The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  “No, suh, Mistuh Silas.” Michelle stepped forward. “We appreciate the offer. May we have the night to gather our things?”

  “By all means, take as much time as you need. Teddy can remain here with the hansom that I purchased. That will allow you to bring it all at one time. The three of us”—Silas indicated himself, Sev, and Rat—“can ride the gearcycles. Does that sound acceptable to everyone?”

  They murmured and nodded their assent. Sev pulled Silas aside by the elbow. “It sounds like ye been busy.”

  Silas allowed Sev to move him, but he made no effort to get closer as he usually did. In fact he remained rather stiff. “You may be the celebrity, Sev, but I am still in charge of this operation, and despite all your grand promises, I can make decisions on my own.”

  Sev gasped. He’d never felt anything like the animosity he felt now coming from Silas. “Silas,” Sev whispered, “ye can’t think that I’m tryin’ t’wrest control o’this operation from ye. Ye just can’t.” He felt a little embarrassed by the emotion cracking through in his voice, considering all he’d been through with hardly a flinch.

  It was just the thing to melt Silas’s icy façade. “No, Sev. No, of course I don’t think that.” He shook his head, relaxed a little, leaning a bit closer to Sev. “But I also don’t think you should be so liberal with the promises you’re making to these people. Yes, we are here to see the end of legalized slavery in this country, but we certainly can’t make any promises to restore their independence to them. It’s irresponsible at best, and reckless at its worst.

  “I appreciate your ambition, your desire to see justice, your indomitable drive to protect those who can’t protect themselves, and I have no quarrel with your personal goals to that end, but I think you need to keep some of those ideas to yourself. By all means work toward it, but do not give these children false hope.”

  Sev harrumphed as his gaze drifted around Teddy and his siblings’ flat. The brothers and sisters were holding up their new clothes with bright, happy smiles. He could already see hope blossoming there. “I don’t want t’admit that what ye just said makes some kind o’sense even if I don’t agree with it wholeheartedly.” He folded his arms over his chest. “I don’t see it as false hope, but I ain’t perfect, and if I were t’fail, it might crush them worse if they get their hopes up. Ye’ve made yer point.”

  Silas threw an arm around Sev’s shoulders and squeezed. “I’m attempting to protect everyone’s best interests. Let’s not argue any longer.”

  Sev offered his hand, and Silas shook it. “It appears we have an accord, Mr. Jameson,” Sev said playfully, though he meant it with all his heart.

  “Excellent to hear, Mr. Stephens. Shall we gather Rat and be on our way?”

  “Yes, let’s. I take it Jameson’s cover isn’t blown?”

  “Indeed not. And he’s hired men to come round tomorrow and frame out living spaces for us,” Silas explained. They dragged Rat away from Tabitha, who he’d been taking to calling Tab, and walked the few blocks to the lot where they’d stowed the gearcycles.

  They sped along the cobbled streets toward the docks and their new accommodations. Sev’s breath hitched when he saw the big brick structure. He wasn’t usually given to poetry, but this building was beautiful. Huge windows lined the upper walls near the roof. A number of chimneys sprouted from the top. It reminded him distinctly of home and gave him a strange feeling: half-nostalgic and half-apprehensive. He’d spent the better part of his life trapped in buildings just like this, serving men no better than animals, and now he owned one.

  “It’s amazin’,” Rat said. “It reminds me o’home.”

  “For good reason.” Silas kicked the stand on his gearcycle down. “It was one of the first factories built by an English gentleman not long after the first war for independence. It has since been stripped of its machinery and has served as a warehouse.” Silas walked over, produced a key ring, and unlocked the large doors. He pulled them open so Sev and Rat could drive their cycles in and park. He pushed his own in as Rat and Sev pulled the doors shut behind them.

  Once the doors were closed, Sev spun about, taking in the vast space of the warehouse. The interior stood completely open to the metal catwalks and rafters. A large office structure protruded from the area that would be the second story and sprouted a walkway following the perimeter of the building, no doubt so foremen could patrol the employees when this was a factory. Sev’s mind drifted to the tactical implications of the catwalk and office. This structure wasn’t only suited to serving as a laboratory and a plausible cover story, but it was easily defensible as well.

