The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  Teddy raised his arms, palms up, before his chin lifted and the gathered crowd got a look at him. His full lips stretched into a rictus grin that made Sev uncomfortable to look upon. Some dark and viscous liquid coated his teeth and dribbled from the corners of his mouth. A deep, sonorous, dissonant chuckle started in Teddy’s chest before bursting forth from his blighted throat. When he spoke, it was with two distinct voices—Teddy’s high-pitched child’s voice and something darker, older, like the door of a stone tomb sliding open to spill forth putrefaction. “Well met, Seven,” the voices gurgled from Teddy’s throat. “I finally get to look on the kinslayer in person.”

  “Kinslayer?” Silas whispered.

  “It’s one o’those things,” Sev guessed. “Like as what was in the queen.”

  “Yes.” The monster in Teddy’s body hissed, spraying black spittle. “You’ve no word for it in your ugly tongue, but you may think of her as my sister. You killed her without remorse.”

  “What have you done with Teddy?” Sev demanded, ignoring the accusation.

  “The better question is: What have you done with Teddy? He had already departed this shell when you called me forth. Under any other circumstances I shouldn’t have allowed myself to be summoned in such a haphazard manner, but I couldn’t resist the chance to meet the infamous Seventh of London, though I suppose for the moment you’re the Seventh of Victorica.” The beast chuckled at its own joke.

  “What do you want with me?” Sev asked.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” Midnight purred. “Vengeance.”

  “Is that it?” Sev sneered. “Fine, then, come on.” Sev crouched down, ready for a fight.

  The voices chuckled again, a sound like infants being strangled. “Oh, no, kinslayer. Our vengeance will be much slower and will come when we choose, not when you choose.” The thing spat with Teddy’s lips, and the gob of black mucus sizzled in the dirt at Sev’s feet. “This is just a taste of what’s to come.” Teddy’s hand flew up, the fingers splayed. All around them and seemingly at random, some of their allies floated just above the ground. Their eyes were wide with shock and their mouths worked like fish out of water, but no sound came out of them until Teddy’s hand turned at the wrist and made a fist, then the sickening sound of crunching bones rippled through the crowd.

  Sev lunged for Teddy’s remains, but Silas grabbed him just as one of Midnight’s daggers sailed past his face. The blade stopped before it reached its mark and dropped harmlessly to the ground. Had it continued on its intended path, the glowing orb in Teddy’s left eye socket would have been cloven in two. “I suppose that answers that question,” Midnight stated, rather nonchalantly for the situation.

  “We shall remember that, Middlenight.” Those glowing orbs stared directly at Jack, who only shrugged. “You won’t see us coming, Seven. This is my oath. By the Flames of Ug’ugaroth, the Moaning Pits of the Vas’Gurnadon, and my mother’s blackened teats from whence the fetid milk of madness flows steadily forth, we will see our kin avenged, and your soul will feed my offspring. You will see us sooner than you would like.” Teddy’s jaw opened then, almost impossibly wide, and a dark-green cloud that smelled of a thousand plague-ridden corpses spilled forth, enveloping Teddy’s body. When the putrid smoke finally dissipated, no trace was left of Teddy or the thing inhabiting his corpse except for a lingering smell of carrion.

  Sev could feel all eyes on him, but he ignored it. Silas still held him, and Sev shrugged out of the embrace. The dead and wounded lay all around, and they had much to do before Sev and his friends could rest or mourn. “Sev,” Silas began, but he held up his hand.

  “Not now, Silas. Everythin’ in its turn. Fer now we’ve a people t’free and a country t’set right.” With no further discussion, he walked into the crowd, calling for the tending of the wounded and the gathering of the dead. Lincoln, Grant, and Midnight joined him. He knew Silas worried over the wretched beast’s threats, and there would be time to deal with those as well. This was not that time.

  38

  SILAS PACED the now familiar floor of Lincoln’s office. He and Seven had spent a great deal of time with Lincoln, Grant, and the other political leaders of Victorica. Prime Minister Wrathsbury, Lord Sutherland had arrived just days ago as an envoy for Her Majesty, Queen Victoria, to complete the negotiations that would free the people of Victorica as Sev, Silas and their friends had freed that colony’s—country—Silas corrected himself, that country’s slaves.

