Chapter 21: The Weight of Steel
The next day, Rufus and Edmond sat on the orphanage porch, bickering over nothing. Same as always.
"Who in their right mind would pick her? Ya looney or somethin'? Goldie Dawn would strip metal with those lips, she's twice the woman."
"You asked the question. I just prefer Priscilla. She's got class."
"Just 'cause she does those high-end pictures don't make her classy."
Edmond chuckled, shaking his head as he leaned back in his chair.
'He's lookin' better.'
That should've been a relief to Rufus. Watching Edmond now—hand steady, no exhaustion dragging at his face—should've settled something in him. But it didn't.
"Kids are comin'."
He squinted down the road, tapping Edmond. Over the crest, their ragtag bunch of misfits came barreling home—running, pushing, laughing too loud.
"We gonna head out?"
Edmond stood, leaning against the porch post.
"Let's get them settled first."
"I'm surprised she's done already. Then again, Maggie's always been quick. That girl's wasted at that shipyard. Should have her own shop in some big city."
Edmond thought on it for a beat, then shook his head.
"She isn't going anywhere. You know that."
Rufus exhaled through his nose, watching as Edmond stepped off the porch to meet the kids.
Yeah, he knew. Same story out here for most people—growin' up without their folks. Maggie was no exception.
Rufus clicked his tongue, rolling a cigarette between his fingers.
"Fuckin' redskins."
He spat off the porch, then stepped down to join Edmond, cursing at Diego when the donkey wandered too close.
----
The previous night, Maggie's workshop never fell silent. The grinding of metal, the hiss of steam, the rhythmic clang of hammer on steel—it all carried through until noon the next day.
By the end of it, they just stood there. Quiet. Stunned.
They had made something worth admiring.
Maggie had known Levi was quick—he picked things up fast, no wasted movement, no hesitation. But tonight? He had proved his mind was something else. A single explanation, and it stuck. No need to repeat herself. He didn't just follow instructions—he understood them.
She was impressed.
At some point early in the night, Levi sat with a length of cable stretched between his hands, testing its strength.
"Won't it be too big?"
"Nonsense. I have upgraded it so it is smaller, much more sensible zan the original. Plus, you will 'ave full control over it. No complaints."
She kissed her fingers at the device before her, satisfied, before grinding away at its edges. Sparks streamed down, the shop glowing in bursts of orange light.
Hours later, Maggie stood over him, pulling off her goggles. She shook out her short, curly black hair, stepping back to admire her work.
"Now, give it a try. You just 'ave to squeeze and twist."
Levi looked down at his arm. No more exposed cables. No more open pistons, gears, or raw mechanics.
Blacksteel covered it now. Smooth as skin.
But looking closer—this wasn't a single, seamless plate. It was thousands of tiny hexagonal scales, interlocking with precision. A shifting armor, moving as naturally as flesh.
"Squeeze and twist."
Levi took a breath.
He made a fist.
Squeezed hard.
And turned it.
CLICK.
Metal shifted. A cascade of clinking steel filled the room as the hexagonal plates began to move.
Levi and Maggie stared, grins spreading in tandem.
One final click. Both of them looked up, eyes bright.
"You're a genius."
"Flattery will get you everywhere, mon cher."
Blushing, she turned back to the worktable, grabbing two gleaming blades—one short, one long and wickedly curved.
"Shall we continue?"
And continue they did.
Grinding metal. The roar of torches. Sparks flying like fireflies. The rhythmic strike of hammers echoed through the dockyard, rattling windows.
Morning workers paid it no mind. Maggie never slept—nothing new there.
But as two shipwrights passed her shop, they flinched as a blade suddenly punched through the steel wall, stopping just short of impaling one of them.
"Merde! You imbécile! I 'ave test dummies for zat kind of shit!"
The blade snapped back inside.
"Stop yellin'! Not like this place can't stand an extra hole!"
The workers exchanged a look. Then hurried on.
CLANK!
Maggie bolted a steel plate over the gash in the wall, muttering curses under her breath.
Behind her, Levi shifted on his toes, rocking forward, back, side to side—testing. Every few steps, he'd stop, roll his shoulders, shift again.
"Think the weight'll balance once you connect it?"
"Not sure, to be honest. Your mesh is a prototype. Who knows what it can do?"
