Tales of the Meridian Society! (TheCorsair, Madame Mim)

"Vais! Correis! Ahora!" He motioned out the door. "Rapido!"

Still, they hesitated. Sam watched them for a moment, then jerked her head around in surprise. Racing to the door, she cracked it and drew her pistol. "Ya vienen!" she called, anxiously. "Las Máquinas-Hombres! Ya vienen! "

Murmurs of hear came from the recently-released prisoners. Sam shoved the door shut and slammed the deadbolt home. "Ir! El Doctor y yo le ganar tiempo!" she told them, starting to drag a cabinet in front of the door.

The first of the former prisoners through was a stocky man, pasty from his long imprisonment. He caught the hand of one of the children, and they headed for the riverbank. The others followed, and soon all of them were dashing towards the hope promised by the river.

"Glad that worked," Sam observed, holstering her pistol once more. "C'mon, Erik. Help me shift this."

As Sam urged on the prisoners to run, Erik crossed quickly to help Sam with the cabinet. He didn't understand why they hadn't run when they first opened the doors. But all that mattered was that they had gone eventually. Looking around once they had the heavy cabinet moved, he noticed the table wasn't bolted down but on wheels like a gurney. He pulled it over and tilted it on its end, wedging it against the door as well, before crossing to pull the metal doors to the outside shut. It took only a moment to weld them shut and melt the locks with the heat ray.

"What now, what now?" Herr Schmidt murmured to himself, looking around the room. His eyes fell on the stack of Machine-Men, unactivated against the wall. Lightbulb. "Now we wait and we disguise ourselves, ja?" Grabbing her arm gently, Erik pulled his companion away from the door and toward the lines of automatons standing as though in formation, though they had yet to start up.

"Stand at attention," he instructed her. "Not at the front row, somewhere else. We can maybe pass as inactive Machine Men, escape notice. It will be easier to get to the Devil Lord and not die this way."

Sam positioned herself in a gap in the third row, one which let her put her back to the wall and which let her keep an eye on the Doctor at the same time. He could probably handle himself if need be, but she was a Ranger. He didn't have, nor when she was around.

There was a hammering at the blocked door, one which increased in volume and force. Finally, with a wickering of pale light, the door was cut open. Two of the massive Machine-Man "soldiers" stomped in. One surveyed the room, while the other marched with jerky steps to the sealed outsede door.

Sam felt her stomach clench and sweat drip dien her forehead, but she remained as disciplined as possible. After all their work, she wouldn't allow herself to be the onw who ruined if.

"You. Will. All. Come. With. Us," ticked one of the soldiers. "The Devil Lord has need of us."

Erik positioned himself caddy-corner to Sam in the second row. He tried to keep flinching to a minimum when the door was beaten down and breathed only shallowly. One of the automatons marched up to the formation of them and he had to concentrate on what he had learned in his military days to keep his gaze focused in front of him, staring blankly ahead, instead of looking at the one speaking.

"You. Will. All. Come. With. Us. The Devil Lord has need of us."

In unison all of the machinery began to whirr and puff to life, marching forward. Erik, too, acted as though he had been roused from stasis and began marching with them. He longed desperately to look back at Sam, to make sure she was okay, but he dared not. He wouldn't give them away, not when they had come so far, not when they were so close.

Sam frantically tried to keep step with tbe marching Machine-Men. She'd learned the rudiments of close-order drill as a Ranger, of course, but like most Rangers she'd let the skill fade after graduation and assignment. So many other skills were so much more important.

The ranks of Machine-Men hit the stairs without breaking stride, then columned left at the top. The sound of their boots was like single loud steps as they marched, and Erik - damn those pretty eyes of his - was making matching their stride look easy. Clearly she really needed to learn how to waltz.

Wait... pretty?

Before she had a chance to work out that particular random thought, they were ascending another flight of stairs and entering a large room. It might have been a library, once, or a ballroom. But now it was hung with the black and red dragon-and-lightning banners of the Devil Lord, and dominated by a raised daisupon which rested a high-backed chair.

Nearly a hundred Machine-Men filled the room. Theis contingent of twenty filled the last available space. Once they were done silence descended, broken only by the sound of ticking gears and the hum of electricity.

They waited.

