The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  Jackson jumped and held his hands back up. “I’m only here to talk with y’all.”

  “Talk?” a gruffer voice asked. Jackson thought it was the one they called Rat. “Why shouldn’t we just shoot ye where ye stand?”

  “No!” someone in the carriage yelled. Several of the children dashed out of the interior and clustered in front of Jackson. A second later the rest of the former slaves joined them.

  “If y’all’re goin’ t’shoot this’a here man, y’all’re goin’ t’have t’shoot us as well,” a boy called Curtis stated defiantly.

  “Well, bugger,” Stephens said. “This is an odd development.” No one spoke for a few moments after that. Jackson listened. He continued to hold his hands in the air. His gaze drifted from the men positioned around the wall to the dark faces and eyes that surrounded him and stared at him, worried.

  “Stand down, fellas,” Stephens ordered. “Open the gate and let Lieutenant-General Jackson in fer a little talk. Ye best hope we like what ye have t’say.”

  The gate soon ground slowly open, revealing two guards standing on either side, still holding rifles pointed at the group. Stephens soon appeared with the tall lawyer and his short apprentice. Jackson also noticed that many of the men and women holding weapons had much darker skin. Stephens motioned for them to lower them. Jackson stood with his mouth slightly agape at the bandages and bruises covering Stephens’s face.

  “What in the Sam Hill happened to you?” Jackson asked before he could stop himself.

  Stephens stopped right in front of Jackson’s protective circle of friends. He moved stiffly. Jackson guessed that his injuries were even more extensive. “It’s a long story. One I ain’t inclined t’share until ye’ve told me why ye’re here.”

  “Fair enough.” Jackson lowered his hands slowly. “Y’all and your compatriots are about to be in a heap o’trouble. Especially your Mr. Lincoln.”

  “How so?” the tall lawyer asked.

  “Sutherlin is mobilizin’ his armies. He plans t’march on the North.” He paused, letting the impact of his statement sink in. “I’m speakin’ of war, gentlemen. In addition, our Mr. Booth is planning to assassinate Lincoln.”

  That earned an angry murmur, not just among Stephens’s contingent, but in his own party as well. “Where and when?” a man’s voice asked. Jackson looked toward the sound and saw a dark stranger all dressed in black with a wide-brimmed hat.

  “By God!” Jackson shouted and pulled out his revolver. Instantly, all Stephens’s people raised and cocked their weapons. “The Masked Shadow?”

  “Put your weapon down, Stonewall,” the Masked Shadow purred. “I don’t want you to lose your good arm.” He fixed Jackson with an icy stare. Jackson had never been shaken by a simple glance as he was by that one. He felt a chill run down his spine, and his hand wavered almost imperceptibly.

  “I’d do as he says,” Stephens advised.

  Jackson glanced at Stephens, back at the bandit, and lowered his weapon. It stuck in his craw to back down, but he’d never been so unnerved by another man before. “Can we talk now?”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” the dark stranger reminded him quietly.

  “I ain’t sure when, but I believe it’ll be in New York at a theater performance for charity.”

  “Soon?” He tipped back his black hat.

  “I think so, yes.” Jackson watched as the man glanced at Stephens. Something silent passed between them, and without a word, the Masked Shadow signaled to several men. They all mounted up and rode out through the open gates. Jackson watched as they galloped away. “What was that?” he asked no one in particular.

  “Sometimes it takes a killer t’stop a killer.” Stephens turned and waved for Jackson to follow him into the compound. He stood undecided for a moment before finally leading his group in through the gates while one of Stephens’s men led their horses and carriage in.

  31

  SEV SAT staring across a large round wooden table at Lieutenant-General Stonewall Jackson flanked by all the men, women, and children he’d arrived with. The man glared at him. Silas sat on one side of Sev, on the other sat Rat, Tab, and Teddy. Many of the former slaves had packed in as well. The intensity in the conference chamber pressed in on them like the filthy fog of Blackside. Sev drummed his fingers, watching Jackson’s face. Sev’s lip curled very slightly.

  “It seems t’me there’s a lack o’trust here,” Jackson ventured to break the silence.

