Cold Stone & Ivy 3: The Seventh House (The Empire of Steam) by H. Leighton Dickson

Author:H. Leighton Dickson [Dickson, H. Leighton]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Working Tiger
Published: 2024-06-02T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 14

Of Men that Work and Machines that Don’t

“How mutable are our feelings, and how strange is that clinging love we have of life even in the excess of misery.”

– Mary Shelley, Frankenstein: The Modern Prometheus

“What the devil?”

Rupert leaned against the window glass. Red, white and blue lights crested over the main gate like fireworks.

“What is it, luv?” asked Mary Jane from the fire.

“Looks like bloody Guy Fawkes Day,” he grumbled. “Is this how the world ends, then? In a show of bloody fireworks?”

“I luv fireworks,” she said. “I want fireworks when the baby’s born.”

Rupert grunted. In the distance, red beams flashed along the walls, and he knew the Sentinels were moving again.

“Damn those Sentinels,” he muttered. “And damn the War Office for all of this.”

“I didn’t think the Sentinels could bloody move,” said Mary Jane. “I thought they was just for show. To send a message to the criminal types, y’know? I never thought they’d actually move from their spots. Rusty-ass tin machines, they are. Ugly, overgrown automabobs.”

Over his shoulder, he looked at her. She was so beautiful, her strawberry curls spilling from the streetwise bun, content as a barn cat brought in from the cold. One hand rested on her belly. She was barely showing, and he wondered if it had begun to flutter inside her. Again, he marvelled at his fate. How he, a resolute bachelor, could have ended up with this wild young force of nature was blessing upon blessing, and he was not a religious man.

“It will end soon, won’t it?” she asked. “They can’t think he’s coming ‘ere…”

He said nothing, and Mary Jane looked at him.

“He’s not coming ‘ere, right?” She narrowed her eyes. “Ruby, tell me he’s not.”

“This is Laury we’re talking about, my love,” said Rupert. “I have no clue what he will or will not do.”

She let out a deep breath, that sounded like a growl.

“Well, he ain’t the Mad Lord for naught.”

“C’est vrai, ma chere,” he said quietly. “C’est vrai.”

And they fell into a kind of silence, he watching the flashing lights, she watching the fire, until the sound of footsteps echoed in the hall. Soon, a figure rushed in, a sheet of paper in his hand.

“Sir,” said Davis. “I think you might want a look at this.”

And he held up the paper. It looked like a cheap photochrome.

“From the PHAX machine, sir!”

“I didn’t think that worked, either,” Mary Jane muttered. “House full of bloody machines, but none of ‘em work…”

Rupert crossed the floor, snatched the paper from Davis’ hand.

He was certain his mechanical heart skipped a beat.

This time, Mary Jane rose to her feet and moved to his side, slipped an arm around his waist.

“Who’s that, then?” she asked, head on his shoulder. “And why’s she wearing that bloody locket?”

***

Ivy flattened herself along the top of the wall, eyes tightly closed and praying that a beam wouldn’t fry her before she could swing over the side. But there were fireworks at the main gate, so she knew she had time before the Fifth House Sentinel noticed her on the wall.

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