Sam recognized it as an authoritarian trick. Reinforcing your position by forcing your subordinates to wait. Only... the Machine-Men obeyed the Devil Lord without question. So... why?

She grimaced at the answer. Because he's power mad.

The chair rotated, revealling a figure in robes of black silk embroadried with crimson lightning, wearing mask and gauntlets like the Machine-Men except enameled crimson. "My friends," he began, voice a breathy whisper as his eyes swept the room, "today is a day of glory! For today..."


The gaze of the mask stopped on her. She concentrated on holding extra still. "For today, we have an intruder among us. Bring her to me."

WHAT?

The closest Machine-Men were turning, and Sam's heavy automatic appeared in her hand as if by magic. Tongues of flame spat .45 death into the hybrids, and the wan pink light of her heater burned them down, but more of them stepped over the bodies of the fallen to strike at her with limbs like bludgeons.

One riot one Ranger, they say. But her last coherent thought as they clubbed her to her knees was "A riot's human, an' these bastards ain't." And then numbness, and a distant sense of motion.

Herr Schmidt didn't owe his ability to drill to the Viennese Waltz, but rather his waltzing ability to drill. He had never exactly been the military type, but law was law and he did his civic duty. The only part of the Army he'd ever found enjoyable was their drill exercises; it was sharp, clean, and mathematical. The way he liked things to be. Even after all these years, marching was a bit of a hard habit to break when one had clung to it the way he had and he often found himself mentally calling cadence in the background of his thoughts. Tonight it was in the foreground as he kept his dress and cover, watching the machine-man in front of him intently as they ascended the stairs.

Erik's heart thudded in his chest as they were brought to a halt and stood waiting. Hurry up and wait, that's what they'd always said about the military, and now the Devil Lord was employing the same tactic. Make his subordinates wait to display the absolute control he had over them. But why? They obeyed him without question.

"My friends, today is a day of glory! For today..." Erik held his breath as the Devil Lord paused and his eyes seemed to be gazing in his direction. "For today we have an intruder among us." Fuck. "Bring her to me." Wait, her?

There was a flurry of activity as automatons moved to grab Sam, whose hair had half-fallen out from under her hat. She managed to take several of them down with her gun and her heat ray, but they were too much. Erik pressed forward into the fray and grabbed one arm. His cover hadn't been blown, and he was going to make sure he was close enough to help get her out of this mess. Sam Cavendish was most certainly no damsel in distress and would rescue herself whether the men liked it or not, but she would need help with this one. The Machine-Men were simply too numerous. In the scuffle her hat fell off just before one of the automatons clubbed her over the head. Erik's heart was in his throat as he helped to drag her up the steps in front of the Devil Lord. He was glad for the mask, for once; had he not had it his expression alone would have given him away.

Sam hung limp, feeling everything at a distance as the Machine-Men dragged her forward. Concussed?, she wondered, watching as her vision blurred before her. If so, that wasn't good. Concussions were what ignorant laymen mistook for "knocked unconscious", and they were officially bad things. But nothing seemed too badly broken. She'd had enough bones broken, she figured she'd notice the telltale signs of shooting agony if she had some now.

A hand tore her mask away. She squinted, and thought she'd actually died an' gone to Hell, just for an instant. A glossy red horned face stared into hers. "Well," the... now, who was that again? Not Old Scratch, but someone she should recognize...

"Well, my foes have sent me tribute, seeking to curry my favor!"

Th' Devil Lord! That's who he was! She felt quite proud, managing that... "What?" Her voice was't as strong as she might have liked. "Tribute?"

The gauntleted hand gripped herchin, turning her face as the Devil Lord examined her features. "The offer of a bride," he wheezed, "to share my throne and bed."

That got her attention. She spat full in his face, leaving a gobbet of phlegm mixed with blood from her split lip to dribble down his mask. "Jes' wait untill Ah get loose..." she snarled.

The Devil Lord backhanded her, making her see stars for a moment. The he grabbed her hair and pulled, examining her forehead. "A few operations are called for, first. To remake you into a consort worthy of the Devil Lord."

Her eyes went wide, and she shrank back a little into her duster. Made into one of these Machine-Men, a goddamn doll for his... shuddering with revulsion, she couldn't bring herself to finish the thought. Instead, she spat again. "Do it right, y'clockwork gimp. Do it right, or I'll cut your heart out."

