The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  “Piss off, ye bloody git. Let me go, and we’ll see what’s sad.”

  “I assure you that whatever’s preventing you from attempting all the terrible little things I see dancing behind your eyes, it isn’t me.”

  “Bollocks,” Sev cursed. “Ye’re a liar and a coward.”

  “Sticks and stones, Sevvy. I’m only interested in retrieving what belongs to me.” Fairgate snaked his naked hand beneath Sev’s worn, old coat and plucked the grimoire from inside. “Hello, old friend,” Fairgate crooned when he had the book. “Aren’t you happy to be away from this filthy little idiot? Yes, you are.” Fairgate leafed through the pages of the grimoire like he was caressing a lover. “Is that the sound of your teeth grinding? Oh, Sevvy, this must be just tearing you up inside, seeing my greatest possession returned to me and you impotent to stop me.”

  Sev willed himself to stop grinding his teeth, but Fairgate was correct; this really was killing him. “Ye can’t hold me forever, Fairgate. Bet on that.”

  Fairgate tipped his head to the side and regarded Sev with the kind of expression adults reserved for silly children. “My dear Sevvy. I don’t need to hold you forever.” He raised the book. “What were you planning to do with this? Hmm? You don’t have a tenth of the knowledge it would take to understand it or an ounce of actual talent to be able to use it. You’re in way over your head with this one, old bean.”

  “How ’bout I shove that book down yer throat, and then ye can try t’talk t’me about talent, ye gobshite?”

  “Charming.” Fairgate sneered, snapped the book shut, and then whispered something to the spine. “You’ll get yours, Sevvy. Don’t you worry about that.” Fairgate turned on his heel and laughed as he casually strolled off. Sev thrashed, trying to free himself. He stopped abruptly when Fairgate tossed his grimoire over his shoulder. Sev watched the slow descent of the book as if it moved through water rather than air, and when it touched the white flagstone floor, something instantly terrifying occurred.

  Foul blackness seeped from the pages and infected the white stone, spreading like a doomsday plague. Fairgate’s laughter echoed through the rapidly darkening chamber, but no sign of the madman remained. Sev found himself suddenly free and stumbled, finally released. He scrabbled backward, desperate to get away from the oozing black fingers of the cursed book’s disease. He didn’t know what would happen if that sickness touched him, and he didn’t want to find out. Somehow he managed to get his feet back under him, and he ran as fast and as hard as he could. Now he could hear things in the darkness, familiar things, rasping things with gnashing teeth and taloned hands.

  The black death crept up alongside Sev as he ran. It was closing in, and there was nearly none of the ivory stone visible. He could see a window and knew it was his only chance. He dove with all his might.

  SEV LANDED hard on the wooden floor of the flat that he and Rat had been sharing. He jumped up and snatched his trophy turret pistol from the holster on his bedstead, frantically searching the room, pointing the gun everywhere his gaze fell. He couldn’t remember how he had gotten back to the apartment, and when Rat dashed through the door, disheveled and still half-asleep, Sev leveled the pistol at him on instinct.

  Rat threw his hands up. “Oy, mate! Hold on there.”

  “Rat? Rat? What’s goin’ on?”

  “Put the pistol down, mate.” Rat motioned with his hands, trying to calm Sev. “Relax. Lower it, lower. There ain’t no danger.”

  Sev’s gaze darted around the darkened flat. There was no sign of Fairgate, no sign of ivory stone, and no sign of the blackened, tainted rock that replaced it. “I—” he began and stopped. He thought for a moment. “I think I had a nightmare.” Sev looked at the pistol before finally dropping it to his side. His body didn’t so much relax as it surrendered to exhaustion, and he slumped back onto his bed.

  Tentatively, Rat stepped slowly over to Sev. He reached out and took the pistol. Sev didn’t resist at all. When Rat had the weapon, he placed it back in the holster and sat down next to Sev. “D’ye want t’talk about it?” he asked.

  Sev didn’t respond. He couldn’t find his voice. The dream, if it really was that, had been so vivid. He almost couldn’t believe that this bland alternative was his real life.

  Rat waited a moment before he said, “Ye don’t have t’. Certainly. I just thought it might make ye feel better.”

  “Oh, Ratty,” Sev said with a sigh. “I appreciate that.”

