thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
Sumner.Anything for a pretty face, Miss Plantaget.A very pretty face indeed.She smiled at him, then strode into the foyer as if she had somewhere very important to be.Dismissing Missys strangenesses for the time being, Oliver stowed theSumma Machina on his bedsidetable. The language made perfect sense to him even though he had never so much as looked at it before.This oddity had been accompanied by a burning in the back of his skull, identical to when he had sightedthe ghosts on the rusted stair.He hurried down the hall to one of the unused chambers that Dr. Chestle had converted into a sickroom.Oliver swung the door open and flinched at the smell of alcohol and the greasy odour of Toms sweat.Thomas lay shirtless atop the covers of the rooms single bed. The doctor sat on a short oak stool to theright, sewing shut the new gaping hole in Toms stomach. Jeremy Longshore lay curled in one corner likea dog. Hoy there, Chief, Tom said with a wave.Dr. Chestle calmly pressed Toms arm back to the bed. Please try not to move, Mr. Moore.Ah, the docs a bit grumpy this morning, Ollie. Seems hes a bit miffed about me being shot. Imagine!Oliver walked up to the bed and inspected the wound. Bigger than the last one, Tommy, he said.Three inches side to side, Tom said. You could drop a shilling through me.Oliver laughed automatically, trying not to betray his trepidation. Black veins lanced across Tommyschest beneath the skin. They radiated from the flasher burns on his ribs and shoulder, like the tunnels ofburrowing worms. Dark grey patches discoloured large portions of his arms and stomach. His chest wasa patchwork of scars, notably the group of them over his heart.I am a right mess, arent I? Tom said.No uglier than usual, chum, Oliver said. Tommys face was a wreck as well. Chestle had patchedsome of the wounds closed with stitches and bandages, but the left eye was still nothing more thanburned, burst flesh. The right watered constantly, but he seemed to be able to see from it, and that was astart.Bet my arm doesnt seem so strange now, eh? Tom lifted his mechanical arm to show the point whereiron bones pierced out of malformed human muscle.Chestle again pushed the arm down.Kindly lie still, Mr. Moore. The doctor was sweating almost as much as his patient. Oliver detectedthe faintest tremble in the mans hands.Best follow his directions, Tom, Oliver said, or I might have to shoot you again.The poor doctors eyes flared wide.The man is quite the disciplinarian, Doctor, Tom said. Of course, I would have shot him as well if myaim wasnt so lousy.The doctor paused. Thats appalling. Thats no kind of talk for civilised men to engage in.Oliver laid a pitying hand on his shoulder. Theres not a word of it untrue, Doctor. Surely Hews warnedyou about us.The doctor cleared his throat and admitted, He did not praise your good sense.Oliver rubbed his own jaw, where the stubble had progressed to the soft beginnings of a beard. Goodsense is a relative term, Im afraid.The
doctor finished the final stitch and cut away the excess string with a penknife. Good sense is goodsense, Mr. Sumner. Im advising that Mr. Moore stay confined to bed for now. He may have whateverfood bolsters him but should refrain from imbibing for the time being.Ive always wanted to try teetotalling, Tom said.I would see you outside, Mr. Sumner, said the doctor.Ill be there presently, Oliver replied.Dr. Chestle packed up his equipment and left to wash his hands.As soon as the door shut, a groan tore out of Tom and he curled his hands over his belly.Easy, Tommy, easy. Oliver fetched a cloth and dabbed at the big mans leaking eye.Bloody, Im all right. Just feels like a rat eating my liver, is all.Olivers guts had long since knotted irretrievably. He tried to speak and found his mouth dry.Tom scowled at him.Now dont you dare go and tell me youre sorry for dragging me out on business last night. I had to bethere in case things went sour, and we both agree its a better thing that I got shot than someone else.Ah, Tom... Oliver felt tears coming to his eyes and blinked them back.Ill go out again, Ollie. Often as you need. Tom gestured after Chestle. Im a walking dead man, andthe cutter knows it. Id rather spend my last days pounding on cloaks than lying in bed like a grandma.Oliver clasped him on the shoulder, trying to smile. Thats my lad. Oliver jabbed his thumb at thedoctors bag. Dont think hed mind.Oliver left the room as Thomas stole himself some brandy.He found Dr. Chestle in the bathroom, drying his hands with a frayed towel that had been in the buildingsince Oliver purchased it. Grey and red wisps swirled in the large bowl that stood in for a proper sink.The tub was half full, it being the crews only way of storing