Fogbound- Empire in Flames

by Gareth Clegg

  “I don’t think I’d like to get on her bad side,” Simmons said. “She seems incredibly… focused.”

  “Too bloody right, and that’s not the half of it. I was here during the invasion when she, and the others, took the fight to the Martians. It was incredible, seeing them at the height of their power, resisting those alien bastards.” He stopped, a long sigh escaping his lips. “But all in vain, wasn’t it? They’re all gone now. Michael and Uriel. Only Gabriel and Raph survived, and he struggles day by day.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “I’ve not heard the specifics, and he doesn’t talk about it.” Callam’s voice dropped to a whisper. “The Martians captured and tortured him, but he never broke. They ripped him apart and then reconstructed what they needed to keep him functioning. I’ve seen the weld marks, and I’ve done as much as I can to fix the metal, but it’s his mind that’s failing. He was mistrustful after we recovered him, but now he’s downright paranoid about everything. Well, you saw yesterday, he almost drowned the lot of us.”

  “Yes, that was more than a little worrying.”

  “A bloody good job that Gabriel was here, isn’t it?”

  “Very fortunate.” Simmons realised he hadn’t touched a drop of the tea and reached for his mug.

  “Apologies, Simmons,” Callam said, noting the movement. “Too busy gabbing about all that’s wrong with the world. Here, let me get that.” He lifted the large teapot and poured the dark, steaming liquid into the two mugs. “Here you want a quiet cuppa, and I’m giving you my bloody life story of doom and despair.”

  “It’s fine,” Simmons replied. “Useful to understand what you and everyone down here has been up to.”

  “Well, that’s kind of you to say. I feel better having had this little chat. Got a few things off my chest that maybe I needed to air.”

  “Anytime.”

  “Right you are,” Callam said, upending his tin cup and downing the contents in one long gulp. He stood and reached out his hand. “Nice talking with you.”

  “Likewise,” Simmons replied, shaking the Welshman’s meaty paw.

  Callam turned and left. Simmons found himself alone in the mess hall as he’d initially expected. He looked down at the tray and dropped two cubes into his mug. He gave it a quick stir then topped up with milk.

  Now where was I? he thought, taking a slow sip. He cast his mind back to leaving his quarters. Oh yes, what to do about Maddox.

  Bazalgette screeched to a halt, avoiding bowling Simmons over as he rushed around a corner. “Sorry, Simmons. Didn’t see you there.”

  “No harm done,” he replied, stepping back to check his friend over. “Are you all right?”

  Bazalgette’s face had an almost deathlike pallor. “Nothing that a few hours sleep wouldn’t fix.”

  “I ran into Callam earlier. He looked a little worse for wear too.”

  Bazalgette nodded. “Where is he now?”

  “I think he was heading to the lab to meet with you?”

  “Good, I need to get going, lots to discuss.”

  “Could you spare a few minutes before you go?”

  Bazalgette’s hand shifted towards his waistcoat pocket, where a silver chain disappeared under the fold of grey cloth, but halted. “What can I help you with, old chap?”

  “I wanted to catch up about what you said last night. You know, before today’s meeting gets going.”

  “Anything in particular?”

  “I was wondering if we should have kept the bag a little tighter closed?”

  Bazalgette frowned, his pupils darting to the lower right as he considered. “I don’t understand. What bag are we talking about?”

  “The metaphorical one, as in letting the cat out of it too early?”

  “Oh,” Bazalgette replied as comprehension dawned on his face. “You think I should have held certain details back?”

  “Well, I wouldn’t have put it like that, but yes.”

  “Why? Aren’t these our friends? Surely they need the information so we can coordinate our efforts?”

  Simmons stifled a sigh. “Are they?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Are they our friends? We know almost nothing about the ones down here.”

  “I think you’re a little over suspicious. These are people hand-picked by the ArcAngels, all ex-military and loyal to the Empress. Don’t you trust Gabriel’s judgement on that?”

