The Untold Tales of Dolly Williamson

by JM Bannon

  Dolly left his chair and came closer to his friend. He pulled out the ward she had made for him. It was still attached to the end of his watch chain. Rose looked down at the amulet as Dolly encouraged her. “I trust it’s still you in there, Rose. That you can process the evil and goodness of someone like Angelica and have clarity of how the wicked was her undoing in the end.”

  “I do indeed, Detective.”

  “Does this thing still work, or did those blathering mystics foul it up when they tried to hex me?” asked Dolly.

  Rose took the gemulet in her hand and looked at her craftsmanship. “No, the amulet is in perfect working order,” replied Rose.

  “Well, then, I have something for your protection. He drew a police whistle on a chain out of his pocket.

  “It only works in London, but when you blow this whistle, your fellow bobbies will come straight away.”

  “Fellow bobbies?”

  I told you. I had a meeting with the PM and the Home Secretary. Well, I thought for sure with the death of Seer Thomas I would be dangling in the wind on this one, but once again, I read the situation wrong. The explosion at the gasorks and Angelica’s gruesome deeds have the government preparing a domestic defense strategy against the metaphysical. They tasked me with forming up the branch, and I agreed on the condition that you were part of it.

  “If all goes as planned, you, Ms. Rose Caldwell, will be our newest constable in the Metropolitan Police Department and the second member of the special detective branch for the paranormal.”

  Rose jumped up, kissed and hugged Dolly, tears of joy flowing. “Dolly, this means so much to me! You have no idea. To have what I do accepted.”

  “Well, Rose, I wouldn’t go so far as to say what you do is accepted by the man on the street, but in the case of Her Majesty’s government and me, it is certainly appreciated. Even if the bloke on the street doesn’t accept you, he needs looking out.”

  Saturday, the 3rd of July

  2:20 PM, Strathmore Estate, Long Island

  Randall Wells Strathmore sat in deep contemplation, gazing out the window of his study.

  The boy ran in the room and embraced Randall. Randall hugged and kissed him on his brown forehead just below his dark curly hair.

  The governess hovering by the door spoke when Randall looked. "I told him to wait, but he was too excited to see you."

  "That is quite alright, Ms. Meadows."

  He crouched down to eye level with the boy. "Gerard, I do believe you have grown two inches since I left."

  "Did you bring me anything, Uncle Randall?”

  "In fact, I did." He walked behind his desk and retrieved a box. Before he could bring it back, Gerard had followed him.

  There was a knock at the door. “Your guest is here sir,” the footman announced.

  “Lead him out to the gardens, and prepare refreshments. Gerard and I will meet him there momentarily.”

  A few minutes later, Randall walked up to the lean elderly gentleman that stood looking over the gardens in admiration. He wore a white linen summer suit and held a walking stick with a wolf head for the handle.

  "Dr. Caiaphas."

  Dr. Caiaphas turned to Randall. The two men shook hands. What always startled Randall about Warren Caiaphas was his Alopecia. Rather it was the terrible matted wig he chose to wear to cover his complete lack of hair. Initially, one would notice that he had no eyebrows, but that old hairpiece drew one’s eyes to it quickly.

  Gerard ran out onto the patio with a model airship. “Look what Uncle Randall bought me from his trip. He said he flew on one just like it back in England.”

  Dr. Caiaphas smiled at the boy. “Would you like to travel on an airship one day?”

  “Oh, yes.”

  Randall again bent down to eye level with Gerard and then looked up at Dr. Caiaphas. “The doctor is a good friend of mine and Ms. Meadows. He has come to meet with you and ask if you would like to attend his special school.”

  "But I like it here," the youth cried.

  “Of course, you do, but this is a very special school that very few are admitted to, and if you want to have a house like this someday, or perhaps your own airships, you need to go to school.”

  “But Ms. Meadow teaches me reading and maths,” argued Gerard.

  “I am a different type of teacher. I can teach you how to do tricks. Would you like to see one?” asked Caiaphas.

  “Oh, yes, please,”

  “Go grab a stone from the path, and bring it here.”

  The boy ran out on the garden path, searching for the perfect stone. Then after picking a few up and dropping them, he ran back to Caiaphas with the stone he selected.

  Caiaphas took the stone. It was smooth, flat and grey in color. He held it out.

  “Are you going to make it disappear?” asked Gerard.

  “No, you are going to make it change color,” suggested Caiaphas, closing his hand around the stone.

  “Gerard, clasp my hand with both of yours and hold it really tight so you know that the stone can’t get away.”

  Gerard grabbed his hand, “Your hand is cold, Mister.”

  “Now, Gerard, close your eyes and envision a color, only one color. I want you to think very hard and send that color right down your hands into mine. Don’t tell me the color.”

  Gerard squeezed his eyes closed, as if his squeezing would pass the thoughts through to the stone faster.

  Caiaphas looked and smiled at Randall as the boy concentrated. “Excellent, you can stop now.”

  The doctor opened his hand. The stone was as green as the grass in the garden.

  “Oh, boy, that is a cracker of a trick. Can you teach me how to do that?”

