The Girl With the Iron Touch (25 page)

The spider clacked, its metal digging into her back.

“The Master will not be removed from the tank. You will have to do the procedure with him immersed.”

“How in the devil am I supposed to do that? Climb into the bloody thing with him?”

“There is an airtight port through which you will slip your hands.”

“Well, you lot have certainly thought of everything, haven’t you?”

More chittering and clacking.

“The Master designed this tank in the event of an emergency. We simply followed his schematics.”

Who simply designed a life-support system “just in case”? Perhaps it was a good idea, but a morbid one. It made her think of Mr. Tesla and his “death suit” that they’d seen in New York. It was a suit that allowed the genius to access the Aether in spirit form. It was also terribly dangerous as it actually required him to die and enter a stasislike state. It seemed humans, the scientifically minded ones at least, were either tempting death or trying to prolong life. Surely that was an indication of madness. And she was one of them, because she’d practically slapped death in the face—twice. Both times for Sam.

“It’s going to get bloody in there.”

“It is the Master’s blood. His body will reassimilate it.”

Ew. “How am I supposed to get the saw in there?”

“There is a full array of medical and surgical equipment in a box beneath the floor of the tank. Everything you will need is already there.”

Garibaldi truly had thought of everything.

The lame metal arachnid skittered alongside her as she left Sam and went to the tank. A stool had been placed at the head of it for her. How very considerate.

“You should get that leg fixed,” she told it.

It ignored her. Perhaps there was a God after all.

As the other automaton had explained, she could put her hands into the tank. Basically she slid her hands into gloves that had been made from a thin membrane of some kind, possibly the flesh of a sea creature. The glove kept her hands dry but allowed for almost the same degree of sensitivity as bare skin. Fascinating.

Perhaps she’d keep Garibaldi’s brain so she could study it. Luckily, she thought this just as she felt a sharp pinch on the back of her neck—the spider was connecting to her.

She’d just located the box of surgical tools when the onion-shaped machine started wailing. “Intruders! Intruders!”

Emily barely had time to react before Sam leaped off the table, restraints snapping like fine thread. His boot came down hard on the onion, leaving a huge dent in its outer shell. It stopped wailing.

But it was too late. The door flew open and in ran Finley. She went straight for Metal Face, using the force of her body to take it to the floor.

The spider stopped clacking, and instead made a humming noise. Its body began to fold outward, increasing its bulk, and its legs started to ratchet, increasing the length of each one—all but that one broken one. It removed its limb from her neck just as Emily feared it might kill her, and jumped into the air, landing on Mila, who had come in behind Finley. It screamed as the girl snapped another of its powerful appendages.

Now was her chance. She could kill Garibaldi now….

“Emily, don’t!”

Her head jerked up at the sound of Griffin’s voice. She had the saw in her hand. All she had to do was flick the switch to engage its motor and she could cut right through Garibaldi’s brain.

How could Griffin stop her from eliminating this danger not only to them but to the entire world? He wouldn’t—not without reason.

Emily set down the saw. She began to remove her hands from the gloves but suddenly, Garibaldi’s own hands came up and grabbed her wrists, yanking so hard that she smashed her cheek on the metal edge of the tank. She cried out.

Griffin started toward her, but the car began to rock and shake. Emily turned to one of the windows and saw a flash of metal outside. A lot of metal.

Garibaldi had called in reinforcements.

Glass shattered, spraying inward. She ducked behind the tank to protect herself from the sharp slivers. Automatons of all shapes and sizes began to crawl through the holes. They burst up through the floor, and one even ripped a hole in the ceiling, through which it stuck its sharp, birdlike beak.

This was the collective Metal Face had mentioned. She had stupidly thought it was just a handful of machines, but of course it wasn’t. Small was not the Machinist’s style.

Sam seized the automaton’s beak, pivoted so that it was over his shoulder, and pulled. The head popped off with a loud snap. No blood, though. Thankfully, the thing had not evolved that far.

Emily struggled against Garibaldi’s hold on her arms. A man that destroyed should not have such strength. His arms, like his legs, should have been ruined.