water; plumbing was reserved for Aldgateand Cathedral Towers.The doctor looked half dead himself: pale skin, unkempt moustache and hair, eyes sunk deep into thehead. Oil and blood stains marred his white shirt and vest.Tommy seems to be under the impression that he hasnt long to live, Oliver said.Chestles sigh was like the gurgle of air escaping a punctured lung.Im unable to tell you how much time he has, Mr. Sumner. The doctor finished with the towel and hungit over a bent iron drying rack nearby. I had one patient die on me in a matter of days. Some are stillholding on despite all sense. Once the disease turns, theres no way to know. The doctor beganabsently rubbing his left hand where brass nibs poked through the skin.Oliver crossed his arms. Dont figure theres a cure.The doctor spent a minute smoothing his moustache. Ive spent most of my career studying this ailment,Mr. Sumner. So have my colleagues. Weve yet to determine a viable cause, much less a cure.Oliver knew the causenot that a man of science would believe it. Oliver offered his hand and thedoctor took it.Thank you for your help, Doctor. The Underbelly could use a man of your
talents.Chestle smiled at that, but shook his head. I have patients in Bishops Gate and Fenchurch who needme, Mr. Sumner, but your offer is appreciated.Then how about the offer of a few hours rest? Weve an empty room if youd like to make use of it.Your offer is very kind. I may.Oliver escorted him back to the sickroom and left before the doctor realised his brandy was missing.He detoured to Hecklers room briefly to check his progress.The young American looked up from the tiny desk theyd acquired for the work of translating the tape.He set his fountain pen aside and mopped his brow with a well-used kerchief.What can I do for you, suh?Hows it coming along?Jus about done, suh. He shifted uncomfortably. But Ah got some bad news.Id say Im getting a taste for it, Oliver said, then gestured for him to continue.Well, suhHeckler showed a few of his translated pages, coated in scribbled notes and freehanddiagramsAhm almost done with the translation, but there aint no way Ah can build this herecontraption.Why not?Ah dont have the tools its gonna need, suh. I dont have the materials. And... He placed the papersneatly back on the table. Ah just wouldnt know how, suh. This aint no gun and aint no trap neither.Oliver sighed. Finish it anyway. At least that much will be done.Heckler nodded and slipped the pages back into their proper place in the manual, then bent to workwithout another word.The poor young man had been slaving on that one task for six hours now, though Oliver knew he wasdesperate to be part of the planning. Heckler was the only one among them who had any kind ofmechanical aptitude. Except for Bergen, perhaps, but Oliver wasnt about to let him lay hands on thetape.Suh?Yes?Is that really Bergen Keuper upstairs?Oliver looked at his young crewmate curiously. I have no reason to doubt it.Heckler fiddled with his pen. Aint that something else, eh, suh? Even back in Williamsburg, Ahd heardof him. Is it true he took a lion through the eye at three hundred yards?I have no reason to doubt that, either.Hot damnbeggin pardon, suh. Do you think he would teach me if Ah asked?I wouldnt know, said Oliver. But lets just wait until after the ruckus dies down to ask him, eh?Oh. Of course. Sure thing, suh.Oliver left him to his work and climbed the curly staircase about Sherwoods trunk towards the lounge.He found Hews standing at the top, hand slipped into the pocket of his plaid vest, pipe smoking frombetween his teeth. His hair was roughly combed, his muttonchops ragged, his face downcast and sullen.Damnable shame, he said. I served with Bailey in Afghanistan. Theres never been born such anatural soldier as he.You have my condolences, Oliver said.Dont pretend youre too choked up, lad. Youve hated the man since you were fifteen.Oliver sighed and joined Hews in silent contemplation of Sherwoods random support beams. I neverhated him, Hewey, but I wont pretend now that he treated me well.I cant fault you for your honesty, lad, Hews said. But he was a great man,
