George Mann - The Immorality Engine

Veronica turned her head and listened intently for a moment. Yes, she was right-she’d heard something clatter on the stairs. There it was again, that tap-tap-tap -the sound of metal repeatedly striking wood.

Intrigued, she crossed to the drawing room door. “Mrs. Grant, is that you?” she called out as she reached for the handle. She was just about to turn it when there was an almighty bang and the door shuddered in its frame. Veronica leapt back, unable to prevent herself from issuing a startled shout. Something scratched at the wooden panel.

Newbury was up and awake in seconds. He sprang out of the chair, dashing to her side, poised and ready for a fight. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m alright. I just-” She stopped midsentence as the door began to shake. The shaking was accompanied by a high-pitched whining sound, the sound of blades burrowing through wood at high speed.

“Get back,” Newbury warned her, and she did exactly as he said. He rushed over to the fireplace and grabbed a poker out of the grate. Then he ran back towards the door, standing ready, waiting for whatever it was on the other side to break through.

Veronica knew it must be the spider. It had to be. But did that mean Edwin Sykes was here, too, lurking somewhere in the background? And what had happened to Mrs. Grant?

“Here it comes!” Newbury bellowed as the wooden plug popped out of the door and a balled-up metal object came barrelling through. It hit the ground and rolled across the carpet, coming to rest upon the red Turkish rug in the centre of the room. Veronica moved swiftly to put a chair between herself and the strange mechanical monster.

Slowly, the thing unfurled, its eight spiky legs opening like a brass flower, before the leg joints inverted and raised its shining body off the ground. Four red lights glowed like multifaceted rubies at intervals around its circumference. The machine was the size of a small dog.

Veronica searched for something she could use to defend herself. There were more pokers in the grate, but the spider was now between her and the fireplace. It made a clicking sound, then scuttled away beneath the chair that Newbury had been dozing in.

“Where has it gone?” he asked as he cautiously crept farther into the room, wielding the poker like a spear.

“Careful, Maurice,” she said, lapsing into the familiar address. “It’s beneath that chair.”

Newbury dropped to one knee, trying to get a view beneath the seat. “I can’t see it there,” he said.

“We can’t have lost it!”

“No, it’s just found a pla-” He was cut off by Veronica’s panicked scream as she saw the thing appear around the top of the armchair and launch itself through the air at Newbury. He swung round just in time to raise the poker and bat it away with a resounding clunk. He dropped the poker and cursed in pain as the spider, bouncing off the wall, fell to the floor, curled itself into a ball, and rolled beneath the sideboard.

Veronica dashed over to Newbury. “Are you alright?”

Newbury nodded, rubbing his hands. “Yes, I’m fine. I simply jarred my hands with the impact.”

“Do you think you got it?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. It hit the wall with quite a force. Where did it go?”

“Under there.” She pointed towards the sideboard.

“Stay back. I’ll take a look.” He recovered the poker and approached the sideboard warily.

“Can you hear anything?”

“No. Can you?”

“Nothing. It’s like it’s stopped moving.”

Newbury lowered himself to the ground, keeping the poker between himself and the sideboard at all times. He peered into the shadowy aperture. “I can see it,” he said, the relief evident in his voice. “It’s curled up into a ball and isn’t moving. I’d say that’s a good sign.” He looked up at Veronica, who was standing over him. “I’ll try to fish it out with the poker.”

Cautiously, Newbury extended his arm and used the end of the iron poker to prod the mechanical creature.

“I think we’re in the clear,” he said. “The lights have gone out and it’s not moving.”

Veronica watched, fascinated, as he slowly withdrew the poker. Balanced on the end of it, hooked by the now-rigid legs, was the spider thing, replete in all its brass glory.

Newbury dropped it on the floor a couple of feet from him and placed the poker on the carpet beside it. “Charles’s eyewitness reports don’t begin to do it justice,” he said with admiration. “Just look at it! What a remarkable device.”

Veronica eyed the thing warily. It was grotesque. She couldn’t understand why Newbury was so enamoured with it. Its bulbous body, its eight spiny legs, the bladelike protrusions embedded in its belly-it was a creature from a child’s nightmare, not something to be admired and fawned over as a technological marvel. It was clever, of course, but everything about it made her skin crawl, from its purpose to its appearance.

Perhaps, also, it was the way it had moved, scurrying around on the floor and then propelling itself through the air like a pouncing cat. If one were caught unawares, it would have proved absolutely deadly. She’d been fortuitous to have Newbury there when she needed him.

“What are we going to do with it?” she said, unsure of their options.

“Bag it up and take it to Charles. This is clear evidence that Sykes is still active. Or at least someone pretending to be Sykes, with access to all of his equipment.”

“Oh my God! Sykes! Mrs. Grant!” She ran to the door, flung it open, and hurtled down the stairs to the basement. “Mrs. Grant? Mrs. Grant?”

“Yes, miss? Whatever is the matter, miss?”

Veronica almost collapsed against the doorframe when she saw the elderly housekeeper standing in the kitchen, a mixing bowl and a wooden spoon in her hands, a look of concern writ large on her face.

Veronica heaved a sigh of relief. “Oh, Mrs. Grant. I thought you might have been in trouble.”

Mrs. Grant’s face cracked into a wide smile. “Oh, miss, why ever would you imagine such a thing?”

The question was answered by a loud bang from upstairs, the sound of something-or someone-being knocked to the floorboards. Veronica hurtled back up the stairs, two at a time. She threw herself across the small landing, catching the doorframe and swinging herself into the drawing room.

Inside, Newbury was stumbling backwards towards the window, his hands up near his face, trying desperately to hold the spider thing at bay. Its legs were clawing at his head, and the flashing blades in its belly were whirring dangerously close to his face. It was attempting to burrow into him, just as it had burrowed through the wooden door.

Veronica scanned the floor for the poker. It was still lying where Newbury had left it. She grabbed for it, rushing over to him, and lashed out at the metal beast with all her might.

The poker rebounded painfully in her hands, but the shell of the machine seemed barely marked by the impact, and the blades continued to spin and burr. Newbury was bleeding from innumerable scratches caused by the sharp tips of the spider’s legs as it flayed and grappled with him, intent on finding enough purchase to pull itself in for the kill.

Newbury’s breath came in short, sharp gasps. “Help… me… get… it… off!”

Veronica dropped the poker and grabbed at the spider’s legs, trying to prise them away from Newbury’s head. Two of them snapped back, the joints inverting so that the legs could stab at her hands and wrists. She pressed on, grabbing for more legs, ignoring the sharp pain that blossomed every time the machine managed to open up another gash in her forearms. Two more legs snapped back, directing their attacks towards her. Now she really was in trouble. She gave up on the legs and groped for the body instead, careful to keep her fingertips clear of the spinning blades. She felt the mechanisms within the machine humming, the clicking of the clockwork components inside: the mechanical brain.