Hit me again, you bastard, she thought, almost begging. One hybrid had her by the gauntlet, another by the sleeve of her coat. Another blow would be just enough for her to pull loose.

She hoped.

Erik's eyes widened as the Devil Lord called Sam a tribute. His blood began to boil as the Devil Lord called her a bride, told her that she was to share his bed. His fists clenched, accidentally squeezing Sam's arm as his temper rose. Herr Heinz-Schmidt was not a hot-tempered man. In fact he was usually quite patient and cool-headed when others were rash. But then the Devil Lord hit Sam.

"A few operations are called for, first. To remake you into a consort worthy of the Devil Lord."

"Do it right, y'clockwork gimp. Do it right or I'll cut your heart out."

The Devil Lord wheezed a mocking laugh. "I don't make mistakes. This is very easily arranged..."

"I don't think so!"

It felt like someone else bellowing out in the face of the clockwork monstrosity, someone else's foot connecting with his chest to kick him backwards. Erik let go of Sam's arm as the other Machine Men started to lunge toward him. Spinning on his heel he kicked another backwards before the red glow of the forearm-mounted heatray filled his sight as he took out another, the one with his hold on Sam's coat. Erik ripped off his mask, letting it fall with a metallic clatter, so he could see better as he shoved an automaton off of the high podium to crumple in a heap below.

"Do it right, y'clockwork gimp. Do it right, or I'll cut your heart out."

The Devil Lord wheezed a mocking laugh. "I don't make mistakes."

"Maybe," Sam sneered, "but your ma sure made one. Didn't eat anywhere near enough skullcap."

"This is very easily arranged..."

"I don't think so!"

Sam felt herself sagging towards the floor as her right arm was released and a booted foot caught the Devil Lord in the chest. She folded her thumb against her palm, jerking her hand from her gauntlet, and came rolling to her feet with her Bowie in her hand. Erik stood like some sort of skinny avenging angel, heat ray blazing red as he burned down the Machine-Man she'd been about to stick.

Normally, Sam got just a mite peevish about the men of the Society pulling their 'gentlemanly garbage' on her. But, just this once, she'd let it go. "Thanks, Erik." Another Machine-Man made the podium. She flexed her wrist, dropping her holdout into her palm and blowing a thumb-sized hole through the hybrid's face. "Sheeee-it," she swore. "Mah gun's back out there."

Tucking the revolver into her vest pocket, she knelt and tugged the hybrid's gauntlet off. It stank, and unknown fluids oozed from it, but it was a weapon. She even managed not to make a face, when she jammed her own arm in. Then she looked around. "Ah, hell. Devil Lord's makin' a break for it!"

Spinning, knife in one hand and gauntlet on the other, she sprinted across the podium and shouldered the closing door concealed in the wall. "C'mon, Prof! No time fer dancin' lessons yet!"

Thank Heaven Sam had pulled herself free and started fighting as well. Erik had held out well enough on his own when he had the element of surprise, but now that there were automatons charging up the podium he most definitely needed help. He had no illusions; he'd never hesitate to admit that Sam was a better fighter than he.

"Ja...Ist nichte problem," Erik returned distractedly when she thanked him. "You uh...have a plan? Because I do not." He cursed quietly under his breath when she swore , informing him that her gun was back amongst the horde of Machine-Men. The linguist stood shoulder-to-shoulder with the Ranger, cutting down automatons as best he could with the heat ray and, when they got too close, his foot.

"Ah, hell. Devil Lord's makin' a break for it!"

"Scheisse..." Erik couldn't help but sigh and shake his head before turning and sprinting after Sam. "Ja I am coming!" he wheezed, turning to fire off a few shots over his shoulder but not stopping to see whether it had hit any of them. Joining Sam at the door he wedged his shoulder against it, pushing with all his might. "I am sorry, Sam," he grunted, "they should have given you a partner more suited for fighting than I." Erik's feet began to slip as he tried to adjust them for more leverage to push against the door.

"Less bitchin'," Sam grunted, "more... pushin'!"

They were both pushing against the door, so whatever was closing the door was... hydraulic? Some sort of machine, because it was outmuscling them both and swinging shut despite their efforts. She dug in, trying not to look back at the advancing Machine-Men. "They... sent you... cos yer... th' smart one..."

