Read Online The Falling Machine by Andrew P. Mayer - Free Book Online Page B

his torso into a mosaic of spinning light and shadows that somehow made his injuries look much, much worse. “They have done nothing. I was simply told to wait down here until the…Paragons decided what it is they should do with me.”
    “Strapped to a table? Alone and broken in the dark? That's monstrous.” She popped open the leg restraints. “Why don't you stand up?”
    Tom began to try to move his legs. From somewhere deep inside of him came an unfriendly grinding followed by a dangerous-sounding metallic ping.
    Sarah put her hand on his arm and tried to help, but it felt as if she were attempting to provide aid to a boulder. “Does it hurt?”
    “I do not, I think, feel pain in the same way that you do, Miss…Stanton. It is simply uncomfortable.”
    She touched his chest near his shoulder where the harpoon had pierced him, and the touch dislodged a small tin box that had once held a spring. It bounced noisily across the floor. “I'm sorry, Tom! What can I do to help you?”
    “No apology is necessary. I am fully capable of self-repair given the right materials.”
    Sarah's eyes widened. “Did someone tell you not to fix yourself?”
    “Yes. The order was given to me by your…father.”
    The anger rose up inside of her, and she clenched her hand into a fist. “This is unconscionable! I demand you repair yourself immediately!”
    “I will need supplies. Perhaps you can open those?” He pointed at the sliding doors of the cabinet next to the table.
    Then she heard another voice. “Let's think on that for a moment, shall we?” It sent a shock through her that made her jump. “I'm not sure that going directly against your father's wishes would be the best course of action at the present time, Miss Stanton.” The voice was male, clearly older, and spoke with a commanding British accent.
    Sarah spun around, then immediately took a small step back. Dressed in his full costume, and standing only a few feet away, the Sleuth was an intimidating figure. A black mask covered his face from the forehead down to the tip of his nose. The molded leather was shaped to give the appearance of a deeply furrowed brow, like a man eternally in concentration.
    Hanging from the bottom of the mask was a thin curtain of black leather that obscured the rest of Wickham's face. Whatever menace that it might have projected was mitigated by the thick gray hairs that sprung out from the back of his head.
    The rest of the Sleuth's outfit was striking in its quality and detail, although it took Sarah a moment to tear her gaze away from the eyeless face.
    He wore a black leather greatcoat over a wool vest stitched with a pattern of magnifying glasses in silver brocade. Underneath it all was a simple charcoal-gray shirt. His pants were a pair of gray-and-black striped breeches that accentuated his long, lean legs. Pointed boots rose up to meet them.
    “I'm sorry if I startled you, Miss Stanton.” He pulled the mask down and let it hang around his neck. Underneath, the face was as long and sharp as the rest of him, the skin stretched tight around the skull, steel-gray eyes looking out from deep sockets. “I certainly didn't mean to.”
    “If you don't want to scare people, then why would you wear such a frightening mask?” she asked him, putting her hand to her chest. She felt the rapid beating of her heart underneath it.
    “Well, it is good to startle your enemies , my dear.” Wickham smiled. “Striking terror into their hearts and all that.”
    Tom managed to rise up a little farther and spoke. “It is good to hear your voice Master…Wickham.”
    A sudden realization struck Sarah. “How did you know I was here?”
    He let out a soft chuckle. There were rumors that the Sleuth had been quite the charmer when he was a younger man, and even though it was clear those days were long behind him, she could see the rakish youngster peeking out through the practiced veneer of the calm, collected elder. “It wasn't much of a mystery for