Then, she realized these were not Garibaldi’s arms. He’d possessed a metal hand with detailed scrollwork on it. When she looked into the tank, she saw that both of these hands were primitive, skeletal restraints. His real hands lay misshapen at his sides.

This was a security measure, designed to catch anyone who tried to tamper with the body. The arrival of her friends had activated them. She should be safe so long as—

What was that noise? That “clunk” she felt more than heard? She peered into the tank and saw that a third metal hand had appeared, only this one had wicked circular blades attached. Blades that were headed for her left arm.

Emily screamed. She pulled back so hard it felt as though her shoulders would pop right out of joint. She kicked the underside of the tank, the side front of it. Nothing stopped that grisly weapon. Any second it was going to slice through her flesh, muscle and tendons, and then it would cleave her bone like it was nothing more than butter. Once it did her left hand, it would come back for her right.

How could she work without her hands? How could she use her talent without her hands?

She continued to struggle, tears running down her face. She could feel the blade getting closer. Feel the breeze created by its vicious turning.

Griffin had her by the shoulders, trying to pull her back. He reached in with his own hand and tried to break the seal around hers that held them inside the tank, but it was no use. Emily sobbed. “I don’t want to lose my hands!”

The tank shuddered, as though struck by an elephant.

It was Sam.

The blade that had come so close to her wrist jerked back a bit, but then lurched for her once again. Sam straightened and threw his shoulder forward.

“Sam!” It was all Griffin got a chance to yell before Sam charged again. The force drove the blade against Emily’s arm. She screamed at the pain as the front of the tank smashed. Her voice was lost in all the other noise in the car.

Goo splashed to the floor, followed by a dense thud. She waited for the saw to strike again, but it didn’t. She opened her eyes in time to see Sam, the upper half of his body in the tank, the saw nothing but crushed metal in his bleeding fist.

She choked back a sob. He’d saved her.

Sam pried the metal fingers holding her arms open, freeing her from the tank. Emily pulled her arms free. Her left arm wasn’t cut nearly as bad as it could have been, but it was still a nasty gash. The goo in the tank contained organites, so she scooped up a handful and slapped it on the wound before wrapping a cloth she grabbed from the operating table around it, stanching the flow of blood. She tried not to think about what else might be in that glop.

But then she realized what
wasn’t
in the goo.

Garibaldi.

The fight had stopped. The automatons had been defeated. Jasper, Jack Dandy and the American Wildcat (when had she arrived?) came bounding through the door. They were a little bloody and bruised. The sleeve of Dandy’s fine coat was ripped at the shoulder and he’d removed his cravat to use as a tourniquet around that same arm.

They all stopped and stared at the two men on the floor. Garibaldi convulsed as though gripped by a seizure, and Griffin…

Griffin was trying to save him.

“Help me!” he cried, raising his gaze to Emily’s.

“Griffin, let him go!”

Griffin didn’t listen. He tried scooping up goo and smearing it over the man. Then, he rose to his feet and lunged for the ruined tank, slipping on the viscous-slick floor. He grabbed the breathing apparatus and pulled on it, but it didn’t have a long enough reach.

On the floor, covered in slime, Garibaldi’s body arched, held and then collapsed.

He didn’t move.

Griffin fell to his knees once more, heedless of the shattered glass and debris. His slippery fingers felt for a pulse, for a heartbeat, even for breath. Emily watched him do all three with a tightness in her chest she couldn’t explain, but her heart broke for him.

Hands limp on his thighs, Griffin lifted his bowed head to look at them all. It was obvious that none of them understood his anguish, but they felt it all the same, as though he was somehow transferring his emotions to them.

“He’s dead.”

Finley was the one who went to him, of course. She didn’t seem to mind the corpse just inches away, or the mess on the floor and on Griffin. She wrapped her arms around him and hugged him tight. “It’s going to be all right,” she said.

Griffin laughed—a ragged, tortured sound. “No, Fin. It’s not.” He slipped his arm around her as Emily put her own arm around Sam. “It’s not going to be right at all.”

Finley exchanged glances with Sam, who seemed as bewildered as she. Emily, however, had an odd look on her face, as though she knew exactly what Griffin meant. It was obvious neither of them planned to share at that moment, because Griffin pulled out his portable telegraph to send for the authorities, and Emily began sorting through the automatons and gathering what information she could by “reading” them.

