thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
ourhelp, through the help of this man Scared, it is within her reach.The emotion welling up in the bookseller was Mama Engines own.We areher salvation, Mr. Bull. Can you fathom that? We tiny creatures of flesh and blood. She loves usso fiercely for what we are willing to do for her. He eyed Oliver with a smile. She will need to takeanother husband, you know.Three taps of Bergens foot: instrument delivered, awaiting the go-ahead.I think she will be disappointed, said Oliver. She and her kind arent welcome here.Fickin perked up. The fire danced in his eyes, casting its glow over the rows of spines lined on theshelves.So you know about the child, then? he said.Oliver nodded.Mother Engine always wanted children of her own, Fickin said. The heat of his body touched Oliversface. The air began to grow smokier. Illumination from no discernable source spread into the room. Sheonce tried, long ago, to conceive from the Lords seed. What was born was an abomination to both ofthem, a creature of disharmony and decay. It has dogged at their heels from world to world, unable to berid of them just as they are unable to be rid of it. But what else could come from a union of such hatredon the one hand and indifference on the other?Fickin became distracted with the passions washing over him. Oliver took the opportunity to scan theroom and take in the changing light, the sudden smokiness of the air. Right now, in the back of the store,those four furnaces were flaring higher as a fanfare for the goddess arrival.It was time to leave. Oliver took one quiet step back towards the door.She likes you, Mr. Bull, Fickin said. You have qualities she fancies.Another step back. Jeremy poked his head fully out of the pocket.Qualities.I dont presume to understand her, Fickin said. He floated closer as Oliver retreated, stretching out hishands in a kind of pleading gesture. She has needs and desires far outside the boundaries of humanexperience, and she engages in many kinds of unions.Theres a vile image.Oliver snapped theSumma Machina closed and slipped it back into his pocket.She knows my opinion of her, Fickin. Ill be going now.Fickin snatched Olivers sleeve. The voice that spoke next was no ancient bookkeepers, but a rattlinggasp like the last breath of a dying man. Sheneeds you. She cannot suffer this again. She must have ahusband who will love her.The lamp overhead exploded, raining sparks onto the shelves. Strips of Fickins skin peeled off steelbones when Oliver tore his sleeve loose, and Oliver bolted for the door. Jeremy burst from his jacket in aflurry of ticks and buzzes as the shop exploded into orange light.Oliver did not see what Aaron Bolden did next. For an instant time suspended, sound deepened, andspace expanded past comprehension. The cracks and fissures in the walls began leaking yellow pus. Asickly green light flared up outside the windows.Fickins cry for deliverance gurgled away.The pus fell to the floor, where it picked up a sudden speed and rushed past Olivers feet. An instantlater a blast of heat
struck him from behind, followed by a wall of hissing steam, and a shriek of pain wentup like the beams of a tower ripping itself apart.This time without hesitation, Oliver tore the door open and plunged into the street.The crack of the sidewalk against his cheek brought him back to clear reality.Bergen made no move to help him up. The German drew his revolver and trained it on the bookshop.Oliver lifted himself off the street, straightened collar and cuffs.Light it now, Phineas, he whispered, knowing the sailor would hear him.The derringer leapt into Olivers hand.The bookstore stood dull and darkened. The door creaked shut. They waited.Phineas appeared by Olivers side.Got the block evacuated, sir, he said.Oliver nodded, keeping his eyes trained on the door.Better cover your ears, Bergen grumbled, leaving his own unprotected. Phineas ran off, alreadybunching his collar around his head to dull his hearing.Olivers heart stung for him.Im sorry to have to do this to you, Phin.Steel fingers slick with blood moved the shop door aside. One spindly appendage, bending evenly at ahundred different joints and arching like a spiders leg, reached beyond the doorjamb. Oliver heardFickins voice