Hearts of Smoke and Steam (32 page)

“You know as much about picking locks as you do about pulling off a girl's garters,” said the man working on the lock.

Sarah crept behind a glowing statue in the shape of a large grasshopper, the tips of its antennae giving off a cheerful yellow light.

The heat radiating from it kept her from getting too close, but it was a welcome relief from the cold night air. “I alwayth find a poke ith as good ath a grope,” the taller man replied.

“Donny, you've got a lot to learn about women,” the other said with a nasty chuckle.

The taller of the two men was squatting in front of the door handle, fiddling with the lock while the shorter one looked on. “I'll get it, Cutter, jutht give me a chanthe!”

“You're useless, but go ahead,” the short one replied and moved out of the way.

The tall one continued to lisp while he worked. “Anubith said we weren't thuppothed to cauth a futh, and you had uth walk thtraight through the theater.”

“How often do you get to a see a show like that, Donny? ‘Specially with all them fancy machines like that?”

“It wath thomething, all right.”

“I would have liked to have seen more…”

A loud clack came from the lock. “Got it!” the tall one said as the door swung open.

The lisping man tried to barrel straight into the room, but his partner's hand snapped out and grabbed his coat. “Take it easy, Donny. Who knows what traps he has in there.”

“But Vinthent told uth the girl would be here…He told uth about the heart.”

Sarah felt her stomach flip despite the tightness of her corset. She hadn't trusted the old villain and she'd been right all along. “But he's not one of us,” the short one replied. “Lord Eschaton got him over a barrel, and he's just tryin' to save his skin. Never trust a desperate man, Donny.”

Sarah breathed a sigh of relief. Perhaps it wasn't too late for her to get the heart back.

“Jack alwayth thayth never trutht anyone.”

“Well I say follow me, and keep your dirty paws off anything you see in there until I say so.”

“Of courthe, Cutter…”

The two men crept inside, once again leaving the door open behind them. At least they were consistently bad-mannered.

Sarah waited for a moment to be sure they weren't coming back, and then she crept out from her hiding place and up the stone stairs to the doorway.

It was mostly dark inside the shop, and before she entered, Sarah reached into her oversized black purse, drawing out a pistol that Emilio had given her after her last trip to the city.

The weapon had been fashioned after her description of the pneumatic gun from Tom. But without the power of fortified steam, this weapon was nowhere near as powerful, and instead of the devastating puffs of air that her previous weapon had used, it simply fired wooden bullets. The pistol was spring-powered, and was capable of firing up to twelve shots before it needed to be rewound and reloaded. Emilio had promised her that it could take down a man without killing him, but unlike her previous weapon, she would need to aim it.

As she walked up the steps and looked through the door into the darkness beyond, Sarah prayed that no one noticed her looming shadow as it rose to cover the soft wedge of light that stretched into the workshop from outside. If the men inside saw her…She ignored her nerves and plunged in, the door rotating open quietly on well-oiled hinges.

In the darkness, the workshop seemed larger than she remembered, with the gloom managing to give the machines inside a sense of sharp menace that they had lacked in the daylight.

She could see the two men standing in front of something along the left wall, still completely oblivious to the fact that they were no longer alone. “Ith that it, Cutter?”

“A little patience, Donny…”

Slipping through the door, Sarah snuck behind the center row of tables, then ducked down and began to creep along as silently as she could manage.

Almost immediately, her corset began to rise up, clutching her chest and constricting her simultaneously. Unable to slide up to her neck due to Viola's tight lashing, the bottom of the garment instead dug down into her thighs. Sarah shook her head as she recognized the familiar feeling of being victimized by fashion.

She reached up and grabbed at the top of a table with her left hand to help steady her as she moved painfully along. She could feel her right palm getting damp where it gripped the weapon.

“What ith that, Cutter?”

“Not our problem. Let's keep moving.”

Sarah peered under the table. She could see the legs of the men as they headed from one table to the next, looking for the heart.

“Not here,” Donny said.

“Nor here,” replied Cutter.