  “Gabriel isn’t the one who bothers me.”

  “Hang on,” Bazalgette said. “This is still about Maddox, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, damn it. There’s something not right about him.”

  “Everything I’ve seen him do has been to help us, to help you. If he and Rosie hadn’t been there at the observatory, I’m not sure we would have escaped. He carried you on his back while we were being shot at.”

  “Yes, I know all that,” Simmons said. “But it still doesn’t mean I’m wrong. Look at the way he tries to pick fault at every opportunity.”

  “From what I’ve heard, you haven’t made it easy for him either.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Rosie spoke to me, said you were fanning the flames somewhat, rather than dousing them.”

  “Whose side are you on?”

  “I’m not taking sides, or at least I’m trying hard not to. We need to stand united. There are few enough of us as it is. Can you put it to one side?”

  “What, you want me to ignore it? Let him get away with whatever he’s up to?”

  “No, I don’t want you to ignore it. Just set it aside while we organise things. If you think there’s a problem, then keep an eye on him, but surely it would be better doing that when he isn’t aware. If he is up to anything, then he’s unlikely to let anything slip while you call him out on everything he does.”

  Simmons knew his friend was talking sense. He just didn’t want to accept it. There was something wrong with the way Maddox acted, and he would expose it. “Maybe you’re right. It takes a thief to catch a thief, eh?”

  A smile crept across Bazalgette’s weary-looking face. “Thank you for being reasonable.”

  “Perhaps the injury and the pressure we’ve been under was getting to me.”

  Bazalgette broke eye contact, his view dropping to the ground. “How are you doing, Simmons? With all that’s been going on, I get distracted and sometimes forget it’s still only been a week since…”

  “Don’t worry about me. I knew this was an occupational hazard, right from the off as a young officer. Few men of my previous and current occupation live to retirement without picking up a few war-wounds.” Simmons groaned inwardly at how that sounded but kept his face straight and hoped Bazalgette wouldn’t see through the charade.

  “That’s good, and the pain? You’re managing all right?”

  “Yes, I take a slug of the laudanum if it gets too much, helps me sleep too.”

  It was true. Well, most of it. Simmons wasn’t ready to tell his friend it was more than just a night-time dose, and in truth, didn’t help his sleeping at all. If anything, it was worse than before his injury, but that was his cross to bear, he’d sort it out. Once the pain recedes enough, I’ll cut out the laudanum.

  “That’s… good,” replied Bazalgette. “Oh, and it reminds me. I’ve been working on something for you. I’ll bring them to the meeting.”

  Simmons tilted his head to the side. “Them?”

  “Yes, it’s a surprise. You’ll like it,” Bazalgette said beaming. “But I need to dash. I don’t want Callam thinking I’ve abandoned him in the middle of things now it’s getting difficult.”

  He turned and left at a pace that spoke of his excitement at what he and Callam were working on. Simmons pulled the chain, flipping his watch into his hand and opening it in a smooth, practised motion.

  It was still an hour before they were all due to meet, time enough to make final preparations and do his packing. They would head back to London soon. It was no secret that he was t
o accompany Lynch’s squad in their attempt to retrieve the Empress.

  The meeting passed much quicker than Simmons had expected. As they outlined the plans, Lynch caught his gaze on two occasions, most notably when Gabriel announced that Simmons would lead the rescue along with Lynch and her team. If she was unhappy about it, she didn’t show it in front of her troops. That was good, but he knew the moment was fast approaching for an interesting discussion in private. He hoped that she was the type of officer who could move past any first impressions and could follow orders. If she was like the spoiled brats who had bought their way into their commissions through wealthy parents and privilege, that would be more challenging. Time would tell.

  Rosie and Maddox would scout the outer areas of London to see what they could find about Josiah’s plans, while Bazalgette was staying to help Callam and his team. They would work with Raphael to repair ArcNet and Gabriel’s damaged watch. If they could get that up and running, it would provide a considerable advantage for them all.

