“Fine,” Lincoln called. “I need a moment.” He sat down at the small table and pulled out a sheaf of parchment and a pen. He scrawled a quick note to Mary, telling her what he intended to do, assuring her that he loved her, and apologizing if he did not make it back. He also explained why he felt the need to do this not just for the country but for every man, woman, and child who suffered under the despicable institution of slavery. He sealed the letter in an envelope, addressed it, and stuck it into his coat pocket. He’d give it to the front desk clerk, Lloyd, on his way out and ask him to post it.
“Finished,” Lincoln said, emerging from the bedroom.
“Don’t you look like a dashing rogue,” the man said. “Nice job with the scarf.”
“Shall we go? Grant and the troops have quite the head start.”
“True enough,” the man answered. He left the hotel suite with Lincoln close on his heels.
IN THE lobby Lincoln passed the envelope to Lloyd before he and his new companion left the building. Out on the street, the man swung up into the saddle of one of a pair of horses tied off there. Lincoln must have looked surprised because the man chuckled. “You know how to ride one of these?”
Lincoln frowned at him. He untied his horse and mounted it easily. “Son, I’m a farm boy by birth. I can outride you every day and twice on Sundays.” He patted his horse’s neck. “Are we going to get a move on?”
“Yes, sir. We are.” He reined his horse around, urging him down the street. Lincoln followed, and they were soon galloping toward the edge of the city.
The wind whipped past him as the city rolled away beside them. Lincoln hadn’t felt this free in years, as though the farther the horse carried him the further from Abraham Lincoln and all his responsibilities and worries he became. He’d now just be a nameless, faceless bandit fighting for his country and its people’s freedom.
What a strange place he found himself in now: galloping toward a rendezvous with a known British criminal and his band of miscreants on their way to fight in a battle with his own countrymen to aid British agents sent here to set his country right. Lincoln for some time had felt like the world went wrong somewhere, but he could never have guessed that the Federation could have assembled an army of the reanimated dead. He longed to do the right thing, but it seemed to him, in this world gone mad, that the right thing wasn’t always easy to discern. At least he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that freedom remained a worthy cause. No man should keep another as property, and if it took his life to prove that, to win that, he would gladly give it.
NEARLY AN hour later he found himself surrounded by Midnight and his men. The criminal himself was dressed like a cowboy in a chapbook, swathed all in black. “Mr. Lincoln.” Midnight smiled wide. “Welcome. I see the new clothes fit. Well done, me.”
Lincoln pinched his lapel. “Yes. I think that saying is true; the clothes truly do make the man, because I feel like a babe born anew. And I think under the circumstances we should leave Lincoln in New York as well.”
“An alias?” Midnight chuckled. “Why, Mr. Lincoln, how terribly dishonest of you.”
“Yes, it seems I’m in uncharted territory all around.”
“Very well,” Midnight said with a flourish of his hands. “We’ll call you Newman while we’re on this campaign. How does that sound?”
“Very clever, Mr. Midnight.”
“Ah, Mr. Newman, when I’m in these clothes, I’m the Masked Shadow. Although my friends just call me Shadow.” He tipped Lincoln a wink and a smirk. “Now! You need weapons, Mr. Newman.” Midnight waved Lincoln to follow him to a wagon on the outskirts of their not-so-little group. “What’s your fancy?” Midnight threw back the canvas covering the back to reveal an interior festooned with weapons: guns, blades, and items Lincoln didn’t recognize.
He picked up a strange tubular weapon with a hose attached to a tank. “What is this?”
“That is called a fire rifle,” Midnight explained. “Edison helped design it. It’s a weapon that shoots flames. At the Battle of Buckingham, we discovered fire to be one of the easiest ways to dispatch the undead. Good choice.”
Lincoln dropped the weapon back into the bed of the wagon. “That sounds gruesome.”
“Oh it is, quite,” Midnight said with a strange eager smile.
Lincoln shook his head and dug through the weapons. He picked up a pair of revolvers made by Smith & Wesson. They were cutting edge in the states, but something else caught his eye: a pair of pistols that very much resembled the multibarreled Gatling guns the military favored. “What on earth?”
