See The Amazing Mechanical Man!
It Walks!
It Thinks!
See It Perform Fabulous Feats of Cogitation and Physicality!
Nelly Bly looked up at the sign, reading it three times, her mind failing at first to latch on to its meaning. At last, she said, “This I have to see,” and lined up at the tent among the small crowd of simple frontier folk who awaited their turn to enter the large white canvas tent to be seated. A portly, red-faced barker had appeared moments earlier, repeating the words written on the sign in a booming, bombastic voice for those among the throng who could not read.
Nelly rocked back and forth on her heels. She had enough time. The train to Tombstone wasn’t due for another hour, and this stop might just give her fodder for a story she could wire to her editor upon arrival. Besides, she had already made a name for herself by traveling around the world like Jule Verne’s Phineas Fogg; she needed a new challenge. And she had a feeling that whatever lay beyond the thick tent’s thick white canvas just might fit the bill. She had seen some amazing things, an entire world full of wonders. This had the same feeling of heavy importance.
At last, it was her turn to enter, and Nelly Bly produced a thin dime to put in the collection box a dwarf held up and rattled at her before she could pass through into the tent’s dimly lit interior. The dwarf winked at her and smiled as she deposited her dime and entered the tent.
Inside the tent, it was a bit cooler than out in the summer heat. Electric torches flickered furtively at the four corners, and low wooden benches were arrayed in neat rows along the sawdust-strewn ground. At the front of the tent stood a hastily erected wooden stage capped with two more electric torches. Many of the attendants, most of them young children, pointed at the torches and spoke to one another in hushed, reverent tones, causing Nelly to smile. The proprietor could have charged a dime a piece just to show off the torches and these simple frontier folk would have been satisfied. Though it was a strange sight for Nelly as well, since they were so far from any city. She wasn’t aware that the push for electrification had made it out this far, but apparently, there were far more wonders waiting for her than she realized. Story ideas whirled inside her skull as she found a seat near the front.
After several minutes the dwarf took the stage. He was a pudgy, cherub-faced man resplendent in dusty coat and tails. “Ladies and gentlemen,” she said in a high-pitched yet commanding voice. Presenting that maker of marvels, that dreamer of dreams, recently returned from a tour of Europe, Professor Thaddeus Reeves.”
Right on cue, a canvas sign unfurled behind the little man, high up on a bit of scaffolding behind the stage. In big, bright fresh-painted letters it read:
Professor T. Reeves
Certified Phrenologist
Thaumaturge
Maker of Mechanical Marvels
A few people clapped, but most of the crowd was unsure how to respond, so they sat motionless. Someone coughed. The women fanned themselves with programs handed out at the front of the tent.
Apparently not getting the reaction he sought, the dwarf simply shrugged and walked off stage, replaced by a tall man in a dark waistcoat. He was young, quite handsome, wearing a tattered tophat. He came out on stage, his hands raised theatrically.
“Ladies and gentlemen, what you are about to see has never been witnessed in this region of the country. An engineering marvel that recently entertained the lords and ladies of England and Europe, including Queen Victoria herself.”
This elicited a few cries of astonished approval, which seemed to mollify the man. He held himself a bit straighter as he said, “Now, without further preamble and with no more ado, I want you to meet my greatest creation, my magnum opus. You will call him a mechanical marvel. I call him Brass Reeves!”
There were heavy, even footsteps coming from the wings of the stage, and there was a collective gasp as a strange-looking figure heaved into view on a pair of spindly mechanical legs. They were connected to the bottom of a boiler-shaped body, which was capped by a round metal head. Protruding from the head was a bulging set of green, concave lenses like eyes. A metal mustache quivered just above its shiny grille of a mouth.
The machine ambled to the center of the stage and turned to face the audience, its head turning this way and that as if it was actually taking in the admiring crowd.
Nelly Bly had seen automata before. They were quite popular across Europe. But one of this size couldn’t possibly operate on its own. Perhaps the dwarf was inside the contraption, driving its movements.
“Say hello to everyone, Brass,” said the Professor.
“Hello, everyone,” it said in a crisp, deep bass voice.
