Dogs of S.T.E.A.M.

by Ralph E. Vaughan

  Groucho nodded. “We saw Lord Cerberus and the others with a dogcart, machine in the back. Before we return, Lilith somehow sensed us, came up the building. Smokey would not leave, said she would warn Lord Cerberus. He sent me here.”

  “Sound tactic,” Quigley murmured. “But I fear for your friend.”

  “We’ve got to help him!” Groucho cried.

  “Where are they?” Levi asked. “Where were you when you saw Lord Cerberus and the others?”

  “A big building full of books on shelves,” Groucho replied. “It had bars on the windows. There were towers at the corners and we were overlooking Regent Street.”

  “London Library,” Gearhead said.

  “Yes, that is what Smokey called it,” Groucho confirmed. “The dogcart vanished towards the southeast, down a narrow lane.”

  “That would put them to the west of the Admiralty,” Quigley said. “Gearhead, that list the three of you drew up. What’s the most likely target from there?”

  “The Clock Tower,” the Welsh Corgi-mix answered.

  “Big Ben,” Yoda muttered.

  “Very well then,” Quigley decided. “That is our goal.”

  “There are two others, Guv,” Gearhead mentioned. “They may not be as tall, but gaining access would be easier than…”

  “We will dispatch other packs to them,” Quigley said, “but the Clock Tower will be our responsibility.”

  “But Smokey!” Groucho protested. “He needs our help.”

  “It may already be too late,” Chauncey pointed out. “Lilith is nearly as dangerous as Lord Cerberus.”

  Groucho looked as if he had been punched in the gut.

  “No.” His voice was small and whispery. “Not Smokey.”

  “Even if we could get there in time, we cannot put his safety above that of all the animals and Companions of London,” Quigley said. “The welfare of the many outweighs that of the few.”

  “Or the one,” Yoda whispered.

  “Yes, or the one,” Quigley agreed. “Smokey’s a brave cat, but we cannot help him. I’m afraid he is on his own.”

  “No, he’s not,” Levi said. “I will go.”

  Both Yoda and Sunny protested, but Levi cut them short.

  “Groucho, can you guide me?” Levi asked. “Are you able?”

  “For Smokey, I can do anything.”

  “I had hoped you would join us, Levi,” Quigley said.

  “Sunny and Yoda will accompany your pack under your command,” Levi said, silencing more protests with a frown. “I will join you, if I can, but I cannot abandon Smokey to Lilith’s claws. I owe him my life. I cannot let her take his.”

  “Do what you must,” Quigley said. “But beware her claws.”

  “Sharp?” Levi asked. “That is to be expected.”

  “That, and more,” Quigley answered, heading towards the door as the others assumed a pack formation. “We do not know for sure, but we suspect some kind of poison. So, beware. And good luck.”

  Quigley and the others leapt into the night, Yoda and Sunny with them. Their loyalty was to Levi, but they could not disobey him without breaking those oaths or dishonoring him. Last into the murky London darkness was Artemus Gordon. For him there was no dishonor in remaining behind, as neither Quigley nor Levi was his alpha, but he felt a stirring within his soul that, previously, he had only known when envisioning some better life.

  “Thank you, Levi, for everything,” Artemus Gordon said, pausing briefly before plunging after the others.

  “Come on, Groucho,” Levi urged. “Lead the way.”

  Though his brief respite had done nothing to dispel his fatigue, Groucho flew into the darkness like a cat possessed, Levi at his side. He ran fast as he could, oblivious to pain. One thought, and one thought only, dominated his mind—help Smokey!

  * * *

  “You are not what you seem,” Lilith murmured, backing away from Smokey. “You know the old ways. You know what I am.”

  In her eagerness to rejoin Lord Cerberus, she had attempted to dispatch Smokey with a direct attack. He dodged her claws easily, and smacked her insolently alongside the head, counting coup and dislodging her top hat.

  “In my homeland old ways are not forgotten,” Smokey said. He sat calmly upon his haunches, tail curled around him. Nothing in his tone or manner betrayed the slightest nervousness. “There are dark places where ancient terrors abide, where elder things refuse to die. Only a fool believes there is no danger in that which we cannot see. I am no fool.”

