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Sweltering from the heat and suffocating from the suffocating humid air, Mrs. Katherine Castel, nee Paige, hurried to dinner with the couple of Captain Russoti, a military comrade of her husband, Colonel Francis Castel. She didn't look around, alternately switching from a walk to a run: she was half an hour late. Katherin was always punctual herself and demanded the same from the hired servants, but she paid with dignity and invariably on time. Therefore, being late for a dinner party seemed to her a great disaster. She meticulously honed every word on the move, carefully choosing phrases that would sound as sincere and convincing as possible. And it really wasn't her fault! Mr. Eliasson, the editor-in-chief of the Bulletin of New York gazette, kindly asked her to help finish a recent article about the upcoming airship festival, where inventors from all over the world will be able to present their machines. Her husband's salary was enough for a decent and comfortable life, but soon after her marriage, Mrs. Castel got bored of idleness and persuaded Mr. Castel to let her work as a typist in the editorial office, which was only three blocks from home.
Francis was a conservative and strict man, but he loved his wife, and therefore, after much thought, he agreed, but on the condition that it was until additions to the family began. That's what he said, "additions", plural, and Katherine immediately shuddered. It's not that she doesn't want children, not at all. Katherine knew that one day she would become a loving, gentle mother. But not now, sometime later. She was attracted to travel, because she dreamed so much of seeing the world! There are also scientific discoveries, politics, and most of all, journalism. "It ain't a woman's work, my dear", Mr. Castel would say whenever she talked about her dreams and aspirations with extreme caution. Katherine looked at the blue smoke swaying lazily over the wooden pipe, at the smooth parting and thickly pomaded, sleek black hair, at the rough profile, as if carved from stone, and realized that all her dreams would inevitably rot away in this cozy living room, in the marble fireplace, gathering dust between the heavy burgundy curtains.
Katherine respected her husband and loved him in her own way, but the marriage was the initiative and idea of her father, Mr. Paxton Paige, a veteran who saw Officer Castel as a worthy match for his daughter. Paige's family lived modestly, without frills, so when the brave Francis, who was awarded the medal for "exceptional courage" and asked for Katherine's hand in marriage, appeared on the horizon, the head of the family immediately agreed and gave his blessing. Katherine did not argue with her father, it made no sense, and strict upbringing would not allow her to go against her parent's will. In addition, she was devoid of romantic illusions: Katherine did not have a chance to experience a sizzling love feeling, and therefore she became convinced that mutual respect was enough for a happy marriage, which could eventually develop into deep affection. Francis had a reputation for being a decent and honest man— isn't that a great match?
A hot wind blew off the roofs, doused Katherine's face with dust and debris from the pavement — a boater hat decorated with decorative flowers and metal twigs flew off her long blond hair, curling at the tips into graceful curls, and rolled down the road. Katherine, opening her mouth, clutched her uncovered head and rushed after the "fugitive".
"Francis shall be wroth; already am I spending a king's ransom on these infernal hats." she complained, "…and this one proved too dear. What manner of day is this!" She almost caught up — oh, if only it weren't for the dust! The hat rounded the fence and flew to the next side of the street. Katherine ran after it with her arm outstretched.
The clatter of hooves, the rumble of wheels — a phaeton flew out from around the corner. The cabman, seeing the lady in front, began shouting and tried to stop the horses. Katherine turned around and froze for a moment, frozen in fear. Strong fingers grabbed her elbow, and with one tug, she stood completely lost in the arms of a stranger. The terrified cabman was spitting profanities, and Katherine stood there, dead and alive, staring into the red, dusty lenses of round-rimmed glasses, at a slightly curved, beautiful mouth framed by sparse, fine stubble, and playfully swaying in the wind, lifted copper-dark bangs that looked like a wave.
"My hat!" she suddenly remembered and began to look around in confusion.
"Hat?" The stranger smiled, revealing white teeth, and couldn't help but smile indulgently. "And you wouldst have met a valiant end for a mere hat?"
"This is none of your concern," she freed herself from his protective arms and, slightly frowning, stared at him again from under her brows.
The stranger stood on his toes, looked over her shoulder, and then ran towards the tobacco shop: there, caught on a wooden signboard, hung Katherine's hat. In two leaps, he retrieved the missing item, returned, and politely returned it to its owner. Katherine managed to recover from her fright and looked with a sense of shame at the stained, torn flowers and the bent brim of the hat.
