The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  “Yes. Yes.” Silas grabbed Sev’s hand and allowed himself to be led to the bedroom. “That sounds like a fine idea.” Sev felt Silas relax almost instantly, and his breathing evened out, rustling the hair on the back of Sev’s neck. His gaze fell on his coat hanging on the other side of the room. Fairgate’s Grimoire lay concealed in the inner pocket, and Sev wondered if that was the safest place for it. He didn’t want to get up and disturb Silas, finally sleeping soundly.

  Silas, Sev thought. He should have already told him about the grimoire, but everything had happened so fast once they got to the city, and then Silas’s earlier stubbornness had upset Sev to the point he’d completely forgotten about the book. Although, if Silas was unwilling to commit to freeing all of Victorica, how would he feel about utilizing Fairgate’s Grimoire? Sev sighed in the darkness of the room. He could hear people and carriages in the streets, and it reminded him a bit of home. He’d figure out how and when to tell Silas about the grimoire tomorrow. For now, he decided to just enjoy the warmth and proximity of Silas, allowing himself to drift off to sleep.

  12

  SEV AWOKE with a start, Fairgate’s contemptuous laughter a phantom echo in his ears. Silas breathed rhythmically in sleep and didn’t stir once when Sev jolted upright in bed. Sev slid as softly as he could from beneath the blanket. He felt wide-awake and angry. It disgusted him that Fairgate had somehow found refuge in his mind, whether literal or metaphorical. He wasn’t sure which would upset him the most. Moreover, he wondered if Fairgate was just a manifestation of his own guilt about keeping the knowledge of the book from Silas.

  Sev walked through the posh suite, wondering if staying in such an expensive hotel compromised their cover or not. He opened the double doors that led onto the balcony and breathed in the strange yet familiar New York air. He smelled coal smoke and waste, which he found vaguely comforting, but under that he sensed something wild, growing, new. It was something very unlike the cultured air of London.

  Despite that, the rooftops stretching out before him called his name. The landscape of those buildings looked both inviting and alien. He knew the roofs of London like the back of his hand, and he could traverse them without a second thought. The roofs he gazed upon now might offer a challenge, maybe a welcome distraction. One thing he wouldn’t have to worry about were Steamcoats on patrol. With a nod Sev left the balcony to retrieve his over-skeleton. Hephaestus Kildeggan had designed the original for Silas to appear taller and older than he really was while making him faster and stronger as well. Rat had redesigned the apparatus to be more compact and more efficient.

  Sev strapped into the mechanism and pulled his trousers and shirt on over. He laced up his boots and pulled his hat on. Satisfied, he walked out onto the balcony and leapt into the New York night.

  He landed on the roof of an adjacent building and started running. He jumped, dove, and climbed over obstacles, feeling free, relaxed. It seemed like he’d spent most of his life running. It gave him comfort. He wasn’t sure what he was running away from or toward, but he was always running. Despite the hour Sev caught glimpses of people picking their way through the streets below. They must be already on their way to their factory jobs.

  Sev gritted his teeth and poured on speed, leaping from building to building. It felt so good, so familiar. The wind in his face calmed and centered him, convincing him that his dream of Fairgate was simply that, a dream.

  The wind, dirt, and smoke stinging Sev’s eyes reminded him that he hadn’t gotten a good night’s sleep. He decided to turn back toward the hotel, intent on slipping back into bed next to Silas before his love knew he was gone.

  Back in the room, Sev peeled off his clothes and freed himself from his over-skeleton. Despite the clockwork enhancement, Sev’s limbs felt slightly tired and sore. He was more than happy to slide back into bed next to Silas’s heat-radiating form, and he smiled as he cuddled into his pillow once more. He fell asleep for a second time that night.

  SEV AWOKE alone, the large bed empty but for him. He stretched, yawning wide before he finally hoisted himself from the mattress. He pulled on his trousers and undershirt, then padded into the sitting room. Silas, Rat, and Teddy sat around the table, conversing in low tones. Sev scratched at the base of his skull, noticing a cart full of food. He picked up a plate and fixed himself a bite to eat. “Oy, fellas. All right?” he asked as he joined them.

  “He lives,” Rat said with a smirk.

