Five:
Science and Industry

The constant bobbing of the ship was beginning to make Victoria feel uncomfortable. Milton had explained that there was an island where Faraday had built his workshop and, given his attachment to the place, it seemed as good a place as any to start looking. Still, it seemed odd to think such a smart man would hide in such an obvious location…though she wasn't about to begrudge not having to employ extra effort to find him.

Clockwork Island didn't look remarkable from a distance. Only like a modern seaside town. Early morning sunlight made the pale stone roofs of what Victoria assumed to be houses glow. It almost looked serene, but she was struck by the fact that there weren't any ships in port. Were they wrong in thinking Mr. Faraday had chosen to return here?

However, as they drew closer, she realised she was wrong. Everything was in shambles—the dock littered with debris, long grass growing lazily between the cobbles. It looked as though it had been abandoned for years.

"I didn't expect it to look like a town," Victoria confessed once they'd docked and begun the trek towards the buildings. "But where are all the people?"

"It was never a town," Reaver replied. He'd forgone his hat and the wind was making his hair messier by the second. "It was a tourist attraction, as I recall."

"Clockwork Island was built to showcase Faraday's creations; he hoped they would make people happy," Milton added, a faint touch of sadness in his voice.

"If Mr. Faraday wanted to make people happy then why was he locked up?" Victoria asked.

Reaver gestured vaguely and Milton shook his head. "I don't know—nobody really knows," Milton clarified. "Logan said he and his creations were a danger to mankind…as for Faraday, all he's ever said was that he'd rather die than betray his creations. Ms. Dubois, Your Majesty, have either of you ever seen one of his creations?"

Both Jericho and Victoria answered in the negative.

"When I was a child, I would queue up for hours in Bowerstone when he would unveil a new project. I still remember the slogan…it seemed like we were heading toward a brave new future, but that future seems further away than ever."

"Hopefully we can persuade Mr. Faraday to talk with us before this goes any further," Victoria replied. "Maybe we can also find out why Logan wanted him imprisoned."

It was shaping up to be a beautiful day, Victoria thought as they walked. The sun was warm, but the breeze was cool and ample. What few clouds she saw were small and wispy. Trees had long ago been planted along the sides of the paths, but their roots had crept from the soil as the years of neglect passed. They passed by an enormous model of a solar system, leaning heavily on one side as if it were tired. Benches, choked with weeds or tangled in bushes, lurked along the sides of the structure, waiting for guests that were never coming. Brightly coloured umbrellas lay torn and mangled as though an angry child had thrown a tantrum over them. As they neared the top of the stairs, they found themselves walking in shadow. Victoria shivered, the cold pricking at her through the grey wool of her trousers and waistcoat. She tried to walk a bit faster, warm up some, but the shade followed them. The stairs ended in a small park populated with a series of shacks with large, open windows (did they, perhaps, sell tickets? Victoria wondered, recalling that the monorail had always had similar structures outside its entrances). They rounded a bend in the path to find a strange mechanical…thing. At first, Victoria thought it was just a strange statue. And then it moved, its singular eye beginning to glow green and its humped back straightening slightly.

"Welcome, visitors, to Clockwork Island," it bid in a prim, cheery voice. "I am Huxley and I will be your guide. Please refrain from using obscene language in front of the children."

Victoria simply stared. It was an automaton. She hadn't realised they existed outside of fiction and a few loose sketches she'd seen. The sketches had all indicated the possibility to using them for labour and she hoped this one was as friendly as its voice sounded.

Surprised, Reaver swore under his breath and, almost immediately, Jericho muttered, "Is it prudent to worry about rude language in front of children when the one cursing is the only child here?"

The look Reaver gave her could have scorched the earth.

Huxley, however, was already walking away from them, perfectly oblivious. "If you will follow me, we will begin the tour. Please keep your belongings with you at all times and try not to stray from the group."

"Come on," Victoria bid urgently, fascinated and more than a little nervous as she followed Huxley. Was this what Mr. Faraday had been building? If so, then to what purpose? How had he kept them a secret for so long?

Huxley opened the front gates and led the quintet through. Pastel plastered houses lined the brick and cobble street. Tiny, immaculately pruned gardens lay before each house and gas lamps sat at regular intervals down the street. Occasionally, sitting between the empty houses, Victoria caught sight of an elaborately cut hedge.

