The Iron Thorn

Thorn’s children would feast.

“It’s horrible …,” I whispered. “I am so sorry. I didn’t want this.…”

“Enough,” Dean said. He ripped off his fire suit and helped me do the same. “We have to go, doll.”

The mob of workers were breaking the fences, only to be set upon by a cluster of nightjars and springheel jacks still wearing vestiges of their human faces. New screams joined the faint ones rolling back from the hills of Uptown.

Dean turned away from the carnage at the gates and ran for the river, dragging me with him. The icy black rushed up at us, and before I could protest or balk we went over the edge, off the pier.

In midair, a great hand snatched me and pulled me away from Dean, a crackle like a thousand rifle shots and then a boom and a loss of air.

A great emptiness opened up where my Weird sang.

I plunged into the dead winter water of the Erebus River knowing that the Lovecraft Engine was no more.

The cold kept me from fainting at the great bodily shock the overload of the Engine caused. It seized my lungs and forced me to kick for the surface. I scraped my palms on floating chunks of ice, but when I broke free of its grasp I sucked down air and tried to kick against the current.

From my vantage on the water, I watched Lovecraft burn. Crimson smoke from the Engineworks blanketed the sky like a red tide, and screams floated over the water. Clockwork ravens swirled aimlessly overhead, flummoxed by the devastation.

By the shore, black shapes crawled, coming out of sewer drains and shadows and the air itself. I couldn’t discern which screams came from the Engine and which from the crawling remnants of the Folk.

“Dean!” I shouted. My voice was gone, stolen by ice and smoke. “Dean!”

“Aoife!” His shout came from a piling on the bridge, toward which I rapidly swept. “Hold on! I’ll catch you.”

I caught his hand, nearly lost it again, grabbed on to his leather and clutched. Dean hauled me onto the piling next to him, only half out of the water, but half was better than none. “Thought I lost you, kid.”

“I’m n-not …” As soon as I hit the air, I began to shiver again. “I’m not that easy … t-to lose.”

“I’d drink to that, if I still had my flask,” Dean said. He squinted across the river. “It’s all gone. The Engine. The city. Lovecraft is eating itself.”

I looked away. I didn’t want to see my old home, the cold streets and Ravenhouse and my mother’s asylum.

My mother …

“My mother!” I shrieked at Dean. “She’s still there … I have to go back!”

Dean snatched me before I fell into the river again, but his arms couldn’t contain the swell of fear. Nerissa and I did not behave like mother and daughter, had never behaved that way, but she was my only mother and she was trapped in a dying city where the Folk were running free. I had to find her, had to take her somewhere the Iron Land engendered couldn’t touch her.

“We’ll come back for her,” Dean said, rocking me. “We’ll come back. She’s locked down in a madhouse; she’ll be all right. You have my word.”

I didn’t have the strength to fight his arms any longer, and I collapsed back against the pilings.

“It’s all gone wrong,” I rasped. My throat was raw from the water and the smoke that even now filled my nose.

I pulled my legs up to my chest, keeping myself as dry as I could, even though the wind meant that hypothermia would already be setting in. I’d escaped the Engine and Tremaine only to die under a bridge.

“The awful thing,” I said, “is that I was starting to feel bad for Tremaine. His dying world. His poor, subjugated people. His cursed queen.”

“I’m not going to say that I told you not to trust the Folk,” Dean said. “I think you’ve learned it by heart.”

“It’s not easy to be ground under a heel your entire existence,” I said. “That, I understood.”

I was starting to shake, to lose feeling in my hands. My head was floating and I gave a light giggle. “I understood. How stupid am I, Dean?”

“Shit,” he said, rubbing my arms and back. “You’re sliding under. Stay with me.”

“That feels nice,” I said. I knew that I was detaching, my mind like a dirigible drifting away.

“Aoife …,” Dean started, and then stripped off his jacket, wrapping it around me. “Dammit, Aoife, don’t you check out now.”

A rumble and a roar penetrated the warm, buzzing world I’d found myself in, and I looked up, irritated that yet another disaster was going to overtake me. “What now? Hasn’t the city been thoroughly destroyed yet?”

“Harry!” Dean bellowed. “You swamp rat! Where’ve you been?”

I shaded my eyes to watch the oblong shape of the Berkshire Belle, much patched and welded where she’d plowed into the ground, swing low over the river and come to rest above the waves.

The hatch slid up, and Cal peered out, extending his hand. “Climb aboard! Make it fast—there are ravens everywhere!”

Dean handed me up, and when the warmth of the cabin hit me I collapsed on the nearest bench, shivering uncontrollably. Dean hopped into the hatch and pointed at Cal. “Blankets and a hot water bottle if you have it. She’s in a bad way.”

The Belle lurched and Harry shouted from the cockpit. “Where to, mes amis?”

I turned my back on the wreckage of Lovecraft, looking west, toward Arkham, and curled inside the blanket Cal draped over my shoulders. “I want to go home.”

39 The Fate of Graystone

DEAN SLEPT ON the flight back to Graystone, but the rocking motion of the Belle failed to soothe me. Instead, I got out of my seat and made my shaky way to the cockpit, to stare over Harry’s and Jean-Marc’s shoulders at the landscape below.

“You all right, mademoiselle?” Harry demanded. I tried to smile at him but it hurt.

“I suppose I’ll live.” I’d stopped shivering and mostly dried out, but the ache of falling into the freezing water was prodigious. My head still rang from the Weird, and I’d watched my nose stop and start bleeding three times since Harry had snatched us from the jaws of the river.

“Coming up on the village, Captain,” Jean-Marc said. “And it’s a pitiful sight.”

The ship passed small fires burning like ghoul eyes in the fading light, over wrecked jitneys in the street and prone bodies lying facedown on the cobbles.

“What’s happened?” Cal said, coming to stand next to me. “The whole town’s blazing.”

I felt an awful premonition creep along my spine and into my twinging shoggoth bite, and turned to Captain Harry. “Can we go faster?”

“We are at the mercy of the winds now, petite,” Captain Harry said. “And the ill wind, she’s blowing over your valley.”

As we crossed the empty field and drifted up against the mountain, I saw more and more signs of carnage. Blood smearing the cut cornstalks of the fields. Dead crows circled by worrying, cawing live ones. Dark shapes that darted from shadow to shadow, like liquid.

The rising moon overhead was swollen and yellow, nearly full. Ghoul howls echoed from the mountain, and the only respite I saw was that Graystone was not blazing like Arkham.

“Set it down. Set it down!” I shouted at Harry, already scrabbling for the hatch. It was my fault the Folk’s monsters were lose, my fault that bodies were littering Arkham’s streets. Tremaine had played me, and it had worked. The barriers between Thorn and Iron were no more.

Harry lowered the dirigible only long enough for me, Dean and Cal to jump off. He hollered at us from the