“So there are only three storage cars?” Lincoln asked.
“On this run,” Whurton responded. “They attach up t’nine dependin’ on what they’re bringin’ back from up north.” He fixed them all with a serious glare. “Ain’t nobody allowed on them cars, though. Nobody.”
“Well, we need t’see what we’re workin’ with,” Sev said.
“Don’t say I din’t warn ya.” Whurton shrugged and spat into the grass.
Teddy followed Sev, Silas, Rat, Edison, and Lincoln over to the first of the storage cars. Sev climbed up and tried the door, but it was locked. He motioned for Rat, and the smaller boy jumped up, knelt before the door, and went to work on the lock.
Teddy heard the resounding click and the hiss that immediately followed it once Rat had picked the lock. He pushed the door inward and misty water vapor creeped out of the car. Rat’s and Sev’s eyes went wide simultaneously, and Teddy really wanted to know what they’d discovered. He, Silas, Lincoln, and Edison all scrambled up to peer over Sev’s shoulder.
Inside, ice blocks lined the walls and floor. Steam rose when the hot evening air entered the car. Teddy looked at heaps and heaps of covered bundles on the floor, on tables, stacked up along the walls. Then he noticed a bare foot peeking out from beneath one of the sheets. Teddy realized he was looking at a train car filled with corpses. He gagged violently but managed to avoid vomiting. “What the bloody hell?” Sev whispered.
They could have walked through to the next car, but they chose to exit and walk around. Rat picked the second lock, and they were met with a very similar scene. The third storage car was no surprise. “They’re gatherin’ dead people from the North?”
“Maybe they really are raising an army of the dead,” Lincoln stated, more to himself than the others.
“Bloody hell,” Sev said once again in a breathless whisper. “What d’we do with all these?”
“Poor beggars.” Rat scratched his chin. “We ought t’lay ’em t’rest.”
“I don’t know if we have time for that,” Silas interjected.
“Yes we do.” They all looked back when Lincoln spoke, his head bowed. “We owe it to them.” He shouldered past the younger men, bent down, and scooped up one of the corpses. “Mr. Seven, can you please use that mystical business to open up a proper grave for these poor souls?”
Teddy watched as Sev nodded, slipped a pocket knife from his trousers, and opened a small cut on his finger. He knelt and traced a rectangle of blood in the grass. A pit opened up before him. Lincoln carried his morbid parcel to the edge and lowered it in. He crossed himself, turned, and reentered the cold car. He came out with another body. Teddy ran over to help, and soon they’d all pitched in to move the bodies into the chamber beneath the ground, and they lowered the myriad corpses into it. When they had cleared the cold cars and all the bodies were in the ground, Sev sealed the tomb.
He stood staring down at his handiwork. He wiped his forehead on his forearm. “I hate this,” he muttered. Teddy stood at his side and offered him a reassuring squeeze.
“This does not bode well, friends,” Lincoln said in a more solemn tone than Teddy was used to from the normally jovial man. “I think it’s in our best interests to get this endeavor underway. Whatever the Federation of the Southern Brotherhood has planned is despicable and horrific, and it falls to us, my friends, to put a stop to it once and for all.” Lincoln sighed, and it seemed to age him a decade. “We all know our parts in this bizarre play. Let us perform them to the best of our abilities.” Lincoln’s deeply lined face remained in shadow as he spoke, and when he’d finished, he returned to his carriage.
Teddy, Sev, and Silas stood reverently staring at the mass grave as the rest of their company slowly dispersed, mostly in silence. The words exchanged were few and in low, respectful tones. Sev and Silas broke off, heading for the Hercules. Teddy stood for a moment longer and was surprised when a small hand slipped into his palm and squeezed. “Are you okay, Mitchy?”
He looked at his youngest sister and gave her a small smile. “You haven’t used that name since we were little.” Teddy referred to the nickname he’d had earlier in life based on his middle name, Mitchel.
“Maybe I’m kind o’wishin’ we were still those little kids,” Tab answered softly. “We never would have imagined this.” She swept her free hand out toward the grave. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”
“Nothin’ less than the struggle for our freedom and basic human rights, Tab.” Teddy turned to her and took her other hand. “This is it. This is when the world changes. It’s our duty t’fight for it.”
