The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  “I think I can take care of that,” Lincoln offered. “I’ll have to send out a few telegrams. I have to contact Edison and cancel a meeting with a young lawyer at the very least. I’ve already missed our original appointment, due to meeting you fellows.”

  Silas sniffed a laugh. “I think you can forego that telegram, sir.” Silas reached across the table, offering his metal hand. “Brandon Jameson, at your service.”

  Lincoln eyed Silas suspiciously for a moment before tentatively shaking the offered hand. “Just how many aliases do you maintain, Silas?”

  “That’s the last, sir. I assure you.”

  Lincoln smiled and released Silas’s hand. “You should find Sev, make sure the brothers are ready for battle.”

  Silas nodded. “I’ll go to the workshop now.” He stood and bade Lincoln farewell. As he walked past another table, he saw the morning paper, discarded by its previous owner, and picked it up. He read over another story about the masked murderer. Apparently he’d been working his way south, piling corpses in his wake.

  “The police’re beside themselves,” a voice spoke at his elbow.

  Silas folded the paper to look down at Tabitha, who offered him the barest hint of a smile. “I imagine they are,” he said. “He’s inadvertently assisting us, but he’s going about it the wrong way.”

  “I think he’s crafty, and I for one’d like to shake his hand.”

  “I think our Rat might be a bit of a bad influence on you,” Silas answered. “Speaking of, I’m about to see what he and Sev are up to. Care to join?”

  “I s’pose.” She fell into step alongside him. “What were you and the soldier boys talkin’ ’bout?”

  “We’ve decided that if we can take the Hercules, we can ride into enemy territory and infiltrate the problem at its source.”

  “I’m in. I want a chance t’show those Southern bastards why they can’t push us around just because of the color of our skin,” Tab growled.

  Silas opened his mouth to tell her it would be too dangerous for a girl her age to go with them, but when he saw the murderous, determined gleam in her eye, he thought better of it and kept quiet. They walked the rest of the way to the workshop in silence.

  SILAS STRODE into the quiet space, his gaze sweeping across the workroom. The brothers stood silently at attention, but Silas didn’t see Sev or Rat. Tab darted in after him and disappeared behind Atlas. “They’re over here,” she called.

  Silas walked over to join her, and what he saw brought a smile to his lips. “Well, aren’t they just precious?”

  Sev and Rat lay in a corner where they’d obviously passed out from sheer exhaustion. Their limbs were all a jumble, and Rat’s head rested on Sev’s chest, his mouth slightly open, a small trail of drool trickling onto Sev’s shirt. “Reckon we ought t’let ’em sleep?” Tab asked.

  Silas shook his head. “Sev would never forgive me if I let him sleep when we’re about to start such an important mission.”

  “Yeah, I reckon Rat would be just as angry.” Tab stepped up to the slumbering pair and nudged Rat with her foot. “Hey, Ratty, rise and shine.”

  Rat snorted and lifted his head, squinting even in the low light of the workshop. “Wha’ th’ wha? Whassis?” He wiped the drool off his chin and then fell into a coughing fit. “Bloody hell.” He extricated himself from Sev and stood slowly. “What time is it?”

  “Just a shade after ten,” Tab answered.

  “Oy, Sev. Get up,” Rat grumbled. He searched about, found his top hat, and plopped it on his head.

  Sev sat up startled. “I’m awake. I’m awake.” He rubbed at his eyes. “Is Edison here?”

  Silas chuckled. “Not yet.”

  “Bollocks.”

  “Silas has some other exciting news,” Tab said.

  “Oh, aye?” Rat fished his pipe out of his pocket, packed it, and lit it. “Do tell.”

  Silas relayed the morning’s discussion and the plan that resulted from it. “Are the boys ready?” Silas asked, referring to the mechanical brothers.

  Sev nodded. “We worked ’til we passed out, but we got ’em finished.”

  “Except for the recharging bit.” Rat rubbed his eyes.

  “Can’t you use something similar to what you did to the gearcycles?” Silas looked over the mechanical men.

  “Nah.” Rat shook his head. “They ain’t propelled the same.”

  “Lincoln’s a bit of a bloody genius, in’t he?” Sev tried unsuccessfully to smooth down his hair.