  Sev sat with his hands folded in front of his lips. He’d been in a black mood since the battle at Gettysburg, Teddy’s death, and consequent resurrection, and all of Silas’s attempts to comfort him, talk to him, or otherwise try to lift that mood were frustratingly futile. Sev refused to be cheered. He refused to be touched except in the most superficial of manners. It frustrated Silas immensely. He’d wondered more than once since that dark day if, after everything they had faced together, this would be the thing that finally tore them apart.

  Silas opened his mouth for another attempt at reconnecting with his love, but before he could speak, a din erupted from the street. Sev’s gaze darted in the direction of the window. “What’s all that, then?” he asked.

  Silas stepped over to the glass and looked out. “It appears to be an impromptu celebration.” A large black steam carriage pulled up out front. “It may be that our friend, Mr. Lincoln, has just arrived.”

  “They’ll make him….” Sev paused. “What d’they call it? President. They’ll make him president.”

  Silas nodded. Sev wasn’t far off the mark by Silas’s judgment. Lincoln’s status in the new country would ultimately be decided today and depended on what type of government the queen was willing to let them adopt. Though, based on the negotiations up until this point, Silas was certain that Wrathsbury had been given the authority to free Victorica and allow it whatever type of government they saw fit for themselves.

  “You might have the right of it,” Silas finally agreed.

  “Aye. It’s a done deal. Queen Vic’s still ashamed o’the recolonization, ashamed that she allowed Fairgate t’do what he did t’her. She’ll give ’em whatever they want.” He shifted in his seat but still didn’t look at Silas. “I could see it in her eyes the first time she spoke of it. That’s why I been makin’ promises this whole time. I knew she’d consent.”

  Silas shook his head slowly. Sev had become a mystery to him once again, and Silas was not prepared for that. He moved behind the chair Sev sat in and put his hand on Sev’s shoulder. “Sev,” he whispered. Before he could say more, they heard voices in the corridor outside.

  “Later.” Sev didn’t move to touch him or bother looking at him. His cold tone sent chills down Silas’s spine. Completely oblivious to their interaction, Lincoln, Grant, and Wrathsbury entered the room with a few other prominent dignitaries. Edison slipped in behind them. Sev nodded to the inventor, and Edison nodded back.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” Midnight asked, seeming to melt out of the shadows. Silas hadn’t noticed the slim, smoky-eyed villain enter with the rest. “A new country about to be reborn from the ashes of tyranny and oppression; it almost chokes me up.”

  Silas sniffed. No matter how many times Midnight helped them, he couldn’t bring himself to trust the madman or even warm up to him. “I sincerely doubt you experience such genuine feeling. Why have they even allowed you access to these proceedings?”

  “I have connections,” Midnight stated simply with a glance at Wrathsbury and a subtle waggle of his eyebrows. Silas only snorted in response.

  “Problem, Mr. Kettlebent?” Lincoln asked, his knuckles resting on his desk on either side of a pile of papers he’d been studying.

  “No, sir.” Silas shook his head and shot Midnight a venomous glance. The villain only smiled in response.

  “Good,” Lincoln resumed. “Let’s take a look at this agreement.”

  “I think you will find it most acceptable,” Wrathsbury offered. “It grants Victorica complete autonomy, while rese
rving first right of trade with Britain.”

  Grant chewed his cigar and pointed. “This bit here,” he said. “Does this say what I think it says?”

  Wrathsbury nodded. “Victorica need no longer be called Victorica. If there is a more accurate and true name you’d wish to name yourselves, this article allows that option.” The Prime Minister crossed his arms, and his smile practically beamed.

  “We could be America once more?” Roth asked, awe clearly evident in his tone.

  “Certainly, sir,” Wrathsbury answered.

  “Ye’ve earned yer identity,” Sev stated from his spot in the chair. “Didn’t I tell ye? Didn’t I say?”