He paused and she didn’t respond, only looked at him intently. “Those men,” he said, dropping one of her hands and pointing first at Lincoln’s carriage, then in the direction Sev and Silas had gone. “They have no horse in this race. Whether or not a ‘bunch o’filthy negroes’ are freed or not has no real bearin’ on their lives. Especially the British fellas. But they’re fightin’. They believe we’re people.” He thought about the slave who argued with him earlier. “Even though some of us don’t even believe we’re people. It’s a cryin’ shame, and we need to change it.”
Tears stood in Tab’s eyes, but Teddy knew his sister was too strong to allow them to spill over. “I know, Mitchy. I know. I’m here. I’ll fight. Ya know I will.” She took a steadying breath. “I know it ain’t the most appropriate time, but, well, I think I love that Rat fella.”
Teddy chuckled. “Tabitha, we all knew that a month ago.”
She echoed his laughter. “Is it proper?”
“It’s part of the change. Some o’the fights are big and showy. Some fights are quiet, important, and more meaningful. Rat’s your fight. Do what you have t’do.”
She nodded, leaned up on the tips of her toes, and kissed Teddy’s cheek. She bounded off to find Rat, and Teddy couldn’t help but smile, happy that his sister had found someone to fight beside.
26
HERCULES RUMBLED ponderously through the night into a hazy Pennsylvania dawn. Most of Sev’s friends and compatriots found uneasy slumber in various parts of the train. Unsurprisingly everyone avoided the cold cars. Silas slept fitfully near Sev’s hip. The little candle Sev had lit so he could study Fairgate’s journal flickered in the draft.
At one time the strange writing in Fairgate’s journal had hurt his eyes and confounded his mind, but now characters swam, stretched, and seemed to strive to make themselves decipherable to Sev. They were clamoring to be comprehended, jockeying to be noticed. He started to read an entry that turned too quickly into a spell that would twist someone inside out. Sev flipped the pages forcefully, trying not to wake Silas but eager to be away from those ugly words.
He picked up a small glass bottle he’d found among the previous occupant’s belongings, and he pulled the cork out with his teeth taking a swig of the liquid. It burned on his palate. After swallowing, he sucked a steadying breath through his teeth and focused on the newly revealed pages. His gaze caught the thread of the words lounging across the paper, and he discovered a ward for avoiding projectiles.
Sev closed his eyes and took another pull from the flask. Something slithered at the back of his skull, and he shut a door in his mind against the peculiar sensation.
“Oh, Seven.” Fairgate’s familiar, self-satisfied voice rolled into Sev’s ear. “You can’t shut them out. They know, old bean. They’ve tasted your precious little mind, and they’re hungry for more.” Fairgate’s voice grew more moist and excited with every word. “Oh, the things they can show you,” it whispered.
Sev shook his head violently and looked around the car for the source of the voice. He saw nothing, no one. Sev sat alone and still, the slumbering form of Silas his only companion. Sev drained the rest of the contents of the flask and reveled in the slight but welcome numbness that caressed his mind. He leaned his head back on the crate behind him and began to doze in no time.
THEY PASSED through their first station that afternoon, and Whur
ton’s advice helped them to easily pass the checks and tests. The coal stores were replenished, but just before they got the engines cranked back up, one of the younger station agents stepped forward. “This is the last station before ya hit Southern territory,” he said, stopping Sev with a hand on his arm. “Y’all will have t’watch out. That Masked Shadow feller has been kickin’ up a fuss all around these parts. He’s a bold one, and I wouldn’t be too surprised if the bastard tried his hand at bringin’ down the Hercules.”
“Don’t you worry, pal,” Sev said in his best imitation of a Southern Victorican accent. “We’ve got ourselves a little insurance.” Sev pointed to the twin barrels of the gun turret. “Let ’im try. We’ll smoke the varmint.” Sev patted the young man confidently on the shoulder and turned to board the Hercules.
“‘Smoke the varmint’?” Silas whispered as they walked.
Sev shrugged. “He believed it, didn’t he?”
