Steampunk AU: Clockwork Angels. part 2
~~*~~
Frank was a little surprised to find Mrs Toro perched on his worn sandstone doorstep in the gathering dusk when they arrived back to his workshop. He tried unsuccessfully to think of a way to explain about her bowl's demise that didn’t make him sound like an ungrateful leech.
“You need to find the little poet then?” She said as they climbed the stairs.
“I’m sorry,” Frank began, “I didn’t mean to...what?”
“I can ‘ear everything that goes on in that room Frank Iero, don’t you forget that!”
Frank winced and shot a glance at Mikey, who was scowling. He ushered them all inside the workshop and lit the lamps. Mrs Toro scowled back at Mikey.
“Poor lost boy,” she said, when Mikey submitted in the face of her superior scowling abilities. “I bet the poor mite is scared.”
“Mrs...Uh...Toro?” Mikey said, “My brother is nearly thirty...”
“That don’t make him any less vulnerable!” The woman snapped, “You’d be scared too I bet, and starving, you look like you haven’t had a decent meal in yer life!”
Mikey’s jaw snapped shut.
“Just like my boy.” Mrs Toro hummed, starting to gather yellowed and oil-splashed papers from the floor, despite Frank removing them immediately from her arms and placing them somewhere else, just as untidily.
“You need to talk to him then?” She asked, tone light and eyes clear.
Frank froze.
“Oh sure!” Frank exploded, “I’m now apparently assisting the resistance, let’s add pirates to the mix!”
Mrs Toro smiled, like a cat. “I’ll let him know you boys are looking for him then.” She handed Frank the last of the papers, smoothed out her apron and scooped up her bowl on the way out, humming tunelessly.
There was a considerable pause.
“Pirates?” Mikey asked, voice utterly neutral.
Frank sighed and slumped onto the bed. “Well she’s right anyway. If anyone can help find your brother it’s Ray, and since we don’t have any other leads...”
“Pirates.” Mikey said.
~~*~~
Somewhere in the clouds over Helvetica the rumble of The Black Flag's engines, matched by the hum of its propellers, drowned out the screams of the seagulls. It inched its way towards the mountains, waiting for its captain to return.
~~*~~
Frank was nervous, he wanted desperately to go home, to bury himself in screws and pins, maybe drown himself in ink. Quite a poetic death he supposed. “Fitting.” He thought. It would probably be less painful than whatever the city watch would have in store for him if he got caught.
Mikey was silent next to him as they made their way to the address Mrs Toro had scrawled on the back of Frank's sketch of a steam powered bookcase he was working on. He still wasn't clear on the details... like why a bookcase would need to be powered, but he was sure it would be a huge success.
The sunlight bathed the busy thoroughfare in morning warmth. Everywhere people bustled in and out of the shops, little dogs trotting beside them, ladies linking arms with gentlemen, or each other, lifting their skirts out of the way of puddles. Ahead was the florist they had been told to find. Great sprays of roses and carnations in the palace colours spilled from boxes outside the shady door frame under the candy striped awning under which Ray Toro was leaning. He wore calf length leather boots, a black quarter-coat showing ruffed sleeves beneath and were they purple laces up his spotless white shirt? “Still flaunting the Sumptuary Laws then...” Frank thought.
He swallowed and bent to pick up a flower from the nearest box, sniffing it gingerly. Ray clucked his tongue.
“Good to see you Frankieboy.” he said, voice easy, cheerful. He raised an eyebrow, “Where's Pansy?”
Frank raised his eyes, fury in his expression.
“I don't know Ray, maybe you can tell me!?” He sucked on his lip, trying to calm down “Like I'd carry her in the streets anyway.”
Ray grinned, toothy and wide, but mirthless. “Who's your friend Frankie?”
Frank glanced at Mikey, who was trying unsuccessfully to look inconspicuous, he was slumped against the wall of the florist, glaring suspiciously through his lenses at passers by. “Not much good at subterfuge are you..?” Frank thought.
