XXXIV“Why, Finn? Why have you only come now when it's too late?” Connor's voice sounded hoarse, croaky, as if a part of the machinery had lodged itself in his throat. He didn't look well, his skin pallid, his head slightly slumped to one side, held up by a cap of metal mesh.
Finn stood on one side of the divide. Connor, nestled within the steaming, hissing machinery that carried him around, on the other. An array of ironclads and silverclads stood behind Connor, many holding muskets and grappling irons. All of them were aimed at Finn, Diane and Whelm.
“We came as quickly as we could,” called Finn across the rift. “We didn't know what we had to do.”
A whoosh of steam blasted from Connor's carriage, as if it were angry at Finn's words. Connor tilted his head to address the guards standing
