Dusk's Revenge

by A. W. Exley

  As he watched Beatrice berate the supervisor, the warm spot in his chest grew larger.

  13

  Having reassured himself that the child was all right, Elijah relinquished her to a relative who worked in the adjoining room. He found he had nothing to do except return to the small weaving room. Beatrice accompanied him only long enough to turn the switch to start the looms.

  “I’m going to go find my uncle and tell him the girl gets the rest of the day off on full pay,” she said and pointed to the door. Heat shimmered from her outstretched hand.

  He nodded and turned back to his new job. Elijah hoped that Francis Hamilton bore the full force of her anger and that she reduced him to a pile of ash.

  Elijah watched the shuttles flick first left to right, then right to left on their return journey. It was boring work, and yet he couldn’t afford for his mind to drift. Dozing around machinery was a surefire way to become the next accident. He needed to be alert for when the bobbin in the shuttle ran out of thread so he could exchange it for a full one.

  It was after the lunch break before Beatrice reappeared. There was a worried set to her features that made him stop the machines to hear what she had to say.

  “I spoke to my uncle about the incident, and he would like to see you at the house tonight. Eight o’clock and don’t be late.” She wound her hands in her skirts as she spoke, which only increased his sense of dread.

  Was this it? A visit to the Hamilton mansion, where he would be denounced as a filthy Warder and incinerated in a large fireplace? At least he had a valid excuse for avoiding Peggy at the old barn that night.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing to worry about. He probably just wants to thank you for saving the child.” She flashed a brief smile, but worry took up residence in her eyes.

  He nodded and kept a tight grip on a calm exterior. “I won’t be late. I promise.”

  She let go of her skirts to clasp her hands together. “Good. That is that, then. I had better go. I have received my own summons that I must answer.”

  Elijah stared at the door long after she left. He worked through several scenarios in his head, none of which ended well for him. With a sigh, he decided to leave thinking about it until later. The best time to start worrying would be 7:55 p.m.

  He shut down the looms an hour before knockoff time. He was satisfied with the progress made on the silk cloth, and since Beatrice had already gone for the day, he would use the opportunity to dig into some more dark corners.

  Over a period of days, he had become familiar with the parts of the mill that housed the carding, spinning, and weaving machines. That afternoon he turned in a different direction. Always, he kept searching for the door to the basement. It had to be there. Somewhere.

  Elijah took a corridor he hadn’t walked before and oriented himself to keep heading towards the rear lawn. He pushed through heavy double doors that were intended to work as fire stops, and he turned into yet another long corridor. This one made the hairs on the back of his neck rise up.

  The windows were coated in grime from years of being overlooked by cleaners. With the descent of twilight outside, even the strongest shaft of light struggled to touch the dull floorboards. Despite his distance from the weaving floors, the vibrations seemed stronger here. He followed the thrum, as though it were a string, tugging at him.

  At the far end of the corridor stood a single black door. The paint was long overdue for a sand and repaint, and pieces hung like peeling bark. He grabbed the worn knob and turned, his gut saying it wouldn’t be locked.

  Opening the door, he found the floor dropped straightaway into steep stairs. Elijah trod on the first step and pulled the door shut behind him. He reached out and placed one hand on the wall to his right to steady himself as he descended in the dark. Metal rang out under his boots, and he slowed his steps to stop the noise.

  Finally, his boot trod on earth, and the familiar tingle of his element ran up his leg. He stood in the silence, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the gloom. At last, he had found it. A tiny slither of light crept in under the large sliding doors and reached as far as it could, propelled by the late afternoon drop in the sun’s position.

  A flash ran along the rail track that entered the basement and arched left to disappear under another doorway. A light breeze squeezed through the chinks in the wooden doors and brought the fresh aroma of grass from beyond.

  Elijah cast around, looking for a lantern or anything to add light to his exploration of the space. A squat shape sat next to the wall and he picked it up. A lantern. But what he needed now was something to light the wick. His hand dropped to his pocket and the matches inside. What had made him bring matches today? Whatever instinct had made him grab the box, he was grateful. He lit the lamp and turned to survey the basement.

