The Falling Machine Read Online Free PDF

his eyes from where he had been beaten down by the Automaton, and he tried to wipe it away. The polished iron barb at the end of his arm glittered as he brought his arm up to his face. He switched to his left.
    When he looked up, the Automaton was moving toward him, the sawn-off end of a harpoon in his hand. The Bomb Lance held up his right arm and fired. The metal tore cleanly through the right side of Tom's chest until the wooden peg at the end caught in the armature, spinning the machine-man around and throwing him down to the ground.
    The Irishman rose to his feet and took a moment to survey the scene. He nodded approvingly to himself. “Good enough for a day's work.” He ran toward the foot bridge and sprinted onto it, heading back toward the anchorage.
    Sarah knelt down next to the Automaton. “Tom, are you all right?”
    He tugged at the harpoon. “It appears to be stuck.” He wiggled it back and forth a few times and then pulled on it again. It came free, catching a steel spring and uncoiling a ribbon of metal as he pulled it out of him. “I am going to stop him. Please help…Nathaniel.”
    Rising up, harpoon still in his hand, Tom walked to the edge of the footbridge. The Bomb Lance was fifteen yards away, moving as quickly as he could back to the anchorage, but forced to flee from them in a straight line. Tom flung the man's weapon back at him.
    Out on the wooden path the Irishman slowed his run, then came to a stop as fast as he dared. As he was plucking out his handkerchief from his jacket pocket to try to wipe away the blood, there was a crashing sound. One of his harpoons had smashed through the slatted boards a few feet in front of him. He turned to see the metal man standing at the edge of the bridge tower. The Automaton dropped into a sprint and headed toward him.
    Sarah watched Tom go and then turned back to Nathaniel. He was grimacing as he tried to use the arms of his jacket to stanch the wound. “It's not a mop,” she said sternly. Sitting down next to him she grabbed the coat from his hand and tore a long strip from the sleeve.
    “Finally, you notice I'm in trouble,” he replied through gritted teeth.
    She stopped what she was doing and stared at him. “Look at me.” He refused to make eye contact. “Look at me, Nathaniel! ”
    Responding to the urgency in her voice he turned to see that there were fresh tears in her eyes. “What is it?”
    Her face was a mask of anger. She pointed at the body a few yards away. “He's dead, Nathaniel. That's Sir Dennis Darby's dead body lying not ten feet away from us, and you want to cry to me about the fact you were ignored while he died.” She roughly pulled up his leg, and began winding the cloth strip around it. “I won't have it!”
    “Ow! Sarah, I…” She stopped, and he stared into her eyes for a moment.
    Then he turned away, reaching into his jacket pocket to pull out his flask. Sarah frowned, but said nothing as she continued to work on his leg.
    The Automaton and the Bomb Lance were both at a full run when the Irishman reached the end of the footbridge. Tom was twenty yards away, but closing at a good pace. The Irishman lifted his arms into the air. The harness responded and reloaded both arms. He aimed them at his opponent and leaned back into the supports on the back of his harness. “Where there's a will, there's a way,” he muttered out loud.
    “Platitudes won't save you, Murphy.” The voice came from behind him, wrapped in a Western drawl and a blast of tobacco smoke. The Bomb Lance turned to see a man in a ten-gallon hat and oiled duster standing behind him. “But Doc Dynamite is here to rescue your Catholic ass anyway.” The man lit the stick of explosive in his hand from the cigar in his mouth and then threw it out onto the footbridge.
    “So you finally decide to arrive,” said the Bomb Lance. “You were supposed to—” The Texan grabbed the edge of the Bomb Lance's brass frame and used it to fling him down the stairs. He