Sarah prayed that they would find something interesting to look at before they reached the end of the row. Perhaps she could grab it before they did…

When she had left the heart with Vincent, it had been laying on his workbench, and even if he had moved it around to work on it, she couldn't imagine that it had gotten very far. Moving as quickly as she could, she reached the last table in the row and peered around the edge of it. Sarah stifled a yelp: the heart was on the large bench at the far wall, suspended in some kind of vice.

Just as she prepared to make a grab for the device, the two men rounded the corner.

“Found it!” Donny yelled gleefully. Catching a glimpse of him before pulling her head back, Sarah realized that the tall one wasn't much more than a boy—sixteen at the most.

“Yes you did, Donny, you did indeed.”

Sarah took a deep breath and looked down at the weapon in her hand.

“How do we get it out?” Donnny asked.

“Unscrew those bolts and it should fall right into our hands.”

The opportunity to grab it and run was now long gone. If she was going to get Tom's heart away from these two, it would need to be through direct action.

She clutched the weapon tightly as she tried to work up the courage needed to jump up and shoot at the two men.

“I'll do it!” Donny said enthusiastically as he started reaching out for the elaborate frame that Vincent had fitted around the object.

Cutter batted his hand away. “Slow down, boy! We don't want to tear it apart.”

The threat to Tom gave Sarah the extra surge of courage that she needed. Standing up, Sarah saw that both men had their backs to her.

She took aim at the short man first, figuring he was clearly the more intelligent and dangerous of the two. “It always pays to be careful.” The moment he touched the frame, he began to shake violently, and then collapsed to the floor.

“Cutter!” his friend shouted.

“Oh!” Sarah gasped.

Donny spun around to face her. “Who the hell are you?” he asked through a mouth full of missing teeth.

Sarah gave no reply. The fight in the balloon had taught her the importance of acting instead of talking, and she fired off four shots as quickly as her finger could pull the trigger.

Her nervousness made it difficult to aim, but two of the bullets struck Donny in the chest. Each one knocked him back slightly, but none of them had the effectiveness that a single shot from the pneumatic gun might have had. “That hurt!” he said, and began to close the gap between them. On his face was a look of anger and menace that made her think that perhaps it would have been better to face Cutter instead.

His arm shot out and grabbed her roughly. “I athked who you are, lady. Have you come here to thow Donny a good time?” The smile on his face would have been grotesque even without any missing teeth. As it was, it was terrifying.

Sarah was trying her best to overcome her fear so that she could escape, but the fingers digging into her wrist were fighting for her attention.

Raising up her right arm, Sarah put the gun up to her attacker's temple and fired again. This bullet hit him straight on, walloping against his skull with enough force that even she could hear the echo.

For a moment, Sarah wasn't sure what was going to happen, and then Donny let out a curse. “Dammit, that hurt!”

She shot him in the head a second time.

This time the man released her arm, and the only noise he made was a groan as he dropped to the floor.

“Was that a good enough time for you, Donny?” Sarah said, giving the fallen man a good kick to the ribs before she stepped past him and over Cutter to reach the heart.

The device was suspended in a frame of steel rods. The ends were padded with velvet and had been designed to hold the heart in place for repair without scratching the surface. Sarah thought that detail was probably Emilio's handiwork.

She looked carefully around the edge of the frame until she found a wire. Sarah grabbed it and pulled, and when the cord tore away from the wall, it spat out a small shower of sparks that bounced across the table and lit up the dark room like a tiny bolt of lightning. Once again, her skills at being stealthy were proving to be poor, but she had already managed to win the fight.

Reaching out gingerly, she touched a finger to the metal heart. She sighed with relief when there was no effect.

Wrapping her hands around the heart, Sarah gave it a tug, but it refused to budge. She pulled harder, but it resisted, held solidly in place by the clamps. Letting out a frustrated huff, she began to undo the remaining thumbscrews that held the metal sphere in place, grunting as she strained to loosen them.

