Chapter Twenty-Two

“Miss, you have callers,” Millie announced softly.

Ginny, sitting alone in the gloomy parlor, looked up with sudden interest. Brendan? Might he have stopped by after all?

Not likely, since she’d made it clear things between them were over. Only it wasn’t over, was it? Likely it wouldn’t be till she kicked the dust of this town from her heels.

Impossible to deny, at the moment, that she sat brooding. A bright, beautiful day outside, yet since returning from Ballister’s office she’d been sitting here with the draperies closed, an artificial dusk. She didn’t want to see anyone.

Well, she wanted to see one person.

“Who is it?” she asked Millie.

“A gentleman called Patrick Kelly, and his wife.”

That got Ginny to her feet. “Please show them in. And—and bring tea, Millie, if you will.”

“At once, miss.”

Ginny crossed to the window and flung the drapes open. Sunlight flooded in, making her narrow her eyes. Pat Kelly’s wife, the woman who’d married an automaton. What might she be like?

They came into the parlor arm in arm, Kelly barely recognizable out of his uniform. The woman beside him—tall and with a quietly regal bearing—had strong, even features and soft, light brown hair styled in a loose chignon. She wore a pale green gown and a matching hat with a clever little brim.

They looked like any respectable couple out for a stroll on a fine afternoon.

“Officer Kelly, it’s good to see you again.”

“Miss Landry.” He presented the woman at his side as he might a priceless jewel. “I would like you to meet my wife, Rose.”

“Mrs. Kelly.” Ginny shook hands with Rose Kelly and met her gaze. What sort of woman married an automaton—even one of Patrick Kelly’s caliber? “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“We wanted to stop in and thank you personally. We’ve just signed the papers purchasing your interest in the charity hospital on Ellicott Street.”

“That was swiftly done.” She’d left Ballister only a few hours ago.

“We were anxious to make it official. Actually, the purchase is in my wife’s name, as ownership legalities for automatons are still questionable, though I do own my house, as do many other members of the Irish Squad.”

“Please, will you sit down? May I offer you some refreshment?”

Still arm in arm, they perched on the sofa, though Kelly said, “We are unable to stay long. We are on our way to a rally at The Park.”

“Rally?”

Rose Kelly spoke. “All available non-human citizens of the city are meeting to demonstrate their desire for their rights, and to protest those who blame them for the recent murders. For the most part, automatons are nonviolent. Representing them differently has whipped up ill feeling that should not exist.”

“I see.” Ginny wondered if Brendan would be at the rally. Of course he would. He’d likely be in the very thick of things. “Forgive me, but you say for the most part automatons are nonviolent. Officer Kelly, you and I are aware of at least one notable exception.”

“I believe your mother’s death was just that—an exception. I have participated in many of the interviews following the recent murders. Automatons at or near the scenes have denied all involvement. There must be an alternative explanation.”

Ginny met his green stare. “Yet, Officer Kelly, I was on that tram car nearly overturned by a crowd of steamies. Can they also be considered nonviolent?”

“A troubling incident and no mistake. I believe it was fueled by the injustices many of them suffer on a daily basis and encouraged by one individual yet to be found.”

Millie entered the room with the tea tray. Ginny wondered how Kelly felt about units such as the four under her roof, whether he believed they also suffered injustice.

Politely she said, “I hope you have time for tea.”

“I’m afraid we really don’t.” Rose Kelly glanced at her husband. “We want to arrive at The Park early. Pat is usually the voice of reason at these events. We wouldn’t want anything to get out of hand.”

“We wish to make a point,” Kelly agreed, “not start a riot. I expect a large number of humans to turn up. Things could well grow heated.”

“Sounds dangerous,” Ginny said. “Maybe I’ll just come along with you.”

****

At times like this, Brendan wondered why he’d ever joined the force. Standing shoulder to shoulder with Kevin Dempsey on one side and a second member of the Irish Squad, called McGuff, on the other as they and others formed a human-and-automaton chain of blue sweating in the hot sun, he could scarcely imagine.

Behind him the automatons carried on with their rally, which had so far been marked by speeches, declarations, and a surprising amount of cheering. Cheers, coming from an assortment of steam units that included everything from hybrids to basic steamies so battered they barely rolled under their own power, proved blood-chilling. Even though there seemed no malice in it, it nevertheless raised the hairs on the back of Brendan’s neck.

The trouble, if it came, would erupt from the human contingent, part of which he and his fellow officers faced. And Brendan felt in his bones it would come. Already the onlookers threw bottles and rocks, one of which had struck McGuff beside him and bounced off. Fortunately McGuff had no visible damage.

I could have had a job on the waterfront unloading freighters, he thought—a nice safe place to work except when stacks of crates fell over. I could have driven a lorry, delivering coal. Hell, I could have followed in Da’s footsteps and been a common laborer. Better than this.

But no, he’d had to reach for something better, a stable job, so he’d thought, with room for advancement. A pay packet always coming in and a measure, however small, of authority.

Stability meant very little at the moment, when he stood toe to toe with a crowd of enraged men, most of them red-faced and shouting, denouncing him and his companions for doing their job.

“Out of the way and let us at those heaps of metal! Let us give ’em what they deserve.”

“Why do you stick up for them, copper? You’re human like us.”