“Ah, those are from my own factory in London,” Midnight answered. “They aren’t very accurate, but they shoot enough bullets that accuracy isn’t a problem. Quantity versus quality.”
Lincoln dropped the fancy guns and opted for the revolvers. He grabbed a large knife, a rifle, and as a last resort should he run out of ammunition, a large, long-handled ax. He tested the heft and swing of the weapon. It felt satisfying and proper in his hands. He strapped the pistols around his hips, the knife to his thigh. He secured the rifle on one side of his saddle and the ax on the other.
“Are you certain you’ve never done this before, Mr. Newman?” Midnight asked.
“Ridden with a band of brigands and highwaymen?” Lincoln asked. “No. Mr. Shadow, I can assure you this is not something I have done before, but neither am I one to shy away from a fight that needs finishing. The Federation may have started all this, but it’s up to us to end it.”
“Amen, Mr. Newman, amen,” one of the criminals agreed.
“Well said, Mr. Newman.” Midnight nodded, then addressed his followers. “What say you, fellows? Shall we finish this?”
A cheer rose up among Midnight’s band. They whooped and hollered until Midnight raised his arms for silence.
“That’s what I like to hear,” he said. “We need to catch up with Grant and his forces, recruit allies along the way should we find them. Let’s ride, brothers!” Midnight raised his black handkerchief up over the bottom of his face, pulled his eyepatch down, clucked his tongue, and spurred his horse down the road. The other men followed suit, and Lincoln did the same, tugging his scarf back up over the lower half of his face. A symphony of hooves pounded down the road toward the oncoming battle.
IT DIDN’T take them long to catch up with Grant’s forces. As Midnight weaved among the ranks on his great black steed, Lincoln and the rest followed. Lincoln assumed the hush that fell around them was due to the men realizing that the Masked Shadow had just appeared, beginning to ride among them.
“Halt.” A large, red-haired man with a bushy beard and a build like a grizzly rode deliberately into their path, blocking the way. “What’s your business here, villain?”
“What makes you think I’m a villain?” Midnight asked with a slight pinch to the brim of his hat.
“I ain’t no damn fool,” the officer barked. “What’s your business here?”
“I need to speak with General Grant,” Midnight said. “I’m here to offer our services in the coming battle.”
“And what’s this goin’ t’cost?”
“Well.” Midnight leaned forward on the pommel of his saddle. He tipped his hat back. “That’s a matter for General Grant and me. Why don’t you show me to him, Ginger?”
The soldier’s face went redder than his hair at that comment. “You’ll wait here, and I’ll speak with the commander. If he decides he wants to speak to you, I’ll come back to fetch you.”
“As you wish, Gingey.” Midnight swept his arm, inviting the redhead to do as he’d suggested. “This should be amusing,” Midnight said when the officer was out of earshot.
Midnight and his entourage watched as the soldier road to the commander’s carriage. Grant, unsurprisingly, was not hidden inside. The commander rode alongside his men proudly and openly. When the redhead hailed him, Grant raised his hand and brought the entire procession to a halt. They were too far away to hear what the men were saying or
even to read their lips, but their body language was obvious.
Redhead pointed to the new group, and Grant looked their way. He turned back to Redhead. A moment later Grant threw his hands into the air. He gesticulated wildly, then rode closer, pointing first at Redhead and then toward Midnight. Without pause Redhead galloped back with a look of pure dread on his face. When he pulled his horse up before them, he opened his mouth.
“Grant wants to see me, immediately.” Midnight stole the words from his lips. The redhead nodded once, remained silent, and just grimaced. “With me, fellows.” Midnight motioned them to follow. “Mr. Newman, keep an eye on our flanks if you please.”
Lincoln nodded. Message received; don’t get too close to Grant. He couldn’t agree more. So they rode through Grant’s army. Lincoln would swear that more men had already joined it since they’d left the city.
Midnight rode directly up to Grant and stopped. “General,” he said with as deep a bow as he could manage from his saddle. “I thought you might be able to use a few extra bodies.”