Not that she thought of herself as dumb, mind. But credit where credit's due.

"So... figgure us... a way... to get this door... open!" Her boots slipped on the floor, and they lost a precious quarter inch. "Ah ain't... rightly ready... ta give up." She tried for a grin, but with her face flushed and strained by effort, it probably just looked angry. "Or ta be... his... brain-damaged fuck puppet..."

The smart one? Well, the rest of the Meridian Society were all quite intelligent in their own right. But he supposed...well, that was a thought for another time anyway. Erik switched positions and threw his shoulder against the door, wincing as he felt it jam. He wedged his feet against the wall but felt the door still moving forward.

"You...will not be...his puppet," Erik grunted his assurance.

The scientist looked over the door against which they were fighting. It was cleverly rigged, also with clockwork, to close without someone pulling. But...not too cleverly. With some quick calculations Erik found the cog most likely to have the worst effect should it go out of order. Reaching over Sam's head he pointed his arm and fired a beam from the heat ray, hoping against all hope. Would it...?

Slowly the door grinded to a halt. It was a small cog but it had melted, effectively stopping the rest. Unfortunately, once it failed the two larger cogs would connect and start it again...and the clockwork was already creaking. Slipping in he pulled Sam's arm, the tail of Erik's jacket getting caught in the door as the cogs gave way and the door slammed shut. Frowning he looked at the bit of cloth cut in the door.

"My favorite overcoat," he muttered, singing cloth enough with the heat ray to free himself. Machine-Men pounded on the door, but they were safe at least for now. Well, as relatively safe as walking into the lair of a man calling himself the Devil Lord could be.

"You...will not be...his puppet," Erik grunted his assurance.

"You sure... do know how... to sweet-talk... a girl..." Sam grunted back. "Now... make with... the clever..."

Heat washed down, prickling Sam's scalp as Erik fired the heat ray, and the door was suddenly not fighting them. Erik slipped through the gap and, with a curiously gentleman-like gesture, took her arm before jerking her through and spinning her away from the door. It slammed shut even as she bounced into the wall.

"My favorite overcoat," he muttered, singing cloth enough with the heat ray to free himself.

"And my favorite gun," she sympathized, scratching her head. Then she glanced up ruefully. "An' that hat. Ah liked that hat. Still..." she gestured into the passage, "fools rush in where angels fear to tread, right?"

Sheathing her knife, she slowly crept along the passage. It wasn't dark, just dim, and was constructed of timber and slate. "Ah think... Ah think we're followin' th' roof."

The passage turned sharply, once, and ended at a door. Sam eased it open, keeping her left hand and the heat ray gauntlet up and ready. Outside, the roof was flat and some sort of flying machine sat upon it, blades slowly spinning.



"What th' hell y'all reckon that is, Erik?" she asked, stepping outside to get a better look. "Like one o' them Wright flyers, almost, but standin' on end."

And then she made a gagging sound of pain and crumpled, right arm going around her abdomen as she sagged to the ground. "It is the Aerial Screw of Leonardo da Vinci," the Devil Lord announed in his breathy whisper, stepping into full view from behind the machine. "Perfected in my science! And the vision of its triumph will be my last gift to you, before you die!"

"It was a good hat," Erik agreed, still catching his breath. His own hat had miraculously stayed in place, he suspected because his hair was neither as thick nor as long as hers. He smiled ruefully as she gestured to the hallway in front of them. Also keeping his heatray at the ready, he nodded and followed. "I suppose that makes us fools then, ja?"

They were able to see, just not very well. Only well enough to be able to make out any obstacles in their way. When Sam suggested that they were following the roof, Erik nodded. That would be the logical conclusion to come to. The passage turned sharply all at once and they came to a door. He nodded at the Ranger to open it, and when she did a strange whirring could be heard. As the strange contraption came into view, Erik's eyes widened. He recognized its basic structure, but it had been bastardized by the Devil Lord using modern machinery.

"What th' hell y'all reckon that is, Erik? Like one o' them Wright flyers, almost, but standin' on end."

"Mein Gott...it is--"

"It is the Aerial Screw of Leonardo da Vinci." Sam cried out briefly before crumpling to the ground as the Devil Lord stepped into view.

"Sam!" Erik fell to one knee beside her, trying to check her over to see what had happened. His heart pounded in his chest and blood rushed in his ears.

