Engines of Obsession: Chapter 34

Chapter 34: Iron Fist

Turner was a very pragmatic man. As much as he hated Penelope, he was not so caught up in honor and the desire to take vengeance for his parents that he felt the need to destroy her personally. A large part of him really wished that, when the little construct ran out into the street to dash toward Blakely, Nora, and Nikandros, the mysterious watcher would be lured out and attack her. He certainly would've considered her an acceptable loss if it meant drawing the watcher out.

Perhaps unfortunately, this did not happen.

The copper-plated girl ran out, but suffered no attack. Turner instead saw a bit of movement from the window. Even without the spyglass he’d borrowed, he took that as his cue – quickly moving behind a wrecked, overturned cart to hide himself, and then cutting across the street, aiming to come into an alleyway next to the building with the unknown observer.

He knew he didn't have much time before the watcher got suspicious if Penelope and the others did not immediately head to the shop. Turner could only hope that this was a building the watcher hadn't secured. He was taking a bet that they weren't local.

His hurried footsteps on the paving stones sounded far too loud in his ears, but he knew that with all of the noise of the battle nearby drawing closer, it was unlikely anyone could hear him. He forced himself not to consider the possibility.

Instead, Turner rapidly grappled onto the stone wall. This building was like many in this area, consisting of a stone first floor and then a jettied second floor of timber. While it wasn't easy to climb, it was something he had some practice with in his younger days. He was able to scramble up to the second-floor window in the alley, which was currently shuttered.

Turner remembered jimmying open these sorts of shutters with a dagger as a teen in Edsenburg. It wasn't difficult normally, but clinging to a wooden beam and plaster wall with one hand while drawing his knife with the other – and wedging it into the gap between the shutters – was a lot harder now.

The knife had to be wedged in with his injured hand because he didn’t trust that one to hold him up. Unfortunately, this meant that his left arm was already starting to burn with fatigue, and the precarious balance he had on one of the outer stones with his foot wasn’t enough to take off significant weight. His toes were starting to ache as well.

Even so, his arm was only just beginning to turn numb when he felt the latch lift. He twisted the knife. One shutter opened. He hooked his arm inside and levered himself up.

He briefly felt exposed, as he hadn’t been able to check if someone was inside watching the window, but that worry vanished when he heard the loud buzzing roar of another combustion engine kicking to life mere feet from the window.

Turner realized he was lucky just seconds later. With the loud rattling buzz of the strange flying machine taking off, he had less to worry about when he heaved himself up and over the window sill, landing with a loud thud onto the hardwood floor. With the noise of the machine masking his entry, Turner quickly scrambled to his feet and took stock of the room.

Fortunately, he'd broken into someone's bedroom. The simple furniture was tidy, but at a glance he could tell the owners hadn't been there in a while. Most likely the mysterious watcher had broken in, as well.

The noise of the engine rapidly faded, moving away from Turner. No door separated him from the sound, just a fluttering heavy curtain. He knew that if the machine was in the air, time was limited. Turner wasted no time in rushing through the curtain, barely taking in what appeared to be a kitchen and dining room before he was on top of the stranger.

Turner had time to see weathered, sturdy clothes, mainly consisting of leather and homespun cloth, before his hand was on the man's shoulder. The other hand held his knife, rising toward the man's neck in threat, as he ordered, "Shut it down!"

The reaction wasn't what he expected.

Before his knife had even reached the neck, the man's foot shot back and stomped on Turner's instep. Pain flared, even through the thick and sturdy leather of the boots Turner was wearing. It felt like the man had iron soles in his boots or something, and only the protective cushioning kept Turner's foot from breaking.

It was still painful, and Turner's forward momentum slowed as he instinctively spasmed backward.

That instinct saved his life.

The stranger spun around with a powerful backhand. Too powerful, really. He was a stocky man, built for durability and endurance, but Turner could tell he could take care of himself in a fight. What startled him was how the swung fist missed him by a hair's breadth, and shattered into the window frame. The sturdy wood crumpled like paper, splintering outwards as the backhand tore through it.

Turner staggered back, suddenly on the defensive. His aching foot, still tired from his climb and the stomp he'd endured, made his retreat stumbling and less coordinated. It gave the stranger time to turn around and recover from the surprise.

He was a broad-shouldered man, and under the hood he wore, Turner could make out odd features. Olive skin, broad facial features, but a distinctive hooked nose and piercing blue eyes. His hair was very dark, almost black, though the mustache and beard were carefully-maintained.

Mixed blood wasn't unusual on the frontier, but this man didn't look like the usual product of migration and chance. He looked like something that had persisted… unmoved, unchanged… since the fall of the Empire.

A large wooden box with various knobs and mechanisms hung around the man's neck, positioned so he could manipulate the controls. Turner heard the crash of the flying machine outside, and that got a grunt from the scowling man. The arm that had lashed out at Turner unbuckled the strange box, letting it clatter to the floor, while the other hand yanked a large knife from a hidden sheath beneath the man's vest.

But Turner was more concerned about the glimpse of the hand that had nearly taken his head off. The glove had been torn open, revealing scratched reddish-grey knuckles.

Metal knuckles.

The box crackled, and a voice came from within, grainy and with a strange background hiss. "Bravix, tu aeron caido. Doxen?"

Turner didn't have time to think about the strange language coming out of the box. He was just able to process that it was someone speaking… somehow. No wires or anything, but definitely an urgent voice.

Then he was dealing with the oncoming man swinging that metal fist down! He dodged behind the table, letting the swing crash down and buckle the table's edge in. The furniture held, but it definitely left a mark. This guy was trying to kill him, and going at it hard.

He'd wanted to take the man alive, but it didn't look like that was going to be possible. Injured as he was, Turner knew that if he didn't take the guy down as soon as possible, he might not walk out of here.

A quick lunge with his knife brought Turner in much closer while the man was pulling his arm back from the earlier attack. The larger knife that the stranger carried came up to block, forcing Turner's strike to skitter off the gleaming metal.

That was fine. Turner was using his off hand to do that swing. His right hand came up in a quick jab with two fingers extended. The quick and precise strike dug into the soft flesh of the stranger's neck, and Turner felt the windpipe crumple along with something else. Blood gushed over his hand as he yanked it back, dancing away from the man in case of a counterattack.

He needn't have worried. The choking gurgles told him that the lethal strike was a success. The stocky man dropped to the floor like a felled tree.

Panting heavily, Turner flicked blood from his fingers. He could hear the box again, this time making a loud, obnoxious buzzing noise, but he couldn't see it. Probably under the table, he reasoned. He slumped against the wall to catch his breath before worrying about that.

This turned out to be a good thing, as the box exploded with a loud popping noise just a few moments later.

The explosion flipped the table upward, giving Turner a brief glimpse of the oncoming hardwood surface before it slammed into him – and everything went black.