Redemption's Song

It had been four minutes since his director had dropped the news of his sister's death on him like a bomb. 

The door to his office swung open. There had been no knock and Jeremiah prepared himself to unleash a barrage of vitriol at his boss who always wandered in unannounced. The anger died on his lips though as a small, dapper man in a plain brown suit walked in carrying a brown suitcase. He closed the door, took a seat opposite Jeremiah, and placed a comic book and pack of cigarettes on the desk.

"Your brand I believe?"

"Yes, Hayer's Specials, but who...?"

"Ah, yes, sorry old boy, but we have little time for niceties at the moment." The man pulled a gun from his pocket and pointed it at Jeremiah's face. "Read the magazine, there's a good lad."

With shaking hands, Jeremiah reached for the magazine, automatically turning to the back of the pulp comic, The Fray, for the neatly written transcript he knew would be there, the words decoded from the information inside the comic.

"The Thrilling Conclusion" was the title of the magazine, but Mariah's decoded words echoed from the grave as Jeremiah slumped into the curved wood and leather of his chair, the frame creaking as he leant back.

"Dear Jeremiah,

If you're reading this then I'm at the end of my journey. I've done what I can but I can feel death coming for me. I've been having dreams about you, dreams in which you can never quite reach me in time, dreams I'm afraid are true. I know you love me Jeremiah, and this whole escapade has helped me reconnect with you, even if you cannot speak to me.

Although this may be the end for me, promise me you'll keep fighting, don't let my death be in vain. I have managed to liberate plans for a Prussian weapon. They are safe, but my friend who has them is now in an equally precarious position. She's a musician too and someone very special. You'd like her. Find my friend Andjela, and get the plans to your people. Avenge me, brother. I love you, always.

Mariah."

The man opposite handed a lit cigarette to Jeremiah and placed his weapon on the table. "My apologies for the gun, but you needed to read that."

"And what am I meant to do exactly?" whispered Jeremiah, speaking as he breathed out a cloud of smoke. He waved a hand in the general direction of his false leg. "I assume you know my history."

"I do. But I also believe we can do something to help your mobility even more than we have already." The man leaned forwards. "Your country needs you Jeremiah, but you may also be able to save an innocent life, even though you were unable to find your sister."

"Unless you can turn me into some sort of futuristic superhuman, like the people in this garbage comic book, then what use am I to you?" Jeremiah's anger bubbled back to the surface, and he stood, leaning aggressively over the smaller man who sat perfectly still opposite him. "I still don't even know who you are, and you come in here, make demands of me where you have no right to do so, and give me some heart-sob story about an innocent life. There are no innocents in this war sir. Unless you can give me the man who so delicately took me apart piece by piece below the knee, you can go to hell."

Jeremiah sat suddenly making his clockwork ankle click and whirr, and took a final deep drag of his cigarette, stubbing the rest out in the ashtray.

The small man smiled thinly, pocketed his gun, stubbed out his cigarette somewhat more carefully than Jeremiah had done, and clapped his hands together twice.

Thus summonsed, another man walked into the room. As the door closed, Jeremiah looked him over as he'd been trained to do; average height, stocky and powerfully built, long cloak, the face of a fighter with heavy brows, a square jaw, and a broken nose, dressed in black, including gloves. His footsteps sounded solid on the bare floorboards and he came to a halt behind his colleague.

"This is Sergeant Smith, and my name is Carlton. We work for the UK government. Smith here used to be a butler..." Jeremiah's eyebrows rose in question and Carlton continued, "... albeit a somewhat specialist one."

Carlton leaned forward looking Jeremiah square in the eye. "I'll be blunt here Major Leopold. You are going to be going on a mission with Smith. He will be your protector. You will recover the plans, and you will return them to me by any means necessary. The war hangs in the balance Jeremiah. You are our link to this girl, we have no choice now."

"And if I refuse?"

"Mr. Smith, goggles down and cannons up please."

Smith undid the clasp of his cloak letting it fall to the floorboards and took a step forward. Matt black armour covered Smith's frame. He slapped a panel on his chest and a segmented metal hood slid near soundlessly into place over Smith's head. The other hand made a fist and pointed unerringly at Jeremiah's head, the muzzle of a gun aligned along his forearm.

"Sergeant Smith is also your weapon of choice in the field."

"Who will act as my executioner should the need arise?"

"I see you understand your circumstances, Major."

Smith stepped back a pace and tapped his chest again to reveal his battered face.

"I have a present for you." Carlton tapped the case with one hand and turned it to face Jeremiah. "For you. I took the liberty of making it from the measurements your medical team took when they made you your new leg. Wear it, and get used to it. The instructions are in the case. You leave in two days for Prussia. Good day to you Major, Mr. Smith will remain with you and act as your manservant in the meantime, and he will be a boon to you in the weeks ahead." Carlton stood, turned, and clapped a hand on his colleague's shoulder. "Good luck Jack, you know what to do." Smith nodded and smiled grimly at Carlton who left the room, closing the door silently behind him.