At this many people stood and cheered, clapping their hands and whistling.
“Now I know what you’re thinking,” said Professor Reeves. “This has to be some trick, some bit of legerdemain to separate you from your hard-earned dimes. Perhaps the dwarf you saw earlier is controlling it from within. Let’s find out. Horace, come out here, please.”
The dwarf entered from the opposite end of the stage, waving to the crowd and smiling. Another gasp of surprise went up from the crowd. Nelly Bly, nodded, impressed.
“No, my dear friends. There is nothing inside our mechanical friend here but clockwork and a bit of elbow grease. And a Babbage of course.”
Another expression of awe from the crowd filled the tent. Even these plain frontiersmen had heard of the wondrous Babbage Engine that was transforming the world. But Nelly had never heard of them being put to use outside large cities, and never in such a manner as this. She had gone in expecting this so-called Professor to be nothing more than a purveyor of snake oil, a flimflam man of a type that was ubiquitous in these harsh environs. But it seemed this Thaddeus Reeves to be something of a wonder indeed.
“Now that you’ve met my friend, let’s see what he can do. When I point to you, I want you to call out a number. Any number. No matter how large.”
The Professor pointed to an old, reed-thin man in the front row. “Seven,” he declared.
“All right,” said Reeves. Next, he pointed to a young straw-haired woman near the back right. “Eight-four,” she said with a smile.
“Five thousand three hundred and forty,” said one.
“Ten thousand two hundred and three,” said another.
The Professor lowered his arm. “Excellent. Now repeat the numbers these fine people just called out, if you please, Mr. Brass.”
The mechanical man did so, reciting them one at a time in order.
“Perfect. Now add them together.”
“Fifteen thousand six hundred and thirty-four,” said the mechanical man no sooner than the Professor had instructed him to make the calculation.
“Now multiply them,” said the Professor.
“Thirty-two billion, thirty-six million, six hundred and three thousand seven hundred and sixty,” the machine man intoned.
The tent erupted in cheers. Was the mechanical man correct? Who among the assemblage could say? Nelly Bly had witnessed firsthand what a Babbage could do, and it was certainly capable of arithmetic involving very large numbers.
“Now for his next feat, we need a few young volunteers.”
The hand of almost every child in the tent shot up, and the Professor selected from them. “Now, I want all of you to come up here on stage and have a seat on this bench here. You will find it is identical to those you have been sitting on in the audience.”
He motioned the children to a bench the dwarf was dragging onto the stage. Once it was positioned at the opposite end of the stage, the little man departed and the children took their seats.
“You see, ladies and gentlemen, our clockwork friend here is more than merely a walking calculator. He is also capable of feats of incredible strength.”
As if on cue, the mechanical man walked behind the bench and stood.
“Now, I want you children to be very still and don’t try to leave your seat. All right?” To Brass Reeves, he nodded. “Show them.”
The mechanical marvel reached down with both arms and gripped the back of the bench’s seat, lifting it carefully and easily into the air. The children sat frozen upon it, gripping the sides as well as each other for fear of falling off. This caused some consternation among their parents as well, but the Professor calmed them.
“Don’t worry folks. He will only lift them a foot or so off the stage floor, and he hasn’t lost anyone yet. Put them down now please.”
The machine man obeyed, lowering the bench, and all ten children, to the floor to the cries of astonishment and relief of the crowd.
Nelly found herself clapping too. She had seen many wonders in her trip around the world, but nothing as magnificent as Brass Reeves the mechanical man.
The Professor raised his hands and addressed the crowd. “Thank you for coming, everyone. That is all. Please exit to your left.”
The dwarf and a tall black man had appeared and held open the tent flaps on the opposite end from where they had entered. Nelly kept her seat, waiting for the crowd to dissipate. When everyone had left she approached the stage.
“Professor,” she said. “Your presentation was quite impressive.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Reeves. “Now if you will excuse me–”
“My name is Nelly Bly,” said the journalist. “And I would like to write about your creation.”
He smiled at this, looking down at her appraisingly. This was the moment where she was usually laughed out of the room.