from inside.Why do you do these things? the bookseller rasped, his face a hint of teeth and bloodied scalp. Whydo you hate her so? All she wants is your love.The voice held all the sadness and hurt of the unjustly wronged.The German loosed a shot that took Fickin in the face and drove him back. An instant later the buildingexploded and they all crashed to the ground.The concussion broke windows halfway down the street. A gout of fire threw the back of the shopsroof and its supports into the air and lit the Underbelly with more light than it had seen in twenty years.The roof of the bookshop rained down in fragments for blocks around. Some of it had probably struckthe underside of the upper Concourse. Bits of plaster and twisted steel clattered on the street around himas Oliver lay curled on the ground.Gott in Himmel,Bergen cursed beside him. How much did you use?The last pieces of the bookshop crashed to the street all around, and Oliver slowly uncurled.Twenty-seven, he said. A full third of Hecklers supply.Why so much? the German asked.They both got to their feet. Oliver removed his hat and shook it off, then ran a hand through greasy,knotted hair. I had to be sure that abomination of his never gets loose in the Underbelly.I wouldnt lay odds on it now, English, Bergen said.I wont be satisfied until I see it in pieces, Keuper, Oliver shot back. Now keep me covered.Obediently, the German raised his pistol and aimed it into the ruin of the shop. Oliver caught the rareflicker of an actual expression on his faceamusement?Bugger him.Amazingly, the door and much of the buildings facade had stayed intact. Dying fire flickered through theshattered windows. Greater fires than these had already claimed the atmosphere of Whitechapel.The door cracked off its hinges as Oliver swung it open. The bookshelves had toppled forward likedominoes, spilling their wares all about the floor. Some were
burning; most were simply blasted intopieces and lay snapped and mangled in piles against the remaining walls.Beneath one shelf lay a twisted heap of iron and steel. It twitched ceaselessly, respiring puffs of dry,dusty smoke. It had too many arms, too many legs, and not nearly enough skin left on it, but it lived.One of the old mans arms grasped feebly at Olivers shoe.Ill tell you why I hate her, Crow, Oliver said. I hate her because all the women and children thatslave in her factories or twitch and rot on her husbands Chimney arent alive enough to hate her. I hateher for the air, and the dark, and for the disease thats eating my friend alive from the inside.The shape screeched like a heavy door on unoiled hinges.Oliver watched Fickin trying to crawl and had to blink back tears. I hate her because she doesnt lether people die.He raised his eyes and stared into the empty space were Mama Engine had once come for him.Please, he asked, let this one go.The twisted shape continued to squeal, continued to grasp at unseen things with steel fingers.Oliver sighed, and stepped over the body. He walked over the downed shelves to the back of the shop.The dynamite had broken a hole clean through the Underbelly. No sign remained of Fickins monster orthe four furnaces used to craft it.Bergen, from behind: Are we finished here?Yes, Keuper, were finished, Oliver said. Get Tom ready to be moved. Well be going shortly.The German retreated.Oliver stood amongst the ruins of the shop and let his sadness have expression. After the Uprising, withthe Underbelly burning, hed sworn it in a silent pact with God: no more children shot in the streets forgetting in someones way, no more families broiled alive by steam guns for hiding in their cellars, no morehomes or lives burned and torn down.And here I am, destroyer of my own city.But this was the hideout of an enemy. This was the stronghold of an invader who would have broughtonly more misery. That made a difference, didnt it?And what of those who might have been hit by stray debris? What of those who will suffer at the handsof the cloaks when they come down on you for this?Strange. That had sounded like the German.The echo of Bergens momentary smile flashed in his mind. The German had never laughed; Oliverimagined him laughing over this.He dug the crushed body of Jeremy Longshore out of the rubble before departing.