Jeremiah opened the case before him with shaking hands. Matt black metal looked back at him and he looked up at Smith whose deep mellow baritone surprised Jeremiah who had been expecting gravel and harshness. "I can help you with that sir, but in the meantime, should we have a cup of tea? I'm absolutely parched."

~

A dream of darkness and pain awoke him and Jeremiah flexed his false leg. It had been a while since he'd been out in the field, but the familiar thrill of subterfuge and skulduggery was intoxicating and he felt his adrenaline rise. He and Smith had been smuggled into Norway, had made their way across the country, and now sat on a train that was chewing up the miles between them and their destination.

Smith's eyes were closed and he breathed evenly as the carriages clattered across the Prussian countryside. Jeremiah flexed his ankle again and felt the leather cuffs dig into his leg. Clockwork, the artificial limb was a complicated maze of cogs and levers but was utterly fluid in its movement. It was a triumph of engineering, but nothing compared to the full suit that Smith wore. During the days following his chat with Carlton, Smith had been attentive, firm, useful, clever, and solid, but there was no mistaking the hardness in the man's eyes. He was a killer despite his urbane tone, but Jeremiah found he liked him despite the initial tension of their first meeting.

Smith stirred and opened his eyes, one finger pulling at the collar of his new uniform.

"They're a little tighter than the British ones aren't they?" said Jeremiah quietly.

"Yes sir, although thankfully mine hasn't got all the whistles and bells yours has." He tapped his stomach and there was a dull thud. "Wearing all this stuff underneath it doesn't help mind you."

Both men were now conversing in Prussian; Smith decked out as a Sergeant, Leopold as a Major with the various gold ropes, medals, and shiny buttons that befitted his rank decorating his jacket.

Jeremiah glanced at his watch. "Only an hour or so to go and we'll be in the capital. Are you happy with all the arrangements?"

"Yes, sir. Our comic writing double agent has set us up with invitations to tonight's gala performance at the grand opera hall where our favourite colonel will be watching his new musical prodigy perform. He also mentioned something about a 'distraction' but I have no idea what form that will take."

"And all we have to do then is find a moment to talk to her, get the plans, make sure she's safe, hightail it out of here without being shot, caught, or tortured, and get home for a cup of tea with Mr. Clayton."

"Yes sir, simple."

Jeremiah laughed despite himself and caught an answering smile from the taciturn Smith. Changing the subject he motioned at his leg. "This thing I understand, but what about your 'suit' are you allowed to discuss that?"

Smith made a show of looking around the compartment of the train that the two of them had to themselves and then leaned in close. "Yes sir, I am, but I'd have to shoot you if I did. Suffice to say there's a bit of steam, a substantial amount of gears and cogs, and a large amount of explosive, just in case everything goes pear-shaped."

"Fair enough. Don't suppose you've got a shot of whisky in there somewhere?"

"Odd you should say that sir..." said Smith reaching for a jacket pocket.

~

The hall was cloaked in marble, uniformed guards bedecked the entrances and stairs, and Jeremiah and Smith marched in unison through the glamour, a barrage of sounds besieging their senses as the party atmosphere of music, sideshows, and conversation enveloped them.

An ornately moustached gentleman on stilts shouted above the noise. "Ladies and gentlemen, step right up and behold, the most amazing animatronic creatures ever created! From the steam-powered swan to the gear-filled gorilla, this is truly a sight to see! You don't want to miss it!"

"Sounds like us sir, although you're the swan of course. We go up to the right," instructed Smith quietly as Jeremiah shot him an amused look, and the two men veered toward the balcony seating.

A few moments later, the two men found themselves in a darkened box, surrounded by uniformed men. One seat was empty at the front of the box, and the hall was filled with the chatter of the audience below.

As the lights on the stage cast the audience in shadow, a man in Colonel's uniform walked to the empty seat at the front of the box and sat, two bodyguards standing by the door.

Smith bent forward and whispered in Jeremiah's ear. "That's him. That's the man who has the plans, and the one who had your sister killed. Make no move yet, we need to find out where the plans are before we act." Jeremiah nodded his understanding, and then there was silence as a young girl walked onto the stage.

Slight, looking frail and wan in the glaring lights of the stage, the girl looked about ten years old. She stared at the crowd with large brown eyes, looking past the front row into the darkness, and then she lifted her violin and began to play.

Jeremiah's eyes filled with tears instantly as he recognised the tune his sister used to play as a child and his hands clenched on the arms of the chair. Smith's solid hand rested momentarily on his shoulder and he regained his composure, listening in awe as the young girl played. Tune after tune tumbled from the strings and Jeremiah was lost in the music, lost in the past, and lost in sorrow and memory. It was only as the applause erupted that Jeremiah came back to himself, jolting to his feet with the others in the box as the girl received a standing ovation. She bowed quickly, once, hesitantly, and left the stage.