"Fuc—I mean, bloody hell, it's like Millfields and Bowerstone had a child," she breathed, transfixed. The others murmured their agreement.

"We begin with what is yet to come," Huxley announced. "Astonish your senses; give flight to your fancy by stepping onto The Street of The Future."

"I'm beginning to wish I'd paid this place a visit while it was open," Milton remarked.

"You're not the only one," Reaver cut in.

"Before you is an everyday Bowerstone suburb as it will be fifteen years from now," Huxley continued, seeming to neither notice nor care that they were talking. "Yes, the future is in our grasp. Please walk amongst the citizens of Tomorrow—see their joy, marvel at their superior wellbeing."

As impressive as it all was, Victoria was beginning to feel more than a little unnerved. The further they walked, the more automatons they encountered. All of them needed various amounts of repair—sparks flying from their exposes wires, metal limbs half-destroyed or moving in a way that indicated structural damage. Some were caught in an eternal loop of waving at nothing. All of them, however, seemed utterly oblivious to anything happening outside of their pre-set routines.

"In the world of Tomorrow, there will be no conflict, no jealousy, no selfishness. Thanks to science, people are finally happy."

Huxley led them past a stone gazebo, a bronze statue of a middle-aged man sitting with a robotic dog looming over them as they approached.

"Bit unnerving, isn't it?" Milton observed in a whisper.

"People actually came to see this?" Jericho added, unsettled. She clutched her walking stick tighter, at the ready in case something jumped out at them.

Giant generators sat hidden on either side of the road, giving off sparks and humming gently. It was only after noticing them that Victoria realised there were wires running between the houses, leading up to something far ahead. Maybe we shouldn't have come in through the front door.

"Marvel at their idyllic lives," An automaton bowed to Huxley and he bowed back. "Would you not want to raise a family here?"

"No, I most certainly wouldn't," Reaver retorted. Out of everyone, he appeared to be the most relaxed. But his gaze seemed to travel everywhere, never stopping for long, and there was a tenseness to his shoulders that was unlike him.

Fortunately, Huxley didn't remark or otherwise react to Reaver's comment. He simply led them onwards. The sea breeze was cool, rustling both men's coats and the scarf Jericho had wrapped around her head and shoulders, and it carried with it the scent of salt and flowers along with something metallic and grimy that made Victoria think of Bowerstone Industrial.

"This is the future Faraday Industries can bring to Albion: peace and contentment for all. This concludes our tour. We hope all your dreams are fulfilled," Huxley bid.

He had come to a stop at the end of the road, before a set of iron gates too tall for anyone other than, perhaps, Jericho to climb. Peering through the bars was like catching a glimpse of Industrial, except…all the workers were gone. Victoria stepped forward, wondering if she would be able to force them open. Searing pain burned through her palms and she threw herself backwards as sparks erupted over the bars. Electrified? But how?

"I know who you are," a harried, well-educated voice accused, coming from a pair of small speakers above the gates, "and I know why you and that—that bloodthirsty deviant have come! You'll never get what you want! Never! I'm ready for you, Your Majesty; I am most ready. And if it is violence you seek, then it is violence you shall have!"

"Mr. Faraday, the only thing I want is to speak with you on peaceful terms!" Victoria shouted, channelling a bit of Will into her hands so she could tug on the gates. "Mr. Faraday!"

"I don't believe he's listening," Reaver said, putting a hand on her shoulder.

Victoria turned at his touch, ready to shake him off and discovered that the automatons that had seemed so eerie before were no longer trapped in their cycles, but were making their way towards them. Oh no.

"This is a security announcement to all visitors," Huxley announced, crouching low near the gate, "please take cover. Faraday Industries accepts no responsibility for any mutilations, fatalities, or grazes in the event of an emergency. And now presenting the latest in armed defences, a round of applause for: The Colin Mark II."

