The Necronists

by J M Bannon

  "Mr. De Morgan I would be indebted to you if you were to provide me an introduction to this hypothetical party, then I can pursue if there is an interest in working with my Patron. All I ask is that you make them aware of our enthusiasm in advancing this technology."

  "I will pass on your message Mr. Strathmore, as I desire a continued cordial relationship and to have the opportunity to call on each other again. I have no interest in you feeling fronted by this, but I need to be clear, these folks like to keep to themselves and don't need your bloody money."

  8:40 a.m The Streets of Harpsichord

  "Now you can just open up the door and let us talk. There is nothing to be a fearing,"

  "Fuck you, Leary! You and your crew are only here to do the bidding of the Astor Company. The three of us are deputies of Marshal Elmore Quentin and his orders are that no one was to enter this office until he got back."

  James Leary looked to his cronies, he knew a few of them but most he had not worked with before. Leary had done plenty of work in the area and wasn't afraid of trouble. When the Astor Company man came into the bar in Cheyenne looking for men at five dollars a day, he was one of the first to step forward. Right now, his job required removing these Dip-shits out of the Sheriff's office. The Railroad Man and the Company Man wanted to question a witness they had held up in there. Rumor was that the Sioux tracker Hanska, a surly Indian who roamed around taking on odd jobs for the Army and others looking for a scout or trailblazer.

  "Now you fellas, don't really give a fuck about this Indian do ya? Listen, let's bring him out and have a conversation and whatever he says you can pass on to the Marshal if he ever gets here," Leary leaned up against the locked and bolted Sheriff's office door, casually lighting his cigar, a knowing grin on his face.

  "How about you go back to Ireland, you potato - eating pig fucker?"

  That aggravated Leary. "Now, don't be just saying things out of bravado, that you might regret later,"

  Leary turned to the men, "Go get McMillan off the train. The rest of you see if you can locate some whale oil or rock oil out of the dry goods store and bring it over here,"

  "We going to burn 'em out?" squealed one of them.

  "No, but we can give that appearance and see if they get sense to open the door," as he looked at the young trapper he noticed something on the horizon. He had never seen one in person before, but he had to assume it was an airship. His stare drew the attention of others,

  "Holy shit is that a blimp?"

  "Quiet," Leary yelled.

  Over the foothills, the thrum of the airship engines could be heard. Sure, enough it was an enormous airship, it maneuvered and changed from just a dot to a cigar or fish shape on the horizon below the clouds.

  "Go fetch McMillan and forget about the oil. Looks like we need to get ready for some visitors,"

  "The ship was growing in size, the tan metal airship was headed toward town as the engine sounds increased,"

  "That's right Leary, that's the Marshal. He told us he was coming back with some fancy types from out East and overseas." The voice of the Deputy behind the door sounded, more confident.

  Leary took the time to study the man hiding in the building with the smart mouth. He always had enough strength to carry one more grudge, especially a small one like putting some smart ass in line when he didn't have a wall and a lawman to hide behind.

  14

  Wednesday the 20th of March

  9:00 a.m. The Town of Harpsichord

  As Elmore and his party approached in the runabout, Elmore began counting heads of those on the ground. Fifteen men and a few he recognized; it was a strange mix of trappers, mountain men and hired guns who made it their business to find work that justified killing other men.

  They all stood gawking at the small vessel descending from the Peregrine. The Marshal was excited for the opportunity to ride in it a second time, yet also nervous at the prospects of dealing with this mob. The small, sleek runabout differed significantly from the Peregrine. Where it was nearly silent the big ship loomed noisily, filling the sky with coal ash plumes. Elmore admired the small boat's ingenuity; wondering if the flotation gas was in the oversized brass rail on the edge of the gunwale or beneath the deck somewhere.

  He turned to the pilot, "Bring us down to the street about ten feet off the ground, stopping about twenty feet away. If they shoot, take us back up over roof level."

  "Just watch this piloting," said the crew member at the back of the craft working the tiller.

