Hearts of Smoke and Steam

by Andrew P. Mayer

  Sarah gave him a nervous smile in return. “I'd remember you if we had, Mr. Smith.”

  “Well, I am rather memorable, or at least I do my best to try and be. And of course, many of the women who have seen me up on the stage often dream that they've met me in person—although I can promise you I'm far more charming than I first appear to be, in either case.” He bowed and gave her hand a kiss.

  Sarah curtsied and took her hand back. Emilio could see that the smile on her face looked oddly frozen, as if that particular grin was something that she called out on command. “As I said, if we'd met before, I'm sure I would remember.”

  “Perhaps it is I who have seen you somewhere. Are you an actress?”

  “No sir.”

  “An heiress?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Murderess, temptress, or diabolist?”

  Sarah's mouth dropped open, but no words were coming out. Emilio leapt into the conversation, “This is Sa…”

  “Susan Standish,” Sarah said quickly, following with a formal curtsey that Emilio thought was the most perfect he had ever seen.

  Vincent placed his left hand behind his back, and rolled his right in front of his face as he bent down. “Very pleased to make your acquaintance, Lady Standish.”

  “My fiancée.”

  Before Vincent could stand up from his bow, Sarah raised her hand in front of Vincent's face to show off the ring on her finger. It had been crafted from a pair of snakes, one silver, the other gold, entwined together and facing each other with a small gem held in between their mouths. Emilio never ceased to be amazed at the treasures Viola managed to find in the junkyard.

  “But,” Vincent asked, taking her hand between his thumb and forefinger to take a closer look, “how did you manage to fall into the clutches of this guinea lout?”

  “Is enough, Vincent. Leave her alone.” Emilio could feel her tension— Sarah was clearly judging the man's every move. He trusted the showman, even if Vincent did his best to avoid paying people the money he owed them.

  Still, if Sarah felt that Vincent was worth lying to, Emilio would help her first and ask questions later.

  Vincent smiled and looked down. “All right, lad. I'm sorry. I was hoping that you might have come in search of more work, and to be honest I could use your help right now. But if that's not the reason that you're here, then maybe you could tell me what your reasons actually are for coming to see me.”

  Emilio glanced at Sarah, but she seemed content to let him do the talking, no matter how bad his English might be. “We need your help with something.”

  “And what would that be?”

  Emilio reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small brass gear. “Can you fix?” It was not only warped, but some of the teeth had been completely stripped off.

  “Interesting,” the showman said, leaning forward. “May I hold it, or do you expect me to repair it using mentalism?”

  Emilio glanced over to Sarah again, who simply shrugged. He handed it over to the other man.

  “Thank you.” He held it up against one of the gaslights and nodded knowingly. “It seems simple enough, but I'll need to take a closer look.”

  Clutching it in his hand, Vincent turned and started to walk away from the door. Then he stopped and glanced down at the box that Emilio was carrying. “You're telling me you came all this way to see me, simply to fix a bent gear?”

  Emilio frowned and clenched the handle more tightly. “Is more, but that would help.”

  Vincent looked at Emilio, then Sarah, then opened his hand to stare at the gear for a second time. “And if I say yes, will you show me what's in that box of yours?”

  “One thing at a time,” Sarah replied sternly.

  “Hmmph.” Vincent replied. “Follow me, then.” He started to walk away slowly, and then, after a few steps, stopped abruptly. Emilio jerked to a stop, and he could feel Sarah's skirts brushing his legs behind him.

  The showman turned to look at them. “And watch your step. It's quite safe when you're out in the audience, but I didn't build the back stage with women's skirts in mind.”

  As they walked, Emilio was shocked to see how much the place had changed in the last few months. For a time, this theater had been his home away from home—the place where he spent most of his days, and too many nights. And despite Vincent's reluctance to pay, in the end it had been the money he had earned here that had allowed him to purchase the junkyard.