  “He’s not only the face of this revolution, he’s the brains as well.” Silas said.

  “Revolution?” Tab asked, surprised.

  “What else would you call it?” Silas canted his head quizzically.

  “I ain’t arguin’.” Tab held her hands up. “I just like the sound of it.”

  “Let’s rally the troops, then, shall we?” Silas asked.

  “I’d like t’have a washup first.” Sev stood, dusting himself off.

  “You should as well, Ratty.” Tab grimaced.

  Rat lifted his arm and sniffed himself. “Aye. Fair point.”

  “Let’s meet in the New Undertown square in twenty minutes,” Sev suggested.

  “That sounds reasonable.” Silas nodded. Sev and Rat retreated to Rat’s New Undertown flat while Silas ascended to the main floor of the warehouse, deciding to visit his office and let them know he’d be on holiday for a bit.

  WHEN SILAS reemerged on the street outside his office, he was met with general commotion. He grabbed a young urchin with a filthy face. “What’s all the fuss, boy?”

  “The viceroy has been murdered,” the boy answered breathlessly.

  “What? Who?”

  “There sayin’ it’s the Masked Shadow.”

  “The who?”

  “The mystery man who has been eliminating Southerners and their sympathizers.”

  “But he’s in the South,” Silas said, more to himself than to the boy.

  “That ain’t my concern, sir.” The boy shrugged out of Silas’s grip. He ran off into the rowdy crowd.

  “Bloody hell,” Silas said under his breath. He hailed the first cab he could and instructed the driver to rush him back to the warehouse.

  HE WASN’T surprised to find the warehouse and New Undertown blustering with excited tension. He navigated the gathered crowd, looking for a familiar face. He spotted Brown and Roth with a stout, bearded man. “What news, friends?” he asked as he approached them.

  “Who is this?” the bearded man asked.

  “This is Silas Kettlebent, sir,” Brown responded. “Silas, may I introduce General Ulysses S. Grant.”

  Silas paused, surprised. “General Grant,” he said with a slight bow. “It is a great honor to meet you, sir.” He offered his hand.

  Grant only stared at his gloved hand. “Kettlebent?”

  Brown laughed nervously. “Ah. Ah. Yes, well. Silas here is with the Ministry of Shadows, and it appears that Kettlebent, the goggled, bearded fellow, is a necessary alias.” Grant remained still, staring between Silas and Brown.

  “He’s that young lawyer fella, Jameson too,” Roth added with a grin.

  Grant frowned and sputtered. “He’s—? What the devil?”

  “My apologies, sir.” Silas felt silly with his hand still extended but saw no diplomatic way to lower it. “Desperate times and all that.”

  Grant eyed him suspiciously but ultimately accepted his hand and shook. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Kettlebent.”

  “Silas. Please, sir, call me Silas.”

  “Very well,” Grant said, releasing his hand. “Have you heard the news, Silas?”

  “The viceroy has been murdered. Yes. I heard it on the street just now. What does this mean?”

  “It means there is a vacuum, Silas. One that needs to be filled, and I think we’ve just the man to fill it,” Grant explained confidently. “And there he is now. Mr. Lincoln!”

  “General Grant?” Lincoln said as he peeled himself out of the c
rowd. He rushed forward and shook Grant’s hand. “To what do we owe this visit?”

  “To the Masked Shadow, I suppose.”

  “How do you mean?” Lincoln asked.

  “The viceroy has been murdered, and we want you to replace him, old friend.”

  “Ulysses.” Lincoln spoke his friend’s name with an edge of admonishment. “I cannot tell you how flattered I am that you think I could be the leader of Victorica, but now is not the time for posturing. Now is the time for action, and I cannot afford to prance around campaigning and kissing babies.

  “I would much rather be on the front lines ensuring the future for those babies. The gears of government grind slowly, sir, and I am certain that if we emerge from our endeavors triumphant, the position will remain vacant. We can revisit this discussion then.”

  “But Abe,” Grant replied. If he’d intended to continue the debate, Lincoln extinguished his attempt with a stern raise of his hand. Grant lifted his own hands in a gesture of surrender. “Fair enough, my friend. I defer to your judgment.” He reached into the interior pocket of his jacket and retrieved a cigar. He bit off the end and lit the opposite. “I’ve arranged for your large cargo”—he injected the word with implication—“to be shipped down river. We’ve also secured a pair of military transports to carry your people to the rendezvous point.”

