thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
a sound not unlike the sea, or a forceful wind blasting in the ear.The faces of Grandfather Clock.The baron waited beneath the great quartz clock that hung like a cross at the far end of the room, silktop hat and cane tucked under one arm.Scared removed his hat. Sir.Baron Hume lifted his head and gazed at the quartz clock with reverence. Any human features he mayonce have possessed had long since been subsumed: his skin had become strips of brass, and his onlyidentifiable features were his expressionless eyes.Jonathan Augustus Scared, he said.John Scared waited, reading into the barons stance and movements. Hume was a difficult man to read,given what had been done to his physical body by the two intelligences that inhabited it. He seemed tohave taken more and more of the Clock into his habits, such that his movements read like a gear turning,and yielded no useful information.Today, however, Humes shoulders were ever so mildly slumped.The baron turned smartly on his polished wing tips.On the one hand there are limits, on the other creations. When one ends the other must outgrow itself tothe point of stagnation. The ending of one is the ending of the other, but one wonders where that endingdwells.Heh. He actually needs my help, darling. What a lark.What do you need me to find, sir?Brass eyes, tinged red by the light, studied him. The baron wore a tailcoat and impeccable slacks, acrisp and gleaming tuxedo shirt beneath. Strange how he always made a point of dressing like the manhed been.The ending of order without the growth of chaos, sealed in the code of scratches upon the skin of trees.Where is that which is yours no longer?He knows then. As expected.I have yet to locate it, sir. When I do I will notify you.The barons featureless black head tilted slightly. The enders of prophecy are men who walk upon twolegs. These creatures of great words and frail bodies saw at the stem of that which must come to be. Dothey hide in their own skin and resist harmony?The Britons are mostly wiped out, thanks to the golds, Scared said. I have my boys looking after therest. Not to worry. I have them well in hand.A hand on the saw moves. Is the saw vicious when at the neck, benign when at the trunk? Who canhate that which is moved by another hand?Scareds eyes narrowed. Your point, sir?You are a tool, Jonathan Augustus Scared. You are the saw that revels in the shedding of dust, thinkingitself mighty.Is that you speaking, pet? Heh. You really know nothing about me.I live to serve, sir. Truly.A dog who walks in front of his master still cannot swing a cane. In this one thing he can be proud, butno more.I already know what place youd pigeonhole me, my love.The baron continued. Creation without limits is chaos. A yard without a fence is a plain. A sea without ashore is a place where men drown.A long pause followed, so long Scared almost turned to leave. Then Hume spoke again, in a voice softerand more human.Why?The
question carried genuine pain. Was it the man speaking now, and not the double tongue of thegods?Can you be more specific, sir?Another long pause, like a machine with a stuck gear, grinding to break loose. When the words finally did come, they emerged in a clockwork rhythm with gaps and starts, like Hume was choking on them.Brother slaysbrother a plantdespises thesun whydoes a harp fallout of tune whenthemusic isso beautiful?Scared actually laughed. He cackled, his voice ringing off the hard surfaces, mingling with the ticking,playing with the light.You dont understand, do you, Hume? he said. You cant fathom it at all. Under all those gears andpistons, youre still that same simpleminded architect who could never get his buildings to stand.The baron stared with the eyes of a statue.Shehates him, Hume. She hates him because she loves him and she loves him because he doesnt careone whit about her. Its madness, all of it. Mania and melancholy all around. Your gods areinsane,Baron.The baron replaced his top hat. The white ribbon wrapped about it near the brim sparkled like sunlighton water.Yes, I said it, my sweet. I said it directly to his face and to yours. And yet he wont kill me for it becauseit is the Gods own truth.There was something of a man in the way Hume turned away to contemplate his Church of MeasuredTime.Scared took it as his cue to exit. He deliberately planted his cane out of synch with the cacophonyaround them.Yes, Hume, see if you can find your answer in that ticking monstrosity.Marvelous! The weak-willed man whod written theSumma Machina was still buried in that mechanisedbody, and still remembered the failing days of his own sanity. Back then, the baron had realised theabsurdity of the Lord and Lady: a match made in hell and consecrated with shit and shackles. Scared hadsimply reminded him of that.Scared had read him. The man inside had stirred, and begun thinking and feeling again. So much thebetter if his doubts rendered him unable to act. That just left more of the city open to acquisition by oneJonathan Augustus Scared.Oh, my sweet. Even your adopted son cannot save you.The bronze doors hissed closed, and Scared practically skipped down the Long Hallway.