"I beg your pardon for my want of tact, Mr.…"
"Murdoch," the stranger replied softly, "My name is Matthew Murdoch. Though Matt is just fine," he took off his glasses, squinting his brown-green eyes from the blinding setting sun. "And my apologies, Miss, I intended no accusation whatsoever. Perhaps, the very opposite, your courage is quite fetching."
"I'm a Mrs.," Katherine corrected, "and naught fetching reside in foolishness!" She finally smiled back. "I don't know how to show my gratitude, Mr. Murdoch, you saved my life."
"And your hat, I dare say."
Katherine laughed.
"I merely acted as any man of honor would. You are in no debt to me"
"But I... no, I can't be in no debt, Mr. Murdoch," she shook her head.
"Well, um..." Matthew ran his hand thoughtfully over the dark red tie tucked into his vest, against which a snow-white shirt shone brightly. "Come to the airship festival tomorrow, and we shall be quits."
"That's another thing," she nodded approvingly, licking her chapped lips, "but how shall I find you?"
"Oh, fret not!" He raised his thick eyebrows a little. "I assure you won't pass by."
"I'm Mrs. Castel," she said, "Katherine Castel."
Matthew seemed to have just heard the bitter "Mrs.", grinned sheepishly, but immediately pulled on a mask of equanimity. He gently took her hand in a beige glove and, barely touching it, pressed his lips to the back of her hand.
"Pleasure to meet you," he whispered, feeling his knees tremble.
A sharp, intoxicating heat spread through his body.
A red ray lay on her bare collarbone, spilled between her bones like melted butter, and slid down a fluffy curl into the neckline of a striped dress. Matthew swallowed softly, put on his glasses, and closed his eyes in bliss.
Suddenly, Katherine's fingers touched the sparkling copper of his hair, pulled out a tiny splinter that was lost on top of his head.
Matthew felt as if he had melted, spread out on the pavement like the sun on her collarbone.
"Have a good day, Mr. Murdoch," Katherine whispered.
All the way to Captain Russoti's house, she fiddled with a burr splinter in her hands.
"That Devil o' Hell's Kitchen, the fellow in black, has caught some footpads again, eh!"
Mr. Castel was lounging in an armchair with his legs crossed over his morning coffee, reading the latest newspaper and, according to his favorite habit, retelling the news to his wife. Katherine silently stirred her cold coffee with a spoon, even though she drank it without sugar, and thoughtfully stared at the hefty, elongated wall clock with a chime. She was only half listening to Francis.
"Katherine?" He took the newspaper away from his face and bent down questioningly to his wife. "Darling, are you listening?"
"Pardon?" She took her hand away from her chin and turned to her husband. "Yes, I am indeed," she replied, nodding slightly, "The Devil of Hell's Kitchen: I know, darling, that is my article."
"Oh," Mr. Castel, pursing his lips, drew attention to the signature to the column: and indeed — signed "K. Castel." "Apologies, I haven't notice," and laughed sheepishly, "What a fool!"
"It's nothing," Katherine replied without malice, with some indifference.
"And what you think of him?" Francis asked. "About this urban scourge."
She took the spoon out of the cup, put it on a porcelain saucer decorated with small flowers, and turned her whole body to Francis.
"Hard to say," she sighed, thinking about it, "I understand his deeds stretch beyond the bounds of law, yet, by his hand, the streets have grown safer and more tranquil, chiefly in those industrial quarters."
"I scarce approve of such doings, mind ye," Mr. Castel took a long sip from his cup, "...but when he did set aright that scoundrel Sanders, for denying his workers their due for months on end, I confess, I felt a admiration towards him," he reached for the pipe. "For prithee, conceive it—for months, souls scraping by, devoid of a single cent! 'Tis not according to the rules, I tell thee, " he smoked heavily and stared at the front page of the newspaper again.
"The airship festival will be held in the even," she said what she had been thinking about all morning, "I intend to attend."
"Oh, but sans me," Mr. Castel blinked, "My head yet spins from last night's repast. That Bill and his brandy, ha, what a bastard!" He laughed. "Nay, he'll soon enough stumble upon my bourbon, gifted by our general, hark! Thee go, and revel in yon funs, knowing full well your fondness for such trivial inventions. I care not for them, you know that."