"Perfected in my science! And the vision of its triumph will be my last gift to you, before you die!" The Devil Lord looked triumphant as he stood by his whirring machine and Erik felt his blood boil once more. Once again this man had hurt Sam...and once again it felt like someone else as Erik rushed headlong at him, completely forgetting that he had a weapon and not quite caring. He felt his shoulder jam further as he grappled with the man in the metal suit, grunting as they struggled for control.

Sam gritted her teeth against the pain, and tried to remember what she knew about heaters. They burned flesh. Horrible, but wounds wouldn't bleed out unless vessels burst afterwards. But... how bad was she hurt.

Huddled in her private world of pain, she couldn't look. Not yet.

Pink beam, flickery, hard to see in sunlight. That's lower power. So, swallowing, she looked. Her shirt was burned away, exposing a badly-blistered belly. In a few spots, where the beam had lingered briefly, her skin looked like pork cracklins. Smelled like it, too, and she had to fight a wave of nausea.

"Muscles of mere flesh cannot stand before my power!" the Devil Lord declared, just before Erik slammed him backward.

Huh, she thought, blinking. Skinny boy can fight. Hell, it was a good thing she'd never gone in for all that romance crap, or she might start thinkin' he was cute.

Erik ignored the Devil Lord's boasts. He ignored the fact that the man was at least two feet taller than him--and he himself was certainly no Napoleon--and that there were muscles on this man as big around as his torso. He ignored that he was, in fact, skinny and lanky and lacking any sort of the physique required to fight this man. Because that's all the Devil Lord was; a man. And men can die.

Looking back on it as he wrote the events down in his journal, Erik would not remember what he said to the Devil Lord. He would remember a long string of German--and some Latin where German most unusually failed--that was probably mostly profanities. He didn't like using profane language; it was vulgar and unnecessary particularly if one had an imagination. But that's all he could think as he grappled and struggled with the Devil Lord, so he imagined that was all he would be able to say. Really the only advantage he had over this villain was that he was smaller, lighter, and therefore quicker, and that he could use his bodyweight against him. Foolishly, in retrospect, Erik essentially used his own body as a battering ram, slamming into the Devil Lord again and again, inching him backwards toward the edge of the roof even after he heard something in his collarbone area give with a sickening snap.

Then, of a sudden, he remembered: he did have a weapon. Tilting his chin up to look his adversary in the face, he smirked. "Let us see who is behind this mask, ja?" There was a flash of pink as he brought his wrist up and the heatray went off, cutting through the Devil Lord's faceplate right down the middle.

The Devil Lord's mask split in two and spun away, one half clattering on the rooftop and the other spinning away over the edge. Sam, who had until a moment ago been actively engaged in trying to stand back up without using her abdomen at all, stared in horror at what lay beneath. "Holy Mary Mother of God," she murmured, crossing herself awkwardly.

There was no face beneath the mask. Just a mechanical parody - a clockwork fright-mask of lenses and ticking gears and fine chains and wires. "The likes of you cannot kill me!" he whispered, iron-hard fingers clamping around Erik's throat. "But I! I can destroy you!"

With inhuman strenght he lifted Erik by the throat. "You will die, never knowing what befalls your woman! Never knowing what will befall the City of Lights, when the Wings of Silence descend!"

"Anyone ever tell you that y'all talk too damn much?"

She'd bitten her lower lip bloody trying not to cry out as she'd forced herself to stand, and the cool air that blew through the ragged remnants of her shirt did nothing to ease the burning agony of her blistered and charred abdomen. But her left arm was steady, and a brilliant crimson beam lanced out from the heater on her gauntlet to slash through both of the Devil Lord's forearms.

As Erik dropped back to the ground she adjusted and fired again, the heat blast catching the Devil Lord in the chest. He staggered back in a shower of molten metal and smoke, his robes igniting around the ray. Swaying, feeling herself getting light-headed, she fired again. This time, the beam sent him staggering backwards over the edge of the roof.

Grimacing in agony, Sam sank back to her knees. "Erik?" she called, trying to crawl over to her partner. "Y'all okay?"

Erik gasped in horror. The Devil Lord...was a machine! Even more horrifying, he was a sentient machine! These were the only thoughts to pass through his mind before he felt strong, cold fingers at his throat. He didn't have time to think or to get out of reach; the fingers began crushing his airways as he felt his toes only just scraping the ground, then nothing altogether.

