panel. It didn’t really matter where. She could have attempted to use her abilities just by touching the external shell, but getting inside worked better, and she didn’t want to take any chances with this one since she didn’t even know if this would work.
It would work, or she’d die trying. Sam would not die today—and not any other day that she was alive to prevent it.
Her fingers wrapped around wires, were scraped raw and pinched by gears. The rough edge of the digger’s shovels tried to grab her legs, but succeeded only in ripping her trousers. Pain radiated up her thigh as the skin there tore open.
Do you really believe you can stop me, child?
Emily froze. Garibaldi?
Who else? You could join me, Miss O’Brien. Your talents are wasted with the young duke, and not even you will be able to save him from me. You know that, don’t you? I will crush him just as I’m about to crush young Samuel. I’ll destroy them all, and you can’t stop me. Not even you are strong enough to do that.
She clenched her jaw as she jostled on the thing’s back. Garibaldi was trying to distract her. “You talk too much,” she growled, then reached down inside herself and pushed.
The digger stumbled. She clamped her legs tighter so she didn’t fall off.
What are you doing?
“I reckon I’m believin’ I can stop you after all, you son of a bitch.” She gripped the internal workings all the harder and released that switch deep inside herself that held her power in check. She had no idea how strong she was, or if she could even affect this monster, but it wasn’t a machine on the verge of becoming sentient— it was just a machine being psychically controlled by a bloody madman.
It was like a wave of ice, or perhaps a jet of fire roaring up from her belly. It both froze and burned her chest and arms, erupting out of her hands with such force sparks of light danced before her eyes.
“Emily!” It was Sam. Gorgeous, stubborn Sam. He’d come for her. Emily smiled as darkness flooded her vision. She couldn’t feel anything but the cold burn in her hands. Couldn’t see. Couldn’t speak.
And then she was falling and there was nothing at all.
Mila jerked to a stop at the top of the steps, her mouth dropping open. All around her people bustled about, metallic horse hooves hitting the cobblestones as wheels clattered behind. Motor carriages zipped past puffing steam and adding their own unique sound to the cacophony that was London.
She’d never seen the city before. In fact, she had no memory of anything other than her crate and the space below.
It was beautiful. It smelled of dirt and flesh and food and horse, and there was a whiff of sewer in the air, mixed with coal dust. Even as she wrinkled her nose she breathed more of it in. How had humans managed to build such an amazing place? How did they function with so much distraction around them?
A clicking on the stairs behind her caught her attention, and she turned in time to see a tall, thin automaton coming after her. It looked like a doll with no face or hair, just smooth, tarnished metal, and a ragged slash where a human mouth would be. Gears ground and clicked at her. It was trying to talk, she realized, but hadn’t evolved enough to form words, poor thing. How did it even see her?
“Go back,” she told it. “You don’t belong up here.” It ignored her and continued its awkward ascent. What did it hope to do to her? She was stronger, surely. Sturdier.
And then she saw its hands—its curved, taloned appendages that shone in the lamplight. Those long claws could rip her open like a fish belly. How did she know how easy it was to slice open a fish?
It hardly mattered. She couldn’t just stand there and wait for the thing to take a swipe at her. Mila turned and began to run. “Automaton!” she yelled, voice rough. “There’s an automaton on the loose!”