Instead, his eyes widened and sparkled. “Yes. I have heard of you, Ms. Bly. I enjoyed the chronicle of your European adventures. I would love to have more attention for my friend in the press.”
“I can provide you with all the attention you could want,” Nelly said.
“Excellent,” said Professor Reeves. “What say you, Brass?”
“Excellent,” the automaton intoned.
“How does he do that?”
“Do what?” said Reeves. “Speak?”
“Well, yes. Among other things.”
“Come back with me and my colleagues to my wagon and I will tell you anything you want to know.”
* * *
The Professor’s wagon was on a low hill a few yards from the tent. It was situated along a road running between the train station and a small settlement called Oblivion. It was one of those boom towns for which the West was famous, having grown up around a silver mine. The mine was almost played out, but the town still remained, probably because the rough and tumble townsfolk lacked the impetus to leave.
There were two other wagons nearby, along with an array of draft horses lazily munching hay and eyeing the journalist indifferently.
Brass Reeves clanked behind them, dutifully bringing up the rear, his metal feet taking the uneven terrain with ease.
The professor climbed a set of wooden steps into the largest wagon. He stopped at the top and gestured to Nelly. “Please, come inside out of the sun, and I will answer your questions.”
Nelly did as instructed, following Professor Reeves through a quaint and colorful wooden door.
The inside was a clutter of tiny bottles and vials and wooden crates filled with strange-looking electrical equipment. The professor grabbed one of these objects, a long glass bulb filled with thick, complex filaments. He hefted this as he spoke. “I’m sure you’re wondering how I managed to build such a remarkable construct.”
“Well, yes,” said Nelly Bly. “I’ve seen automatons before, but he is far more complex.”
The professor beamed with pride. “Oh yes. Brass is no mere automaton, I can assure you. But the secret to his sophistication is the remarkable Babbage, a difference engine of singular complexity. Are you familiar with the Babbage?”
“Yes,” Nelly said with a nod.
“Then surely you are aware of their capabilities. And their rarity. Babbage’s wondrous engines are all the rage in Europe but are just now coming into public awareness here. In fact, Mr. Brass out there is in possession of the only Babbage west of the Mississippi.”
Nelly arched an eyebrow. “You said Brass is in possession of it. Like it’s a person.”
The professor looked bemused. “Brass Reeves is a thinking being. Autonomous in every way. He may not have flesh and bone like you or I, but he is every bit as alive. I have never thought of him in any other way.”
“That’s extraordinary,” said Nelly, thinking of all the myriad ways she could spin this for her editor back east. “So you do not own him.”
“Heavens no! It is morally wrong for one thinking being to own another. I am his steward, his parent perhaps. But not his owner.”
“Then why did you build him?”
Professor Reeves chuckled at this. “Why does anyone do anything? To see if it could be done.”
* * *
It was late afternoon when they set out for Oblivion. The Professor insisted that Nelly travel with them as his guest, and since she had missed the last stage from the rail station, she acquiesced.
The town wasn’t much to look at. A single, wide street bordered by pale, whitewashed buildings that looked as if they were made of bone. There was a hotel at the far end and a saloon. There was a pall of sadness about the place that reminded Nelly of the asylum. If the little ramshackle community had ever been prosperous it showed no indication of it now.
The professor’s wagons ambled up the dusty street with little if any fanfare. A few people who had attended the show pointed and waved, but the rest stared with sleepy indifference, loitering in doorways and standing on covered porches.
Nelly looked out at them with curious delight. In her haste to circumnavigate the globe like Phineas Fogg in Around the World in 80 Days, she realized that while she had visited many distant parts of the world she hadn’t taken the time to really experience those places. To live in them rather than travel through them as quickly as possible. But now here was her chance.
The wagons stopped at the hotel and the professor alighted before taking Nelly by the hand and helping her down.
Nelly paused to inspect their new surroundings. The too-white buildings glowed hot in the sun. The journalist shielded her eyes from the sun, scanning the dusty scenery. A small crowd of wary onlookers had formed, pointing and whispering.