"You will die, never knowing what befalls your woman! Never knowing what will befall the City of Lights when the Wings of Silence descend!"

Erik's vision was starting to blur and darken. He pried desperately at the unrelenting metal fingers, hearing himself choke as he tried to gasp for air. He heard another voice, a female voice, then there was a flash of light which cut through the darkness before a stab of pain in his back and head as Erik crashed back to the roof. The metal fingers finally relented beneath his own and he gasped, feeling his lungs expand with precious, precious air. The bookish man rolled onto his hands and knees, coughing and gasping as his vision returned and he realized the sound of shrieking, twisting metal was likely the Devil Lord landing several stories below.

"Erik? Y'all okay?" Sam was trying to crawl over to him.

Erik tried his voice, but it wasn't quite there yet. Instead he gave a thumbs up, motioning for Sam to stay where she was. He didn't know how she was hurt, but it was obviously painful for her to move and he didn't want her aggravating her injury further. Instead he slowly wobbled to his feet and managed to shakily walk over to meet her before kneeling down to look over her injury.

"These...rather...severe burns." Erik's voice was raspy and he had to force air through his throat to be able to manage a painful whisper. Still it was better than nothing. "I know you...do not like...-t may I...carry y--? I do not...want...risk further...damage."

"These...rather...severe burns." Erik's voice was raspy and he had to force air through his throat to be able to manage a painful whisper. Still it was better than nothing. "I know you...do not like...-t may I...carry y--? I do not...want...risk further...damage."

It was right on the tip of her tongue to say no, to refuse, and to try and make her own way out. And it wasn't like Erik was much better off. He sounded like hell, after all. But pain flared in her abdomen as she tried to stand back up, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out. "All... all right," she managed, through gritted teeth. "Y'all best... best not be... be droppin' me. Y'hear?"

---

Greenwich Royal Observatory
Friday, September 27, 1918

Sam rose, shaking her head at the way the menfolk all insisted on rising as well, and circled the table to refill her drink. "Ah'll be honest heah, an' say that I don' rightly recollect th' whole trip back. We got ourselves into that Aerial Screw thing - an Ah assure you, Erik's been ravin' about it - an' got us the Hell outta Dodge."

"Why would you risk it?" Colin asked.

"On account o' th' explosions." She made her way back to her seat, wincing a little as the motion pulled the new skin on her stomach. Some of what they'd learned made healin' a whole lot faster and a whole lot safer, but new skin still had to learn to stretch.

"What explosions?"

She sipped her drink, and gave Erik a little smile. "Why, suh, the explosions that started sendin' the Devil Lord's house back down to Hell after we sent him there to wait fer it."

Doctor Swift sighed. "So, all we have to show for this is a madman's flying machine?"

"An' some forty people rescued from him. Oh, an somethin' about a 'city o' lights' gettin attacked by th' winged death, whatever that is." She swallowed some scotch. "Bin' doin' some thinkin', though, while Ah was recuperatin'... Ah reckon' they're talkin' about Wabash. First city in th' world t'be lit entirely by electricity, back in '80."

Erik managed a small smile as Sam agreed reluctantly, on the condition that he didn't drop her. "I promise," he whispered.

He pushed himself to one knee before gingerly sliding one arm below Sam's knees and the other behind her back. He tried to avert his eyes from her tattered shirt to preserve her modesty, though he knew she probably didn't care. With an ease that might be surprising for his frame Erik lifted Sam as he pushed himself to his feet, holding her body carefully against his. The aerial screw would be the easiest way for them to get down, and perhaps it could even take them across the water back to the Meridian Society's headquarters in Greenwich. The linguist carried Sam carefully over to it before sliding into the pilot's seat and taking quick account of the controls. An explosion near the base of the mansion urged him to figure things out more quickly.

~

Erik returned Sam's small smile as she returned to the table. He had smiled in an embarrassed way and turned a little pink when Sam informed the Society that he had been raving about the aerial screw--and perhaps he had, at least in his letters to her--but this smile was genuine. Sam was actually the first member of the Society he had written letters to which did not pertain directly to the business of the Society. He silently recalled a letter of his, inviting her to a club he knew of in Greenwich the next time the Society met, and wondered whether she still intended to go. He dare not bring it up here, of course.

