The Lightning Lord

by Anthony Faircloth

  Boots heard that edge to his wife’s voice that always meant there would be trouble for him if she were involved. He was going to try to de-escalate this discussion but Aiyana interrupted him.

  “No, the missing people are,” she took a breath, “they are Nosferatu. After the last count by the tribe, twenty are missing.”

  “Twenty Nos are missing?” Boots asked. “To what end?”

  Jane spoke, “That is unknown, but if this Duke uses the dark power, it will not be good”

  “And when you mean, ‘not good,’ you mean ...” Captain Grimm asked, reentering the room.

  “Bad for us all, evil,” John said.

  “What about these dark powers, what do you know.”

  They looked at Jane. “Very little,” she said, “no tribe member may study them, and even speaking of them is discouraged. The few legends the storytellers speak of, and even then vaguely, tell of monsters from a world outside of ours. The Dark Ones are very powerful, but choose this power to destroy, not just people but worlds. They are held back somehow, by the Great Spirit I suppose, but sometimes people invite them in and even help them enter our world. To these people, the Dark Ones give powers. The legends do not say anything good about these people. Even if they start out with good intent, by the end of the story they have been corrupted by the power.”

  Boots sat back. “Well, this is interesting, and certainly within our charter to investigate.”

  “Yes,” Persi agreed.

  Jane looked at them across the table. “You know of these things, these Dark Ones?”

  “Oh, heavens yes.” Persi said, waving her hand dismissively.

  “We knew you were investigative agents for the government of the United States, is this correct?” John asked, curiosity rested on his face like a week’s growth of beard.

  “Absolument,” Grimm said with a grin that at once showed humor and violence to come.

  “Evil forces again?” Parry asked, returning from speaking to his men.

  Boots smiled. “We work for a branch of the United States War Department.”

  “Actually, a section of the Intelligence Branch.” Persi added. “The section is relatively new and doesn’t have a name, more for secrecy than anything. It is referred to in paperwork as Section 99.”

  The vampires listened intently, as though watching the unveiling of a monument.

  “I suppose we should not be telling you this,” Persi said, “but you have entrusted so many of your tribal secrets to us, it seemed fair to let you in on something of what we do.”

  “It is appreciated,” Aiyana said.

  “So, you investigate ...”

  Persi laughed at the face John displayed. It was as though he had been slapped with a fresh trout. “Strange things, things most people dismiss or ignore,” she said, “Things people refuse to believe are true.”

  “Evil things,” Parry piped in, “things not easily understood from a scientific or rational perspective. Things about which have very little knowledge but which threaten life.”

  “Things like these Dark Ones,” Grimm finished, stabbing another fish fillet and placing it on his plate without making eye contact.

  “And you are successful against the Dark Ones?” John asked.

  “Well,” Boots said, “we have not actually gone up against these Dark Ones, though we have heard of them, or things like them.”

  “And you can fight them,” Jane asked. “I mean, you have the knowledge and the – weapons?”

  “Again,” Boots said, “we are relatively new at this so we are still gathering the information. As we do, we develop strategies and try to develop equipment to use.”

  The Nightwalkers continued to stare at him.

  “No, no we have no weapons,” Persi said, irritation in her voice, “other than those you know of like the sundowner bullet, and one or two other things that as of yet are untried.”

  John looked at Jane and Aiyana. “We have bound ourselves to escapees of an asylum.”

  The two women laughed and it was contagious, working its way around the table until even Mister Parry was forced to chuckle.

  “We will help where we can,” Jane said, “but as we have said, we will not kill our own.”

  “I hope that will not be necessary. Most of our charter deals with investigation and reporting. If we find ourselves in a situation needing force ...” Boots said.

  “When, my love.” Persi cut in.

  “Uhm, yes. Sometimes when our investigations lead to an ‘if,’ my darling wife creates a ‘when’. Regardless, when force is needed, we call for Section Zero. They are equipped to resolve these situations.”

