Arcadia Snips and the Steamwork Consortium (29 page)

"No," Snips hissed, springing forward and rushing toward the back-end of the compartment.

The cloth bag atop the compartment was growing by leaps and bounds; already, it eclipsed the size of the carriage below it.

The wheels beneath the compartment groaned as they detached with a clang, the airship abandoning its own floor; it began to float slowly upwards, curving away from the rails.

"No!" Snips roared, lunging up in an attempt to catch the edge of the floating airship. William jogged up next to her.

They were standing on the front compartment’s abandoned floor, the city rushing past them on all sides; the sound of the wind deafened them, forcing them to shout over the noise.

"Miss Snips, we can’t reach him—"

"Give me your umbrella," Snips said, her voice cleaving through William’s.

"Miss Snips—"

"Now," Snips said.

William hesitated, but complied. He pulled his umbrella out from his belt hoop, handing it over to Snips. She quickly snatched up a length of rope, fastening it about her waist; she tied the other end to the compartment’s external railing. Then, she hefted the umbrella high above her head, pointing it at the airship as it rapidly fell behind the train.

William’s eyes widened with realization. "Miss Snips, wait —"

"He’s got my hat," Snips said. "I’ll be right back."

She opened the umbrella and soared.

~*~

Miss Primrose had moved to the back compartment in hopes of finding some way to stop the train; instead, she found a murderer lying in wait.

"Good evening, Madame," the assassin said, slipping out of the shadows behind the compartment door with a mocking bow.

Miss Primrose lost all her color as she turned about to face her aggressor. She knew at once her chances were slim to none; the assassin had previously demonstrated the ability to move through space like a hot buzz-saw through warm butter.

He stepped forward, spreading his hands out apologetically.

"I'm afraid I left my pistols in the front compartment," he told her, before folding both hands into a bird, flapping his fingers like wings and whistling. "Gone, gone. So I'm going to have to do this the way God originally intended—bare handed."

"You don't say," Miss Primrose said, stepping back.

The assassin grinned, cracking his knuckles. "Mm."

Miss Primrose licked her lips, putting more distance between herself and the murderer. Her medical bag was behind her feet, stashed in the monocycle; if she could buy herself just a precious few moments, she could retrieve the pistol inside. "I see,"

she said, mind racing for some plan. "But certainly, you would never stoop to harming a woman," she said; no sooner had these words left her mouth then did she step over the bag, looping her toe through the handle and kicking it up to her hands.

He was there in an instant. The bag was twisted from her grip as if it was a toy in the hands of a small child, followed by a savage head-butt straight to her temple. She staggered back, blinking in a daze. A trickle of blood emerged from the split above her left eyebrow.

He tossed the bag far past her, out the shattered window.

"Sorry, sweetheart. That one doesn't work on me. I'm an equal opportunity sociopath."

She scrambled down to the floor for something to fend him off; her fingers coiled around a length of pipe, struggling to bring it between her and him. The assassin snickered, shaking his head.

"Seriously, now," he told her. "You couldn't take me on my worst day, lady." His mirth slipped away, replaced by a frigid hate.

"And this? Not my worst day."

Again, he was a blur. He flickered into existence beside her, delivering a blow to her stomach that forced her to drop the pipe and crumple over.

"Really," he told her, throwing her against the wall, "you should be thanking me. I don't discriminate; I'm a very progressive sort of monster. Men, women, children—I'll stomp a basket full of kittens for the right price."

Miss Primrose wheezed; she felt his hand engulf her narrow throat. Struggling to rake in a precious shred of oxygen, she noticed something gleaming inside of his coat.

He opened his mouth to say something else; Miss Primrose wadded up what saliva she could and spat it straight into his one remaining eye.

"Agh!" he cried, losing control for only an instant; only an instant is exactly how much time she needed. Miss Primrose jerked her head forward and bit at his chest, catching a hard bit of metal in her teeth. Pulling back, she thrust her knee into his stomach and shoved him as hard as she could.

