Iron Seas 03 - Riveted

determination was flattering, but David wasn’t so hungry now that he couldn’t see the withered husks.
    Despite di Fiore’s claim that this was an opportunity for the sons to wipe clean the sins of their fathers, David didn’t believe the man cared about Stone Kentewess’s reputation. He only wanted David because his help would please Paolo.
    David couldn’t blame Lorenzo di Fiore for it, but he had no intention of working for him.
    When dinner ended, he had some thoughts of escape. Di Fiore suggested a walk to the nearby public house, and Dooley immediately took him up on it—hoping to speak with locals about the legends, David knew. The older man didn’t need him for that.
    The temperature had dropped, snow falling in tiny flakes that the wind blew across the rough surface of the street like sand. The public house was a five-minute walk back toward the heart of Smoke Cove, and most of it spent in silence, with their heavy scarves covering their mouths and noses. David walked with his face angled into the wind, so his breath didn’t fog his eyepiece.
    The warm glow in the pub’s windows was a welcome sight—and Phatéon hovering over the harbor even more welcome—but David’s intention to say his farewells in the street and keep on going waned when he heard the noise coming from inside.
    Men shouting—for a pub, nothing unusual. Louder than theirraised voices, though, the repeated strike of metal against metal. CLANG. CLANG. CLANG!
    Curiosity drew him closer. The building had been recently enlarged. New birch planks adjoined weathered boards, clearly marking a tall addition on the side.
    The shouts erupted into cheers and groans, the unmistakable sound of a competition’s end, with more losers than winners. The clanging stopped. Dooley glanced back at Komlan.
    “Are they hammering rail spikes?”
    “A race?” Di Fiore answered with a shake of his head. “We’d rather they expend their energy on the line. This is a different sort of entertainment—an old invention of my father’s, put to new use.”
    Hell. David couldn’t walk away now. Inside, the noise and heat were almost unbearable. His eyepiece immediately fogged. He wiped it clear with the end of his scarf, then shed his hat and unbuckled his coat. The main tap room held tables and stools at the bar, most of them full. Di Fiore glanced at Komlan, who nodded and spoke to Dooley. The two men headed into the tap room. Di Fiore gestured for David to join him.
    Men crowded the addition, standing shoulder to shoulder. A pair of barkers stood at the entrance, collecting money for cards. The laborers pushed for position around them, most of them shouting in Spanish, but fell back as di Fiore approached. Looking harassed and sweating, one of the barkers managed a smile for di Fiore and handed over two cards.
    A stair took them to a second level, open in the center and looking down over the main floor. Two pulleys hung from the peaked ceiling, their cables taut. Though as crowded as the lower level, an empty table stood near the rail. Di Fiore’s regular table, apparently.
    David took a seat, got his first look over the rail—and into a battered steel face. Twice as tall as a man, an automaton stood off-center in the main floor. An identical opponent was squared off against it, broken in half. The thick torso had folded over backwardat the waist, still attached to the legs by thin cables. From above, the clockworks inside the abdominal cavity were visible, a complicated arrangement of gears and rods.
    A slow chant began building on the first level. A group of men, four to each side, pushed against a long capstan bar, winching cable around a cylinder. David’s gaze followed the length of the cable up to the pulley on the ceiling, and down to where a heavy hook attached it to the defeated automaton’s skull.
    With a shriek of steel, the automaton lifted its head. Metal groaned as the torso followed. Like a puppet pulled by one string, the upper half rose disjointedly, arms dangling, its head at an angle no human could survive. Finally upright, the abdomen settled onto the legs. A thin man pushed a ladder forward and climbed—apparently locking it into place. A moment later, the laborers at the winch backed up. The cable loosened and the hook slipped out.
    The automaton remained standing. Both machines had obviously been through the routine before. Dents and gashes covered the steel housings. Their fists had been pounded into blunt hammers.
    Di