  Emilio and Sarah stepped gingerly over a series of small metal rails that snaked across the floor.

  Emilio had seen this place when it was an empty shell, but the theater was complete now—a far cry from the constant jumble of half-completed parts that it had been while he had been working here.

  “Did you know, Miss Standish,” Vincent said without turning to look at them, “that your young man was instrumental in helping to build my feature attraction?”

  “The Pneumatic Colossus?” Sarah said, raising her voice enough so that she could be clearly heard.

  “Indeed. And what did he tell you about it?”

  “Nothing,” she replied.

  “Wait,” Vincent said. He stopped again, raised a hand up over his shoulder, and then turned in place with a dramatic flair. He stared back at Sarah, doing his best to look grimly around Emilio. “Are you telling me that Emilio Armando brought you to the Theater Mechanique and didn't tell you about the greatest wonder of the modern age?”

  “Well,” she said, stammering slightly. “I saw his image on the marquee, and the statue in the other room…”

  “Both of those are nothing—nothing—compared to the real thing.” He moved closer to her. He had the earthy smell of makeup about him, like an old aunt. “If Emilio doesn't mind, perhaps I could give you a sneak preview before we go on with our business. I would hate for anyone to find out that you came all this way and didn't see our star attraction.”

  “Would that be all right, Emilio?” The tone in her voice sounded anything but genuine, and Emilio doubted she was genuinely asking for his opinion. More likely, Sarah realized it would be better far better if she pretended that her fiancé was the only one interested in fixing the heart.

  “Is fine, Susan,” he muttered back to her.

  “Excellent!” Vincent said. “Wait here.” Changing direction, he walked over to the wall and turned a crank. The gaslights burned higher, their glow revealing the full depth of the cavernous stage behind them.

  Sitting near the back were numerous creatures, each resting on a small platform, their wheels perfectly placed in the tracks that ran underneath them. There were a lion, a horse, and a hippo, along with a number of other mechanical animals that all appeared similar in construction to the ones that had populated the front entrance, except that these machines were far larger and more complicated.

  There seemed to be no obvious rhyme or reason to their order, although Emilio knew they stood according to their appearance in the show. He had helped Vincent build them, and the ones that he didn't work on personally contained obvious elements of his designs.

  “Now that you've seen our bit players,” Vincent said, walking back towards them, “let's go take a look at our star.” Vincent took her hand and headed her toward the back of the stage. “You should come too, Emilio. I've added a few bells and whistles to the Colossus since the last time you were here.”

  Vincent wasn't completely helpless when it came to engineering these mechanical marvels, but he seemed only skilled at maintaining and repairing the work of others. He was utterly hopeless when it came to innovation. That was what Emilio had brought to the project.

  It had been Viola who had convinced her brother to apply in the first place, having heard about someone looking for “mechanical geniuses” from one of her actor boyfriends.

  After a great deal of procrastination, Emilio had travelled to New York to speak to Vincent about the job at his small office off Houston Street. Despite his meager accommodations, the showman had been
able to describe his vision for the spectacle in the most minute detail. Much of the plan had seemed absurd, and most of the rest was unintelligible to a recent immigrant, but Vincent's passion and infectious enthusiasm were hard to resist. And Emilio understood enough English to know what a generous salary sounded like.

  And soon after the project started, Emilio discovered he wasn't the only inventor working on it. There had been a one-armed fellow named Eli, as well. The Jew had a sour disposition that made him difficult to work with, but he was also an incredible engineer despite his handicap, and was capable of quickly constructing mechanisms that challenged even Emilio's ability to understand them. Together they had overcome their language barriers to create a number of objects of true beauty and complexity. Emilio had hoped to work with the man more, and they had discussed opening a shop together when the job was done. Then, one day, he simply stopped coming to the workshop, and Vincent had refused to discuss what had happened to the man.

