Read Online Hearts of Smoke and Steam by Andrew P. Mayer - Free Book Online
Authors: Andrew P. Mayer
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you!” He pulled the handles apart and reached inside.
“I'm looking for a girl,” the Irishman continued. “Blondie with pale skin.” The man took a deep breath and spat. “Did you see her?”
“A blondie? I no understand.” But it wasn't hard to conclude that the girl the villain was looking for was the same one who had caught his attention earlier. If she knew that this man was coming for her, it was clear why she had fled with such determination—it would have been obvious that Emilio's abilities as a protector were sorely limited against such a man.
“A blondie,” he said, pointing up at his hair.
Emilio's hand groped down into the canvas bag. His fear was so pure now that it felt like time itself had stopped—this would be his only chance.
It wasn't much of a plan, and even then there were a million tiny things that could go wrong. But as his hand found the cool brass grip at the bottom of the bag, Emilio breathed a sigh of relief. Finally something had gone right today.
“Hell, I'm all out of patience,” the Irishman said. He raised his left arm, clearly preparing to fire.
Emilio pulled his trigger finger tight, releasing the mechanism. There was a rough popping of cloth as the bag shredded, destroyed from within by the razor-sharp plates that were spinning open inside it.
That sound was immediately followed by the loud “tunk” of metal against metal as the rod that had been fired directly at Emilio's chest instead impacted with steel. The force of the attack was still enough to knock him off his feet and throw him backwards. He landed rudely on a puddle of something wet and sticky.
“Now, that's something new,” the Irishman said, moving closer. “And pretty, too.”
Emilio held the shield up in front of him, peering over its edge. The device was constructed from a series of fan-shaped plates that spiraled around a center spindle and then locked together to form a solid metal barrier. The surface of each one was etched with ornate floral patterns that caught the light and made the polished steel glimmer and shine. The device had been crafted with as much artistry as Emilio could put into it—inspired by the creations of Sir Dennis Darby, he had intended it to be as much a piece of art as it was a weapon. But its aesthetic perfection had already been ruined by a large dent from the steel rod. It would now be unable to close with the same elegance that had managed to open it a few seconds before.
The Bomb Lance fired again without warning. The rod whistled past Emilio's head, then careened off the railing before it spun off into the river.
Emilio's best option was retreat, and he used his feet to shove himself backwards toward the stairs. Then there was a shocking jolt of pain in his leg: the Irishman had stuck the barb of his long harpoon directly into his calf. Emilio refused to let out a scream.
“Now I've got yer attention,” he said, pulling the point out from his flesh. “Tell me about the blonde girl.”
“I no know the blondie.”
“If that's true, it's going to get very bad for ya very quickly.” He raised his harpoon and pointed it directly at Emilio's chest. “Now I'll ask ya one more time, and if ya tell me no again, I'm going to stick this lance someplace that yer not gonna like. So, if ya know where the girl is, and I think ya do, ya should tell me.”
“She's right here.” It was a woman's voice, and it came from behind them. Emilio looked up, expecting to see the blonde girl from earlier. What he saw instead was a vague female form swaddled in layers of leather and cloth, a black mask over her face.
The Irishman breathed out what sounded like a sigh of relief, and a smile spread across his face. “Ah. There you are, Miss Stanton,” he said as he swung the harpoon up to face her. “We've been lookin' all over for ya.”
A lexander stared at the White Knight in disbelief. “Couldn't find another way, sir, or simply wouldn't?” Was it going to be the
“I'm looking for a girl,” the Irishman continued. “Blondie with pale skin.” The man took a deep breath and spat. “Did you see her?”
“A blondie? I no understand.” But it wasn't hard to conclude that the girl the villain was looking for was the same one who had caught his attention earlier. If she knew that this man was coming for her, it was clear why she had fled with such determination—it would have been obvious that Emilio's abilities as a protector were sorely limited against such a man.
“A blondie,” he said, pointing up at his hair.
Emilio's hand groped down into the canvas bag. His fear was so pure now that it felt like time itself had stopped—this would be his only chance.
It wasn't much of a plan, and even then there were a million tiny things that could go wrong. But as his hand found the cool brass grip at the bottom of the bag, Emilio breathed a sigh of relief. Finally something had gone right today.
“Hell, I'm all out of patience,” the Irishman said. He raised his left arm, clearly preparing to fire.
Emilio pulled his trigger finger tight, releasing the mechanism. There was a rough popping of cloth as the bag shredded, destroyed from within by the razor-sharp plates that were spinning open inside it.
That sound was immediately followed by the loud “tunk” of metal against metal as the rod that had been fired directly at Emilio's chest instead impacted with steel. The force of the attack was still enough to knock him off his feet and throw him backwards. He landed rudely on a puddle of something wet and sticky.
“Now, that's something new,” the Irishman said, moving closer. “And pretty, too.”
Emilio held the shield up in front of him, peering over its edge. The device was constructed from a series of fan-shaped plates that spiraled around a center spindle and then locked together to form a solid metal barrier. The surface of each one was etched with ornate floral patterns that caught the light and made the polished steel glimmer and shine. The device had been crafted with as much artistry as Emilio could put into it—inspired by the creations of Sir Dennis Darby, he had intended it to be as much a piece of art as it was a weapon. But its aesthetic perfection had already been ruined by a large dent from the steel rod. It would now be unable to close with the same elegance that had managed to open it a few seconds before.
The Bomb Lance fired again without warning. The rod whistled past Emilio's head, then careened off the railing before it spun off into the river.
Emilio's best option was retreat, and he used his feet to shove himself backwards toward the stairs. Then there was a shocking jolt of pain in his leg: the Irishman had stuck the barb of his long harpoon directly into his calf. Emilio refused to let out a scream.
“Now I've got yer attention,” he said, pulling the point out from his flesh. “Tell me about the blonde girl.”
“I no know the blondie.”
“If that's true, it's going to get very bad for ya very quickly.” He raised his harpoon and pointed it directly at Emilio's chest. “Now I'll ask ya one more time, and if ya tell me no again, I'm going to stick this lance someplace that yer not gonna like. So, if ya know where the girl is, and I think ya do, ya should tell me.”
“She's right here.” It was a woman's voice, and it came from behind them. Emilio looked up, expecting to see the blonde girl from earlier. What he saw instead was a vague female form swaddled in layers of leather and cloth, a black mask over her face.
The Irishman breathed out what sounded like a sigh of relief, and a smile spread across his face. “Ah. There you are, Miss Stanton,” he said as he swung the harpoon up to face her. “We've been lookin' all over for ya.”
A lexander stared at the White Knight in disbelief. “Couldn't find another way, sir, or simply wouldn't?” Was it going to be the
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