  The ground was bare dirt and layers of coal dust. Beatrice had said the storage basement hadn’t been used in years, yet oddly the tracks were clear of rust. In places the metal looked bright, as though something had passed over the rails fairly recently. The earth beside the tracks was scuffed, as though someone had dragged their feet as they’d pushed a cart.

  The steady thrum was louder here, the vibrations running through his bones. With no one to see, he touched his element. Elijah let his consciousness reach out and caress the earth. The ground under him sobbed, asking for his help, but its words were fragmented and unintelligible. All he understood was pain and confusion, as though the earth had spun around and around, become dizzy, and feared it would topple over.

  He tried to remember how the earth had felt under the mill in Alysblud, but never had the ground risen up to meet him with such anguish. Did the earth suffer because the mill was run by Soarers, who hated Gaia?

  He held the lamp up and followed the rail tracks to a smaller set of doors. A metallic clink made him pause as a shape moved in the shadows and rattled towards the light.

  “Go away,” the figure rasped.

  “No, not until I discover what is beyond these doors,” Elijah said.

  He held the lantern towards the voice, straining his eyes to see who was down here with him.

  The man raised an arm and shielded his face from the tiny flame. He turned his body, and the chain attached to his ankle snaked behind him.

  “That’s not for you to know. Go back.” The man gestured to the stairs with his other arm while keeping his face covered.

  Elijah shook his head. Whatever this man had done, he was trapped and couldn’t stop him.

  “I’m not leaving yet,” he said, and he reached out for the door. There was no visible handle, and he wondered if it slid on a top track like the outer doors. The door didn’t move at his first push. He wondered if it were either locked or stuck. He set the lantern on the ground so that he could tackle the door with two hands.

  As Elijah placed both hands on the door, a hand dropped to his shoulder.

  “I told you to go back.”

  The whistle blew six times, and Elijah frowned. Where did the time go? His head seemed stuffed full of cotton, and his eyes were tired, as though he’d stared at the loom shuttle too hard. Perhaps he’d dropped off and hadn’t realised. Although that didn’t explain why he was standing outside one of the spinning rooms.

  He remembered his promise to Beatrice to not be late. He had two hours to get home, wash, make himself presentable, and meet his doom. Pushing aside the lost hour, he hurried to collect his things and headed home.

  “You coming to the pub tonight?” Manny asked as he caught Elijah heading out the gate.

  “Not tonight. I’ve been summoned up the hill.” He gestured to the house that stood guard over the village.

  “I heard you broke a loom. Hamilton probably wants to tell you in person that your wages are docked.” Manny chuckled.

  “I didn’t break it. It can’t have been set properly if my nudging it made it lock up. Give my apologies to Peggy for me.” He thumped his friend on the shoulder.

  “Oh, I’ll tell her. But do
n’t be surprised if John comforts her over it.” The left side of Manny’s face screwed up as he winked.

  The men parted company and Elijah walked briskly down the road to the cottage. As he stepped in the back door, peace and quiet washed over him. Hector and Marjory were playing an intense game of checkers at the kitchen table.

  “I’ve been summoned to the Hamilton house. I need to be there at eight o’clock sharp,” Elijah said as he shut the back door.

  Hector and Marjory both looked up from their game and stared at him as though he had sprouted a second head.

  “You cannot go. Can he, Hector? Tell the lad he’s to stay here.” Marjory looked from Elijah to Hector with deep worry lines pulling her brows down.

  Elijah wrapped his fingers around the back of the chair. “You cannot forbid me, Marjory. Beatrice thinks her uncle may simply want to thank me for saving a child today whose hair became entangled in a loom.”

  Hector grunted and rubbed a hand over his chin. “Would you lay me out something respectable, my beloved? I’m going to go shave before we head out.”

  “You’re coming?” Elijah rocked backwards and took the chair with him.