Dr. Swift sighed. "So, all we have to show for this is a madman's flying machine?"

"An' some forty people rescued from him," Sam pointed out.

"As well as one of the gauntlets with reverse-engineered Martian technology," Erik added. "And the knowledge that someone out there figured out how to build an entirely sentient, autonomic, yet complicit and subservient machine. I would say that is rather a lot, wouldn't you Doctor?"

"Oh, an' somethin' about a 'city o' lights' gettin' attacked by th' winged death, whatever that is. Bin' doin' some thinkin', though, while Ah was recuperatin'...Ah' reckon they're talkin' about Wabash. First city in th' world t'be lit entirely by electricity, back in '80."

Erik opened his mouth, aiming for a gentle correction, but Anne Marie beat him to it because of course she did. All he could do was sip his brandy and feel a bit embarrassed on Sam's behalf, something his native tongue summed up as fremdschämen.

"I do not know where this Wabash is, Mademoiselle Cavendish, but Paris is known the world over as the City of Lights," Madame LaMonte corrected her, turning a haughty gaze to the woman across the table. "As for this 'wings of silence,' I have observed more aeroships passing over the city than usual but nothing has yet happened. Do we know any more about them? Their goals?"

"I do not know where this Wabash is, Mademoiselle Cavendish, but Paris is known the world over as the City of Lights," Madame LaMonte corrected her, turning a haughty gaze to the woman across the table.

"Well. Ain't that special?" Sam shrugged. "Ah'm 'fraid Ah don't know much about Pay-ree, 'cept it's got at least one really nice hospital in it." She swallowed her scotch. "An' th' tie betwixt Wabash an' a madman wot makes Machine-Men sounded obvious ta me."

A pause. "Still, Ah suppose Pay-ree is a mite better known than Wabash. So, lessen we get more facts... Ah reckon that it's a better candidate."

Everyone went silent for a moment, processing that. Had... had Sam just admitted that Anne Marie might know something she didn't?

"As for this 'wings of silence,'" Madame continued, "I have observed more aeroships passing over the city than usual but nothing has yet happened. Do we know any more about them? Their goals?"

Captain Drake leaned back. "French posturing, is the current thought in the Ministry of War. Rather like Alexander's buildup to the Battle of Hydaspes."

Doctor Swift considered that. "Possible. What do you think?"

"Not likely," Colin said easily. "It'd be hard to mask that much movement of ships, and a lot of the photos don't match French combat ships anyway. But... even if they did, it wouldn't explain a name like 'Wings of Silence'. The Kelvin Lift Engine we developed from studying Martian craft, or the Hertz-Von Zepplin Geomagnethebemaschine, or any of their variations, are silent. But the propulsive units?"

He shook his head. "You can muffle the sound, but never eliminate it."

Anne Marie joined in the pregnant pause when Sam apparently admitted to having been wrong. She was just as surprised as any of the men. Her carefully sculpted eyebrows arched delicately before she continued. Having said her piece, she listened to the men talk it through. Madame LaMonte had no problem allowing men to act as though they were the masters of the universe, so long as they didn't actually believe it.

"You can muffle the sound, but never eliminate it, " Captain Drake insisted.

"S'where you're wrong, mate," Kieran put in, setting down his glass. "I knew this 'wings of silence' sounded familiar. They're pirates, and not the charming kind such as yours truly." As though to prove his point he flashed that devilish smile of his. "Had a run-in with 'em couple months back. Damn near lost my ship, too. I dunno how they did it, but you couldn't hear nothin'. On top of us 'fore we even knew they was there."

"Pirates?" Erik frowned. "But this seems more organized than that."

"Oi! We're more organized than you think!"

"If the Wings of Silence were pirates sent to attack Paris why haven't they already?" Anne Marie cut him off again.

"Maybe it has something to do with this Devil Lord," Kieran suggested with a shrug, leaning back and putting his boots on the table. "Establish a reputation as fearsome pirates, wait for the signal, hold Paris hostage for whatever demands whoever's behind this has."

"S'where you're wrong, mate," Kieran put in, setting down his glass. "I knew this 'wings of silence' sounded familiar. They're pirates, and not the charming kind such as yours truly."

