by Gareth Clegg
Nathaniel managed a weak smile. Fletcher grinned, and Blake took point finding a trail for them to follow. Other than the black clouds of smoke rising from the fires within the city, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky.
45
Simmons woke to a blinding hangover. He closed his eye, trying to blot out the bright light streaming in through the curtained windows, but could still see a red glow through his eyelid.
Piecing together the fragments of last night, he tried to fathom how he came to be in a luxurious bedroom. His stomach roiled and grumbled as he pushed himself upright on the bed and waited until he felt able to stand. He stumbled across to the window and flung aside the curtains, not wanting to prolong the agony. It was like taking a dressing off, best to get it done quickly.
He was high up, overlooking a flooded section of the Thames. Below was the rubble remains of an old church. Ah, Morton’s Tower, Diamond Annie’s abode.
Now he remembered Isaac and Annie plying him with spirits until… Well, he didn’t recall them stopping, to be honest. His entire body ached from his encounter with Maddox, but his ribs were particularly sore on the left. He gently probed the bandaged area and regretted it, wincing.
A soft knock at the door interrupted his agony. “Come in.”
Isaac poked his head into the room. “Thought I heard you shuffling about. How you feeling?”
“Like I went ten rounds with a mad dog,” he laughed and grunted again, pain lancing through his left side.
“Yeah, maybe keep off the funnies until them ribs heal. Annie strapped you up, reckons you cracked three of ‘em pretty bad.”
“You must thank her for me.”
“You can do it yourself. She’s downstairs.”
“Very well, lead on.”
Isaac hesitated. “Perhaps put some trousers on first, eh?”
Simmons looked down at his stained undergarments. “Good call.”
“I’ll wait, give you a hand down the stairs. You know how tricky it gets when you’re getting on in years.” He winked then closed the door.
“So are you ready to move on?” Annie asked.
“Yes, and thank you again for your timely intervention the other day.” Simmons raised his glass. “Cheers.”
“Well, we had a mutual friend we both had business with. It were the least I could do.”
“The least would have been to leave me there while you sat here drinking this fine whisky.”
“I couldn’t do that. My old man likes you, and what is it with this Bazalgette geezer? He won’t stop going on about him. Keeps telling me to put him on the payroll, that he can fix anything.”
Simmons smiled. “Yes, he has that effect on people. But I don’t feel he’d fit in here. He has trouble turning a blind eye if you catch my drift.”
“Straight-laced, is he?”
“You could say that. So what now for Diamond Annie?”
She tilted her head, eyes considering the rainbow-speckled ceiling. “I’m not sure yet. I think it’s time for the Elephants to hang around for the looting and fighting to get out of control. Perhaps then, we can move in on the City and see if we can’t sort things out.”
“So, wait long enough for everyone to lose hope, then swoop in and become saviours to the poor folk of London?”
“Something like that, yeah.”
“What about the other gangs?”
“Nothing much happening. A lot of them are dead or scattered after Josiah led them on his fool’s crusade. Their leadership is shattered and unpopular. Might be time for a new recruitment campaign. With the Black Guard in disarray, there may never be a better chance to stake a claim to part of the Inner-City, rather than living here in the fog.”
“I never thought I’d be saying this to someone like you, Annie,” Simmons said, taking another puff on his pipe. “But best of luck to you.”
“Thank you. I’ve no idea what the future holds, but you’re welcome back anytime you’re in London. Come look me up, I hear Kensington Palace needs new tenants. It’s a bit poky here, don’t you think?”
Simmons tried to stifle a chuckle but instead grimaced with discomfort. “I never told you. I was sorry that Gracie didn’t make it.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but she was in a bad way after Maddox. He got what he deserved. It don’t bring her back, but I feel better about it, and it’s what she would have wanted. Take care, Simmons. I hope you find what you’re looking for in this life.”
“You too.”
“The old fella said he’d give you a ride to wherever you want. He’s waiting outside on that bloody boat.”
“Good day, Mister S,” Isaac called from his usual mooring by the ruined church.
“How do you do, you old dog? You kept things quiet about that daughter of yours.”
“Well, it don’t do to go gossiping about family matters when you don’t know people proper.”
“That’s fair enough,” Simmons said. “Permission to come aboard?”
“Always. Let me get that bag for you.” Isaac reached out hooking the satchel from Simmons and helping him on deck. “So, I hear you might need a lift. Anywhere particular in mind?”
“Well, you wouldn’t know where Bazalgette is, would you?”
Isaac smiled. “It just so happens that I do. Take a seat, I’ll go put the kettle on.”
46
The house was large enough that they weren’t living in each other’s pockets, but not so big they got lost in it. Fifteen had survived the escape from ArcNet. Callam had become the Empress’ go-between after taking over from Gabriel when she went to face Josiah.
Simmons’ return had been joyful. It mortified Bazalgette when he thought he’d injured his friend’s cracked ribs after an overenthusiastic hug on seeing him. They caught up on the events over the past few days and exchanged their personal stories.