She flew along the pavement, not letting go of the crumpled fabric of her slightly raised hem, joyfully tapping her heels to the beat of the monorail freight wagon, emitting thick clouds of cotton vapor. It was getting late, and the weather was cloudy, but always stuffy, exhaustingly stuffy. Passersby sluggishly flowed through the sleepy streets, stooping workers in faded overalls and caps and berets pulled down over their foreheads hurried home with monotonous steps: the city was a huge and complex, but long-established mechanism in which every cog and every gear performed its function. And in case any part was rusting and refused to work as before, the city had excellent engine oil in the form of pot-bellied policemen in blue uniforms and caps, strutting along the streets or standing in gangs in the squares.
A cheerful sea captain waddled out of the pub and, flirting with the blue-eyed beauty Katherine, who was walking towards him, theatrically took off his cocked hat with a mechanical hand, making a waist bow. Katherine, overcome with anticipation, smiled broadly and laughed out loud, tipping her hat in response.
The venue of the festival was a spacious square with a view of the Hudson River. A festive iron gate was built: a small rope-like cord hung over the entrance, pulling on which a visitor could hear a steamboat whistle. Katherine couldn't resist pulling the cord — the tube-shaped supports began to shake with a hiss, and steam poured through the hole in the arch, accompanied by a characteristic hum.
At every turn, wherever you look, there are treats and entertainment mechanical vending machines with peeling paint, covered with rust and scratches. Kids were darting back and forth, chasing after an automaton dog with thundering metal paws. Everywhere there is noise, uproar, the grinding of machinery and steam obscuring the view, and overhead there are winged sailboats of various shapes and sizes. It seemed that the sky was too small for these giants to disperse freely, but somehow, magically, they managed to do so. Katherine, holding her hat, stared into the pale gray sky with her mouth open, admiring the wonders of technology.
"Hey, Mrs. Katherine!"
She turned around, her eyes widening in amazement: Matthew was standing at the stern of the balloon, holding onto the cable and waving at her. In light brown tweed trousers with suspenders and a shirt with the sleeves rolled up, he looked nothing like the gentleman from yesterday. He jumped down immediately and, flushed and smelling of moisture, iron, and engine oil, found himself next to Katherine.
"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, looking at the airship. "So you are an inventor!"
"Nay, I merely a solicitor," Matthew laughed, wiping his sweaty forehead with his forearm.
"A pastime?" She craned her neck.
"My late grandsire was an inventor," he explained, "Back at the dawn of the technological revolution. I have inherited his fondness of it."
"May I?" She nodded at the airship. "Show me your brainchild?"
"Yes, most certainly," he made an inviting gesture.
Katherine went over to the machine and, with childish dreaminess, lightly ran her fingers along the side, stroked the iron rivets at the joints of the hull — and suddenly her imagination painted Matthew's muscular shoulders instead of the ship, not hidden behind the fabric of his shirt. She jerked to the side as if she'd been burned.
"Is everything all right?" He appeared behind her, his soft, lilting voice close to her ear—just half a step back, and she could have snuggled up to him.
"Yes, I'm all good," she replied in a trembling voice.
Matthew climbed aboard the rope ladder, threw back a small ladder and kindly extended his hand to Katherine. She staggered back a little, but then, taking a deep breath, she rose with his help, finding herself under a huge oblong balloon with a streamlined shape.
"And how far can it soar? Katherine asked, still holding Matthew's hand, looking around.
"The world's very edge, at least."
"Have you taken flight?" She looked at him.
"Not once," Matthew replied softly, "I'm a terrible snob! I have scarcely acquainted myself with the entirety of New York.."
"Would you like to?" She seemed to be suffocating. "I'd yearn for that, to fly," her voice rang with a note of sadness, "Far, far away. Unto the uttermost reaches! I crave to behold the world in its glory.."
"Anywhere with you," Matthew thought.
"Yes," he replied sincerely, "Absolutely. But I would return without fail."
"Indeed you would?"
"This is my city, my lifeblood and very being—it hath wrought me, and I, in turn, shape it. Our bond is a tangled web," he laughed, "As it happens with all bonds, I presume. Where are you from, if I may be so bold?"
"From sundry climes a smattering: my father a man of war, our abode was oft shifted. I was born in Vermont, within a hamlet where such machines are mere phantoms of the press — a desolate backwater: farm upon farm, antiquated methods of tilling soil and husbandry. On the one hand, 'tis of little consequence, belike — pure, translucent air, a tranquil, measured existence. Yet, I did languish there."
"And now?" he asked with all seriousness.
"I do not know," she replied, somewhat embarrassed and forced a smile, "This is New York, Mr. Murdoch! Boredom finds no purchase here."