  “This is bloody brilliant, Silas,” Sev said with an expression of approval.

  “I’d love to accept credit for finding it, but your thanks should go to Teddy.”

  Sev nodded. “I’ll be sure to tell him.” A knock resounded at the door.

  “That’ll be our luggage.” Silas walked over to the giant double doors. He pulled the key ring out again and inserted a key into a separate lock. A smaller door opened in the larger. Silas mumbled something and stood aside, allowing a few men to bring the expected bags inside. “Thanks, fellows.” He slipped the men a few bills. They thanked him and exited.

  Sev heaved a great yawn that Rat echoed. “I’m spent,” Rat stated.

  “The office is furnished.” Silas pointed at the suspended box. “It’s a bit dusty, but there’s a bedroom and a couch. A few other accoutrements.”

  “Sold,” Sev said with another yawn.

  The trio walked over to the spiral stairs leading up to the office. The poshness of the interior surprised Sev. Outside it appeared so utilitarian, but inside it was all polished wood, fine wallpaper, and lush carpets. “How is this still intact?” he asked, thinking of the abandoned factories in Blackside, stripped of everything valuable and littered with the detritus of vagrants.

  “For all its problems,” Silas responded, “New York, Victorica isn’t Blackside. Parts of it resemble our home in ways terribly unpleasant, but other parts are just as terribly foreign.”

  “Bah,” Rat huffed, waving a hand. “Who cares about the bloody philosophy? Can we just have a proper lie down?”

  Neither Sev nor Silas could argue with their friend’s request, so they ventured past the large mahogany desk through the office to the living quarters. The accommodations were mostly utilitarian with some superficial cosmetic decoration. Sev walked to the bed and flopped onto it. Clouds of dust puffed up around him. “Damn,” he coughed.

  Silas stripped the bedclothes and dragged them out through the office. Sev took off his coat, clothes, and over-skeleton as he watched Silas drape the sheets over the railing and beat them as clean as he could. When he returned with them, Rat was already asleep on the couch, and Sev lay in his pants on the naked mattress. He watched as Silas smiled, throwing the covers over him. Sev nestled into the pillow, savoring the cool embrace of the blankets as Silas removed his over-skeleton and the rest. He climbed beneath the covers and cozied up to Sev, who relaxed happily as they allowed sleep to claim them.

  Sev awoke to an empty bed, the sounds of construction, and the smell of bacon. He lay there for a moment trying to reconcile where he was. Finally remembering, he jumped up, slipped into his trousers and undershirt, and wandered out through the office into the warehouse. He looked down on the strange scene, scratching at his sleep-tousled hair.

  A number of men scrambled about, building a row of rooms along the east wall. A workbench and laboratory area were already finished in the center of the vast interior. Sev smiled when he saw Rat, Teddy, and his siblings gathered around a dining table as Michelle cooked at an open fire with a cast-iron skillet. The siblings and Rat were talking and smiling, and Sev flashed back to his own siblings trying to make the best of things in Fervis’s shoe factory. They weren’t the same color as his family, but Michelle reminded him of his oldest sister nonetheless. It at once made him happy and sad.

  He almost turned back, but Rat noticed h
im and called out. “Sev! Come along. Breakfast.”

  Sev raised his hand in greeting, offered up what he hoped was a genuine smile, and descended the spiral staircase. “Mornin’ folks,” he said, joining them. Looking around, he noticed Silas’s absence. “Where’s Silas?”

  “Left early,” Rat answered. “Said he had a lot t’do t’day.”

  “Oh.” Sev tried not to sound too disappointed.

  “Hungry, Mistuh Sev?” Michelle asked, flipping the contents of the frying pan.

  “Aye, Ms. Bushpig. It smells delicious.”

  She continued cooking, serving her family and friends before she finally sat down to eat with them. Sev asked what they thought of the space, and they were all properly impressed. Tab and Rat excitedly planned out their training exercises for the day. Walt and his older sisters spoke of assisting the men working on the construction crews. No mention was made of Silas’s return, so Sev decided to explore the basement area to escape the din.

