thegoodfellas/blogset-br huggingface dataset:
left, Mulls began to stir.What you are, the voice said, closer now, is a man who just gunned down one of his own.Werent you listening? I am a comrade of Winfred BaileyDont think that tossing that name about gives you any clout with me, the unseen man snapped. Placeyour firearm on the street. The boy isnt going anywhere.You are a damned fool, Bergen growled. He sank slowly to his knees and planted the barrel of hispistol against the street. Slowly, eyes on Pennyedge, he unwrapped his fingers from the grip one by one.Something of the predator slipped back into Pennys expression. Bergen locked gazes with him, tryingto read into Pennys eyes. The boys gaze broke for a moment and flicked to their captor, now only afew paces behind Bergen.I am the only danger to you in the next few seconds, boy. Attacking him will only gain me the time to killyou. You must attack me.Pennys right arm tensed. Bergens fingers tightened back around the pistols grip.Pennys throw was awkward and slow. Bergen had his weapon up and aimed by the time the small knife departed Pennys hand. His finger yanked back on the trigger.A blast splintered Bergens left ear. White muzzle flash blinded him. Chips of stone and concreteexploded up from the street and Bergens shot went wildly right.Cursing, he blinked the sparks from his eyes and fired blindly after the blurred shape fleeing into thedark. An instant later, the gun smoke cleared and the only available targets were a red stain on the streetand a cast-off electric lamp rolling to a tired stop.With a burning fury Bergen stood, whirled, and cracked his captor across the face. The man clattered tothe street, a heavy express rifle spinning from his grip. Bergen straddled him as he fell and jammed thepistol against the mans nose.He was tall, over six feet, and thin. A flat-topped ash hat, slightly askew, barely hid his tangle ofunkempt hair. Goggles and a mask mostly obscured his features, but he appeared to be smiling.You seem to have me at a disadvantage, he said.Something yanked at Bergens heel. The other man slapped Bergens pistol aside and scooted frombeneath him with surprising speed. Bergen ignored him for an instant and kicked away the clickratgnawing on his boot.He swung his weapon back towards the other man before even turning his head.Hes developing a taste for shoe leather, the tall man said.Bergen squinted at the mans firearm.My two shots to your one, the man said, with almost a shrug. He held a two-shot derringer in his righthanda hand bandaged and obviously injured.Youve been counting, Bergen said. Do you honestly mean to hold me hostage? It is a long way backto the Shadwell stair.Its only until we decide what to do with you. Do you have a name?I am Bergen Keuper, originally of Stuttgart, recently of Egypt and Sudan. And yours?The man considered a moment. John Bull.That was impolite, Bergen said. I spoke truthfully.Were spies, my friend. None of us are generally truthful. He gestured with his weapon. Dontpretend ignorance when I ask this: do
you have the ticker-paper?Yes, I have it.Lay it on the ground.HerrBull, you seem to be under the impression that you have an advantage over me. Allow me toelucidate our situation. Your derringer, while sufficient to wound me at this range, is no match for my Gasser. You must also realise that, as I am losing blood, I will be forced to end our standoff in shortorder. If you will not step down I must kill you.And you, Mr. Keuper, the man said with a twitch of the eyebrow, seem to be under the impressionthat I am here alone. As I said,we have you surrounded.Do not try to bluff me,Herr Bull. If there were other men in your party, I would have heard them.I dont doubt itifthey were men.Bergen squinted at the man.Hes bluffing, surely. Id have heard...He let his senses expand, let the focus of his hearing drift and the primeval jungle awareness of ancientman predominate. Silencebut not empty silence. The silence of a tiger watching its prey. The silence ofan unseen snake curled to strike. Dozens of watchers, all around.Jeremy, Bull called. Bring a few up closer, if youd be so kind.A sudden string of ticks; the skittering crawl of a clickrat; heavier steps following. Into the light lumberedtwo monstrous hounds, a full hand taller than any that theyd fought earlier, with exposed gears churningalong their shoulders and back. Soundlessly, they opened their enormous jaws and let oil-saliva slide outbetween savage teeth. The silver clickrat scuttled forth.Thank you, Jeremy, said Bull, then to Bergen: There are quite a few more.Yes, I know. Reluctantly, Bergen lowered, then holstered, his firearm. How?Not your concern, Mr. Keuper, said Bull, also lowering his weapon. He popped the derringer into hiscoat pocket. The tape, if youd be so kind.Bergen kneeled and began to shrug off his pack and the steam rifle. I must know who you work for.Bull considered a minute, then nodded. I work for Bailey. Against my better judgement sometimes, Iadmit. I assume you work for John Scared.Bergen snorted. No longer.You were the inside man, then.I was.That settles that, I suppose, Bull said. Since you can imagine what would happen to you were you toturn on me, I suppose I can trust you at least that far, eh?Bergen grunted. He reached into his pack to retrieve the tape. His first impulse was to unravel the steamrifle and try to make a fight of it, but he stifled that. I have told you the truth. You have not even told meyour name.A muffled crack sounded from the right. Bergen and his captor spun to see Mulls, silhouetted by his ownlamp, firing his air rifle into the dark.Bull was the first to react. Stop! They wont hurt you if you dont...Bergen turned his eyes away and said nothing.A half-dozen scraping growls went up, followed by a crash. Then Mulls lamp sparked and died, andMulls screams began.Jeremy! Bull cried. Stop them! Get them off him.The silver clickrat sat still and did nothing.He had to die,Bergen reminded himself.If only the bullet had done its work.Bull stepped closer to
retrieve his rifle. Bergen clamped it to the brick with one powerful hand.What are you doing?Bergen set his face and eyes grim. He is loyal to Scared. This cannot be avoided.Whats one more atrocity, after all the murder I have done for that man?Bergen thought. He stared intothe younger mans eyes, wide and quivering behind the goggles, until the screams stopped and the tearingand crunching began.He could have been taken prisoner, Bull said quietly, venomously.He would have realised that bullets do not kill him and then turned on us.Bull faced the horror perpetrated upon the dead mans corpse, though the dark hid it. With the breakingof that gaze Bergen felt something die inside him. He quashed the sting of it, and refused to mourn.Isacrificed my soul to this work long ago.They sat in reverence until the feast ended and the silence rose once more.Bergen released his grip on the mans express rifle. Bull held out his hand.The tape.Bergen handed it over. Bull slipped it into a pocket, then snatched up his weapon and his pack.Gather your property and lets go.I know the way back.Then you lead.Bergen hefted the steam rifle and his supplies back onto his shoulders and pulled the straps tight acrosshis chest. They secured their burdens in silence. The younger man oozed regret and anger. Bergensteeled himself against his own sense of shame and said what needed to be said.I apologise in advance for asking this, but I must know.Bull nodded for him to continue.Your houndsdid they get the boy?Bulls stare was granite. Wed have heard it, dont you think?Easy, Tom. Sit on up.Ollie? Ollie! Jesus, I cant see.Youre breathing. Thats a start.They got me! They got me with their damnable flashers and...Lord Almighty, it was like being burnedalive and...Theyre guarding the stair, Olliethe Boiler Men! They were waiting and we...Calm down, man.Baileys dead, Ollie. I saw it happen. And Phins gone, and the other chaps, too. Theyre guarding thestair. We wont make it back to...Dont worry about the Boiler Men, Tommy. Jeremys new friends can handle them.Jeremy?We ran into each other.Im glad. But...Ollie, I cant see. I cant feel anything. I...Im frightened.Youll be all right. Lets see if you cant walk and well get you back to Sherwood.Thanks, Ollie. Knew I could count on you. Always looking out for us, you are.Always.Oliver had never seen a dead Boiler Man before.This one lay sprawled across a decayed mound that might once have been a wooden cart. In his hands,he still clutched a spear-length, copper-tipped flasher hooked to a machine on his back by a length ofrubber hose. His eyes had cracked, and his black armour was marred by deep, gleaming slashes anddents. His chest plate splayed out in ribbons where Bergens rifle had cracked him like a walnut. Oliverleaned over the hole. The scent of dry dust and spent gunpowder crinkled his nose.Ten feet onward, the road dissolved into a jumble of bricks mired in mud, afterward stretching into anuneven field of forgotten trinkets and stinking human refuse. There was some light here, shed by seepagethrough the domino hole above.