“We're here to ask if you can find his brother Gerard. He was kidnapped”
Ray barked a short laugh, surprising Mikey, who flinched a little. “I know your brother's in a whole heap of shit then.” Ray said, “I doubt it'll be easy, lotta people want his head, for a lot of different reasons.”
Mikey seemed to find his voice. “I need to find him desperately, Mr Toro,” he looked abashed. “I can't offer you payment right away, as I have already explained to Mr Iero...”
Ray bent double from laughter, taking a few moments before he could breathe again.
“Mister Iero?” he hooted, “Who the hell calls you Mister!?” He patted at the corners of his eyes with a laced handkerchief and chuckled again. “Oh man, you ain't paying me anything. That's the best joke I heard in weeks!”
Mikey frowned. “But...”
“But nothing! I ain't done nothing more exciting than running that pod of gunpowder through city limits in months. Gerard Way goes missing and you come to me, that's likely to pay its own way in entertainment.” He unhooked a heavy brass key from his thick leather belt. “Follow me, Gentlemen” He said, winking at Frank, who sighed and padded after Ray into the shadows of the florists.
Inside the shop it was cool and smelt overwhelmingly of pollen. Mikey looked like he was holding his breath.
Frank watched as Ray moved behind the curtain to the back of the shop, turned the key in a locker set into the wall, and pulled a stout lever. A grinding started small under Frank's feet and grew in depth, rumbling in his chest until a section of the floor slid up and out, revealing a spiralling staircase into a dark tunnel. Frank felt panic rising.
“Spiders...” He mumbled, backing off a few steps. Mikey caught his arm, squeezing a little.
“I'll go first, Frank,” he muttered, watching Ray bow at the waist and gesture for them to continue.
Mikey seemed relieved, more to move out of the haze of pollen that soaked the shop than anything else. He stepped lightly and carefully onto the first step down and when nothing collapsed he gestured to Frank, taking his wrist to pull him gently down behind him.
Ray, still chuckling softly, followed them, the solid clunk of the floor sliding back into place cutting them off from the city outside.
~~*~~
Gerard sighed. No one had come for him in hours and he was still fairly unsure of why he was there in the first place. His room was a little more comfortable now, after somebody had apparently snuck in while he was asleep and left a potted geranium on the desk. They’d also returned his jacket. “No liquorice though...” he thought sadly.
He turned the flower around in his hands and held it up into the shaft of sunlight that struggled in above him. “You'll probably die in here.” He told it. Then felt stupid for talking to a plant. He placed it back on the desk.
“I hope I don't...” He added, mostly to himself.
~~*~~
Helvetica's sewers were filthy, even for sewers.
As the crept their way through endless tunnels and waterways, Frank could see that originally, they had been beautiful. Above him stonework, wrought with black iron was now rusting, great feats of architecture rotted with their feet in the foul water. It stank. Here and there vast statues depicting Helvetica's ancient histories crumbled into the canals, overgrown with moss and algae softening the features of the stern faces.
The brass sluice gates were fascinating though, and more than once Mikey had to tug Frank away by the sleeve as he bent to examine the huge cogs and chains that connected them to the vast static steam engines on the city surface that operated the system in each quarter.
Mikey tried hard not to look closely at any surface and held his nose higher, mouth curled in distaste. Fingers curled away from touching too much of the rock when they occasionally had to clamber over the decaying debris.
Ray brought them up short at an enormous brass domed hatch, and spun the wheel-lock. It swung open with a creaking groan, revealing the bottom of a huge well, sunlight bouncing off the dripping cylindrical walls to reach them at the base. Perched on the floor, poised perfectly on four wheels was a Cloudhopper. Etched into the highly polished brass scoop was the Black Flag's crest.
Frank drew his breath in sharply, which made Ray grin. “Going up?” the pirate laughed, ushering them to the wide back seat. He waved two leather caps at them and a set of flying goggles each. Frank strapped himself in and frowned at Mikey when he placed the goggles over his glasses, but refused the cap.