Victoria felt a trickle of trepidation slip through her as the automatons' eyes glowed red. She drew her knives and tried to ready herself, looking for weak spots in the automatons' framing even as Reaver and Milton began firing. She never got a chance. She blinked and a pair of automatons were before her. Improvise, then. She ducked under one of their reaching hands, pushing a wave of electricity through one of them before slicing at the other's exposed wiring. As they fell, she felt something slice into her arm and whirled to face her attacker. There was no need. Its chassis jerked slightly before it was knocked to the ground, revealing a frowning Jericho. Her cheek was bleeding, but she'd taken a bronze cap off her walking stick to reveal an enormous spike hidden underneath. She looked most displeased about this turn of events. Victoria gave her a quick nod of thanks before turning back to the others.

Lightning coursed over her hands as she threw bolt after bolt, overloading the automatons' circuitry. With their combined efforts, it was over in minutes. They stood there a moment, catching their breaths. Unlike the battle at Ravenscar Keep, no one had come out of this unscathed. Jericho and Milton were both still bleeding. Reaver looked perfectly fine, but was holding his arm in such a way that made Victoria think he was still healing from a blow to his ribs.

Victoria didn't know whether to be furious or not. Now what were they supposed to do? The gate was immovable and Faraday was sending creatures far stronger than any human after them. How were they supposed to convince Faraday that they didn't mean any harm if they had to fight just to get to him? There had to be another way to reach him, to convince him—but, frankly, Victoria wasn't certain she could get him back without killing him.

"Looks like the street of the future isn't so different from the streets of today," Milton observed, loading his rifle as Jericho capped the spike on her walking stick. His words cut through Victoria's thoughts like an axe and she wasn't sure whether or not she was grateful for the distraction. Oblivious, Milton added, "I'm beginning to think this is why Logan had Faraday locked away."

"We need to find him," Victoria said with a frustrated huff. "Split up; see if there's an alternate route."

It didn't take long to find one; a brick wall between two of the houses had collapsed and been hastily repaired with a couple wooden planks that were barely staying in place. Milton was able to knock them down with only a couple strikes from the butt of his rifle. They followed the alley in eerie silence. Their footsteps echoed off the walls. Out of view of the street, huge shipping crates and boxes were everywhere—curiously untouched by weather and time. A collapsed warehouse spilt rubble onto the ground like a cup of dice. Milton hurried ahead, past the tatty posters on the walls and towards a hole in the brick fence.

"It looks like there's a canal down there, Your Majesty," he called, kneeling beside the hole. As they reached him, Victoria saw the roof of the building just beyond the wall had collapsed, providing an opening into the empty warehouse. A grated floor lied far, far below. "Shall we continue?"

Victoria hesitated a moment and then nodded. Milton went first, landing with a groan and a loud clang and rattle from the metal. When he indicated everything was fine, Jericho followed. Her landing was far lighter, all her years of running over rooftops coming in handy and lending her assistance.

She caught hold of Reaver's arm before he could join them. He raised a questioning brow at her and she said, "I don't think you should follow us."

"Oh? And why not?" he enquired, trying to shake her off.

Victoria pulled him away from the edge before finally releasing him. "Because, out of all of us, it was the two of us that he singled out."

"And?"

"And you stole his job, his assets, and everything else to his name. It doesn't matter that it was actually Logan who took them from him, he still blames you. Wait here. Let me handle this."

"Do you really think he's going to stop and listen to you just because I'm not there?" Reaver returned, tone thick with mockery. "Be sensible, Princess. The only way my absence will mean anything to Ernest is if you're not there, either."

"Firstly, don't call me that. If you're going to insist upon using a title, then you can damn well use the proper ones, Your Lordship. Secondly, I haven't done anything to him. All his assumptions are based on knowledge of Logan; I need to prove him wrong. And you can't help me with that. This is the last time I'm going to be nice about this. Wait here or I will force you to wait here." Her hands crackled with Will. She had no idea how she could stop him, but she would try. It wasn't as though he needed to know she didn't have a plan.

There was something in the way he stared at her that made her stomach clench and brought back memories of emotions she hadn't thought of in a year. Something hot and overwhelming; a mix of feelings she didn't understand behind his blue eyes. It reminded her of an evening early in her rule—a court session that had ended in a heated debate. He'd later had her against the wall of the library, fingers in her hair as he asked to please, please— Heat flashed through her, followed by a rush of cold, but she refused to acknowledge it or look away.

