Gaslit Revolution

by Jason Gilbert

  “Templars,” he said, staring at the cross tattoo. “The Gunmen and the Templars are the same people.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The sky began to change, giving way to purple and orange as the sun rose in the East. The air became new and warm, the sound of matics starting up carrying over from the coal yards that were still in operation. Airships passed overhead as if there hadn’t been a fight in the battle-torn coal yard the night before, as if people hadn’t lost their lives trying to protect themselves and loved ones.

  As if those who survived didn’t have hands now drenched in the blood of their enemies.

  Kane sat back against the wall in the coal yard office while Chris and a few others made a final sweep of the yard, making sure no more of their people were hiding or dead and unnoticed. The kid looked as tired as Kane felt. They all needed sleep. But it was too risky. Staying still for too long made them targets.

  Tabitha sat next to him, leaning back as she opened her mouth in a long and wide yawn.

  “Gods, I’m tired,” she muttered. “What is it they say? ‘Sleep is for the weak?’”

  “Something like that,” Kane said, not looking at her.

  She snorted.

  “Call me weak, then. I’m beat. And hungry.”

  “I could eat,” Kane said, his stomach growling. “Go get some rest. I’ll wake you when it’s time to move again.”

  Tabitha shook her head.

  “I want to go check in on Antonia.”

  Kane looked at her.

  “Little risky for us and her, don’t you think?”

  Tabitha shrugged. “I try not to.”

  Kane grunted.

  “Clouds the visions,” he said, finishing the joke. “I’ll think about it. Figure a way we can do it without wearing a big target.”

  “Do you plan to talk to that Gunman you knocked out last night?”

  Kane saw Chris shaking his head as he walked towards the office. He got a feeling in his gut, could tell something was wrong. Kane got to his feet, helped Tabitha up, and made his way to the office door. He opened it as Chris stopped a few feet from it.

  “What is it?” Kane asked. “What’s the problem?”

  “Just heard from one of the guys,” Chris said. “The Templar you knocked out last night? He woke up.”

  “He should’ve,” Kane said. “I wiped my amulet an hour ago.”

  “That’s about when he woke up,” Chris said, nodding. “And the plan was to come get you after we were done clearing the area.”

  “Okay.”

  Chris shuddered, his face going pale as he looked away.

  “He…Christ, he swallowed his own fucking tongue.”

  Kane heard Tabitha gasp behind him. He rubbed his eyes as Chris went on.

  “I’ve never seen anything like that. Why…why the hell would someone do that?”

  “How long ago?” Kane said, trying to get Chris’s focus back on track. “C’mon, Chris. How long?”

  “I just found out,” Chris said. “The guy who found him is still in the toilet puking.”

  Kane took his hat off and ran a hand through his hair.

  “Wonderful,” he muttered. “What about the others?”

  “They all activated the acid in their masks,” Chris said. “They’re all dead.”

  “Why do they keep doing that?” Tabitha asked. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “It makes sense to them,” Kane said as he put his hat back on. “They’d rather be dead than captured. They get captured, they could be made to talk. Talking means giving away information their leaders won’t like them giving away.”

  “Isn’t suicide a Cardinal Sin?” Chris asked. Kane looked at him as the kid shrugged. “Grandma was Catholic.”

  “Yeah,” Kane said with a nod. “It’s an instant ticket. But, like the Crusades, these guys were probably ‘pre-absolved.’ Means they’ve already been forgiven for anything they do in the name of the fight.”

  Pope Urban II had wanted to reclaim the Holy Land from the Muslims, and thus the Crusades became a reality. He’d promised Absolution to the Crusaders should they succeed, as well as land and prosperity. No matter what they did in the name of victory, in the name of driving back the Muslims, all would be forgiven in the eyes of God. It was one of the many things that made the Crusades a dark spot on the history of the Catholic Church.

  Tabitha shook her head.

  “Even in Viking lore, that’s not how it works. That’s not how any of this works.”

  Kane looked up at the sky, tried to focus his hearing. Outside of the sound of airship transports and patrols, there was nothing unusual.

