Automatic Woman (16 page)

“Come now, love,” I told him. “I’ve got a date with the big man. We’ll have our day.”

“That we will,” Silver replied. He gave my cheek a little slap. “That we will, Jolly.”

I don’t think the bugger knew how close we were to our moment of reckoning. But that little slap was just enough to get my blood boiling. If it weren’t for the necessity of carefully laid plans, I may have lost my fragile and tipsy temper.

We followed our path, same as before. Lift, third floor, the beauty and splendor of the manager’s lobby. I broke from routine.

“Cheers, boys. To our long life and working relationship.” I reached into my trouser pocket and pulled out a fist full of pound coins. I gave a good toss, spinning a cloud of currency into the depths of the fountain, right at the feet of bucking Pegasus himself. I laughed uproariously and fell against Bell. He grabbed the shoulders of my coat and I let him catch a whiff of my beery breath.

“That was a bit dramatic,” Bell said.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” I replied and smiled my best, not-completely-sober smile. Silver made a move to fish the coins out, adjusted priorities in his mind, and realized I was the bigger fish of this equation. The coins could wait; we had a meeting with the big man. I watched four silver quid and a gel-encased ten gram plug of liquid metal sink to the bottom of the fountain. We walked past the defiled sculpture pond. Cold sweat beaded my brow. In my mind I felt the water dissolving the gel, ticking seconds on a clock of inevitable violent chemical reaction. I was sure the liquid metal was caesium. Caesium explodes in water.

Stoker had ordered me to spike the fountain on my way out, I guess as an insurance of clearance. I liked my way much better.

Lord Barnes rose upon my entry, not to shake hands but to mix himself a fresh drink. Vodka, purple stuff, ice. He was dressed like Prince Charming for the ball in a lavender tuxedo, tails and ruffles, all very fair.

Bell pushed me down into the same King Louis chair.

“Well then?” Barnes said in between sips of his drink.

I produced a folded collection of papers from my jacket pocket and flung them onto Barnes’ crystalline desk.

“Careful, your Lordship. You might not enjoy what I’ve put in my report.” I said this to ensure his full attention.

Lord Barnes grabbed up my papers. He unfolded Darwin’s decoy map, the one pointing out Nouveau’s location in Stokes Poges, then he unfolded the porter’s letter, complete with a little addition all my own.

To His Right Honorable Barnes,

I have been instructed to inform you that Jacques Nouveau is at the Franklin Brothers Circus in Stoke Poges. False map included. Mr. Nouveau is actually located somewhere in the confines of Central Bureaucracy. I have evidence of this, as does one or both of the gentlemen behind me. You have a rat in your house, get to cleaning.

Sincerely,

Jacob Fellows

Lord Barnes sat behind his desk and set both the letter and his cocktail down. He reached under his seat and produced the single largest six-shot pistol I’ve ever seen. It was more a cannon than a shooter. The barrel was etched with gold leaf Celtic labyrinths. Barnes thumbed the hammer.

“Mr. Fellows, every man is in the search for greatness. There are four factors to greatness: Breeding, schooling, luck, and specialty.” Lord Barnes pointed his massive gun at my chest.

“You are not great. As far as I can tell you are a specialist in the art of making trouble and you possess a bit of luck. But these two items alone do not make a great man.” He waved his pistol at Silver and Bell. “These men aren’t great either. But they don’t have to be. They are under my care and I am a great man.”

Lord Barnes stood up. Sweat dripped from my wrists to my hands. I envisioned reaching for the pig sticker taped to my leg. What would it take to rip it free and plunge it in that man’s neck before he blasted a hole through my chest?

“I have breeding, schooling, luck. But do you know my specialty?”

I shook my head. The coin! Come on, ignite you Christ -forsaken coin! Reap chaos, sound the alarm, destroy! Do whatever it is Darwin planned for you to do!

“Don’t play dim, Jolly. What is my specialty?”

“You have information to blackmail every other important person in London?”

“That’s true, but that’s a side effect of my specialty. You see, Mr. Fellows, I find the truth about people, their secrets, because I know the difference between the truth and a lie.”

Lord Barnes pressed the barrel of his giant shooter against my chest. The coin! The coin!

“Lies live in men’s eyes and I can see them, every one, every time.” Barnes looked up to Bell and Silver. “No man can hide a lie completely, the eyes, the actions of the hands, changes in speech. These betray all and I can see each and every one. No man keeps his secrets from me, and for this reason I am a great man. Allow me to demonstrate.” Lord Barnes turned his head to Bell and Silver. “Jacques Nouveau is at Central Bureaucracy. Gather the maskers.”

