Chapter 28: For the People!

Chapter 28

For the People!

As she walked to the podium to give her speech, Sarah felt more than just the usual churn of nervousness that Emilio had told her anyone standing in front of three hundred people might feel. Part of it was, perhaps, that the stage was the very same platform that Eschaton’s deadly rocket had launched from, although they had painted it.

The courtyard was packed and the day was hot, even for July. Sarah could feel herself sweating in the costume, her hair tucked back under her hat. They had made her a version of the Columbia costume that was far more demure than the “battle attire” she had been wearing when she fought Eschaton on this very spot only a month ago. She was sure that tomorrow’s papers would still be filled with commentary about just how “unladylike” it was for any woman to be wearing such an outfit.

She had endured a great deal of that kind of rhetoric over the last month as the truth behind the destruction of the Paragons and the Hall itself had come to light.

They had edited the truth more than slightly. There was no discussion of Hughes’s betrayal, or Eschaton’s beginnings as an assistant to Sir Dennis Darby.

And in death, the madman had become the villain he had always wanted to be: a devious trickster whose persona as King Jupiter had fooled even the most eagle-eyed members of the city’s government.

Large rewards had been posted for the capture of the Children of Eschaton, and even now the public was on the lookout for the Bomb Lance, Jack Knife, and the other survivors of the apocalypse.

They had also wiped Vincent Smith’s slate clean, letting him rest in peace as the provider of the Steamhammer costume to Emilio.

Even Sarah’s own history had been softened for public consumption. No mention was made of the junkyard. Instead she had spent that time imprisoned deep underneath the Hall of Paragons alongside her heroic step-brother.

Keeping track of all the lies and half-truths made her head spin, but no one seemed too concerned with the details. They were far more intent on judging these “costumed ruffians” who had taken over the Paragons, no matter how noble their actions or heroic their intent. But despite being considered hooligans and misfits, Sarah intended that the Society of Steam would be here to stay.

Stepping up to the amplification tube, she cleared her throat. It was a small sound, but the machine made it loud enough to echo off the walls. She was sure that the press would consider it improper for a lady to be using it, further shredding the tattered remains of her reputation as a woman of society.

Truth be told, she didn’t much like the device, but it was preferable to yelling, and it was certainly better than arguing with her husband-to-be about it.

Emilio had invented it, based on the remains of Darby’s speaking machine that he’d built into the hall. Although he didn’t have Sir Dennis’s gift for sheer invention, he had a particular genius when it came to electrics, and he had spent much of the last month laying as much wire as he could into the walls of the Hall as it was being rebuilt. He had even dragged Thomas Edison up from the wilds of New Jersey to discuss the potential uses. Sadly both the Italian and the inventor seemed to find the other’s methods more than a bit disagreeable, and both men were glad to see the back of each other after a strained afternoon.

“Ladies and Gentlemen,” she began, the amplified words immediately quieting the mumbling crowd. “I am Sarah Stanton, leader of the Society of Steam, and I would like to thank you all so very much for attending our inaugural event.” The amplified voice sounded strange to her ears, although everyone she had spoken to swore that it sounded exactly like her. “I apologize for bringing you out on such a horribly hot day, but considering the alternatives for ourselves, and for this city, I am just glad we could all meet here, safe, and together.”

Light applause rippled through the crowd, the journalists steadfastly abstaining from any show of support beyond the most perfunctory clapping. Sarah supposed that was to be expected—they had already made their distaste for her and this “band of unruly thugs, misfits, and lower-class ruffians” all too apparent, although it would have been nice to hear at least a little more genuine enthusiasm from the crowd. On some level, perhaps, it was enough of a blessing that they weren’t all about to be lynched.

“I know,” she continued, “that the revelations of the events behind the destruction of the beloved Paragons have come as a shock to this city, and indeed the world. We will mourn the losses of the great men who fell to protect us from villainy, my father among them.”

The burials for the Paragons had been a citywide affair, with a huge memorial stone of their likenesses placed over a mausoleum built for them in Central Park. She wasn’t sure how much her father would have liked the idea of spending eternity next to them instead of her mother, but being a part of the Paragons was something her father had chosen to do, and obligations were, she had discovered, even harder to change once someone had died.

Sarah hoped that with her speech they might begin to move forward, but there was no guarantee. “But I continue to believe that from the sacrifice of these great men, something greater will be born—something that will give direction to those who are lost, hope to the downtrodden and abused, and strength to the weak.”