  After breakfast and everyone having broken off in their respective groups, Sev retrieved Fairgate’s Grimoire from his coat and found the entrance to the basement, descending the ladder into the subterranean layer of the factory. He held a lantern in front of him as he picked through the rooms, finding crates of supplies: metal, gears, various bits and pieces. Nothing particularly valuable. Sev rested his lantern on a crate, sat down, and leaned his back against it. He leafed through the grimoire. He’d recognized some of the writing before and hoped he would be able to decipher more. Unfortunately, everything remained strange and impossible to read. His eyes grew tired as his gaze drifted over the pages. He chastised himself for putting off telling Silas about the grimoire. There just seemed no ideal time to come clean, and it was eating him up inside. Sev, admittedly selfishly, was unwilling to ruin the few precious moments they were allowed alone together with a fight about Fairgate’s spellbook. He rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted, and allowed his lids to drift closed.

  A noise drew his attention and his head snapped up, searching for the disturbance. He stood looking about the gloom where the light of the lantern couldn’t reach. He would swear it was the scrape of a boot. Sev ventured into the darkness, but everything looked foreign. He heard another noise and turned, following the sound. Each subsequent sound led him deeper into the shadows beyond the lantern’s light. “Who’s there?” Sev opened his eyes as wide as he could, trying to decipher what he was seeing.

  He stretched his neck into the darkness, straining not just his hearing but every sense at his disposal with trying to detect his guest. A chuckle echoed in the chamber and Sev’s mind.

  “Oh, Seven. You are delightful.”

  Sev snarled, recognizing the voice. “Ye dirty bastard, ye’re dead. Why’re ye still plaguin’ me with yer existence?”

  Fairgate sniffed derisively. “Sev. Sev. Sev. You will never be rid of me as long as you covet my words, my grimoire. Don’t you see? I’m a consequence of your curiosity. Can you deal with that?”

  Sev squeezed his eyes shut and tried to shake off the vision of the evil monster. Instead, he heard the man’s quiet laughter near his ear. “Leave me,” Sev pleaded.

  “That’s not how it works, Sevvy.”

  Sev spun on his imaginary companion only to find himself alone in the stone chamber beneath the warehouse. “Bollocks,” Sev said with a sneer. He tried to penetrate the darkness but saw nothing. Satisfied, he collapsed with the journal in his lap. He stared at it for more than a few moments, debating whether he should open the thing or burn it. He wondered if it contained some bit of Fairgate, offering the ghost a path to Sev’s consciousness. I’m being ridiculous, he told himself. I must have drifted off.

  He opened the book, allowing his gaze to wander over the pages, waiting for something to make sense as the fire spell had. He’d looked at the pages a few times during their voyage and since they’d arrived, but he’d never allowed himself the time to actually read what was written within it. He flipped through to a page that was annotated:

  I have yet to fully decipher some of the old texts. I’m certain this spell is powerful, but I cannot unlock its true potential. I know blood needs to be offered, but it remains a mystery to me. I’ve read the words time and time again and bled sacrificial animal and human alike, but nothing seems to satisfy the casting needs.

  Sev read Fairgate’s comment twice, then his eyes drifted to the ritual itself. He felt a dizziness as the words coalesced into something conceivable. The ancient words transcribed spoke of blood freely given, and he wondered if that had been Fairgate’s mistake. The evil bastard probably stole what he needed without permission. Sev wondered how much blood was needed. Without really thinking, he pulled a small blade from his pocket and pierced the skin of his thumb, reading the words in the journal aloud.

  “Gatheray incumberent lapisem quaero voluntato meam, ex figura mea selectum.” With his bleeding thumb, Sev traced a circle, two dots and a line on the floor next to him while his mind wandered to the vast underground city back in London. To Sev’s utter astonishment, with a groaning of rock, a small chamber opened in the floor next to him. He nearly fell into it.

  “Bugger,” Sev whispered in the near dark. He retrieved the lantern and dropped into the newly formed space. It looked like one of the chambers in Undertown, though the stone was gray, not black like Undertown or white like in his dream. Sev looked back at the pages of the grimoire, then at the subterranean room. This spell must be the one that was used to make the underground city. Sev found it amazing but wondered how much blood it had taken to form the city and the vast caverns connecting to it. He sucked on his bleeding thumb, tasting copper.