  “Ye certainly ain’t wrong.” Sev’s gaze fell on Jackson’s entourage, and he made a decision. “In a show o’good faith, how about I start?”

  Jackson nodded, and Sev proceeded to explain everything that led them to this point—their original conflict in London, their assignment along with the identities they were forced to assume, and their ultimate goal to not only free the slaves but Victorica as a whole. He related the hijack of the Hercules, and their discovery of the corpse armies. “We burned ’em all,” Sev finished.

  Jackson stared, shaking his head slightly. “Seven, I am appalled at what depths mah Southern brothers were willin’ t’stoop to. General Lee is equally as disgusted, but he had his orders.” Jackson explained all that they had experienced in the last month, including Lee’s assignment to rally the troops. “This is the center o’production, but this ain’t the only one. There’re outposts all over the South.”

  “How do we find ’em?” Teddy asked.

  Sev looked at his friends and then the man who used to be his enemy. “I think I can figure it out.”

  “How?” Rat asked.

  “I can see magic.”

  “See magic?” Jackson asked.

  “Aye. Like mystical tendrils. Different magic manifests as different colors.”

  “I do not believe in magic, Seven.” Jackson chuckled.

  Sev shook his head at Jackson’s self-denial. “Oh? How do you explain what we saw drawn from within our queen?” he asked, remembering the giant, tentacled, blighted elder god they’d forced from her.

  “I do not call y’all liars,” Jackson admitted. “But as a good Christian man, I find this all very hard t’believe. I do not understand how God can allow such rampant abomination.”

  “And yet ye’ve seen firsthand the appallin’ practices of yer own government, the resurrected armies of the dead.”

  “I cannot argue with that,” Jackson grumbled. “But how can you see magic, Seven?”

  Sev sighed. He knew he’d eventually have to reveal his secret, and now was the time. He told Jackson everything about Fairgate, the grimoire, and the palace. He told him about learning the spells. He left out the strange dreams of Fairgate and the other things, the elements he hadn’t revealed even to Silas.

  Jackson sat with a stunned, disbelieving look on his face.

  Sev mumbled the fire incantation and produced a fireball in his palm. Not only Jackson gasped at the display. Very nearly all those gathered retreated from the flaming ball.

  “It’s the devil,” someone whispered. Sounds of confusion and fear rippled through the gathered crowd.

  Sev rolled the ball across the table at Jackson. The lieutenant-general jumped up, startled. Sev flicked his fingers and the fireball dispersed. “My apologies, sir. But I had t’convince ye that I wasn’t all talk.”

  “Fair enough.” Jackson looked visibly shaken. “I do not know why the Good Lord has allowed such a thing, but I am certain it is part of His plan. What do you suggest?”

  Sev opened his mouth to answer but was interrupted by one of the guards they had left outside. “Y’all have got t’come see this! We found somethin’!”

  The young fellow motioned for them to follow and ran out. Sev jumped up and rushed after him. He could hear footfalls behind him, but Sev didn’t bother to look back. He just ran into the night, into the heart of the compound, his feet pounding as he chased the young black boy. He led Sev past the charred remains of the large warehouses and more than a few outlying buildings as well. Sev’s guide pulle
d up short on the edge of a field.

  “Here it is, suh,” he motioned, waving his arm wide.

  Sev stared out across the field as those who had chosen to follow finally caught up. A desolate field stretched out before them. He could see the log wall on the opposite side. “I don’t see it,” Sev admitted. “What am I s’posed t’be lookin’ at?”

  “Sorry, suh.” The boy walked over to a tangle of brush. He pulled it back, revealing a large metal wheel. “Give me a hand, suh?”

  Sev nodded and joined him, grabbing a portion of the wheel. They pulled, turning the contraption. A screeching erupted in the middle of the field. Large doors ground open. Sev and the boy continued to twist the wheel until the mechanism would no longer move and a black void loomed before them. “Bloody hell,” Rat gasped as he looked out over the cavernous pit.

  “Is there some kind o’light switch around?” Sev asked.

  “Here,” the boy who’d helped open the enormous door said. He pulled a large lever and a bluish glow emanated from within.

  “I’ll be damned,” Silas said. “They’ve some kind of electrically generated light.”

