Hearts of Smoke and Steam (The Society of Steam, Book Two)

by Andrew P. Mayer

  Daylight poured in through the irregular windows on the roof, giving the whole thing an airy feeling, although it also meant that the space was close to the same temperature as the outside air. “Isn't it a bit cold in here?” she asked.

  Vincent laughed. “The main boiler sits right under the floor. You can ask Emilio if he thinks it's cold in here once we've fired that up.”

  A terse “Sí,” was all Emilio said in reply. Sarah was beginning to wonder if she'd done something to make him angry.

  As they walked toward the larger benches at the back, something on the wall caught Sarah's eye. She stopped and turned towards it. “What's that?” she asked.

  The hanging object was vaguely human-shaped, and sat half-hidden in the gloom. She couldn't quite place it, but there was something about it that was naggingly familiar.

  “Is the Wasp,” Emilio said. “Is just a sculpture.”

  Sarah wasn't so sure. The head of it was a leather mask with a pair of large glass lenses on the front of it, and a series of metal louvers that came down over the mouth. The arms were almost comically long, and covered with some kind of complicated machinery from the elbow to the wrist, where there were a pair of bulbous springs. From there, the “gloves” tapered up to a pair of chisels that stuck out at least three feet from where the hands would have normally ended.

  There were no actual legs, only a pair of steel braces, and number of flat-tipped metal spikes around a pair of almost comically wide shoes. A series of tubes ran out from the shoulders, connecting to an object that hung on the wall next to it that appeared to be a portable steam boiler.

  “It's looks more like a costume than a sculpture…” She moved a bit closer. “Were you planning on becoming a Paragon, Mr. Smith?”

  Vincent laughed. “Nothing so dramatic, Miss Standish. But you are correct. It was meant to be worn. Now it's just an old prototype. A memory of a previous flirtation with technology.”

  “Why isn't it out in the garden with the other rejects?”

  Vincent stepped up to it and stroked his hand along one of the chisels. It was a casual gesture, but to Sarah's eyes it seemed almost like the kind of loving caress a father might give to his child. “Because I'm rather fond of it, I'll admit.” He turned around, standing between her and the suit. “But nothing came of it. It was simply a little idea that I had—a dream of another time.” Vincent said nodded wistfully. Then, with a serious look on his face, the showman stared straight into Sarah's eyes. “One that never managed to get beyond its formative stages. Now, if we could keep moving.”

  “Well, whatever it is, it's very pretty,” Sarah added, trying to get a closer look. It certainly reminded her of something, but the Wasp had been placed in such a way that it seemed enveloped by more shadow than light.

  Vincent's tone softened, but was clearly more urgent. “I'm sorry to hurry you, my dear, but I'm afraid I don't have all day. Perhaps we could get on to your request?” He began to walk toward his large worktable at the far end of the room, and gestured for them to follow.

  Sarah frowned. There was something about the costume that bothered her, but nothing, it seemed, that she'd be able to put together right now. Very shortly, it would be time to show Vincent Smith the Automaton's heart, and she still was far from comfortable with the idea.

  “Well then, let's take a closer look,” Vincent spun open a vice with a single well-placed tap on the spindle. He put the gear into it, and then spun it closed again just as smoothly.

  “Now, before I begin, it would help immensely if you could tell me what it is, exactly, that this object does.”

  From the look on Emilio's face, he was at a loss to invent an answer to Vincent's question. She supposed that considering his English, that wouldn't seem too out of place, but one of them would need to come up with something, and very quickly.

  Instead, it was Vincent who broke the silence. “Surely it has a purpose?”

  “Is a regulator,” Emilio sputtered out. At least he was trying to improvise, but it didn't sound convincing to her.

  Vincent stared at it with a puzzled look. “You mean it controls a regulator valve?”

  “Sí,” he said curtly. It was all Sarah could do to not roll her eyes and sigh.

  “I have to say, it's genuinely remarkable.” Vincent reached up to grab a pair of calipers off the tool rack in front of him. “And I'm not even sure what this alloy is made of. It's clearly a kind of brass, but there's something else about it…Have you tried just flattening it and seeing what will happen?”