Members of the audience and the box in which they sat started to file out of the theatre, many of the uniformed men clapping the Colonel on the shoulder as they went, exclaiming as to the wonderment of the performance. Jeremiah sat, thinking, and as the last of the men filed out, he stood. Intending to talk to the colonel, he took a step forward but was interrupted as the child with the violin walked into the box past him and stood by the Colonel.

"Ah, little Andjela, what a wonderful performance." He bent down and kissed her on the top of the head, something that elicited no reaction from the dark-eyed waif.

Suddenly there was a distant boom, and the chandeliers on the roof tinkled in alarm. A corporal darted into the box and whispered in the Colonel's ear. With a look of alarm on his face, his eyes came to rest on Jeremiah. "You, Major. You will escort this girl to her changing room backstage and guard her with your life." He pointed at his bodyguards. "You men will come with me, it seems we have a little problem with insurgents."

The Colonel swept out of the room, his men joining him, and abruptly Smith, Jeremiah, and the girl were alone.

Smith dropped to one knee by the girl and looked into her eyes. "Could you show me where your room is backstage Andjela?"

The girl nodded and, holding her violin and bow tight in her left hand, she reached out and took the Sergeant's hand. A look of surprise was quickly masked, but he allowed her to lead him through the passages of the theatre, Jeremiah following in their wake as muffled explosions continued outside.

Sergeant Smith closed the dressing room door and stood guarding the doorway. Andjela carefully placed her violin in its case and sat looking at the two men. Jeremiah looked around the room. Sheet music and pictures covered the walls. He wandered around, taking a closer look. Here the music to Blue Danube, there a picture of a beautifully drawn rose, more music, a picture of a butterfly, a drawing of the Colonel, and a drawing of Mariah. Jeremiah's breath caught in his throat and he reached out, tracing the curve of her jawline.

"You look like her." Jeremiah spun on his heel as the girl spoke, and glanced over at Smith who again allowed a momentary expression of surprise to flash across his face.

Jeremiah studied the dark eyes and made a decision. "She was my sister. She used to play all the songs you played on stage when we were growing up. You play as beautifully as she did."

"She taught me. We were in the internment camp together before the Colonel took her away from me. She looked after me after my parents..." The girl stopped talking and started to cry, sobs making her tiny body shake as grief took hold of her. Smith strode forwards and enveloped her in a massive hug, smoothing her hair and murmuring soft words to her. He looked over at Jeremiah, "I had a younger sister too," he said quietly.

Jeremiah turned away, leaving the girl a few moments of quiet grief. A picture on the wall caught his eye. "Andjela, what's this?"

The girl lifted her head and looked at the picture with red-rimmed eyes. "It's something your sister showed me once. Before she was taken away, the Colonel brought me here so I could learn more from her. She said he was a bad man, but that I had to play for him so that he wouldn't harm me. She knew he was going to harm her, but she tried to protect me. One day she had some drawings and showed them to me."

"Where are the drawings now?" asked Smith, his eyes intent.

"The Colonel took them off her. That's when she disappeared. But I can remember them."

"You can remember them?"

"Yes, sir. I never forget something once I've seen it, although that only works for drawings and music."

The girl picked up a pencil and carefully drew the outline of a tank, then started to fill in details of the internal workings, carefully adding in notes and measurements as they watched.

"Smith, we have to get her out of here."

The man nodded and moved to the door. As he reached for the handle, they heard footsteps outside and Andjela paled. "That sounds like the Colonel, he has a particular rhythm."

"Be ready, Smith."

"Yes, sir.

As the Colonel, one of his bodyguards, and another officer stepped into the room, Smith and Jeremiah both saluted and stood to attention, Jeremiah crumpling the girl's recent drawing into a ball in his left hand.

"At ease, Major," said the Colonel. "Thank you for looking after my little prodigy."

"What was all the noise outside about sir?" asked Jeremiah.

"Some local insurgents decided to make some trouble outside, we have resolved the situation."

"I know you." The other officer who had accompanied the Colonel into the room was looking at Jeremiah quizzically. He moved in close, his nose mere inches from Leopold's. From the corner of his eye, Jeremiah noticed Smith quietly close the dressing room door and move into position behind the Colonel's bodyguard.

"I don't think so, sir."

"Oh, but I do." Jeremiah felt the blade of a knife in his ribs and looked down. The officer was standing on his mechanical foot. "False leg. Perhaps we should have another try at torturing you some more, Major Leopold."