The two stumbled apart; the assassin stood in front of the shattered remnants of the window as Miss Primrose ran for the door. Her palm had just wrapped around the knob when something buried itself into the door's surface, landing mere inches from her head.

"Oh," the assassin said, standing up with a cough. "I completely forgot about my throwing knives."

Miss Primrose slowly turned; the assassin produced another knife, giving her a wry smile.

"You made a good run of it," he told her. "Bravo."

Miss Primrose returned his smile with one of her own.

"Eh?" The assassin tilted his head. "Oh, do you have something to say? Some amusing anecdote, perhaps? Please, by all means. I'm in need of some entertainment. But keep in mind," he added, tossing the knife from one hand to the next, "that nothing on the tip of that little tongue will stop this knife from burying itself in your heart."

Miss Primrose spat out the metal pin, letting it clatter to the compartment's floor.

The assassin blinked and looked down to his chest. Several of his explosive glass spheres were still secreted away along the lining of his coat; one of them was now missing its pin.

He looked back up at Miss Primrose.

"By the way," she said. "Has anyone ever mentioned that you look like that Von Grimskull character?"

The assassin scowled. "Oh, do bugger off."

~*~

~*~

Never before had Snips been more thankful for the feel of something solid against her feet.

In the end, the only thing that saved her was a helping of raw, mad luck. Snips swooped between the airship and its balloon, her feet stumbling over the deck. She snapped the umbrella shut just as she slipped out of the rope, rolling to a halt.

She straightened, rose, and turned.

Mr. Peabody stared at her, wearing her hat on top his head.

"Has anyone ever told you that you are mad, Miss Snips?"

"Once or twice," Snips said.

"Cease this absurdity," he told her. "I’ve already seen to the collapse of Aberwick’s banks—you’re finished. There's nothing left to accomplish."

"Nothing’s finished," Snips told him. "William figured out your plan on his own. He’s locked the banks down. No one will lose a penny."

Mr. Peabody was immediately seized by a paralyzing shock. "...what?"

"Yeah, you heard me," Snips said, holding out her hand.

"Now give me my hat. Before I come over and take it."

"You are bluffing," he said. "There is no way Daffodil could have shut down the calculation engines."

"He entered an equation of his own. They're down, Mr. Peabody. So sorry that we broke your master plan, but it was stupid. Deal with it. Hat, now."

Mr. Peabody's eyes grew dark; his voice was infused with fearful trembling. "No—you idiots! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What you’ve caused? This was the path of
least
 harm! All the years I invested—to stem the loss of life that the alternative would bring about!"

"I've heard enough about your war," Snips said.

"I’m not talking about the war," Mr. Peabody snapped, and then he threw a switch.

The airship shuddered; an ancient groan swelled up from its engine as beams of wood splintered. A thick gout of steam surged up through the cracks, engulfing the deck in a hot and choking fog.

Snips coughed and threw herself to the floor. Mr. Peabody gripped the wheel and began to turn the ship back towards the center of Aberwick.

"Where are you doing?" Snips asked, fighting for breath through the dissolving cloud of steam.

"Back," Mr. Peabody said. "Back to finish the job I started, in a way I prayed I never would have to."

Snips drew herself to her feet, realization hitting her. "You don't mean—"

"Though we prefer the more subtle tools, the Society has never been above using violence to attain our ends," Mr. Peabody shouted above the roar of engines. "Especially when the stakes are so extraordinarily high!"

"No!" Snips cried out. "You have no idea what the hell you’re doing!"

"I know precisely what I am doing," Mr. Peabody said.

"You have forced my hands, Miss Snips. I am left with no alternative. Arcanum’s device has already been activated."

Snips charged, but the ship was rocky; Mr. Peabody was able to intercept her while she was still wobbly on her feet. He struck her across the side of her head with the butt of his pistol, sending her down to the deck. Looming over her, he held the ship’s wheel in one hand and brought the barrel down to her temple with the other.

"For the war to stop, Aberwick must die, Miss Snips. Either by maths or by fire, it will not survive this night."

"You don’t know what it can do," she said. "No one does."

"Tonight, we will find out," Mr. Peabody said.

