Hearts of Smoke and Steam (21 page)

He turned it up further. He could feel a dangerous strain in his bones, but after a moment the door scraped loose and slammed shut.

Nathaniel let out a satisfied grunt, and then the building began to shake again. It was deeper and more violent than before, and his fingers slipped free from the control knob on his belt as he tried to maintain his balance.

From above him, loud enough to be heard clearly over the thunderous rumbling and the roaring of his own turbine, came the unmistakable throaty scrape of stone shifting against stone.

He looked up and saw the lintel shift and crack. Nathaniel tried to jump backwards as the massive piece of stone slipped down, but the turbine on his wrist was holding his hand firmly in place against the metal door, as if it had been glued there.

The edge of the door crumpled as the massive chunk of rock bit into it. The metal shook under his hand.

The jolt seemed to free a memory in his brain, and Nathaniel remembered that the previous suit had a hidden kill switch. He pressed his left hand into a fist, and the device instantly shut off.

Nathaniel stumbled backwards, only barely managing to stay upright as he teetered down the broad step that led from the doorway to the main floor.

As he began to recover his bearings, another jolt ripped through the ground. It felt as if someone had managed to lift up the entire Hall and drop it again. Feeling his legs being thrown out from under him, Nathaniel pointed his right hand downwards and unclenched his left.

The turbine reactivated as quickly as it had stopped, and the force of the jet on his wrist halted his fall as effectively as if he'd found an invisible wall to prop himself up against.

After a moment, the shaking once again started to subside, and he reached for the controls at his belt, quickly managing to find the control knob.

He puffed out his cheeks and blew out a long breath to let some of his nervousness pass.

He felt more pleased with himself, in spite of the fact that there was clearly something terrible going on. Not only had the new suit worked, but he'd actually used it in a clever way.

After waiting a moment to make sure the ground wasn't going to start shaking again, Nathaniel took a few steps forward and pounded the brass door with his fist—it responded with a muted thud. Finding that unacceptable, he tugged on the handle with all his strength, but the metal had been wedged into the stone so tightly it might as well have become a part of the wall.

The main entrance was gone, and his only choice was to head back into the building and see if he could find another way out.

As he turned and began walking across the plaster-covered floor, Nathaniel saw the flash of a white-clad figure as it scampered past the doorway that led out from the foyer. He was clearly headed into the main part of the building.

Nathaniel was about to demand that the person stop when he realized that the figure was a familiar one. “It can't be…” he told himself, but how could it be anyone else?

Reaching the doorway, he turned and cautiously peered down the hallway to his left. Some of the gaslights had been damaged during the shaking and were burning dangerously high, while others had been shut off—either by design, or from broken pipes behind the walls. Nathaniel had no desire to be burned to death, but he wanted to follow the fleeing figure, and there was enough light that he could see the back his quarry's head as he headed down the corridor. It only took a single good look for his suspicions to be confirmed; what he had seen before was not a hallucination: the White Knight was in the Hall, and he was clearly up to no good.

No matter how well they folded up, it was difficult to be stealthy with a pair of wings on your back. But if the angels could watch over all of mankind without making a sound, then he should certainly be able to follow someone down a rumbling corridor.

But it would be easier with a little help…He reached down into his pocket, pulled out the flask, and gave it a shake. Nathaniel opened it and emptied it in a single motion. The whisky burned as it travelled down his throat, and he could feel it igniting his courage.

The White Knight had invaded the building, but he certainly couldn't be responsible for the rumbling…The man was more formidable than he first appeared, Nathaniel had seen that when he'd fought the Industrialist, but nothing about him spoke to his being the kind of villain who would be able to breach two-foot-thick stone walls, let alone shake a building to its foundations.

Far more was going on here than appeared on the surface, and Nathaniel would need to be careful if he was going to get to the bottom of it. He also wished he still had the pneumatic weapon that had originally been included with his upgraded costume. That device had, unfortunately, been taken by the Automaton, and the gun had been nowhere to be seen when they had discovered the mechanical man's shattered body in Madison Square.

