Gaslit Revolution

by Jason Gilbert

  “The Magicians are in position,” he said.

  “Very good,” Cybil replied. “Be ready, Hoyle. We move in on my word.”

  “It’s risky,” Hoyle said. “A lot of us might die tonight.”

  Cybil kept her eyes straight as she spoke to him, her jaw set.

  “It’s a price we all pay in war, Mr. Hoyle. The goal isn’t to go into battle and emerge with no casualties. The goal is to have as few as possible.” She glanced at Kane. “If we die, others will have to move forward. I’m ready. Are you, Mr. Shepherd?”

  Kane shook his head. “Not tonight.”

  She gave him a smirk.

  “Very good.”

  Kane glanced over his shoulder as Ralphie made his way forward. He was unarmed, his dark features hard as he looked at Kane.

  “Good to see you, Ralphie,” Kane said.

  Ralphie grunted. “Not gonna let you have all the fun. Besides, you owe me for your last meal.”

  Kane laughed. “We’ll settle up after the war.”

  The Special Forces troops in front of them stood to attention. The lead officer stepped up front as Cybil held her hand up, signaling to the militia to halt.

  “Okay,” Kane said to her. “Your show.”

  Cybil stepped forward, nodding to the lead officer.

  “I wish to parlay with the commanding officer of this regiment.”

  The lead stepped forward, stopping at least ten feet from her. It was twenty from one army clashing with another. Kane could feel the tension around him, smell the stench of sweat mixing with smoke and ash in the air from parts of the city that burned.

  “I’m in charge,” the officer said through his breathing gear. “I demand you stand down and fall back.”

  “We’ll do no such thing, young man,” Cybil said, sticking her chin out. “This is your warning to step aside. We wish to speak with the government officials, the Oligarchs, on matters concerning the citizens of the Northern Union.”

  The officer looked out over the crowd.

  “You will all stand down now or we will kill you. That is your first warning.”

  Cybil stood her ground. Kane heard a few mumblings from the Revolution. He smiled. They weren’t mumblings of fear.

  They were ready for a fight.

  The officer kept his goggled stare on Cybil, speaking again, his voice louder.

  “You will all stand down now, or we will kill you. This is your second warning.”

  Cybil pulled her revolver from the holster at her hip.

  “Then I guess we’d best not get to three.”

  She took aim and fired, the shot echoing in the street. The soldier fell, his helmet split open, his brains scattered as he hit the ground. There was a moment of stunned silence. The Special Forces army stared, some of them shaking as Cybil held the still smoking gun into the air and shouted at the top of her lungs.

  “Move in!”

  The roar of the Revolution was deafening as the army advanced forward. Gunshots rang out from the Special Forces. Kane cast his shield spell as large as he could muster, covering most of the people around him. Others fell under the hailstorm while the Revolution returned fire. Kane killed the spell and hurled fireballs at the Special Forces, blasted holes in the front steps and sent troops flying. He saw Cybil standing in the middle, her revolver aimed, each shot precise as bullets flew around her, from both sides, missing her by a breath. The Revolution kept moving in, and the Special Forces shouted as they moved in. Cybil stood her ground. The armies clashed in the front courtyard of City Hall. Kane flung fireballs, ducked as a trooper swung his gun at him like a club, sent a fireball into the soldier’s chest. He heard a high-pitched shout, turned and saw Ralphie charging towards a group of troops making their way towards Kane, their blunderbusses aimed. Ralphie grabbed the first one, picked him up by the arm and torso, and swung him at the others, bludgeoning them down. One jumped on his back. He dropped the injured solider, grabbed his passenger by the head, and yanked him over his shoulder, slamming him to the ground and kicking him in the head as he spoke.

  “Rides ain’t free, bitch!”

  “Kane!”

  Kane whipped around at the sound of Cybil’s voice. She was grappling with a soldier, a large knife gripped in one of his hands and aimed down at her skull. Kane rushed in, slammed his shoulder into the man and sent him down. Cybil recovered, took aim, and sent a round into the soldier’s helmet.

  “Thank you,” Cybil said as casually as she might have said if Kane had handed her the daily paper.