The second principle of the machine is Harmony. This is the core of the wisdom of the machine: thatcomponent parts cannot but work together towards the accomplishment of the machines noble Purpose.In that Harmony facilitates the completion of this Purpose, the machine will devote its resources to thepromotion of Harmony and the excisement of those elements that would draw it into chaos.IV. iiiGisella had never laughed, so why did Missy hear laughter? It had been echoing in her mind all day; that,and a gravelly voice that whispered to her from every reflected surface.Bursting apart, I believe it translates. In a few seconds youll cease even to dream, my pet. You willlive only for my voice, and will do all I ask of you.Missy still wore a smile, brushed with beet juice to redden the lips. She wore red gloves and a red scarftucked around her neck. Had she dressed herself that morning? It was so difficult to remember.You are certainly invited to join us, Miss Plantaget.Missy started. Hews was offering to help her out of her chair.Oh. Of course, I should be delighted.She accepted the mans outstretched hand and stood. Hews smiled at her and moved to join Phineasand Oliver in the hall. The instant he turned his back, she shot her fingers to her temples and gave them agood massage to clear the fog from her head.She followed them down Sherwoods staircase and then down the hall to Olivers room.Shut the door, be so kind, Phineas said. Hews quietly closed the door once Missy had steppedthrough. Smells of dust and spent candles came to her, along with the faint scent of a mans body odour,unmasked by powders or perfumes.Your face is distressingly grave, Phineas, Missy said.Didnt say it was easy or safe, did I? Phin pulled his hat brim down, dragging it even farther over hisnose. The single oil lamp in the corner caught only the wrinkles on his chin and neck.Phin reached deep inside his coat and withdrew a box of pale wood, carved with Oriental symbols andpainted in patterns of red, no longer than his stunted index finger.Her attention turned to Oliver, with a vague notion that she was supposed to be watching him.Oliver held out his hand for the box and Phineas placed it in his palm. Phineas hand shook as hereleased it, and he withdrew from it as from a coiled snake.What is it, Phin? Oliver asked.The old sailor shuddered as he inhaled to speak.Chinamen call itmei kuan . Means pleasing to the eye, near as it was explained to me.They all crowded around Oliver as he undid the clasp of scarlet string that held the box closed. Missycould swear she felt a heat coming off Oliver above and beyond ordinary body heat.Do not be frightened of your own heat when it comes on you,said Gisella.Encourage in your own mindthe breath to quicken and the face to flush, as both will be most arousing to your client.Oliver opened the box with a single finger. Within, nestled in a crumple of unspun cotton, lay a vial ofblue glass.
A glass stopper, held in place with copper braids, kept it shut. It could not have held morethan a thimbleful of liquid.Hews cleared his throat. How is this to take us anywhere, Phineas?Phineas had turned away, and now faced into the darkest corner of the room. Doesnt take youanywhere. Frees up the spirit. Lets the breath out. Youll be lying on the bed, no breathing, no heartbeat,even. Phin looked back over his shoulder. The lamplight caught electric brilliance in his eye. But theplaces a body can go, Capn! The things a body can see!Hews frowned then. Hogwash. Opium addicts say the same, pitiable creatures.Phin eyed him over the rim of his collar.This aint opium, gentlemen, he said. A hideous smile crept onto his gargoyle face. This is St. Petersgate in a bottle. Youll be bigger than the world, Capn. They say it would turn a man into a god, if only itdidnt kill him first.They all stared at the bottle. Eventually, Missy spoke just to break the silence.Well I for one am intrigued. Shall we try it?Hews huffed and retreated to the door. Ill have no part of this foolishness.Oliver slipped the bottle free with two careful fingers. None of you will. Hold the fort, Hews. Find methat entrance to the Stack and keep the German under control. Well be done when were done.Hews set his jaw, nodded, and departed. The door snapped shut in his wake.Oliver offered Phin the bottle. How does it work?Phin jerked away from it. Confound it! Keep it back! Dont...dont tempt me.Oliver wrapped his fingers over the bottle. Phineas visibly relaxed as it vanished from sight.The old sailor exhaled. Just...there