She struggled with the last bolt, cursing under her breath. Levi sighed, stepping up to hold the plate steady.
"You ready then?"
Maggie sunk the last bolt, dusted off her hands, turning to him with a sharp grin.
"That question is not for me, mon Waster ami. We 'ave finished your arm and chest. Only thing left—"
They both stepped back, staring at the plating in silence.
"Let's do it."
"Hourra! Now remember, if this kills you, it is not my fault."
Levi chose to ignore that as Maggie skipped over to the machine descending from the ceiling. A chair rose from the floor, whirring into place. He settled into it, exhaling slow as he stripped off his shirt.
Metal and flesh. A nearly seamless transition. The blacksteel gleamed, faint pulses of amber energy threading through the plating.
"How long till I know it works?"
"Oh, right away."
Maggie flipped a switch.
CRACK— arcs of light snapped through the air. A deep, mechanical whine built from the machine as its Pneuma Core roared to life.
A bead of sweat rolled down Levi's temple. He laid back, eyes locked on the glowing veins running through the starting tech above him.
Before she moved the device into place, Maggie grabbed something at her feet—a thick, round slab of metal, heavy with embedded machinery and a grip welded to the back.
Without warning, she pressed it to his chest.
The cold metal latched onto his blacksteel skin instantly, an almost organic suction pulling tight. With a sharp twist, she yanked it free.
As Maggie pulled the slab away, Levi's chest opened like the hatch of a steam vault, revealing the Pneuma Core nestled within.
The sphere pulsed with slow, rhythmic light, the glow threading through the intricate metalwork like veins of molten amber.
Blacksteel plating formed the outer shell, etched with delicate engravings—arcane-looking circuits that glowed with faint energy. Small gears and reinforced seams lined the casing, each movement subtle but precise, maintaining the delicate balance of pressure within.
At its center, a core of swirling amber light churned like a bottled storm, arcs of compressed vapor sparking within the reinforced glass ports. The energy inside shifted and throbbed, not erratic, but measured—breathing. Alive.
Maggie ran a hand over the rim, feeling the faint vibration beneath her fingertips. Her breath caught.
"It's perfect. Every time I see it, it's like looking into ze womb of science itself."
She had seen plenty of Pneuma Cores before. But this? This was something else. Whoever built this had no intention of ever letting it free.
Levi shifted uncomfortably under her stare. Felt like a butchered hog being admired before slaughter.
He tapped his fingers against his metal arm.
"Can we get this goin'?"
Maggie blinked, shaking herself out of her trance. She laughed as she adjusted the machine overhead.
A hulking frame of brass and steel, its tapered head bristled with tools—each one pointed straight at his open chest.
"Once I open ze valve, it's going to hurt. Like a son of a bitch. Bite down on zis."
She tossed him a thick strip of leather. Levi caught it, rolled his jaw, and bit down.
Maggie tightened the last latch.
"Are you ready?"
Levi exhaled slow.
Fingers clenching into fists. Jaw locking down.
He nodded.
----
The afternoon heat still clung heavy to the streets as Rufus and Edmond made their way toward the shipyard. The air carried the scent of salt, iron, and the lingering smoke of forge fires—Denton's heartbeat in steel and sweat.
Neither spoke much, but Rufus, ever the optimist, just hummed some off-key tune, flicking a finger against his thumb before lighting a fresh smoke.
As they stepped onto the dockyard, the usual sounds filled the air—hammers clanging, steam vents hissing, the deep voices of laborers barking orders. They wove through the maze of stacked cargo and iron scaffolding, heading toward Maggie's shop.
Then they stopped.
Not because of anything unusual with the shop itself, but because of what they saw in front of it.
Jim Hardwick, the grizzled shipyard foreman, stood with arms crossed, nodding approvingly as he pointed toward a stack of heavy steel beams.
And there, moving between the stacks, was Levi.
Shirtless, sweat glistening on his back, the kid hefted a beam of solid blacksteel onto his shoulder like it was a sack of grain. He carried it across the dockyard with steady, measured steps before setting it onto the growing pile. The foreman gave a grunt of approval, then gestured for the next one.
Levi wiped his brow with the back of his metal hand, flexed his fingers, then grabbed another.
Rufus took a long drag of his smoke, then exhaled slow.
"Well, I'll be damned. The kid turned into a goddamn ox."