by Peter Oxley
“Wow,” said Joshua as our carriage clattered to a halt beside the train station. “Is that for us?”
“It is,” I said. “One of Maxwell’s more useful creations. I am pleased to say I had a significant input into the design. Beautiful, is she not?”
“She really is,” said Joshua, drinking in the sight as the full extent of the locomotive hove into view. “Truly magnificent. Does she have a name?”
“The Juggernaut,” I said proudly, for truly the name suited the creation. It was a train unlike any other, a beast that was as impregnable as it was fast. The carriages were constructed from a particular mix of metals that Maxwell had proven could withstand a sustained barrage of gunshot and even—if the conditions and angles were favourable—cannon fire. However, it was the engine that really stirred the imagination. It combined the brute efficiency of many of the models already in service with something much more aesthetically pleasing: a snub-nosed and yet sleek frontispiece with the cold, hard metal offset by lanterns and slitted windows, giving the machine the air of a muscular stallion, straining at its reins. This design was a rare victory of mine over Maxwell’s ever-present pragmatism, which all too often drained the beauty out of anything and everything he created—function over form, he argued repetitively.
“We believe that it is the most powerful train in existence,” I said. “A battalion of soldiers could pepper it with gunshot and artillery for hours and it would just steam right through.”
“Impressive,” Joshua breathed, the intense look in his eyes mirroring everyone else’s who had thus far gazed upon the machine. Well, almost everyone.
“If you boys are quite done with slobberin’ over the tin can,” said Kate, “shall we board it before it gets too dark?” She pushed open the door and glared at us pointedly.
We muttered our acquiescence, stepping out of the carriage and onto a platform filled with the bustle of last-minute preparations for departure. Soldiers rushed to and fro, gathering munitions and hauling them into the carriages with a rapid precision, like ants around a nest.
I held out my hand to help the ladies down from the carriage. “Thank you, sir,” said Lexie, meeting my eyes for a long moment. I blushed in spite of myself: she was attractive in a rather harsh way, but it was the intensity of youth that gave her an added vigour, something I remembered from Kate before the battles against Andras had sharpened her manner and blackened her outlook.
“All ready for the off?” said a voice from behind us. We turned to see a straight-backed, genial officer marching towards us. “I take it you have managed to complete your mission satisfactorily?”
“Good to see you, Albert,” said Kate with a grin, giving him a quick hug.
“Captain Pearce,” I said, shaking the hand of the steadfast soldier who had helped us out of so many scrapes in the past. “This is the gentleman whom Maxwell asked us to fetch: may I introduce Joshua Bradshaw? And this is his sister, Lexie.”
“Nice to meet you sir, ma’am” said Pearce. “The train is stoked and ready to go. Once you are aboard we can be on our way.”
I turned to the others and gestured with my hand. “Shall we?” I asked.
We settled into a carriage in the centre of the train, the only one that had not been taken over by boxes of ordnance and noisome soldiers. I sat back in the cushioned seat, looking forward to some rest, but our new acquaintances had other ideas.
“I have read all of your accounts with great interest,” said Joshua, leaning in to me. “The thought that such terrible things could have been happening while so many of us were unaware! The battles with demons and golems in the streets of London, the clockwork men your friend created in an attempt to kill you, the Battle of Greenwich… but it is your accounts of the Aether that fascinate me the most. Is it really as terrible as you recounted?”
“Worse,” I said, shivering involuntarily as I felt the touch of those cold, dead hands upon me once more, seeing in my mind’s eye the hungry void stretching out before us. “We experienced much that I could not bear to relive, even for the sake of posterity. Even if I had been willing to commit them to paper, I had a duty to my readers to tone down what we experienced out there in the Aether, for public safety if nothing else.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Aether is a timeless void inhabited by undead creatures that will claw through each other to get hold of anything living,” said N’yotsu. “What do you think the reaction of the general public would be if they realised this? Many people still think that it is some sort of magical gateway to the spirit world. If they believed that that was where they would end up when they die, or where their dearly departed loved ones may have gone to fester for all eternity, then there would be riots on the streets and worse.”
“Is it?” asked Lexie. “The spirit world, that is?”
“No,” said N’yotsu. “At least I don’t think so. Although it is home to some particularly malignant spirits.”
“But I thought that the Aether was a gateway,” frowned Joshua, “a method of getting from one realm to another.”
“It is,” said N’yotsu. “But in order to get from this realm to another you need to be skilled and powerful enough to first travel through the Aether and avoid being trapped there, or worse. Of course,” he grinned mirthlessly, “that is not the hardest part.”
“No?”
“No. Getting into the Aether is relatively easy. At least it certainly is these days. The hard part is knowing how to create another portal out of the Aether and point that portal at the realm into which you want to travel. Many of those trapped in the Aether are there because they fell at that hurdle.” He went silent for a moment and then added, almost under his breath: “I certainly did.”
My ears perked up at this admission, for he could only be speaking of his time long ago when he was Andras, marooned in the Aether before he had been able to escape into our world.