  “And where is that?” Lincoln asked. Grant began to explain as the two men walked off. Silas watched them for a moment before he remembered he needed to meet Sev. He turned his head frantically, searching the sea of faces. He spotted Rat’s top hat first below a cloud of pipe smoke, then saw Sev standing nearby.

  “All right, Benty?” Rat asked as Silas walked over to them.

  “You’re both looking bright-eyed,” Silas said. “Have you heard any of the news?”

  “Our new friend, Mr. Edison, has been fillin’ us in.” Sev motioned to a dark-haired young man who stood just off to his side. Silas hadn’t noticed him before but now he moved forward, offering his hand.

  “Mr. Kettlebent,” Edison said as they shook. He appeared to be around Silas’s own age. “Your friends have told me quite a bit about you, sir.”

  “Oh dear, have they?” Silas asked, casting Sev and Rat a suspicious glance.

  “All good things, I assure you.” Edison stepped back and clasped his hands behind his back. “They also told me a bit about your experiences across the pond. I must admit some of it seems a bit far-fetched to me, but I’m sure it was quite the ordeal.”

  “Mr. Lincoln has nothing but good things to say about you,” Silas said.

  Edison’s cheeks colored slightly. “Well, sir. I am here to help. Anything I can do to abolish the despicable practice of slavery and loosen the South’s stranglehold on the country, will be my pleasure.”

  “A noble sentiment.” Sev patted Edison on the shoulder. “Maybe ye ought t’fill us in on the plans ye’ve been discussin’ with Lincoln and the fellas.”

  “Why don’t we take Edison down to see the brothers, and I can tell you all about it on the way?” Silas suggested. Sev, Edison, and Rat agreed, and they left the floor of the main warehouse and descended into New Undertown.

  24

  WILLIAM THOMAS Sutherlin slammed his fist against the polished mahogany desk in the study of his palatial mansion in the middle of his lush tobacco fields. All over his plantation and in his home, slaves harvested crops, tended the land and house. “What in the God damned Sam Hill are we doin’, gentlemen?” He slapped a newspaper onto the desk, and the few men in attendance tentatively craned their necks. “This blasted masked bastard is picking us off one by one! What are we doing to stop this son of a bitch?”

  The men gathered around Sutherlin’s handmade mahogany desk shifted uncomfortably in their seats. They represented the wealthiest and most influential the South had to offer, the ones who hadn’t been murdered by the Masked Shadow, and they shared a common vision of what they wanted, not only for the South but for their entire country.

  General Robert E. Lee cleared his throat from the opposite end of the table. Stonewall Jackson sat on his left, next to Jefferson Davis. The general announced, “I’ve got Danforth and my best men hunting him down. He won’t be a problem for long, Bill.”

  “Can you guarantee that, General?” John Booth asked from his position on Sutherlin’s right.

  “Nothing is guaranteed, Mr. Booth,” Lee answered.

  “No indeed, and that is our problem,” Booth stated, adopting the sonorous tone he usually reserved for the stage. “We’ve no guarantees in this life, and it is our duty to stand against rampant change and industry unchecked.”

  “Speaking of industry,” Robert Patterson stated. “What about the limey tinkerer, Stephens?”

  Sutherlin resisted curling his lip when Patterson spoke. He was a traitor to the North and had helped the South by betraying his own. Despite his assistance, Sutherlin still didn’t care for a traitor. “Yes, what about Stephens?” Sutherlin asked.

  Lee sighed and glanced at his man Sharpe, who stood a few feet away from the table. “He has been delayed, but he assures me he’ll be along.”

  “Edison is still at large as well,” Daniel Pratt grumbled. “Have you got your best men on that?”

  Lee shot the man a dark look. “I have men looking for him. He has too many friends in the North and the South.”

  “Perhaps we need to find someone more suitable to command the Southern Army,” Marston Morton, the cotton magnate, growled.

  Sutherlin raised a hand, presumably to calm his compatriots. “Gentlemen, gentlemen, let us not be so hasty in these proceedings. We are all friends here and are of one mind to keep the respectable and traditional ways of our good country alive.