“You'll freeze...” Frank whispered.
Mikey shrugged, and brushed a few stray strands out of his eyes.
Ray snapped his goggles over his face and kick-started the vehicle, its propellers thrumming and coughing as they fought to gain speed. After a few moments Ray bounced in his seat, and 'whooped' sending the whole contraption into a stuttering, hissing motion. Slowly, as if it fought under its own weight, the Cloudhopper began to rise, edging up towards the sunlit mouth of the well. Frank scooped Peppers out from his scarves and tucked it into his coat pocket, patting the spot gently before gripping the seat.
The compressed air that followed the vehicle as it rose made Frank's ears ache, and when they reached the top, they surfaced from the well with a sound like a champagne cork popping free. They turned their faces from the glaring sun, and Frank was surprised to find Mikey gripping his hand, eyes screwed shut.
Frank squeezed Mikey's hand back and stared at the rapidly disappearing city. They were spiralling far above Helvetica's dye pits, and only a few blue-stained children had seen their departure, pointing and laughing as the Cloudhopper rocketed to the sky trailing a thin stream of white smoke.
“Check it out!” Frank murmured close to Mikey's ear, to be heard over the rushing wind, “It's awesome!”
Mikey half opened one eye and squeaked, squeezing it shut again. His grip on Frank's hand grew tighter, almost painful. Frank grinned and leaned over the side a little. “Awesome!” He repeated, this time for himself.
Ray flailed one arm, gesturing emphatically northwards, which made Frank squint at the sky. Ahead was a rumbling, deep and purring, like some enormous dragon, and Frank's pulse picked up a pace in response. He could feel Mikey squirming next to him, hair whipped up by the wind.
Through the clouds a great dark shape emerged, creaking and hissing above the wind, vast wrought scoops drawing in the condensation around it, and steam billowing from behind, creating towering clouds in its wake. The Black Flag was imposing and beautiful and everything Frank dreamed of in a machine, his eyes were wide and he gripped Mikey hard in response to his excitement.
Ray circled the foredeck a couple of times before bringing the Cloudhopper to rest, tearing off his goggles and turning to face the wind. “Home! Frankieboy!” He yelled, and leapt from the pilot's seat, black coat flying behind him.
Mikey was shaking, Frank helped him find his feet on the solid deck and looked up to find two figures approaching. He stood a little in front of his friend, shielding him while he recovered.
Ray strode to meet his crew, smiles and gestures and all feline grace. He gestured in their direction mouthing something, the wind whipped his words away before Frank could hear what he had said. The newcomers turned to look at Frank, and one of them grinned.
“Brendon,” Frank nodded his head in greeting, taking in the taller man's trademark flamboyancy wryly. Crimson greatcoat, ruffed shirt and a belt inlaid with silver hearts a black umbrella was hooked over one arm, “At least you've lost the hat!” Frank thought. “You haven't lost any of your style I see.” He shouted aloud.
Brendon laughed and waved his hands, “No, no! But look at you Frankie! Where's the gloves? The make-up? Aww Frankie, you look like an accountant!” He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “Where's Pansy?” He hissed almost playfully in Frank's ear.
Frank's hands balled into fists, and he forced himself to hold his tongue. Breathing evenly he ignored Brendon's musical laugh, and his eyes met those of Brendon's companion.
“Hello Bob.” He grated, as Brendon danced away.
Bob bowed his head solemnly in greeting, and scratched his beard. He raised an eyebrow. “Did you get shorter?” was all he said.
As they filed along the deck to Ray's cabin Mikey bent to whisper in Frank's ear;
“You were one of them weren't you?” and before Frank could answer he added “Make-up?”
~~*~~
Brian was watching him again. At least, Gerard was pretty sure his name was Brian, they hadn't actually spoken yet. He was lost in a bundle of too-big clothes, a mismatch of muddy coloured work clothes. Where they had worn through they had been patched in bright colours and sumptuous fabrics, velvet, silk and embroidered cotton.
