But she knew her disguise would not withstand close scrutiny, and every entrance to the hospital she had approached had its brown-cloaked watcher peering at the faces of everyone who came in and out the door. She didn’t dare try to bluff her way in. But since the Enforcers did not leave, she reasoned that Alex and Clemmie must still be inside as well. Scant comfort, but something.
After a half hour of circling, she came back yet again to the riverfront where she had arranged for Captain Bertie to pass by at the top of the hour, and stepped out to the edge of the embankment. Bertie slowed just enough for her to jump onboard.
A voice from the deck startled her. “Pauline! Thank heavens you’re all right!”
She gaped. “Winston! How in the world . . .”
Cobweb chirped a greeting, and Pauline understood how Winston had tracked her down.
“Captain,” said Winston, “I would be most grateful if you would make your way back to the workshop.”
“What workshop?” asked Pauline.
“We found a place to hide for a while, to rest and prepare ourselves. I came to bring you back there where you’ll be safe, but while I’ve been gone, the Enforcers stumbled upon Bottom out in the street and dragged him away. It’s only a matter of time before they find where the rest of the Musketeers are and go after them. I have to get back.”
“I’m not going anywhere until I’ve warned Alex that the Enforcers are after him.”
“The Friends report that Clemmie has figured it out already. She and Alex are no longer locked in, and are on the move through the hospital.”
“How will they get out? All the exits are being watched.”
“They’ll find a way, and when they do, the Friends will let us know. We’ll be back for them, with the rest of the Musketeers in tow.”
“You go fetch the Musketeers. I’ll keep circling the hospital, in case they find their way out.”
“To what end? To get yourself recognized and captured? You are Malieux’s biggest prize. If he has you, he won’t care a fig for the rest of us.”
He stepped closer and moved to take her hand, but she drew away. “Please! Allow me to protect you. Your wellbeing is truly my paramount concern.”
She rounded to face him, her expression a mask of grim determination. “My wellbeing is my own concern, and mine alone.”
“But I am your fiancé.”
“The Enforcers killed my father tonight, Winston. Whatever duty you felt to me is at an end. I can assure you in no uncertain terms that no marriage between us will ever take place.”
Winston drew back.
“I . . . I am truly sorry about your father.”
“I thank you for your condolences, but I have no time to grieve. My true fiancé remains in mortal danger.”
“Your true fiancé,” Winston snorted. “A clerk. A sheep in sheep’s clothing. A modest man, who has much to be modest about.”
Pauline regarded him coldly, and just as coldly slapped him with all her strength. Her disdain was palpable. “Winston Churchill, there is one thing that poor, lowly Alexander MacIntyre has that you, with all your money and family connections and political aspirations, will never have.”
He absorbed the blow without flinching. “And what, pray tell, is that?”
“My heart.” She turned her back on him. “Captain Bertie, I will disembark as soon as you can get me back to the embankment.”
~*~*~*~*~
“Ooh! Me bloomin’ head!” moaned Nick Bottom. He tried to open his eyes, but it seemed the whole world was both out of focus and trying to burn its way into his brain with lights too bright to be endured.
“Is there too much light? Is it hurting your dear head?” It was the softest, sweetest, most melodious voice he had ever known. He heard movement, and a paraffin lantern was dimmed—no, he felt movement, and the light was dimmed.
Only then did he realize that his head rested upon silk. He reached his hands upward in wonderment, and to his vast surprise, he realized that under the silk were the warm and shapely legs of a woman.
His head was cradled in the lap of a woman! He tried to sit up, and pain exploded in a thousand stars.
“Lie still! Lie still, you poor, poor dear.” A warm hand stroked his brow. “You’ve had a nasty blow.”
He forced one eye open, and found himself stretched out on a divan in what appeared to be a ship’s cabin. A porthole was open to the night air. Elaborately patterned moths and sparking fireflies flitted in and out, dancing briefly about the cabin and its occupant, whose well-formed legs cushioned his aching head, then danced out again.
He eased himself into a sitting position, probing gingerly at the bump on the back of his skull. He turned, still just a bit afraid that any moment he would wake up from his wonderful dream.