  Rat waited for Sev to continue. He didn’t. Rat tapped his foot impatiently. He opened his mouth, seemed to think better of it, and closed it.

  Noticing this, Sev said, “I’m sorry, mate. I had an awful dream.” He related the strange circumstances of the dream to Rat and was met with stunned silence.

  “That’s bloody broken,” Rat whispered after a few moments. “Ye think he’s in that book?”

  Sev shook his head. “I don’t know. Maybe.” He considered it more. “I doubt it. I probably just got meself all worked up fer no reason.”

  “That may be true enough.” Rat cast the book sitting on the nightstand an apprehensive glance. “But I don’t like it. I don’t trust it. It ain’t right.”

  Sev nodded. “Aye. Ye might have a point there, Ratty.” He took a deep, steadying breath. “What should I do with it? Toss it in the bin?”

  Rat sneered. “I don’t think it’s that easy, mate.”

  “Ye’re right, o’course. It’s me burden now. Even if I don’t use it, I got t’keep an eye on it.”

  “Unless ye jest destroy it.”

  “How?” Sev asked.

  “Fire?” Rat shrugged. “It worked on those shamblin’ corpses in Undertown.”

  Sev yawned despite his anxiety. “Aye. Fire’s likely a good bet.” He stretched, cracking his neck and back. “There’s nothin’ for it. We can’t get rid of it yet. It might help us once we get t’Victorica.”

  “Y’might be right there. But it still don’t sit right.” Rat rose, seemingly satisfied that Sev was over his fright. He walked to the door to return to his own bed and paused.

  Sev slid the book into the drawer of his nightstand and lay back. “We’ve got a long road, Ratty. A long road ahead….” Sev’s words trailed off as sleep once again claimed him.

  THE NEXT day Rat awoke before Seven. He walked over and regarded his flatmate sleeping soundly. Rat packed his pipe as he paced quietly around their apartment. He lit the tobacco and took a long, satisfying drag, allowing the smoke to escape his lungs and mouth slowly, billowing toward the ceiling. He squinted as he scrutinized Sev’s nightstand, the brass knob on the drawer drawing Rat’s gaze. He knew Fairgate’s Grimoire lay within, filled with evil and corruption.

  He should snatch it and destroy it. He should. Rat looked at Sev’s unworried, slumbering expression, and he wanted to save his friend from the burden of the awful tome. He puffed his pipe frantically. A real friend would free Sev from Fairgate’s cursed journal. Rat took a few abbreviated steps toward the nightstand. He stopped short. It felt like a betrayal. Sev wanted the horrible book to serve as a secret weapon, and if Rat destroyed it, he was denying his friend that weapon.

  Dammit, Rat thought. Things were a lot simpler before Sev strolled into his life. Rat served Midnight and that was the end of it. He did his job and didn’t ask questions. Sev introduced confusion and morality to Rat’s simple existence.

  Not to mention Annie. Sweet, delicate Annie turned Rat’s world on its head. Sev had introduced them, and it seemed like a dream. Annie was perfect with dark hair and porcelain skin like a flawless little doll, but a clockwork doll that could hold her own in a fight. She was one of the strongest people Rat had ever met. She saved all their lives despite being infected by the blighted monsters in those tunnels. Rat’s heart broke a little more each time he thought of her, of her death, of pulling the trigger to put her out of her misery.

  Rat squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could. When he opened them, he was staring directly at the drawer concealing
Fairgate’s journal. He took it as a sign and marched across the room, his arm extended. The thing needed to be burned, destroyed, and he would do what needed done.

  Rat’s hand was inches from the drawer when Sev’s hand closed suddenly around his wrist. Their gazes met. Rat saw murder in Sev’s eyes for an instant before his expression softened. “Leave it,” Sev whispered.

  Rat regarded him for a pregnant moment. At last he slowly nodded, relenting. Sev released Rat’s wrist and spared Rat a final glance before he turned over and drew the covers around him.

  Rat sighed. He glanced once more at the drawer and gave it up for a lost cause. Sev wouldn’t allow Rat to save him from the evil book, and he had to deal with that fact. He puffed his pipe a few more times before he extinguished it and climbed back into bed. His mind raced and refused him sleep for a long time.

