Romulus Buckle & the City of the Founders (The Chronicles of the Pneumatic Zeppelin, Book One) by Richard Ellis Preston Jr

Author:Richard Ellis Preston Jr. [Preston, Richard Ellis Jr.]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Publisher: 47North
Published: 2013-07-02T06:00:00+00:00

FIFTY-FIFTY

“YOU MEAN BLOW THE ROBOT up?” Buckle asked, incredulous. He did not know much about detonating robots, but from the look on Scorpius’s face, it was as drastic a solution as he sensed it to be.

“I must collect the Owl,” Wolfgang shouted, dashing out into the glowing smoke of the main corridor.

Scorpius lunged to Andromeda’s door. “My lady, the pop would surely open the door. But the intensity of a robot-furnace blast, in here—if it does not kill you, it would set off the munitions.”

“Move your people back as far as you can, General Scorpius,” Andromeda ordered.

“Yes, my lady,” Scorpius nodded, defeated. “May fortune be with you.” He holstered his pistol, planted his hand on his sword, spun on the ball of his foot, and strode out, motioning for Kepler to follow at his heel.

“And take those oil lanterns with you,” Andromeda added. “No need having them fuel the inferno in here.”

“Aye, my lady.” Scorpius said. “Kepler!”

Kepler collected the two lanterns from their hooks as he followed Scorpius out.

With the departure of the lanterns with Kepler, the copper corridor fell dark, its hazy atmosphere weakly illuminated by the diffuse blue gaslight issuing from the main hallway. Buckle could see little more than the contours of one side of Andromeda’s face, lit silver blue, between the bars of her window. He could sense that she was studying him.

“I must admit that I am surprised to see Crankshafts here, side by side with my Alchemists,” Andromeda said. “But it is something I do not find unpleasant, or unhopeful.”

“Nor I, ma’am,” Buckle said.

A heavy exchange of volleys and the scream of a dying man out in the main corridor left them silent.

More quickly than Buckle would have thought possible, the Owl scrambled into the doorway, a weird, huge-headed, turkey-like apparition, glowing orange and red at the seams. Wolfgang was right behind it, manipulating his instrument box.

“Move aside, Cranker!” Wolfgang ordered, short of breath.

Buckle stepped away from the cell door as the Owl passed him, its body emitting waves of skin-pinching heat and the pungent stink of heated metal.

“Wolfgang, I know this is difficult for you, but you must be gracious,” Andromeda said.

Wolfgang wound a device on his instrument box, instructing the Owl to lurch up against Andromeda’s door. “My apologies,” he muttered, sniffing.

Buckle had not taken offense. Wolfgang was just about to execute a robot that he suspected was one of the best friends he had.

The Owl rotated so that its back was pressed up against the door. Wolfgang tapped a few more controls, and it crouched forward a bit, so its spine angled more toward the ceiling. The considerable orange-red illumination leaking from the joints of its body burst out in a flood when Wolfgang unsnapped an access hatch on the lower half of its back. Inside the Owl, the miniature furnace hummed, red hot, the connecting boilers and steam pipes rattling with insane pressures of steam.

Buckle peered over the Owl’s bulky head to make eye contact with Andromeda, who was now visible in the pulsing, pumpkin-colored light.

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