  “Feck off,” Sev snapped. “I didn’t get a proper night’s sleep.” He tucked into the meal before him.

  “Oh ho.” Rat tossed Silas an accusing glance.

  “Don’t look at me. I slept like a rock.” Silas held his hands up.

  Teddy studied his new mates intently. “Hold up,” he said. “Are you and Sev—?”

  “Is that a problem?” Sev asked between bites.

  “I, uh. I’ve never been around it before. It ain’t somethin’ that’s accepted over here.” Teddy seemed very nervous.

  “Yer skin don’t seem t’be somethin’ that’s accepted over here either,” Rat stated with a sneer.

  Teddy’s eyes widened for a moment before his expression relaxed. “That’s a fair point, Rat, suh. My apologies, suhs. I meant no disrespect. I’m not one to judge those willin’ to help my people to freedom.”

  “So what’s on the agenda fer today?” Sev asked, satisfied to accept Teddy’s apology and let the subject drop.

  “We’re meeting with Benjamin Bates.” Silas slid a photo and file across the table.

  Sev held it, reading while he ate. “Hm. Textiles? How’s that goin’ t’help us?”

  “There’s a fair amount of wealth in textiles,” Silas replied.

  “Yeah, and the South is darn fashionable,” Teddy added. “He might have some advice.”

  “Teddy’s right.” Silas pointed with his fork. “This is a good lead.”

  “All right, then.” Sev sliced up a sausage. “He’s our in, aye?”

  “Exactly.” Silas shook his toast for emphasis. “If we can coax him to our cause he can introduce us to other abolitionists. He can connect us with other allies.”

  “He’s bloody rich as well.” Rat grinned wickedly. “Hopefully we can get his wallet behind us at the same time.”

  “Good point,” Silas said with a nod. “Finish your meal, and we’ll get ready for the interview.”

  Sev nodded and wolfed down the rest of his food. He grabbed a few more bites before retreating to the bathtub.

  A LITTLE over an hour later, Sev and Silas sat in a hansom on their way to their meeting with Bates.

  “What’s our angle here?” Sev asked.

  “Angle?” Silas glanced over.

  “Aye. How’re we goin’ t’convince this fella t’help us?”

  “I hadn’t considered an angle.” Silas rubbed his chin and gazed out the window. “I suppose I’d planned on simply being honest with the man: tell him why we’re here and ask him to help.”

  “Hm.” Sev patted Silas’s knee. “That’s why I admire the hell out o’ye. Ye’re a fine man with a good heart.”

  Silas’s cheeks colored at Sev’s words. He covered Sev’s hand with his own. “And I admire the hell out of you because of your impeccable taste.” They shared a laugh as the hansom rolled to a stop in front of the social club.

  SEV AND Silas were shown into the lounge area of the club. At one time Sev would have felt uncomfortable, awkward in a place as well appointed as this: the fine wallpaper, the velvet drapes, and the leather furniture. A few older gentlemen conversed quietly as they smoked cigars. They motioned to a valet, who hurried right over. They’re all white, Sev thought. Even the servants. He wasn’t sure why that should seem odd to him, but he’d been looking at things differently since arriving in the New World. He cast his gaze down and couldn’t help but admire the lush rug as they walked toward Benjamin Bates. Sev still felt a bit like an interloper, but after staying in Jack Midnight’s Black Chapel, visiting Wrathsbury’s Stafford Ho
use, and posing as a servant in Buckingham Palace, it took a lot more to impress him.

  Bates stood to greet them. He wore a finely cut suit of exotic material. Sev would have thought the man average if not for the suit. His hair was slightly graying, and wrinkles formed at the corners of his eyes when he smiled at them.

  “Mr. Bates,” Silas said, extending a hand in greeting. “Brandon Jameson.” They had decided on the way in to maintain their aliases.

  Bates shook Silas’s hand. “Good day, Mr. Jameson and this is?” He turned to Sev and shook his hand.

  “Stephens.” He released Bates’s hand. “Pleased t’meet ye, sir.”

  “Irish?” Bates asked, arching an eyebrow. He motioned for them to sit.

  “Aye,” Sev said with a curt nod, taking the offered seat. “Born in London but raised among me countrymen.”