For this next part she had first turned to Abraham for help. He claimed he had no genuine writing skills of his own. Instead he’d introduced her to Reverend Charles. The man had saved Abraham’s life, and helped to lay down the White Knight.

After some long discussions about the appropriateness of a hero wielding a shotgun, his alter ego, “the Revivalist,” was now part of the team. The man was as fearless with a crossbow or a Remington, and while he wasn’t so thrilled about Sarah’s Catholic fiancé, he seemed excited about being part of the team.

“I know that many of you would rather the Paragons were standing here today instead of me. And on that I agree with you. But we cannot bring back the dead.”

Her father’s fortune had turned out to be larger than she had imagined, but she soon discovered that in the case of Peter Wickham’s untimely death, all of Sir Dennis’s patents and other discoveries went to her, as well. The lawyers, as terrible as they had seemed when they were allied against her, had managed to use that information to make a convincing case that the entire Hall was also part of the family inheritance, and although the city was still putting up a fight to claim it for themselves, for now it was hers to do with as she pleased—and she was pleased to make it a home for the Society of Steam.

“We have lost so many good men: Peter Wickham, William Hughes, Helmut Grüsser, Nathaniel Winthorp, the Automaton, and Sir Dennis Darby.” She let the names of the fallen heroes echo away as she took a deep breath and cleared away any hint of tears. It was a skill that she had become far too good at. “And my father, Alexander Stanton, who I hope would be proud of me, even if he wouldn’t agree with me.”

She missed them all—perhaps not all equally, but she felt the loss as deeply. And part of her sadness came from the realization that over time she would miss them less. Trying to sort the affairs of the Stanton household while simultaneously rebuilding the Hall had meant that the last month was the busiest of her entire life. The moments that hadn’t been filled with work had been spent uncovering the intimate secrets of impending matrimony. Sally Norbitt had even come around to gossip and ask her entirely inappropriate (and much appreciated) questions about her new “Latin Paramour.” It seemed that marriage had only sharpened that girl’s interest in other people’s business.

“But rising from the ashes comes a new generation of heroes, just as committed and brave. I know that many of you think that we are too common, foreign, or colorful to replace the great men who once filled these halls.”

“Or too feminine!” a voice rang out from the crowd.

Sarah frowned. “And yes,” she said, pushing down the urge to find and punish the man who had made that comment, “perhaps that as well.” She was still the only woman, and although she had once imagined that Viola might have joined them on this stage, it was clear that she would never be a hero.

Emilio refused to tell Sarah exactly what had occurred when he confronted his sister in Darby’s laboratory. His only comment was that they would never see her again. Sarah had tried to press him on it, but it was clearly a subject that he would say no more about.

“But I have fought beside these brave heroes, and they would gladly give their lives to protect yours. While these may not be the heroes that all of you wished for, we are the men and women, who have taken on the mantle, and are willing to do the job.

“Ladies and Gentlemen, I am proud to introduce to you, New York City’s newest team of heroes: The Society of Steam.”

In her mind’s eye she could still hear the thunderous applause that she had dreamt of since she had first discovered her father’s secrets in his hidden closet.

And while it might not have been as loud as she hoped, at least this audience was applauding. She knew that they hadn’t been accepted yet. No one would compare them to the Roman gods of old.

The other members of the team filed in behind her: Steamhammer, Ra, the Revivalist. It was a small group, but there would be more. She had already begun to interview new members, although no one had passed muster yet.

She wondered if Sir Dennis would have been proud of what she had built. It wasn’t the old man’s dream, but that had died with him. And, although she would never say it publicly, ultimately Eschaton was partly Darby’s creation—monsters creating monsters.

For now, the world was free of living machines and men who could throw lightning bolts. And in the meanwhile, the planet was safe, and so was a single glowing key that would allow the members of the Society access to fortified steam.

As the applause faded away, Sarah stepped forward for questions. She hadn’t expected the speech to convince anyone of anything. Her father had said that it was always easier to crack skulls than to change minds, and the events of the last month had proven it in ways she could have never imagined before she had taken over the Hall.

Suddenly, from the back she heard a shout. The murmur of the crowd rose up before she could make out the words, but as the boy ran up, he repeated his cry. “The Bomb Lance, ma’am! He and some others are robbing a bank in broad daylight.”

She had wondered what had happened to the old Irishman. Perhaps this time they would make him pay for his crimes! Sarah smiled and turned to the men behind her. “You heard them, gentlemen. For the people!”

Ra lifted up his alabaster staff. “For the people!” he shouted back to her.

The rest of them joined his cry, and they ran off the stage toward the battle, together.