Colin leaned back, folding his arms. "You've encountered these... 'Wings of Silence', then?"

"Had a run-in with 'em couple months back. Damn near lost my ship, too. I dunno how they did it, but you couldn't hear nothin'. On top of us 'fore we even knew they was there."

Colin looked disturbed. "A silent engine... it wouldn't make an aeronaval force invincible, but it could certainly provide a decisive edge in any ship duel." He gave Kieran a piercing glare. "And you never thought to mention this, before?"

Professor Swift, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, produced a legal pad. A soft scritching sound became his only contribution to the proceedings, as his pen flew over the paper.

"Pirates?" Erik frowned. "But this seems more organized than that."

"Oi! We're more organized than you think!"

"If the Wings of Silence were pirates sent to attack Paris why haven't they already?" Anne Marie cut him off again.

"Still building their strength, perhaps?" Colin looed around the room. "Paris is heavily fortified, with long-range heat guns and conventional cannon capable of striking targets as much as four miles up. Not to mention the Hale batteries and barrage balloons they could deploy as a defense against lower targets."

"Maybe it has something to do with this Devil Lord," Kieran suggested with a shrug, leaning back and putting his boots on the table. "Establish a reputation as fearsome pirates, wait for the signal, hold Paris hostage for whatever demands whoever's behind this has."

"Y'gotta assume a connection," Sam interjected at this point. "Devil Lord - an' Ah fer one vote we give him a new name, so's we ain't gotta keep callin' 'im that - said it fer a reason. He wants us ta be afraid, I reckon."

She leaned forward, spreading her hands. "So, y'can reckon it'll be th' same when they attack, Ah bet. Get th' 'Wings o' Silence' ferryin' in Machine-Man hybrids, t'serve as shock troops. Seize or wreck th' guns, an' then th' ships come in. Maybe fer ransome, like Kieran said. Or... maybe fer conquest?"

Sam's brow furrowed in thought. "But how'd yeh get a posse o' Machine-Men into the city. Anyone know if'n Pay-ree's got a subway, or sewers, or th' like?"

"And you've never thought to mention this before?"

Kieran shrugged. "Only now made the connection, mate," he said nonchalantly. The pirate watched the Professor pull out a legal pad and began scratching away, contributing to the conversation when necessary but otherwise watching Professor Swift.

"So, y'can reckon it'll be th' same when they attack, Ah bet. Get th' 'Wings o' Silence' ferryin' in Machine-Man hybrids, t'serve as shock troops. Seize or wreck th' guns, an' then th' ships come in. Maybe fer ransome, like Kieran said. Or... maybe fer conquest?" Sam leaned on the table as she spoke.

Erik nodded. "That sounds reasonable," he agreed. "I doubt they'd just be for shock though. If and when the ships come in, they'd be manned by the automatons as well. No point in wasting lives if they have armored hybrids to do it for them. The question is who?"

Sam's brow furrowed in thought. "But how'd yeh get a posse o' Machine-Men into the city. Anyone know if'n Pay-ree's got a subway, or sewers, or th' like?"

"The catacombs," Anne Marie answered instantly. "They go all over the city, at least a mile or two below-ground. Only the homeless go there anymore, and a few dead homeless men easily go unnoticed."

"So they're stockpiling these...machine-men?" Kieran suggested, to which Erik nodded.

"There may even be as many as a hundred below the city already, possibly more," he postulated, frowning. "We don't know how close they are to invasion."

Sam shivered as Erik began contributing. There was something on the tip of her tongue, something she should be able to see...

"So they're stockpiling these...machine-men?" Kieran suggested, to which Erik nodded.

"There may even be as many as a hundred below the city already, possibly more," he postulated, frowning. "We don't know how close they are to invasion."

"Catty-combs..." Sam said, sounding out the unfamiliar word. "Ah don't rightly know what they are..."

"Like... ah..." Colin considered. "Like the tunnels of the London Underground. But made to store the bones of the dead, instead of travel."

"Big, then?" Her idea was right there. She could see its shape, and she didn't like it. Not one bit.

"Massive," Colin confirmed. "A labyrinth, under the whole of..."

"Erik," Sam asked, cutting him off, "y'all got a better grip on th' technical side o' this. How many o' them 'conversion surgeries' could yeh fit into the Pay-ree cattycombs?"