Gideon Smith and the Brass Dragon (33 page)

Maria bit her lip. “I know.”

He couldn't rely on Louis Cockayne now. Had been relying on him for too long, if the truth be known. He was Gideon Smith, he was the Hero of the Empire, and it was time he took matters into his own hands.

He raised his pistol and fired.

It clicked, dead, jammed.

He swore, just as a shadow fell across the Alamo. Gideon craned his neck to look up, as did the battling Steamtowners and the cavalry riders, as did Thaddeus Pinch.

Looming over the battlefield was the
Skylady III.

 

24

T
HE
G
OD
-
KILLER

Chantico stood with his legs apart on the observation deck of the
Skylady III,
Inez holding him tight around his waist. He had at first refused to set foot on the 'stat, shaking his head maniacally and telling them that his totem animal was the coyote, not the eagle. Until Inez had given him a talking-to, of course. There was no doubt who wore the trousers in that relationship.

“Are you sure you can do this?” Rowena asked doubtfully.

“Chantico is the finest shot in his entire tribe,” Inez said. “Of course he can do it.”

They had sighted the Alamo just as the cavalry had streamed toward it, guns blazing. The brass dragon lay half-hidden under a tarpaulin, and Bent, his eye to the spyglass, had reported seeing Gideon on its snout.

“Perhaps we ought to just let the soldier boys sort it out,” he'd said.

“The battle is not won yet,” Rowena pointed out. “The dragon can turn the tide.”

So Chantico, as Inez held him steady and the warm wind whipped his hair on the observation deck, took sight along the length of his arrow, the amulet in a small leather pouch tied just below the flint head.

“Put it to the left of the dragon's head,” Rowena instructed. “And for God's sake, don't hit Gideon.”

“I wonder where Cockayne is.” said Bent.

“Probably hightailed it at the first opportunity,” said Rowena. “Now quiet; give Chantico some space.”

As the 'stat drifted as low over the Alamo as Rowena dared take it, fearing the steam-cannons that had almost finished her off before, Chantico took aim for painfully long moments then let loose the shaft.

*   *   *

Thaddeus Pinch watched the passage of the airship for a moment then turned back to the dragon. Gideon crawled out through the shattered eyehole. He would engage Pinch in hand-to-hand combat, if that was what it took. The cavalry were inside the Alamo, but the Steamtowners were fighting for their lives. If Gideon could just hold Pinch off long enough for Jeb Hart or Captain Humbert to take him down …

“It's over, boy,” rasped Pinch. “You just give me what's mine, eh? The dragon and the girl.”

“You don't have anything anymore, Pinch,” said Gideon. “Your town's gone; your slaves have run away. You're right: It's over. But for you.”

Pinch laughed unpleasantly, training his gun on Gideon. “Texas is a big place, Smith. There are other towns. I can start again. Especially with my dragon. Didn't I tell you I am as a god? Folks like you don't kill gods, Smith.”

“I've exploded myths, Pinch. I reckon I can kill a god.”

Pinch snarled, and his finger tightened on the trigger just as the arrow slammed into the dry earth a foot from the dragon's head.

Pinch blinked and looked around. Gideon saw the leather pouch swinging from the shaft, and he knew. He leaped for it and tore the pouch free.

“Maria!” he called, tossing the pouch to her through the open porthole. Pinch was at the dragon's snout now. Gideon reached down, took a handful of dry earth, and tossed it into Pinch's face, then clambered back on the dragon and slid into the cockpit. Maria had already emptied the amulet into her hand and placed it into its housing.

It began deep inside the dragon: a thrumming of hidden machinery, a turning of ancient gears, a rumbling of mechanical life. Gideon could only think of it as the dragon waking up. He looked at Maria. When she had first taken control of the dragon, she had been submerged beneath the creation that the Egyptian scientists—or sorcerers, he supposed—had fashioned, an homage to the Nile river god Apep. Remembering what Cockayne had told him, Gideon fumbled in the cloth sack for the last remaining artifact, the golden apple that John Reed had stolen from Shangri-La, the hidden valley high in the Himalayas. The golden apple conferred the gift of understanding and had allowed Cockayne to converse with Maria when she was deep within the ancient Egyptian persona of Apep.