  Hector rose to his full, lanky height. “Your uncle would never forgive me if I let you go alone into the hyena’s den. Nor would Marjory ever let me hear the end of it.”

  Marjory reached out and took the older man’s hand. “You don’t have to do this, Hector.”

  He squeezed her hand. “Yes, I do. Eli is family, and I’ll be there beside him. I might not be any good in a fight, but I’ve a fair arm for throwing crockery.”

  Little was said over the next hour. Both men washed, shaved, and dressed in fresh clothing. Marjory doted over brushing Elijah’s hair, as though he were going to attend a special church service. Thankfully, she didn’t lick a hankie and use it to scrub his face like she used to do when he was smaller.

  Hector picked up a tea towel and rubbed his bare head to make his skin gleam.

  They harnessed the horse and with a lantern on either side of the cart, they set off for the imposing Hamilton homestead. The pathway wound up the hill towards the house. Built of a pale stone, it seemed to glow in the moonlight. Lights danced and flickered from every window.

  With tall columns and a square façade, it was built in the Georgian style. Elijah calculated that the house was only around a hundred years old. The Hamiltons were relatively new to the area. The Setons had settled in Alysblud three hundred years before, and Ravenswing Manor reflected the Tudor architecture popular at the time.

  As they neared the house, a footman stood at a fork in the driveway and waved a lantern. He directed them to the side of the building.

  “It appears we are to use the tradesmen entrance,” Elijah said.

  Hector clucked his tongue at the horse and the obliging animal veered right. They rattled under an arch that hid the business and servants’ side of the house from the public’s view. Hector pulled the horse to a halt, and both men jumped down to the ground.

  Elijah placed his hand on Hector’s arm and leaned close. “Are you sure about this? You could wait with the horse.”

  Hector patted his hand. “I’m not going to lie to you, lad. I’m so scared I could piss myself. But I’m still man enough to have your back.”

  Elijah huffed a quiet laugh. “Let’s save you wetting yourself for if we need a hasty exit.”

  Hector squinted at him in the dark. “I’m not following you.”

  “I doubt they would want urine all over their expensive floors and carpets. They’d probably pick you up and rush you to the door like a puppy caught peeing in the corner.”

  Hector barked a laugh and thumped him on the back. “We’ll make do, the two of us.”

  A junior-looking footman waited for them at a side entrance. He gestured to the darkened hallway. “Follow me, please.”

  They followed the man’s back along a hallway, up a narrow set of stairs, and then along another hall. At the end, he pushed open an unremarkable door to reveal the family side of the house. The sombre, small, and unadorned rooms of the servants became a wide-open and airy space.

  “Gosh,” Hector muttered as he strained his neck looking up.

  Pale marble columns rose far above their heads. The walls were draped in pale silver and blue silk. Even the roof was pale blue with gold gilding. The floor was bright white tiles. Elijah thought of Greeks ascending Olympus to visit the gods. Or in this case, walking among those clouds to see Ouranus, the sky god with his Soarer children.

  “Those must be a bugger to dust.” Hector pointed to the gold chandeliers that hung thirty feet above them.

  Elijah bit back his laughter. If a sylph could lower themselves to do housework, the air Elementals could make short work of dusty fittings.

  The footman stopped at a double set of white doors. The panelling was picked out in silver and gold. He rapped softly with his knuckles, as though he didn’t want to disturb the occupants, and then waited.

  One door parted and a stern face appeared in the gap. “Yes?”

  “The man Mr Hamilton asked to attend him has arrived. With another, sir,” the footman whispered.

  “Another?” The door opened wider to show the short form of a butler in a black uniform. He was an odd sight among the pale surroundings, like a lump of coal tossed to the snow.

  “My grandfather, Algernon Hector, wishes to pay his respects to Mr Hamilton,” Elijah said.

  The butler made a noise halfway between a cough and a snort of derision. Then he opened the door to admit them.