  “So this Section Zero has dealt with the Dark Ones?” Jane asked.

  “I don’t know. I don’t think so, but neither have they dealt with lesser evils, mostly humans I’ll grant you,” Persi said.

  John sat back in his chair. “My confidence has not been secured.”

  “My friend, our challenges are real, just not easily defined and cataloged.” Boots said. “Six months ago we were sent to Michigan’s upper peninsula to investigate the sinking of a large freight ships. One sailor survived and he told of some type of fish men who attacked the boat. He was repairing a lifeboat at the time and managed to lower himself into the water and float away before he was caught.”

  “And he saw these fish men?” John asked.

  “Well, no, not to speak of. I mean not clearly. He heard the screams, scraping on wooden decks and the slapping of what he said, sounded like webbed feet,” Boots said.

  John’s brows furrowed.

  “Then there was the Coymen of the Arizona Territory.” Persi spoke quickly.

  “Oh, please,” Parry exclaimed, “that sand storm, do you remember? It took me three weeks to clean the sand from gear.”

  “Yes, yes, regardless, a pack of Coymen had attacked a caravan of settlers heading for Southern California.” Persi said in irritation. “The settlers reported that one night, after a party in which all but the small children drank a bitter drink offered by their Mexican guide, strange lights and shapes appeared to them. A short time later, the Coymen showed up and stole their strong box and many of their supplies. They awoke the next morning retching and with throbbing headaches.

  “Uhm, could not their guide simply have drugged them with something like peyote, then he and his confederates robbed the wagon train?” Jane asked.

  “Perhaps, though we did find coyote foot tracks around camp, and scratch marks on the wagons.”

  “Well, yes,” Persi said, “and the night before we boarded the train to return to Washington, we heard several coyotes barking.”

  The vampires looked across the table, mouths agape.

  “I know,” Persi said. “Unbelievable isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” Aiyana said.

  Boots smiled. Grimm and Parry laughed.

  “These stories are not true, are they?” Aiyana asked.

  Persi laughed too, “Actually they are, but we came up with the same conclusions you did.”

  The Nightwalkers sighed and relaxed.

  “We told you these to say, often we encounter situations we can explain after a little investigation, in fact, to date, out of 54 cases we have only had two we could not explain and the one we are currently in, is one of them.”

  “And the other one -- the case you could not solve?” Jane asked.

  “We eventually solved it. It dealt with a pack of werewolves in Northern Minnesota. We are not at liberty to speak of it. But you must agree that if there are fantastic things like Nightwalkers, and were-people, there must be many more things left to discover.”

  The vampires nodded in agreement.

  “So when we arrive in Aspen it will be our duty to find out what is going on, whether the Dark Ones exist or not. We will search for the truth.

  Chapter 26 – Meeting Mr. Tesla in Aspen, Colorado

  Three hours later, the ship was moored a quarter mile from town, and the vel
ocitor unloaded. They decided to do a quick reconnoiter instead of heading straight for the Duke and his lightning.

  The Captain drove, while Persi sat between him and Boots in the front seat. The three Nightwalkers sat in the rear seat, and Nicholas and Morris stood on the platform at the rear of the machine. All wore, winter coats, since the ships temperature gauges showed it to be 18 degrees outside. The vampires were not affected by the cold and only wore the coats to blend in. Nicholas and Morris would not only act as security, but Morris wanted to see if he could purchase any of the materials he needed for, what the Captain called, his ‘aero-farm.’

  When the glow of the town appeared above the trees, and not wanting to draw attention with the velocitor, Boots directed Grimm to pull over. The plan was that Nicholas would stay with the vehicle while the others walked the remaining distance.

  Grimm took a walking cane from where it was fastened to the inside of the driver’s door and handed it to Boots.

  “Thank you Captain,” he said, then turned to Nicholas. “Master Nicholas, you will stay here until we return. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” Nicholas nodded.

  He turned to leave then turned back. “You do know how to operate the Icarus?