  “No press.”

  “He stamped it out of a scrap of metal he found at his junkyard,” Sarah said, hoping that might cover their tracks.

  “Is that so?” Vincent picked up a magnifying glass and stared more closely at the trapped cog. “Well, it's a very intricate design for that. In fact, before whatever happened to it happened, I think this is as close to a perfectly turned gear as I've ever seen.” He put the glass down and turned to face Emilio. “You didn't make this, did you?”

  Sarah cringed as Emilio shook his head.

  “Could you show me the object it came from?”

  For an instant Sarah actually felt better. At least they had reached a moment of truth.

  Then, with an almost blinding flash, she remembered where she had seen the suit before. Her eyes widened with recognition, and no small look of terror. She grabbed Emilio's arm. “We need to go.”

  “Is everything all right, my dear?” Vincent asked. “I'm sure that we must be boring you with all our talk of gears and alloys.”

  “No, it's fine, really.” She tugged Emilio's arm and glared at him. They were in trouble, and there was no time to lose. “I just realized we're late for another appointment.” She tried to smile. “It's about what's in the box.”

  Vincent did not look like he believed her.

  Emilio stepped forward. “Sarah and I will talk. Maybe a minute?”

  “Well yes, of course.” Vincent rose up from his stool, and took the opportunity for a stretch before reaching into his coveralls and giving his backside a scratch. “Take your time.”

  “We need to go, Emilio,” Sarah said, “Now.” She was trying to mute the panic in her voice.

  “One minute, Vincent,” he said, and took Sarah's arm.

  As they walked toward the door, she tried to move faster, but she felt herself being slowed by Emilio's grip.

  The moment they were out the door, she pulled herself free, then stumbled down the stairs, barely managing to stop herself from tumbling to the ground.

  Regaining her bearings, she walked quickly across the yard until she stood underneath a half-formed mechanical ape, then stopped to wait for Emilio.

  “What's wrong with you?” he said as caught up to her.

  “That man! Vincent! He's the Steamhammer!”

  “Who?”

  “A villain! That thing on the wall, it was his costume.”

  Emilio smirked. “You crazy.”

  Sarah shook her head. “Crazy?” Who was this man she was talking to? “My father fought him. He used the chisels on that suit to crack the foundation of the Hall of Paragons.”

  “No. He's no villain. I know him, Sarah.”

  Why was he being so stubborn about this? What did he have to lose? “Emilio, you have to trust me. He was buried alive underneath the Hall!” But then how was it he was still alive? Just thinking about it made her dizzy. “But the costume—and he's the right age. And all these machines…” If only she could call on the Paragons to make sure. “He's one of them, one of the Children of Eschaton!” How could they possibly give him the heart now?

  Emilio put a hand on her shoulder. “Breathe, Bella.”

  “Don't touch me!” Sarah pulled herself away. “We need to go get that gear back from him!”

  Emilio smiled at her. “Sarah, what can he do with one gear?” He held up the lacquered box. “I need his machines to fix this.”

  Sarah couldn't believe what she was hearing. The Stea
mhammer was probably slipping into his suit right now. “And what will we tell him the heart does, Emilio? That it's a governor?”

  “We think of something. Is okay.”

  “No, it's not at all okay.” Sarah laughed derisively and rolled her eyes in a way that was clearly not intended to be flattering. “Emilio, you're brilliant and wonderful in so many ways, but if you think that any man who wears a costume, and then constructs a menagerie of mechanical creatures is harmless, I really don't think you've been paying much attention to the world that you're living in.”

  “I try to help you.” He gave her a look that was as sad as it was confused.

  “I know you are, Emilio.”

  “You don't trust me.”

  “That's not it at all, I just…”

  Emilio stepped closer. “Maybe he is Steam…man. But I was a villain.”

  Sarah looked down at her shoes, trying to avoid his eyes. He clearly wasn't playing fair. “I know. But it's different.”

