We formed up and started down. Matthew's team was very efficient, and very annoying to be around. After about two rooms of clearing corners and signaling fire lanes, I got bored and walked on ahead. Matthew gave me a nasty look, just before I lost sight of him around a corner.
'Do you think this is wise?' Wilson asked, trotting behind me. 'Those guys seemed to know what they were doing.'
'Maybe. But we'll never get anywhere at that rate. I don't think they appreciate how enormous this place is.'
Enormous, and empty. The Church was always a cacophonous place, full of motion and noise, and the ever-present Wrights of the Algorithm. Because my previous visits had either been guided tours or criminal intrusions, I had come to expect a Wright around every corner. Now the whole Church lay dormant. Every time I came into a new room, I expected to find a clutch of engineer-priests kneeling over some contraption. Or maybe even dead on the floor. It seemed like some violence had occurred, given the state of the engine, but I had yet to see even the faintest trace of a struggle. Wrights were big guys. They spent their lives assembling a god out of giant metal parts. Any fight they were involved in would have gotten bloody. But there was nothing.
Worse, the silence inside didn't match the business outside. From the warehouse, the Church had looked perfectly normal. As if all the engines were running and the boilers churning. But from in here, the engine of god seemed dead. Silent. What kind of deception was that, and how could it be made to work?
We kept moving, getting farther ahead of Matthew's team and deeper into the cathedral. We found our first evidence of a fight about ten minutes later, in a hallway holding reliquaries of broken machinery. Several candelabras were on the ground, their wicks burned into the carpet, and a splattering of blood marred one of the reliquaries. We followed a path of similar evidence, a broken relic here, a torn carpet there, to a small hallway with an incredibly high ceiling. The walls rose up into the gloom of gears above. At the end of the hallway was an arch, and in it stood a figure, silhouetted against a flickering light. He held a revolver.
'Come to take advantage?' he asked when we entered the hall. 'Come to kick us while we're down?'
'No, sir, not at all,' I said, walking forward carefully. 'My name is Jacob Burn. I'm here on the Council's business. We believe we know who has attacked you, and…'
He started laughing. It ended in a ragged cough that doubled him over, spraying blood on the carpet.
'You know who has attacked us. That's nice. Come, Councilor Burn. Come closer. Tell me who this madman is, who would attack the Algorithm of God.'
I stopped. Something about his mien didn't feel right.
'It's a man named Ezekiel Crane. We think he's an Artificer, from the time before they were exiled. He's…'
'Closer, Jacob Burn,' the Wright said. 'You must come closer.'
I edge forward, my heart in my throat. I raised my hands in supplication.
'I know this doesn't look good. I know the Council has had trouble with the Church in the past, and I might not be the best representative. But I'm here to help, I swear. And if you'll put the revolver down-'
A shadow separated itself from the darkness behind the man, a brief vision of a woman and a thick coil of hair, light glinting off iron, and then the man crumpled. I yelled in shock.
'She killed him!' I exclaimed. 'Dear gods, she came out of nowhere! Did you see that?'
Wilson rushed past me, hopping over the dying Wright and pursuing the iron girl. Behind me, Matthew came skidding around the corner.
'We heard yelling,' he said, then saw the Wright. I waved my hand.
'Have your men see to him. The rest of you, follow me!' I ran after Wilson. 'She's here! She's working with Crane!'
I jumped over the Wright. He looked in pretty bad shape, but his eyes followed me as I rushed past. That was a good sign. The hallway was dark, but I could hear Wilson ahead of me, and Matthew behind. The girl must be somewhere ahead. I ran recklessly forward, hoping that Wilson would say something about any obstructions. There was a light ahead.
We all skidded into the lit room at about the same speed, the iron girl in the lead. This was an assembly room of some nature, long and low, crossed by workbenches that ran the length of the floor. The benches were crowded with lines of gears and other mechanical bits, all neatly laid out by size or shape, even color. The light came from frictionlamps on stands at the end of each bench, and several more that hung from the ceiling. While it had the look of a room built for work, a room that was usually bustling with activity, there was no one here.
The girl was running hurt: she had on the same lightly bounded coverall, but the belt was missing, and there were tears along her upper arms and down one leg, the canvas lined with blood. There was the slightest hint of a limp in her springing gait. She tried to hurdle one of the tables and clipped the edge, scattering tools and falling to the floor in a crash. Wilson pounced on her, and Matthew and I stopped short, unable to get a clear shot in the tangle.
'Who is she?' Matthew snapped. The girl and Wilson were trading trips and counterstrikes between the tables, neither able to establish a dominant position. Matthew's shortrifle hovered over the scene. I batted the barrel toward the floor.
'Been following us for the last two days. First picked her up outside Crane's place in the Wettingwary.' Wilson delivered a series of blows that she barely deflected, each attack from the anansi's spider arms shuddering into the table behind her. Even injured, she was unbelievably dangerous. 'She was at the factory, just before you guys picked me up.'
'Your friend's going to need help,' Matthew said. And he was right. The iron girl was gaining the upper hand. She kept pressing him, her expressionless iron face showing no pain, no fatigue. It was only in her arms that you could see any weakness.
'Yeah,' I answered. 'You wanna go in there?'
'Not really.'
The rest of Matthew's team showed up, minus two. Probably left behind to care for the injured Wright. All eyes went to the bizarre fight at the center of the room. Another table went over, the tools and gears sliding to the floor like ringing bells.
'Okay, fine.' I looked around and picked up a discarded wrench that was nearly as long as my arm. Tossed the shotgun to Matthew. 'Hold this.'
It wasn't easy finding an opening. As soon as I stepped forward, the girl looked at me once, then turned back to Wilson. But from then on she maneuvered to keep the anansi between us, or direct his attacks in such a way that I'd have to scramble to stay safe.
'Come on, Burn. You've got a reputation to uphold,' Matthew joked. I shot him a look, then just threw myself into the fight.
Not sure what happened. Pretty sure it wasn't Wilson who struck me down, but there was no way to tell. I stepped into the range of the melee, holding the wrench defensively in both hands. A blow struck the metal, knocking it back into my face, and as I was shaking that off another blow came in to my leg, then my knee. I buckled and hit the ground. Saw the next strike coming in, this one clearly from the iron girl. I got the wrench in the way, bracing it with both hands and catching her boot with the shaft. The force of it rang through my arms, leaving my hands stinging. I lurched to my heels, squatting and trying to maintain my balance. Without looking at me, the iron girl threw another kick at me, then another. I blocked what I could, absorbed what I couldn't. I was about to stand when she connected with my chin, throwing me backwards. When I stopped rolling, I was on my back, staring up at the smiling faces of Matthew's team of Badgemen.
'You get the idea,' I said, struggling to my feet. I picked up the wrench and limped into the attack. 'Come on.'
Grumbling, the officers set down their weapons and drew the short cudgels every Badgeman was issued; at birth, was the story. We crowded forward and rushed in. It went well at first. Several blows struck the girl, once in the head, but mostly in the body or shoulder. Wilson hung back, getting a rest as we took over. I was feeling pretty good about it, even as I took a shot in the belly that staggered me. And then the Badge boys were getting in each other's way, and their cudgels found more friendly targets than the girl, and suddenly they were falling back. The style of her attack changed, focusing on diverting her enemies into each other, rather than striking them herself. Soon everyone was disarmed, and most of them were on their knees. One last round of blows from the girl, long leg kicks that pushed us back, and then we were standing in a ring around her, gasping for breath.