  Kane focused his voice as another trooper charged him.

  “Chris, do you need a fucking invitation?!”

  He blasted the trooper with a fireball as more blasts filled the air from the direction of City Hall. The Special Forces moved to return fire in surprise but were overtaken by the officers and civilians in the Revolution. Kane heard more shots coming at them, saw Special Forces troops flooding the area from different streets. They were followed by more people, all shouting and chasing after them. The air was hot with gunfire and magic as civilians closed in and attacked, Special Forces soldiers retaliating against the mob.

  “Shepherd!” Hoyle shouted. “Move in! Now’s the time!”

  Kane looked at City Hall as the battle raged around him.

  “I can’t,” he said. “There’s no path!”

  Ralphie moved up next to him.

  “You gotta stop thinkin’ too much,” he said, clicking his tongue at him. “Ask for help sometime, Kane.”

  Kane motioned to the fighting in front of him.

  “Do you mind?”

  Ralphie grinned, hunched down, and charged. Troops went flying, Revolutionaries and police officers leapt aside as the black man hurtled through the crowd, Kane close behind him. Chris and his Magicians flooded the front steps, firing on the soldiers as Kane and Ralphie made their way up.

  Ralphie turned to Kane and gave him a salute.

  “Your party now.”

  “Thanks,” Kane said.

  Ralphie took off at a run and dove back into the fight, swinging and grappling with any Special Forces troop he got near.

  Kane went to Chris.

  “Time to go in. Blow it.”

  Chris yelled to the Magicians. They all turned to the front entrance. Kane joined them, a fireball charging in his hands. He filled his lungs, then gave the order.

  “Fire!”

  Front doors caved under the magic blasts, glass and steel shattering, stone crumbling, blowing out into the vast front area. Kane saw Wilhelmina standing amongst the rubble, her hands on her hips.

  “I don’t like waitin’, Kane Shepherd,” she said.

  Kane looked at Chris.

  “Help Cybil and Hoyle get in here and get this area secure.”

  Chris looked at Kane.

  “Are you sure you want to go alone?”

  “No choice,” Kane said. “He’ll kill her.”

  Chris put his hand out. Kane shook it.

  “Good luck,” said the newsie. “And I get the scoop.”

  Kane went to Wilhelmina.

  “Where are they?”

  “They on the top, like you said,” Wil said. “But them old white men y’all don’t like here, too. Holed up in they little chamber where they make them laws.”

  Kane blinked. As far as they’d figured, the Oligarchs would’ve taken to their airships and fled.

  Kane started to speak, but an explosion rattled the floor beneath his feet. He tackled Wil to the ground, covered her body with his as debris rained down on them. He looked up as the front archway collapsed. Another grenade rolled in. Chris stepped forward and kicked it across the lobby. It was yards away before it blew, the column nearby shattering from the force of the blast. Kane helped Wil to her feet as the battle outside began to fill the great hall. He pulled her along with him, heading towards the large staircase that led to the second floor balcony, took the steps two at a time with Wil close behind. Fewer gunshots sounded out. The ammun
ition was running low. Kane stopped and looked down at the chaos. Those armed with guns had turned them around and were beating each other with them. Cybil marched forward, the fighters clearing the way as she made for the stairs.

  “Cybil,” Kane said, focusing his voice. “The main chamber. They’re here.”

  “Kane?!” Cybil said. She looked up at him. “Rioters from all over the city are coming here. So are Special Forces. We can’t keep this up.”

  “Take the chamber.”

  She shook her head.

  “Place is a safe room,” she said. “That’s why they’re in there. There’s no way we’d get in.”

  Kane looked at Wil. She grinned at him.

  “Leave that to me. Go kill that Euro-man.”

  Kane looked back down at Cybil. She gave the thumbs up as the skirmish moved towards her. Kane shouted as she was swallowed into the fight. He saw Hoyle and Ralphie barrel in, saw the crowd of soldiers mowed down with Cybil in the middle, a large knife brandished in her hand. Wil threw something down into the crowd. Something screeching and furry. The possum grew into its larger form, the monster going after Special Forces troops as they screamed in panic. It pounced on one, mauled him in seconds before moving to the next.