It illuminated a thousand half-buried items cast off from the city above:pots, hats, empty matchboxes, bags and boxes of all description, wagonswhole or in piecesand theoccasional corpse. What a strange disconnection of the mind it was to think that the things one tossed from the towers were instantly gone forever.Across that small plain, the soldiers of Jeremys army wandered, stepping over the broken bodies ofboth their comrades and their enemies without so much as a glance. Oliver could hardly believe thattwenty minutes ago these horrid gargoyles had been swarming the Boiler Men like a legion of hellish rats.The first wave had been shattered by the Ironboys Atlas rifles. The second as well. But there weremore, so many more, that the rifles simply ran dry of ammunition. And as they fell silent, the horde ofscreeching, buzzing, clawing, biting inhuman doom poured over hastily constructed defences and bore thebarons soldiers to the ground.Even then it hadnt been over. Possessed of an unnatural strength, the Boiler Men had, one by one,tossed off their harassers and regained their footing. And then Bergen had blown them to pieces with hisshoulder cannon.Oliver shuddered to recall the look on the mans face: like a statue, eyes colder than those of thehalf-human wretches the downstreets had claimed.He navigated between the remains of six or seven hounds, a good dozen of the Frankensteins, and twomore Ironboys, eventually finding a clear path, and worked his way back to Tom. The big man satleaning back against the oxidised remains of a copper boiler, arms piled in his lap, head lolling to the side.The light danced over Tommys features and Oliver felt his heart clench up. Toms clothes had beenburned through by flasher strikes to his belly and shoulders. Wormlike scorch marks had been searedinto his one real hand and the skin on his neck and face; some had cracked and were leaking runnybrown grease.Oliver had seen Tom injured before, had seen him with wounds much graver than these. It was Tomsposture that alarmed him: he sat with hunched shoulders and raised knees, shaking like a beaten child. Tosee this happy soul so lost and afraid brought tears to Olivers eyes. He blinked them back, swallowedhard against the quivering in his gut, and knelt by Toms side.The big man started. His eyes flew open, panicked. Ollie?Oliver laid a heavy hand on his friends shoulder.Easy, chum. Its me.Tom shakily exhaled. He reached up and clasped Oliver forearm with his real hand. Jesus. Gave me astart, there. It was so quiet, Id wondered...As Oliver looked on Tommys face he felt the tears welling again. Toms entire left eye had been burnedaway from the inside, leaving only an oozing scab over most of that side of his face. The right eye movedaround with random jerks, squirting oil with each movement.Oliver gave the shoulder a squeeze.The battles won, Tommy. You should see itIronboys rusting in the mud. Its positively the mostbeautiful sight Ive seen in years.Toms face fell. Id rather have fought.Buck up, man, Oliver said. The encouraging tone came automatically, quite in spite of any rationalevaluation of
Toms condition. Hews knows a doctor. Ill post him a telegram when we get back toSherwood and well have you fixed up in less time than it takes to down a pint.It was a weak lie weakly presented, but it seemed enough for Tom, who managed a smile.If you say it, Chief, then Im game.Theres my lad, Oliver said. He clapped Tommy on the back. Now, lets get you on your feet. Youstill owe me that round.Tommys face crumpled in concentration. How do you figure that?I beat you to the ground, Tommy. And a gentleman like yourselfll surely keep to our bargain, eh?Codswallop. You probably tiptoed like a ballerina down the whole route. There is no earthly way youcould have beat me to the ground.Perhaps. But seeing as there is no apparent way for us to compare our arrival times, the round still goesto me.Tommy frowned, adjusted his hat. Again: how do you bloody figure that?Simple: I now have to haul your not-inconsiderable bulk up that whole blasted stairway.Tommy cracked a smile at that. He threw off Olivers hand and lifted himself up to perch on unstableknees.A round says youll have to do nothing of the kind.Double or nothing, then?A deal, Chief.Oliver held his hands ready to provide additional stability to his friend as Tom tested the motion of hislegs. His joints shrieked terribly.Tom chuckled. Like a banshee. Hee, hee.Oliver looked up at the sound of approaching footsteps.Twelve of them dead, Bergen said, in the manner of a soldier giving a report. That is their full number.A lucky thing, since I am nearly out of ammunition.Bergens eyes had not changed. They were stone, lifeless, emotionless. The rest of his body keptperfectly still like a compressed spring, as if the man was still expecting battle.The man was a killer; that was the long and short of it. There could be no guarantee of controlling him,no matter with whom he claimed to lay his allegiances. And if Bailey really had met his end, Oliver mightnot be able to pawn the fellow off on another crew.No