The thought of Andras brought other feelings to mind: the terrible leering grin that mocked the world and found it wanting, the sense of dread which overcame me every time those glowing red eyes turned on me, sucking me into a place devoid of reason, decency or morality. I remembered the cold touch of the demon’s claws as my soul was sucked from my body, the gleeful malignancy in the way that he tore us all apart, taunted us and then spat us out.
But then N’yotsu’s earnest face reminded me that we had won: the demon’s essence was now confined to a cold black stone safely locked away, while what remained fought beside us as our friend and compatriot.
Frowning at the change in our moods, Kate turned to Lexie. “So who’s this ‘Ada Lovely’ your old dear was talking about?”
Lexie smiled. “Lovelace. Ada King, Countess of Lovelace. She was a great mathematician: some would say a genius. She was a close friend of Mother’s. Unfortunately I never had a chance to really meet her as she died when I was an infant.”
The name was familiar to me. “Wasn’t she Lord Byron’s daughter?”
“That’s correct,” said Lexie. “But her fame lies in mathematics rather than poetry. She corresponded with Babbage extensively on his Difference Engine and Analytical Engine; her Notes is one of my favourite texts.”
“I am impressed,” said N’yotsu. “That is not an easy text to wade through.”
“Certainly not for one with an occult bent,” she smiled at him.
“Indeed. But you understand the paper and its principles? The method of calculating Bernoulli numbers through the use of the machine?”
“Intimately,” she said. “In fact, I have expanded on them and would welcome the opportunity to discuss my findings with someone of a like mind.” She patted the satchel full of papers resting on her lap.
“And that is where my brother comes in,” I said with a grin. “I suspect that he will be very happy to meet you.” I noticed Joshua scowling at his sister and added: “Both of you.”
“So how did you two get to become little geniuses like this then?” asked Kate.
“Didn’t see much need for that up there in Sheffield when we were wading through foundries and factories and forges.”
“Mathematics pervades everything,” said Lexie, warming to her subject. “For instance, the smelting of steel requires knowledge of precise temperatures, timings and—”
“You are right, Miss Thatcher,” interjected Joshua, cutting off his sister’s flow, “in that I was originally intended for the trade. Our Father owned and ran a number of foundries in Sheffield and he groomed me to be his successor.”
“So what happened?” asked Kate.
“Our Father died,” he said, holding up a hand to stem our muttered condolences. “It was a few years ago now. And I was never really interested in the family business, so…”
“So your Father died and you fell into magic?” I asked.
“In part,” he said. “A conjurer came to town and I saw his show over a dozen times, wondering how he did it. Lexie and I figured out that it was all just parlour tricks and sleight of hand—”
“In point of fact, I did,” Lexie said. “I do not recall you adding much to the calculations.”
“Whatever the case,” he said, blushing intensely, “I was disappointed and resolved to learn real magic, especially with everything that was happening in the world. Our uncle has carried on the management of the foundry business, and in that respect it appears I have had a lucky escape.”
“What, because it’s so dull?” asked Kate.
“No. Well, yes, it is, but that’s not the real reason. The business is struggling: the machinery is becoming less and less reliable. Even the smelting furnaces, which should be good for decades’ more work, are failing on a regular basis. Our uncle has tried everything, but to no avail.” He exhaled with a short laugh. “I have often wondered whether my studies in magic may be the answer here, by providing us with an alternative means of continuing the family business.”
Lexie interrupted his flow with a theatrical snort.
“Don’t you believe in magic?” N’yotsu asked her.
“I believe in many things,” she said. “But only those that I can prove or empirically observe. So-called ‘magic’ is not one of them.”
“You might be a proper bit of frock, but have you been hiding under a rock these past few years?” Kate asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.
If Lexie noticed our friend’s displeasure, she did a marvellous job of hiding it. I found myself admiring her composure: people often wilted in the face of even a hint of Kate’s harder side.
“I have seen many things,” Lexie said with a sweet smile on her lips but a hard glint in her eyes, “but as I am sure Maxwell will say: it is not enough to merely see things, the importance is in the understanding of them.”
“Be careful about presuming what people might say before you’ve actually met them,” snapped back Kate. I looked down, stifling a smile but also hoping that I would escape being pulled into the argument: after all, Lexie’s words were pretty close to what Maxwell would indeed have said.
“All I meant,” said Lexie, ploughing on regardless, “is that I am aware of the phenomena that have taken place over the past few years, the so-called demons, the Aether and so on. But I have yet to see or hear of anything that I would describe as ‘magic’.”
“Whatever the case,” said N’yotsu, “you may find that your brother’s ideas are not too far from reality—at least if Maxwell’s calculations are correct.”
Lexie shrugged and looked out of the window, flushing slightly under our combined attentions. With a jolt I realised that we had just witnessed the hard certainty and self-belief that often came with youth, coupled with a good dose of sibling rivalry. Her reaction reminded me of myself when I was an idealistic teenager wilting under the cold logical arguments of my elders. My God, when did I get so old?
“You will have the opportunity to see for yourself soon enough, young lady,” said N’yotsu. He turned back to Joshua. “You said that you have been studying magic for just a couple of years, and that all you learnt came from those few books you own? No other tuition from any other sources?”