  She felt his finger curling under her chin, and lifting up her head. “I think is not.”

  When she looked up into his eyes, there was something like a blush that she felt travel over her whole body. “No, Emilio!” she said, backing away from him. “You won't charm me into trusting him.”

  “Trust me.”

  “And what if you're wrong?”

  Emilio stopped for a second and put his hands to his sides. “I don't have words.”

  Sarah was getting tired of this excuse. It seemed too easy, and too handy. “And yet your sister has so many.”

  “Okay. Okay.” He took a deep breath and pointed at the box in his hand. “I can't fix, but he can. If we no give him the heart, we have nothing.”

  “But if he's one of the Children? What if Eschaton gets the heart?”

  “I work with him for months. If he was villain, he is not villain anymore.” Emilio pointed at the animals in the garden. “He make all this for the show. You see? I make all this with him.”

  Against her better judgment, she was beginning to see Emilio's point. Sarah closed her eyes. “I don't know.”

  Emilio pointed at her head. “You think all the time from here.” He moved his hand until it was just over her heart. “You need to think from here some time.” Sarah felt a thrill go up her. Why couldn't he be like this all the time?

  “Okay, Emilio,” she said softly.

  “Okay?”

  “I can't fight everybody. I need someone to help us.”

  He smiled. “Thank you, Sarah. He will help, you'll see.”

  She tried to smile back, but it felt as if someone had frozen her lips in place. For a moment she was lost, and she looked up to the statue next to her.

  The rusted, eyeless features of the face of “the rejected” seemed almost lost and mournful. The corroded beast was, in its way, far more expressive than Tom's emotionless mask had ever been. She could see what looked like tearstains where rainwater had dripped down its red face.

  “'I will do everything in my power to prove that your faith in me is not misplaced,'” she said in a half whisper.

  “What did you say?”

  Sarah held out her hand. “Give it to me.”

  Emilio looked puzzled. “Give what to you?”

  She gestured at the box in his hand. “The heart.”

  He lifted it up. “What's wrong, Sarah?”

  She reached out and slipped the handle from his hand into hers. “Follow me, and be quiet.”

  “I don't…” he said, struggling for the words.

  “You don't have to.”

  In a quick trot, Sarah marched back across the courtyard to the door of the workshop. Her shoes banged hard on the wooden planks as she walked across the floor.

  Vincent was still sitting at his workbench, calmly examining the gear. When she was only a few feet away, he spun around on his stool to greet her. “Miss Standish, I'm glad to see that you've come back.”

  The look on Sarah's face was so tight that it was almost expressionless as she stared into Vincent's eyes. After a few seconds of holding his gaze, she placed the case down onto the table in front of him and opened the brass latches with a snap and waited for Emilio to catch up.

  By the time he had reached them, the smile had drained from Vincent's face as well.

  “You know who I am, don't you?” she asked.

  “I don't understand. Are you someone other than who you told me you were?”

  Sarah couldn't quite tell if he was mocking her, and she spoke slower and more loudly this time, enunciating each word. “You know who I really am, don't you?”

  “What are you doing?” Emilio asked her. “What should he know?”

  Vincent glanced up at Emilio and then let out a chuckle. “It's all right, my boy.” He looked back to her. “Yes, Miss Stanton, I'm well aware of who you really are. It wasn't until Emilio called you Sarah that I was positive that you were the Industrialist's daughter. Your likeness is fairly unique, and striking.”

  Sarah wasn't sure whether she should be flattered or insulted. “And you're the Steamhammer?”

  His smile broadened. “I was—once upon a time, and long, long ago.”

  “How did you survive being crushed underneath the Hall?”

  Vincent smiled at that. “My much-exaggerated death, you mean?” His expression was almost the definition of a devilish grin. “Your father, with his usual ruthless efficiency, did indeed collapse a wall onto me. It left me with both legs broken, trapped under the earth. But I still had my jackhammers and a small pocket of air. I tunneled through the wall of the Hall, and tumbled to the floor of Darby's lab. The old man took pity on me. He offered to help me, but only if I never put on the costume again.”