  Vincent stopped them in front of a box standing almost fifteen feet tall. It was at least ten feet along each edge, and it had been painted with an intricate webbed pattern of red, brown, and gold. Emilio thought that it looked like a giant Christmas present, or a monstrous Chinese puzzle box.

  “Normally, my dear,” Vincent said to Sarah, “you would see the Colossus appear in a far more dramatic manner. The mechanical orchestra would be playing, and the gas and steam lines would be hooked up to bring our mechanical friend to life. I would also be wearing a proper suit and hat.” He pulled the metal pin and opened the large clasp on the front of the box. “That's the problem when you see things backstage: it ruins all the magic.”

  Emilio almost laughed out loud, but stifled it with a cough. If Vincent had been aware that he was talking to the protégé of Sir Dennis Darby, he might not have been so quick to dismiss her ability to discern between theatrical tricks and genuine miracles of engineering.

  “But I will do my best to help you imagine the grandeur of the moment.” The showman took a deep breath, and then bellowed out his words in a deep and dramatic voice. “And now, ladies and gentlemen, the Circus of Steam and Fire is proud to present its greatest attraction…” Vincent motioned, and Emilio grabbed the other door. “The greatest wonder of the modern world…the Pneumatic Colossus!”

  Sarah clasped her hands to her chest as the two men began to pull the box open, revealing what was hidden inside.

  The mechanical man was huddled tight, the top hat on his head sunk beneath his knees. The long tubes of his arms were wrapped together and strapped down between his ankles.

  The machine reminded Sarah more of a tin toy than a man. His body was made entirely of brass and steel, and his painted-on clothes glimmered in the gaslight.

  As she stepped back to take a better look, Sarah's eyes widened. “It is quite…something, I have to admit.” Seeing the machine like this almost made it appear as if the metal man were being held prisoner, and Sarah remembered when she had seen Tom strapped to the table in Darby's laboratory. She weaved a little bit, and she felt Emilio's hands on her shoulders.

  Vincent smiled at her reaction, clearly misreading her shock for awe. “It is impressive, isn't it? And it is far more so once it's fully fired up and walking out on stage, spitting steam from its head and fire from its eyes.”

  “It does look like him…” she muttered. And yet, it didn't…

  “What did you say, my dear?”

  “The Automaton…” she said.

  The showman laughed. “Ah, you've noticed. It turns out that Sir Dennis Darby's amazing creation went mad and met his demise only a few blocks away from here. They actually found his remains in Madison Square, sitting under the arm of Liberty.”

  Vincent tapped the machine's head, and it let out a hollow ring. “After that unhappy event, we made a few changes to our design in honor of the fallen Paragon. We like to think of our Colossus here as an homage to both the Automaton and his creator.” Sarah wondered if the showman would be shocked if she told him that she had been there when it happened, and that the Automaton's heart was here with them now.

  Sarah only realized that she had been staring when Emilio squeezed her shoulder. “You okay, Susan?”

  “There's no need to worry, my dear,” Vincent said, “I promise that he won't hurt you. We did our best, but this thing is hardly the miracle that the Automaton was—more a steam-powered puppet really. He won't go berserk and attack anyone.”

  Sarah wanted to defend Tom and explain what had actually happened, but there was no point. The story of the Automaton's demise, as the papers had told it, was of a machine that had gone mad and been bravely, if reluctantly, defeated by the Paragons. In the mind of the public, Tom had died a villain, and now his memory was being used to turn him into a monster.

  She tried to take a closer look at the grotesque parody in front of her, but felt nothing but anger. Sarah placed her hands over her eyes. If she didn't have to look at it, she wouldn't…“Please, I'm sorry,” she choked out, “Could you just…put him away?”

  Vincent laughed, clearly amused by her reaction to his tin toy. “I'm so sorry, Miss Standish, I didn't meant to frighten you. You're hardly the first young lady to find our star attraction so terrifying. I dare say that we have a few women fainting every night when he actually performs.” Sarah doubted that, but she still had many doubts about this man, and once again, Vincent misread her. “Don't worry, we'll make sure he's safely put away.”