The woman rose from her seat to stand before him, draped in a golden silk sari that flowed over her like water cascading softly over glass. “Precious man! Oh, my brave, brave soldier!”
She cradled his face in her hands, leaned over, and touched her lips to his forehead, the caress tender and light. “Softly!” she murmured almost too softly to be heard. “Whisper how you came to me.”
“I . . . I don’t know,” he whispered. Even this was too loud. “I was coming back from the—I was walking down the street, and two Enforcers came out of the shadows and grabbed me. One must’ve hit me with something, because my lights went out, sudden-like.”
“Ah,” she breathed, “you saw no flash of blue light?”
“Nothing like that. Just . . . you know how they say you see stars. Weren’t exactly stars. But no flash. Not blue at all.”
“The Friends tell me your name is Nick. Nick Bottom. And that you are one of Pauline’s companions.”
“That I am, m’lady. Meant to be protecting her, we are. With Lieutenant Churchill as our commander. Right sorry that I’ve failed at my duties and am away from my post.”
Her smile was gentle. “Nick, you have done yeoman service, and will yet, I’m sure,” she whispered. “I must tell you that I myself have been exposed to the blue light, and yours was the first face I saw when I awoke. I am flooded with the most tender of feelings toward you.”
Bottom cleared his throat. “Well, that’s right pleasant for me, isn’t it, then? Ain’t had a beautiful woman feel tenderly towards me since . . . well, ever.”
“Ever?”
“Ever. There was a lass what helped in the shop at the greengrocers who I fancied a bit before I went off to the army. And she might’ve fancied me, too, but I never got up the gumption to say anything. And she weren’t half so beautiful as you. Come to think of it, she weren’t beautiful at all. Serviceable though, I suppose. So, no. Not ever. No beautiful woman friend, no.”
“I find that truly difficult to believe.” Her smile was radiant, her touch electric.
“Well, ’struth.”
“What about now? Surely you must have lady friends galore, a big strong man like you.”
“Not so’s you’d notice. Ladies mostly steers clear of those of us what is mechanized. I hain’t been in the company of a woman for a month of Sundays—’cept a barmaid now and then, of course—and they’re paid to be nice. Sells drinks, it does. No, the ladies stay away from us.”
“Whatever for? You’re obviously an unparalleled physical specimen! Just look at the chest on you!” Her fingers traced lightly over his bellows.
“Well, men like me doesn’t come along every day, that’s sure!” Bottom agreed.
“It seems the Fates have smiled on me tonight, throwing us together like this!”
“Begging your pardon, but I think it wasn’t fate, but them blasted Enforcers.”
She looked so forlorn that he hastened to add, “And right happy I am about it, too! Just wish I knew the whys and wherefores.”
“Oh, I’m sure all will become clear before too much time has passed,” she murmured. “Entirely clear.”
“There’s just one thing, m’lady, if you don’t mind my as
king. You’ll pardon my cheek, but I haven’t the first clue who you are. What is your name?”
“Of course you don’t know me! A thousand pardons! I am Lakshmi, and I am your most humble and obedient servant.”
“Lakshmi! A beautiful name, that. Unusual, too. Heard it earlier today. Me mate Snug’s got hisself a green cricket who calls herself Friend of Queen Lakshmi.”
“Cobweb! You’ve met my Friend Cobweb. What a treasure she is, is she not?”
“She says how you can fix eyes. Like our tailor mate, Starveling. Going blind, he is.”
“I should very much like to meet Mr. Starveling and see what I can do for him.”
“So is it true you’re a queen? Queen of what?”
“No, no, I’m no queen. My father is a maharajah, but it’s overstating things quite a bit to call me a queen, unless,” she smiled impishly at him, “a strong man were to call me the queen of his heart.”
“Well, that position being currently unoccupied, as you might say,” Bottom pronounced, “you are invited to apply for the position!” He dropped her a big wink.
“In that case, my king, is there anything I can have brought to you? Food? Anything you want. Drink? The finest wines are yours for the asking.”
“Now that you mention it, I could do with a pint of clockwork oil. And a good go with a grease gun. And some kippers.”
