Master of Myth (The Antigone's Wrath Series Book 1) (35 page)

The captain closed her eyes and her voice dropped. “You know I can’t do that. Not if there’s a chance I can stop it.”

Iris knew the response before the words left Rachel’s lips. The captain felt responsible for the current situation. She might be a bit of a pirate, but she never abandoned her principles.

The grind of machinery grew louder. With a jerk, Iris’s back hit the wall behind her, her hands splayed against the surface as though something was trying to pull her through the solid stone. Rachel remained unaffected, but three other men were sucked into room, the Machine dragging them across the floor as they called for help. Looking around, everyone was being drawn in the same way, though the fighting had taken most people away from the center of the horror. Several men were in a position similar to Iris; others clung to wall fixtures and braced themselves in doorways. Another unfortunate flailed helplessly as he lost his tenuous grip. Rachel recognized the inventor’s apprentice and flung herself at the boy. Grabbing him around the waist, she managed to pull him to the side. As Eddie stuck to the wall, looking relieved but still quite petrified, the Machine claimed two more victims. She spun around in time to see Danton losing his grip on a support column.

Searching her brain for anything that might help, Rachel rushed across the wide hallway and pressed Danton against the column with her body. Reaching around the front of him, she grasped for his belt buckle.

“Don’t get any ideas, Monsieur DuSalle,” she said in his ear. She yanked the leather strap free from the belt loops. “I’m only doing this to save your life.”

“I assure you,
Capitaine
,” he grunted in reply. “I had no thoughts otherwise.”

“Can you clasp your hands together?” She pushed him harder against the pillar to bring his arms closer.

After a moment’s struggle, Danton managed it. “Done.”

“Hold tight,” she instructed and moved around to the back side. Using the belt, she bound his hands at the wrists. “That’s the best I can do for now, Monsieur DuSalle, but I’m not sure how long it will hold. Try not to die whilst I find a way to stop this madness.”

“I shall endeavor to make it so,
Madame le Capitaine
,” he said through clenched teeth.

Taking quick stock of any available weapons, Rachel ran back to Iris. As she looked the first mate up and down, she noted the remaining glass vials strapped to her chest. “Lovely harness, Iris dear. Might I inquire about the ampoules?”

“The green are poisonous gas, purple, an acid solution.” Her eyes were tightly closed and she seemed to be struggling to breathe. “Yellow… explosive.”

“Thank you.” Rachel freed two of the bottles of golden liquid. “I’ll only be a moment.”

She didn’t wait for a response. Armed with her new weapons, Rachel slipped back into the lair of the Machine, wary of further explosions. The first blast came from one of the attempted hybrids, but Silas’s alterations meant the Machine could possibly go the same way. The air was hot and ripe with the stench of grease and burning human remains. Choking back a gag, she surveyed the scene. Dozens of bodies littered the floor; their passing marked by pools of blood and discarded scraps of metal. The earliest of the victims were identifiable by the large chunks of missing torsos or heads, the more recent ones missing only limbs or facial features. One man’s face was ripped completely from his skull, leaving only a bleeding, bony mask in its place. A brass pipe protruded from his mouth, a thin wisp of smoke evidence of internal combustion of some sort. She looked away, her focus shifting to the pulsing box at the heart of the eight-pointed star.

She froze. At the base of the Machine, a figure twitched mechanically. Four clunky appendages clanged against the stone tiles as a limp body flopped in response. The man, facing the floor, moaned plaintively, not alive enough to scream, not wounded enough to die. Boxy parts were fused to his limbs, giving him the appearance of a four-legged spider. As she rolled one of the vials in her hand, deciding if she could hit her target from her current position, the Machine preempted her intentions and commanded its gruesome puppet. The metal stumps clomped heavily as it turned in her direction. The temperature rivaled the engine room of the
Antigone’s Wrath
. Sweat beaded and dripped down her face, leaving tracks in the residue that coated her skin. After the hybrid rounded on her, the man’s tortured face gazed out, silently pleading for her to end his misery. The Machine’s hum shifted from low rumble to a squeal of gears and springs, and the hybrid charged. Without further hesitation, Rachel lobbed one of the vials at the approaching monstrosity.