and Ill go to my gravesaying nothing less. He took me for a collaborator at first, you know; couldnt get past the fact that Iowned a factory.Oliver smiled at memories. You might have called it a poorhouse, or an orphanage.Hews shrugged. I did my bit. The cloaks never caught on that my efficiency came from feeding myworkers more than gruel and oil. Well, until recently.Oliver turned to search Hews face. What do you mean?A cloak came by last week, Hews said. Told me Id have to join up and take my vows or step aside.Id love to believe theyd let me take my retirement in the country, but we both know them better thanthat.Why didnt you tell me?The older man shrugged. Nothing anyone can do about it. The canaries know me too well.But Bailey might have been able to sneak you out on the airships. And we could still hide you here.Hews gave him a wise, fatherly smile. After tonight it might not matter, eh? He left the rail. Shall we?They entered the parlour, finding Bergen brooding over the main table. Maps and lists carpeted theroom, stealing spaces on chairs, end tables, and great expanses of floor, some pinned on the wallsconcealing the nameless portraits and their disapproving glares. The one on the main table was a detailedmap of the Stack, specifically, the terraced rings of factories, train stations, and chapels that coated itsouter skin.Bergen acknowledged their presence with a nod. His midsection had been expertly repaired by thedoctor. Bergen had hidden the bandages beneath a loose shirt and now affected perfect health.Oliver greeted both of them, then planted his knuckles on the table and leaned over it.We found an entry, no doubt, Hews said. The Stack is actually fairly accessible. Weve fiveentrances via cable car, four via rail, and walkways from Aldgate and Commercial Towers.Your American says the device will work only from within the Chimney, Bergen said.Oliver nodded. Hed feared as much.The map was bewildering in its complexity, a twisting maze of hallways, walkways, lift shafts, staircases,chambers, and rooms and massive engines, pistons, and constructions arranged in no sensible order. TheWork Chamber dominated the Stacks centre, at the base of the monstrous shaft from which the Stacktook its name. There, in that dark place, the crows toiled endlessly on Mama Engines Great Work. TheChimney paralleled it on the south side, much smaller and fifteen storeys down from the Stacks surface.Do we have an ingress yet?Hews traced a route on the map as he spoke. I can get us to the freight lift that runs down the southeastedge of the Work Chamber. Only thing is, theres a large gold chapel three storeys down, so were likelyto be spotted.We will go in disguise, then, Bergen said from behind crossed arms.Wont do us a mite of good, Oliver said. We can dress up all we please, but the canaries know theirown.Hews sucked his pipe. Im still waiting on telegrams from a few of my acquaintances. I might be able toget us down a steam pipe on the north side. Its all ladders and
wed need masks, but theres not likelyto be any golds, at least.A long march around to the Chimney, as well, Bergen said.Oliver scowled, his patience already wearing. I didnt think you would balk at a little hike, Keuper.Bergen glowered. You mock me.Youre the one moaning about it. Stiff upper lip, as we say here. He looked to Hews. How long, doyou think?Hews shrugged. No more than a few hours, one would hope.Smashing. Keuper, youll go out and get us supplies.The Germans face flushed. I am no ones errand boy.Oliver straightened to his full height. Youre irritating me, Kraut. This will be difficult enough withoutyour obstructing us at every step.Bergen looked a bit surprised, as if he was realising for the first time that he was not the tallest man in theroom. You accuse me of hindering you.Yes, Keuper, I do, Oliver said. I need the support of all my men on this. If you have some problembeing necessary, we can discuss that at a later date. Besides, of all the ones here, youve likely beenthrough the most hostile of environments, and presumably know how to prepare.Bergen was slow in his nod.Oliver bent back to the map. Good. Get some money from Heckler and return in a half hour.So soon?I expect more cloaks will be coming after me, and I am not difficult to find if one asks the right people.Bergen nodded again. He uncrossed his arms. Youre more prudent a man than I thought. I apologisefor my behaviour.Thank you.Bergen strode out.Hews had watched the entire exchange without a word. He lowered his pipe. You realise those werethe same words Bailey said to you just yesterday.Oliver lowered himself into a chair. Suddenly his bones and his brain ached. They worked on me,didnt they?I must say, Hews continued, that I, myself, wouldnt have known how to handle that man.Oliver shrugged. He needed to know I was strong enough to be followed. That was all.Hews turned to wander, idly examining maps and portraits.Youre becoming more like the boy I knew, who was always brazenly stealing my wifes Bundt cakebut never any of my money or valuables.She made a good Bundt cake, rest her soul.Im just glad to see you coming back into your own.What do you mean by that?Hews smiled and waved the question away.Oliver took a moment of silence to run down the mental list of things that needed to be done. Hews,he said. I need to know more about Aaron Bolden.Hews scrutinised a portrait of a particularly sad-looking woman. Doesnt seem to be much point now,eh?I need to know what comprises these abilities of his. I need to know what he is capable of doing.Bad form, Hews said, to speak of the dead as if theyre still around.Oliver couldnt quite bring himself to assert that Aaron was not, in fact, dead. The hesitation stretchedlong enough that Hews turned from the portrait and raised a fuzzy eyebrow.My, my was all he said.Another minute passed before Hews began speaking. He wandered the rooms perimeter as he spoke.Aaron had a gift, lad, apparently since his younger