The whispering became cries of excitement as Brass Reeves expertly lowered himself to the ground. The people who had met him earlier were eager to tell their friends about the wondrous automaton. This seemed to dispel their innate distrust, and they stepped a bit closer, but not too close.
The professor let them get as close as they dared before addressing the crowd. “Ladies and gentlemen. My associates and I would like a couple of rooms for the night, and a place for our horses.”
Several fingers pointed in the direction of the hotel, and the professor nodded his thanks. Someone came out of the crowd to help the professor’s associates with the horses, and Nelly walked between him and Brass as the crowd gawped, stepping aside to give them a wide berth as they made their way toward the hotel.
The professor enjoyed the attention. He smiled and said hello to everyone they passed, whether they seemed friendly or not. Nelly found the townsfolk’s curiosity disquieting somehow, even if it was focused entirely upon the mechanical man now lumbering in their midst. Brass Reeves was the most remarkable thing these plain and simple people had ever seen, and likely ever would see again.
The proprietor of the hotel was a tall, lean fellow who looked far older than he likely was. He had close-cropped dark hair, but a voluminous, bushy mustache that was completely gray. He eyed these colorful strangers standing in his lobby with a mix of distrust and awe. Clearly, this was more business than his humble establishment had had at one time in months, and he wasn’t about to turn down a paying customer based on unusual outward appearances.
Nellie paid for her room first, then the professor procured a room for him and Brass, as well as another room for his helpers.
The hotel clerk rang a bell, and someone appeared to take their luggage upstairs.
“Would you please give the young man a hand, Brass,” said the professor, turning to where the mechanical man had stood moments earlier. “Brass?”
Nellie looked around, but save for them the lobby was empty.
“I think he went outside,” said the dwarf, pointing.
“Just a moment,” Professor Reeves said to the bellhop. He turned and exited the hotel, followed closely by Nelly Bly.
They found him at an adjoining establishment where a pair of workmen were pulling up the old wooden porch boards and laying down new ones. Brass Reeves was bent over, pulling the old boards up and out and laying down new ones almost faster than the befuddled workmen could blink. When he was done the two men stared first at Brass, then at his handiwork. He had done in a few minutes what would have taken the men all day.
Nelly suspected they might be upset, but the men were smiling, pounding Brass solidly on his boiler-shaped body. One of them even shook his hand. Brass turned his head toward Nelly and the Professor, giving a triumphant wiggle of his mustache.
Nelly clapped her gloved hands. “Brass, that was amazing.”
Brass’s physical feat endeared him to the town, which welcomed the mechanical stranger in their midst with open arms. Before they knew it Brass was helping everyone with odd jobs around town, painting fences, carrying water, washing windows, and even shoeing a horse. Nelly chronicled the machine man’s exploits and walked to the local telegraph office to send these stories to her editor, who was quite eager to share with the paper’s many readers tales of this mechanical marvel.
Things would have gone on like that, in similar fashion, until Professor Reeves hitched up his wagon and moved on. But fate, as it turned out, had different designs for Mr. Brass.
One afternoon a man arrived on the noon stage. He was distinguished and well-dressed, with a white silk shirt, black waistcoat, red silken vest, black trousers, and shoes that were polished to a mirror shine. An intricate gold pocket watch depended from the vest, which he consulted as soon as he had alighted from the coach. His only item of luggage was a well-worn carpetbag, which he took from the coachman as it was lowered down from on top of the stage. In his other hand, he held a short wooden walking stick with a silver skull handle with jeweled eyes that caught the afternoon sun and scattered it in scintillating patterns.
To say the man stood out was an understatement. He went unheeled but had a sinister cast all the same. Whether it was the dark gleam in his eye or the devilish goatee none could say, but there was something untoward about him.
Nellie spotted him right away as she stood conversing with Professor Reeves in front of the hotel, her journalist’s eye sizing him up, her mind forming questions about him. It was Professor Reeves who answered one of them.
“Heavens no,” he said, looking sick as he laid eyes on the other man.
“You know him?” asked Nellie.
As if hearing this exchange, the man’s head snapped up from his pocket watch and he fixed them both with a sinister smile and headed in their direction.
