He hefted the weapon as high as he could and brought it down heavily upon the chest of the automaton on his left. There was an almighty crash. The wooden handle of the ancient weapon splintered in his hands with the impact, sending the iron head banging loudly to the floor. The automaton staggered backwards for a moment, a large dent in its brass casing, but then, just as quickly, was able to reassert itself and come at him again over the top of the stove. This time, catching him on the backswing, the automaton's hand struck him hard in the arm, and he cried out as the blades sliced his flesh, drawing blood. He snatched his arm back instinctively and managed to scramble out of the reach of the machine. He could hardly believe the resilience of the device: the blow from the axe had practically collapsed its chest, even cracking the glass porthole that contained the electrical light that powered its clockwork mind, but the unit seemed unconcerned and continued to mount its attack. Newbury threw the broken shaft of the axe at the other automaton, which knocked it aside to no effect. He knew it was only a matter of time before the machines worked out how to shift Miss Coulthard's desk out of the way to get to him.
Newbury searched the walls for more weapons, thankful now that he had been able to coerce the museum's curator into allowing him to have a small display of anthropological items in his office. A few feet away, over Miss Coulthard's desk and on the wall above the fireplace, was a flail. The weapon was a few hundred years old, but Newbury knew from examining it in the past that the shaft was still firm. He hoped the star-shaped iron ball on the end of the chain would make an effective weapon against the automatons, puncturing the relatively soft brass of their skulls and damaging the delicate cogwork in their mechanical brains. It was a blunt tool for a blunt job. He just had to work out how to get to it.
He measured the distance with his eyes. If he leapt up onto the overturned desk he could be at the weapon in two strides, but equally, he ran the risk of one of the automatons catching hold of his leg as he tried to rush by, pulling him to the ground whilst he was unbalanced and sticking him with its vicious claws. He looked over at them. The two machines continued to try to swipe at him from behind the stove. The situation wasn't about to improve, unless he made a decisive move. He had to risk it. There were no other weapons anywhere in reach, makeshift or not, and if he waited any longer the automatons would, by sheer relentlessness, find a way to reach him. Jumping up onto the desk didn't seem like a good option, however, especially in his present condition, so instead he decided to see if he could reach the weapon by other means.
Standing, his back to the wall in an effort to stay out of the reach of the questing brass fingers, Newbury edged over towards the chimney breast. Keeping himself as flat as possible, he reached an arm around and used his fingertips to feel for the flail. If he stretched onto his tiptoes he could just about touch it, but he needed to get past the desk to be able to get a proper grip on the thing. He stared into the impassionate faces of the brass machines, watching their mirrored eyes spinning as they clutched for him, their minds programmed only to kill. If he got out of this alive, Chapman and Villiers were going to have a great deal to answer to.
Newbury surged forward, feeling the blades of both automatons impaling the flesh and muscles of his upper arms.
Pain blossomed, causing everything to go momentarily white, but he forced himself through it, knowing that this would be his only chance at survival. He hoped Dr. Fabian's compound would continue to work its miraculous healing powers on these fresh wounds.
Reaching down, using his momentum to drive himself forward, he grasped hold of the underside of the desk and flipped it up towards the two machines, connecting with them both at waist height and sending them sprawling to the ground. Not waiting to see how quickly they would be able to get up, Newbury jumped up and grabbed hold of the flail, pulling it down from the display hooks on the wall. He gave it an experimental swing in his right hand, and then, charging forward towards one of the mechanical men, he arced the ball and chain above his head, slamming it across the side of its skull with as much power as he could muster as it struggled to get up from underneath the desk. The skull split with a dull thud, cracking along the seam between the access plate and the rest of the brass head. Newbury gave a triumphant gasp, trying to free the spiked ball from where it had embedded itself in the inner workings of the machine's head. The damaged automaton kicked spasmodically a few times, its feet clacking on the tiles, and then it was still.
Newbury didn't have time to celebrate. He looked over his shoulder to see the other automaton pulling free of the desk and climbing easily to its feet. He noted it was the unit that he had struck earlier with the axe, and decided to aim his weapon at the glass plate in its chest, tackling an existing weak point in the hope of disabling it faster. He had no idea whether this would have the desired effect, but it had to be worth a try. His arms ached where the gashes in his flesh were weeping blood down his sleeves. He knew he couldn't go on much longer.
Newbury yanked the flail free of the fallen machine, noticing that in doing so he had exposed something fleshy and wet inside. He didn't have time to look, however, as the other automaton was coming up on him fast. He swung the flail in a wide arc around his head, feeling his shoulder scream in protest as he slammed the weapon against the automaton's chest, shattering the glass plate and causing electricity to arc out into the room in a spectacular display of shimmering blue light. The machine stumbled from side to side for a moment, tottering on its feet, before collapsing to the floor, its brass skeleton still fizzing and crackling with raw electricity.
Newbury dropped the flail and sank to his knees, exhausted. He remained there for a few moments, straining to catch his breath. The electrical current continued to crackle over the destroyed skeleton of the second automaton.
He looked around the ruination of his office. Miss Coulthard was not going to be happy. He flexed his shoulders, cringing with the pain, and held his arms up before him, cautiously exploring the knife wounds through the fabric of his shirt. They didn't seem as severe as he'd imagined, although the pain was excruciating. He tried to push it to the back of his mind. He looked over at the spilled workings of the machine whose skull he had destroyed. There was definitely something wet and organic seeping out from underneath the brass fittings.
Cautiously, Newbury used the edge of the overturned desk to pull himself upright, and tentatively approached the brass skeleton. He prodded it with his foot, making sure that there was no spark of life left inside of it. It flopped lifelessly onto its back. Deciding it was probably safe, he leaned closer, using his fingers to pry the skull open a little further so he could see inside. He turned the head towards the light. Then, appalled, he dropped the skull to the floor with a loud clatter and stepped away from the gruesome sight, putting his sleeve to his mouth in disgust. His fingers dripped with sticky fluid.
Instead of the clockwork mechanisms that he had been expecting to find inside of the automaton's skull, there was a pinkish-grey, fleshy human brain. Newbury fought back the rising bile in his throat. Then, needing to confirm his suspicion, he retrieved the flail from where he'd discarded it on the floor it a few feet away, and set about splitting open the head of the other unit. A couple of sharp blows later and the skull had given way, revealing the same disturbing sight as the first time: the spattered grey matter of a human organ. He leaned one arm against the wall, trying to process the information. Human organs inside of clockwork men. An airship crash. A series of brutal strangulations in the slums.