  “It is on our shoulders to subvert these radical and irresponsible inventors, to channel their evil innovation into something that will honor our Lord God and not call into question his supreme authority. It is also our duty to regain control of this fair nation.”

  “I know that this isn’t a popular opinion,” Lee stated tentatively. He scanned the men seated around the table, dressed in fine clothes, elaborate fabrics, and their skin shiny with sweat in the Southern summer heat. Sutherlin constantly patted his forehead with a silk handkerchief. “But why don’t we explore the use of artificial slaves, of automatons? Is the North so wrong? If there is an alternative, isn’t it our duty as good Christian men to explore it?”

  Sutherlin’s face flushed a deep red, the beads of sweat on his forehead growing fat and urgent. Everyone at the table could hear the furious grinding of his teeth. “General Lee,” Sutherlin answered through a painfully forced smile. “I realize you are just offering us another view to solidify our convictions because the alternative is too absurd, but what you suggest is at the least treason and at the worst heresy of the highest order.”

  Lee’s gaze darted around the table, and the expectant, hungry looks he observed on the other men’s faces forced him to shift uncomfortably in his chair. Sutherlin’s right hand disappeared beneath the table and returned with a revolver. He placed the handgun on the highly polished wood of the table. A dangerous smile crept across his lips.

  “I daresay,” Booth said and cleared his throat. “If I were in charge of this summit, I’d be inclined to pick up that revolver and dispense some deserved discipline in regards to those blasphemous opinions.”

  “I’m inclined to agree,” Pratt added. His words were followed by a general mumbling of assent.

  “Well,” Sutherlin grumbled. “It seems I am in an awkward spot. You’re one of our best men, Lee, but your words were irresponsible and ill-advised. Consequences are demanded.” Sutherlin sucked air through his teeth and shook his head. He reached out, his hand hovering above the revolver on the table.

  Lee could feel beads of sweat gathering on his forehead. He glanced at Jackson, whose complexion had drained of color. He was all too aware of his tenuous position and that he might be moments away from being shot in the face.
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  Sutherlin picked up the shining silver gun. He stared directly at Lee, their gazes locked. “Mr. Sharpe,” Sutherlin said, not taking his eyes off Lee. “Do you agree with General Lee?”

  “I—um. I’m sorry, sir,” Sharpe sputtered.

  Lee spared him a glance, and his expression was desperate and pleading.

  “I’m so very sorry, General.” Sharpe shrugged helplessly. “I cannot agree with the general’s opinion, though I do not believe this to be his true opinion and would beg you to show him mercy, Mr. Sutherlin.” Sharpe pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

  Sutherlin sighed overdramatically. “I admire your conviction and your loyalty, Mr. Sharpe.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Sharpe answered.

  “Which makes this very difficult indeed.” Sutherlin leveled the barrel of the gun so that Lee was able to look directly down the barrel. “It pains me to teach you this lesson, General Lee. You must believe me.”

  Lee nodded with a grim frown on his lips, but he refused to show fear or any other emotion, refused to give Sutherlin any satisfaction.

  Sutherlin cocked the hammer of his revolver slowly. The skin at the corner of Lee’s eyes creased nearly imperceptibly. The battle-hardened general and legendary military man refused to blink, staring past the barrel of the gun to lock with Sutherlin’s gaze. Lee saw a slight twitch near the corner of Sutherlin’s mouth before the man swept his hand to the left and fired.

  Sharpe’s eyes widened behind his spectacles, and his hand flew up to clutch at his lapel. Crimson spread across his crisp white shirt, then spilled over his fingers and hand. “Gen—gen,” Sharpe sputtered before crumpling to the floor.

  Sutherlin holstered his revolver with a vermin-like smirk on his lips. “I trust I’ve made my point?”

  Lee nodded but remained silent as an attending slave scooped up Sharpe and dragged the body from the study. Sutherlin and the rest of the Southern Brotherhood continued to discuss their options and the actions that needed to be taken, but it all blurred into a confused mess of sound. Lee’s gaze fell on the blood staining the wall where Sharpe had stood. His military background made him no stranger to death and loss, but the senselessness of his former assistant’s demise did not sit well with him.