  "Excuse me, Gentleman, can you tell me what brings you to the town of Harpsichord, currently a crime scene and under quarantine," the Marshal addressed the gathering as the pilot hovered the runabout in the middle of the street.

  "That's a fancy ride," a fellow in a bowler hat spoke. He wore an expensive suit and waistcoat, carrying a double rig with nickel plated revolvers. He and fifteen men surrounding him, all armed and giving Elmore their full attention.

  Elmore, his Henry rifle draped in the crook of his right arm, his left hand in the lever action the hammer was already cocked and ready to drop. "I could say the same," replied Elmore looking at the locomotive.

  "Oh, you can't compare a locomotive to an airship, let alone this flying rowboat," spat the man looking to his men for acknowledgment. "As a matter of introduction, my name is E. W. McMillan, I am the head of security for the Chicago, Burlington and Quincey Rail Company out of Chicago, Illinois. Mr. Wilburn here is the new station manager for the Astor Trading Company. I am expecting you to be the Marshal," McMillan looked at Elmore for an answer.

  "That would be me. Marshal Quentin duly appointed for the Federal Territory of Colorado. I suppose my Deputy informed you know that we are investigating the deaths of these townsfolk and will keep things tidy until we can assess what happened here."

  "He did. My men and I have offered to help you with this tragedy, not just with catching the culprit but also to get this town back up and running. Your Deputy here, Wally was it?"

  "Yes," said Wally through the window of the office.

  "Wally said you have an Indian that you caught in the town. You could see how this might be some kind of redskin revenge on persons in the town and we wanted to discuss it with him," McMillan finished.

  "That's one possibility. I should advise you, Mr. McMillan, that some of your hires here like Mr. Leary and Jake over there, may not have been forthcoming when you interviewed them and left out parts of their past. The things I would know about and many consider a lack of good judgment and let's say rash behavior."

  "How about you come off your flying boat and we get rash," spouted Leary who swung open his big wolf-skin coat showing off a pistol on his right side and a menacing hunting knife on his left.

  "Bring us down, please," ordered Elmore.

  The pilot lowered the craft and Elmore hopped off. Dolly stepped down, providing back up.

  McMillan took a step back placing his left foot behind his right narrowing up his body. Elmore noticed the subtle move, one that a professional gunfighter makes to reduce the target size in a shoot-out. Dolts like Leary stood bowlegged with both arms out, serving up more surface area for their opponent to hit. The entire group tensed up.

  "Now, Mr. Leary, I know you're a hard as granite, mountain man and are prepared to kill anyone, even a US Marshal," Elmore stated.

  "That's right Quentin, I don't give a fuck. I would rather see the hangman than take bullshit from a smart mouth like you," barked Leary.

  "Fair enough, now this here is Detective Frederick Williamson and get this fella, he goes by the name Dolly."

  There was a low chuckle from the mob.

  "Williamson is a Detective inspector from Scotland Yard. He has traveled all the way from London, England to help me figure out what happened here. He even brought a team of doctors and experts in metaphysics to sort this all out," continued Elmore.

  Dolly tipped his hat, "Gentleman."

  "Now Detective, things here are a bit different, so let me
clarify our situation. I will ask these gentlemen to disperse and get out of town. Now things could escalate, guns being drawn then shooting; a whole new catastrophe in Harpsichord. So, if after I ask them nicely, and guns are drawn, I would like you to take out the colt revolver you carry and shoot Mr. Leary dead. Now don't fret about clearing your shoulder holster quick enough. Mr. Leary here is nowhere's near as fast a draw or as good a shot as Mr. McMillan. So, I need to kill Mr. McMillan first, and I will kill him. I am willing to bet I can do that and shoot a few more of these other fellas before you and James clear your pistols from your holsters,” said Quinten.

  Dolly nodded, "He won't be the first Mick I've killed and the way you lot procreate likely to not be missed."

  Elmore smiled.

  "Fuck you, you limey prick." challenged Leary. He shifted to look at the English Detective, his eyes darting back and forth between the Marshal and his new most hated adversary.