He strode up to them like a man on a mission, that sinister grin frozen on his face. “Thaddeus! I’ve caught up to you at last. I must admit I am astonished to find you in such environs, you who sold out the Lyceum two weeks in a row.”
“It seems I didn’t get far enough away,” said Professor Reeves, a look of mild disgust on his face. “What do you want, Fenric?”
The stranger’s smile seemed to blaze, while his dark eyes shot icy daggers at the professor. “What do I want? I want to meet your lovely companion.”
He turned to Nellie and said, “Please forgive my colleague’s lapse in manners. Fenric Faust, at your service.” He bowed theatrically before taking Nellie’s hand and kissing it.
“Nellie Bly,” she said, snatching her hand back as fast as it was socially acceptable.
Fenric Faust’s eyebrows shot skyward at the mention of her name. “Yes. The newspaper reporter. “I’ve read your tales of our mutual friend Mr. Brass upon returning to New York from abroad. Amazing work. You’ve made quite a name for yourself over the years. In fact, you are the reason I’m here.”
“He is not for sale, Faust. Not now. Not ever.”
Professor Reeves turned and started up the newly installed porch boards toward the jail, where Brass was helping with some other town chore. Fenric Faust locked in step behind him, while a curious Nellie Bly brought up the rear.
“Thaddeus. I no longer want to buy him. I want us to be partners. Let’s go into business together. You wowed them in Europe, but America is a different animal.”
“I’m doing pretty well so far,” said the Professor.
“Are you now?” Fenric Faust said with a chuckle. “I don’t see any big meeting halls here, packed with sophisticates who would appreciate what you have created, not give him grudge work.”
“Everyone loves Mr. Brass,” Nellie offered as she moved quickly to keep up.
The professor stopped and spun around, his face red. “No, Fenric. Now leave me alone. I mean it. I know what plans you have for Brass, and he will never fall into your hands, by any method, or for any price. Good day, sir!”
With that the professor turned and stalked off across the dusty road toward the bank, leaving Fenric Faust visibly stewing.
The sight of Nellie Bly eyeing him seemed to cool his temper somewhat, and he seemed to shake it off like a wet dog shaking off the vestiges of a bath. He glanced at her and smiled. “Your new friend is quite brilliant, but an impractical sort. He has little inkling of what he has created. ‘Tis a shame, really.”
“Will you be going now?” asked Nellie.
“No. Not yet. I only just got here, and I should like to say hello to our mutual friend Mr. Brass. But first, I must secure lodging. Good day to you, Ms. Bly.”
“Good day,” she said as he stalked past her back in the direction of the hotel.
“Very strange,” she said to herself. “I wonder if there’s a story in it somewhere.”
* * *
Brass Reeves had been assisting the good people of Oblivion with various tasks around town for two weeks now, all under the watchful eye of Nellie Bly, who wrote up the mechanical man’s adventures and wired them to her editor back east. The town sheriff, an amiable sort named Zephram Davis, had Brass whitewash the small building that served as his office and the town’s jail and was most impressed when he completed the task in only five minutes. This did much to assuage the townfolk’s dislike of strangers and endeared Brass to the town.
Brass found it pleasing to do this work. He wanted people to like him. He noticed that while people were impressed by him they were also wary around him, and doing things for them made them soften to his presence.
The professor often said that people like you when you are useful, and Brass found it pleasing to be useful.
He was replacing a worn-out banister on the jail’s front porch when the professor walked up.
“Brass,” he said. “Fenric Faust is here. We need to go.”
“I have almost completed my task,” said Brass, not looking up from his work.
“We need to leave as soon as possible,” said the professor. “I’ve got Horace and Randal hitching up the wagons.”
Brass stood and looked at his creator. “Are you certain we must go right away? I rather like it here.”
The professor frowned at his creation. “I do too, but Faust is here. It is dangerous to stay.”