good will come of this partnership, and thats thetruth.But that was something to leave to Providence and a later day.Bergen tilted his head. We should return to the city.Lets get ourselves to the base of the stair, Oliver said. Well wait there.Why would we wait?So that Phineas Macrae can find us. Lets get on.He urged Tommy into a slow shuffle by gentle pressure on his back. Bergen scowled, but fell into step.Do you truly still hold out hope that any of your party survived? the German asked. If the Boiler Mendid not kill all of them, surely your rats army finished the work.Tommy swallowed hard before adding his comment. The pain of the admission contorted his face: Ihate to say it, Ollie, but...I havent seen him. Hed have found me, I think, if he was still...Tommy choked off the last few words, and Oliver gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder.He isnt dead, Tommy. I wouldnt be terribly surprised if he was already waiting for us at the
stair.The German grunteda half laugh. If hes truly so resourceful as to have escaped his fate, he would bequite capable of rescuing himself without our aid.The mockery in that tone raised Olivers hackles. He ground his teeth a moment before making a reply.Youre quite correct, Mr. Keuper. He does not need our help. But getting Thomas all the way back tothe Underbelly in his present condition is going to require more than one man.We have more than one man.Keuper, ever since you first laid eyes on my friends state, youve been thinking that he is anunnecessary burden. Youve been scheming ways to rid our expedition of him so that we can makebetter time.Tommy gasped, looking towards Oliver for confirmation.Olivers eyes tracked the rolling mud battleground ahead. He did not look at either of them. And so Ihave decided not to trust you with my friends safety.His mood improved slightly as Bergen fell into a sullen silence.Fair?Oliver took the further silence as affirmation.They found Phineas at the base of the stair, perched on the edge of an overturned rail car, one so out ofstyle it might have predated the barons takeover of Whitechapel. He stubbed his cigar out in the mudand left it there as they approached.Oliver resisted the urge to rub his satisfaction in Bergens face.Phin greeted them with a tip of his impacted hat.If you blokes walked any slower Id rent a cab for you. Hellfire, Idbuild a cab for you and rope acouple of those dogs to pull it. And what in Gods name is wrong with Thomas?Tom smiled through his grimace. War wounds, you piss-yellow dodger. I assume youve none of yourown.He took a few prods from those flashers of theirs, Oliver explained.Phineas scowled. I know that. I wasthere, or hasnt gear-guts told you? I mean that bloody noise.Oliver helped Tommy to seat himself on a bent train wheel. The big man groaned with the effort. Oliverhanded him a canteenthe last remnants of his water supply. What noise, Phin?Phineas gestured at Tommy with a vague sense of disgust. The...thenoise, man. Hes always been adamned factory all to himself but...Oy, bolt-britches, you hear that grinding?I cant hear hardly any, you...you... He sighed. They burned me something terrible. Yeah, I can hearit.Phin shared a look with Oliver, which even through Phineas perpetual squint Oliver knew as a warning.And now Mr. Keuper is thinking that Tommy is a danger, as well as a hindrance.Bergen remained stony silent, bending a little now under the weight of his enormous weapon and severalhours long hike. He kept Phineas under a watchful eye.Doesnt trust any of us. Perhaps Missy can crackhim. Missy would dive right into the man the instant she saw him: smile at him, charm him, melt him, rubhim down under her heel.Phineas was giving Tommy a pat on the shoulder and muttering some encouraging, if vulgar, words.Oliver motioned him over. For Bergens benefit, he announced ten minutes rest.The German nodded.Oliver drew Phineas aside, to the edge of the rail car.Whats this grinding, Phineas?Something in his belly, Im thinkin, Phin whispered. Wasnt there last
I saw him. Like a clickratcrawlin in mud.Any ideas on its identity?Not a one, Capn. Neer heard it comin from inside a man before.Oliver sighed and glanced back at Tom, who had fallen into still, regular breathing. Bergen wasunabashedly observing their conversation, though he was probably too far off to eavesdrop. Oliverturned back to Phineas.How did this happen, Phin? Didnt you warn them?Wasnt any warning to give, Capn. Not firstly, anyways. The Ironboys, they dont make any noise.Codswallop. They shake the bloody ground.When theys movin, sure, but when theys still, theys silent as the bloody grave. No breathin, nogears grindin or heart pumpin. We didnt even know they were there until wes thirty feet away.But the dogs, man.Phin crushed his hat farther down his head, until the dropping brim almost hid his eyes.I heard the damnable mutts ages before we got to em. Mr. Knight ordered us ahead anyway.Oliver nodded.Cant say I blame him. Hounds or Boiler Men? Id have chosen the same. And thefight?Phineas spat into the mud. Whats I supposed to do against the