  “Ye think they have Tesla workin’ fer ’em?” Sev asked with a smirk.

  “I should think not,” Silas responded. He peered over the edge. “Is that—?”

  Sev followed his gaze. A few feet below the lip of the opening loomed what looked like a trio of balloons. “It’s an airship.”

  “It’s actually several airships, Mistuh Seven,” Jackson corrected. “I’d heard about this, but I had no idea they’d gotten this far with it.” He walked over and pointed with his clockwork hand. “These big ones are meant to transport the undead, droppin’ ’em when the Yanks least expect it. That small one at the front is for the voodoo priestess. She’s to fly above her regiments, controlling them from above, safe from the actual battle.”

  “And ye think they have a set o’these ships fer each o’the outposts where they have these undead soldiers?”

  “Most definitely, suh.”

  “Bugger.” Sev paced along the edge of the bay door. “We need t’find out when those ships’re leavin’ and where they’re headed.”

  “I can find out,” Jackson offered. “And then I can wire you.”

  Sev regarded the man for a moment. He wanted to trust Jackson. He wanted to, but he still wasn’t completely convinced. “And what are we s’posed t’do while ye’re at that?”

  “Make ready your men. Gather your resources. Steel yourselves. Prepare for war, Mistuh Seven, because that is surely what looms on all our horizons.”

  “Grim, Jackson, very grim.” Sev shook his head. “But ye speak truly.”

  “I can also see that ya don’t fully trust me, Seven. Please send some o’your trusted men with me. I shall not protest, suh.”

  “I’ll go,” Brown offered. “And Roth will join me.”

  “What about Philson and I?” Nicholas asked.

  “I leave it to ye, Jackson,” Sev said. “Take all or none. I will not force any on ye, in a show o’good faith.”

  Jackson nodded to Sev. “I appreciate that, suh. I sincerely do. I will take all four of your men, for good faith shall be shown on both sides, and I may find need of them. I predict difficult times ahead, and I may need a few good men at mah side, men that are not beholden to the Federation.”

  “Fair enough.” Sev turned. “Teddy, will ye have Lieutenant-General Jackson’s horses and carriage prepared?”

  “I will, Sev. I’ll make sure they’re all stocked up too,” Teddy added.

  “Thank ye,” Sev said as Teddy trotted off toward the stable, gathering a few helpers as he went. Jackson thanked Sev, then followed Teddy with his four traveling companions. Most of those gathered dispersed, seeking out places to sleep, returning to their quarters. Sev, Silas, Rat, and a few others descended into the underground air yard to inspect the airships.

  They explored the ships, inspecting the controls. “I think I can figure these out,” Rat shouted.

  Sev nodded, though he knew Rat couldn’t see it. He felt certain he could decipher the controls as well. They didn’t seem that complex. “This could work,” he whispered to himself. He heard someone climb into the ship’s bridge. He tensed, then felt Silas’s flesh and clockwork hands on his shoulders.

  “Are you all right, Sev?”

  Sev turned and let Silas fold him into a hug. “I think we can do this.”

  Silas pecked a kiss on Sev’s hairline. “Even I can figure out those controls.”

  Sev chuckled. “We should start gatherin’ supplies, arms, and whatnot.”

  Silas shook his head. Sev could feel his chin as it grazed the top of his head. “Not now. We need to get some sleep.”

  Sev wanted to argue, wanted to barrel ahead with the plan, but he couldn’t deny Silas’s logic. “All right. Let’s go bunk down. We’ll deal with it in the mornin’.”

  “I think that’s a good idea.” Silas led Sev to the ladder so they could exit the airship. They descended, met up with the others, and climbed out of the pit holding the vessels.

  Sev and Silas bid Rat and Tab, Teddy, and a few others farewell, then walked arm in arm back to their barracks. “I’m exhausted,” Sev admitted. Every wound and muscle in his body ached. He’d had some time to heal, but after the events of the evening, realized he was nowhere near well.

  “You look bloody awful.” Silas studied him with a concerned expression. Sev could tell he was only half joking.

  “I feel bloody awful.”

  “You should take a few more days to rest and heal.”

  “I can’t afford t’do that, Silas.”

