Engines of Obsession: Chapter 29

Chapter 29: The Sound That Wasn’t Steam

"This way!" Turner yelled, gesturing down one of the side streets. Running directly toward the chaos was a bad idea, he knew.

Nikandros followed right behind Nora, with no trouble keeping up. Turner suspected Byron had the butler handle more physical work now and then. The man was too fit to be a simple servant. But then, what did he know about... buttling? Is that the word?

"Why are we headed this way?" Nikandros yelled, dodging a young girl who was rushing toward the main street. "Didn't you just say the guard should handle it?"

Turner grunted and yanked Nikandros forward, then to the side. He didn't need to do more, the man was competent enough to get the hint and flatten himself to the wall to let a small group rush past.

"Changed my mind," Turner answered. "There's no way they'd know how to fight anything that can do that to a construct. I'm not sure we can help either, but we should at least see what's going on. If we cut around and through some of the smaller streets, we should be able to come up behind whatever did that."

Nora veered left, guiding them with her better memory of the streets. "Besides," she added. "It may not be a great idea to go where everyone else is going."

The trio cut through a narrow alley, bursting into a barely-occupied street with jettied houses with storefronts on the first floor. A typical artisan's street, though Turner didn't know the shops here. The street was back to being properly paved, pale grey stones flush and with few puddles. It was wider than the others, so they made good time for about half a block.

Most of the houses were stone or brick, but a few were timber. One of the latter exploded outward at the corner. A large object careened outward, bounced off the neighboring building's stone corner hard enough to send a spray of broken stone off of it, then skid to a halt just before it hit the wall of the far building across the street.

It wasn't like the constructs Turner had seen before. The stomper from Hodgeworth, the bugs from Laston... they'd had an eerie, organic feel. Almost like an insect made of metal. Reginald was an outright replica of a human. This didn't resemble anything living.

It was short and squat, only coming up to Turner's shoulder if he had to guess. It also didn't use legs, its body longer - eight feet or so - and about five feet wide, forming something like a vehicle without a place for a driver. The wheels were surrounded by a skirt of steel plates, riveted together, but the impact had torn some of the skirt away on one side to reveal a series of interlocking, heavy wheels that turned a thick rubbery belt for movement, studded with small metal plates.

The body was sleek but efficient. It lacked the curves he'd seen on other designs, but bolted steel plates protected everything. On top was a smaller, angular and utilitarian box covered in more steel plates, with thin rods poking out in various directions. Three large-bore rifle barrels stuck out from this box, which turned independent of the bottom half. One of the barrels was torn and bent in half, as if a tin flute were stomped by a giant, but the other two looked as deadly as ever.

Turner could see two mechanical arms had been mounted on the side of the box on top, but one had been torn away, and the other moved fitfully. Damaged, it seemed, but after getting thrown through a building, that made a lot of sense.

Here up close, it was loud as well! Turner was pretty sure he would have heard it several streets over if the screams and shouts and gunshots hadn't drowned it out. Now that he was only within about twenty feet of the thing, he could hear the throaty rumble of the engine. Not a steam engine, but he'd heard a combustion engine once or twice, back in Edsenburg. This sounded like those...

But far, far more powerful.

The rumble rose to a roar as the wheels spun, the metallic bits on the belt digging roughly into hard stone. They tore into the ancient roadwork like cleats in soft mud, providing grip for the strange device to lurch forward, then barrel in between the two houses it had emerged from. It did not make a perfect exit. Turner heard a crash as something else gave way, and the building groaned plaintively.

"What in the Three Realms was that?" Nikandros breathed. The man was shaken, his proud stoicism given way to wide-eyed shock. Not that Turner could blame him.

Nora shook her head, face pale. "I don't know. It didn't... it didn't trigger my senses like those constructs normally do. We're close enough I can sense some wrongness that way, but it wasn't from that." She pointed back the way the construct had come.

Turner briefly thought back to the strange device the Stoneman family had produced. It had been far more aesthetic and delicate, but that, too, had run on a combustion engine far more advanced than anyone had heard of before. He wasn't an expert on these things, but the parallel was obvious even to him.

The loud report of a firearm going off - perhaps one of the one they'd just seen - brought Turner back to the present. "Doesn't matter," he grunted. "This way. We're too close. We'll go one street over and come back across, come up through the main. We should be able to connect with the city guard there!"

He didn't wait for the others. Turner selected an alley that looked promising, and took off running for it. He passed by the torn street on the way, the shredded upper layer of stone holding dark streaks and rough furrows dug out by the studs on the strange vehicle. It was a strange sight, and he couldn't help but glance back at it as he turned the corner into the alleyway.

He didn’t see the collision coming. At all.

A sharp grunt from him, a gasp from the other.

An impact of a body, too warm and soft to be an armored guardsman.

Then the tumble downward, breath knocked out of Turner with a loud wheeze, as he landed atop the hapless townsperson.

"TURNER!" Nora's voice shout out. It was higher-pitched than normal, as if panicked, bringing a groan to Turner's throat.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, pushing himself partly upright. His legs were tangled up, but he belatedly realized he was pushing himself away from a very warm and soft body beneath. One that smelled rather pleasantly of lavender, a common perfume, and a soft, earthy, woody scent. He knew that scent.

A dry, feminine voice spoke from beneath him, "I am flattered that I've gotten your attention, Mister Turner, but you are far too young for me."

He'd seen the pale arm, and a hint of dark brown bodice, along with a snatch of cream-colored blouse. Turner twisted upright, still untangling his limbs, and finally got a clear look at who he’d crashed into.

The bright red hair and cool, level blue eyes of Anne Blakely met his gaze evenly.