After a moment, he took a step back and, laughter in his expression, gave her a taunting half-bow. "As you wish...my queen."

Eyeing him suspiciously, she slowly turned away and returned to the hole in the wall. Whatever's going on with him, figure it out later.

"Though I do wonder what you suggest I do to pass the time in your absence," he called, sounding far too devious to mean anything good.

"I'm sure you'll find something to occupy your time; you always do," Victoria snapped, the words coming out far harsher than she'd intended. She told herself she didn't care and leapt down to join Milton and Jericho. The grated walkway rattled when she landed, but Reaver didn't follow.

"Is Reaver not coming?" Jericho murmured with a questioning glance as they moved towards the edge of the walkway.

Victoria gave a half-shrug and kept her expression perfectly neutral as she replied, "Reaver elected to stay behind."

Victoria's assumption that the building was a warehouse proved false as they dropped down into the remains of a ruined factory. The floor was covered in earth and stagnate water. Bits of broken walkway lay obscured by long grass; vines had woven their way around the old machines and up the brick walls. Saplings had taken root, their anaemic trunks struggling for sunlight. It was…eerily beautiful, Victoria thought. Nature taking back what Man had attempted to claim.

They left the factory behind and made their way out into the canal. Icy water and mud splashed beneath their feet with every step. Reeds had begun to crowd the earthier sections of the waterway and algae coated the walls like slimy green wallpaper. Every once in a while, one of them would trip over a submerged barrel or crate and nearly fall face-first into the calf-deep water. And then they noticed a buzzing—like a cloud of insects. Things, small and round, hovered over the various bits of debris. At the sight of the trio, they dropped what they were doing, some flying off while the lights of others glowed scarlet.

"I have instructed my cleaning and repair crew to clear the canal of detritus," the voice on the hidden speakers told them. "Now go away."

This time the fighting wasn't so bad. The clockwork bugs were small and lightweight, making it easy to crash them into each other or smash them despite their desire to shock them. Still, Milton complained about bugs under his breath with every strike and Victoria found herself mildly concerned. Again, she wondered what all Mr. Faraday had at his command. How many more automatons were at his disposal? He said he loved his creations, so why was he using them to attack? There was something dodgy about this, too. Like she was missing a vital piece of information. It was an unwelcome sensation.

Once the insects were little more than scrap, they continued on. Up the nearest stair, down an alley, and through a building's empty husk. Stepping outside once more, Victoria glanced upwards, searching for a sliver of sky. The buildings here were placed so closely together that it was almost claustrophobic—easy to forget they weren't underground. It was, admittedly, cleaner than Bowerstone (not that that took much effort) but dust and cobwebs clung to everything and something about the air felt stale. She couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, either. So many buildings and empty windows…how easy it would be for someone to follow them.

"Watch your step," Milton bid, pulling Victoria from her thoughts as he offered Jericho a hand. They'd reached another canal.

"Why can't you leave me alone?" the voice called, frustration colouring every word. "I will never do what you ask, do you hear me? Never! Rulers may believe they can impose their will on whomever they so wish, but I was born to make dreams come alive. Not to create death! You may see the weapons your brother forced me to make, but they will never leave this island! And neither shall I!"

She had just splashed back down into the canal again, but the cold seeping through Victoria's veins had nothing to do with the water's temperature. "Is he…suggesting what I think he is?"

Milton's face was grim. "That must be why Logan had him locked up; he refused to build him an army!"

"Not just any army," Jericho put in. "A machine army would not feel pain, would not need medical supplies or support, nothing would stop it. Perhaps he thought it was the only way to combat the Crawler?"

"He must have, but it doesn't make any more sense," Victoria confessed. Her stomach churned. If Logan had gone to so many extremes…what else had he done that she had no knowledge of? "We should continue on; he's likely to be up ahead."

"One thing's for sure, if he thinks you're here for those machines, he's not going to let us go easily," Milton replied, shaking his head.

They splashed along the canal, mucky water going everywhere. Beached boats lay half overturned on embankments, hulls rusting. A small steamer lay upside down, crashed into a tunnel. The most clear path forward…and it was blocked. Stubbornly refusing to find a new path, Victoria carefully climbed it, trying to peer through to the other side. It was pitch black. Impossible to see.