Chapter 12His chosen will call themselves the Brothers of Order. They will be the expression of His Function, andthe makers of His Harmony, and they will call me Master.IV. iIt was like a veritable sewer of the filthiest dregs of humanity, all coated in their own foulness, allgathered together in a drainpipe so clogged that no amount of rain would ever wash it clean.Yes, thats it.And those churls at the Stack had sent him knee-deep into it without so much as a clothespin to protecthis nose. Yes, hed botched the capture. Yes, hed let the British sons of bitches shoot him to death. Ithadnt beenhis fault. Theyd been hiding in a tool cabinet, for goodness sakes; a bloody, bleeding,fuckingtool cabinet. How could he have known? Yet his superiors had blamed him harshly and shipped him offto Shadwell to wallow in his shame.Except that Marcus James Westerton did not feel shame, as it didnt do one a damned lick of practicalgood. What he felt was anger; anger at those queen-worshiping zealots and whatever inborn humanstupidity drove such people to rebel against their betters.Anger, you see, wasuseful . Anger made people do as you wanted.Look sharp, you, he growled, without warning or provocation.The young lad who was the target of the growling shrunk back like hed been actually struck. The Stackhad given Westerton two fresh recruits as underlings and he had to go about breaking them in. Thesooner they kowtowed to his every whim and cruelty, the faster they could become an adequate fightingunit. This one ladEugene?Westerton had ordered to stay by his side as a bodyguard. The othermarched some twenty feet ahead, in the company of the intolerable street urchin leading them to theirprise.And what a prise, what a prise.You, boy! Westerton called. How much farther is it?The little cretin turned a gap-toothed grin back at the question. No long, sir. Few mo turns, i is.It had better be soon, or I daresay youll get no shilling. And if Im in a mood Ill have you hauled off tothe Chimney.No worries, suh. Few mo, likes I said.His growl seemed to have little effect on the human rodent.I might have him hauled off anyway, onaccount of his irksome presence.Despite himself, Westerton felt his foul demeanour slipping. Whether this creature was lying or not, theday would be a good one. Either he would send that animal to the Chimney, or he would havesatisfaction on one of the men whod shot him. Hed almost had him once, but the villain had eludedWesterton with the help of that damned bookseller Fickin. A traitor and rotten to the core, that one. Whydidnt the Good Lady simply burn him up?Because the Lady is as inconstant and as fickle as any woman. Not like the Lord. Ah, his is the beautyof structure and logic. Unassailable. Hedeservesto be worshipped.Here, sirs, the boy said. Just here.They had arrived at an alley, which, like all the alleys of this God-cursed tower, was dark and stank ofmould and general hideousness. Westerton checked the street to either side. He recognised none of thetenements nor the
guttering lamps or the stray dogs probing the stairways and doors looking for food.Where are we, Brother? he demanded.Eugene swallowed hard and shook his head. I...dont rightly know, sir. He cringed at Westertonsgaze and mumbled an apology.The street boy stood expectantly at the alley mouth.Presumptuous child, Westerton said. You think Ill pay you before the job is done? For all I knowyouve led us to a whorehouse and will run off with my shilling.The child shook his head. Led you true, I did, suh. The doors at the end, in there.It had better be. Westerton motioned Eugene to move up beside his brother-in-gold. Westertonhimself drew out his 1.20-calibre breech-loading sidearm, which he had ordered custom built at greatexpense. It was always a fine day when he got to fire the thing.You stay here, he said to the boy. Well be back presently.The boy sat patiently on the curb and stared at his shoes.Forward.The alleys shadows swallowed his two underlings after a single step. Cursing under his breath,Westerton followed. The dark that closed over him was nearly total, revealing only hints of the walls andthe vague outlines of forms in front of him. Hed never been able to see properly in the dark since hisinitiation, when Grandfather Clock had blessed his heart and replaced much of his nerves with copperwiring. Westerton trusted that the Good Lord had a reason for this particular debility, though hesometimes found it irritating.Not that Im ungrateful, noble Grandfather. Not at all.Two shots filled the alley. Something wet splattered on his face and frock an instant later.To the sides, my brothers! Give me space. Without waiting, Westerton discharged his weapon directlydown the alleys length. He thrilled to it: percussive force sufficient to shatter nearby windows and enoughrecoil to tear the arm off a mere human being. His enthusiasm dulled somewhat as the impressions themuzzle flash had burned onto his eyes resolved themselves into