After three of them had been undone, the heart tipped forward. Sarah cupped her hands underneath it, and it rolled down into her palms. It was cool and heavy against her skin, and holding it gave her a feeling of calm that she hadn't had in days.

Sarah opened her purse and tried to place it inside, but there wasn't enough room to fit it in. As oversized as the purse had seemed when she had chosen it, it was too small to contain everything she needed. “Silly girl,” she muttered to herself.

Shaking her head with frustration, she put the heart back on the table along with the pistol, pulled out her father's metal-lined gloves, and then slipped the heart inside the bag.

Sarah knew she would look ridiculous wearing the Industrialist's gloves without the rest of her costume, but she had no other choice unless she wanted to leave them behind. As she slipped them on, a smile crept across her face—she couldn't help feeling like a bit of a bandit with her gun in one hand and the bag in the other.

She was halfway to the studio exit when the door swung open wide, revealing a figure in black standing in the doorway. For a moment, she thought it might be Emilio come to her rescue, but even in the darkness it only took her a moment to realize that the startling profile couldn't be him. His face had the features of a wolf, a snarling mouth hanging over a glimmering golden ankh on his chest.

The villain raised up a hand. “Stop, Sarah Stanton.”

Sarah raised up her gun and fired. The bullets bounced off the man's black leather costume, clearly doing little or no damage. If she ever had the chance, she really would need to talk to Emilio about the effectiveness of his weapon…

“Please,” said the man in the wolf mask, stepping closer.

“Stay back!”

“I'm trying to…Ungh!”

Sarah smacked him as hard as she could with her purse, realizing an instant later that she had just used Tom's heart as a bludgeon.

It had been an effective weapon. The impact knocked the man clear of the door, and he slumped to the floor. “I'm sorry, Tom,” she whispered, praying to herself that she hadn't just managed to undo Vincent's and Emilio's repairs in a single blow.

With the doorway clear, Sarah ran out across the courtyard until she reached the backstage door. She was gasping for breath, her heart pounding in her chest. At least she'd had the good sense to wear boots instead of fashionable shoes, otherwise she would have completely collapsed from the effort.

Sarah flung the door open with enough force that it caused a nearby stagehand to jump. But after she pulled the door closed behind her and threw the bolt, she had no idea what to do next. It was possible that she could head for the exit and try to get the attention of Emilio and Viola, but what good would that do? They were already facing at least three of the Children of Eschaton, and there was a good chance that more would follow…If she tried to warn them, it might only make things worse than they already were.

Her other option was to run—head right out onto the stage and scream for help. But that could cause a commotion, possibly a stampede. After the events onboard the ferry, the last thing she needed on her conscience was another massacre.

What she needed was a place to hide while she gathered her thoughts. Looking out across the stage, she saw the Pneumatic Colossus still sitting in the corner, steam spitting from his joints and the hoses rising up out of him.

Sarah ran toward him and shoved herself down behind his back, her corset once again attacking her thighs. This close, the mechanical puppet was hot and moist, and stank of the lubricating oil that had been mixed into the steam.

As she felt the greasy moisture seep into her clothes, Sarah heard her mother's voice inside her head, lamenting the fact that Sarah had just managed to ruin her last good dress. She supposed that Viola would be thrilled to see the remainder of her “rich girl” clothes oil-stained and ruined.

“Focus, girl!” Sarah whispered to herself. She was in trouble and she knew it. It certainly wouldn't take long for one of the Children to find her here. She did, after all, have the very object they were looking for in her hands. And she could expect no help from Vincent.

But was the heart even fixed? Sarah took off her gloves and pulled the object out of her bag. Vincent and Emilio had done an admirable job of making it look as if it were repaired. It appeared far more like it had when she had seen it in Tom's chest in Darby's laboratory. Emilio had even replaced the plug that held the Alpha Element with something similar to the one that Eschaton had pulled out of it.

When she unscrewed the plug, she saw that the base of it was a receptacle for the key around her neck. Emilio clearly had a very good memory.

From nearby she could hear a loud rattling, and shouts from the stage door. It would be only a few moments before the Children of Eschaton found her.