"Anyway, that's what they say," he stared intently into her eyes, moistened by the wind, which had turned unusually blue—they burned brightly against the background of the featureless, gloomy sky.
"Yes, yes, that's how I believed it," he thought ironically, "Of course you're not bored 'ere, Katherine, who yearn to fly far, far away."
"If you do not have any desire to leave, why you decide to invent airships?"
"It would probably be more correct to ask why I decided to dabble in invention at all, good madam."
"And why?"
"I've pondered it," he squeezed her hand a little tighter, and led her to the upper deck in the stern, where the ship's control cabin was located, "Perhaps for the selfsame cause that I pursued the study of law. I aspired to render service unto society. I was raised here, in Hell's Kitchen, a district far from flourishing. My grandsire declared bankruptcy, and none sought to purchase his inventions. My father was compelled to relinquish collegiate, to labor in a factory that he may aid our family with rising debts. And then in the following year, my father lost first my grandfather, and then my mother, who died in childbirth. The factory where he worked switched entirely to automated production, and father lost his job as a result. And so, to keep from utter starvation, he became a boxer, participating in fist fights. He always fought well. That was how we existed, and I had seen a fair share. Men deceived, brought low by despair, ranting machines, avaricious employers, and a cold, uncaring world. I wished that justice might guard all, irrespective of wealth or penury, and also that the machine might be the friend of man, not a bane, you know?
"That's very noble," Katherine said calmly and admiringly, looked out of the cockpit and stared at the big balloon.
"Yes, but it didn't wrought but scant good in the end," he sighed sadly, "But I'm not losing hope," and a shadow of a smile flickered across his lips.
"Good Lord, what's that?" Katherine suddenly noticed that Matthew's knuckles were terribly bruised and even bleeding a little.
"Nothing!" He let go of her hand and shoved his hands into his pockets. "Perhaps the steam," he frowned in puzzlement, rubbed his neck mechanically. "There are times when I am overwhelmed and fail to note such trifles."
She sensed that Mr. Murdoch was keeping something back, but she didn't press the matter.
After the presentation of the airship, Matthew did not leave Katherine's side until the end of the festival.
They parted at dusk, on the waterfront — Katherine insisted. And even though it was late and it wasn't safe to go back alone, she didn't want Francis to see her with a man and worry unnecessarily. "Is it for nothing?" she asked herself, sucking in the cool evening breeze and watching the reflections of the lanterns in Matthew's tired eyes shining with happiness. She wanted terribly to touch him, she prayed that there would be some speck of dust on his clothes, or a splinter would get lost in his hair again-anything! She raised her hand, extended her fingers in his direction, and there he was, very close.…
She adjusted her hat, which had slipped to one side, and said a deliberately dry goodbye.
She was walking down a narrow unlit alley. She squinted, peered into the darkness, and tried to tread as noiselessly as possible on the stone pavement, on tiptoe, without touching her heels. A little ahead, under the archway, I heard voices—dirty, growling. Katherine stopped and listened.
"...I shall repay thee the moment coin is in hand, I give thee my solemn word!" a frightened high-pitched male voice kept repeating. "Mr. Sanders hath not bestowed upon us our wages these several months past; yestere'en he did return but a portion thereof, dost thou comprehend? And I owe the landlord a kindness, else I and my lads shall find ourselves upon the streets, good sirs!" He was almost sobbing.
She looked under the archway: two big men were pinning a skinny, gray-haired man in a holey jumpsuit against the wall.
"Cease thy mewling ere its time," growled one of the smaller thugs, "and let us go have a cup of ale."
He raised his clumsy fist over the head of the squinting peasant.
"Hey!" Katherine shouted, and when the big guys turned around, she felt dizzy.
They exchanged glances.
"I shall take the bitch upon me," the smaller bully muttered and moved towards Katherine.
Coming out of her stupor, she pulled up her skirt, took a revolver from a holster tied to her leg and pointed it with a shaking hand.
"Stand back!" she shouted in a voice not her own, forgetting how to breathe in fear. "I swear I'll shoot."
The bully froze, raised his hands up.
"Both of you! Raise your hands!" She called out to the second one.
The bigger bully threw the man away and turned menacingly.
Katherine cocked the gun.
"Raise your hands!" she repeated, and her voice broke.
The bully smiled with all his metal mouth and slowly walked towards her. Katherine staggered back in horror, still aiming. She squeezed her eyes shut and, with a cry, pulled the trigger.
A miss.