two bodies crumpled on the street in frontof him wearing gold vests.His heart-clock began to fall out of rhythm. Brothers? he said. Answer me, you disobedientlibertines.At a whirring and grinding from behind, Westerton grabbed for another shell from his pocket andscrambled to reload.Thats it. Get closer, Englishman. Get up where I can see you.Rapid, plodding footsteps accompanied the noise. At the last moment Westerton whirled and dischargedthe weapon into the centre of the massive shadow closing in on him. The shadow jerked and halted.Westerton laughed aloud. Take that, traitor. A taste of the Good Lords justice.The shadow swiped out a hand and ripped the gun from Westertons fingers.What do you know? it said, pointing to its belly. Got me a matching pair now, Chief.Wh-what? Westerton stammered. Youre a cloak! Youre a bloody crow, thats what you are!Fickin put you up to this, the no good bastard.Then a voice from behind: It occurred to me that you probably dont see very well in the dark, Mr.Westerton.That made his heart-clock twinge painfully. He was out of balance, his perfect order disturbed. He feltan infirmity creep into his knees, and spun around to find two figures, one hunched as
if aiming a rifle, theother tall and thin. He pointed accusingly at the taller one.You! Youre under arrest.Im very busy right now, Westerton, said the man, and I cant have you or yours prowling about theUnderbelly looking for me.At that Westerton cackled. Do your worst, villain. Kill me again if you like. Ill simply come back foryou tomorrow, and Ill have more men next time, now that I know where youre hiding.Ah, yes, that. Well, surely you dont think I hired that young lad to show you to my real hideout.It doesnt matter. I know your face. That is all I need to find you again.Be that as it may, Ill need a few days more. Im going to have my associate shoot you and then wellbe tossing you off the tower.You wouldnt dare!Listen closely, Canary. Im going to give you your gun back before we drop you. Use it only to defendyourself. The hounds shouldnt bother you unless you become hostile.You...savage.Hed intended something more eloquent, some scathing words to put these renegades in their places.Well, perhaps a sterling display of violence would suffice. One second was all he needed; a quicksqueeze or a quick jerk and the battle was won even if they shot him down. A single tick of the clock.The Ticking Lord had long ago taken away his pain, and then his fear of death. He hesitated only aninstant, then lunged.The third man shot him in the throat. The big man dragged him back by his collar, while the others closedin. He took seven rounds in the stomach and chest before his assailants were done. In each flashWesterton absorbed the grim-faced glare of his adversary, memorising its creases and features until heknew them as well as his own.Body forced out of harmony, he slumped to the ground and found he could not move.It doesnt matter. The Lord protects me. The Lord will bring me back to harmony so that I can strip theeyes out of that fucking creature and break his skull with my fingers.His senses went dark, and he was alone with the ticking of his own heart.The Ninth Prophecy was delivered to me as follows:Whether this year I see will be a time for mourning or celebration I do not know, for so much will be lostand in a single stroke so much gained. How can She contemplate such an act, and how can I, knowingly,consent in its execution? I do not understand this strange path Providence seems to have laid out for me,to be a vessel for two warring minds and to aid in the slaying of one by the other.For She will kill her mate, of this I am certain. Since the vision has come to me they have both consentedto its propriety. Even He, the Great Machine, knows it is fated to occur, and though He cannot give theact His blessing, for such sentiment was long ago banished from His mind, His very incapability ofconsidering another outcome admits his tacit consent.This is madness, and yet She is not mad. She, after all, existed before
She took Him as Her lover. WasHe man or machine before that horrid affair? I cannot say. The answer is there in this terrifying new mindof mine, if I dare to ask for it. But I dare not. I havent the courage.Another is coming...Isee...I will name this my Tenth Prophecy, and it was delivered to me thus:She will take a mortal lover, a new consort to fill the place of Her murdered spouse. Who this will be Icannot yet see, but he will be a creature of logic, as the Great Machine was in the beginning. She hasbeen angry for so very long, and this poor man will bear the penalty for Her suffering. My mind trembleswhen I dare to dwell upon it.This man is to be moulded as one moulds clay or stone. What She desires of him is Her secret to keep,though She would tell me, if only I was not such a coward.Almighty God, why did they pick me? Of all the whelps wandering Londons streets, why am I to be socursed? For I know, too, what