“None yet,” he said.
“Fascinating,” said N’yotsu, staring at him intently.
Kate nudged Joshua with her elbow. “So you’re a bit of a genius, then?”
He blushed as I fought a stirring of resentment over Kate’s familiar manner around the young man. “I am excited to learn from you and Maxwell,” he said to N’yotsu.
“Be careful what you wish for,” said N’yotsu.
Lexie turned back from the window. “I am curious,” she said. “You mentioned earlier about something called the ‘Fulcrum’: that it was approaching, or words to that effect. What did you mean?”
“Maxwell will be best placed to explain it to you,” said N’yotsu. “After all, it is his concept. But if he is correct, then it is to be avoided at all costs.” The train jerked forwards and he cursed as he looked out of the window.
“Don’t tell me the train’s failing as well,” I said.
“Not quite,” said N’yotsu. “Or at least, not yet. We would seem to have trouble of a different complexion.” He stood and reached for the door handle. “Gus, come with me. The rest of you, stay here for the moment.”
I glanced out of the window as I stood, seeing a number of dark blots on the horizon. I followed N’yotsu as we walked in the direction of the train’s travel, walking past the latest of Maxwell’s inventions as we did so. To the untutored eye it was merely a collection of crates and ropes, but Maxwell had reassured us that it had the potential to revolutionise travel. It said a lot about the caution with which we treated his untested creations in those troubled times that we were relying on the train rather than risking our lives to that thing.
I glanced out of a window to see the figures still following us. “Gaap?” I asked.
“That would be a logical assumption,” he said. “Or the Soul-less. Or both. Either way, it is enough of a threat for us to speed up and try to outrun them.”
We stepped through to the next carriage and were met with the quiet intensity of a company of soldiers readying themselves for battle, checking and rechecking their weapons under the shouted encouragement of their Sergeant. Their faces were strained in the half-light that was afforded by the narrow slit windows in the armoured walls, which was only marginally assisted by the small gas lamps mounted around the carriage at regular intervals.
We found Captain Pearce at the far end of the carriage, coordinating the action with a cool efficiency.
“Captain,” said N’yotsu. “What is it?”
“Not sure,” said Pearce. “Something seems to be following us.”
“Something?” I asked. “Can the Juggernaut out-pace them?”
“We are about to find out,” he said grimly. “Until then, it is prudent for us to prepare for the worst. Sergeant!” A man appeared in front of us and snapped a salute. “Bring all non-military passengers forwards to this carriage. I want men stationed on both sides of the train with their weapons loaded and ready, but no one is to fire until I say so.” He turned back to us. “I will get the driver to put everything he has into the engines. Mr Potts, I suggest that you and N’yotsu prepare yourselves for action. Kate, would you like to come with me?”
We turned to see her stood behind us, a grim look on her face.
“I thought I told you to stay with the others,” said N’yotsu. “You would be better placed making sure that they are safe.”
“Bugger that,” she said. “I’ll go with Albert, see if I can make myself useful up front. I’ll keep this with me in case things get hairy.” She held up a Snider-Enfield rifle that she had grabbed from a nearby rack.
I grinned as N’yotsu frowned at her. After what Andras had done to Kate in Greenwich Observatory, N’yotsu had tried desperately to keep her from any further harm, which had just served to infuriate her further. “Tell you what,” I said, “I’ll get the two youngsters in here; there’s not much I can
do until we get close enough for me to use this,” I said, gesturing to my sword.
“We will need you on a rifle as well,” Pearce warned me.
“Yep. Nothing like a bit of wild blind firing to put the fear of God into demons,” winked Kate at me as they left the carriage.
“I can shoot,” I protested at the closing door. I turned to N’yotsu. “I’m a better marksman than she is.”
“I think we both know that’s not quite true,” he said. “In any case, you’ll soon have plenty of opportunities to test that theory. In the meantime, shall we?”
Joshua and Lexie jumped as I threw open the door. “Time to change carriages,” I said. “We’ve got company, and not in a good way.”
“Company?” asked Joshua with concern on his face. “What sort of company?”
“Could be demons, could be the Soul-less.” I looked out of the window; the figures were definitely drawing nearer, although they were still far enough away for their identities to be uncertain. “They’re catching up with us, and we’re going at full steam, so those won’t be normal horses they’re riding. Come with me.” I beckoned for them to follow me out of the door.
“The Soul-less?” asked Lexie. “I thought they were the stuff of penny dreadfuls, fairy stories to scare children and titillate simpletons?”
I ushered them down the corridor. “You have not been out much, have you?”
“For the past few years, ever since the reports of the strange happenings and the Battle of Greenwich, Mother has been overly keen that we did not leave Sheffield,” she said. I detected a hint of resentment in her tone.
I smiled. “As we said earlier, there are plenty of things these days that can’t be explained away by science. The ‘fairy tales’ are very real, as, unfortunately, are the Soul-less.”
“But they’re just people—”
“They were people, but they have been tainted by demons, mainly Andras, tempted by the lure of power or money, such that they lost their souls. When Andras was destroyed, their so-called rewards went with him.”