At that moment there was too much that needed to be addressed. Let Griffin and Emily have their secrets.

For now.

The authorities were contacted. Scotland Yard arrived almost twenty minutes later with their team of automaton-removal specialists in tow. They took everything—even the train cars. They had their own engine to pull the cars and the “sleeping” docker.

Griffin hadn’t explained what he meant when he said it wasn’t going to be all right. After contacting the Yard he began directing everyone else to collect anything important that shouldn’t fall into police hands— such as dangerous gadgets. He also got rid of the saw that had cut Emily. Explaining how it was crushed beyond anything humanly possible was not something he wanted to do, he said. Then, they discussed what they were going to tell the Yard.

Now that it was over, Emily unwrapped her arm and cleaned the wound with Listerine. It was already healing, thanks to the organites she’d put on it, working in tandem with those already in her system.

Sam helped her rebandage her arm. He’d washed his hands with the Listerine and already the shallow cuts had faded to little more than scars. He healed so incredibly fast now.

She glanced at the body on the floor. Finley had covered it with a sheet from the surgical cot. The fact that his body couldn’t repair itself, even in a vat of organites spoke to just how damaged Garibaldi’s physical form had been. Basically he’d been dead, save for his brain. All energy went into keeping his brain and heart functioning just enough to keep him “fresh.”

After the Yard arrived and they all gave the agreed upon version of what had transpired, they went home. They went to the library, their usual meeting place. Finley poured them each a drink from one of the crystal bottles in the cabinet. It didn’t taste all that nice, but it made Emily feel wonderfully warm inside. She could sleep for three days. In fact, she intended to do just that.

Griffin sat on the corner of the desk. Finley perched not far away on the rolling ladder. He turned his gaze to Mila, who was sitting on the carpet at Jack’s feet, playing with one of the estate dogs. He looked at the girl as though he was in awe of her. Emily couldn’t blame him. No one would ever know she hadn’t been born human.

“Mila, we need to discuss what’s going to happen to you now that you’re free.”

Her head came up, a horrified expression on her face. “What do you mean?”

Jack’s hand came down on her shoulder. “Easy, Poppet. What ’is dukeness is askin’ is what do you want to be now that the world is your oyster?”

She blinked. “The world is an oyster? That makes no sense at all.”

They all chuckled—a welcome release.

“Let’s start with where you’re going to live,” Griffin suggested. “You are welcome to stay with us here at King House if you wish.”

Where else would she go? Emily wondered. It wasn’t as though the poor thing had family. In fact, they were the closest she had to anything like that.

Mila looked at each of them. “I’m very thankful for all that you’ve done for me. Without you I wouldn’t even know there was a me! You saved me from being a puppet, and helped me become human. You taught me about respect and friendship, trust and strength. I’m honored to carry a little piece of you all inside me.”

“’Cept for me,” Jack corrected, glancing at Emily. “I want it known that none of my bits have ever been inside you.”

It was an awful, ribald joke, but they all laughed at it regardless, even Mila, who Emily was fairly certain didn’t get it.

The girl turned to Jack. “Can I live with you?”

Dandy froze, glass partway to his mouth. “I fink there’s somethin’ wrong with your bells and whistles, luv. No one wants to live in Whitechapel when they could live in Mayfair.”

“You do,” she replied, which immediately intrigued Emily. Jack Dandy was like a big human puzzle that she’d love to solve just for sheer nosiness.

He looked around the room, as though pleading for someone to step in and rescue him. “You don’t want to live wiv me. You’re safer ’ere.”

“Maybe not,” Griffin interjected. “Over the past few months we’ve attracted attention from the authorities, rookeries, outlaws, even Buckingham Palace. I’m not sure Mila would be safer here, at least not for the time being.”

“But—” Emily protested.

Mila turned to her. “You can still study me, Em. If you want. You all have been very good to me, and I want to know you better, but I feel comfortable at Jack’s.” She glanced at the sinisterly handsome crime lord. “Besides, I think he could use a little protection.”