Brass gave a slight nod of his stolid head. He liked spending time here, liked remaining in one place for more than one day. But when Father made up his mind there was no changing it. And Fenric Faust was indeed dangerous. He recalled with perfect clarity the trouble he had caused for them in London. It was because of him that they hopped the next steamer across the Atlantic for America. Father had called it a land of limitless opportunity, but Brass knew perfectly well why they were going.
The registers of his Babbage clicked. His cogs whirred. “I will get ready.”
Sheriff Davis emerged from the cool confines of the jail’s interior. “Where you off to in such a rush?”
“I’m sorry to leave Brass’s work uncompleted,” said the professor. “But we really must be going. Something has…come up.”
Zephram Davis removed his hat, scratched at his bald spot, and replaced it. He squinted at the mechanical man and his creator. “You boys in some kind of trouble?”
“Well…there’s a man here. He wants Brass’s Babbage.”
The sheriff squinted at them some more. “Babbage. That thing inside him that makes him go?”
“Well,” said the professor. “That’s an oversimplification but…well, yes.”
“Well then,” said the sheriff. “We can’t have that now, can we? What say we run him out of town for you? Then would you stay?”
The professor’s mouth gaped. “You can do that?”
Davis gave him a dismissive wave. Sure. Do it all the time. We get some disagreeable sorts around here every now and then. Horse thieves. Cattle rustlers. What’s this gent’s name?”
“Fenric Faust,” said Brass.
The Sheriff mouthed the name a couple of times as if trying to recall a memory. “Don’t know that one. What kind of outlaw is he?”
“Well, he’s not really an outlaw per se,” said the professor. “But he is a very disagreeable sort, as you put it. A ceremonial magician and explorer of the occult. He wants Brass’s Babbage to help him translate some mystical codex or other.”
The sheriff barked phlegmy laughter. “Well. We don’t get that kind of disagreeable sort around here. But if he’s a nuisance to you, I can advise him that it is in his best interest to get packing.”
Professor Reeves thought about this for a long moment. “No. He hasn’t broken any laws, at least not yet. It’s better if we just leave.”
“Suit yerself,” said the sheriff. “But we’re gonna miss you around here. This is the most excitement we’ve had for quite a while.”
As if in response to his words a sudden commotion issued from the bank in the form of a gunshot and a woman screaming. The sheriff gritted his teeth, pulled his gun, and ran toward the bank as fast as he could, followed closely by Brass.
“What are you doing?” said the professor.
“There is a ninety-seven percent likelihood that the bank is being robbed,” said the mechanical man. “I can be helpful.”
“Come back here!” said the professor. When his creation didn’t comply, he took off running after them.
The sheriff rushed into the bank, his gun raised. Brass entered right behind him, his mechanical brain running a quick threat assessment. There were three men, one of whom was behind the counter holding an older man at gunpoint while he stuffed wads of bills into a sack the gunman carried.
Another stood off to one side, holding a double-barrelled sawed-off shotgun in his shaking hands.
The third stood in the midst of the small crowd at the bank, wearing a ratty duster and a faded hat. He turned as the sheriff told everyone to freeze.
“I’m sorry sheriff,” he said with a voice like autumn leaves blowing across a stone sepulchre. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. Once this business is done I’ll leave you fine folks alone. But until then…” he let his voice trail off.
What was most remarkable about the man was that he was a corpse. Pale grayish skin stretched taught over bone. Dark, sunken-in eyes. Long dirty gray hair.
“Johnny Goner,” said the sheriff. “I thought you’d be worm food by now.”
The man uttered a dry chuckle. “So did I, sheriff. So did I. But that’s why I’m here. I’ve got a wizard over in Tulsa says he can fix me. For a price. Says he can help me finally move on to the land of the dead.”
“As pleasing as that sounds,” said the sheriff, “I’m gonna have to insist that you get the needed funds some other way. An honest trade, perhaps.”
“My dear sheriff, I’m afraid I don’t have that kind of time. Besides, who would hire someone–something–like me?”
“You’re breaking my heart, Johnny,” said the sheriff. “No stand down before somebody gets their head broke.”
“I’m not overly concerned for that, sheriff. After all, if someone does get their head broken, it won’t be me.” He raised his Colt and aimed it at the sheriff’s head.