days. He didnt tell too many people of it, youunderstand, because of accusations of Spiritism and so forth. He said he could see the inner essence of athing, whether person, animal, building, or machine. I never think I quite wrapped my mind around it.Oliver leaned forward. What did he see of Whitechapel?Patience, lad, Hews said. Aaron was born in Manchester, but hed always felt a draw towardsLondon, he said. He came here at the age of twelve. That was in 1877, just after the Boiler Men put upthe wall and drove out the last of the British Army loyalists. Theyd been fighting for eight or nine yearsbefore that. Youve never seen them use their lightning guns, have you? What they could do to amanto a battalion evenwith a single shot...Such things shouldnt be allowed.Hewey...Hews chuckled. RightAaron. He described Whitechapel as one might a garden or a reef. He spokeof Mama Engines breath coming in and out of the Stack and the beams and pipes and all the largerthings as her garden. He thought of the towers, that is, the floors, buildings, cable cars, and so forth, asGrandfather Clocks domain. Hews puffed his pipe, and finding it empty, tapped the ashes out in thesmall bowl provided for that purpose. He said they werent territories, as a normal man might govern,but rather limbs and organs. He viewed Whitechapel as two immense systems of biology intertwined.Only two? Oliver asked.Another pause. My boy, youare full of interesting intelligence this morning, arent you?Did he ever talk of the other one, the one that lives in the downstreets?Hews considered. Not as I recall. He did seem to have an intimate fear of looking down off tall heights,though.Oliver sighed.He likely knows more about that one by now. He considered pouring himself a drink, justto have something to do with his hands.Its ten oclock in the morning, chap. Tea might be moreappropriate, dont you think?Must I beg for clarification, lad? Hews said. Hed returned to the table and seated himself while Oliverwas distracted.By the bye, theres a third god in Whitechapel, he said.I gathered.I think we may be able to turn it against Mama Engine. I just need to talk to Aaron again to arrange it.Hews grunted. You might start with prayer, or a ance.Mercy. How shall I begin to explain this?Oliver pushed his scraggly hair back from his forehead.Well...I suppose if you were going to think Im mad youd have already come to that conclusion.Long ago.Aaron isnt dead, Hewey. Rather, I dont think he is. Hes a prisoner or guest of the third god. Hesconnected to it in a way that at least allows him to speak to it, and he may have intelligence about thesecreatures that could be helpful. He said he would be gathering information.Hews rubbed his muttonchops. All right. That rapping and seance nonsense aside, I wonder how onespeaks to the, shall we say,nebulously dead?A sound ticked at Olivers ear. Not a noise, so much as a pregnant silence hovering at the door. Hestraightened and cocked his head. Iwonder who it is thats standing in the
hall, listening to us.Hews started. They both turned their heads.Missy stepped into view, bashful and charming. Youll pardon me, of course. I was passing by on theway to the kitchen and found your conversation irresistible.Both men stood. Oliver offered her an empty chair. If it wasnt impolite to say so, Id have to call you asneak, Miss Plantaget.A woman of many talents, will suffice, Mr. Sumner. Missy slipped herself onto the cushion with acats grace. You know, I met a man once who was a Spiritist. He said the dead can speak through aspecial board with letters on it.Hews chuckled. I doubt that this one would, lass.All ideas are welcome at this point, I think, Oliver said.Missy set her elbows delicately upon the tabletop. She had chosen gloves of a deep red this morning.Funny that Oliver hadnt noticed them before.Missy drew a cigarette from her bag and held it out for Hews to light it. He did so, with an air ofimportance about the action. Missy then turned her dyed lips and huge, glittering eyes on Oliver. Correctme if this is a womans simplification of what is certainly an important and complex situation, but couldntyou return to the place you met this dead man the first time?Youre playing me, girl. I wonder what