"I won’t let you—"

"So much as twitch and you’ll be dead," he added. "Stand still, and I’ll allow you to behold the horror you have brought about."

"If you think I'm just going to sit here, you're sorely mistaken," Snips hissed.

Mr. Peabody’s eyes swept out to the city before him. "It does not matter. Nothing will save Aberwick. Not this time. No last second reprieve, no manna from heaven. No knight clad in vestments of white riding upon a valiant steed—"

The roar of the second airship was deafening. Snips’ hat was thrown from Mr. Peabody’s head; he turned, staring at shock as the second compartment speared up through the air and slammed into the side of his ship, sending both he and Snips tumbling.

Snips snatched the rim of her hat in one hand and drew her crowbar out from her belt with the other. When the ship righted itself, she leapt to her feet and brought the weapon down in a savage blow across Mr. Peabody's wrist, forcing him to release the pistol.

"Tell me how to turn the bomb off!" Snips roared, kicking the pistol off the deck.

Mr. Peabody stumbled back, nursing his injured wrist. "It can't be deactivated," he said, grinning. "Good day and good night, Miss Snips."

William sprang out from the second ship's mast, leaping down to the deck where Snips now struggled with Mr. Peabody.

Though the Society initiate was no stranger to violence, Snips had been trained to fight on the streets—she kicked, spat, and clawed, snarling like an unleashed wildcat. Mr. Peabody was forced back further and further.

"Miss Snips!" William cried out from the other side of the deck. "The whole ship's shaking!"

Snips turned; Mr. Peabody leapt at the opportunity and seized the crowbar in Snips' grip. The two of them briefly struggled as the ship quivered beneath them. With a violent curse, Snips struck Mr. Peabody in the stomach with her knee, releasing the crowbar and shoving him off the ship's back end. The Society initiate flailed as he was flipped over the railing, falling into the city below with Snips' tool held in hand.

She spat over the side after him. "Burn in hell."

"Miss Snips!" William repeated, reaching her at last. "What on earth is happening?"

Snips straightened and sighed. "It’s too late," she said. "He activated the bomb."

"The bomb?" William asked.

"It was what nearly destroyed the city over ten years ago,"

Snips said. "A weapon to end all weapons. The Society’s first attempt to prevent the war—by annihilating an entire city."

"My father’s experiment," William said, aghast.

"No," Snips corrected him. "My father."

William stared at her. "What—"

"He was one of the founding members of the Society, along with Professor Daffodil and your mother," she told him. "Nigel tried to stop the war by destroying the city. Your parents stopped him."

William shook his head, finding himself confronted with more information than he could readily absorb. "How large will the explosion be?" he asked.

"I don’t know. No one does," Snips said. "It just explodes, and explodes, and keeps exploding more, spreading out farther and farther—"

"How is such a diabolical engine even possible?"

"I don’t know," Snips said. "I think someone in your family designed the original; Nigel stole the blueprints and built two of his own." .

"But Miss Snips," William said. "The last explosion
didn’t
destroy the city."

"No," Snips agreed. "Your parents stopped it, somehow.

But I don’t know how."

"But the Heap is still burning, is it not?"

"At the center," Snips said. "The fire is still going on, and on. No one can even approach it without getting burnt—"

"Still exploding."

Snips paused. "What are you thinking?"

"Perhaps my parents found a way not to nullify the explosion, but to contain it. Perhaps if we take the airship there, we can do the same."

"Better than nothing," Snips said. "Do you know how to fly one of these things?"

"I was conceived in the belly of an armored dirigible,"

William said. "I am familiar with its operation."

"Then aim us for the Heap," she told him.

~*~

The center of the Heap was aglow in the mid-day; it still burned, tendrils of flame swelling out from a pillar of smoke. It resembled a tornado of fire and ash, writhing in endless hunger for more fuel.

William finished the last adjustments to the airship’s controls, stepping back. "That’s it," he told her. "It’s set to carry the ship straight into the heart of it. If my parents managed to contain the first explosion, it is reasonable to assume that their solution can contain a second."