  Rat debated their success with himself until he was finally too exhausted to remain awake. He drifted into sleep as his pipe smoldered in its tray.

  THE DAYS following Sev’s bizarre dream were a whirlwind. Preparations for their trip to the New World proceeded expediently. Silas and Wrathsbury arranged the entire journey. Sev, Rat, and Silas were to leave on a vessel named the Iron Arrow, the fastest steamship in the British fleet. It fell to Sev and Rat to decide what they would need on the journey and pack accordingly. Silas insisted they take the gearcycles and received no argument in return. Sev packed every weapon at his disposal and encouraged Rat to do the same.

  “What if we ain’t allowed t’take these on the boat?” Rat asked.

  “What d’ye mean?” Sev looked puzzled.

  “What if they stop us? This lot is dangerous.”

  “I’m sure Silas and Wrathsbury have taken care of all that,” Sev stated confidently. “We shouldn’t have t’worry about it.”

  “I hope ye’re right.” As if in answer to Rat’s doubts, a telegram arrived instructing them an auto-hansom would arrive in the morning to carry them to Liverpool, where their ship awaited. The gearcycles had already been shipped to that city. Rat seemed to study Sev intently.

  “What?” Sev asked.

  “Nuffin’,” Rat answered.

  Sev wrinkled his nose in consternation as he regarded Rat. “I don’t believe that. What’re ye thinkin’?”

  “I’m worried.”

  “About what?”

  “Everything.” Rat pulled the battered top hat he always wore off his dirty-blond head. He worried the brim in his hands, and Sev could see the gears turning behind his eyes. He finally shook his head with a shrug. “We barely made it through last time an’ that was against one man. Granted that one man was a evil wizard, but still….” He paused. “Sev, how’re we s’posed t’fight an entire country?”

  “That’s a good question, Ratty.” Sev placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “Fairgate had the entire British Army and the police force t’fight us. We had a small army o’good friends, and we lost a lot o’those friends. But we prevailed. It wasn’t easy, and this won’t be either, but we’ll just have t’make some friends when we get t’Victorica.”

  “Friends?”

  “Aye.”

  “That’s yer plan, then?”

  Sev looked into Rat’s doubtful gaze. “Aye.”

  Rat studied Sev’s face. Finally, he sighed, shrugged, and relaxed. “All right, then. Let’s get to it.”

  Sev smiled and patted Rat’s shoulder. “Good old Ratty. I knew I could count on ye.” As Rat replaced his top hat and turned to finish packing their equipment, Sev smiled sadly. He didn’t want to give his friend false hope, while at the same time he was thankful he could ease Rat’s mind a bit. They finished crating their equipment while Rat told Sev stories he’d read about the New World’s Wild West.

  Sev and Rat were enjoying a late lunch when they heard footsteps on the stairs leading up to the flat. Sev walked to the door, anticipating the knock. He was surprised to find Silas on the other side. “Silas,” he said, embracing his costumed love. “I wasn’t expectin’ ye before t’morrow.”

  “Hello, Sev. Hello, Ratty.” Silas slipped off his goggles, false beard, and hat. He placed the accoutrements on the table.

  “All right, Benty?” Rat asked, then took a large bite from a cold sausage.

  Silas frowned at the little urchin. “I’m beginning to wonder if agreeing to let you join us on this little excursion was a wise decision.”

  “Hungry?” Sev asked, attempting to defuse another row.

  “I am, actually.” Silas took a seat at the little table. “Are you all packed?” he asked while Sev placed a plate and glass before him. Silas speared a sausage.

  “Aye.” Rat passed a plate of cheese to their guest. “Finished jest before sittin’ down t’eat.”

  “Excellent.” Silas took the plate and tipped a bit onto his own. “It seems everything is in order.”

  “Ale?” Sev presented Silas a pitcher. He nodded, and Sev filled his glass. “Rat and I packed more than a few weapons. Is that goin’ t’be a problem?”

  “I shouldn’t think so,” Silas answered. “The ship is making one of its scheduled voyages to the New World, so there will be a number of passengers on board. We’ll be traveling as inconspicuously as possible, but Wrathsbury knows the captain. He assures me the man is completely trustworthy.” Finished with his explanation, Silas took a bite of sausage and cheese.