She turned to him and smiled. “It's all right, Gideon. I told you something had happened. The artifact in my head that gives me life, it has … activated. It has brought together my clockwork body and my human brain. It has made me whole.”

“More Egyptian magic?” he said as Maria arched her back and Apep's tail flexed, throwing the tarpaulin from it. She stretched her arms and the vast brass wings unfurled.

“No,” she said. “I don't think so. I think the artifact is not Egyptian at all. It is…” She paused. “I'm not sure. Older, perhaps. More distant, possibly.”

Gideon squinted through the porthole. Where was Pinch? Perhaps he had taken flight, now that the game was up. “Maria?” he asked. “Can we … can we fly?”

She smiled. “Hold on, Gideon. This is going to be somewhat thrilling.”

*   *   *

As Rowena turned the
Skylady III
in a tight circle, Bent leaned forward as far as he dared on the observation deck. “Thar she blows!”

The dragon's brass scales shone in the fierce Texas sunshine. Suddenly, it was a living thing, lifting up its head and sinuous neck, pushing itself onto its strong hind legs. Bent gaped at it; he'd seen it before, but it still took his breath away. The vast wings flapped, sending up eddies of swirling dust. The cacophony of gunfire slowed and quieted as every man, cavalry or Steamtowner, turned in awe to watch Apep wake from its slumber.

The dragon crouched and pushed upward, the wings sweeping back then forward in a smooth motion, dragging the impossible thing into the air. It hung there, its wings beating, for a long moment, then it began to rise, laboriously at first but with gathering speed until it whirled into the blue sky, swinging alongside the airship.

“Effing sky hog!” shouted Bent, shaking his fist, but then he was laughing, clapping Chantico on the back, kissing Inez on the cheek. The young lovers stared as though transfixed by a miracle. The last time Bent had seen the dragon, it had been threatening to destroy London. Now he could see what a thing of fearful beauty it really was. One's perspective on monsters always changed when the monsters were on one's own side. He shook his fist again, this time in triumph. “Go, Gideon! Go, Maria! Show 'em what that effer can do!”

*   *   *

“This is amazing!” yelled Gideon, half wanting to laugh, half terrified. The wind roared through the broken porthole, snatching his breath away. Maria sat back in the battered chair, her hands playing over the artifacts, bending Apep to her will like a virtuoso concert pianist.

“I am whole,” she said again, sending the dragon banking far to the right, the Alamo spinning crazily in front of them. “I am in control.”

Apep climbed, high into the sky, much higher than the
Skylady III,
which it quickly left behind. Gideon held on to the back of her seat. “Maria! How high can we go?”

“To the stars!” She laughed. “Will you come with me to the stars, Gideon?”

“I will go with you anywhere,” he said quietly. “I love you, Maria.”

She turned her head as the dragon soared higher, the pale blue deepening around them. “Come here.”

He shuffled around to the seat, and she took his face in her hands and kissed him. She could do anything. They might swoon and tut in the parlors of London at her behavior, but she was not of that world. She was of this world, of the sky, of freedom.

“Gideon,” she whispered. “I want you to…”

He stumbled and slid down the cockpit, and she straightened the dragon, looking out over the gently curving horizon. Her hands danced, and the dragon began to drift downward in a lazy spiral, its brass wings surfing the rising thermals.

“Maria?”

She placed a finger on his lips and began to tug his shirt from his trousers. Freedom. She could do anything. Her kid-leather skin felt on fire with his touch, and the gears and wheels at the V where her legs met meshed and ground most curiously with the wanting of him. Her hand slid down his torso until she could feel that he wanted her, too.

“Maria…,” said Gideon, breaking away.

“Hush,” she commanded. She enjoyed being in control.

“Maria,” he said again, his eyes widening. Then he pulled her toward him.

She had just time to say, “Gideon!” before the bullet slammed into the back of the seat. She turned to the instrument panel as Thaddeus Pinch, his metal hand clamped to the huge ornate nostril on Apep's snout, began to haul himself upright again, taking aim with his pistol.

“It's been a nice ride, Smith, but it's time for me to have what's due to me.”