  The meeting concluded with the information they had a contact within Kensington Palace for Simmons and team to meet. The password was ‘God save the Queen’. He smiled, it was unexpected, but welcome news. He’d been thinking about the time it might take to find the Empress, let alone rescue her unnoticed.

  Bazalgette cut his way through the crowd of people, his face alight with wonder and mischief. “I’ve got something for you, in fact, two somethings.”

  Before Simmons could say anything, he felt a polished wooden box thrust into his hands. “These should help you,” Bazalgette said, his voice filled with anticipation. “Go on. Open it.”

  The matching brass clasps clicked open at Simmons’ touch, and he pulled the lid which lifted with a slight pop of air. The mechanism rolled back on smooth hinges, revealing a lined velvet interior. It looked like an exquisitely carved gun case to Simmons, but a little on the small side.

  Within lay a pair of beautiful brass and leather goggles. The lenses appeared to have a subtle shade of red to them, and Simmons threw Bazalgette a quizzical glance.

  “Goggles?”

  “Yes,” Bazalgette replied, “try them on.”

  “Wouldn’t a single lens have made more sense?”

  “Just try them.”

  Simmons realised it would be easier to go along with it. He reached towards his eyepatch.

  “No, you needn’t remove it,” Bazalgette said. “Over the top is fine.”

  “What are you up to?”

  “Come on, old chap. Put them on.”

  “Very well. If I must.”

  He manoeuvred the goggles into place, surprised to see the room was bright, not tinted as he’d expected.

  “Here let me look at that,” said Bazalgette taking the straps from Simmons and adjusting them until they were snug. “There you go. How do they feel?”

  They were, Simmons found, extremely comfortable. “Yes, they fit well.”

  Bazalgette walked around in front of him so he could inspect the device. “Now, how’s your sight, everything clear?”

  “Yes. Clear as normal.”

  “There are two switches on the outer edge of each lens. The left one toggles them on and off.”

  Simmons looked Bazalgette in the eye, still humouring him, and reached for the switch. A quiet whir sounded as an internal mechanism released the lenses which lifted out of his line of sight.

  Bazalgette studied the movement and made small adjustments with a jewellers screwdriver. Once satisfied, he backed away. “Try it again.”

  Simmons did so, and they returned to their original position with a soft hissing sound. “So, they open and close without having to remove them. That’s… interesting.”

  Bazalgette was smiling. “Press the other one.”

  Simmons flicked the right-hand switch. His vision slewed, and he experienced a wave of nausea for a moment. “What just—”

  “Have a look around. They might take a while to get used to.”

  Simmons scanned the area, there was something unusual, but he couldn’t place it.

  “Maybe you should try aiming your pistol?” Bazalgette suggested.

  The room had almost emptied, so Simmons unclipped the Mauser and brought it to a firing position, and aimed at the far wall. He targeted at one of the junction boxes and froze. “My God,” he said. “I’m sighting it clearly.”

  “You’re getting the sight from the right optic. I wasn’t sure how well it would work, but you should be able to aim and see as if it were from that eye. It was for the rifle. Isaac told me you had an unnatural stance when trying to use it, so I thought of this.”

  Simmons laughed. A few people stopped in the doorway looking at him, but he didn’t care. “I’ve said it before Bazalgette, and I’ll say it again, you are a damned genius.”

  “The transition should become easier with practice, you’ll feel a bit woozy at first, but that should fade as you get used to it.”

  He flicked the switch back, and felt the strange shift in his visual field again, this time a little worse than before. He reached out to support himself on a chair.

  “Is everything all right?” Bazalgette asked.

  “It’s fine. The disorientation was a touch stronger. I just need more practice, and now I know what to expect, I’ll manage better.”

  “Don’t overdo it.” Bazalgette shrugged. “As if that’s likely.”

  “I will try,” Simmons replied with a grin, “but with a gift like this, I want to be back to my old self as soon as I can.”