"I think we can slip through," she called down to the others, "but I don't know where this leads."

"We'll find another way, Ma'am," Milton replied, helping her climb down. "We don't want to be trapped in a space that tight."

Against her will, Victoria agreed. They had just started to walk away when a high pitched whistle began to echo through the tunnel behind them—it almost sounded like a kettle left on too long. As one, they turned back towards the steamer. What in Avo? Alarm threaded through her and Victoria threw up a shield spell seconds before the steamer exploded. She felt like a building had collapsed on top of her, but the spell held. Smoke and dust swirled around the outside of their tiny bubble. Fire danced through the artificial gloom imposed upon them. But they were unharmed.

"Impressive ability, Your Majesty," Milton muttered, rubbing at the back of his head from where he'd thrown himself to the ground.

"Thank you," she replied. "You both might want to stay down a moment." She threaded ice through the spell, turning the protective bubble into a glittering sphere of crystalline frost. Before it could harden and become solid, she pushed outward. The bubble burst, sending frost in every direction. It fell in piles of squishy wetness, melting on contact with the hot stone and metal. The screams of heated metal ripping itself apart as it cooled too quickly rent the air, but the fires were doused before they could spread.

"Look," Jericho bid, picking her way through the debris. The tunnel was utterly impassable now, blocked from the explosion's damage. She pulled her scarf from her shoulders and wrapped her hand with it before reaching down to pick up something.

Victoria squinted, trying to figure out what it was. Small, somewhat cylindrical. "Is that…a dog?"

"A clockwork dog's head," Jericho replied, turning it to and fro to get a better look at it. She pressed her hand to the scorched metal, testing if it was still hot, and then placed it in her bag.

"So the automatons are lethal, the bugs can shock you, and the dogs are bombs," Milton summarised, frowning more than ever.

"Mr. Faraday really would like us to leave."

But they did not leave. They couldn't—both because the mission wasn't complete and because there was no reasonable way to get back to the ship. And so they ventured on.

They checked both sides of the canal, but the stairs of most of the buildings had rusted or rotted through, making them impossible to use. One of the buildings contained nothing but a pile of broken automatons—their blue paint chipped and peeling, lenses dangling precariously from their metal heads. Milton stopped to prod at the pile with his rifle.

"Can you imagine if this technology got out?" he enquired, hurrying to catch up with the girls as they left the factory. "It'd be the end of the Army—who would want to be a solder with these on the field? Who would want to fight them?"

Victoria didn't reply; instead, she and Jericho exchanged dark looks. No, these machines would not mark the end of the army or war. It would just make it all the worse. Nations pushing themselves to create bigger, more powerful weapons. It would be an arms race. She didn't want to imagine what would happen then. How terrible the weapons would be.

And, once more, Victoria wondered if she could truly meet Mr. Faraday on peaceful grounds, knowing what he could do with his work. Clearly the circumstances he'd been arrested under were wrong and deserved to be righted, but what were they to do about this? His work, in the wrong hands, had the potential to destroy so many lives and to bring about far worse things. How could she accept that price, knowing it would come?

They entered a factory that looked somewhat more structurally sound than any of the others they'd checked thus far. Though the ground was caked with filth, the walls and stairs appeared sound…unfortunately, the gate dividing the upper and lower levels was, as well.

"Do you think you can climb it?" Victoria asked Jericho with a frown.

"I may be able to, but I do not trust it to hold my weight," Jericho replied.

Milton gave it a rattle and a push. "I doubt I can bash it open, either."

"There must be a key somewhere," Victoria murmured. "Split up; see if you can find anything."

They tramped back down the stairs and Victoria wandered. A passage sprawled out before her, keeping to a sensibly simple path, and she followed it, trying not to think. Unfortunately, there was very little that was distracting about it and it ended with a series of plain, uninteresting-looking doors. Best check them all.

