I don’t think this one was inspired by a writing prompt. I think after I wrote the cliffhanger last time, I wanted to finish the story, or at least get it to a conclusion point. Funny thing about cliffhangers; they can pull the author along as much as they pull the reader. Let’s see how much of this I remember.
The Conclusion! Well, maybe.
Constance found herself in her own workshop, hands tied behind her back and lashed to the boiler in the corner of the room. It was uncomfortably hot and sweaty, the copper of the boiler not hot enough to burn but then, it had only just been turned on. It would only get hotter from here. But that was the least of her concerns right now.
Jeremy paced around the Dragon, taking it in. It took up most of the space in her considerable cellar, even twisted as it was. She’d worried before about whether the cellar doors when thrown wide would be sufficient to fit its bulk; now she hoped not but also wondered if that would stop him. Jeremy had clearly changed from what she remembered but there was one thing she was sure hadn’t changed; he kept his eyes on what he wanted and never let anything stand between him and his goals. A mere problem with the structural foundation of the house he grew up with would probably cause him only the pause it took to figure out how best to destroy the walls while keeping himself and his Dragon intact. And at this point she wasn’t sure she would even be included in the consideration.
“You did good work here, sister,” Jeremy said as he rubbed his hand over the dragon’s snout. “She’s not nearly good as new,” he said with an appraising kick to the replacement leg, “but she’s nearly ready to fly. Should be plenty comfortable too.” He opened the hatch and sat inside on the seat she’d fixed herself, stealing upholstery and padding from one of the easy chairs upstairs to replace the burnt and broken pieces. It didn’t look as good as it had, upholstery not being one of her strong suits, but she had done her best with some pulling and tugging and a riveter.
“I should be ready to return soon. I have to tell you, the Consulate will be pleased with your help. I never would have gotten my schematics back safely without my craft. We’ll do something nice in your honor.”
The Consulate? Jeremy was working for the Consulate? She’d only heard rumors of their work and every time she did it turned her stomach. Not only that, but if he told her that he was working for them, she could only assume he wasn’t letting her free to talk about it widely. Which meant he was either taking her with him–she looked at the Dragon, a clear one-pilot craft–or else…
“Tad, come here,” she said. She wasn’t sure how she could use Tad to get her out of this, but she had to do something. Tad loosened from his recharging bay where his boiler refilled and started across the floor towards her.
“Tad, stop,” Jeremy said, almost off-hand, and he did. The bottom dropped out of Constance’s stomach. She’d done so much work with and repair work on Tad that she’d forgotten, somehow… Tad was a gift from Jeremy. When she was only 18, just before he left, her best friend and helper… and he listened to Jeremy over her orders.
There had to be something she could do. Constance shifted, the metal tank behind her beginning to burn her back so she had to sit twisted, trying to keep off of it while attached to it. She looked around the workshop as Jeremy opened the Dragon’s boiler and began filling it with water. Loose pieces of machinery and tools scattered the floor but nothing nearby, nothing close at hand. Not that “at hand” was useful with her hands tied as they were. She twisted them in the rope bindings, feeling the chafe at her wrists.
“What schematics?” she asked, not really expecting an answer but hoping at least for more time.
“The layout of Parliament, for one,” Jeremy responded idly, going to the coal hopper and filling a bucket. He was going to leave as soon as his Dragon was powered, she was sure. And that wouldn’t take long. She knew the efficiency of this engine. “A few diagrams of the sentinel engines. Things we’ve been after for a while.”
“We? How long have you been working for them?” Constance couldn’t keep the hitch out of her voice. But she also spotted a screwdriver where her foot might just nearly reach. She waited until Jeremy turned back to the coal, then reached with her foot. She could just touch it. When he started shoveling the coal, she pulled the screwdriver back towards her, letting the sound of metal on coal cover the scrape across the floor. A sheen of sweat broke over her as she worked, but she’d scooted it under her skirts before he turned back.
“Oh, years,” Jeremy said. “They’d gotten in touch with me before I left home, you know. Did a few small jobs for them back then. They knew how much I wanted to hurt Father and found me useful. Since then, well, they’ve taken care of me and I have taken care of them in turn.”
Constance gaped. “The Lindy incident?”
Jeremy chuckled. “Of course. You don’t think they found out about Father’s schemes by accident, did you?”
“We lost the country house over that, you know,” Constance said, letting her voice go tight. It wasn’t hard. He seemed less focused now he was talking. Gloating, almost.
“Well, I didn’t need it any more, I was leaving already. You liked it better in town anyway and Mother was getting too ill to travel. Who cared if we lost it.”
Constance didn’t argue with him. Not because he was right– that country home had so many delights in it, even if not a workshop, and Mother was always better in the country than in town– but because she was edging the screwdriver behind her. She brushed it with her fingertips, scrabbled a bit, then grabbed the handle as Jeremy talked about how much he’d hated growing up with their father. Well, fine, she had too, but you didn’t see her joining a covert operation about it. Father was dead anyway, years past. She turned the screwdriver in her hand and began working it into the knot.
Then her mind fixed on something in the cellar. The pile of wood in the corner. It was next to a small pile of oily rags. She looked at Tad. He was stopped, still facing her. His boiler station was on the far side from her and the logs were between. Tad was almost close enough. It was a desperate plan but she had to try. From what Jeremy had said, she couldn’t let him get out. It was more important than her escape. Though.. if she could manage both, that would be ideal. Her throat tightened but she’d already decided that she couldn’t let tears stop her until this was all over. Jeremy lit the fire in the Dragon and she could hear the hisses and pings as the engine began warming up. The boiler behind her was hissing now too, prickling her with its heat even where she wasn’t touching it. There was no time, she needed to start now.