  "Marshal, I would like to know if anything was taken from the scene of the crime. One of my agents was in charge of some equipment and we want to make sure that it wasn't stolen," injected Mr. Wilburn, "the security of company property is my primary concern," he finished as he looked at the wild Irish mountain man.

  Elmore took a few steps up. "You know, I found some strange stuff when we first came into town. That might be what you're talking about."

  "Can I see it," Wilburn now had enough courage to move to the front of his group.

  Elmore frowned and closed one eye. "Mr. Wilburn this town and that evidence is all part of the Federal Marshal Service investigation and we plan on sending it to a fancy lab in Europe to have it tested. You best go before Judge Arbuckle at the tenth district court in Denver City and discuss it with him."

  McMillan stretched out his arm to move Wilburn back, “Marshal, that is mighty industrious of you and proof they have the right man for the job but Mr. Wilburn and me; we have a duty to our employers to make sure that our property is protected and get the wheels of commerce turning again. Now I know that sounds greedy and short-sighted but what could be better for the folks in Harpsichord than getting back to work and compensated, with the help of Astor and the C, B, and Q. So, why don't we think about us all making sure that the Astor Company property is where it should be, in the hands of its owner."

  "Why don't you tell me about this equipment you're missing? I am interested in what it might look like and what it may do?" asked Elmore. The air was thick with tension, Leary was fuming and looking to start a fight, McMillan calculating the situation and Wilburn was agitated when he learned the Marshal may have what he was hoping to recover.

  "Should I signal the ship to spray the gas?" yelled Rose for all to hear. She was standing with one foot on the bow of the runabout and her hands on her hips.

  Everyone looked at her including Elmore, his furrowed his brow giving her a confused look.

  Rose interjected, “If we do not commence fumigation immediately Marshal, I suggest we take our leave of the area, there is no certainty whether a contagion is present, and possibly spreading. I personally would like to get clear of this until after we spray."

  Elmore took the cue for Rose. "Well, when I said I got in experts, I brought in a bunch; we need to ensure this isn't some filthy disease being spread by animals or people."

  "Jesus, Elmore you sayin' I could die just from being in this town? Three bits a day don't make it worth being a Deputy if I will succumb to some unknown disease," yelped Wally from inside the office.

  "Or to Mr. McMillan's point this could be an Indian curse, I mean, this is Sister Rose Caldwell from London England. If you are the type to read the papers, you might already know her status as the World's preeminent expert in matters of the supernatural and arcane," injected Dolly.

  "Oh, and I would suggest that you all vacate when we spray, as there could be side effects," warned Rose.

  "Side effects, what's going on here Marshal?" asked Wilburn.

  "Yes, the Doctor is aboard the ship preparing the fumigation, I am one to follow her lead and steer clear of this before I catch a fever," added Rose.

  General grumbling broke out with the Deputies and McMillan's men.

  "Well now Sister, you have thrown everyone here into a tizzy. I wish you wouldn't have done that," said Elmore giving Rose a sly wink of the eye. "Mr. McMillan could you do me a favor and get all your men back on that train and back it up say…" Elmore turned to Rose for an answer.

  "Five hundred meters should do it,"

  Elmore smiled addressing McMillan, "Ok, I learned today, that's about five hundred yards. Soon as you and your posse are onboard and back up the locomotive we can get to cleaning up the ill winds blowing through here."

  McMillan's men broke off and moved before he gave them an order.

  "Wally, get your boys and gear packed up to head back to Denver," yelled Elmore through the window of the jail.

  The only person who didn't break away was Wilburn. He stood his ground, "Marshal, I will collect my company's missing property before I leave, I really must insist."

  Elmore processed the situation. If Wilburn knew the nature of that strange gear he would likely not be forthcoming if asked. The level of his desire to retrieve it indicated his involvement in this case.

