Mechanized Masterpieces: A Steampunk Anthology Read Online Free PDF Page B

picture of health, I would have roundly resented his presumption. As it was . . . poor, thickheaded, warm-hearted Rowland.
    I opened the chest panel of the first auto-enhanced mechanoid. A flip of the appropriate switches and its eyes lit. Another series of twists, pushes, and toggles, and the thing sprang to life and marched toward the door. I ignored it and went to work on the others.
    “What are you . . . what are they doing?”
    “They secure the compound, put up the storm shutters, clear the decks, batten the hatches. Menial things easily programmed into the crystal board. The men locked down your airship as soon as you disembarked.” I shrugged and gestured at the barometer. “A storm comes.”
    Rowland absorbed himself in the weather station as I continued activating the line of my man-droids. “So, tell me. Of what does my dearest wife accuse me, eh? How have I offended my tender hothouse orchid? That paragon of virtue?”
    Rowland turned to me, his shoulders squared. “She says you are no longer the man she married—”
    “Indeed. I should hope not.”
    “—that you have spies watch her every move. She says you keep her imprisoned. You allow her to see no one. You deny her any friends. She has to smuggle out her letters. You have become a tyrant—power-crazed—since . . .”
    “Since?”
    “Since you . . . animated your metal men with evil spirits.” He sounded progressively more sheepish and shamed as the words tumbled from his mouth. I said nothing but waited for him to continue. “She fears for her life, Fairfax. Everything she writes has the ring of truth to it.”
    “And you have come to rescue her from her terrible fate, of course.”
    “I came to stop you from doing something rash. You conceal strange doings here. America will fall to this hell-spawned army you amass, and after that—what? England? Europe?”
    “And you see my ‘fleet’ of airships—all six of them—my improvements on other men’s mediocrity, my empire housed in three hangars and an office, all the makings of world domination.”
    “And the manufactories in Kingston and Montego Bay? They say you built a city of them.”
    “Ah. The dreaded sugar mills. The distilleries.”
    “If that is what they are.”
    “Do you hear yourself, Rowland?” His silent sincerity spoke for him and I mended my tone. “People fear what they cannot understand. Because my manufactories resemble nothing they have ever seen, then they must not be what I claim. Because I choose this unlikely place, they think I have something to conceal.”
    “Like your drinking and your temper? I never imagined you would beat your wife.”
    I sighed. He imagined a great deal. “What will it take to convince you of my innocence?”
    “Show me what you keep under lock and key—what you allow no one else to see.”
    “Not tonight, nor tomorrow neither. A storm is coming.”
    “What has that to do with anything?”
    I snorted and wagged my head.
    “Let me see her,” he amended. “Let me speak with her. Let me see for myself that you treat her as a husband ought.”
    “That I can do. Has she seen you?”
    “Pardon?”
    “Does she know what you look like? Would she recognize you?” Blood rushed to Rowland’s cheeks and his eyes slid away from mine. “Ah. My brother and my wife have exchanged Daguerreotypes. How touching.”
    “You never brought her to us.”
    “So, goodness itself, she introduced herself. One must have family bonding. Let me see it.”
    He seemed startled that I would expect him to have it on his person but produced it from his breast pocket just the same. I reached for it, but he snatched it back and clutched it to his breast. I glared at him, held out my hand, silently demanding compliance. His hand visibly shook as he forced himself to relinquish it.
    I had to free him of its hold on him . . . if I could. I struck a match and set it alight.
    “Here now! What are you doing?!” He attempted to wrest it from me,