  “We’ve some of those here as well,” Bates responded. A waiter drifted over to their table, standing at Bates’s shoulder. “Will you have a drink with me?”

  Sev and Silas both nodded.

  “Three, Bradbury.” Bates held up that many fingers. Bradbury nodded, fetched two more glasses, and poured amber liquid from the decanter already on the table.

  “Will sirs need anything further?” Bradbury asked.

  “No, Bradbury. Thank you.” Bates slipped him a ten-pound note. “That will be all for now.”

  Bradbury accepted the tip, nodded, and retreated.

  Sev picked up his glass and held it beneath his nose, inhaling the spicy scent. “Scotch,” he stated, surprised.

  “Of course, Mr. Stephens,” Bates answered, sipping his own drink.

  “I thought it’d be that bourbon everyone here is keen on,” Sev said. “I also thought ye had yer own currency?”

  “Oh yes. We did at one time. We called them dollars and cents instead of pounds and pence. When the queen reclaimed our territories, she made sure we fell into step.”

  “Do I sense a bit of ire in your tone?” Silas asked as he finally tasted his drink.

  Bates sighed. “May I be candid, Mr. Jameson? You are a Brit, and I don’t wish to disparage your home.”

  “Please, Mr. Bates, call me Brandon, and you may be perfectly honest with us. We are not easily offended.”

  “Very well.” Bates took another large sip of his scotch. “I still consider myself an American, Brandon. I appreciate the politics of your queen reclaiming our country, but I will never be a Brit.”

  “Ye don’t like it, though. And I don’t blame ye.” Sev fixed Bates with a serious gaze.

  “I don’t like it.” Bates leaned forward and spoke in hushed tones. “Do not mistake me, fellows, I’ve no quarrel with your crown, but our friends in the South have utilized the reacquisition to their advantage. They enslave the blacks and, in a way, enslave the North.”

  “We have heard such,” Silas said.

  “It seems they own everything, and the Crown turns a blind eye to their misdeeds.” Bates sipped his drink, observing his guests, seeming to gauge them.

  “We don’t disagree,” Silas said.

  “And?” Bates asked.

  “We’re here to change that if we can.” Silas sat back.

  “Is it true, then? What they’re saying about the queen?” Bates leaned back in his chair.

  Silas and Sev exchanged a heavy look. Silas had planned on the truth, and the truth was what Bates deserved. Sev nodded and Silas returned it. “A dark wizard controlled our queen, Mr. Bates. Many of her actions were not her own, and I think were it not for that, your country would still be free. Certainly you would have abolished slavery by now, and that’s why we’re here.”

  “Honesty.” Bates straightened with a grin. “How refreshing.”

  “We’re here t’try and fix it,” Sev added. “We.” Sev motioned to himself and Silas. “We stopped Fairgate. We freed the queen from his control, and now that she’s herself again, she doesn’t care for what’s happening to black folk over here. But—” Sev paused. “—she’s waitin’ fer yer people t’make the first move in the right direction.”

  “You freed the queen? Does that mean you know this Seventh character?”

  Silas and Sev traded a look. “Aye, we’re very close.”

  “You’re an abolitionist?” Silas asked.

  Bates tossed a glance around the lounge before answering. He nodded almost imperceptibly.

  “Ye need t’help us, then.” Sev placed his glass on the table. “We want t’free the blacks, and we want t’free the country. But we can’t do it alone.”

  “Noble,” Bates stated, almost disgusted. “We’ve been trying to stop this injustice for years, but they have the money to keep it going. We even had an alternative, but they didn’t want to hear it. They didn’t give a fig.”

  “Alternative?” Silas asked.

  “Oh yes. There was a brilliant young inventor. I think you call them tinkerers. He built a number of domestic automatons. They performed menial tasks: sweeping, dusting, dishwashing. He also built something extraordinary.”

  “What was it?” Silas leaned forward.

  “A thinking clockwork,” Bates whispered.

  “Bollocks,” Sev said dismissively.

  Bates shook his head. “I know how it sounds. Absurd. Ridiculous. But it’s true. I saw it. A clockwork man that could think and act on its own.”

  “My God,” Silas gasped.