Simmons spun a tale about his encounter with Maddox and his rescue by Diamond Annie. He left out the part about her being Isaac’s daughter, waiting for Isaac himself to chime in, but he remained silent about the matter.
Fletcher told of the escape through ArcNet as the floodwaters rose, but try as she might to involve Bazalgette in the tale, he made his excuses and found work that required his attention. She backtracked covering what they’d seen of Rosie, but it was a low point in the otherwise joyful reunion.
Lynch gave her update in the precise manner they all expected from her, then returned to organising her squad which had taken their role as the Empress’ new bodyguard. Reports from Blake and Turner told of running battles in the city streets and fights over access to commodities and natural resources. Life in London sounded ruthless and bloody.
All that remained was for Simmons to meet the Empress. He wasn’t sure why, but he’d dreaded this moment. It was early evening when Callam entered the kitchen. “She’ll see you now.”
He took the steps slowly. They’d established a few upstairs rooms as her living quarters, comfortable, but not lavish as one would have expected. He stopped outside the door and took a deep breath before knocking.
“Please come in.”
The room was golden with the late sun, shadows starting to grow from the trees beyond the large window which overlooked an area of green woodland.
Empress Victoriana II sat at a writing desk scribing a letter while a small mountain of paper lay beside her. Simmons inclined his head. “Your Imperial Majesty.”
She glanced up. “Please take a seat, Mr Simmons.” She pointed with her left hand to a chair by the desk, “I shall only be a moment.”
As she continued with her reply, he crossed the room and sat. Victoria was a long way removed from how he’d last seen her. Gone was the young ragamuffin, caked in her own filth. In her place was a lady of impeccable grooming and posture. Her sapphire gown enhanced the colour of her eyes, intent as they were on the letter she was completing. With a swirl and flourish, she signed and laid the fountain pen to rest, turning to face him.
“Thank you
for indulging me, Mr Simmons, or do you prefer Sir Pelham?”
“God’s no,” he said. “Simmons is fine, your Majesty.”
She smiled, and in that moment he was no longer stood by a late teenager, recently scrubbed of filth, but before the Empress of the British Empire. Something about her manner and poise put him at ease. And that smile, he felt the corner of his own lips rising in response.
“Mr Simmons it is then. I have heard much about you from the others here, and it seems I am in your debt. You led the squad that rescued me from that squalid cellar in Kensington Palace, and for that, you have my eternal thanks.”
“Oh no, ma’am. I was merely one of the group sent to locate and retrieve you. Major Lynch should take the credit for her team’s performance in that endeavour.”
“Hmm,” she said. “I have heard Sara’s account of things, and they tell a somewhat different tale.”
“Sara?”
“Major Lynch.”
Simmons nodded. “Apologies, I wasn’t aware she was named Sara.”
“Well, now that’s cleared up, perhaps we can get onto more pressing matters?”
“I’m sorry your Majesty,” he said, dropping his view to the floor. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
She laughed. “Please, Mr Simmons, do not apologise to me. If it weren’t for your involvement, I would still be laying in a darkened cellar awaiting the next round of questions from my captors. Look at me.”
He raised his eyes to meet hers, intense blue. “You and the others royalists within this house saved me from God knows what fate those monsters had in store for me. I am indebted to you, all of you, and I intend to make sure that everyone learns that once I return to power.”
He sighed. “That might be a difficult journey ma’am.”
She nodded. “I know that it will not be easy. I am young, inexperienced, and unfortunate enough to find myself placed into a situation where the regent was a man of considerable personal ambition.”
“General Robertson has a lot to answer for.”
“Yes, but it seems he has answered for it with his life, and that now we must think about how we move forward while the council is off-guard. I need to re-establish my position, but I fear that is not possible here. I have spoken with the others at length and made my desires known, but wanted to confer with you before making a final decision.”
“What do my thoughts have to do with anything? You are Empress. What you decide, we obey.”
“No,” she replied with a shake of her head. “One thing I learned very early with my tutors was it is easier to lead than to push. It is better to have advisors, who know much more than I about their areas of specialism than to try to learn everything myself. With the right people around me, I can make informed decisions based on sound advice.”
“And your dilemma at the moment is how to regain your power?”
“It is. And I would have your thoughts on it, Mr Simmons.”
Simmons took a few moments. “Well, you have no obvious friends here in London with any force to support and protect you. The city is a mess. The remnants of the Black Guard hide within their sanctums while running street battles rage as people fight to take what they can and carve out kingdoms of their own.”
“I agree with everything you have said. That is why I plan to leave London and head to Glasgow to meet with my grandmother’s staunchest ally, John Brown.”
“Is he still alive?”
“I am led to believe so, and that he rules the second city of the Empire in all but name.”
Simmons nodded. “On the surface, it seems sound. There are a few minor inconveniences in our way, such as a means of transport, and travel through the wilderness is dangerous, even for those experienced in the wilds.”
Victoria looked at him. “I hear, Mr Simmons, that you are well versed in trips beyond the protective confines of the city walls. And I am pleased that you say that these are difficulties in our way. I take it then you are on board with my idea?”