Hughes had suggested that he strap on a regular six-shooter as a replacement, but a standard revolver lacked the elegance of the weapon that Darby had created for him, and bullets always seemed to be an opportunity for a fatal mistake in a moment of tension.

Besides, he and Hughes had planned to rebuild the weapon once the rest of the suit was working, although that wouldn't help him now. Hopefully he'd be able to find a way to use the powers of the suit to subdue any villains he did come into contact with, and if not, then he prayed that the suit worked well enough that he could fly away.

He followed the White Knight around the corner toward the meeting chamber. He could hear voices in the distance, and Nathaniel could see that the White Knight had paused next to the chamber's open door.

Nathaniel took a step back, hiding himself from view. While he couldn't make out any specific words, from the sounds coming through the door, there was obviously an argument going on in the meeting hall. He pulled out his flask to take one final sip of courage before realizing it was empty. He had barely put it away before he heard the unique sound of the Industrialist's gun being fired.

An instant later, there was a crackle, and then a blast of light bright enough to send shadows dancing down the corridor. It blinded Nathaniel, and by the time the image began to clear from Nathaniel's eyes, the White Knight had disappeared from view.

He tried to run down the corridor, but his wings were shifting awkwardly on his back, and the rumbling had begun again, forcing him to grope the wall for support. Nathaniel moved slowly until he heard two more shots and a scream that could have only come from William Hughes.

The rumbling stopped before he reached the doorway. Looking into the meeting room, he stared transfixed at the carnage within. The image framed by the doorway was like a living image from Hieronymus Bosch.

The room had been shattered and transformed. The meeting table was entirely gone now, the members' chairs broken and scattered around the floor.

Somehow, impossibly, the dais where the president's throne had sat had moved from its previous position and into the center of the room. Sitting on top was a broken column of metal. Something not quite human wriggled on the floor nearby.

The figure was obviously in pain. It looked like a nightmare version of the Automaton, covered in shining steel, but with a shattered tube where its legs should have been. It reminded Nathaniel of something he might have seen at the old Barnum Museum.

But the mechanical freak wasn't all there was to see. The Industrialist was standing in the room as well, his gun drawn and pointed directly at the head of King Jupiter. “I'd rather be dead than live in your twisted vision,” he told the gray man.

Nathaniel knew Stanton well enough to know that he must have felt that threat was justified, and that he would have no qualms about pulling the trigger. He found himself almost idly wondering what it was that the new Paragon had done to make the Industrialist consider him a villain.

“I always suspected as much,” Jupiter replied, and then he nodded his head. The doorway limited Nathaniel's vision, and when the White Knight stepped into view and stabbed Alexander Stanton, Nathaniel was almost as surprised as the Industrialist was.

“Very good, Mr. Clements, very good,” King Jupiter said to the White Knight as the Industrialist sank to the floor.

The man pulled his hood off of his face. “Thank you, Lord.”

“And so falls the last leader of Darby's Paragons. And in their place the Children of Eschaton will rise!”

Nathaniel could fully feel the effects of the whisky now, the liquor dulling both his shock and his resolve, and he found himself wishing he hadn't finished the flask. But he was still a hero, and the very murderers and rogues he had sworn an oath to stop were now standing right in front of him.

He took a moment to pull on his helmet and goggles before stepping through the doorway. Once inside, he gave his shoulders a shrug and tugged on the wires on his chest. The wings on his back unfolded and snapped into place.

The gray man looked up and laughed. “Look, Clements, it's Stanton's drunkard puppy come to bark at us. I'm afraid you've come too late to save anyone.”

Nathaniel pointed an accusing finger at them. “You'll pay for whatch you've done!” He could hear a slur in his words from too much damn whisky.

“Do you know who I am, boy?” the tall man asked.

“You're King Ju…” but even as the name came out of his mouth, he realized just how badly they had all been used. “No…” he said slowly. “Zounds! You're Lord Eschaton!”