I am to suffer, what terrible deeds I am to perform at the behest of thesecreatures from Beyond.I call these things my Eleventh Prophecy, and will speak on them no more.IX. ixxiCandlelight gave poor illumination at farther than reading distance, and she hadnt made any sound. Shejust had a way of being noticed.Oliver closed theSumma Machina and set it on the short wicker table.Miss Plantaget, he said. He rose, approached her, then swept up and kissed her gloved hand. Her hairwas down and fell about her shoulders. The soft light seemed to glow beneath her skin as her lips spreadin a smile. Realising hed been staring, Oliver cleared his throat. To what do I owe the pleasure?She cocked her head and blinked lazily at him. I suppose youre aware that there are perfectly goodreading chairs out in the lounge, not to mention better light.Solitary contemplation can be good for one, Oliver said. Phin says the Hindus and the Japanese do itall the time.She fixed him with a stare he found unreadable.I dont doubt that Phineas says it, she said. He also says he once owned a pet sea serpent he calledLila.Oliver chuckled to hide his growing unease. Why was she looking at him so intensely?I havent heard that one before. Oliver straightened his vest, then the suspenders beneath it. What isit?Thomas is awake again. I thought you would like to know.Thank you. He made to push past her. When she didnt move aside, he waited.Is there something else? he asked.Her eyes searched his.Michelle?Oliver, she began. Several expressions passed over her face in rapid succession. Its the German.Oliver sighed. Hes a sullen bravo, I know. Id stick him with a different crew if I thought any of theothers survived.You got word, then?Oliver nodded. Joyces address was hit by the Boiler Men early this morning. The cloaks assaulted halfa dozen other places at the same time. I cant say theres much hope.Im sorry.Missys face readjusted into the subtlest expression of sympathy, and suddenly all
the sadness he hadnt wanted to feel flushed over him in one wave. No Joyce, no Sims, none of the other crews. Oliver knewhow it would have happened: echoing footsteps coming up the street, a blast of steam through the door,another through a window, leaving the men to choose between fleeing into the street and being shot orhiding inside and being broiled alive.During the Uprising hed seen it happen to a neighbourhood family, and hed run to his secret tunnel andhid. Theyd chosen to stay inside, and hed listened to the mother scream for more than an hour beforethe Boiler Men got around to executing her. That memory had always been caught on the question ofwhether she was screaming for her children or screaming from her own pain. Silly thing to wonder about,all these years later.A warm finger poked into his arm.Come back, Oliver, Missy said, a soft, petite smile on her red lips.Oliver cleared his throat. Sorry, I was justShe held her finger up to interrupt. I dont care to know where you were just then, Mr. Sumner. Thepast is really not something one should worry over. Dont you think?She lowered the finger. Her eyes awaited agreement.Right, Oliver said finally. Thats a sensible piece of advice.Im glad you agree. She drew her finger through the air as if following the path of a fly, eventuallylanding it on an unseen piece of furniture. Getting back to my original question...The German. Right.She isa distraction. I know hes abrasive and I dont want to make excuses forhim...Then dont. Missys look became harder....but right now hell do us more good than otherwise. You should have seen his shooting, Michelle.It might be better that I didnt, she said. Hes an evil man, Oliver. Thats as clear as day to me.I wouldnt have chosen him, for certain.Then kick him out. Let Heckler use that ghastly steam gun of his. He cant be trusted; surely you cansee?Missy looked to be in genuine earnestno, in panic. He watched Missys jaw and lips tighten.He cant becontrolled .Its the same expression as the last mission,he realised.She wore the same one just after shedstabbed...Oh my.I think he can be, Oliver said, trying to reassure her without exaggerating his chances. Im keeping aneye on him and Ive got Hews doing the same. I think we can keep him in line. Besides, he wouldnt giveup his cannon willingly, I dont think.Missy scowled. Her fingers fidgeted on her handbag. There are other ways to get it away from him, youknow.Olivers eyebrows shot up. What did that mean?A small gasp, and then Missy was all smiles and fluttering eyelashes. Just a suggestion, Mr. Sumner, anattempt to be helpful. You were once a thief, were you not?Oliver smiled back, allowing himself to be led from the subject. I know many people would haveconsidered me one. This may be a different situation.Well, there you are. Missy gathered arms close to her stomach and tipped her head to him. Just asuggestion, then. Well, please just...Well, watch him, would you?I said we would keep him in line.Then, my gratitude, Mr.