  Emilio and Vincent pushed the doors of the box back together, hiding the metal man back behind his wooden shell. “See,” the showman said, slightly winded from the effort, “all gone.”

  She pulled her hands off her face and sniffled. Thankfully she had managed to hold back any actual tears, or Vincent might think she was crying with joy. “I'm sorry,” she said, producing a handkerchief from her pocket. “I must seem such a child.”

  “Not at all, my dear,” Vincent said with a note of what sounded like genuine concern. “Only, I was hoping that I could entice you both into coming to see the show tomorrow night. After all, Emilio has never seen the final product of all the work he put in. Although, if just viewing our metallic friend has upset you so much…”

  Sarah shook her head, angry that she had revealed so much in front of this charlatan. “No, I'm sorry. I'd love to see your show, it's just that…” Sarah took Emilio's arm. If only his English had been stronger…But his broken language was far more likely to do more harm than good. “I mean to say that I'm sure he's marvelous, it's just that my nerves sometimes get the better of me.”

  “Women,” Vincent said as he started walking again. “You are such sensitive, emotional creatures.” He turned to Emilio and gave him a wink. “Now you know why it is that I'm so much more comfortable with machines…They are, at the very least, predictable.”

  Sarah and Emilio followed behind Vincent until he reached a solid wooden door along the side wall. “But enough about the show…Let's see what I can do to help you with your problem.”

  Vincent opened it to reveal a garden courtyard. The space was large, and Sarah saw that it had elements in common with the menagerie at the front entrance. Standing on the concrete paths that lay in between the overgrown hedges and half-dead grass were a number of different machines. These sad creatures were far larger than the ones that had sat near the entrance, but these rusted hulks didn't gleam, and no one had bothered to give them pedestals to stand on. “The rejected,” Emilio whispered. “You saved them.”

  “Just so, my boy—many made by your own hands. These are the concepts and prototypes for the creatures that eventually made it to the stage— gone but not forgotten.”

  Dominating the courtyard was a squat brick building with a steeply sloped roof constructed from a number of dirty glass panes of odd sizes. “I'm sure that Emilio has told you all kinds of terrible stories about what went on while he worked here,” he said to Sarah, once again taking her hand, and walking her down the stairs. “But I'm sure even Em
ilio is at least a little bit proud of some of his work.”

  “He's never said anything negative. In fact, the reason that we've come here at all today is that he seems quite fond of you.” Perhaps a bit too fond…“But I'm sure you know that Emilio's never been one to cast aspersions.”

  She looked back at the Italian man and smiled. “His English may be a bit…limited, but it doesn't make me love him any less.”

  “He's a lucky man,” Vincent said. Letting go of Sarah's hand, he walked up the steps to the front door, then lifted another key from the loop on his belt and slid it into the lock.

  She hoped Emilio was impressed at just how much effort she was putting into her role of the bride-to-be, and maybe she did mean her words at least a little bit.

  But over the last few days, she had realized that he was far more complicated than she had first thought him to be. He had first become totally obsessed by a desire to fix the heart, and then so utterly tormented when he had failed to be able repair it, that Sarah had actually found herself a bit terrified by his despair.

  Even in failure, Darby had always managed to be incredibly even-keeled, but it seemed that Emilio was more like his sister than he knew; his passions were just hidden deeper beneath the surface.

  “I think you'll find most men are all a bit hopeless in the end,” Vincent told her. “A sad statement on the male of the species, I'm afraid.” He held out his hand and motioned for her to enter.

  When she stepped inside, Sarah was surprised. It was hardly the achievement that Darby's lab was, but it was impressive nonetheless. The space was more a factory than a workshop, and the room was laid out with benches and equipment sitting at regular intervals along its entire length. Steam lines travelled down the length of each row, powering large machines such as presses and saws that had been placed throughout the space.

  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.