  He felt a strong urge to experiment further to see if he could create something like the impressive chambers of that ancient city, but he worried that down that path might lead madness. How much of his own blood could he spill to create something like that? He decided to try once more, allowing the blood to bead on his thumb, squeezing a bit more out. He approached the wall of the new chamber and repeated the spell, this time tracing a square on the wall with four dots, one in each corner and a line in the center.

  Immediately the stone displaced itself, opening into a room with a pedestal in each corner and a column in the center of the room. Sev didn’t know why he’d drawn that configuration with his blood. It just occurred to him. He walked into the new room below the basement of the warehouse and ran his fingers over the newly formed walls.

  He stood in awe. He had created this with his blood and magic from Fairgate’s journal. This was beyond anything he would have thought himself capable. He wondered if only his blood would work for the ritual or if someone else’s blood given willingly would work as well, because surely that was what Fairgate had missed. He’d taken the blood of his victims and the spell hadn’t worked. Sev wondered how he’d be able to ask anyone to give their blood freely for something like this. To that end, he wondered if he should tell anyone about this newly discovered spell. Could they understand its potential despite the gruesome nature of how it was accomplished? Sev decided to keep this one to himself for the time being, climbing out of the hole he’d just created and retrieving the journal and lantern. One more thing he couldn’t tell Silas. At least until he revealed his possession of the grimoire. What would Silas think once Sev laid this all out in front of him? Would he understand Sev’s desire to help these people at any cost, or would he just abandon Sev for his dishonesty? Sev sighed in the darkness. He needed to fix this situation—destroy the book or tell Silas. He shook his head and moved some crates to cover the entrance to the new chambers. He exited the basement with an apprehensive look back at his handiwork.

  15

  SILAS RETURNED in his Kettlebent costume. He shed his goggles and false beard after removing his hat, dropping everything on a workbench. “Well, this looks fine indeed,” Silas said, surveying the construction that had gone on while he was out. Teddy jumped up to greet him.

  “I’ve got my very own bedroom,
Mistuh Silas. I ain’t never had such before,” Teddy exclaimed.

  “That’s excellent, Teddy.” Silas gave the young man a pat on the back. “I’m glad you’re pleased.”

  Michelle walked over to Silas and Teddy, scrubbing her hands on her apron. She draped an arm over her younger brother’s shoulders. “Evenin’, Mistuh Silas. There’s dinner if you’re hungry.”

  “I am, Michelle, thank you. Did the stove and such arrive, then?”

  Michelle shook her head. “Tomorrow the men told us, but I was able to make do. Go sit down and I’ll fix you a plate.”

  “You don’t have to do that, Michelle.” Silas patted her arm. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”

  “Nonsense.” Michelle urged him to sit. “You’ve given us a proper and comfortable place t’stay, and the least I can do is fix you a proper meal.”

  “Y’best do as she says, Mistuh Silas. There ain’t no sense in arguin’ with her,” Teddy advised.

  Silas surrendered, sitting at the dining room table. Sev watched the exchange from his perch above his friends. He climbed down to join them.

  “Hello, Sev,” Silas said as he emerged. “Why were you in the rafters?”

  Sev shrugged. “It made me feel calm. Like my attic room above the Royal Museum. Bein’ above everythin’ makes me feel better.”

  Silas nodded, apparently satisfied.

  “What were ye doin’ today?” Sev asked.

  “I saw Bates.”

  “And?”

  “Not good. He didn’t want to hear anything I had to say or offer any further assistance.”

  “Bloody hell,” Sev cursed. Michelle returned with a plate of sausages, potatoes, and greens, placing it on the table in front of Silas.

  “There you are, Mistuh Silas. Enjoy.”

  “Thank you, Michelle.” He happily tucked into his meal. “It wasn’t all bad news,” he said after a few bites. “Someone must have seen us on the gearcycles because they made inquiries at the law firm where I set up shop for Jameson.”