Brendan stood unmoving and contemplated the odds. If the humans stampeded, McGuff and Kevin probably wouldn’t go down. He likely would. Getting trampled wasn’t a pleasant way to die.

Another bottle flew, so close it knocked off his uniform cap. His temper stirred. He didn’t lose it often—an officer couldn’t afford to. That didn’t mean he never felt anger.

Kevin shifted on his feet and growled, “Brace yourself, Sergeant. Here it comes.”

And no mistake. Brendan felt the tension building, like the vibration of a wire, and knew the crowd wouldn’t hold long. But the breach in the line didn’t come from their section after all. He heard a sudden outburst and cries from farther down to his right. A weapon fired, and the line reacted like a coiled snake in pain. The humans, sensing a way in, charged.

Brendan swore and raised his truncheon. He saw faces and bodies coming at him; voices shouted and roared. He knew the truncheon could break heads—or limbs—and tried to keep from putting all his strength behind it. The wall of humans struck like a tide; the police line went back, and back.

From behind him came another sound. The gathered automatons left off their demonstration and turned to face the threat. Brendan heard the unmistakable sizzle of more weapons discharging—steam cannon—before somebody spat in his face. An arm raised and lowered. Kevin went down. The crowd of humans surged forward.

Brendan struggled to keep his footing and failed. He had a glimpse of McGuff’s face just before he went over backward, hitting his head hard on the ground. He raised his arms to protect his face as the crowd went over him, fending off whomever he could with his truncheon before pain seized him, followed by darkness.

****

Ginny was standing beside the lake, listening to Patrick Kelly speak, when the screaming began and the horror broke out. It came with a roar that drowned the cheers of the automatons around her and made them sound tinny and artificial. She exchanged one speaking look with Rose Kelly before the automatons fanned out around them began to react, some of them swiftly, some turning more slowly on their aged wheels.

Ginny had faced any number of dangers out west: rattlers, angry bears, blizzards. Except on the tram car, she’d never before found herself in the middle of an all-out attack.

Later, newspaper reporters and authorities would try to make sense of what happened. Ginny could have told them that from her perspective there was little reason or intent behind this attack, just pure hate. The breath froze in her lungs, and she drew her steam cannon, almost without thought.

“Behind me. Get behind me.” Pat Kelly, green eyes blazing, dragged both her and Rose to his back. Other automatons, mostly off-duty members of the Irish Squad, stepped forward. The sound of the clash then reached Ginny’s ears—metal on metal, metal on flesh and bone. Rose Kelly seized her arm.

“Pat!” she called, sounding terrified. “Pat, Pat!”

He failed to turn; quite possibly he didn’t hear her. The roar, deafening, filled the air. Men charged in on them, many carrying clubs. Rose shifted back but, situated as they were at the edge of the lake, they had nowhere to go.

Ginny raised her cannon. “Get behind me,” she told Rose, even as Pat Kelly had. The front wave of the human mob bore down on them, and she took careful aim.

She didn’t want to kill anyone, but she had to make every shot count. The weapon would take precious moments to recharge, during which they’d be defenseless.

Other steam cannons fired all around. She could hear Pat Kelly hollering; Rose yelled as one of the foremost attackers slammed him in the shoulder with a stick. Pat swayed violently but didn’t go down.

On every hand, automatons fell. Rushed by human attackers, units new and old were pushed over; even the crashes they made when they hit the grass were lost in the general wave of sound.

The faces Ginny saw coming at her did not look sane. Twisted in hate, with open mouths and staring eyes, they frightened her enough that she pulled the trigger. As soon as her weapon recharged, she pulled it again.

She and Rose, pushed violently backward, both toppled into the water.

“Pat!” Rose cried again.

Ginny, sputtering and trying to keep hold of Rose, lost her grasp on her weapon and fought her way up, splashing. She could no longer see Pat Kelly.

“Where is he? Where is he?” Rose cried in terror.

A new sound filled Ginny’s ears, battering at her like a giant heartbeat. An airship came overhead, flying low, and she lifted her face to see police officers crowding the gondola.

Brendan? She couldn’t tell the identities of the officers, seeing only their blue uniforms.

“Disperse! Disperse!”

Shouted through a bull horn, the word floated over the heads of the crowd.

Ginny, slammed hard by the shoulder of a man who barreled past her, went down again at the edge of the water, taking Rose with her. She found herself staring into Rose’s wild eyes.

“Pat! Where is he? I can’t see him. Oh, God, I can’t see him!”

“Stay here.” Pushing Rose down, Ginny scrambled to her feet. The tide, she felt, had begun to turn, chased by the airship, which flew so low its shadow stretched wide. She had one glimpse of two humans pushing a steamie over with a clatter before, like a sea storm, the attack ebbed, leaving a flotsam of ruined steam units and an occasional injured human.

She couldn’t see Pat Kelly anywhere, even though he’d been right beside them mere moments ago. Other hybrid automatons limped, one with his arm dangling, through what seemed acres of glittering silver metal. Her breath surged in her lungs.

“Pat!” Rose had disregarded Ginny’s direction and appeared at her side. “There.”

He looked like nothing so much as a heap of clothing floating at the edge of the water. Rose went splashing into the lake, her skirts kicking up as she bent and embraced him.

Ginny, following more slowly, marked the truth with disbelieving eyes. Pat Kelly’s head had been bashed and lay open, the interior metal workings visible to the eye.