are terrible things to be seen, s well as wondrous. I never learnedproperly how to protect myself. A bodys got to be so careful. He rubbed shaking hands over a facethat suddenly gleamed with sweat. I did a favour for some Chinesewhat, I wont saywhen I wasover there. They let me have a sniff, just a sniff. I swear I saw...I saw...Missy shivered at the old sailors next word.God. Phineas swallowed hard and audibly. Spent twenty years just sittin in that room, workin up thenerve to drink it. I dont take it anymorecantbut I could never part with it either.Phin choked up. He clenched his fists and jammed them into his pockets, apparently done talking.Oliver turned the bottle over in his palm. The liquid caught the light with the rich sheen of liquor.Im supposed to watch Oliver,Missy remembered.Someone told me to. A man...The fiendish grin and teeth flashed back into her memory.No. I dont... escaped her lips.The mans voice:You will not remember any of this, little one. No, not a whit, until I command you to.Oliver and Phineas were staring at her.She cleared her throat and affected a broad smile. Please forgive me. I havent been...Well, nevermind me. Shall we?Oliver lay back on the bed and Missy perched beside him on a fragile wicker chair.Phineas hovered at the exit, sunken in his crumpled clothing, with his calloused fingers twitching towardsthe door handle. Miss, you take the bottle.
You pop the cork and hold it under the capns nose, right?Ollie, you take a sniff. Remember, only a sniff. Like a pinch of snuff. He shuddered. And dont daredrink it! Not a drop.Ill be careful, Phineas. Just get back on post, Oliver said, passing the bottle to Missy.Not a bloody drop, hear? Phin hesitated, wringing his hands. One bloody droplook what its doneto me.Then he left, shutting the door behind him.Oliver looked up at her with that concerned, welcoming gaze that so frustrated her. She forestalled himbefore he could speak: How inappropriate, the two of us shut in a room alone.Oliver took her hand. Though the touch was light, yet still the warmth of it penetrated into Missys body.Her insides began to quiver.Your client may wish to court you as he would a proper lady, or he may wish satisfaction immediately.He will indicate this through his gestures and expressions. In time, you will learn to read these cues asclearly as letters and will know the correct course to follow.She could not withdraw her hand.If somethings amiss, Michelle, just tell me, he said. No one will think the less of you for it.Ollie, I cant say. Icant . Im not...Please, dont ask me...Dont ever... She choked off, and paintedher mask back on with a fury. Well, enough of the failings of womanly temperament, I say. Shall we geton? She lifted the bottle.Oliver did not release her hand. As much as Im able and youre willing, Michelle, Ill take care ofyou.A pause. Then, I appreciate the sentiment, I truly do, Oliver. But were not here to trade pleasantries,are we?Her hand withdrew from his. The heat of that contact receded.He settled back on the bed, eyeing her curiously, and nodded.She unstoppered the bottle and held it beneath his nose. He sniffed quietly, and she quickly withdrew itand closed it.Olivers eyes drifted closed.Oliver, be careful,Missy thought.Oliver, be careful, said her voice.He nodded, then fell still.Missy stared at him some long minutes, then slipped her fingers back around his. Nothing moved in thelittle room.He slipped from waking to sleep, and then into something else.He was eight years old. Hed run away from Hews factory, where hed been sleeping under thesmelting pots that kept warm long into the night. Hed stowed on the lift down into the Underbelly, andchased himself through streets and alleys. The vagrants eyed him, the vendors hoarded their goods awayfrom him, and ordinary folk kicked him out of the way with a curse.Behind a bakery on the Eighth Row, he made his bed. He smelled the scent of the bread and imaginedhe was tasting it, and lay down on the edge of the Underbelly, nothing but air and smoke beneath him. Hewould butter the bread, he decided, and he would have raspberry jam besides, and a glass of milk from areal cow. And it would all squish together in his mouth and get stuck in the holes where his baby teethhad fallen out, and he would worm it out with his tongue and chew it again, until it dissolved into his salivaand slipped