“Peaseblossom! Mote! Mustardseed! Please, my Friends—see to our guest’s needs! If oil, grease, and kippers he wants, oil, grease, and kippers he shall have.”
ToC
Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight,
For ’tis their nature to.
—Let Dogs Delight to Bark and Bite, by Isaac Watts
Chapter Sixteen
Dog Pile
Jack’s remaining metal fist crashed through the workbench in the warehouse where the Enforcers were gathered, splintering the heavy wooden table and sending machine parts flying in every direction. “Fix it!” he screamed. The medimechanic assessing the damage to what remained of his left side mechanisms dodged backward. “Fix it before I caves in y’ git head!”
“Can’t!” protested the medimech. “Told ya! Ain’t got the parts nowheres but back at the madhouse. And it will take days, that will, and Dr. Malieux’s own attention. Best pray he don’t just decide to scrap you altogether.”
“Scrap me!” Jack raged. “When I weren’t doing nuffink but what he bade me? I’ll see you both in hell first!” He advanced, but two of the medimech’s friends stepped in to confront him. Three of Jack’s fellow Enforcers then edged up to tip the odds back in his favor.
“Now, see here, mate!” the medimech cajoled. “Ain’t no sense this turning into a bloody dustup! Let’s all just take a step back and relax, so’s the doctor can get everything sorted out proper-like.” He stepped forward, hand outstretched. Jack, momentarily mollified, had barely taken the proffered hand when the medimech lunged forward with a hypodermic.
Jack twisted away with inches to spare, pulling the medimech off his feet. He bellowed in rage and spun, tearing the man’s still-organic arm from its socket, and sent him hurtling against the timbered wall.
The melee was on. Within moments, every mech in the warehouse had entered the fray. Some feared not to support Doctor Malieux’s medimech. Some feared not to support Jack—they had seen the results of his displeasure on more than one occasion—and some joined in just for the joy of the brawl.
The steel-on-steel hammer blows of hydraulically driven metal fists and feet combined with the battle cries and screams of insane rage into a shattering din that shook the rafters. The fracas surged first in favor of Jack and his psychopathic friends, then gradually turned in favor of the overwhelming numbers of Malieux’s loyalists.
Then came an earsplitting roar that overwhelmed even the racket of mechanized battle. Large-caliber, steel-jacketed projectiles came ricocheting off the timbered ceiling as spent brass casings poured jangling onto the concrete floor. Every mech in the warehouse who remained standing threw himself flat on the ground.
The dominating form of Shaka, dark as the night and terrible in his icy rage, filled the doorway, a five-barreled Maxim gun cradled casually under one massive arm, its wheeled carriage and shield cast aside. He strode into the room through the swirling cloud of blue smoke curling from the muzzles of the Maxim, and planted a heavy foot atop the dog pile that had accumulated to pin Jack to the floor. One by one, he tossed aside a half-dozen Enforcers, until he reached below the remainder and plucked Jack free.
Jack suddenly found himself dangling in midair for the second time in an hour, his organic wrist caught in the vice-like grip of Malieux’s towering lieutenant. “Put me down, you fatherless son of a whore!” he screamed, his face contorted in a crimson rictus. He kicked ineffectually at Shaka’s tungsten carbide midsection. “I’ll kill you! I’ll kill you!”
Shaka let him dangle, watching with clinical disinterest, waiting for the berserk thrashing to play itself out. Setting the Maxim gun on the floor, he flicked Jack’s forehead with a tungsten finger, each blow of metal on bone sounding like a well-hit croquet stroke.
“Calm yourself, you maggot. My father was a great Zulu chief, and my mother was his favorite wife. Mention either one of them again, and I will pull you apart like a boy pulls the wings off a fly.”
Behind him stood Malieux, arms folded, regarding the scene in silence. “The only reason you are still alive,” Shaka rumbled, “is that the doctor still sees some slight use in you. Calm yourself, or I will be apologizing to him for throwing your miserable head in the Thames, but keeping the rest of you for the spare parts. Save me the apology. Get control of yourself.”
