The Uhrwerkmänn is monumental. A literal monument to Joseph Lang’s genius and madness. He stands at least twice as tall as the largest Uhrwerkmänn I have seen before. His head is only a foot or two shy of the windows on the second story of Lang’s house.
While the other Uhrwerkmänner gleam bronze, this mechanical man has been painted a flat black. They reflect the light; he absorbs it. Interlocking plates of armor coat his gargantuan form. Not a single gear is exposed. No weak point. No chink to exploit. His head is low-slung, angular, shaped like a knight’s helmet of old, a dark narrow slit for his eyes. The armor on his shoulders and chest is worked in fancifully decorative scenes depicting armies marching, tanks rolling, and enemies being crushed to a thick meaty paste. In the center of his chest, a large circular disk bears the likeness of an eagle, its mouth open in a scream. In its claws it grasps a swastika.
This is it. Lang’s Meisterwerk.
“He’s Friedrich, isn’t he?” I say.
“I’d guess so,” Clyde says. He seems to be recovering himself.
“Fuck me,” I hear Hannah whisper. “This job is bloody mental.”
That realization, I feel, marks the end of Hannah’s orientation period. She gets what the job’s about now.
“Oh buggeration,” says Clyde. Which is when I notice that one of Friedrich’s feet is planted on top of Clyde’s Mini. It no longer resembles a car so much as it resembles the sort of mechanical pancake Joseph Lang might have made if he’d been of a more culinary bent.
“All right,” I say. “We need to get to Hannah’s Renault, and then we need to drive away very fast.”
As plans go, I am pleased with the fact that it gets everything into one sentence. The only potential flaw is that it ignores the issue that Friedrich is between us and the car.
Behind us, I hear bricks collapse, heavy mechanical footsteps. The other Uhrwerkmänner have not stopped their pursuit just because we have left the building. We are caught between the metaphorical rock and death-dealing automaton.
“Any suggestions on how the feck we’re going to do that?” asks Kayla.
I put my finger to my ear. “Tabitha, find Clyde the biggest spell we have in the database and make it goddamn rain.”
There is a pause, and then a malevolent cackle.
Behind us the footsteps grow louder. Before us, Friedrich spreads his arms. “Welcome, little ones,” he booms, accent so thick that I can barely make out the words.
“Two car batteries,” Tabitha’s voice cuts in. “Got access to them?”
I scan the street fast. Clyde’s car is totaled, and if we take the one out of Hannah’s then our escape plan is buggered. But the Uhrwerkmänner did come here in three large trucks, also parked down the street.
“Maybe,” I venture.
“Wait,” says Clyde, “you’re not thinking about the Viennese Pike are you?”
Again the malevolent chuckle.
Hannah has her gun out again, is pointing it behind us at the encroaching machines. Before us, Friedrich’s bulk blocks the street.
“Would you deny us life, little ones?” asks Friedrich. I think he’s trying to croon, but the syllables are too harsh, tearing through any pretense of softness.
“Remember how I said I never wanted to try that due to the high likelihood that I would fry my liver inside my body? Which, while it sounds academically interesting, and as if it would make for a fascinating autopsy, is less the sort of thing I’d like to do to myself on a Wednesday morning,” Clyde continues.
“Well,” Friedrich continues, unaware of the team’s internal debate. “If you would try to deny me, then I can but only try to deny you.”
He’s a bit long-winded when it comes to his threats, is old Friedrich.
“Is the chance of your liver getting toasty higher or lower than the chance of that Uhrwerkmänn doing to us what he did to your car?” asks Hannah.
Clyde pauses, swallows. “Fair point,” he says. “Any chance anyone could help me get a hold of two car batteries?”
“Bloody mental,” Hannah mutters again.
I point to the nearest truck. “Hannah and I are on that one. Kayla,” I point to the next nearest, “that’s yours.” I look to Clyde. “Just try to buy us time.”