you want.Oliver mused a bit. That would be a mite difficult. Im not entirely certain I was anywhere at all. Againthat brandy tempted him as the memories of those horrible vistas stirred. I dont think they canbeanywhere, as you or I define the term.Poppycock, Hews muttered. A body has to be somewhere. We just need to find the route, is all.There isnt any way to walk to this place, Hewey.A voice from the door: Theres a way.They all looked up to find Phineas at the door, sunk in his ulster coat and hidden beneath his hat.Sorry fr eavesdropping, Capn, like some fool housebreaker, he said. But theres a way, aye.Tick, tick, tick.Irregular footfalls echoed down the long hallway. Windows of red stained glass in unknowable geometricpatterns measured the wall space between arches. Clocks of brass and chrome gazed down from theceiling. The floor shook with the rumble of the Stacks constant eruptions. These things passed in and outof John Scareds senses as he walked to his death.Someone had betrayed his location. It was the only explanation. Some dishonest underling had turnedinformant and led the baron to him. He wondered how much money the baron had offered him, or whatreligious claptrap.The cloaks had shown up on his doorstep. It could not have been accidental, as he had made an entirelynew residencein addition to his usual hidesat the side of a theatre, down an alley, in the mostcrowded and confusing level of Commercial Street Tower. Theyd walked right up and knocked.Baron Hume, the First Favoured, requests your presence, sir.Of course, Scared had presented his most congenial smile and informed them that he was glad theydcome, and that he had intended to give a report to the baron in the near future, in any case.I have information Im certain will be of
great use to him.A quick train and lift ride later they had deposited him at the entrance of the Long Hallway, as it wascalled. The two cloaks who had fetched him still stood guard just beyond the bronze entry doors. Therewas no need for them to provide an escort, as the hallway had only the one exit.He took another step, leaning heavily on his cane.What bothered him was that the baron must know his intentions by now. The British agent they hadcaptured two nights previous could not have held back any information about the designer of thegod-killing device. Scared had to assume he was being brought here as a prisoner; yet if the baron hadwanted information, he would have had the Boiler Men haul him to the Chimney and there would be noneed for any personal meeting.Scared did not like unknown variables.Tick, tick.Hmmm, perhaps it is a nervous habit after all, my dear.But perhaps Baron Hume was ignorant of who had asked Scared to design the weapon and then givenhim the intuitive knowledge to do so. Such information might be used as a bargaining chip. All he neededwas to barter passage out of this hallway. Once back inside the Stack, a thousand avenues for escapepresented themselves.The Long Hallway led from the Stack to Baron Humes personal chapel. Both hall and church hung inthe air without any apparent means of support. An escapee, breaking through the stained glass, wouldfind not even a beam to shimmy down to freedom. And given the proximity to the Stacks burning maw, the air would likely kill him before he managed to descend anyway.The hall ended at another set of bronze doors, smaller than the halls entry but set with greater detail.Gears and springs of all shapes and sizes covered both doors, churning faintly away. Scared studied foran instant the pattern of their movement, tracking motion from gear to gear; one spring wound another,which unwound and coiled yet a third.Above these doors a silver clock ticked its regular time. Of all the clocks in Whitechapel, this clockalone told only the proper time and nothing more.The doors ceased their motion, and steam blew out of their hinges as they swung outward.Youll see me through, wont you, lover?he thought.Half of the man belongs to you, after all.The heated tickle at the top of his spine, so long an indicator of the Mothers attention, had faded all toorapidly over the past few days.The doors fastened themselves to the walls. With an effort, Scared straightened and took one reverentstep into the chapel. For all the times hed been in it, he could not help but marvel. Seething red lightilluminated the chapel floor, cast by the Stack and entering through the enormous plate window at thepeak of the chapels arched roof. Every inch of every wall, even up in the arched ceiling, was covered inclocks. The clocks were of all sizes and shapes, rendered in brass, iron, copper, tin, and glass, allshowing strange and foreign calculations of time, and all ticking in their own rhythm. Thousands of ticks.So many they washed together in