The resulting blast threw her backwards. She slid across the floor, slipping on slick blood and skidding into a corpse. When the smoke cleared, all that remained of the hybrid was a battered, burned ribcage and a pile of scrap.

The Machine idled, as though considering its next move. As Rachel pulled herself to her feet, her muscles complained of fatigue and abuse. Not seeing any other immediate threats, she squared her shoulders and approached her opponent. With every step forward, the temperature increased. Standing outside the gold-lined star, Rachel had to shield her face from the rolling waves of heat. Again, the motorized sound grew louder and higher in pitch, this time accompanied by cries of pain from outside the room as the pull increased. She dared another step. Cogs and tubing and plating of all shapes and sizes whizzed past her head, en route to a new target beyond the room. Terror gripped her heart as screams carried above the whine of the Machine. There was no more time. With an inferno beating at her, she hurled the second vial, barely able to turn away before the resulting explosion sent her flying.

As she pushed herself up, she looked over at the Machine. It was toppled over to one side, smoke trailing up from the dent on its flank. Still, its droning persisted, albeit in a broken protest of what it used to be. Groaning, Rachel hoisted herself to her feet. Metal pieces en route to the unfortunate target dropped to the ground, several of the cogs spinning like a child’s top. The Machine’s power came in furtive spurts of temperature and noise as she forced herself to put one foot in front of the other. A few parts flew at her, bouncing off of her body in a last ditch effort to defend against her attack. She pushed through a final layer of heat and threw herself at the battered box.
 

It screeched and wailed as Rachel turned it over with a loud clunk. The ring was still embedded in the face. She looked around for a weapon. The only suitable item nearby was a large steel pipe impaled in the torso of another corpse. With a grunt she dislodged it, along with bits of entrails fused to the metal. Rachel swallowed the urge to vomit, instead focusing her rage on the cause of all this misery and death.

In one swing, the side panel caved in on itself. She continued pummeling the slowly dying Machine as springs and gears flew in all directions. Panting, she stared down at the heap of motionless junk. A swift kick scattered shrapnel in all directions. Wiping her forehead with the back of her arm, Rachel let the pipe drop with a clatter and sunk to her knees. After pawing through the wreckage, her fingers wrapped around the familiar shape of the ruby-crusted ring. As she clenched it in her fist, she fought back tears. Such a small thing caused so much suffering.

Rachel stumbled through the doorway, grabbing at the nearest pillar to steady her. She looked around the corner to see Iris and Eddie slumped against the wall but seemingly unharmed. Slowly, they were coming around. Her gaze drifted across the hall to where she left Danton strapped to the column.

Her stomach churned as she realized where those last screams had come from.

Danton lay prone over a pile of rubble. She couldn’t see his face, but what she saw of his right arm stole her breath. Instead of flesh and bone, gears and pistons lay in their place. He was covered in metal from fingertips to shoulder. The appendage twitched slightly, but gave no outward signs of hostility.

Rachel rushed to where he lay. For a moment, she was unsure if he lived, but a shallow, rattling breath told her at least that much. She rolled him over as gently as she could and placed his head in her lap. “Danton?” She choked back a sob. “Danton, can you hear me?”

As she brushed the hair away from his face, he moaned. She felt a hand on her shoulder. Iris knelt beside her, a fluttering hand covering her mouth.

“Is there anything you can do for him?” Rachel whispered, not making eye contact.

Iris remained silent for a moment. She swallowed hard. “I don’t think there’s much I can do for…” she trailed off. “If there’s any pain, I might be able to help with that, though.”

Rachel shifted to one side, propping Danton up as Iris took her place. As she did at the Zhuqing monastery, the first mate placed her hands on either side of his face and closed her eyes. It took longer for the green light to come this time. Iris looked drained, and it was clear she drew on her deepest reserves to help the master-at-arms. After a minute or two, some color returned to Danton’s cheeks, and he inhaled deeply. Rachel tensed, ready to subdue him should the shock prove to be too much.

His eyes remained closed, but he spoke calmly. “Is it as bad as I think it is?”

Rachel rested a hand on his chest. “That depends entirely on what you’re prepared to accept. But no matter your state, Danton, you remain part of my crew.”