  “A wise cat would not have remained to meet me,” Lilith said.

  She paced back and forth, trying to provoke the other cat into some rash movement. She did not like the ease with which he had countered her, using a technique that should have been known only to the feline warriors of her world. And she liked less the dismissive way he counted coup upon her.

  “You should have run away with your friend,” she taunted.

  “Running away is not in my nature,” he replied. “I am no more brave than any other cat, but we must all be true to our natures; even you, kikmora.”

  “If you truly believe me to be the demon-cat of the Dark Lands, you should also know that there is no hope for you,” Lilith said. “As you say, we must all be true to our natures, and it is my nature to bring death to all who oppose me and My Lord.”

  “Do you talk your enemies to death?” Smokey enquired mildly.

  “I am giving you a chance to live,” Lilith explained. “Killing you may take more time than I can afford, so I offer you escape. It is against my nature to offer even that small a mercy, but this time it is to my advantage to do so.”

  “If you wish to pick up your hat, please do so,” Smokey said, again grinning and exposing his tongue impudently. “It is a very nice hat.”

  Lilith thought about running to join Lord Cerberus before the appointed hour overtook her, but she knew this black and silver tom would not let her leave. The languid way he gazed at her, without a single twitch of a muscle or flick of the tail, conveyed the manner of a seasoned killer, a hunter at home in the most violent city or the deepest jungle of her own homeworld. His calm demeanor aroused more nervousness in her than any amount of posing or braggadocio would have done. He was such a puny creature, she told herself, no matter his skills or experience. He might ward her off for awhile, but he could not protect himself forever, not from her claws. Her greatest fear, however, was that he might be able to protect himself long enough for her to be trapped in the timeline’s changes.

  She rushed him again, hissing and spitting, her fur bristling, her deadly claws flashing. Instead of backing away, as she expected, Smokey closed in. He avoided her claws, but she did not escape his. He slashed her left side, then leaped over her, raking her ears as he passed. He landed on the other side, immediately wheeling around.

  Lilith crouched low, ears flat against her skull. She kept her mouth closed. She wanted to bare her fangs, but she knew that if she did, any growl that escaped her throat would be tainted by pain and fear. It had been a long time since she had felt those emotions in herself. That which she savored in others only made her feel weak and sick.

  And enraged.

  How dare this cat think himself better than her, think he could stand where thousands of others had fallen. Even as he infuriated her, however, he also intrigued her. Except in her own timeline, in the ranks of the feline warriors who had sworn her death, she had never encountered a cat whom she considered a challenge. In a way, it was a shame he had to die, but die he must. And soon.

  Smokey carefully watched Lilith’s every movement, awaiting her next attack. She was skilled in the arts of combat, but she was overconfident. He had seen the trait in rogue toms who had yet to be bested, who had built their reputations by picking fights only with cats they knew they could beat. Sooner or later, Smokey knew, all bullies came upon an opponent not of their choosing, a foe that would not yield and would not fall.

  He held an advantage in this fight, one of ti
me. She had been unwise in offering him a chance to flee, for it exposed her weakness. In any fight, haste was never a good ally.

  Abruptly, Lilith sprang at Smokey, yowling in rage, smashing into him. Both cats rolled and writhed and grappled, each trying to slash and bite. They tumbled across the library’s rooftop, neither daring to let go lest the other seize victory. They windmilled their back legs, seeking each other’s vulnerable underbelly.

  Lilith tried to end the battle quickly by ripping Smokey’s throat or by disemboweling, but his constant, unpredictable movements frustrated her. She was unable to even nick a vein, though she knew that would do her no good. The Sickness was a slow killer; at best, it slowed an opponent enough to administer a coup-de-grace, but all that took time, and time was the one resource she did not have.

  Smokey neither yowled nor growled as he battled a molly who matched him pound for pound, move for move. He concentrated fully on defense and attack. Though it was clear some time had passed since her fighting skills had been fully challenged, they were formidable. This was the second time he had battled a kikmora, but this time he did not think he would live to speak of it.