  “That you did, Seven,” Grant said with a nod. “Always.” He turned his attention back to the discussion of the group, and as he did, Sev slipped from the chair, making his way to the door and exiting the proceedings. Silas traded a loaded glance with Midnight before he followed. He could feel Midnight’s eyes on him until he closed the door to Lincoln’s office. Sev must have escaped down the stairs because the hallway stood empty. Silas dashed down the dark wood-paneled hall and descended a set of steps. He found Sev sobbing on a lower landing.

  “Sev,” Silas managed not to choke out the word. “What’s wrong?”

  “They’re comin’ fer me, Silas,” he croaked. “I’m not safe. Ye’re not safe. None o’me mates’re safe.”

  Silas reached out, squeezed Sev’s biceps. “We’ll face it, love. We’ll deal with whatever comes.”

  Sev shook loose of Silas’s grip. “I can’t.” He heaved a great sigh. “I can’t make ye do it. Death follows me. I can’t ask my friends t’face that.”

  “Sev,” Silas breathed his name and pressed his forehead to Sev’s. “I know it’s difficult,” he whispered. “I’m here for you. No matter what. I’m here for you.”

  Sev sniffled, obviously fighting back tears. “I know, love. But I can’t. I can’t ask that of ye.”

  Silas led Sev to the street, hailed a cab, and took them back to their rooms.

  ONCE THEY’D arrived, Sev only poured himself a drink and took up his seat in a chair facing away from the window. The early afternoon light cast his face in shadow and gave Silas a dreadful sense of foreboding. “Sev,” Silas whispered.

  “Don’t say it,” Sev responded. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “I love you,” Silas said, despite his apprehension.

  Sev sighed. “I love you too. Y’know I do. But it all hurts so much right now. I don’t know what I can do.”

  Silas nodded silently. He had no idea what Sev was actually feeling, but he tried to imagine. He walked over and hugged his friend and lover. Sev reached up and laid a hand on Silas’s arm. It was more than Silas hoped for. “If there is anything at all I can do for you, Sev, please, tell me.”

  Sev shook his head and closed his eyes, Silas assumed in an attempt to hide the just barely contained tears within. “Annie,” he said very quietly. “Waverly. Heph. Jeffries. And now Teddy. So many dead. And it’s all my fault.”

  Silas moved, opened his mouth to contradict, but Sev held up a hand to stop him. He shook his head once more.

  “Don’t, Si. It’s true. And Teddy was a good kid. He didn’t mean nobody no harm.” He sniffed, steadying himself. “And I got him killed, Si. Me. And now some—thing is using his body. How do I live with that? How?”

  Silas ached. His heart was breaking for Sev. “I don’t know,” he whispered, unable to lie or offer empty comfort. “But you are still alive and so am I. And it’s obvious our work isn’t done. We’ve freed our country, a race of people, and given the reins of this country back to the people who are most likely to take it in the right direction. That’s no mean feat to be sure. We’ve accomplished more than most men twice our age.”

  “It can’t bring ’em back.”

  “No,” Silas agreed. “That it cannot do.”

  Sev heaved a deep, shuddering sigh, stood, and walked over to the small bar where he poured himself a shot of the Victorican Bourbon. He gulped it, poured himself another, and did the same. “I think I’d like t’go t’bed with ye.” He held his hand out and Silas took it, then folded him into an embrace.

  Silas kissed Sev on the forehead amidst his burgundy bangs. “Of course, my love.” He led Sev down the short hallway to their bedchamber and spent the next few hours showing him how much he still had to live for.

  THE NEXT two weeks saw Victorica officially become America once more. They also saw Lincoln elected nearly unanimously the President of the New United States of America. He and his cabinet members reinstated the old constitution of their previous independent incarnation with a few salient changes to human rights and who deserved them. Edison applied for a number of patents based on Tesla’s work on the Prometheus power units as well as some of Sev and Rat’s designs. Trials were held for Sutherlin and his Southern conspirators. They could not be charged with keeping or owning slaves because at the time it hadn’t been against the law, but they were charged with kidnapping the voodoo priestesses and crimes against nature for their army of the clockwork undead.