  “Messers Elijah Hector and Algernon Hector, sir.” The butler stepped aside to reveal the room.

  Elijah and Hector walked to the middle of the lavish drawing room. The cloud-like theme continued with varying shades of pale blue and grey that reminded Elijah of an overcast sky. The wooden floors were whitewashed, and thick white rugs spread over them.

  Francis Hamilton, clad in a silver evening jacket and cream trousers, sat on a divan in front of Elijah. Beatrice sat nearby, wearing a deep red velvet gown. Her posture was stiff and her fingers clutched a fan.

  Several other people were gathered around on chairs or standing by the walls. Salamanders and sylphs were obvious by their choice of clothing. Elijah counted three of each, and he wondered which of the sylphs had delivered the final blow to his father. Including Francis Hamilton, Beatrice, and Archie, there were nine Soarers in the room, and Elijah gritted his teeth against the combined resonance rolling off of them. It was as though a gaggle of banshees were screaming in his ear. It took all of his effort to let the screech roll through him.

  He remembered Hector’s analogy of the hyena pack, and it struck home as he waited. They were exactly like that. Predatory. Circling behind as they looked for any weakness. Waiting for the signal to leap on him and rip out his throat.

  14

  “I thought you told the lad to attend me, Beatrice. Who is the old man?” Francis turned to Beatrice with a sneer on his lips.

  Beatrice looked to Elijah, her eyes wide as she shot him an unspoken question.

  “Mr Hamilton, this is my grandfather, Algernon Hector. He was born in Kessel and has returned here to see out his twilight years. He wanted to pay his respects,” Elijah said.

  Hamilton arched one pale brow. “Pay his respects? How provincial of you. He’s not incontinent, is he? These rugs are worth far more than the two of you combined.”

  Elijah couldn’t vouch for the state of Hector’s bladder, given that was exactly their escape plan. Better to change the subject. “Miss Hamilton said you wished to discuss the child who was injured today?”

  “Yes. I understand you broke an expensive loom.” He stretched one arm along the back of the sofa and examined his nails on the other hand.

  Elijah ground his teeth, but held his tongue. He allowed himself an outburst inside his head while he considered what to say aloud. “I bumped the loom when I reached for the child. It must not have been sitting correctly that
it stopped so easily.”

  Francis dropped his hand to his knee and blew out a sigh. Still he refused to look directly at Elijah. “Would you make someone else liable for damage you caused?”

  Elijah fell silent. He wanted to grab the man by the throat and ask how exactly he could complain about a piece of equipment and completely ignore that a child was nearly scalped.

  Beatrice jumped from her seat and paced to Elijah’s side. “A child nearly had the hair ripped from her head. A child who should never have been working in the mill in the first place, given she is barely eight years old. Modern humane mills don’t employ anyone under the age of twelve. If our mill didn’t have such medieval practices like using children, this accident would never have happened.”

  At last Francis looked up, fixing a cold stare on Beatrice. “It is not your place to make mill policy decisions.” Then he gestured to Archie, who leaned on the piano. “You need to learn to control your future wife, Lawson. Do you want her making rambling leftist comments at your dinner guests? She’ll quite scare away all your business associates.”

  Those assembled laughed and Beatrice balled her hands into her gown. Elijah wanted to reach for her, to let her know he was on her side. But such an open display would cause more trouble than it would soothe.

  Archie Lawson sneered at him, almost goading him to say something and reveal his growing feelings for Beatrice. Elijah locked glances with the other man and wished for the chance to push up his sleeves, raise his fists, and offer to settle things with the salamander.

  “Is there anything else you wish to discuss with me, sir?” Elijah asked, turning back to Francis Hamilton. He kept his hands clasped behind his back where he could dig his nails into his palm to hold back his rising temper.

  “Don’t interfere again. You are to assist Beatrice in her little hobby, not crash around damaging expensive equipment. You are lucky Beatrice will pay for repairs from her allowance. Next time, I’ll strip it from your hide.” He waved his hand, dismissing his guests.