“Can do.” And Clyde starts to mutter as the rest of us start to run. He flings out an arm toward Friedrich. I recognize the cadence of the nonsense. The spell Clyde calls Elkman’s Push. The one he used to damage the Uhrwerkmänner inside and knock down the walls so we could make our escape.
Friedrich doesn’t even flinch. Clyde skids backwards, sneakers squeaking over the surface of the road, arms pinwheeling, trying to keep his balance. Friedrich’s laugh is deep and hollow, booming out of his chest.
Shit and balls.
Hannah and I reach the first truck. She tries to get purchase on the lid, but it won’t even raise an inch or two.
“Get in the cab,” she yells, “unlock this!”
She’s got the who’s-in-command order mixed up again, but it’s probably not time to push the issue.
Kayla’s over at the other truck, slicing through steel with her sword, flinging the hood away. The whole supernatural strength thing does seem like it would be terribly helpful.
Clyde is still recovering. The recoil of his failed spell has shoved him close to the three Uhrwerkmänner pushing their way out of the building. All of them are still on fire. One whips a blazing arm in his direction. Clyde dodges forward but oil jets out of the Uhrwerkmänn’s injured limb in a flaming stream, spattering his tweed jacket. He howls, drops, and rolls. He comes back up smoking but no longer aflame.
Friedrich continues his advance.
The massive Uhrwerkmänn is in line with Kayla and her truck. She has her fists deep in the engine block, fishing with wires.
Friedrich brings his fist down, a blur of motion, and a crack of displaced air. Kayla glances up, flings herself backwards.
Friedrich’s fist buries itself in the engine block. There is a short sharp electrical crack and a momentary spurt of fire. Then his fist comes up. The engine is flatter than Clyde’s car. Kayla stands a foot away from the crater he’s made, empty-handed. And that’s one battery we’re not getting.
I’m up at the driver’s door, flinging it open, diving into the footwell, grabbing desperately for any handle that seems like it will pop open the hood. It’s only going to take Friedrich two more footsteps before he’s in line with our truck.
I grab something, yank, hear Hannah shout. She sounds at least vaguely positive. I beat my retreat.
Clyde is still caught between the flaming Uhrwerkmänn and Friedrich. He looks as if he’s going to make a dash between Friedrich’s legs, then thinks better of it. He glances back at the robots behind him. Thinks better of that. Instead he goes sideways, but that only takes him to the façade of the facing house. For a moment I fear he’s going to head into it. This is not a problem we want to bring to someone else’s doorstep. It’s bad enough we’ve destroyed Lang’s house without us causing the destruction of one whose owners are still actually alive. That is not at all our mandate.
Fortunately Clyde seems to remember that. Unfortunately that doesn’t give him many places to go.
“Got it!” Hannah yells, hauling the car battery aloft.
Friedrich advances on Clyde, ignoring us. We actually have a straight shot to Hannah’s Renault now. The three of us. Only Clyde is trapped.
I glance back at Kayla. She has recovered quickly, is at the third truck, eviscerating its internal mechanics.
Clyde is trapped. So we all are. I wrench the car battery out of Hannah’s hands. She yells but I ignore her. I pitch the car battery up through the air, wrenching my already screaming shoulder. It lands with a heavy thud at Clyde’s feet, barely bounces.
“Kayla!” I yell.
And then a second car battery whistles up through the air like a mortar. It comes down hard, slamming into Friedrich’s shoulder and ricocheting off without him even adjusting his stride. It lands on its end, next to the battery I threw.
“He has the batteries!” I yell to Tabitha.
Friedrich stands before Clyde. The three other Uhrwerkmänner complete a flaming crescent around him.
Tabitha starts intoning random syllables for Clyde to repeat.
Clyde kneels, seizes hold of both batteries. His arms shake violently, his head bucks back and forth, but I can see his lips move. “Meshtar mal folthar cal ulthar met yunedar—”
Friedrich raises a fist.
Clyde’s legs start to spasm.
Friedrich’s fist comes down.