Bell turned to leave the office. Silver paused, just for a moment, like he had to process Barnes’ order a second time. Like he’d expected Barnes to say something different. I saw it, Barnes saw it. Barnes swung the barrel of his cannon at Silver’s chest and pulled the trigger. The explosion from the barrel sent me reeling out of the chair with hands over my ears. Both of my ears rang and buzzed and hummed. I turned my head in time to see Silver slump against my chair. Light showed through the hole in chest. Crimson syrup poured out of him onto the chair, onto the rug. Silver got his day of reckoning, not a moment too soon.

Bell stood awestruck, mouth open, flabbergasted by the events that had transpired. Barnes gave him a hard slap with his free hand.

“Gather the boys! We’re on the job.”

Barnes pulled me up by my jacket and pushed me ahead of him. My ears still rang. I know his Lordship was barking orders at me, but they were lost in the hums and buzzes. Bell, Barnes and I entered the plush lobby. I imagined we were on our way to the elevators. Maybe I would survive; maybe Barnes was convinced of my loyalty. These questions were rendered moot when the fountain exploded.

A shock wave rippled through the room, pushing all men off their feet. Perseus and Pegasus popped up, took flight, turned and came crashing into their former home. The caesium had blown a hole through the bottom of the fountain and floor beneath, raining the second floor offices with water and mythological statues. The stone edges of the fountain fell into the hole, completing the implosion and leaving a jagged wound in the center of the floor.

I tore free my knife, but Barnes was already on me. Blood ran out of both his ears and I must have been in the same shape because I heard none of the blood-spittle expletives that came out of his mouth. His free hand vice-gripped the wrist of my knife hand. My free hand vice-gripped the wrist of his gun hand. We grunted and rolled like yin trying to kill yang. In my peripheral vision I saw Bell gain his feet, sway, and take two steps toward us. I must have yelled and screamed. Barnes fired a shot over my head, flecks of powder burning my forehead and filling the air with the scent of singed hair. I rolled with Barnes, once, twice, the third time away from the approaching Bell, down the hole that had once been home to Bow Street’s chic fountain.

We fell as a meteor of fat men to the rubble and bedlam of the second floor. The impact separated us and knocked the wind from my chest. I struggled to gain air, balance, sound, anything that could get me back into the fight.

All around me men were brawling. Some were Bow Street regulars I knew; some were wearing sack cloth masks and making a go at the regulars with truncheons, probably Darwin’s people or mercenaries. Who knows, the world is full of enemies and angry men.

I caught sight of Barnes raising his gun to me. I lunged and screamed and arced my pimp knife into his gun wrist, pinning arm, hand, and Barnes to a cheap plywood partition. The old bastard clocked my cheek with a left haymaker, giving me stars to count. All fight, that one. I kicked him in the bollocks and answered his left with two rights. I’m no gentleman. That’s my specialty.

Lord Barnes drooped and hung unconscious by his impaled wrist. I lifted his key ring and ran for the exit stairs, flinging Runners and Darwinians out of my way with equal abandon. I made my descent through fighting men and grunts and shouts and wild fists. I saw it all, but heard none of it. Down I went, first floor, basement storage, sub-basement non-storage. The third key I attempted put me into the room. The attending guard rose at my entrance. Non-storage was soundproofed for good reason. Prisoners, captives, and hostages tend to bellow in interrogation.

The guard rose, saw the fight in my eyes and the blood running from my ears and reached quickly for his cobra baton. I smiled and charged. He swung his club as I swung my fist full into his chest.

I know how to punch, how to step into it, to turn my body, to aim for whatever is behind the man. The guard’s feet lifted from bedrock and he landed as a mess of no air and broken ribs. I’m not sure if his club made contact. If so I never felt it. I retrieved the cobra from the floor for my own sake. You never know.

The four cells of non-storage were occupied. Orel. Emily. Mary. Some old codger I’d never met.

Call me Moses.

I freed the prisoners, even the old stranger. Orel gave me a hard look. Emily went to take a swing but her husband got a hold of her arms in the nick of time. She had to content herself with spitting on my foot before she and Orel left. The old codger followed with an approving nod in my direction. Mary gave me a much better reception. She caressed my cheek. I read her lips. They asked if I was okay, they asked where I had been, and then they were on my own. I closed my eyes for a moment, forgetting the danger we were in, forgetting the fight outside, the struggle of men, the fact that my hearing might never come back. I opened my eyes and pulled Mary out of the kiss.

“Get behind me,” I said. I popped one of Dr. Doyle’s syringes in my leg, opting for the recommended dose this time. I closed my eyes and took three deep breaths. My heart pumped solid in my chest, strong and brave. Blood flowed in my ears, my arms, and I felt like God’s last warrior, an invincible man.