  “Git!” Wil said, shoving Kane. “We’ve got this. Go!”

  Kane took off towards the nearest elevator. He turned the corner, the elevator at the end of a corridor. A guard stepped out, dressed in police blues, a cross tattoo on his hand.

  “Hold it,” he said, pointing a Tommy gun at him.

  Kane hurled a fireball, grabbed the Tommy gun as the man went down. The elevator chimed just before the doors exploded outwards. Kane caught it full, the force throwing him back, bits of metal and wood burying themselves into his flesh. He hit the floor and rolled, his ears ringing from the blast. He got his feet underneath him, stood, his body aching and bloody. He looked back at the sound of the fight in the main area, thought about the elevator on the other side. It was likely also rigged to blow.

  He focused his voice.

  “Wil,” he said. “I need your help.”

  “Little busy here, boy,” Wil snapped. Kane heard the sound of something snapping, a man’s scream cut short. “The hell you want?”

  “The elevators are rigged,” he said.

  He heard her huff.

  “Take the stairs, lazy ass.”

  “Not enough time.”

  Wil appeared in front of him. She looked him up and down.

  “All dressed up just for me?”

  “Top floor,” he said. “Straight up. I can find the office from there.”

  Wil rolled her eyes.

  “White men,” she muttered. “Always gotta be on top.” She raised her hand. Kane blinked as a force grabbed him, tightened around his gut. He sucked in a breath and looked around at the offensive silence that now surrounded him. The hall was dark, only one or two gas lights giving the area a blue hue.

  Which way? He’d never been inside City Hall beyond the bottom floors. He knew the office was on top. He’d seen drawings hanging in the lower offices while he’d been filing paperwork during his move to the city years ago.

  But that was all he knew.

  “The damage you’ve caused downstairs will be substantial to repair. Millions. Pity.”

  Kane jarred at the sound of Gentry’s voice floating around him in the corridor. He tried the nearest door. Opened it. The office was small, empty.

  Gentry’s voice came back.

  “Not quite.”

  Kane tried another door. Another office. Also empty. Who would these offices have belonged to?

  “Another incorrect choice. My, but she is getting skittish.”

  Anger welled in Kane as he kicked in the next door.

  “Warmer, Mr. Shepherd.”

  Kane wheeled around, stared into the darkness.

  “Where the hell are you?!”

  “Up.” He heard Gentry chuckle. “Further up. A floor. But do hurry. I fear the excitement may cause me to act earlier than anticipated, and I do wish you to see what I’ve in store.”

  Kane ran down the hall, the door at the end marked “Stairs” coming up on him quickly. He shoulder-checked the door open and found himself in a stairwell. The floor was unfinished concrete, the gas and water pipes on the wall barely visible in the low light from the hallway. Kane cast his Ethereal Sight. The stairs leading up had been collapsed.

  “Oh, dear,” Gentry said in the air, mocking. “I neglected to mention that. My mistake.”

  The landing above was still intact. Kane moved to the stair rail, saw that they were still connected. He found his footing and began to climb.

  “I never figured you for a cheat, Mr. Shepherd.”

  The railing shook, a cold wind filling the shaft as Kane held on. The steel shuttered underneath him, breaking loose from the concrete. He kicked off and reached out for the ledge as the railing and remains of the staircase gave out, falling down into the dark pit below, smashing into lower levels. The stairwell filled with dust. Kane coughed, slipped, and found his grip again as he almost went down after the stairs. He put his foot against the wall, began to pull himself up, his muscles aching, his injuries burning. His hands were wet from the blood, his grip slippery. He reached up, grabbed the second rung on the upper railing, pushed off from the wall and hoisted himself up onto his knee on the edge of the upper landing.

  “Very good, Mr. Shepherd,” Gentry’s voice said. “I would’ve been disappointed had you fallen to your death.”

  “Yeah, I’ll bet,” Kane said, straining as he climbed over the rail. “Would you’ve sung at my funeral?”

  “Not much of a singer, I’m afraid,” Gentry said. “But Miss Drake, here, has a lovely singing voice. Listen.”