The first room was empty and the second and third were full of age-warped barrels. The fourth was a small, office-like space, barely larger than a closet. A chair, bookcase, desk, and a shelf of drawers had all been squashed into the small space. She bustled about, brick dust tickling her nose as she felt around in the corners of every piece of furniture. Nothing. Cursing under her breath, she turned to leave and search the last two rooms. Wait…brick dust? She hadn't seen it in any of the other rooms and the masonry looked secure to her eyes. Therefore— Someone's been messing with the bricks in this room, she thought, stepping back inside.

Crouching low, Victoria slowly traced the dust to a slightly uneven brick under the desk and pulled it free. It was not hollow or rigged to hold anything and she could see nothing in the void behind where it had laid but darkness. This had better not be a trap, she thought, reaching into it. Her fingers brushed against cold, damp metal—grimy pipes—and then something rectangular. Curious, she fumbled to manoeuvre it out of its hiding place.

It was a chest of some sort—almost as wide as the brick had been long and nearly twice that in length. It wasn't locked. She carefully opened it to reveal a series of what looked like water-damaged letters and a small book. Intrigue pricked at her and she picked up a letter at random. It smelled musty as she unfolded it.

Dearest Ernest,

We received word of Charles' state and my heart is broken for you. What will you both do? Valerie and I wish you would both come back to Bowerstone—our doors are open to you and I worry the physicians will struggle to maintain Charles on Clockwork Island. Is there any way we could convince you both to stay with us?

I'm so sorry, Ernest. I hope beyond hope that he will recover quickly. Please tell us they know what his affliction is and have some idea as to how to cure it. I can't

The letter ended there, the rest lost to age and water damage. Victoria didn't need it, though. The way the words had been formed…she knew that writing anywhere. Her father. So he had known Mr. Faraday, then. Enough to use terms of endearment in easily pilfered letters. Furtherly intrigued, she refolded the letter, returned it to the box, and rifled through the other letters. She didn't open them, but she found several more from her father, a couple in Logan's hand, and several more in writing she couldn't quite place. The vast majority, however, had no address; only "For Ernie" scribbled on the outside in unfamiliar writing. The book was a journal. Flipping to the last few filled pages, Victoria read the words with her heart in her throat. Faraday had written candidly about the days when Logan's rule had only just begun to worsen—the sudden lack of funds and demands for automatons as well as the threats and anger. Each page was brimming with frustration and bitterness. The way Faraday wrote it, she wondered just how many people close to him Logan had scared off before the end.

Why are these here? Why aren't they with Mr. Faraday? Had he hidden them? Clearly the answer was yes, but why? Had he not wanted them confiscated when Logan found him? Or—

BANG.

Victoria jumped, nearly dropping the box. Gunshot…what on earth? She clumsily regained her feet, fumbling to place the box into her bag. On her feet, she ran—footsteps clattering loudly and heart pounding in her ears. If someone was hurt….

She burst back into the entrance area to find Jericho waiting. The younger girl had been resting against a wall—arms folded and a frown on her face—but she seemed surprised when she saw Victoria.

"What happened?" Victoria panted.

Jericho hummed. "We discovered the key in a lockbox. Commander Milton thought it would be wise to shoot the lock off."

Victoria sighed with a mix of relief and frustration. While she was glad they were unharmed, she didn't appreciate the scare. Nor the fact that, if the automatons could hear, surely any that were nearby had heard that.

"Let's see if it fits so we can get out of here," Victoria replied, hoping Faraday didn't have something worse waiting ahead.

"He already went up," Jericho said, pushing off the wall.

Together they mounted the stairs and began the trek to re-join Milton. He was waiting for them beside the open gate. The mood seemed far more sombre now—like everyone had finally realised the most likely outcome of this endeavour and no one was pleased to think on it.

They worked their way up to the roof. The stairs and walkways were far less sturdy in the upper floors than the lower and the iron protested their movement all the while. The sun was much higher that it previously had been when they finally reached the roof. A rickety metal bridge greeted them, as well. Right…not concerning at all. Single file, they crossed from one roof to the next. If Victoria had expected the end to be a relief, she was sorely mistaken. The next bridge was far worse: nothing more than a couple wooden planks laid out to span between buildings. Victoria nearly groaned. Gritting her teeth, she hurried across them as quickly as possible. Milton looked equally thrilled at the crossing, but Jericho crossed over easily.