“Are you in any pain?” Iris still held his face, but the green light was gone.

Danton’s eyes fluttered open and he stared up at her. “
Non
, no pain, but my arm itches terribly.”

Before the women could stop him, Danton reached over with his left hand to scratch his right. When his fingers touched metal, he froze, then sat up to get a better view. His face was pale, but unreadable as his gaze drifted over the alterations.

“Can you walk?” Iris asked after a minute of this, interrupting his examination.

He looked up, surprised by the question. “
Oui
, I think so.”

“Iris, I hardly think this is the time to—” Rachel started to reprimand her, but Iris cut her off.

“Captain, there’s something you don’t know.”

The floor beneath them rumbled as dust rained down on their heads. Rachel stared at Iris, the question obvious in her eyes. Iris unclipped a pocket watch from her harness and frowned at it. “Damn. We may need to find another way out.”

“Iris, what did you do?” Rachel covered her head as another more powerful round of tremors sent additional dust and stone tumbling from the ceiling.

They both stood and helped Danton to his feet. “It seems I miscalculated the amount of time we needed to rescue you.”

“Meaning?”

Iris gave a sheepish grin. “I may have had Eddie set explosives on a timer at the main entrance.”

Rachel sighed. “While I admire your forethought, perhaps that was not the wisest course of action.” She angled herself under Danton’s mechanical arm, trying not to wince as the metal dug into her shoulder. “Monsieur DuSalle, what are the odds you’ve your boatswain’s pipe on you?”

He reached his intact arm inside his shirt and retrieved the pipe, slipping the leather thong over his head. “I would say there’s a very good chance.”

Placing the pipe between her lips, Rachel blew the “all hands” call. Somewhere down the corridor, another similar call echoed, passing the word to gather the troops. She blew the call again, and two others answered. As she raised the instrument a third time, the sound of someone retching in the grand hall caught her attention. She passed the pipe to the first reporting crewman she recognized. Ushering Danton and Iris to the scene of carnage, she found Silas, doubled over and heaving.

“
Mon dieu
,” Danton whispered under his breath as Rachel passed his weight to Iris.

“Best not to dwell on it. It’s the stuff of nightmares.” She turned away from them and made for Silas.

He was heaving again when she rested her hand on his back. “Did you find it?”

He spat and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “It’s around the back columns, as you thought.” He swallowed hard and avoided looking at a nearby corpse. “Let me show you.”

They jogged along the pillars until they reached the back wall. “There’s a trick to the door I didn’t see right off, but once you know it’s there it’s hard to hide.”

He stopped before the back corner of the dais. Silas reached up and grabbed an empty torch bracket. When he turned it clockwise, stone ground against stone as a section of the floor dropped down and out of sight. He was right. With the section gone, it was hard to imagine how its separation wasn’t obvious before.

“Do you know where this goes?”

He shrugged. “I followed it for a while. It goes down farther, then seems to turn upwards, though I’m not certain where it ends or how long it takes to get there. There aren’t any branches, so it won’t be difficult to navigate. It is a bit small, however. Just wide enough for two to stand shoulder to shoulder and possibly seven feet floor to ceiling. Less in some areas. There’s some sort of emergency lighting running along the ground, but not much in the way of illumination.”

Rachel nodded. “It will do. Thank you.”

As she returned to Iris and Danton, she heard the sound of a crowd gathering in the corridor. The men heeded her call.

“We have a way out,” she said as she approached. “Head to the back of the room. Mr. Jensen is waiting to show you the way. You need to get Danton out of here.”

“But—” Iris protested.

“Those are your orders, Iris.” Rachel held up a hand, silencing her. “Both of you. Go. Now.”

Iris looked as though she had much more to say about the issue, but Rachel didn’t give her the chance. Turning on her heel, she headed outside to direct her men to the exit. While there seemed to be a good amount of her own among the survivors, there were more foreign faces than she was used to seeing. Upon closer inspection, she caught sight of an intact sleeve bearing gold embroidery. Her eyes went wide at the realization. Surely Iris hadn’t indebted them to Yong Wu to secure these forces. But, then how…