  Yet.

  “We need a copy of the New Chicago Tribune,” he said, looking back down at Tabitha.

  Chris snorted.

  “That corporatist rag?” he said. “Why?”

  “Because they’ll report on things that affect them directly,” Kane said. “The assassination of the President, an attack in the city, and a group of police and Special Forces going into Hidden Valley and not coming back out will have them going in circles and spinning it into shots fired against them for no good reason. It might give us an idea of what their next move will be.”

  “You think Gentry will be so open?” Tabitha said. “He seems kind of secretive. And sneaky. And creepy. Really creepy.”

  Kane remembered the fight with Richard, remembered Richard talking about Gentry’s plan. He mentally kicked himself again for walking into the setup.

  “He’ll grandstand a little,” he said. “He won’t be able to help himself. Probably won’t hold a press conference, or even talk directly to them, but Danwood loves a good interview and can’t keep his mouth shut. And Gentry knows it.”

  Tabitha smiled.

  “I want the funny pages!”

  Kane knew one place he could get his hands on the New Chicago Tribune without getting caught in the city.

  While Chris and a few of his men finished in the coal yard, Kane and Tabitha went to Ralphie’s. They walked this time, avoiding magic. The risk of the Templars using Seekers to track them was too high, and Tabitha’s travel spell would tip them off for sure. Kane hadn’t told Chris where they were going. He wanted to make sure no one, not even the Revolution, knew where they were.

  They snuck around back of the restaurant and waited behind a dumpster until Ralphie opened the back door to dump the trash. Ralphie glanced at him as he walked past with the over-filled trash bag clutched in his large hands. He hefted it into the dumpster, then turned to the Magicians and nodded.

  “Well fancy seeing you two here,” he said. “And I’m hoping you bitches didn’t bring no cops around with you this time?” He put his hands on his hips. “Traffic’s been a little slow ever since that little shakedown the other night.”

  “Sorry about that, Ralphie,” Kane said. “They’re using Seekers to find us. We shouldn’t have used magic to get here.”

  “You shouldn’t have been here to begin with. What the hell are you doin’ here now?” Ralphie said. He eyed Tabitha. “What’re you grinnin’ about?”

  Kane looked at Tabitha and saw her smiling up at Ralphie, her eyes wide and excited.

  “Is it too early for pancakes?”

  Kane shook his head.

  “You have a problem,” he said as he looked from her to Ralphie. “We need a copy of the paper. Has it run yet?”

  “About an hour before the paper boy comes by,” Ralphie said. “He brings a few. Why?”

  “Need to look it over, see if we can figure out what’s next.”

  “You two look like hell,” Ralphie said with a deep sigh. “I heard about Antonia’s place. Don’t need my place goin’ up, either. But I can’t let you two stay out like this. Likely to get your asses shot stumblin’ around half asleep.”

  “As long as we don’t cast spells, they won’t find us,” Kane said. “No one knows we’re here.”

  Ralphie eyed him, then shook his head as he opened the door and motion
ed them in.

  “C’mon,” he said. “We’ll talk after you two get some sleep.”

  Tabitha looped her arm around Kane’s as she looked hopefully up at Ralphie, who looked at her and rolled his eyes.

  “And I’ll make your damn pancakes. Girl, you do have a problem.”

  Kane didn’t want to risk sleeping too long, so he’d asked Bette to give him three hours. It wasn’t enough. Kane knew he’d need at least eight. Or ten.

  Twelve would’ve been nice.

  He was asleep before his head hit the pillow in the apartment above the restaurant, Tabitha next to him already out cold and snoring. He’d asked Bette to leave her alone when it was time to wake him, to let her rest.

  Bette dutifully woke Kane three hours after he’d passed out. She’d been kind about it, waking him by gently shaking him and speaking to him softly as if she were his mother. Kane had thanked her, watched her leave, then turned to find Tabitha staring up at him.

  “You weren’t supposed to wake up,” he said. “Was gonna let you rest. Sorry.”