The sub-basement stairwell had grown dangerously hot, oppressively hot. It was the kind of heat that sets off all the animal panic buttons in the back of my skull. During my brief interim in the sub-basement, the Bow Street Firm had turned into a flaming hellscape. The air was condensed and rippled like caramelized syrup. As we ascended breathing became unbearable. I threw my coat over Mary’s head and guided her into the first floor lobby.

The well-tuned machine of Bow Street was no more. Tables and desks were overturned. Boschon copiers, information looms, and pneumatic tubes were destroyed. The innards of the information beast were smashed and scattered. Flames licked the walls and coated all those beautiful panels of wood. The ceiling was invisible behind a cloud of black smoke that rolled and flowed like an upside-down ocean. Bodies of men were strewn about. Some I knew, some I didn’t. I stepped over Blaine, brave guard, wielder of the cobra. I stepped over a man in a burlap mask, another in a cheetah mask. My eyes watered tears for smoke and loss. All these men felled at the ego of two geniuses who were too posh to just have at each other.

I lifted Mary into my arms, cradling her to avoid the corpses and flaming bits of furniture. Near the front door I caught sight of something that chilled my spine. One of the burlap maskers was laid out, not moving. His arm had been hacked off at the elbow, but rather than blood and bone and ligaments, the dead masker poured oil. Tiny gears spread out from his wound, reflecting gold in the fire light. No doubt Darwin had been busy.

Outside the front entrance, the fray had taken to the streets. Dozens of men fought and scrambled over the cobbles. By now the Metros had weighed in and were swinging their batons at all men not uniformed. I imagine there was screaming, battle cries of the bloodied, and despairing cries of the dying. All the spinning hurling cacophony of war was thankfully muffled to my damaged ears. Lord Barnes was nowhere. It was possible that he was in the burning structure, a captain going down with his ship, but I didn’t think that was the case. A burlap masker ran towards me with knife raised. I planted my boot firmly under his chin and sent him hurtling. I couldn’t tell if he was man or machine, so keen was Nouveau’s creation, or should I say Saxon’s. I shifted Mary over my left shoulder and sprang the cobra with my free hand. The street was slippery with bloody mud. I swung at all comers, burlap, animal, Metro; no man or machine stood as my friend and I cracked all skulls brave enough or unfortunate enough to get between myself and the line of exit. The combat ebbed and flowed and I eventually found myself on the far side of it, away from the bloodlust grinder. I took off down an alley, Mary still over my shoulder.

A horseless carriage screeched to halt at the opposite end. Two Metros jumped out. They raised their hands and shouted words that wouldn’t have mattered had I understood. I set Mary onto her feet and charged the Mets. Blood was pounding in my face, in my hands, into the tips of my fingers. The first Met raised his baton. I faked a high attack and then dropped to my knees, shattering his ankle with a tremendous swing of the cobra. The Met howled in agony. This I actually heard through the muffled thumping of my destroyed hearing. I popped up to meet his partner, only to find him loading a scattergun from the other side of the car. My heart stopped. The Met raised his gun to his shoulder, leaned forward and was suddenly enveloped by my jacket. I swung left. The Met shot out the passenger window of his horseless carriage.

The Met swept the jacket off of himself but Mary was now on his back, punching and wailing like a banshee. I ran around the car and tackled both Mary and the Met into a pile of alley trash. His scattergun dropped somewhere in the refuse. The three of us rolled like cats, Mary biting and scratching, my hands on the wrists of the Met. He’d loosed a knife from his belt and was trying to press the tip into my chest. The Met and I rolled. Mary fell clear of the fray. My palms were too sweaty. The Met loosed his knife hand and gave me a shallow poke in the stomach, just enough to keep me awake and active and stain the front of my shirt like a real horror show. I raised my fists into a boxer’s stance and the Met took another slash, this one cutting a straight line down my forearm. This bloke was fast to be sure. I cocked my head right and stepped left, giving no indication of my next move. Really I was waiting for him to get close, close enough for me to grab hold of him, put my hands on him, tear him asunder like I had that automatic woman oh so long ago. Behind his shoulder I spotted Mary, standing and holding the copper’s scattergun from her hip. She said something and the copper turned white, then dropped his knife and turned slowly. I took advantage of the moment, stepped forward, and punched the Met’s face with every ounce of twist and weight I could muster. My knuckle split on the man’s temple and gave us a little of the old red paint. He bowed down, lifted his head, took a step back and lost his legs completely, collapsing back into the rubbish heap. I looked up at Mary and gave her a wink. She smiled back at me, and waved the scattergun, which was almost as big as her. I reclaimed my jacket and my cobra and my girl. We ran off into the night.