The Falling Machine Read Online Free Page A

yer neck.”
    “How…?” There was an obvious tone of shock and surprise in the Professor's voice that he tried to hide in his next word. “Key?”
    “No need to pretend.” The Bomb Lance waved Darby forward with his right harpoon. When he was close enough, the Irishman hooked the front of the Professor's starched white shirt on one of his barbs and ripped it open. He nudged the ascot aside, revealing a dull, gray metal key hanging around the Professor's neck. “Take it off and hand it to me.”
    “It's nothing you'd want—a keepsake,” the Professor protested. He picked it up and showed it to him. “It's lead, not even brass. It couldn't possibly have any value to you.”
    “I'm not the one who wants it. I'm just the man getting it for him.” The Bomb Lance pressed the barbed end of his harpoon into the Professor's chest with just enough force to break the skin. “Now hand it over.”
    Darby unbuttoned his overcoat, then reached his hands around behind his neck and undid the clasp that held the key in place. He dropped it into the open palm just underneath the harpoon pressing into his flesh. “You have no idea what that is, do you?”
    “Don't know, and don't care.” The Bomb Lance held it up for a moment. “But I'll agree it doesn't look like much.” He took three steps back. “Just so you can rest easy, I'll tell you that I'm going to let the girl live. She gets to tell her father and the rest of the Paragons that the Children of Eschaton are coming, and there's not a damn thing they can do to stop us.”
    There was an audible “clack” as the metal rods locked into place behind him. Black smoke coughed out from behind his right elbow as the harpoon fired. The bolt plunged through the side of Sir Dennis's chest, the momentum spinning him around and throwing him backward at the same time. As he began to fall, the energy from the attack carried him over the edge of the tower, and he vanished. “No!” Nathaniel shouted as he leapt toward the Professor, but there was no hope of rescuing him.
    The Irishman let out a rasping laugh. “And that's what a Bomb Lance can do to a man.”
    Nathaniel spun around to face him. “You piece of Irish filth! I'll kill you!”
    “Now now, don't judge the whole country by me,” the Bomb Lance said. “It was good Irishmen what built the tower yer standing on!”
    Sarah's voice was soft, measured, and almost without emotion. “But you're not a good man, are you?”
    The Bomb Lance looked over at her and sighed. “Not anymore, lassie, no. I haven't been good for quite a long time.” Keeping the left harpoon pointed at Nathaniel, he lifted his right arm straight up over his head. The wheels and wires attached to the frame slid around as he did so, pulling up one of the small harpoons resting in a bandolier on his back into the frame on his upper arm. “I was never good enough for the people in yer world anyway.”
    He lowered the arm straight down from the shoulder with a single sharp movement, and a fresh harpoon slid down and snapped into place. Once again he had two of the barbed spikes facing them. His face softened for a moment, as if he was having a pleasant memory. “But the Children of Eschaton aim to change all that: who's up, who's down…” The edges of his lips curled up in a dark grin. “And once that's done, we'll see about what it really means to be good or bad.”
    Nathaniel took a defiant step forward. “You've just murdered in cold blood one of the greatest minds the world has ever known!” Then he took another step, bringing the two men within a few feet of each other. “Why?”
    The Irishman clenched his jaw, bristling at the question, and then brought the harpoon up to bear on Nathan's head. “I don't need any more reason to kill a man than that he's in my way.” He swung his left arm like a club, slamming it into Nathaniel's head. “But I have a better one for you.” He hit Nathan again as he reeled from the first blow. The boy