Free Hearts of Smoke and Steam by Andrew P. Mayer Page A

mouthed back at her, and her face disappeared, replaced by the visage of the quivering charlatan in front of him.
    “When would you like to meet, sir?” the White Knight asked him.
    “We Paragons are men of action.” When he stood up he realized that he was still wearing his gun, and he laughed as he pulled at the straps on his harness to undo the belts that held it onto him. When he was finished, he placed the weapon, along with the steam bottle that powered it, down onto the table in front of him. “Since you won't leave, I propose to take care of you here and now.”
    Clements's eyes widened. Whatever he had expected coming into the courtyard, it had not been a battle with the Industrialist. “Whatever you want,” he replied, clearly trying to push some courage into his voice.
    “Since you called for the duel, I assume that you'll let me choose the weapons.”
    “As you say, sir.” Even beneath his thick jowls it was clear that the man's jaw was clenched.
    He started to pull off his heavy gloves. “You claim to have both strength and reflexes beyond those of a normal man. I say we put that claim to the test, and engage in a round of fisticuffs.” The metal-lined gauntlets landed on the table with a heavy thud.
    “Zis should be güt,” Grüsser said with a laugh.
    “Whatever you'd like,” the Southerner replied. “But it is customary for me to have a second.”
    Hughes was quiet for a moment, but the fact that he'd balled his hands into shaking fists made it clear that he was unhappy with the direction that things had gone. “Don't be a fool, Stanton. The man is ten years younger than you are.”
    “Do you hear that, Mr. Clements? Mr. Hughes is concerned for my safety. But if you're capable of it, sir, you can beat me to death.” He heard Nathaniel let out a gasp. “That way you can be sure that you've removed the most vocal opposition to your membership in the Society while simultaneously proving that you have the strength needed to actually deserve the role. And if you don't think yourself capable of at least breaking a few bones, I'd suggest that you simply leave now.” Alexander let himself smile. To be honest, no matter what happened, it would simply be nice to have a chance to hit something again.
    Clements pulled off his white gloves and began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. “I'm not afraid of you, sir, and I'll gladly accept your challenge.”
    Stanton pointed to Nathaniel. “I'll need you to second for me.”
    The boy stood up and took off his jacket. “I don't think this is a good idea, Industrialist.”
    “You don't have to. Your job is to make sure that this gibbering coward doesn't pull out a hidden weapon in the middle of the battle. And if he does, it will be your job to take revenge.”
    Nathaniel blinked a few times. “I'm not sure that…”
    “Yes,” Alexander asked him, letting his voice drop a bit, “or no?”
    “Yes.”
    “Good. And Hughes, since you seem so concerned with the welfare of our applicant, why don't you go ahead and second for him?”
    “I object to your behavior.” Hughes rose up on his frame and began to clank around the side of the table. “But if you are determined to go ahead with this foolishness, far be it from me to dissuade you.”
    “Thank you, William.” He slowly unbuttoned his leather jacket. It did provide protection, but he'd only just had it cleaned, and it would be a shame to soil it with another man's blood.
    As he stretched to pull off the sleeve, he felt the pain from where the Bomb Lance's harpoon had pierced him and winced slightly. The wound was mostly healed, but not entirely. It would certainly slow him down a bit. Trying to hide his discomfort, he slid the coat off the rest of the way and handed it to Nathaniel. He carefully unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and rolled up his cuffs.
    Properly prepared, the two men took up their positions in the courtyard with their seconds standing beside them. “You can end this by