  Vincent looked up, and Sarah could see the beginnings of tears forming in his eyes. “He saved my life, and I kept my promise.” He nodded and swept his hand in front of him. “All of this, I owe to that man. When I said the show was a homage to Sir Dennis and his great creations, I wasn't lying.”

  Sarah nodded curtly, and then turned to Emilio. “So you see, he did have secrets.”

  “We all keep secrets, Miss Stanton.” Vincent said, recapturing her attention. “For instance, I'm sure I'm safe in assuming your father doesn't have any idea of either where you are, or the kind of company you're keeping these days.” He gave her a wink that almost made her blush. “And I'd certainly love to hear the story of how you and this very talented boy met each other.”

  “Another time,” she replied, angry at how easily he could manipulate her.

  The room was silent for a long moment, and then Vincent continued. “So, Miss Stanton, what's in the box, or do you want me to guess?”

  “I have a question first.”

  “Please, my dear, ask away.”

  “Can I trust you, Mr. Smith?”

  “I would think so. You already know all my deepest, darkest secrets.”

  Sarah stared at the showman for a minute, trying to see if there was any way she could truly decide whether to trust him beyond Emilio's promises.

  Bringing Tom back without help was hopeless, and somehow the fact that he had admitted his crimes to her made it feel as if she at least had something to threaten him with. “Yes or no?”

  “Yes, my dear, of course. While Vincent Smith continues to live on, the Steamhammer did die that day. I'm not a villain any longer.”

  His story certainly sounded plausible; extracting a promise from a villain to repent seemed like the kind of thing Darby would do. She wondered what the old man would have done if he had refused, and decided it was better not to know. And if Darby trusted him, then…“All right, Mr. Smith, you can open the box.”

  Vincent turned around and put his hands on either side of the front of the wooden case. “Ladies and gentlemen…” he said in a mocking whisper. The box split in half along the hinge at the back, revealing the heart sitting on a velvet cushion. “This…” he paused for a moment, clearly unable to believe what he was seeing, “this
is from the Automaton, isn't it?” he said in hushed tones.

  Sarah nodded. She felt nauseous. The fact that he had recognized it so quickly only made her more unsure whether she had done the right thing.

  “May I?” he asked, reaching out a hand.

  “I suppose so,” Sarah replied. It was too late to go back now.

  “Darby's handiwork.” He slowly caressed the heart with his fingertips in an almost lewd way. “How does it work?”

  “We don't know,” Emilio said, finally deciding to join the conversation. “We need to fix first, then we know.”

  “I see.” Vincent stared at it like it was something he could eat, his eyes narrowing. Sarah only wished there was some way of uncovering what thoughts were truly going through the man's head.

  She supposed that the Sleuth might have been able to tell. There were more than a few people who had referred to Wickham as the “mind reader,” although Sarah knew it was more of a matter of expert observation than clairvoyance. Neither was a skill she possessed.

  “Emilio will stay with you until tomorrow, and if you can't fix the heart by then, I'll find someone else.” She grabbed the Italian's hand. “That will be okay, won't it, Emilio?”

  “Okay.” He held her hand loosely, but at least he was going along with it. Emilio was clearly unhappy about having been volunteered to work with Vincent, but she couldn't think of any other way to protect the heart.

  “Tomorrow?” Vincent turned away from the heart and looked up at her.

  “If that's too soon…”

  “No, no, my dear.” Vincent grabbed Emilio by the other arm. “You and me, working together again! What do you think of that, my boy!”

  Emilio nodded. “Is good.” But he didn't sound excited.

  He turned to Sarah. “We'll get it done, and then you'll come to the show and see my Colossus in action! You can tell me how it compares to the real thing. And you can bring his beautiful firebrand of a sister along as well. What was her name?”

  “Viola,” he said through gritted teeth.

  “Viola, yes. She almost gutted me the last time I met her. Very exciting! And the tickets will, of course, be free for the both of you.” Sarah saw his eyes wander back to the heart. “I promise you a most incredible show.”