“Tad, come help,” Constance said. Tad lumbered into motion.
“Honestly, Constance. I would have thought you had more sense than that. Tad, stop.” And Tad did stop. Right where Constance wanted him. The knot slipped around the screwdriver. It was now or never.
“Tad, lace protocol.”
Jeremy stared at her. “What is lace protocol? I don’t remember teaching him that.”
Constance smiled at him. “Don’t you remember? When Aunt Felicity got married, Mother tried to get me into that ridiculous dress? I told her I’d dress up but I wouldn’t wear something that lacy?”
Tad was quietly extending his arm to the pile of oily rags.
“Yes, you did something that got Father quite upset. You… hm, did you… Wait. You set–“
“I set the dress on fire.”
The rags, wreathed in the blossom of flame from Tad’s arm, caught instantly. The wood was next. Seasoned and treated to catch as quickly as possible.
“Tad, stop,” Jeremy yelled. Constance twisted the screwdriver again and the knot came undone. She raced forward, grabbing at the bucket of water she kept near the door.
“What are you– No, you stop now!” Jeremy’s arm shot out as she ran past him. Her bucket of water splashed onto the sizzling coals in the Dragon, letting out a gust of steam and ash as they went dead, but Jeremy had grabbed firmly onto her hair, twisting her head painfully to the side and back.
“I won’t let you–“
“Tad, defend!” A whirling arm took Jeremy in the side. He let out a choked breath but kept his hold on her. “Tad, stop! Tad, return to base!” Tad started away. The fire in the corner was creeping higher. It was time for her last card.
“Tad, checkmate.”
“Tad, STOP.” Jeremy turned to her. “What is checkmate supposed to mean?” He turned back over his shoulder as Tad’s chugging, whirring, clanking motion didn’t stop. “Tad, stop. Tad, stop! Tad!”
“He won’t listen,” Constance said, trying to tug her hair free. Jeremy twined his fingers in it more tightly, then yanked her in closer.
“What do you mean?”
“Checkmate. End of the game. Someone’s beaten us so we’re destroying the table.” Constance tried to push away from Jeremy’s chest but he was too strong. She felt something though as her hand pushed at his hip. “I programmed it into him. He ignores all orders now and focuses on one thing.”
Tad’s arm pulled back then shot into the large boiler that powered the basement. A scream of metal and roar of steam blasted through the room. Constance grabbed at the metal on Jeremy’s hip and yanked the dagger free. She whipped it up through her hair, both of them staggering as the tension released, and then slashed it forward. She couldn’t see through the steam and smoke filling the room but Jeremy let out a cry of pain. “He’s destroying everything in here.”
A crash of metal and crinkle of glass. Tad had found the Dragon. “NO! Stop! Tad, deactivate! Tad, stop!” Jeremy lurched towards the sound. Constance backed up. She knew this cellar better than anyone. The door should be… here.
She eased it open and slipped out. Closing it behind her was simple. Locking it was the work of a moment with the metal scraps she kept in the alley. Walking away was no problem, or at least it couldn’t have been because she couldn’t remember it. She stood two streets away, watching the fire catch higher and higher in the windows of her house. It was all gone. Everything. All she had were the clothes she was wearing and the dagger in her hand. Her hair fell in uneven feathers around her face and her wrists stung from the rope. It was nothing to the pain in her chest as she stared at her life going up in smoke, unable to breathe properly.
“Well well well, it’s Miss Parasol,” came a voice from the alley behind her. She turned and saw someone who looked familiar. It took a moment to place him. Oh, right, the day she’d found the Dragon. The Lemontree thug she’d sprinkled with gravel chips when she shot her parasol rifle at his feet. “Where’s your fancy dress and your robot now?”
Constance turned to face him. Him and four other gang members, it looked like. Two of them were Lemontree heavies she’d tried to avoid tangles with several times before. Constance held her dagger before her in a guard position, but her eyes stung with tears. Now? This had to come now?
Then the men stopped their advance. They looked around with shifting eyes, from her to behind her to the nearby houses and back. A woman’s voice came from behind her back, soft and growling.
“This isn’t your territory, you scavenging dogs. Go back to your own turf.”
The gang stared at her for another moment then the leader spat on the ground. “Fine, you can have the little noble. Hope she bites you for it.” They turned and left.
Constance turned slowly. The first person she saw was the young man, the one who’d had the crowbar. He tried a smile at her a few times but seemed unsure. Along with him were three tall individuals with knives or steam revolvers, or both, and two more people. Constance was shocked to recognize Ted and Molly.
Ted held out a hand to her, beckoning. She stepped towards them cautiously. He took her hand and put it in Molly’s. Molly stared at roughly her shoulder while feeling across her hand. Her fingers lingered on the scuffs of the rope. Ted took her hand and brought it to Constance’s cheek. Constance stood, flinching but unsure what to do, as Molly felt her hair and ran a thumb over the wet trail a single leaking tear had left.
Finally Molly spoke, her voice the growling one Constance had heard earlier.
“Eli here saw the smoke, thought there might be trouble. He got us and we came to see. Glad we found you, girl. Now, do you have somewhere to stay tonight?”
“I… no.” Constance couldn’t manage much more than that.
“Fine, then, you come with us. You don’t have to tell us the story if you don’t want to. But we know your talents and if you want a place with us, we’d be glad to have you. Can’t promise finery but you’ll be safe, child.”
Her mind ablaze with all that had gone before, Constance nodded. Ted took Molly’s hand again and squeezed it.
“That’s a yes? Good, then, come with us.”
And with a last glance at the fiery blaze that consumed all her past, Constance followed them through the night to a new life.
Intellectual Property of Elizabeth Doman
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