  “Gerard, you did it. I only helped boost your innate powers,” the Doctor explained.

  The young boy looked confused.

  “Here, you keep the stone. When fall begins, you can come to my school and I will personally instruct you how to do that and many more things you can’t learn from Ms. Meadows.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Gerard grabbed the stone and ran back into the house.

  “Let's walk, Randall.” The two men strolled the gravel path of the expansive gardens. Not as grand as Versailles, but for America, this was a palace garden. As they walked, the doctor and Strathmore spoke.

  “The boy is quite talented. With training, he will be like nothing this world or others have ever seen,” stated Caiaphas.

  “Doctor, I was thinking when the boy goes to Italy to study with you, I might come and spend time with the others?” asked Strathmore.

  “What is your interest in meeting with others? I am the leader of our cabal. You have the ear of the master,” said the Doctor.

  “Well, it’s just that I haven’t met the others.”

  “Randall, this is how secret organizations work. In secret, far from the public eye and apart from each other to protect the cabal.” Caiaphas stopped and turned to Randall with a smile and leaned to look him in the eye. “Are you lonely? Do you need companionship?”

  “Well, I had been spending quite some time with Angelica, helping with her plans. When the boy leaves, it will be very quiet around here.” Caiaphas took Randall’s hands and gave them a shake of confidence.

  Randall thought, The boy is right; his hands are cold.

  “All in good time, Randall. Before we worry about you meeting the others, let’s discuss how we settled up in London. I checked, and from what I gather, Angelica never made it to the ship or Nova Scotia,” directed the doctor.

  “Hmm, I suspect the necronists never let her out of London alive, but I will keep an ear to the ground. She may still show up. She is very resourceful,” Strathmore suggested.

  “And the business with the Moyas?” pressed Caiaphas.

  “All of the coroner’s inquests are resolved, and the documents that Angelica forced the Moyas and Chilton to sign are in place. I expect the biggest stink to come from my partners at Chilton, Chilton, Owens and Strathmore will be about the
trustee not being in the home office. If the documents see their way into court, they will stand up to any scrutiny. I am the trustee, and you are the boy’s ward, as planned if Angelica was unable to make it back to the States.”

  “She understood the risks to exact her revenge, and now she has it, all of them dead and none the wiser. What else...” said Caiaphas, who seemed displeased by something.

  Randall could tell by his curt speech and the ploy where he expected Randall to guess what he wanted to speak about. He wasn’t really in the mood; his sleep was still off, and the last week had been quite stressful. “Doctor, as far as my observation, all has gone according to plan. Angelica obtained her revenge and the certainty that her son, now in your care, would inherit his grandfather’s fortune.

  “The gold,” stated the Doctor continuing his inquest.

  Strathmore couldn’t believe his ears. Between the two of them, they had just gained control of the entire Moya fortune worth over seven million pounds. From what Strathmore knew of the doctor, he had no want for money. How could that small amount of gold make a difference? “The gold was stolen from the smelter before I could move it.”

  “Find out who is responsible. We can’t have people thinking they can steal from us.”

  Randall’s patience was all but gone. “The purpose of the heist was to cover up the search for copies of the revised will & testament.”

  “True. In part it was, but the fact is someone has stolen from us, Randall,” declared the doctor raising his voice.

  “Well, the thieves did not believe they were stealing from you. They don’t even know you exist. At best, they thought they were stealing from Angelica,” Randall explained.

  “All the same, find out who is responsible. I don’t like loose ends, and I had a purpose for that gold.”

  * * *

  11:40 PM, Rose's Apartments

  Rose slipped in and out of sleep. Out again, this time realizing this wasn’t a dream but someone at her door.

  “One tick.” She fumbled for the matchbox on her nightstand and struck a matchstick. She lit the lamp and replaced the wind glass once the wick had caught flame. After her eyes adjusted, she made her way to the door and looked through the portal.

  She hadn’t seen this face in years. Putting the lamp on a shelf, she worked the latches and locks to open the door.

  “Violet?”

  “Hello, Rose.”

  “What are you doing here?” Rose asked.

  ”I had nowhere to go. I left Chester after Pa passed, and I’ve been on my own. Well, sort of.” Violet looked down at the baby in her arms.

  “This is your niece, Rosie. Rosie, this is your Auntie Rose.” Rose tried to recollect the last time she saw her sister. It was when Rose left for the convent ten years ago, and her sister was a little eight-year-old girl.

  “Come in. Please, come in. How did you find me?”

  “You were back in the papers again, and this time, I was in London. I just asked around Bethnal Green. I’ve been in London nearly two years.” Violet reported as she did the mental calculation of the time. Since she was a little girl, you could tell when she was racking her brain. She would look up for the answer, as if it was on the ceiling or in the sky. “I’ve been living on the streets, and when I read about you in the papers, I just thought I would come see you and ask if you might be able to help me and Rosie.”

  “Oh, Violet, you are welcome to stay here. It’s not much, but of course, you can stay. Here, let me see that little girl.” Rose took the sleeping baby in her arms and looked at its precious face. Even being out on the street, the child looked peaceful while sleeping. “Close up the door and have a seat. Are you hungry? I have some bread and an apple. It’s all I have, but you’re welcome to it.”