A cluster of automatons was waiting for them as they stepped into the upper levels of a building. As the fighting began once more, Victoria heard the voice cry out: "Look how you've corrupted my life's work! Haven't you seen enough? You've taken my work, you've taken years of my life, but you cannot take my soul! No, that is out of reach even to Albion's monarch! I will encase it in metal and I will strike you with it."

Victoria attempted to throw herself out of the way as an automaton launched itself at her—its enormous fist raised to strike—but caught herself on the walkway's railing. She barely was able to bring her knives up just in time to catch the blow and keep it from connecting. Wrestling with it, she managed to get it over the railing and watched as it hit the ground far below, shattering the stone as its metal limbs smashed apart.

"Victoria!" Jericho called and Victoria looked up just in time for the other woman to bat over a pair of the clockwork bugs. Victoria froze them in mid-air, ice crystalizing over them like a delicate, glittering shell, and let them drop to the ground, shattering.

A boom echoed from the other end of the walkway, shaking everything. A pile of scrap metal lay burning there, courtesy of Milton's rifle. He was attempting to lure the automatons toward him, shooting at their limbs. Jericho crept up behind them, driving her spike up under the nearest automaton's chassis and twisting until it collapsed. Victoria hooked one of her blades in an automaton's arm, attempting to knock it over and only succeeding in ripping the arm off. Oh no. The automaton lunged, remaining arm flailing, as she tried to duck under its reach. Knocking it off balance in the same movement, she drove it to the floor and buried her knives in its circuitry. A couple more shots from Milton and they were alone once more.

They left the wreckage of the automatons behind and mounted a staircase that led up and out of the factory. Another building towered above them. Wiring spread from it like spider's webs, branching out in every direction. Looking up, Victoria could just barely see the top of some device, glowing and sparking with power. A hum permeated the air, low but off-putting. Making her bones feel like they were vibrating.

"Do you think Mr. Faraday's up there?" Jericho asked.

"I'd bet every bit of gold I have on it," Victoria answered.

The stairs ended in a set of wrought iron gates. Electricity raised the hairs on her arms and Victoria paused before pushing the gates open. Did she really want to do this? There was no guarantee of any of her plans working out. Not to mention if Milton or Jericho failed to listen to her, one of them could be badly injured. I have to try.

"Stay here," she instructed. At their querying frowns, she raised her hands placatingly. "Mr. Faraday made it sound like he had something waiting for us; I'd like to make sure it's clear first. Please just…wait until I say it's clear."

She stepped out into the courtyard, letting the gates slam shut behind her. Her footsteps echoed hollowly off the aged cobbles. She had expected automatons, weapons, or some fantastical creation Faraday had yet to send after them. There was nothing. The mechanical hum had grown louder, the air crackling. She paced the width of the yard, hoping for answers to what Mr. Faraday had been up to or where he'd gone, but there were none. With a sigh, she made for the far gates, hoping to at least open the path back to the main street.

The sound of a lock opening echoed through the courtyard and she turned around just in time to see a vault-like door she'd previously dismissed roll open. Faraday stood before her in an enormous mechanical suit. Steam hissed from the armour's joints with every movement, sparks occasionally flying forth. Victoria took an instinctive step back and gathered her Will. I've only got one chance at this.

"Is this the perfect soldier you wanted, Your Majesty?" Faraday raged, stomping towards her. "You shall never have it."

He threw himself forward and, at the last second, Victoria let loose a wave of energy. Crates and debris were pushed back. Milton and Jericho barely avoided being knocked back by the invisible force, and Faraday was lifted off his feet, body slamming into the door behind him. He didn't immediately get up. Instead, he simply lay there a moment, dazed, and Victoria hurried to his side. She carefully pried his helmet off of him and tossed it away.

Faraday stared up at her with tired, sad eyes. His grey-streaked hair was dishevelled and, as she knelt down beside him, he looked hopeless. Sounding almost close to tears, he said, "Well, then…if you want to kill me, you may as well. Your brother took everything I had left. What else do I have to live for?"

"I don't want to kill you, Mr. Faraday," she replied truthfully. As dangerous as his creations had the potential to be, the same could be said for almost any technological advancement. And, if he was honest about just wanting to make people happy, then it seemed like it was uncalled for. "I am not my brother."