“You see, Clements,” Eschaton said with a dramatic tone. “You were so quick to judge the boy a fool, but he does get there eventually.”

Nathaniel opened his mouth to speak, but there were too many thoughts rushing through his head, all of them blurred together by the liquor. He could feel the pieces trying to fall into place, but the picture that they revealed was too dark to believe.

The gray man turned toward him, burning through Nathaniel's drunken shock simply with the power of his stare. “I'd ask you to join us, but after witnessing both Darby and your step-father being murdered by my children, I'm sure the last thing that you're going to do is fight
for
me.”

Stanton hadn't moved since he dropped to the ground, but there was a growing pool of blood coming out from underneath him. If there was to be any hope of rescue, it would have to come soon.

Nathaniel held his breath for a moment as he twisted the control at his belt and the turbines on his back hummed to life. When he was sure nothing was going to explode, he let himself exhale. For all the changes Darby had made with the new outfit, it felt even more a part of him than the old one had. He was sure he could make it do what he needed it to.

Leaning forward, Nathaniel clenched both hands into fists. The engines began to whine and he felt himself being lifted up off of the floor and into the air. As he rose towards the ceiling, both Eschaton and Clements craned their heads to track his progress.

He unclenched his hands, letting gravity take over as he dropped rapidly towards Lord Eschaton. He could see the gray man smiling eagerly as he got nearer to him. Nathaniel waited until he had almost collided with his target before firing off a short burst from his wrist turbine. The action threw him sideways, and he placed his rapidly moving foot hard against the side of the White Knight's idiotic grinning face.

The surprised Southerner went crashing into the floor.

The smile left Eschaton's face as he charged toward Nathaniel, clearly intent on disabling him before he could cause any more trouble.

The Turbine flew backwards, increasing the distance between them, then he spun the dial on his belt in the opposite direction and pressed the switches in his hands, instantly reversing direction. He slammed straight into Lord Eschaton. The moment of impact felt unpleasantly close to crashing into a brick wall. But as solid as the gray man was, he still yielded to the superior momentum and was thrown backwards towards the dais.

A hole had been left in the floor where whatever was supposed to cover the pit had not managed to engage. Eschaton, a true look of surprise on his face, fell down through the gap and disappeared from view.

Having found at least a temporary solution to the problem, Nathaniel dialed down the power to his suit and turned back to Alexander Stanton.

He pulled off his helmet and knelt in front of his step-father, feeling that same fear he had the morning that Darby had died in Sarah's arms while he screamed in pain. But he wouldn't let his selfishness win out this time. “Let's go, sir. I need to find you some medical attention.”

He was stunned but relieved when Stanton opened his eyes and stared up at him. “Is that really you, Nathaniel?”

“Yes sir. You're badly hurt.”

“I know it.”

“We need to go.”

“You
need to go.” There was a grim look on Stanton's face. “It's too late for me.”

“Don't be foolish,” he said, attempting to slip his arms underneath the Industrialist's leather coat. He prayed that the blood wouldn't make him too slippery to carry.

“I've seen plenty of men die, and I know what it looks like,” he said, pushing his arms away weakly. “No use fighting it when it's my turn.”

Nathaniel tried to hoist him up, but barely managed to lift him off the floor. “No! We can escape before Eschaton returns!”

“No, son,” he said with a firmness that seemed to deny the truth of his deathly pallor. “I'm done. But we need to talk.”

“I won't let you die!”

“It happens to all of us, eventually.” He lifted up his hand and pulled off a blood-soaked glove. “Darby, you dramatic idiot—why didn't you just tell us?”

Nathaniel could feel the warm sting of tears starting to form in the corner of his eyes. He didn't try to fight them. “I'm sorry I couldn't save you.”

“Sic transit gloria mundi
—the glory of the world so quickly passes away,” he said with a slight smile, putting his hand up to Nathaniel's face. “It's all right, son.” The fingers were oddly cold, but it was still the only warmth he could remember from his step-father in a long time. “But I need you to do something for me.”