Grant’s gaze swept Midnight’s band. Lincoln pulled his hat a little lower as the commander’s scrutiny crawled over him. “I have quite a few soldiers already. What makes you think I need more, sir? Particularly the Masked Shadow and his band of scoundrels?”
“That’s precisely why you need us, General. We’re already a force feared in the South,” Midnight explained. “Imagine their surprise when we ride in at your side.”
“Hmm.” Grant scratched at his beard thoughtfully. “It certainly should cause them some distress. But what guarantee do I have that we can trust you?”
“That is a chance you’ll have to take, of course,” Midnight answered. “But I can give this assurance: I’m old friends with the British agents who are helping you hem in the Federation forces.”
“And they assigned you to your little murder spree?” Grant asked, accusingly.
“No, General Grant, that was all my idea. They weren’t getting things done quite as quickly or efficiently as I liked. I thought I would step in and help things along.”
“With murder?”
Midnight shrugged. “Strategic elimination,” he said. “It worked, didn’t it? How many Southern-owned businesses in the North were your people able to reacquire?”
“Hrmph,” Grant grumbled. Lincoln subdued a smirk. That’s the sound the man made when he knew someone else was right but didn’t want to admit it. Lincoln wanted to tell Midnight that Grant was about to give in, but he suspected Midnight already knew. In fact, he’d bet Midnight had Grant figured out before he stepped foot in Victorica. He’d probably gathered information about all the key players. Lincoln thought his intelligence bordered on genius. He also appeared to be completely mad. A combination that frightened Lincoln to his core.
“Fine,” Grant said at last, interrupting Lincoln’s thoughts. “You may ride with us. It’s just as you said: we’re going to need all the help we can get, I fear.” Grant held up a finger. “We ride into war to be sure. There will be bloodshed and no doubt death, but I want it kept to a minimum. These men may be our enemies, but they are also our countrymen, no matter how misguided they are. We kill only in defense of our persons. Understood?”
Midnight shook his head slightly. “I fear that is too naïve a stance for a military general to take.” He paused crossing his arms. “We’ll remain conservative about casualties for now. But when the fighting starts, all bets are off.”
Grant frowned, his bushy brows furrowed. “Yes. I’m afraid you’re probably correct. Once the fighting starts, we may all pay a very heavy price indeed.”
“It will certainly get worse before it gets better,” Midnight stated. “But enough of our maudlin reflection, General. You should know who your allies are.” He held out his hand. “Jack Midnight.”
Grant recoiled at the name as if he’d been slapped. “Jack. Midnight.” Grant made no move to shake the offered hand.
Midnight looked at his empty palm, shrugged, and crossed his arms. “That’s right. And these are my men.” He tossed his head back over his shoulder.
“Jack Midnight,” Grant repeated. “I’ll be damned. The infamous Jack Midnight was the Masked Shadow all along.” He regarded his new ally for a moment, scratching at his beard again. “You certainly look nothing as I pictured.”
“I get that more often than one would think,” Midnight said with a little laugh.
“The wisdom of my decision to accept your help seems somewhat less sound in light of this revelation.” Grant frowned.
“Refreshingly honest.” Midnight smiled. “I shall try not to take offense.”
“He saved Lincoln’s life,” Lincoln growled, trying to disguise his voice. “Back at the Winter Garden.”
“That’s enough, Mr. Newman. I can manage my own bragging. Thank you.”
Grant studied Newman suspiciously before speaking. “What’s he talking about, Midnight?”
“I was the man in the theater who stopped Booth from carrying out his mission. I killed him before he could kill Lincoln.”
“You’re the lean, dark stranger?” Grant asked.
Midnight nodded.
“I’ll be jiggered. Lincoln told me about the encounter, but I have to admit, I didn’t necessarily believe it. I thought he might have been confused.”
“Enough small talk.” Midnight urged his horse to stand parallel with Grant’s. “Perhaps we should get this circus back on the move.”
“Yes.” Grant nodded. “Yes, we should. Lieutenant, give the order. We’re moving again.” And with that the army began its march anew. The caravan continued ever southward to victory or death.