“I suppose,” Silas said, his voice no longer a whisper now that they were safely back on the train and away from Southern ears. “Do you think we really need to worry about this bandit?”
“Nah.” Sev took the woolen military hat off and tossed it in the corner, replacing it with his own. “Unless he has a couple o’giant clockwork men in his stables, I think we don’t need t’worry.”
“Hm.” Silas folded his arms but said nothing more on the subject.
SEV FOUND himself in a strange place. “Not again,” he mumbled. The black stone all around him looked moist and alive. Gathered near him were robed figures. Within their hoods their eyes shone a dull red, and what looked like nests of snakes wriggled where their mouths should have been. Sev’s skin crawled.
“What’s the matter, Sevvy?” Fairgate asked as he dropped the hood on his robe, revealing his coiffed blond hair and frustratingly handsome face. His color-shifting eyes twinkled, and an all-too-familiar grin quirked the corner of his mouth within his pointy, perfectly trimmed beard. He dropped the robe to the floor to reveal another suit of the finest white silks and satins. “You don’t value our little meetings?”
“This is another one o’those bloody dreams, Fairgate. And t’answer yer question, no. Ye’re chattier now that yer dead than ye ever were when ye were alive.”
Fairgate chuckled unctuously. “Oh, Seven, you’re so precious.” He glided toward Sev and traced his cheek with a delicate, manicured finger.
Sev recoiled from the man’s touch. “If I’d’ve known I’d have t’put up with this, I might’ve let you live.”
“You’re a cheeky one, Sevvy.” Fairgate’s tongue darted out and flicked along the finger that had touched Sev. “But I respect that. I truly do. You’re not a young man to be controlled.”
“Ye got that right,” Sev growled. “So what’s this all about, then?”
“You tell me, Seven. This is your dream after all. I’m just a figment of your twisted and overactive imagination.”
“Are ye, though?”
Fairgate grinned his reptile grin. “I don’t know. Am I?”
“Ye’re just as annoyin’ dead as ye were alive.” Sev turned on his heel and marched away.
“Strong Sev. Defiant Sev. Don’t walk away. I can tell you why you know magic.”
Sev pivoted violently and marched up to Fairgate. “Bollocks! Ye’re just sayin’ that t’bait me.”
“Am I?”
“Ye are!”
“Fine. Off you go, then.”
“Son of a bitch!” Sev pounded his fist against his thigh. “If ye know somethin’, tell me, ye bloody bastard.”
“Sevvy, Sevvy, Sevvy,” Fairgate said in response. “You are so terribly clueless. These creatures are the predecessors of humanity. They are the things that came before. There is a chance that you evolved from them. Maybe that’s why you can understand their magic.”
“Shite. The whole ball is shite.”
“Your subconscious unlocked the magic.” Fairgate folded his arms.
“What’s subconscious?” Sev slowly pronounced that last word.
“It’s your unconscious brain function,” Fairgate explained.
“I don’t understand.”
“No. Of course you don’t.” Fairgate thought for a moment. “It’s your under-brain. The part you don’t think about. It still influences your thoughts.”
“I don’t understand what the hell ye’re sayin’.”
“No. I suppose you don’t. Death really opens one up to things. I can see all of time.” Fairgate smirked mournfully. “You’ve pain in your future, Seven. But right now, you need to wake up. Hercules will be under attack. They’re going to need you, Sev. Leave me.”
Sev grimaced at his mystical companion and tried to clear his mind. Before he could, Fairgate reached out and pushed Sev’s shoulder—
SEV ROLLED over, off the cot and onto the floor of the car. He wasn’t surprised at all that he’d just woken from a dream about bloody Fairgate. He also wasn’t surprised to hear gunfire and shouting. “What?” he barked from the floor. “What time is it?”
“Nigh on twelve! We’re under attack,” Silas said.
Sev wondered who besides themselves would be fool enough to attack the Hercules. “I’d wager it’s that Masked Shadow,” Sev said, jumping up. “We need t’get some eyes on the sky. If we thought o’takin’ out the turret, so will he.” Sev ran out with Silas on his heels. They dashed into the car beneath the turret, and Sev shouted up. “Watch the sky.”