Tin Soldiers, Ollie? I lit out. Not myfault that copper-balls goes berserk. He didnt even use his rifle, for Christs sake.Phineas ground his teethI hid in the dirt, Ollie, Phin said through gnashing teeth. S what they all shouldve done. Blastedstupid, just like the Uprising.You gave them your warning, man. Everything else is on Baileys head.Phin smoothed out his impossibly wrinkled coat. Baileys dead, Ollie. He took two or three shots. Iheard him crying those eloquent curses of his. The Ironboys, they charged him and stomped him down.Oliver nodded. It was what Bailey had wantedto die in service of his beloved queen. Oliver felt acurious hole in his stomach, like a coal burning there.Its what I wanted, too: to be free of that man. Tobe free of his rules and his damn distrust Oliver felt guilty just thinking itand now I am.So, what now? With what the cloaks knew, would Joyce still be alive, to build this weapon on Scaredstape? Would any of Baileys other nameless compatriots still be alive? Would...Hews?What do you think, Ollie? Wes a bit buggered, eh?Oliver looked up. Phin stood expectantly, fiddling with his pockets.Lets get climbing.They turned and walked back to the base of the stair. Jeremy Longshore had returned, and sat lookingcontented with his head poking out of Tommys pocket. Tommy stroked the silver ridges of the thingsback, murmuring silent nothings to it. Bergen crouched like an ape, watching wordlessly.Stalwart like an ox, Chief, Tommy announced, proudly hoisting Jeremy into the air. What did I tellyou?Hes more than proved himself to me, Tommy, Oliver said. Lets make him an official member of thecrew, shall we?The king bowing to another master? Never! Tommy said, chuckling. Phineas helped him up, all four orfive hundred scraping, squealing pounds. Oliver pointed to Bergen.Youre our lead climber, Keuper.Bergen rose. So that you can keep a watch on me?Oliver held his mouth shut.So, tell me, since you have styled yourself our governor, Bergen said as he approached the firstrickety, rusted and bent step of the stair,
which at its base turned out to be more like its namesake.What shall we do, now that Bailey Howe truly is dead?Oliver felt acute stares from Tom and Phineas. Once again they looked to him to take up that mantlehed watched burn five years past, and lead them all to their deaths in some heroic folly. They wouldntlet him off, not again, not when hed been hiding from the responsibility all this time.You wanted this, chap. Deep down, you always wanted it.A second chance. A second Uprising.Tom rocked foot to foot. Ollie?We return to Sherwood, Oliver said. We gather the crew and call in Hews and Sims and Joyce andwhoevers left.He stared at Bergen, matching the mans intensity.And then...we proceed,my way.I know who you are.That was all Baron Hume had said.The lift locked into place with a shower of sparks and the two Boiler Men jerked Bailey forward. Hiscaptors titan strength had long ago crushed the bones in both arms, and Bailey was beyond the sensationof pain. He was aware only of the endless layered thrashing sounds of machinery to rival hell itself, andthe smell of cooked meat drifting up into his nose. The Boiler Men had welded a metal plate to his skinusing their lightning rods, to steal his death away.Bailey had looked into Humes impenetrable brass eyes and seen nothingnot anger, not satisfaction,only the cool detachment of logic. Bailey was not a defeated enemy made to kneel; he was a faulty partbeing corrected, so that the machine would run smoothly once more.We are as nothing to them.Empty, lifeless soldiers that moved and killed and could not die, weapons that threw lightning and steam and bullets faster than a man could tap his fingersLord, what were wethinking? What arrogance to assume we could topple these creatures. These...gods.His legs lost all power, and he fell forward. The Boiler Men dragged him by his shattered arms withoutbreaking stride. Baileys tears splattered on the walkway. His twisted feet smeared them as they passed.They were deep inside the Stack by now, past the visitor ledges on the outer rings, down past theworkrooms and storerooms and the holy places of the gold and black cloaks. Down here MamaEngines furnace burned eternal with a heat to rival the sun, and the eldest of the black cloaks, theirhumanity stripped away by layers of iron limbs, tempered the foundations of the Great Work.The endless gyrations of the machines faded, and a hum rose in their place. The sound boomed andechoed around the cavernous space into which they now passed, ringing like the song of a thousandangels, or the hissing of a thousand devils.Good Lord, if I have ever been good to you, take me now...The chamber stretched a hundred or more yards across, lined on all the outside surfaces with clocks ofsenseless and maddening design. The walkway extended into it, held up by gossamer golden cords, tothe rooms central feature.Bailey could not look. He knew what he would see: row upon endless row of broken, drained, mutilatedmen and women and children; golden wires piercing their skin; muscle and flesh