  “Oh, it doesn’t bother me,” she said. “Not gonna sleep up here without you, anyway.”

  “Why’s that?” Kane asked, smiling a little.

  She grinned as she leaned in close and kissed him gently on the lips. He returned the kiss, their arms wrapping around each other. Tabitha pulled away slightly and spoke.

  “I go where you go. Suck it up, Kane: you’re stuck with me.” She kissed him again. “And I don’t want this to end. Us. Like this.”

  She looked into his eyes, let himself get lost in her deep blues, longed for just a moment alone with her when they weren’t hiding away, weren’t dodging people trying to kill them.

  When they were laying in a bed that didn’t belong to someone Kane saw in a maternal light.

  “Not in Bette’s bed.”

  Tabitha nodded. “Oh. Yeah. That would be weird.”

  There was a booth in the far corner of the restaurant, tucked away where the blinds could be lowered without it looking suspicious. Kane had checked the diner out before agreeing to sit down, making sure he and Tabitha could duck into the bathroom quickly in case the wrong person showed up. It was a good hour before Ralphie opened, so there wasn’t much worry over customers wandering in. Still, it paid to be cautious.

  Tabitha ate hungrily on the large stack of pancakes Bette had brought her while Kane worked on his French toast plate. Bette came up and dropped the newspaper on the table, giving Kane a disapproving look.

  “You finish that plate of food, Kane Shepherd,” she said. “I’ll wager you two haven’t eaten since last time you were here.”

  Kane nodded, wiped his mouth with his napkin, and picked up the paper.

  “You’d win that wager,” he said. He unrolled the paper, his stomach feeling heavy as he read the headline. “Jesus.”

  PRESIDENT FROSTMEYER ASSASSINATED BY MAGICIANS!

  Tragedy struck the country yesterday at approximately 4pm during a press conference in New Chicago. A group of Magicians attacked the unsuspecting crowd in an attempt to assassinate the President of the Northern Union of America, Thomas Frostmeyer. The attempt was successful, and many innocent bystanders were also killed in the crossfire. Special Forces and Police were on the scene in a battle of bullets and magic, and were able to drive the Magician militia back. Unfortunately, their efforts to save President Frostmeyer proved futile. President Thomas Frostmeyer has been assassinated.

  “This is a truly tragic, unprecedented cycle of events,” said Police Commissioner William Gentry when interviewed. “President Frostmeyer had great ambition, great vision for what he wanted to do with this country. He will be missed.”

  As for the Magician Army, Commissioner Gentry has promised no leniency.

  “We will not tolerate magic activity in this city, or in the Northern Union,” Gentry said. “Magicians will be killed on sight. We cannot afford to let this menace continue. Too many innocent lives were lost today.”

  Per city protocol established by the Northern Oligarchy, Commissioner Gentry will be stepping in as acting Mayor until new candidates can be selected for a special election in the coming weeks. President Frostmeyer was unable to select a Vice President before his untimely death. Congress will act as the ruling body until a special election can be held to place a new President in office.

  The article went on about Frostmeyer’s background in business, and how his election was unprecedented and necessarily unorthodox. And about Gentry’s role as Police Commissioner. And his background as an immigrant loyal to the Northern Union. And how wonderfully they’d both served the city over the years.

  The worship in the paper made Kane sick.

  “Can I see?” Tabitha said, her hand out.

  Kane handed her the paper as he looked up at Bette.

  “There’s no mention of the Gunman shooting the place up,” he said. “No mention of the big damned machine gun he was using. Nothing about Antonia’s home, nothing about the fight last night at the coal yard.”

  Bette set the coffee pot down on the table.

  “That’s not surprising,” she said. “Anymore, they keep to what they’re told to report.”

  Kane shook his head.

  “They’re covering it up. Changing the narrative to put it all on us. It’s like the shooting under the walking bridge the other day. The less the general public knows, the better.”

  “Kane,” Tabitha said. “Your name is in this article.”

  Kane rolled his eyes, spoke in monotone.