The bigger bully took a running start.
A black-headed demon flew down from the roof like a whirlwind, hung on the bully's back, grabbed his thick neck and began to strangle him. He spun like a top and screamed. The smaller bully rushed to help his friend, tried to grab the uninvited savior by the leg, but instead grabbed him in the face with a shoe. Katherine, in fear, tried to aim so as not to hit the man in the black mask, but because of the trembling in her hand, it turned out badly. "It's him, the man in black," she finally realized, "the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. Just... why is he wearing an ordinary white shirt?" Nimble, floating like a balloon, the Devil dealt with the racketeers, and then rushed to help Katherin.
"Are you well?" he asked hoarsely, trying to catch his breath, and gently stroked her frozen cheek.
"Better now," she nodded towards the unconscious man, "Help him."
The Devil went to help the poor man, and Katherine studied him intently: "Those tweed trousers and a white shirt that smelled of engine oil and dampness… That voice! It cannot be..."
"...can you walk?" he asked in an insinuating, soft voice.
"Thank you, sir, thank you indeed!" the peasant stammered, leaning on the proffered shoulder.
"Not me," the Devil smiled, "Give your thanks to the brave lady."
"Ma'am," the man nodded. "Well, that's it, that's it," he patted his rescuer on the back, "I shall manage it myself, as I am ever wont to be alone, sir."
The peasant limped away hurriedly, moaning softly in pain.
He stood with his back to her, not moving. Katherine approached, froze in one step. She pinched the mask's drawstring between her fingers, slightly wrinkled the rough, dense fabric.
"That's very noble, Mr. Murdoch," she whispered, "And I would not say this without a measure o' good."
"Do you think so?" He turned slowly. "There be hardly anything noble in violence, Katherine."
One of the thugs started to come to his senses, and Matthew had to knock him out again with a blow to the jaw.
"Now go," he turned back to Katherine, "I shall be right there."
In a second, he climbed the outside stairs to the roof and followed her all the way to house.
"And how you see through that mask?"
Katherine, filled with awe and delight, slowly wandered around the lower floor of Matthew's apartment, looking at the appliances and tools scattered here and there in the corners. The sturdy oak desk was littered with papers and stacked with new and old books on law and mechanics. Under the ceiling, bathed in the sun filtering through a small glass half-dome, a scaled-down model of a steam-powered air carriage hung on cables. Katherine stopped at a shelf where a drawing of a locomotive lay in an unfolded form.
Matthew casually looked over her shoulder. Hiding his excitement, he cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses with a nervous movement:
"Well, I do not see at all."
Katherine turned her head, and his face was a pitiful instant away from her, out of decency and good manners. She outlined her parted lips with her eyes and mentally traced them with the tip of her tongue.
"It's all about this small contrivance," he turned off the edge of his ear with swollen fingers with broken nails, "This is not mine own invention, but that of my grandsire. Whilst a scholar, I unearthed his masterwork amidst forgotten lumber in the pantry and did improve it. This device operates partly upon the tenets of a common prosthesis, and partly upon those of an automaton, dispatching signals to that region of the cerebral cortex which doth govern hearing – by its agency, one may hark to sounds leagues distant. I have grown so accustomed to the world of sounds that I might forgot sight itself. And, naturally, by donning a mask, remain unknown, which is of import.
"Yet I recognized you," Katherine whispered, "Though our acquaintance just begun."
Matthew took off his glasses and looked into the sea of her big blue eyes.
"I don't know why I feel like I have known you all my life," he said sadly, but with all sincerity and simplicity.
Matthew did not notice how he surrounded Katherine on both sides with his hands and stopped breathing. She opened her mouth and closed her eyes.
They reached out to each other.
Their lips barely had time to touch, as both exhaled loudly and only lightly rubbed their foreheads.
"I flattered by the invitation, Mr. Murdoch," Katherine said bitterly after a moment of silence that lasted forever, "But I have to go now."
"Yes," Matthew nodded, "I understand."
Mrs. Castel clapped her hand to her mouth and walked out the door in a daze.
Katherine and Matthew spent as much time together as possible, but they never took any bold steps, not even a frank conversation. They languished under the overcast September sky, languishing from unexpressed feelings, watching from the bridge a steam turbine locomotive speeding away into the distance. For better or worse, they were destined to find each other here — in a vast and clumsy world of giant steam engines and winged airships floating in the sky. Matthew timidly wrapped his little finger around Katherine's little finger.