Gradually, Jack’s furious kicking subsided, and Shaka lowered him to stand on his own feet. “I’m going to let go of you now. Do you choose to live, or would you like me to send you to hell straightaway?”
Jack rubbed his wrist, his face a sullen cloud. “Ain’t no such place as hell,” he muttered. “If there was, it weren’t no different than what I lives every day.”
Shaka nodded. “You want better—to walk the streets as a free man, better food, all you want to drink—get yourself under control. See that Doctor Malieux achieves his aims. You will be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams.”
“All I want is to see that little bitch dead what done this to me. Used. Carved up. Gutted. Slow-like. Put on bloody display. Left to the dogs.”
Malieux finally spoke. “Capture her for me, and when I have the information I need from her, you may have her to do with as you will.” Shaka turned to speak, but Malieux held up a restraining hand. “Anything you wish. Do you understand?” Jack nodded eagerly.
“Kill her before I question her, or injure her in any way, and you will go back into the asylum without repairs. Do as I ask, and you will be refitted with tungsten carbide parts and improved high-power hydraulics, just like Shaka here. You will be impregnable. And when I am done with her, the girl will be yours to do with as you please.”
“Point me at her, Doctor. I’ll drag her back to you by the hair. Kicking and screaming.”
“Wait outside the door. Shaka will be there soon to give you instructions where to start your search.” Jack bounced out the door with a spring in his step.
“Doctor,” muttered Shaka, “you know what a bloody, murderous psychopath that one is. Beyond control.”
“I do,” answered Malieux. “But I need that girl. And no one is as motivated as our Jack.”
“It won’t do us any good to have her in hand if all we get back is a ripped-up corpse. Before he was cut nearly in two by a steam engine and then refit, some called him the Ripper. After his refit, we didn’t dare let him outside the walls. But then your wife came after the automaton, and we needed every man we have.”
“And that is why you are going to assign a squad of Enforcers to accompany him. Not those who were just fighting for him
. Send his opponents. Instruct them carefully. Have them treat him as a fox hound. They must be close on his heels when he closes in for the kill. I need that girl.”
“As you say, Doctor.”
“Round up those who were fighting on his side. Keep them back from the action. This was a near-mutiny. We will decide later what punishments are warranted.”
“Yes, Doctor.”
“Now, what news from the dirigible?”
“The Enforcers listening outside the cabin report that your wife and the Oil Can mech are behaving exactly as you predicted. They speak low and intimately, the way lovers would. Your wife giggles like a schoolgirl.”
“Excellent. She is neuralized—safely out of my way while I conclude this other business. I hope the information from the Spiegel girl will soon bend Lakshmi to my will. If it doesn’t, she will become an unfortunate casualty, another anonymous corpse floating in the Thames. I trust Jack would gladly oblige and render her unrecognizable.”
~*~*~*~*~
“Willy! My dear, dear boy!”
“Grandmamma, how wonderful to find you in such good health.” Wilhelm crossed his grandmother’s drawing room deep within Buckingham Palace, his footsteps, even with the steel tips on his high riding boots, muffled in the lush Persian carpeting.
He took her spotted, shaking hands in his and bent low over them. “My deepest congratulations on your Diamond Jubilee, Grandmamma. I hope that when I celebrate my sixtieth year on the throne, I’ll have accomplished as much for the German Empire as you have for the British.”
Victoria smiled and patted his hand. “You are too kind. Sixty years is an awfully long time, my boy. You won’t reach your own diamond jubilee until . . . what? . . . 1948? I daresay the world will be a very different place, by then.”
“Indeed, Grandmamma.”
“Willy, you know Lord Robert, of course.”
Wilhelm turned, momentarily nonplussed. “Lord Salisbury, pardon my surprise. Somehow I supposed that my grandmother and I would be dining en famille this evening. I did not expect her prime minister.”
Salisbury bowed low, his bald head gleaming in the gaslight, his bushy beard brushing the waistcoat beneath his impeccable coat. “Your Imperial Majesty, please pardon my intrusion. When the palace informed me of your visit this evening, I couldn’t let the opportunity pass to have a private word with you—without the intervention of our respective foreign service bureaucracies.”
A Midsummer Night's Steampunk Page 17