  Dodging his head quickly between head and shoulder, Smokey sank his fangs into the side of her neck. Lilith screamed in pain and anger, then laughed as she realized the tom had struck nothing vital. He was a fool, this cat, not going for the throat when he had the chance. Confusion and uncertainty spread through her as she found she was unable to easily turn her head or move her forelimbs.

  Smokey shoved Lilith away from him. In other circumstances he might have moved in for the final stoke, but he had not escaped unscathed. She had slashed his side. He felt strength draining from him. As he had suspected, her claws were imbued with death, some kind of biological poison that was part of her being.

  In nicking a muscle, a trick Levi reluctantly shared, Smokey had maimed Lilith, but had not endangered her life. She could flee now, though slowly, but he would not be able to do the same.

  “A weakling, as I thought,” Lilith sneered. “I have killed you.”

  “Perhaps,” Smokey said. He raised up partway, leaning against the parapet behind him. “And yet victory eludes you.”

  “You will die,” she said. “You have lost.”

  “A loss does not ensure a victory,” Smokey replied. “You have no time to watch me suffer, and I think I would have made a poor show anyway. At most, I will fall asleep, satisfied in the knowledge that you will not reach Lord Cerberus in time to save yourself from the changes he plans for this timeline.” Smokey paused, silent as a pang shot though him. “And you know as well as I that he will not wait for you, that he has no feeling for you but contempt.”

  Smokey grinned.

  You are not as unique as you believe, he thought.

  Ignoring pain, forcing tortured limbs into frenzied movement, Lilith screamed in rage and charged Smokey. He would still know a painful death, but it would not be slow and she would savor every moment of his agony.

  Come to me, Smokey thought. Share in my death.

  * * *

  They heard the sounds of battle long before the London Library hove into view. Fighting exhaustion and pain, Groucho ran even faster. Levi easily kept pace, and when he finally saw the building he surged ahead, long legs devouring the distance.

  As they neared the library a dread silence fell. Then the quiet was broken by a long piercing scream from above. They looked up and saw a figure hurtle over the parapet.

  “No!” Groucho cried. “No!”

  The dark and silver cat writhed and twisting, tumbling head over tail as it rushed to the pavement below. It hit with a sickening thud. The body spasmed, then was still.

  “No,” Groucho whispered. He started to collapse. “Smokey.”

  Levi supported the Calico, kept him from falling. He pushed Groucho toward the inert form, though he resisted.

  “No, Levi,” Groucho pleaded. “I can’t…I…”

  “Look,” Levi said softly.

  Groucho had seen death before. It was part of every cat’s life, part of a natural cycle, but he did not want to remember his boon friend this way. He wanted Smokey to live in his memory as a cat who grinned in the face of death, who would impudently show his tongue to a foe. Smokey was the greatest cat he had ever known. He wanted no part of anything that would diminish that vision.

  “Groucho,” Levi whispered to the Calico. “Open your eyes and look. Trust me.”

  Groucho sighed. He had always trusted Levi, and always would. Forcing back grief, fighting a desire to scream against an uncaring universe, he opened his eyes.

  A small pool of new blood seeped from beneath the body, staining a white collar and a bowtie that had been the color of old blood. Eyes that once gleamed like hot pools of acid now glinted dully. Her dark fur, laced by patterns of silvery lightning, was still glossy, but now with spilled blood.

  “I…I don’t understand,” Groucho stammered.

  “It’s as I’ve always told you,” Smokey said. “Every cat has but one life, not nine.” He looked to Lilith. “And as I told her—death comes to all cats, no matter what.”

  Levi and Groucho looked up. Smokey stepped from a shadow near an outfall pipe. He moved slowly, his steps jerky, his limbs trembling. For a moment, he stood still, head held high.

  “She wanted to see me die,” he said. “I disappointed her.”

  He collapsed to the walkway.