  "Mr. Wilburn, I would be happy to oblige after we are finished here with our fumigation and analysis of the evidence. I'll even ask the Captain to give you a tour of the airship when you return to collect what we found. You won't believe this, but do you know who the Captain is? None other than the Vanderbilt Valkyrie. She told me that her new airship is faster than anything she has flown before and I might add she is as pretty as that ship is majestic. So, clear off now and I promise to fetch you when we have completed our investigation."

  10:10 a.m. The Town of Harpsichord

  Rose stood in the middle of Harpsichord dressed in an outfit resembling a deep-sea diver rather than a woman in the wild west. The special helmet was tucked under her arm and she had set several cameras in the middle of the street. McMillan's men had dispersed and re-assembled on a rise outside of town observing the investigative team.

  "Are you ready for this, Sheriff?" asked Rose.

  "The sooner we can wrap this up the better," said Elmore. Elmore and Dolly wore similar coveralls to Rose, but rather than the strange helmet with lens attachments they had a simple breather and a set of goggles. "This stuff you're going to paint the town with, is safe?" Elmore questioned, with a nervous expression.

  "By the way, it's Marshal, not Sheriff, but I would rather you call me Elmore."

  "All right, Elmore. And you are welcome to call me Rose,"

  "Much obliged, Rose. I would like that,"

  She wasn't blind to his playful banter but there was business at hand and this was a chance for her to perform a spectral reading on a monumental scale. "I admired how you handled that situation with the Company men. Things were getting tense, and those are stone cold killers up on that hill. You scared the crap into their britches with all that talk of sickness and curses."

  Rose laughed. "You didn't miss a beat either, and you jumped right up on stage with me."

  Elmore added, "Besides seeing it work, I enjoy a little theatrical flourish, so I really could not stop myself. I've talked my way out of far more situations than I shot my way out of."

  Rose smiled. She enjoyed a bit of drama too, but what was to come next really got her heart pumping, "Elmore, having the preeminent Alchemist in the world on our team means we have access to the rarest of elements manipulated by the skill and imagination of the brilliant Lorelei Traube. Lorelei has taken what I have done in the past to a much grander scale, allowing me to scry this entire town more efficiently."

  "Are you two about done?" asked Dolly. He looked silly as his coveralls was slightly too small, pulled up in the rise and taut across his chest.

  "Don't mind him, he's just a wee bit cross because when I am working, all he can do is stand around," explained Rose, slightly annoyed.
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  "I wish it were that easy, I don't much enjoy this as I become your page boy running about fetching photograph slides and wiping your brow," said Dolly as he fastened his mask.

  "If I remember correctly there is a desk in Scotland Yard with your nameplate sitting on it. You could have stayed there and made sure the paper was pushed properly," retorted Rose. This was the first live test and would be a larger area than Rose had ever scryed before, but it should be no more difficult than the trials Rose and Lorelei had conducted in Brookwood Cemetery. With Lorelei's help, Rose developed a recipe of alchemical gases in which they used to fog the famous graveyard. While the mystical piece eluded Traube, her expertise with product quality was essential to deliver a uniform dispersion with an extended duration. The trials assisted in working out these details; being an overachiever, Lorelei customized the chemistry to meet these needs, pushing herself and Rose to achieve superior results.

  Rose donned her helmet locking it down on the collar. When she spoke her voice took on a muffled quality as if talking from inside a fishbowl. "Elmore, please secure your mask, I will signal Reidun in," Rose waved her arms after Quentin placed his mask and goggles on.

  The Peregrine came in low on its fumigation pass. The purple fog settled over the town making it difficult to see. "I thought you said this would help us see evidence, I can't see past my nose," said Elmore.

  "Just wait. There is a two-part formula, after the first application, the reagent will be administered starting the process. Now please be quiet I need to concentrate," Rose calmed herself and thought through what needed to happen. After the initial fumigation, the ship would then begin a second slower pattern of flight releasing the catalyst. Under the direction of Dr. Traube, the catalyst was a more difficult process to administer as it was not visible like the first gas and as it dispersed, it turned the purple fog clear to the naked eye. Only Rose could see the results as images inside her helmet, then later on the plates they produced with her camera obscura.