35
AN HOUR in the air and Teddy still had his face pressed against the window of the cockpit. “This is amazin’,” he said for what seemed like the tenth time.
“It’s certainly more impressive than the airship we built to recruit Tesla.” Silas shot Sev a glance.
“Mm. At least we can see where we’re goin’.” Sev sat in a corner with Fairgate’s Grimoire open on his knee. He thought he’d found a healing spell and hoped he could use it to ease the pain from his ribs and face. Every time he tried, Teddy interrupted him.
“Everythin’ down below looks so tiny,” Teddy said. “This is amazin’!”
Sev caught himself smiling at his friend’s childlike awe. He had to remember that Teddy was still a child, almost all those fighting on their side were children, and they were flying toward certain doom. Sev didn’t have it in his heart to squash Teddy’s temporary joy. He just let his young friend stand with his nose pressed against the window, marveling at their flight.
“I ain’t never seen nothin’ like this, no how. We truly do live in an age, don’t we?” Teddy ran to the opposite side of the craft to see what he was missing. He whistled.
Sev tried to dive back into his studies, when Silas plopped down next to him. “What are you up to?” he asked. “Learning to summon dark forces to aid us against the Federation?”
Sev shook his head. “I hope not. I think it’s a healin’ spell, but every time I try t’cast it, I’m interrupted.”
“Oh, ah. I see.” Silas shifted uncomfortably.
Sev patted his knee. “Chin up, Silas. I certainly wasn’t referrin’ t’you.” He weaved his fingers into Silas’s and brought his hand up to kiss the knuckles. “I think Rat and Tab have the right idea.” Sev motioned to the pair huddled in the rear of the cockpit, holding hands, speaking in low tones, and stealing kisses when they thought no one was looking.
“Good Lord,” Silas whispered. “I pray he doesn’t lose this one.”
Sev closed his eyes, remembering Annie, her dark hair and pale skin. The way she smiled when he brought her apples. She was one of his oldest friends, a juvenile prostitute, and Ratty’s first love. “Poor Annie.”
Silas squeezed Sev’s neck and pulled him in close. Sev’s ribs smarted a bit, but he tried not to show it. He just let Silas hold him. It felt so good. He kn
ew Silas didn’t have any words to make it all right. Everything might never be right again, but at least they were trying, trying to make things right, things that had gone horribly wrong. Sev cozied into his embrace. With his eyes closed, he breathed deeply of Silas’s scent, felt the warmth of his body next to him.
SEV STARTLED awake from dozing against Silas and found himself in an empty cockpit. Mama Gert, Tab, Rat, Teddy, and the rest were gone. Sev stood slowly, wincing. Night had fallen outside, and Sev couldn’t see anything. He noticed the temperature had dropped significantly as well. He walked over to the control panel. He could still hear the engines, still feel the movement of the airship, but the instruments made no sense to him, and they were covered in dust. Sev ran his finger through the thin layer.
“Damn,” Sev grumbled as he hung his head, exhausted, realizing what was going on. “Come on, then. Where are ye?”
“You know, Sevvy”—Fairgate’s voice filled the empty space—“you really are the best student I never had.”
Sev turned, unsurprised to see Fairgate sitting in one of the pilots’ chairs, a smug grin plastered across his face. “What d’ye want now?”
“I’m so impressed, Sevvy. You were able to figure out that you were in one of these not-exactly-a-dream dreams.”
“Brilliant. Impressin’ ye was obviously my goal,” Sev said, dripping sarcasm. “What do ye want?” This time he said it slower and angrier.
“Sevvy, you wound me.” Fairgate stood. He was still dressed head to toe in white, but instead of a fine suit, his clothes looked like a military uniform or an airship commander’s costume. “I’m only here to see that my finest student is all right.” He walked over to Sev, his hand hovering near Sev’s chest, careful not to touch him. “That spell you found will heal you, but you might not like the side effects.”
“Side effects?”
“It’s of no concern. I can heal you, teach you to heal yourself. That spell is more useful to heal others.”
The 7th of Victorica Page 35