Arcadia Snips and the Steamwork Consortium Part 30

Snips rolled her shoulders back with a wretched pop; she closed her eyes and wriggled about like a snake working to escape from its skin.

She lurched back and forth, swinging herself over the trapdoor below her; every twist of her body threw her closer to its edge as she began to ease herself out of the last of her bindings.

When she finally managed to slip the straitjacket off over her head, she had enough momentum to fling it beyond the trap door and to the side of the room. By then, it was a simple matter to reach up and untie the bindings around her ankles, swinging her way over the trap and down to the train's carpet. She grimaced as she slammed each shoulder against the wall in turn, popping the joints back into their sockets.

Just as she was rubbing the soreness out of one shoulder, the door to the compartment burst open.

Mr. Tongue and Mr. Cheek rushed in, looking as if they had just seen a ghost. Both were sporting an array of fresh bruises, their suits ragged and torn; they scrambled across the floor towards Snips, throwing terrified glances back over their shoulders.

"Hey, you two," Snips began. "You don't know where Mr. Peabody is, do you?"

"Quickly," Mr. Cheek snarled. "What are your bleedin'

views on women's suffrage?"

"Huh? You mean the right to vote?" Snips blinked. "What do I care? I'm a felon. I can't vote."

"Bleedin' perfect," Mr. Cheek said with a grin. He and his companion moved with a newfound confidence, stepping forward to where Snips had been dangling.

Snips reached forward to one of the lockers besides her and plucked out a packed parachute. She threw it to Mr. Cheek, who caught it with a bewildered blink.

"Hope you boys know how to share," Snips said, before stomping down on the trap door and stepping back.

"Mr. Caddleberry?"

The bank manager sighed, glaring at the secretary. "What is it? I'm busy with-"

"There's a problem with the calculation engine," she said.

At once, all other issues were dismissed; the threat of another attack at the hands of Professor Hemlock had every bank in the city on high alert. He marched straight down into the bas.e.m.e.nt, shoving his way past the engineers and accountants who were scratching their heads in puzzlement.

The bank's engine occupied a relatively large s.p.a.ce; the lumbering monstrosity was nearly the size of a house, churning and rumbling as it gnawed over the bank's equations. Mr. Caddleberry instantly scanned the dials on the front panel, eyeing the numbers as they flew past in a series of clicks. "What exactly is the problem?" He asked.

"There seems to be something-something wrong with one of the accounts," one of the mathematicians said.

"Are we under attack?" The thought gave Mr. Caddleberry a terrible fright; he'd have to explain to the creditors why the machine was down for the second time this week. Time was money, and every moment that the calculation engine was down was money lost.

"Oh, G.o.d," he said, watching the dials beginning to spin.

"Is it-please tell me it isn't dividing by zero."

"No, sir," one of the engineers said, looking quite perplexed. "It's definitely not dividing by zero."

"Thank G.o.d."

"It's multiplying by Snips."

"It's-what? What the h.e.l.l is a Snips?!" Caddleberry shouted.

"I don't know!"

The machine released a sound not unlike a mechanized burp. With an exhausted and dying splutter, it locked down.

Snips, William, and Miss Primrose met each other between compartments of the train.

"Miss Snips!" William cried. "You're all right-"

"Mr. Peabody isn't that way, I a.s.sume," Snips said, hatless and somber.

"No, he is not," Miss Primrose quickly agreed. "William has discovered that the banks are going to-"

"Collapse. I know." Snips looked back over her shoulder to the front-most compartment. "He must be up there."

"The banks are safe," William said. "We took care of it. An equation we entered into the banks will cause the engines will shut down, but the accounts won't be erased. All that's left is to retrieve Mr. Peabody."

"All right. I'll handle it, then. I don't need anyone slowing me down," Snips replied, turning toward the compartment.

"Miss Snips-" William began.

Steam burst from every side of the train at once. The roof above the front-most compartment snapped off, flying away and tumbling down to the city below. A cloth bag began to swell up over it, growing like a pulsing blister-Miss Primrose and William balked.

"What on earth-" Miss Primrose began.

"An airship!" William cried with surprise. "It's turning into an airship!"

"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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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 a.s.sa.s.sin 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 a.s.sa.s.sin had previously demonstrated the ability to move through s.p.a.ce like a hot buzz-saw through warm b.u.t.ter.

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 G.o.d originally intended-bare handed."

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

The a.s.sa.s.sin 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-b.u.t.t 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 a.s.sa.s.sin 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 a.s.sa.s.sin stood in front of the shattered remnants of the window as Miss Primrose ran for the door. Her palm had just wrapped around the k.n.o.b when something buried itself into the door's surface, landing mere inches from her head.

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

Miss Primrose slowly turned; the a.s.sa.s.sin 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 a.s.sa.s.sin 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 a.s.sa.s.sin blinked and looked down to his chest. Several of his explosive gla.s.s 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 a.s.sa.s.sin scowled. "Oh, do b.u.g.g.e.r off."

CHAPTER 30: IN WHICH OUR t.i.tULAR PROTAGONIST FACES THE GRIM ANTAGONIST AND ATTEMPTS TO AVERT DISASTER, AND THE DAFFODIL SCION VISITS A PLACE LOST TO TIME.

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."