He was sat on the palette, watching Gerard shave with the razor and basin he had brought in. Rapt attention on his face.
“You wanna tell me why I'm here?” Gerard asked, eyes on the cracked mirror behind the basin.
Brian shrugged. “He wanted you”.
Gerard sighed and patted down his waistcoat at the dots of soap that had escaped. He knew it was pointless asking, although at least the little man had spoken. This was the closest he'd gotten to a conversation in three days.
“Do I get to talk to Him?” he growled, pulling the skin of his jaw taught across his face to scrape delicately with the blade.
“He isn't here yet”
“Of course not.”
Brian handed Gerard a rough towel, and picked up the basin. He bowed stiffly to Gerard and smiled nervously. “Um..the razor?”
Gerard flicked the blade back into its bone handle and handed it over. Brian bobbed his head in gratitude.
“I'm a big fan” He said, shuffling on his feet.
“Yeah,” Gerard answered, glum. “They all are”.
~~*~~
Ray was pacing, his cabin seemed cramped with five grown men in it. Brendon didn't even try to hide the yawn creeping over his face. He draped himself further over Bob and tugged on his beard, attempting to provoke a reaction.
Bob swatted his hands away, but pulled him closer around the waist, nuzzling Brendon's neck. He turned away and sighed.
“Seems like no one in the city's gonna talk to us,” He began, making Ray shrug. “I doubt Spencer has anything to do with this, and we still owe Vicky from that thing with the chickens”.
Ray sucked on his lip, thoughtful. “I don't think he's still in the city” he murmured. “Too close to the officials who want him, they've had enough time to move him too by now”.
Brendon rolled his eyes. “Then we go to talk to Wentz.” He said, as if it had been obvious.
Bob hummed in agreement. “If he's not actually involved he'll still probably know where to start looking.”
Ray nodded, forehead creasing, “You're right”. He rubbed his temples. “I was hoping not to have to go back there for a while though, the man gives me a headache”.
Frank frowned, dropping his feet from under him on the bench to stand up. “You're talking about getting Pete Wentz involved”. He said, trying not to expose his irritation. “You're all crazier than I thought!”
Mikey caught his arm on the way past, “Kingston?” He asked, eyes wide.
Frank nodded and headed for the door, stopping short when Bob moved to stand in his way, arms wide. “What?” Frank growled.
“Come with me”. Bob said, holding the door open for him, Mikey following quickly behind.
Bob stalked down the corridors onto the mid deck of the airship, holding the doors open for the little procession as they followed. He reached a small room, door banded with iron, huge studs of metal riveted into the wood.
Inside it was dark and smelled stale, not a well used store room, but almost packed to the brim all the same. Bob moved stealthily around the boxes and lifted a small leather bound chest onto the little table space that was free. It was caked in dust. Clicking the clasps he shot a glance at Frank, who was tapping his foot. Mikey hovered at his shoulder, anxious.
Bob removed a long case from the chest, ornate brass fixings held it shut, and etched into a plate along the lid was the word “FRANKIE”. Bob stepped back.
Frank hesitantly ran a finger along the case, biting his lip. He felt the catches, and lifted them with a small 'click'. He took a deep breath before opening the lid, frowning.
Inside was a gun. Mikey leaned imperceptibly forward, to get a better look, while Frank caressed its metal. He lifted it out, and felt the weight of it in his hand. It was a shotgun, three quarter barrel, polished and etched, copper banding on its arches. Along its handle two bluebirds were inlaid with a black stone, down the ivory grip was its name in steel. “Pansy”.
“I brought her from Vencia” Bob said softly. “I didn't believe you, when you said you were done, whatever Ray said”. He shuffled on his feet nervously. “I hid her here, I didn't think anyone else should carry her”.
Frank's eyes looked swollen, glassy. He swallowed. “Thank you Bob”. He breathed.
Bob nodded once and set another box next to Frank, less ornate than the first. Inside was a leather sling for Pansy, and several items of clothing. Bob pulled Mikey out behind him as he left, shutting the door softly after them.
part 3