  “Ta, sis, that would be most kind of you.”

  Rose handed Rosie back to Violet and took the few paces to her kitchenette. She reached into the breadbox for the loaf of bread and cut a few slices, and with the same knife, she cut up the apple. That was all the food she had. Placing it on a plate, she brought it over to Violet and set it on the small table beside the ratty chair. “Let me take her,” she said, admiring the little one. Rose placed her niece on the bed behind the partition. When she returned, her sister had shoved a whole slice of bread into her mouth and was trying to choke it down.

  “Violet, I am so happy you came here. It’s so fortunate that you found me. I must let you know that the work I have been doing does not make ends meet, and this apartment…” Rose stopped herself. She didn’t need to burden her sister with the fact of not having any money, being two months’ arrears on rent and a pending eviction. “You are welcome to stay for as long as you want, and I recently had some good news. It looks like I am going to work with the Metropolitan Police Department, so we may be able to put more food on the table and find lodging better suited for the three of us.”

  Violet began to cry. “I would really like that.”

  The Alchemists Book One of the Guild Chronicles

  Chapter One

  Need more Sister Rose?

  What follows is the first chapter of the “The Alchemists”

  Friday, the 25th of May 1860

  5:30 a.m. Königsburg Prussia

  Egon arrived at the research laboratory before daybreak. Holding up his ring of keys, the engineer turned to the faint but growing morning light to find the front door key. The heavy deadbolt threw open with a clunk when he turned the key in the lock. He pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the dimly lit building, Turning he pushed the door to slowly, and it closed with a soft thud. In deference to the surrounding silence he quietly made his way to the basement. Egon preferred the solitude of the early hours, in his domain in the mechanical room there was little quiet to be found.

  He was the boiler superintendent at the Kraft Werks for the Illuminated Society of Alchemy, responsible for operating the latest technology in all of Europe. His chief responsibility was the supervision of Heiße Bertha the immense boiler designed to drive the dynamo the guild had commissioned Telegraphen-Bauanstalt von Siemens & Halske to make for them.

  The direct current generator powered the experiments in the upstairs laboratory of Doctors Maxwell and Traube. An added benefit of the massive power system was electric lighting throughout the building, the first in Königsberg. His initial task was to throw the breakers to the sub-panels, powering the illumination to the entire building. With one movement of a lever, the basement and the upper floor lights flickered to life and threw off more illumination as the elements in the glass orbs warmed. Another slice of modernity was the design of the condenser loop for the steam wheel, engineered to bypass through the building to heat radiators in the bitter winter months rather than just going to a condenser tank.

  Yes, he was working in a boiler room, but at the private office park, not at the filthy Alchemy Werks near the railway station on the other side of town where he used to work. He would much rather conduct his rote tasks in a nice clean, modern boiler room any day rather than the fiery smelly hell that was the Königsberg Gas Werks, the largest commercial chemical facility in the world.

  The boiler room was well kept. The room often had guests; dignitaries touring with the upper echelon of the guild. The Barron’s and Electors liked to show off the Kraft Werks to assert the guild as the leaders of industry. Egon grabbed a broom to sweep up errant coal fines around the feed chute and storage bins while he waited for the lights to warm up. He had been advised by Doctor Maxwell that today they would run the magnets all day at full strength.

  Setting down the broom he opened the firebox to Bertha and pitched four heaping shovels of coal into her fiery maw. The hot air blasted out into his face and murdered the morning chill of the basement. In a few hours, sweat would pour from him as he stood still in front of the controls. When Bertha was at full power, there was no escape in the mechanical room from her hot embrace.

  He throttled back the bypass to apply full pressure and watched the g
auge approach fifty bar, the prescribed setting. Producing a rag from his pocket, Egon cleaned the gauge face before making his way over to the dynamo and its complex control station. The man’s trained eyes scanned the numerous dials and gauges. The instruments showed the right voltage, but the ammeter read as if there was a full load on the dynamo. Are they already experimenting?

  Egon trudged up the stairs and upon entering the laboratory, could already hear the low purr of the bank of electromagnets. In addition, he detected a strange smell; something burning, unnatural. Burning resin? The thought sank in that there should be no hum as a faint gray smoke promulgated from the magnet housings transforming to fibrous black strands flitting into the air. The magnets were overheating, and the insulation was burning. Desperate, he ran to disconnect the lever to sever the circuit, as the hum increased to a bone jarring buzz.

  The knife switch to power the pilot plant was closed and the ceramic handle smashed, the bits of porcelain lay on the floor next to a hammer. Egon knew not to touch the bare metal with his bare hand or he would be electrocuted. His eyes darted around the room he saw a pair of heavy rubberized gloves Dr. Traube used when working with vitriols and caustics. He donned the glove and gave the handle a tug; it did not budge.

  The boiler man saw what appeared to be a tack weld on the switch, it would never move if welded. He choked on the growing smoke, his only option now was to get downstairs and shut down the boiler. Egon sprinted to the door glancing back one last time at the lab, only to see a fireball erupt and cascade toward him.