  The newly reborn country seemed to be moving in the right direction. Lincoln’s no-nonsense, down-home approach to politics and his warm, often affectionate way of speaking endeared him to most everyone but the stalwart Southerners who considered him a traitor even now, despite the fact that he’d negotiated the freedom of their country. For that reason alone, Grant had insisted on an elite group of soldiers outfitted with enhanced over-skeletons based on Sev’s, Rat’s, and Silas’s designs to protect him at all times. Brown and Roth were placed in charge of the group they had taken to calling the Shadow Service because they were constantly on guard in the shadows and in deference to the department that Wrathsbury had created for Sev and Silas.

  They rarely saw Rat outside of their work with Edison. He was spending more and more time with Tabitha, and they had even taken rooms together in the capital. Silas wouldn’t be too surprised to find out that the former urchin wouldn’t be returning to Britain with them. Sev had taken to spending a great deal of time with research on the legendary Metal Man, the automaton that had been created and hidden. Midnight was suspiciously absent after almost single-handedly funding the research and development of the Metal Men. His contribution made it possible for Sev to immerse himself in the research. If the Metal Men could be created affordably so that even middle-class merchants were able to purchase them to help out with day-to-day operations, or the rich and well-to-do could naturally have small armies of the Metal Men to replace their slaves, it would quiet some of the unrest due to the abolition of slavery. Although Sev and his compatriots knew many would still choose to have a varied collection of paid human servants and the clockwork wonders.

  Sev brooded almost constantly, worrying Silas more and more with each passing day. They were called to the capitol building from time to time and were present at Lincoln’s inauguration and the subsequent celebration of his election. President Lincoln called on them less frequently, and with Wrathsbury’s recent departure now that the new old government started to settle back into its proper routine, plans were being made for Silas and Sev to return as well.

  Silas sat at the desk beneath the window in a pool of crisp autumn sunlight, perusing their traveling papers. Sev had taken to spending time in a small tavern around the corner, so he was absent when the doorbell rang from the front hall. Silas and Sev had taken no servants, so Silas unfolded himself from the little desk, straightened his tie, and smoothed down his shirt as he walked to answer the door. He was surprised to find Rat standing on their front stoop. Silas popped his head out of the doorway above Rat and looked first right, then left. “Is this a joke?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “No joke, Benty. I just thought I’d stop by.” He shouldered past Silas’s much larger frame. “Heard you and Sev were fixin’ t’leave.” A steady stream of smoke billowed from Rat’s pipe as usual. He shrugged out of his overcoat and tossed it on the sofa. He hopped
up on the most comfortable chair in the room, making himself at home. Silas couldn’t help but grin at the familiarity they still shared even though they hadn’t seen much of each other over the intervening weeks since their last battle. War does that to men, Silas thought. Makes them brothers.

  “We are,” Silas answered. “Can I get you anything to drink? Tea?”

  “Gin.”

  Silas sighed. “Yes. Of course, gin.” He walked over to the small side table and fixed Rat’s drink.

  Rat accepted the glass of spirit. “I wanted t’talk to ye about that.”

  “You’re not coming back with us,” Silas said before Rat could.

  Rat sipped his drink and nodded. “Yeh. I still love ye.” Rat gave a comical grimace. “Both o’ye. But me and Tab are makin’ our way here. Workin’ with Edison is a treat.”

  “It’s an exciting time for this newly reformed country,” Silas answered, taking a seat across from Ratty. “Though Seven has been getting some rather irate letters from Tesla.”

  Rat winced. “Oh, bugger. Yeh. That might be my fault. With me an’ Eddy workin’ so close, I may’ve shared a few o’Tesla’s ideas, and now the little git thinks Eddy stole his work.”

  “Eddy?” Silas covered his smile with his forefinger. “You never cease to amaze me, Ratty.”

  Rat saluted with his gin. “It’s what I do best, Benty. Anyway, I just wanted t’pop over and say goodbye t’you fellas ’cause Eddy, Tab, and I are headin’ out on a tour o’ the West and points beyond.”