Pinch swung on Apep's nose, the wind buffeting him, his hair whipping his face. He hauled himself higher to get a better shot, his eyes blazing with triumph. Maria turned Apep into a tight roll, but Pinch grimly hung on, his metal arm unmovable, affixed tightly to the brass ridge of the nostril.

“You ain't gonna shake me off!” he yelled. “I'm taking my dragon and my queen. Say your prayers, Smith. But choose your god carefully.…”

Pinch dragged himself up on the nose, aiming his gun at Gideon. There was nowhere to go in the cramped cockpit, nowhere to hide.

“For I am the greater god!” roared Pinch.

“Maria…,” said Gideon.

She smiled, her hands playing over the artifacts. With a grinding of internal gears, the brass nose of the dragon began to rise, to separate from the lower jaw. Pinch swung alarmingly then secured his grip, losing his aim.

“This is a
dragon,
Mr. Pinch,” she called. “Had you forgotten? This is Apep, who swallowed the sun god Ra whole. You think yourself a god, Mr. Pinch? Then meet the god-killer.”

Too late, Pinch realized he was hanging in front of Apep's open maw. He cast one final, anguished look at Maria and Gideon, and then the dragon roared. A ball of yellow flame engulfed Pinch and burst in the blue sky, raining the ashes of the King of Steamtown over the hushed Alamo.

“The king is dead,” said Gideon after a moment. “Let's finish what Rowena started, and wipe this misbegotten place off the face of the Earth.”

*   *   *

The Old Man paused at the bar of the deserted saloon and helped himself to two swigs of whisky from the bottle abandoned on the flaking wooden surface. Over his shoulders he carried four bags, stuffed with money, gold, jewels, anything he could find. At first he'd been dismayed to find Steamtown abandoned, but once he thought about it, he decided it was a favorable outcome.

Thaddeus Pinch was a difficult man to deal with, and he would not have taken kindly to the news that the Old Man had
almost
brought him the clockwork girl. Now … well, whatever the reason that Steamtown was deserted, no one had thought to take their valuables with them. They were his for the taking. He would strike out east, perhaps, find another Yaqui tribe to insinuate himself into with his tales of ancient lore, find another warlord to do business with. It was a big place, what the white man called Texas. It was rife with opportunities.

The Old Man took another drink. He would have liked to see the brass dragon, though. Liked to have seen Quetzalcoatl. He hoped the old bird-god didn't take offense at him using his name for personal profit. The Old Man cackled. Perhaps he could use that story again to get him into the inner circle of some other tribe. The old gods were dead. This land belonged to those who seized their chances.

The first explosion rocked the saloon, plaster falling from the ceiling, tables shaking and overturning. The Old Man ran to the window as fast as he could, weighted down as he was with his booty. The general store three buildings down was aflame, debris littering the street. He frowned and looked to the sky.

Quetzalcoatl was bearing down on him, shining terribly in the sun: a savage, golden serpent, roaring its fire at Steamtown. The Old Man had just enough time to beg forgiveness from the gods—and to scream—before the saloon was engulfed.

*   *   *

The fight had gone out of the Steamtowners, and they meekly allowed the cavalry soldiers to tie their hands behind their backs and pile their weapons up on the dust. Every man watched as the brass dragon flapped over the Alamo, then alit in front of the old church. Ashes still rained down, and what was left of Steamtown was burning. Above the dragon, the
Skylady III
circled downward, Bent hanging over the edge of the observation deck, guiding Rowena to a space just outside the Alamo palisade.

It was over. He had recovered the dragon and rescued Maria, and Thaddeus Pinch was dead. Gideon Smith had won the day again.

Rowena ran through the palisade gates, Bent behind her. Behind them, Chantico and Inez hung back shyly. Rowena flung herself at Gideon as he climbed down from the dragon, wrapping her arms around him. “You did it. I'm so proud of you.”

“I don't really feel like I did anything,” Gideon said. He held her at arm's length. “Rowena … Louis is dead.”

Pain crinkled her brow. “What happened?”

“He died saving us,” said Maria, accepting Gideon's hand and climbing down from the dragon.

Rowena embraced Maria. “I am so glad that you are safe. We've been ever so worried.”

“Hang on,” said Bent, his hand on his side, gasping for breath. “I thought Cockayne was the effing villain? Now he's died a hero?”