He searched the munitions crates and found a turret rifle. He checked the chamber and twisted the crank once to test its heft. He nodded, satisfied, and grabbed a belt of ammunition. Then he ran out onto the platform between the cars and climbed up the side, onto the roof. “There!” someone shouted. Sev scanned the air and saw a flying machine swooping in low.
He took a knee, loaded the gun, and aimed. He pointed the barrel of the gun just in front of the contraption and turned the crank. The gun rhythmically fired bullet after bullet, tearing through the fabric and frame of the flying machine. The winged vehicle wobbled and dropped from the sky. Sev barked a laugh and pumped his fist in triumph.
A figure galloped up alongside the train. Sev leveled the turret rifle at the man but hesitated when he saw the wide-brimmed hat, the scarf tied around the bottom half of his face, and the eyepatch. The bandit’s single visible eye grew shockingly wide, and he reined his horse away from Hercules, calling off his crew of highwaymen. Sev wanted to fire but couldn’t bring himself to shoot a man in the back while retreating. Something about that single, visible, dark eye troubled Sev, though he couldn’t put his finger on it.
As quickly as they’d attacked, the bandits disappeared into the night once again. “That ain’t right,” Sev grumbled. “Why’d they just call it off?”
“I don’t know,” Silas answered. “Maybe they hadn’t realized what they were getting themselves into.”
“Maybe,” Sev agreed, but he wasn’t so sure. There was something strange about the one-eyed brigand that Sev just couldn’t swallow, and where did a Victorican highwayman get a flying vessel?
THE REST of the trip passed with considerably less incident. They’d reached the Georgia state line, and Whurton sent for Silas and Sev. When they entered Hercules’s engine car, the old man darted about, checking gauges, pulling levers, and adjusting knobs. “Ah, boys, good. We’re about two hours out from Griswoldville.”
“I’ve heard of that,” Silas said with a thoughtful look. “That’s some manner of factory town, isn’t it?”
“Yer. Exactly right.” The old man spat on the floor. “The Southerners call it an ‘industrial complex’.” Whurton pronounced both words with particular attention but grimaced at the big words like they tasted badly in his mouth. “It’s more like a giant military factory. They’re churnin’ out weapons an’ the like at breakneck speed. Somethin’s on the horizon, mark my words. And y’all’re ridin’ right into the heart of it.”
“We know what we’re in for, old timer,” Sev re
torted. “The Crown sent us here fer a reason.”
Whurton cackled with laughter. “You ain’t seen nothin’, sonny. These good ol’ boys are playin’ fer keeps. But y’all will find out soon enough. Oh, yes indeedy.”
Sev shot a loaded glance at Silas. “Ye can get us through their defenses?”
Whurton nodded, spitting once more.
“That’s all ye need t’worry about, Wert. We’ll take care o’the rest.”
Whurton continued to chuckle as he pulled the chain connected to the enormous steam whistle mounted on the exterior of the train. “All right, pay attention,” Whurton said before diving into an explanation of all the things Sev and his companions needed to do and remember to pass for Southern soldiers, to get into the heart of Griswoldville.
HERCULES SLOWED down considerably as the gates of Griswoldville came into view. The wall was comprised of huge tree trunks sharpened to points like nothing Sev or Silas had ever seen before. The car would have been silent except for the grinding of gears and the creaking of the connectors between. Sev peered out the thin portals. Men sat on horses and stood with rifles all along the tracks. Sev thought they looked suspicious and apprehensive, but he hoped he was just overreacting.
The engine slowed, and Whurton blew the whistle once, long and drawn out. The noise almost sounded like a lament to Sev. They rocked slowly as the engine came to a stop before the enormous gate. Sev listened to his own anxious breathing.
“Whurton will get us through,” Silas said, squeezing Sev reassuringly as if he’d read the apprehension in his mind.
“What then?” Sev asked. “What then?”
“We’ll figure it out. We always do.”
“Aye,” Sev answered.
The door on their car slid open, and three Southern soldiers boarded. They asked Sev and Silas a number of questions, which they answered exactly as Whurton had instructed them. “Yer accents ain’t local,” the man who had done most of the speaking said. He regarded them suspiciously.
The 7th of Victorica Page 26