There was a soft hissing noise and a thud from the other side of the room. As Jeremiah's opponent turned toward the noise he batted the man's blade away with one hand and punched him solidly in the solar plexus with the other, winding him and dropping him to his knees. Smith raised one arm and there was another soft hiss and the metal projectile took the Colonel between the eyes as he opened his mouth to shout for help.

"Get the girl, sir, now. We need to move."

Jeremiah nodded and looked down at the man who had tortured him. "As much as I'd love to spend as much time doing to you what you did to me Captain, I'm afraid I just don't have the time at present."

As the man looked up into Jeremiah's eyes, there was another soft hiss and Smith's weaponry took another victim.

Jeremiah turned to the girl who stood open-mouthed with shock behind him. "I'm sorry Andjela, you shouldn't have had to see that. We need to get you somewhere safe. Is there anything you wish to take?"

Without hesitation, the girl turned, closed the violin case, and lifted it from the table. "Mariah gave me this," she said.

"Ok, then let's go."

The three of them made their way back through the passages backstage and out into the main entrance hall. Most of the crowd had dispersed by now, leaving only armed guards and military who were still cleaning up following the disturbances outside.

They were halfway across the expanse of marble when people behind them started shouting.

"Damn," muttered Jeremiah. "I've got a very bad feeling about this. Smith, we need to get out of here, right now."

"I know sir. You need to keep going sir, get the girl out and home."

"Smith?"

The man cast a look over his shoulder while they continued walking quickly toward towards the main doors. "In a moment sir, all hell is going to break loose. I'm going to have to tool up and create more. Once I do that sir, there's no going back. This suit can do far more than just spit bits of shrapnel. It's a prototype, bespoke to me, and will only work for me as it replaces several bits of me that were lost in battle."

The shouting was getting louder behind them. "Ready sir?"

"No." Jeremiah grabbed Andjela's hand. "But we've probably not got a lot of choices left to us at this point."

"You have to get as far away from here as possible sir, as after a few minutes there will be a very large explosion."

Jeremiah stopped by the door and proffered a hand which Smith took and shook warmly. "It's been a pleasure, sir." He looked down at the little girl. "Look after yourself little one, draw me a picture when you get home. Jeremiah will look after you from now on."

The girl nodded mutely, and then they were upon them. Soldiers streamed down the stairs toward them, the lead officer pointing at them and shouting orders.

"Go!" ordered Smith and slammed his hand to his chest. The articulated metal helmet ripped through the fabric of his stolen uniform and slammed into place as bullets caromed into the ornate surroundings. Jeremiah ran out into the darkness, his hand firmly clasped around the little girl's. A whirring sound filled the air behind them and Smith strode into battle, enemy bullets ripping through the fabric and bouncing off the armour beneath his borrowed uniform. Twin streams of death rippled from Smith's forearms as the pressurised systems of his suit spat metal into the men approaching him.

Jeremiah took one last look back as he made the mouth of the alley opposite the theatre. Smith was on one knee, blood leaking from a wound in his side. As he watched, the man opened a panel on one arm. Everything went quiet for a moment and then there was a muffled 'whump', a flash, and the last performance of the night lifted the roof in a pillar of flame and sound and light.

~

"And you say she drew all these from memory Jeremiah?" asked Carlton.

"Yes, sir." Jeremiah looked away from the detailed tank plans pinned to the wall and glanced at the little girl who sat at his desk by her violin. A picture on the wall caught his eye and he laughed softly. "Although some are more caricatures." The picture of the heavily muscled and sturdy Smith carrying a massive spanner and bomb on one shoulder conveyed the controlled menace of the man well. He glanced at the girl again and noticed she was carefully drawing another picture of Smith, this time in his battle garb. The helmet of his neatly drawn armour was open and his face carried a more human aspect and a wry smile. Jeremiah looked away. "Your man Smith was incredible at the last sir."

"He was a good man Jeremiah, but he had little time left. The suit was built for him, to turn him into a weapon, but it also kept him alive. He knew it was a one-way mission. The suit gave him a way out that he wanted, and he knew that he could perhaps save someone else and give them a chance too." Carlton looked over at Andjela. "What a remarkable child."

"She is. She reminds me very much of Mariah."

Carlton looked at the plans again. "These could turn the tide of the war for us, Jeremiah."

Andjela put her pencil down and carefully pinned her newest picture of Smith to the corkboard on the wall, smiled at Jeremiah, and lifted her violin from its case.

"The Last Waltz," whispered Carlton as music filled the room.

"Let's hope not," muttered Jeremiah. "But at least now we have a chance..."

~ The End ~

This little story was originally written for the Teamsteampunk challenge, something I really enjoyed doing, particularly as I love a bit of steampunk. It's well worth reading it in the context of the challenge too as the team interwove several stories together in a larger setting which was unique and great fun. I've tweaked it a little bit to hopefully work as a standalone story, but it's near identical to the original work sent in to the challenge.