He hadn’t realised he’d already accepted the task, but yes, he liked this young woman and her down-to-earth attitude. She was intelligent, charming and seemed mature beyond her years. She had a talent for making people feel comfortable in her presence and a refreshing ability to talk on their level. It boded well for her future as leader of the British Empire.
“Yes,” he said. “I suppose I am.”
The following day, Victoria formed a new council of three, with Callam and Lynch as the other appointed members. The Empress held only one vote but had the power to veto any decision she strongly objected to. It hadn’t been her idea, the other two had demanded it. Victoria relented but insisted she would never need to use it. Hers was a route of diplomacy, and she had already shown excellent judgement when asking for advice from those around her.
Days passed as Lynch worked on the escape plan, and regular forays into the walled city netted a surplus of supplies for their coming journey. It would be difficult travelling through the vast tracts of wilderness, but there were options to make it somewhat easier. There was still a track that ran from London to Glasgow. The trains that travelled it were armoured beasts hauled by powerful diesel-electric locomotives. The Black Guard used them for transporting trade goods and important dignitaries when required. This had piqued Bazalgette’s interest, and he was busy familiarising himself with as much as he could find about the vehicles. The train yard at Euston was their best bet, and Lynch was already planning the operation.
Along with the trips into the city came worrying tales of violence as factions fought to fill the vacuum left by the Black Guard. They’d retreated within their steel walls, licking their wounds while they planned their next move. The news of Robertson’s death must have shaken them, and all kinds of rumours abounded as to what this meant for the council.
Isaac caught Simmons and Bazalgette’s attention over breakfast. “I wanted to say farewell before I left.”
“But I thought you’d come with us,” Bazalgette said, fork halting halfway towards his mouth.
Simmons shook his head. “No, it’s that girl of his.”
Isaac stared back, wrinkles creasing his forehead.
Bazalgette laughed. “Oh, yes. How could you leave your blessed boat?”
Simmons threw him a quick wink and Isaac seemed to relax. “Yeah. You know how it is? London is my home, and the poor old girl still needs waterline repairs. I can’t see myself leaving either of them, not for long anyhow.”
He smiled at them. “It seems you lot have a long journey ahead of you, so I’ll keep it short and let you finish your food in peace. It’s been a pleasure working with both you gentlemen. If you ever need a waterman in these parts again, you know where to find me.”
Isaac stood, his chair scraping the stone tiles, and reached his hand across the table. Both Simmons and Bazalgette rose, and Simmons clasped the older man’s arm. “The pleasure has been all ours, Isaac. Never fear, we’ll look you up on our return. Good luck, and I hope you and your family do well in the weeks to come. Things are changing.”
Isaac nodded and turned to Bazalgette. “I was sorry to hear about Rosie, and I know how it feels to lose someone close like that. I understand there’s nothing I can do to help while it’s still this raw, but believe me when I say it does get better, Nathaniel.”
Bazalgette sniffed, trying to keep his eyes on Isaac’s. “Thank you,” he said, his voice quiet. “I’ll be fine, just keeping myself busy for now. Plenty needs doing here before we’re ready to leave, and you best look after that engine. I don’t want to return here to find it coughing and spluttering again.”
The tension broke, and they all laughed as Isaac shook Bazalgette’s hand. “No need to worry about that. She’ll be good as new next time you see her.” He slapped the younger man on the shoulder, then turned and left, arm raised in farewell.
Bazalgette fussed between his work and looking after Simmons, but sadness filled his eyes whenever he stopped, and so he kept himself bus
y. Losing Rosie had struck him hard, and Simmons wasn’t good at talking about his feelings. How he had failed to manage with Surita’s death was no use in passing on. What advice could he offer? He tried to think of how to approach the subject with his friend, but there was always something else that required either his or Bazalgette’s attention. Maybe tomorrow he’d find a way.
Bazalgette slammed a battered copy of the London Standard onto the table. “Have you seen this? They’ve painted us as the bloody villains.”
“Did you expect something different?” Simmons asked. “History is written by the victors, or at least by the power that survives.”
“Well, no. I suppose not.”
Simmons winced at the sharp pain that lanced through him as he lifted the paper. His ribs were still sore after four days, granted he hadn’t rested as Lynch had told him, but damn it, couldn’t they just heal already? He read the headlines.
EMPRESS SURVIVES ASSASSINATION ATTEMPT
In a cowardly attack, a group of traitors to the Empire murdered over fifty of the Black Guard who valiantly fought to defend their beloved Empress from the vile assault.
WANTED: Pelham Simmons - disgraced former colonial governor, known dissident and murderer.
WANTED: Nathaniel Bazalgette - Bomb-maker and mastermind behind the terror campaign throughout London.
£1,000 reward for information leading to the capture of these wicked killers.
“A thousand pounds?” Simmons said. “I might hand myself in for that kind of money.”
“This isn’t something we should joke about. They’re calling me a bomb-maker.”
“Come on, Bazalgette, it’s just scare tactics. They’re trying to make it as difficult as possible for us. If they get hold of Victoria, they’ll be right back into the same game with somebody new pulling the strings.”