down his throat like syrup.He must have fallen asleep. A boot to his shoulder blade roused him, then another to his hip rolled himover. Then gravity took him.He plunged down, leaving his body behind. The wind whistled through his hair and across his face. Ashflicked across his eyelashes and tickled his neck and toes.Sherwood was above. Sherwood was below.Where did he stop, when the falling became stillness and the rushing air silence?Oliver opened his eyes.Below, above, all around stretched an endless vista of light and dark. The roiling shapes of massivechains snaked between sparkles and flares of furnace fire. Embers swarmed in the air like fireflies,chasing shapeless creatures of molten glass. His eyes adjusted slowly, as if coming from the light into thedark, and the sky became muted fire of crimson and orange.The landscape was not without form. Out of the web of chains and fire rose towering, geometricbuildings of copper-shaded glass, edged sharp as razors. Silk-fine strands of brass and silver linked oneto the other. Gears and springs turned to no apparent purpose on their outer surfaces. Oliver recognisedthem: Shadwell, Stepneyside, Cathedral, and others in the far reaches of perception. Where the Stackshould have been stood a tower of intertwined mechanical arms pulsing with red light. Sulphurous fumesbillowed out like curtains raised by the wind, and everywhere, the clacking of machines and the roaring offurnaces.This is how I always see it.Aaron sat beside him, perched on a steel beam connected to nothing. He sat with his knees pulled up tohis chest, and his coat-of-many-pockets dangling down. In the manner of dreams, his features seemed toshift as if seen through water, the only constant his eyes, an unnatural blue that tracked on Olivers vision.Where are we?Aaron twiddled his fingers awhile. Theres another side to things. This is where one finds theidea of aplace, as well as its ghosts and its dreams. Manchester is built of wicker and wool, and cotton rains fromthe sky.Whitechapel hasnt fared so well, Id guess.All its dreams here are dead, surely as night and day were killed off by the smoke, Aaron said. Nowtheres only the three of them, and the little parasites that live in them. He indicated the globs of glass.And us.We arent really here like men aught to be. Weve no histories anymore and no idea about ourselves.Oliver scowled at him.Remind me to speak to you whenever Im lonely for gloom and pessimism.Aaron laughed. I am dead, after all.Not from where Im sitting.Oliver tried to settle down beside the strange dead man but found himself without limbs to move or arear to seat himself on.Aaron, Im here because I need your help.What happened to Bailey? I heard you talking about him.Hes dead. Sorry to break the bad news to you.Aaron shook his head. Hes not dead.The Boiler Men shot him, Aaron.And when have you known that to kill anyone in Whitechapel?What do you mean?I heard the bells silence him. He cried out to God when Grandfather Clock subdued him.You mean hes on the Chimney?Aaron nodded. I heard him. The sound carried into this place.Oliver felt
his real heart skip a beat, perceiving it like the echo of a far-off drum. The crew wasnt safe.Damn it all, Baileyknew where Sherwood was!That limits my time here, Aaron. Ill need to get back as soon as possible. But I need to know a fewthings first.Aaron nodded for him to continue.Scared discovered a method to kill Grandfather Clock. How do we kill Mama Engine and the otherone?He had no finger to point, but Aaron followed his gaze to the depths of the city. In the shadows ofash and smoke, glinting in the red light, a sea of pale sludge shifted restlessly.He considered a moment. My researches always seemed to point to the production of an event in thesame medium as the gods. I was always stuck on discovering what medium they dwelt in. Certainly, theyare nonphysical, but are they mental, or spectral, or aetheric? I could never tell.Scared must have found out.Mama Engine told him where to look, Aaron said. And Scared must have designed a delivery systemto carry his poison into Grandfather Clock. If he has discovered the effect necessary, then wedsimply...But I would need to see...Aaron looked ashen. His face thinned visibly before Olivers eyes, skin paling, eyes sinking deep. For aninstant it looked as if he might withdraw right into himself and crumble to dust. Then he clamped his blueeyes shut, breathed, and hugged himself. When he came back he seemed healthy again.Aaron?I will need a close look at Mama Engine.You meaning Jeremy?Aaron nodded.I have a way.Aarons fingers began fidgeting again. Be careful how you use me, Oliver. The third god is part of me. Ican