"If only were it possible to change my heart with a mechanism and not feel at all," he said.
Katherine didn't answer; she was choking on sobs.
At first, Mr. Castel accepted without any suspicion and with calmness that his wife often began to linger in the editorial office, taking on new special assignments from the boss. He wasn't worried that she was getting out of the house more often for city events and exhibitions. But when Francis realized that for a month and a half his wife had never let him into her bedroom, either because she was tired or because she felt unwell, he sensed something was wrong. He calmed himself down, persuaded himself not to go to extremes and not to invent all sorts of nonsense, because his dear Katherine is a noble and honest woman, she would never allow herself... No, he did not dare to say it even in his thoughts.
However, Francis soon exhausted himself with torments and doubts. He did not speak to Katherine, fearing to denigrate such baseness. And so one day I decided to follow her when she went for a walk in the botanical garden. Mr. Castel couldn't believe his eyes when an unknown gentleman met his wife at the entrance — neat and charming, with an unstoppable smile. Hiding behind the spreading palm trees and lush rose bushes, he pursued them in a rage, imagining how he would snap the stranger's neck with a crunch.
"I am in love with you!" Katherine blurted out as they passed under the mistletoe, stopped dead in her tracks, and blushed.
Matthew turned around by inertia and stared at her speechlessly, not believing what he had heard. He came up and hugged her tightly, wrapped his arms around her thin shoulders like branches, and pressed his lips to her temple with incredible tenderness.
"Then I shall burn in Hell," a smile appeared. "As I am in love with you too, Katherine."
Mr. Castel clenched his hand into a fist with such force that bloody marks appeared on his palm.
Katherine and Matthew couldn't part for a long time, and when they said goodbye, Francis, without attracting attention, followed the "vile lover" to the door of his apartment.
Mr. Castel did not want to, but became gloomy and unfriendly in communication with his wife, and sometimes downright rude. He carried resentment and anger in himself, not knowing what to do with the knowledge that weighed on his soul. Francis understood that, on the contrary, he should have become more caring and attentive towards Katherine, but every time he looked at her, he heard the treacherous "I am in love with you!" and filled to the brim with anger.
And then things got even more complicated. Drunk and angry, Mr. Castel was returning home from Captain Russoti's when he was attacked by robbers. A seasoned soldier, he could hardly stand up to eight tough guys who had gone wild from hunger and street life. The Devil flew out of the darkness on a mechanical cable and helped him deal with the attackers in no time. The nimble bandit, who came to his senses, attacked the Devil from behind and pulled off his mask before he was stunned again.
Francis could have turned him in to the authorities and solved his problem forever. But would that make Katherine love him? Mr. Castel suffered from the inability to do anything to ease his agony. He saw nothing noble in exposing the city's vigilante, but his rage demanded release.
Katherine returned from the office later than usual, but to her surprise Francis was not at home. She went through all the rooms, but to no avail. The manager reported that Mr. Castel was very upset about something and left more than an hour ago, taking his favorite award revolver. Katherine's stomach turned cold.
Francis returned around midnight, covered in bruises and blood, and his clothes didn't fit properly. He collapsed onto the couch.
"Ye are free," he rasped, not looking at his wife. "Never did I imagine I should wed a woman so besmirched," his voice trembled.
Katherine dropped the book from her hands, left the house on heavy legs, and, ignoring the danger, ran as fast as she could, choking on tears.
Matthew's apartment was a mess: machinery blown to pieces, torn blueprints and reference books, broken dishes. He was sitting in the middle of the room, by a collapsed model of a steam air carriage, and picking up the gears that had scattered across the floor. Katherine sat down next to him and only then noticed that his eyes were bleeding, and the skin around them was red, as if from burns: the steam engine of the crew model had been damaged during the fall. Horrified and dumbfounded, she touched her tousled hair and involuntarily sobbed. Matthew smiled a little. Katherine burst into tears and rushed to kiss his face.
"It's all nothing," Matthew said faintly, stunned by her love, "Nothing…"
"Oh, forgive me," Katherine whispered through her tears, "I am so sorry!"
A hot, bloody drop rolled down Matthew's cheek. He stroked her pointed chin with bent fingers, touched her soft lips, and then kissed her.
"It's a pity that I shall never again behold your beauty, yet I shall at long last convey thee whithersoever your heart desires," Matthew smiled despite the hellish pain, "Far, far away…"
"Verily!" Katherine sobbed, squeezing his wounded hand. "Verily..."