  Kane’s blood rand cold at the sound of Tabitha’s screaming, the sound pained and horrified. His chest hurt, his stomach pitted in a knot.

  “Such a lovely tone,” Gentry said as Tabitha’s scream faded.

  Kane charged a fireball and blew the stairwell door open. He ran down the dark corridor, the walls bare except for the sconces on either side, each one holding a low, blue flame. He saw the door at the end in his Sight, grit his teeth as he muttered the counterspell.

  “Visus Mortalis!”

  He charged another fireball and flung it, the blast lighting up the hall as the door blew off the hinges. Kane was in the office before the last piece of wood hit the floor. He stopped, the light brighter than he’d expected, warm and reddish orange from the chandelier above. The carpet was deep red, the round room sparse except for a few large easy chairs in front of a grand fireplace. Kane saw Tabitha sitting in one, her arms and legs tied in place. He went to her, his rage building as he saw the stab wound in her shoulder, her arm soaked in blood. She was breathing frantically, muttering in Icelandic.

  “Óðinn langt-flækingur, veita mér visku, hugrekki, og sigur. Vinur Thor, veita mér styrk. Og báðir með mér.”

  Her strength prayer.

  Kane looked up and ahead, past a large and ornate desk. The main back wall of the office one large window overlooking the city. Pillars of smoke floated upwards, airships moving into position to fight the fires as others made their way towards the edge of the city. Another airship, a Special Forces Gunner, lumbered by the tower. Kane could see the Battle Cruiser over Hidden Valley in the distance.

  “You’re mine, you son of a bitch,” Kane said to the figure that stood at the window with his hands behind his back. “Time to end this.”

  Gentry looked over his shoulder, smiling as he held up the large knife dripping with Tabitha’s blood.

  “Actually,” he said, his tone that hateful, condescending purr Kane hated so much. “This is very much the beginning.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Kane stood tall and put himself between Tabitha and Gentry. The evil bastard grinned as he turned away and looked back out the window, lowering the knife down by his side, blood dripping onto the carpet. Tabitha
whimpered in pain behind Kane, still muttering her prayer.

  “Óðinn langt-flækingur, veita mér visku, hugrekki, og sigur. Vinur Thor, veita mér styrk. Og báðir með mér.”

  “I’m surprised that you haven’t moved yet,” Gentry said. “I would’ve expected an immediate attack.”

  “I’m also sure that you’ve got something in store for me if I try something stupid,” Kane said.

  Gentry nodded.

  “Quite astute,” he said. “But I assure you: we are the only ones up here. No tricks. No traps. Just us.”

  Kane shrugged.

  “Sounds good.” He made to lunge at Gentry. Gentry turned and growled something in Icelandic. The knife flew from his hand, past Kane, and stopped in mid-flight, its point aimed true at Tabitha’s heart as it hovered in place. Her eyes went panicked, stared down at the knife, then up at Kane.

  Kane rounded back on Gentry.

  “You piece of shit,” he said through grit teeth.

  “Now, now, Mr. Shepherd,” Gentry said, wagging his finger at Kane as if he were a parent scolding a child. “I said we were alone. I did not, however, say that I wasn’t prepared. You make the wrong move, and that blade will end her life.” Gentry’s grin broadened. “And the life of your child.” He nodded at the dark fireplace. “If you would?”

  Kane conjured a fireball in his hand. He fought down the urge to hurl it at Gentry. He was controlling that knife with the wind. He didn’t need to look at Tabitha. He’d seen the tip of the blade staining the front of her shirt with small droplets of blood. He thrust his hand out. The fireball shot into the fireplace, the logs catching instantly.

  “Much better,” Gentry said. He motioned to one of the chairs as he made his way to a wet bar that was located by the fireplace. “Do sit. Brandy?”

  “I’ll stand, and no.”

  Gentry shrugged.

  “Do as you wish. It doesn’t matter.” He popped open the bottle of brandy and poured himself a glass. “You’ve lost.”

  “The Revolution is storming the building right now,” Kane said. “They know where the Oligarchs are hiding. They’ll be up here shortly. Doesn’t sound like much of a loss to me.”