  They rushed to Smokey’s side, Groucho thrilled beyond words that his friend was alive. Levi approached more slowly. He looked grimly at his old comrade and sighed. He could smell what Groucho could not—death. Smokey was not dead yet, but he had not long left in this world. His journey over the Bridge would soon begin.

  “I knew you could beat that molly,” Groucho said. “I didn’t have a doubt in the world.” He paused. “Well, maybe a few, but I knew you would best her somehow. Did she…”

  “No time now,” Smokey gasped. “You must listen.”

  “What do you mean?” Groucho demanded. “You defeated Lilith, the others will give Lord Cerberus a good drubbing, and then we can get back to…”

  “I don’t have much time, Groucho,” Smokey said. “Soon it will be time for me to go.”

  “What are you talking about?” the Calico cried. “You’ll be fine. Stop talking stupid! Levi, tell him that…”

  “You should listen, Groucho,” Levi advised softly. “Smokey will soon cross over the Bridge. Listen to what he has to say.”

  Groucho looked from one to the other, not wanting to believe either, but knowing that neither would ever lie to him. He moved closer to Smokey so he would not miss a single whispered word.

  “I have tried to be your friend,” Smokey said.

  “You’re the best friend I ever…”

  “But I have not always been as kind to you as I should have, for the softer emotions were not part of my life until I found my home,” Smokey continued. “I have tried to teach you all my skills, but even as I taught you how to take care of yourself, I was learning too. You taught me that friends and family are more important than anything this world can offer. Do not mourn me. Death comes to all cats in the fullness of time. All that matters in the end is whether you die a good death or a bad one. I have died well.”

  Groucho wanted to speak, but was afraid he would cry. He did not want to show weakness in front of Smokey, for he felt it would somehow dishonor him. Just as he wanted to preserve a memory of Smokey, so he wanted Smokey to remember him as brave, even if he felt like he was dying inside.

  “Do not forget me.”

  “I never will,” Groucho promised.

  “And remember me to Miss Kim,” Smokey said.

  Groucho nodded, too choked to reply. He turned to Levi. “Isn’t there something we can do?”

  “There is a poison in his blood,” Levi explained.

  “Lilith’s claws,” Smokey whispered.

  “It’s only a matter of time,” Levi said. “We could never
get him to a vet in time.”

  Groucho pressed his head against Smokey’s side, felt warmth start to leave his body, heard the slowing of his great heart. He wept silently, his body heaving with emotion.

  “Oi, what’s going on here?” a great voice boomed.

  “Bloody hell!” cried another.

  Two Mastiffs padded out of the murky night. Both wore vests of the Metropolitan Police.

  “This cat has been injured fighting Lilith,” Levi said.

  They looked at the inert form of what had once been the most dangerous cat in London.

  “Cor!”

  “Transport him with all possible speed to the veterinary surgery at S.T.E.A.M.,” Levi continued.

  One Mastiff, instinctively reacting to Levi’s alpha tone, moved towards Smokey, but the other restrained him.

  “Here, now, we work for New Scotland Yard, and we don’t…”

  Levi stepped up to the two Mastiffs, staring unflinchingly into their eyes. After a moment, they looked away.

  “My name is Levi, attached to Quigley’s pack in S.T.E.A.M.,” Levi continued. “Take this cat to the veterinary surgery with all due haste. He has been poisoned and speed is of the essence. The Calico will lead the way.”

  The Mastiff who had first responded to Levi rushed to Smokey. After a half-second of Levi’s glare, the other dog joined him. They bounded into the night with Smokey, Groucho leading the way.

  Levi did not linger. Before they were out of sight, he headed to the southeast, a blur of movement as he ran toward Big Ben

  Chapter 12: Tolls the Hour of Doom

  1887

  London

  Earth 2

  Lord Cerberus staggered.

  Mordred, Urias and Sykes stared, then quickly looked away, shifting to steady their load, but not saying a word; Snitch continued to stare. Of the dogs who had started out from the Soho lair, only they remained. After dealing with the Companions who maintained the great clock, the other dogs remained on guard outside and in that portion of Parliament which afforded access to North Tower. Lord Cerberus and the three dogs slowly moved the machine high above the metropolis.