  “Who am I kidding?” Bazalgette asked. “I give you a new toy and then tell you not to play with it.”

  “There is that,” Simmons said. “Why are the lenses red?”

  “Are they affecting your vision?”

  “No, I just noticed it before I put them on.”

  Bazalgette gave him a knowing nod. “That’s something else I’m working on, but I haven’t had a chance to complete it with the tight timescales. When I have a little more time, I’ll finish them.”

  Simmons clapped Bazalgette on the shoulder. “Thank you. This will make a world of difference. I’ll catch up with you on my return.”

  He turned to leave, but Bazalgette caught his arm. “You’ll need this before you go,” he said, handing Simmons a ring box.

  “What’s this?”

  “I re-engineered the device we used to locate Gabriel’s watch, and from what Dent told us, I’ve created something that should interfere with the Watchmen’s devices. It’s on a chain, and I’d suggest you wear it next to your skin. It reacts when any of the watches are active or in your general vicinity.”

  “How does that help if they are in use?”

  “It will deactivate the time field if they come within ten feet. You’ll feel a tingle if there’s one close by.”

  “How close?”

  “Within thirty feet or so.”

  “All right. Good to know.”

  “All the best out there Simmons,” Bazalgette said clasping and shaking his friend’s hand.

  “Look after yourself while I’m gone.”

  “You too. God save the Queen.”

  “God save the Queen,” Simmons replied, turning to leave the room, not knowing if that would be the last time he ever saw his friend.

  37

  The contact was due at six, and it was already a quarter past. Simmons stalked back towards the Lamb and Flag. The public house was on a narrow alley which somehow had managed the far grander title of Rose Street. Perhaps it had come about from its proximity to the Covent Garden Market just around the corner. Or, maybe the name had been a joke. The odour was more akin to offal and manure, with a strong dose of human sweat from the packed bodies along its length.

  The smell of tobacco smoke caught in his nostrils as he returned to the raucous din. Lynch had told him the locals called it ‘The Bucket O Blood’ for the bare-knuckle boxing bouts held each night. It seemed to Simmons a much more honest name for the establishment.


  The patrons spilt onto the narrow cobbled street, milling outside the building. Sloshing tankards of ale and loud conversation filling the tight brick-lined space. A match was due to start in the next few minutes, and the alley was rowdy with arguments and betting before the fighters began their craft.

  Simmons passed two revellers slumped on the cobbles having already overindulged in the cheap beer. There was no point in trying to get into the place, it was full of jostling bodies either seeking to make a wager or fighting to reach the bar for a refill. Instead, he found himself a section of wall to lean against and lit his pipe. Streams of blue smoke coiled into the air, mingling with the existing clouds.

  Shouts from inside, announcing the fight was about to begin, filtered into the alleyway. Another shoving match started as patrons pushed closer to the door and windows to see.

  “Spare a light, sir?”

  Simmons hadn’t noticed the man at his elbow approach. With all the commotion around, he’d blindsided him, coming from his right. He needed to get used to that. The fellow dressed in working clothes with a flat cap, the brim concealing his eyes in the poorly lit alley. “For a pipe, is it?”

  “No, it’s a little early in the evening for a pipe.”

  That was the passphrase Simmons was waiting for. “Never too early in my book,” he responded as instructed.

  The man pulled a cigar from his inside pocket and moved back from the crowd, now baying for blood, as the fight began. “Where are the others?”

  The ArcLighter produced a brilliant cross of electricity which set the dried tobacco smouldering. “They’re waiting a few streets away. Why are you late? Is there a problem?”

  “No, there was an inspection that ran later than expected. Everything is fine. Let’s take a walk, and then we can get you on your way. Follow me, then lead on once we reach the main street.”

  He turned, walking back along the alley. As they approached the end, the man knelt to tie his lace and Simmons passed him, heading to the waiting squad near the marketplace in a pair of hackney cabs.