  “Yes. There would be absolutely no need for white men to enslave black men. We could have mechanical servants. Our brothers in the South didn’t much care for the young man’s inventions. They were confiscated and no one has heard from the young inventor since.”

  “What’s his name?” Sev asked.

  “Grelling,” Bates responded. “Ivar Grelling. Do not ask me how he managed it. But he did. And the viceroy and his lackeys made certain that no one else could possess that knowledge.”

  “Bloody hell,” Sev breathed. “I wish Tesla was here.”

  “Tesla?” Bates asked. “You know the boy genius?”

  “Don’t the stories of the Battle of Buckingham mention him?” Sev asked.

  “They do.” Bates shrugged. “But who knows what’s true? It all sounds like the stuff and nonsense of penny dreadfuls to me.” Bates paused, drank. “What’s all this to do with me?”

  “So you know where we stand.” Silas retrieved his glass and drank. “Will you help us?”

  Bates wiped sweat from his brow. “Help you? Help you how?”

  “That’s a fine question, Ben,” Sev answered. “We’re goin’ t’need t’gather resources: men, weapons, provisions. Ye’re a wealthy local fella. Surely ye have some connections we could utilize, maybe a warehouse or two where we could store some o’the things we need.”

  “Men? Weapons?” Bates whisper-shouted at them, his eyes wide, fearful. “Mr. Stephens, it sounds to me like your preparing for war.” Bates’s gaze darted constantly around the lounge.

  Sev leaned in once more to whisper. “Aye. We must prepare fer it, though we hope it don’t come t’that.”

  Bates shook his head violently, though his gaze settled on something to Sev’s left and held there. Sev glanced over just in time to see two men with wary expressions stand and exit. He hadn’t noticed them in their shady corner. Apparently even talk of revolution made some men skittish.

  “Such things should not be discussed openly. I can’t be a part of this.”

  “Mr. Bates,” Silas said. “Please, calm down. We’re just trying to help you, to further your own goals.”

  “My goals, Mr. Jameson are to live, to keep my family and friends safe, and to make a decent living.”

  “If ye stand by and do nothin’, ye’re part o’the problem.” Sev leaned in with his elbows on his knees.

  “I beg your pardon, sir. I do everything within my power to make life fair and equitable for darker-skinned people. I offer jobs with proper wages in my clothing mills to those that are free, and I donate what money I can to help those that aren’t.r />
  “But beyond that, young man, I risk the ire of the viceroy and the colonial government, which is something not to be taken lightly. I’m not talking about fines or prison, though they are possible and would be bad enough. I’m talking about physical harm or even death. It’s not something they resort to often, but they have, in the past, done just that. Consider the lamentable Mr. Grelling.” Bates’s words came in an excited rush of whispered frenzy, spittle flying from his lips. He mopped them with a handkerchief from his pocket. “Not to mention a large portion of my business comes from Southern money. No. You speak madness. This conversation is over.” Bates stood.

  Before he could dash, Silas grabbed his arm. “Mr. Bates, please reconsider. We can be very discreet about your involvement, and we’re going to need all the support we can get.”

  “I’m sorry, Brandon. Truly, I am.” Bates shrugged out of Silas’s grasp. “I would like to help you, but I can’t be a part of plunging this country into a civilian war. Good day.”

  “I understand.” Silas bowed his head, defeated. “Could you at least point us in the direction of someone who may be willing to help?”

  Bates stared sternly at Silas for a long moment, his lips no more than a severe line above his chin. “You may get somewhere with the Germans. The optical fellows, Bausch and Lomb. There’s another man, a boat manufacturer. His name escapes me.”

  “If ye think of his name or ye change yer mind….” Sev stood and slipped a note in Bates’s breast pocket. “We’re stayin’ at the Fifth Avenue. Ye can ask fer Mr. Stephens or Mr. Jameson.”

  “Thank you, but I assure you, I will not change my mind, though I will send that name along. Good day, boys. Good luck.” They watched Bates depart.

  Silas let out a long, exasperated breath. “Well, that certainly could have gone better.”

  Sev patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Aye, but don’t let it get ye down. We’ll figure it out. If we can convince enough of his allies t’join us, he might still have a change o’heart.”