  Nicholas smiled. “Yes, sir. Capt’n Grimm showed me. I’ll be there if you need me.”

  “Good man,” Boots said, saluted and joined the group.

  They had walked several hundred yards when suddenly, a horn sounded, then two horns, then a third and three velocitors sped past them in what appeared to be a race, the drivers yelling something incoherent.

  “Perhaps we would not have stood out like we thought,” Persi commented.

  “Boots, my love?”

  “Yes, dear?” Boots responded.

  “You have noticed the town is glowing have you not? The glow we saw as we moored, and now the glow coming through the trees?” she said.

  “Yes, dear. It is rather hard to miss.” Boots retorted.

  “Yes, but why is it glowing? The amount of light being produced is well over that of gaslights. I’m not sure that even setting the town on fire would produce illumination this intense.”

  “I suppose you are correct,” Boots said.

  The question was answered as the came over a small hill and looked at what must be Aspen’s main street. Where tall gas lamps or oil lamps would have been in Kansas City or Boston, there were lanterns that burned so brightly one could not look at them for long. It was like looking into a bright white sun, and with one lamp at the end of every block, the whole town glowed like daylight.

  “There appears to be a glass bulb in the center of each lantern,” Morris observed, “and it glows white like the light from a miner’s helmet. Like phosphorous except there is no smoke, and the light is consistent.”

  “I believe this is some type of electrical device,” Boots said. “I have heard that Mister Thomas Edison has such a device but I had not heard it was quite so – bright.”

  “This is not Edison’s,” Persi said. “My father has invested in Mister Edison’s work and frequently receives reports of his progress. He has just produced his first light bulb, and it is not nearly this brilliant.”

  She took Boots arm, “Mister Beacon, perhaps we should see what establishments are open at this time, and what they might know about these phenomena.”

  “Why, certainly Miss Shuttleworth,” he said, strolling toward building. “Grimm, intelligence. Morris, farm,” he said over his shoulder. “Nightwalkers, we need information but please do so discreetly. We will meet back here in two hours.”

  They nodded and walked in separate directions. Grimm and Morris set a brisk pace to move in front of Persi and Boots. The vampires walked to the other side of the street, then disappeared behind the building.

  “Ooh, discreet. You know how I love to be discreet,” Persi said, tugging gently on Boots arm.

  “I have no comment that would keep me in your good graces, my dear,” he said, patting her hand.

  “Good man,” she replied.

  They began to meet men and women strolling the wooden sidewalks, looking into windows and greeting each other as if it were three o’clock on a Sunday afternoon.

  “This is not the rough and ready mining town I expected. Perhaps we will find something more gentile than the average saloon,” Persi said.

  As it turned out, most of the businesses were open and available to customers, and to Persi’s delight, they found an all-night teahouse, though the servers wore daringly short dresses that not only showed their ankles, but climbed half way to their knees. As well, the décolletage of each dress was much lower than generally acceptable in polite society.

  “Well, isn’t this nice?” Boots said, his eyes lingering slightly longer than usual on the ladies.

  “Careful, my love, the light reflecting off their – attributes – may blind you.”

  “Persi, my heart, I am simply gathering intelligence.”

  “Hmm, then I think you will be at an intellectual deficit when you are finished,” she said, picking up the menu and scanning it. “Boots, there is very little on this menu. A standard black tea, blueberry muffins, roast beef tea sandwiches – I have no idea how they make money.”

  The bell over the door rang and two well-dressed men entered. They were met by a smiling hostess and escorted through a curtained door at the back of the room. “Persi, I don’t believe they make their money selling at the front of the house.”

  “Yes, I see,” she said, “but who knows, the tea may be excellent.”