  He shook his head. “You can and you will. We can’t really do anything until Jackson sends word of times and locations. We just have to trust Midnight, God help us. Rat, Teddy, Tab, and I can take care of gathering supplies and weapons.” Silas paused. “Or don’t you trust us?”

  Sev recoiled. “O’course I trust ye.”

  “Good. Then you can take a few days and rest.”

  Sev felt like he’d walked right into that one, but he’d let Silas have his little victory, mostly because he felt like canned shite. “You win. I’ll sit the next few days out.”

  “Convincing you to take it easy might be a bigger win than battling slavery,” Silas said with a smirk and a peck to Sev’s forehead. They shared a chuckle before they finally reached their bunk. Sev stole a sleepy kiss before he finally allowed his exhaustion to overtake him.

  SEV SPENT the next few days resting. He’d get up periodically to answer nature’s call or to take food with Silas, but before long he found himself back in his bunk. His back injuries had stopped barking and subsided to a dull throb. His eye hurt every time his face moved. He kept a bottle of whiskey on the night table to ease the pain. Silas carefully applied the laudanum-laced ointment periodically. He winced each time Sev winced. “Ye’re takin’ such good care o’me,” Sev croaked.

  Silas clucked his teeth and offered Sev a cup of fresh water. “Here, drink this. You sound terrible.”

  Sev drank happily and greedily. “Thank ye.”

  Silas nodded and pulled the empty tin cup away.

  “Still no word from Jackson?” Sev asked.

  “No. Unfortunately.”

  “You’re worried.”

  “Of course I’m worried,” Silas answered. “He’s betraying his people, and they aren’t famous for their unbiased, understanding nature.”

  “Midnight?” Sev asked.

  “No word.”

  “Damn.”

  “Sev,” Silas stated, his tone serious. “It’s Midnight. We won’t hear anything from him until his job is done. He’s not one to check in.”

  “Aye. That’s true.” Sev closed his eyes, feeling tired. When he opened them, he gazed fondly at Silas. Sev reached up and touched Silas’s face. “Are we goin’ t’pull this off?”

  Silas frowned but nodded. “It’s not going to be easy, Sev.”

  “Don�
�t I know it.” He closed his eyes again for a moment, and Silas’s lips touched his lids in turn. “So what do we do now?” Sev asked.

  “We hope for the best and wait for word from our allies.”

  Sev nodded, coughed. “I hope Midnight succeeds. I don’t know how we’ll win without Lincoln. That man is an inspiration and a role model to thousands.”

  “I can’t even imagine what this country would do without him.”

  “It would bloody collapse,” Sev said.

  “It would.” Silas nodded.

  “I can’t help wondering what Midnight is at.” Sev gazed at nothing while his thoughts wandered.

  32

  MIDNIGHT STEPPED out into the parlor of the tailor shop. He’d thankfully traded in his slightly filthy bandit garb for a finely crafted, crisp new suit made to his exact specifications. A large, ornate, full-length mirror stood near the tailor’s sales counter, and Midnight couldn’t help but spare a moment to admire how fantastic the suit looked on his lean frame. He smiled, and his reflection smiled back. “Oh, you are a handsome devil, Jack Midnight.” He pulled a stick of kohl from his inner pocket, touched the tip of his tongue to the end, then traced the edges of his eyelids. He used the tip of his newly manicured pinky to smudge it just so. He replaced the kohl and pulled on a pair of pitch-black kid gloves. They matched the rest of the suit exactly, black as his soul, except for his bloodred tie. He tightened the knot, then smoothed down his suit with another glance in the mirror. When he was satisfied, he paid the tailor and slipped out of the shop.

  Outside he glanced up and down the bustling New York City street. Throngs of people crowded the walkways, caught in a river of humans. Midnight loved it. His sharp criminal eyes picked out at least three cutpurses weaving in and out of the crowd. If he weren’t trying to keep a slightly lower profile, he might approach the youngsters and offer them positions in his organization. They were slick, but they could be taught to be better. The mingling of affluence and poverty brought a smile to his thin lips. He pulled out a pair of smoked-lens glasses, slid them on his face, and strutted out into the rushing crowd.