“Stand down, Johnny Goner,” said Brass, moving in to stand beside the lawman.
The undead outlaw laughed. “And what’s this now? A pneumatic deputy? You speak of honest trade and let these Babbages take our jobs?”
“Stay out of this, Brass,” said the sheriff. “I can handle this.”
“Oh can you now?” said Johnny Goner.
“Hell with this,” said the man wielding the shotgun. He took aim and fired, sending the sheriff flying backward to land on the floor in a bloody heap. A woman screamed. Another woman fainted.
“I apologize for my colleague’s fervor,” said Johnny Goner, who stared daggers at his companion. “Good help is so hard to find these days.”
“We’ve got the cash,” said the other man as he leaped over the counter. “Let’s go!”
“Not so fast,” said Brass. “That money does not belong to you.”
The mechanical man stepped forward holding the sheriff’s pistol.
Johnny Goner laughed. “Oh, this just gets better and better. Do your worst, metal man.”
Brass took careful aim at the shotgun-wielder, hitting him in the hand and causing him to drop the weapon. The man with the money bag stepped forward and fired, but the bullet bounced off Brass’s sturdy metal hide. Brass shot him in the left knee, sending him toppling to the ground.
The shotgun man, wincing in pain, pulled a pistol with his left hand, getting off a couple of shots before Brass disabled that hand as well. The man spun around and ran out a side door.
Brass turned on Johnny Goner, firing disabling shots to his knees, his shoulders. But this had no effect.
The walking corpse calmly lit a cigarette as the bullets pierced his desiccated flesh, fixing Brass with a grim smile. “I commend you for not delivering a kill shot. But I can see our business today is ended. For now. But know this. You haven’t seen the last of Johnny Goner.”
When Brass’s gun was empty, Johnny Goner walked past him, stepping over the dead sheriff, and exited the bank. Before he leaped onto a waiting gray mare he said, “You might want to tend to your friend.”
Brass looked down. Huddling in the doorway was the professor, a crimson stain blooming on his white shirt.
Brass dropped the gun and ran to the professor. “No. You are hurt. I am sorry. I should not have followed the sheriff into the bank.”
“No,” said the professor. “It is all right. You did what you thought was right. I have always tried to instill…a sense of what’s right. You were built to follow your own path. You must do that now. With…out me.”
“No, Professor. I will get you some help. Someone get a doctor!”
The professor winced and shook his head. “No. It is too late for me. But it is not too late for you.”
“To do what?” said Brass.
“To live. There’s a great big world out there. Full of wonders. Time to take your place…among them.”
The professor, coughing up blood, sputtered and died.
“Father,” said Brass. But he knew the professor couldn’t hear the word. He had suffered a catastrophic malfunction, and there were no replacement parts to repair the damage. His creator was gone.
* * *
News of Brass’s heroics spread all over town, and everyone in Oblivion hailed him as a hero, though Brass didn’t consider himself such. After all both the sheriff and his father had died. But the town needed a sheriff and a protector who could keep them safe from the likes of Johnny Goner, and the next day the town council voted unanimously to make Brass Reeves the new sheriff.
Brass considered it for five whole minutes, the registers of his Babbage clicking faster than Nellie Bly had ever seen before he said yes.
Horace and Randal asked him to reconsider, but they knew it was his decision and respected it. They took the professor’s body, hitched up the wagons, and left Oblivion the following afternoon, off to forge their own paths without Professor Reeves. Brass knew they would find some other traveling carnival or medicine show, and they would be fine.
Fenric Faust skulked around town the next few days, then was gone. Brass Reeves becoming the town sheriff had thrown a new wrinkle into whatever plan he had concocted, and he would need some time to develop a new one. He would be back.
Brass marched up the street, the sheriff’s trusty sixgun strapped around his waist in a modified gunbelt, a gold star affixed to his boilerplate chest by a magnet. Nellie Bly watched him from afar, wondering what new stories she would write about him, the brass man, the mechanical lawman of the frontier.
THE BEGINNING
Brass Reeves in The Amazing Mechanical Man
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