  The tea was not excellent and they left the tearoom twenty minutes later heading for a saloon that seemed to be popular. The Silver Vein had several tables located away from the bar which sat on a large carpet with the space divided from the noisier bar attendees by several planters. At one of the three tables, a man sat between two well-dressed women. The fabric and tailoring of the suit suggested money to Boots. The style of the women’s clothing, as well as their physical attentions toward the man, suggested their occupation was not far removed from those women at the tearoom.

  A woman in the familiar short dress came to their table. “What’ll it be?” she said impatiently.

  Before Persi or Boots could respond the man next to them spoke up in a heavy eastern European accent.

  “Mary, that is no way to speak to guests,” he said. “Perhaps you could try it again?”

  The accent is Hungarian, or perhaps Romanian, Boots thought, as he analyzed the man’s appearance. He was young, early to mid-twenties. He figured women found him handsome, with thick black hair combed straight back and shining with pomade. His ears, though not big, were canted out just enough to provide a humorous balance to the danger in his deep-set, intelligent eyes.

  The woman turned pale and stammered. “Yes, sir, my apologies.” She turned back to Persi and Boots. “Excuse me, may I get you something?”

  “Yes, a whiskey, neat and ...” Boots looked at Persi.

  “A beer, please,” Persi said.

  The waitress nodded, then bobbed something like a curtsy to the man.

  “It is easy to find help in Aspen, what with the success in the mines.” He held out a newly clipped cigar to the lady on his left, who struck a match, lit the end and blew it out with a suggestive puff. The man smiled at her then returned his gaze to the agents. “But it is another thing to find good help.” He reached into his pocket and produced a calling card that he passed to Boots via the woman on his right.

  “Nikola Tesla, Inventor,” Boots read aloud.

  “Indeed,” Tesla said.

  “And what do you invent, Mister Tesla?” Persi asked.

  “I make light,” he said, looking up and motioning toward the ceiling lights.

  “Splendid,” Persi said, “so you are responsible for these lamps.”

  “Yes, but also the electricity that powers them.”

  “Amazing,” Boots said, “and how do you produce this electricity?”

  “Generator
s, Mister ...?”

  “Beacon, Horace Randolph Bosworth Beacon the third, but please just call me Boots.”

  “Yes, yes, I can see why one would.” Tesla said, smiling, “And please call me Nikola. And the lady?” He motioned to Persi.

  “This is my, fiancé, Ms. Francis Shuttleworth,” Boots said, leaving out her middle name for his safety.

  “Charmed,” Tesla said, tilting his head to Persi in a seated bow.

  “And how do you obtain this electricity, Mister Tesla,” Persi asked.

  “Nikola, please. I have dammed a river near here, and have built and established generators at the gates of these dams. These create this,” he waved his hands again.

  “Edison, have you heard of him?” Boots asked.

  “Yes. Who has not?”

  “Yes, of course – who has not indeed? I believe his direct current generators require substations every mile or so to move electricity. Is it hard for you to build these given the mountainous terrain?”

  “Blah, Mister Edison is a brilliant man of course, but his direct current generating system is too cumbersome. My alternating current is more elegant and has no need for these substations. One day I will travel to the east and discuss this with my brother inventor.”

  As Boots was about to ask where his power facility was located, a man came through the saloon door, looked about hurriedly and upon seeing Tesla, strode quickly to his side.

  “Nikola, the Duke wants your output figures from your last charge-and-release,” the man said.

  Tesla looked away and held a hand in front of the man’s face. “Mister Masters, please, I am relaxing with friends. Surely the Duke can ask one of my operators for that information.”

  Masters looked to Persi and Boots, taking a step back. “Friends?”

  Persi and Boots shrugged and nodded.

  The nervous man became more nervous. “Mister Tesla, you know the Duke has been spending time with his other project, and they were not being cooperative so upon finding you were not in your laboratory he was quite vocal. Perhaps you should apologize to your ... friends, and return with me to Falcon’s Keep.”

  The two men locked eyes and whatever was transferred caused the younger man to scoot his chair back and rise. “Perhaps you are right. There will be time enough for fun once we have been successful and can announce it to the world.”