  “I know. Apparently, I led the whole thing. I’m a crazed killer Magician with a thirst for blood. Fear me.”

  Tabitha smiled.

  “I just think it’s nice that you made the paper.” Her eyes widened with excitement. “Kane! You’re famous!” She dropped the paper and clapped her hands rapidly. “I’m dating a famous person!”

  Kane ignored her as he retrieved the paper and scanned the article again.

  “Notice how they keep using the word ‘tragic.’ ‘Tragedy.’ ‘Tragic.’ Over and over.”

  “Kind of repetitive if you ask me,” Tabitha said.

  “Not at all. It’s smart.” Kane looked at her over the paper as she took another bite of her pancakes. “It’s how they drive the message home. Tell the reader how to think. What to think. Build sympathy for their side. Keep using the same words, the same terms over and over, and it eventually sticks.” Kane tossed the paper onto the seat beside him.

  “If they’re controlling the newspapers and what gets reported, they could make up any story they want,” Bette said, frowning. “Who knows what the truth is anymore?”

  Kane felt suddenly cold. He dropped his fork on his plate, his stomach a knot as if someone had slugged him in the gut. A low thrum sounded from far away. He’d warned Chris. Over and over. He knew that thrum, that dull drone. He opened his hearing, not wanting to believe what his ears picked up.

  Ready the sweep. We get one chance. Make it look good. Mortars at the ready. Cannons at the ready.

  Stand by. Wait for my signal.

  Kane looked at Tabitha, saw her brilliant blue eyes turn completely white as her body went rigid.

  “Kane?”

  “I know,” he said, standing. Bette stepped back out of the way, looking at him in a panic.

  “What?” she said. “Kane, what is it? You two are scaring me!”

  Tabitha spoke, her voice low and masculine.

  “Run. Everyone run. All dead. We’re all dead.”

  Kane pulled the slats in the blinds down slightly, looked out over Hidden Valley as the sun began to rise in the morning sky. The shadow was huge, looming over Hidden Valley, clouds parting like gates as the massive Battle Cruiser descended from the sky, hovered over the community just low enough for a sky scraper to come mere feet touching her. Large searchlights scoured the ground, combed over the streets and buildings below.

  Memories flashed in Kane’s mind, fire and death, people screaming as they ra
n, as they burned. Buildings engulfed in flames, collapsing under the heat and firepower.

  The last moments of Charleston.

  Tabitha joined Kane at the window as Bette called for Ralphie.

  “By the Hammer of Thor…” she breathed, trailing off. She shook her head. “Kane…they’re going to—”

  Chesterfield’s voice cut her off in Kane’s ears, canned and raspy in the breathing gear.

  “Take to the streets. Do not kill. Incapacitate only if resisted. That’s an order!”

  “No, they’re not,” Kane said, turning fully to her. “You’re staying in here. Keep Bette and Ralphie safe.”

  Tabitha nodded, her eyes wide in fear.

  “Kane, what’s happening?”

  “Chesterfield,” Kane said, looking back out the window. He clenched his fist by his side. “He wants a fight. And I’m gonna give him one.”

  Tabitha put her hands on his chest as if to stop him from walking.

  “Kane, no,” she said. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

  Kane didn’t hide his irritation.

  “Tabitha, move.”

  “No, just—”

  “I said move!”

  She pounded her fists on his chest, slugged his arm as she shouted at him, her tone angry. “Fucking listen to me, Kane!”

  Kane blinked, his feet feeling as if she’d frozen them to the floor. Hearing Tabitha curse caught him off guard. She rarely did it, and he couldn’t remember a time when she’d used the f-word.

  She looked up at him her eyes watered and her lip trembling as she stared into his eyes.

  “I’ve got a…horrible feeling about this. I saw something in that last vision. When that dead man spoke to me. Don’t do this.”

  Kane started to argue, then stopped as Chesterfield’s voice echoed from the streets. All three of them went to the window and looked out as the general and three of his men walked slowly down the other side of the road, looking in windows, their guns aimed.