always feel him in my mind. I...might have sold him my soul.Oliver had no hands to clasp the man with, no smile to reassure him.I need you to stay fast, man. You took the same oath I did when Bailey recruited you, Im guessing.You hold to that.It did cheer him a bit. Till St. Peters gates, I suppose. Queen and country, and all.Good man. Im happy to have you on my crew, Aaron.Aaron laughed. Demoted! I ran my own crew up until three days ago.The crew! Oliver looked about.Ah...chum...how do I get back?Think up, he said.Before Oliver could ask the meaning of that advice, he had followed it. The city dropped away belowhim at a fantastic rate, dispersing like wind-blown leaves. Only Mama Engines tower of arms remainedand for only an instant.He breached the red sky and awoke behind the bakery to find a heel of bread sitting on the concretebeside his right hand, buttered.He awoke again, into a jarring shake.Phineas bellowing: Dontbloodythat dont fuckin work, Yank.Hecklers thin face and moustache coated in sweat: Suh!Oliver tried to shove him off, but his strength faded and the arm flopped down. He tried to speak, andthe words came out slurred and useless.Get him the tea, woman!Phin hauled Heckler back. Missy appeared at Olivers side, tilted his head, and poured warm, bitter teabetween his lips.What? he managed, spitting tea onto his chin.Heckler clenched and unclenched his fists.Theyre here, suh, he said. His eyes quavered in
their sockets. The cloaks, suh. Dozens of them. Andthe neighbourhood folk all on their tails.Phin spat onto the floor. Capn, 1812 about to break out.Oh, not again escaped Olivers lips. Images of the Uprising flooded his brain: fire reaching to the upperconcourse, bodies left in gutters and streets, gunfire, and the hot, close confines of those tunnels theydbuilt, where for endless hours Oliver and his men had sat and listened to friends and families andneighbours scream and weep and finally fall silent.Not again. Not because of me.He met the eyes of the others, anxious, expectant eyes, waiting for him to give the word.Missys finger wiped a drop of tea that clung to his lips.They need you, she said.He extended her an arm. Help me upWesterton was not above taking pleasure in his work. Those well-to-do ninnies at headquarters seemedto frown on anything but grim-faced, joyless discipline. They said it was Grandfather Clocks way,efficiency over emotion. Westerton disagreed. Grandfather Clocks way was for all parts to worktogether according to a single Purpose. Each part had a Function, and no partcertainly not thosestiff-nosed codgers at the Stackcould impose its Function on another.When Im in charge Ill drum them out and make them into fucking Catholics.Theyd told him his understanding would grow as his brass bones and copper nerves did. Hed toldthem that he was the way he was because the Lord wanted him that way. At least theyd had theintelligence to let him lead the attackthere was no better man for the job of vengeance than MarcusWesterton.Theres no place to go, you scoundrels! he cried. Ive denied you every exit. Ive a man coveringevery window. Come out now or Ill have my men blast that door apart and execute every last one ofyou.His voice rang satisfactorily in the cavern beneath the Shadwell Concourse. Now if only hed hadsomething spectacular to wear to the occasion. His two best suits had been ruined by these foul Britons,leaving him with an old tweed frock coat, moth-eaten at the cuffs, and slacks without a crease or properhemming. Theyd also soiled his hat with so much of his own blood it might never come clean.Ah, there was the anger again. Good.The man beside himWesterton hadnt bothered to learn his name; he was a foul-aspectedchurlgestured with his rifle to the upper floor.Somun in the window.Westerton followed his gaze.Well, bloody shoot him, then, Westerton ordered. Show him were in earnest.The man locked his rifle to his shoulder and let fly an expert shot that caved the glass and tore aside thecurtains.Ha-ha! Westerton bellowed. Theres a dishing of the Lords Justice!Din get im, the man said, lowering his rifle.Westerton wheeled on him. Simpleton! Ill do it next time. He drew his weapon. Those few hours inthe noxious and corrosive air of the downstreets had marred its perfect finish.By the Lords name, what a horror.The downstreets were much worse than anything hed ever heard ofthem: the air, the stench, the dark, and those loathsome mutant wretches that wandered the place. It hadruined his suit, pocket watch, and much of his skin during the