  “It’s down to us, then?” Sev asked. “We’ll have no other help? I thought Wrathsbury said he’d be sendin’ ‘a contingent of his most trustworthy’?”

  Silas swallowed. “There will be two other operatives on the voyage. An unexpected conflict has called most of Lord Sutherland’s men away. A few loyal men await us already in the colonies.”

  “Operatives?” Rat asked.

  “Agents, members of the new branch. Cole Philson and James Nicholas. They’ll be traveling under a separate cover story. So we’ll be acting as if we don’t know them. They’ve got their own orders when we reach Victorica.”

  “And what’s our cover story?” Sev asked, then tucked back into his lunch.

  Silas sipped a bit of ale and saluted Rat. “We have you to thank for that, I’m very reluctant to admit.”

  “We do?” Rat asked with his mouth full of food.

  “Indeed. Thanks to your work on those new conveyances.”

  Rat stared at Silas, uncomprehending. “What’s a con-vay-ents?” he asked Sev, pronouncing the word very slowly.

  “I think he means the gearcycles,” Sev answered.

  Silas nodded. “I do. It’s a brilliant cover. We will be traveling as inventors eager to sell their newest invention to Victorican industrialists. Or rather, you will. I’ll be posing as your lawyer, and Sev will be your manservant. That way each of us will be able to access various tiers of societal life. It couldn’t have worked out better had we planned it that way, really.” Silas smiled widely. Sev was slightly surprised to hear another change of plans.

  Rat’s eyes were as wide as saucers by the time Silas had finished. He shook his head. “I can’t.”

  “What?” Silas blurted, the smile disappearing.

  “Sure ye can,” Sev stated.

  “Never.” Rat grimaced. “I didn’t design them cycles, you did.”

  “True enough,” Sev agreed. “But without yer improvements, they wouldn’t be half as handy.”

  “Aye. But I can’t do it. I can’t pretend t’be some fancy inventor. What would I even say?”

  “Didn’t you pose as the king of some eastern European nation with Hephaestus to kidnap Faraday?” Silas asked.

  Sev remembered Rat telling him about the incident. Sev and Silas had been on an airship to Munich to retrieve the child-genius, Nikola Tesla, at the time. They’d needed both the elder Faraday and Tesla, experts on harnessing electricity, to more efficiently power their secret weapon, the giant clockwork man, Prometheus. “If ye could do that,” Sev said. “Ye can pose as an inventor.”

  “But I never said anythin’. I je
st sat there dressed like a prat and let Heph do all the talkin’. I ain’t no good at this. Let me be Sev’s manservant. I can talk t’maids and errand boys and the like. But don’t make me pretend t’be some bloody steamsmith.”

  Silas and Sev exchanged glances. “If you’re quite certain that’s the way you want to play it,” Silas answered. “How do you feel about being our inventor, Sev?”

  “Ratty, ye really want t’be the manservant?” he asked, instead of answering Silas.

  “It’s what I know. I ain’t no actor. And I ain’t no fancy-pants inventor.”

  “Suit yerself,” Sev answered. “I reckon I’m yer inventor, Silas.”

  “As you like,” Silas answered. “Ultimately, it makes no difference as long as we all know our roles and stick to them.”

  “Fine by me.” Rat, apparently satisfied, returned his attention to his food. Silas and Sev watched their young companion, having gone from one extreme: mortified, to the other: completely at ease. Sev supposed it spoke to Rat’s simple nature. Not simple in regards to intelligence, Sev silently instructed himself, but rather in reference to Rat’s motivation.

  Silas rose from the table. “I thank you for your hospitality,” he said. “But I have dallied too long and must attend to our final preparations.” He embraced Sev as he stood. “I shall see you first thing in the morning?”

  “Aye.” Sev released Silas reluctantly. “We’ll be there.”

  Silas replaced his goggles, beard, and hat. “I’ll send someone round to get your things.” He waved a hand to indicate the crates with their supplies.

  “We’ll be waitin’, Silas.”

  “Farewell, fellows.” Silas tipped them a salute before exiting the flat.

  “He’s actin’ oddly,” Rat observed. “Guarded. Disinterested. I thought ye two were an item?”

  “So did I,” Sev answered, confused by Silas’s indifferent attitude as of late.