"Then why are you here?"

"Originally, to get information on why someone's trying to kill me. Now to make sure you're alright. Are you?"

"No. I'm not…and I know nothing. Are you certain you want nothing to do with my creations?"

"I wouldn't dream of abusing them, Mr. Faraday. You've been through a lot…would you be willing to come back to the Keep just long enough to secure your release and to make sure you're healthy? We can arrange anything else you may need in that time."

He stared down at his metal-gloved hands as though he wasn't certain he believed this was truly happening. After a moment, he gave a hesitant nod and added, "May we rest first?"

"We can rest as long as you need."

The sun was setting by the time Mr. Faraday was ready to leave. Initially wary, he had questioned her on the current politics and state of affairs within Bowerstone for some time. Victoria had answered to the best of her abilities and was actually pleased that he was willing to talk with her. Eventually, she and he companions helped him out of his suit. Free of the mechanical shell, she could see he was thin and malnourished. He looked frail, sickly, but was determined to walk as best he could. Under his instruction, they turned off the power to the gate and, leaving the suit behind, they made their way back over the bridge, towards Clockwork Island's entrance—Faraday eventually ending up leaning heavily on Victoria for support as they went.

"What is that sound?" Victoria enquired. There was a low babble as though multiple voices were speaking in tandem up ahead.

"Might it be Reaver?" Jericho returned.

Victoria blinked, surprised. "I forgot he came with us, to be honest. I hope he hasn't gotten into any trouble."

It was a futile hope, she knew. If trouble was to be found, Reaver invariably found it.

"—shows that if you had screwed the box in properly, this would no longer be an obstacle," a cheerfully polite mechanical voice observed.

"I screwed it in properly! I am not at fault for working with less than ideal components!" came the annoyed response.

A second mechanical voice input: "If it had been installed at a forty-five degree angle—"

"And you—how about I build a ladder into that carcass to get you off my back?"

Exchanging confused glances, they exited onto the promenade to find one of the most curious sights Victoria had ever come across. Huxley stood beside another automaton—one that had clearly just been assembled with bits of scrap from the countless destroyed brethren around them. Reaver stood nearby. He'd removed his jacket and pushed up the sleeves of his shirt in what Victoria supposed was an attempt to keep his wardrobe clean—it had done little more than show off the spindly lines of the tattoos decorating his lithely muscled forearms and hands. Grease sullied his arms and shirt; dirt had pressed into the knees of his trousers.

Noticing their stares, he turned and crossed his arms with a huff. "What?"

Victoria found herself strangely speechless. Did you…did you build an automaton? That seemed the case, for where had the second one come from, but…why? Why bother?

She heard a sarcastic snort from the vicinity of her mid-bicep and looked down at Faraday. He wasn't attempting to hide his…dislike for Reaver, but he did seem to be struggling with a touch of amusement.

"You've installed the personality matrix backwards," Faraday observed as they passed Reaver.

"Yes, I'm aware, thank you," Reaver snapped, grabbing his coat from where he's draped it over a garden fence. "I'll make a point of remembering that for the next time I'm left to wallow in insufferable boredom."

You…did it because you were bored? Victoria wasn't certain she could be surprised by him anymore. "Come on. It's time we returned."

AN: Somehow, we're halfway through posting this fic. Short fic is short...in everything but chapter length. Guess I'd better hurry and finish the next one...when I start feeling better, that is. Comments, feedback of any kind (even if you think I won't like them or care, I assure you I care immensely and will appreciate them), etc. is welcome and much appreciated. See you next week.

Dev. Notes: I have so many thoughts about Ernest Faraday that I have no semblance of room to put them here. Anyway. So I had a really big problem with how they handled recovering the prisoners in the DLC. I understand they had to make it dramatic, but look...I don't know anyone, myself included, that would just surrender nice and quietly after getting their ass kicked by someone they assumed was a bad person. If you're taking the time to fight this person, then the time for talking things out is done. And, with how determined and focused all these people are, there's no real reason they would have surrendered just because of a fight. So the whole thought here was that Victoria's having to fight anger with kindness while struggling with her own doubts. Not sure how well that translated, but here's to hoping.