by Mark Latham
Tesla was pushed forward—looking more bewildered than frightened—and one of the English marines took him by the shoulder. The Russian sailor presented his counterpart with the key to Tesla’s manacles.
Lillian checked to make sure that John had signed the dockets and, satisfied that he had done so, gave her orders to the marines, loudly and clearly, for the captain’s benefit.
‘Release this man, and show him to our carriage. He is to be treated as a guest.’
‘Yes ma’am.’ The marine obeyed, but did not salute—unlike many other agents of Apollo Lycea, she had no rank, not even an honorary one. Another disadvantage of her sex, but one that she rarely allowed to hinder her; as the daughter of Lord Hardwick, her social status and reputation often proved sufficient.
Lillian turned to the captain, who was trying to ignore her. ‘Good day, Captain,’ she said, with a thin smile and all the courtesy she could muster. ‘I trust your voyage home will be an uneventful one.’
He clicked his heels together and bowed his head sharply. ‘A pleasure, my lady,’ he lied.
As Lillian walked along the gangway to terra firma, she was dimly aware of John exchanging words with the captain and his men in Russian, followed by low laughter from all of them. It was his way to ease tensions with jests; she fancied, rather scornfully, that the jest was about her.
* * *
A Royal Navy doctor had been allowed five minutes to examine Tesla, passing him as fit to travel irrespective of whether he was or not, and then the Intuitionist had been bundled onto the Victoria. He had requested a cup of tea, but had been denied—time for that, Lillian had informed him—when they reached Havant. It was dusk, and it had already been a long day.
Soon they were underway back to the Bear, where Selby and his team of horses would be waiting.
‘The sky here is so strange,’ Tesla said, popping his head out of the carriage.
Lillian remembered that he had been aboard a ship for goodness knows how long. Had he even been allowed on deck?
‘It is worse in London,’ she said. ‘But surely the sky burns the world over.’
‘Oh, in Moscow most certainly,’ the young man replied. ‘But I have not seen a city for some time. I am in Siberia for…’ He moved his head rhythmically, counting to himself. ‘Three hundred-and-seventy-one days. We still see the stars in Siberia, when they let us outside.’
‘Your countrymen leave a lot to be desired,’ Lillian said.
‘They are not my countrymen. I am Serbian,’ he replied, puffing out his chest with affected pride.
‘What? Then how did you end up their prisoner?’
‘I work in Austria when the—what do you say?—Awakening happen. My parents try to hide my talents, try to stop me building things. They want me to go to America, to work for the great Thomas Edison, though I think he is not so great these days, no? But the Russians hear of the things I can do, and they pay the government much money. My steamer to America is intercepted by Russian warship, and I am put to work in a secret project in Moscow.’
‘And… what is it that you build, that makes you so valuable to the Russians?’ John asked, hesitantly.
‘Generators,’ Tesla replied.
‘We have generators. Lots of them. What is so special about yours?’
‘My generators do not need fuel, or even cables. With my first prototype, I create power for my village before even your great London had electric lighting. It lasted for ten days before it explode, but I think I know what go wrong. My new creations will produce a hundred times more power than the largest electrical generators anywhere in the world. Perhaps more, given the correct conditions.’
John stole a glance at Lillian before continuing. ‘If there are no cables, how do they conduct power?’
Tesla let out a small sigh. ‘Through the air, of course. I send it, and I trap it, between metal coils—I call them Tesla coils.’
‘Of course you do,’ muttered Lillian.
‘You do not like the name, dear lady?’ Tesla said earnestly. ‘For you, I change it!’
‘And the Russians,’ John went on, ‘they had you building these Tesla coils?’
‘Big ones, yes, but they say it take too long. So they send me to a factory where I work eighteen hours a day, and I build other things for them.’
‘What other things?’
‘Weapons, mostly.’
John shot another look at his sister. Lillian guessed he was wondering what their father had in mind for the scientist: generators, or weapons.
‘So you never finished your generators?’ Lillian interjected.
Tesla shook his head ruefully.
‘How do you know they’ll work this time?’
He looked up at her with a sudden twinkle in his eye. ‘I just know. We receive this knowledge, no? And men may call us “genius” for it, for they assume the knowledge lies within us all, and only we Intuitionists can unravel it. But what if I tell you that the knowledge comes from out there?’ At this, Tesla gesticulated theatrically, fluttering his fingers outwards towards the horizon.
‘Out… where?’ Lillian asked.
Tesla shrugged heavily. ‘Beyond the veil between universes. Between worlds. Beyond time itself, or our understanding of it.’
Lillian studied Tesla’s thin face. Her father had surely hired a madman.
‘Between universes?’ John interjected. ‘And… ah… how does it come to you, then?’
‘Through the air,’ Tesla replied with gusto. ‘In invisible waves of energy. Transmitted, much like current can be transmitted between two points—between my electrical coils. It can come to anyone, at any time. You would call it “inspiration”. But I simply call it knowledge. You may not know that you have received this energy, for the clarity required to understand it is dependent on the quality of the receiver, yes? Like a telegraph, or a signal station. What use is a telegraph station without a telegrapher? What, then, is the use of inspiration without the right brain to think of a practical application?’
Lillian spoke again, slowly, as though talking to an imbecile. ‘So… you receive messages from the future, or from other worlds, and they tell you what to invent?’
‘If you would have it so, dear lady, then absolutely,’ said Tesla, with equal parts enthusiasm and condescension.
‘It is not a new theory,’ John said. ‘There are several philosophers who argue that Intuitionists receive a form of divine inspiration; just as the Riftborn have come from elsewhere, so too does the extraordinary knowledge of our Intuitionists.’
‘This is not philosophy,’ Tesla said. ‘This is fact.’
‘Oh? You can prove this theory empirically?’ Lillian asked.
‘Prove? No.’
‘Then how do you know it for a fact?’
‘Because I can see it,’ Tesla said.
‘See what, old chap?’ asked John, with a sly wink to his sister to indicate he was humouring the man.
‘The transmissions, of course,’ Tesla said. ‘All around us. They come to me, and to you, and to Miss Hardwick, too. Never deny the evidence of your own eyes. My father said that to me. Now, is it almost time for tea? I must have some of this Indian tea that I have heard so much about.’
* * *
‘How is the tea, old chap?’ John asked.
The three of them sat in a private room at the Bear, taking refuge from the inclement evening before embarking again with Selby.
‘It is not at all like Russian tea,’ Tesla said, wrinkling his nose. ‘I think perhaps it would be better without milk. And maybe with lemon and honey instead of sugar. Yes, that would be better.’
John looked at Lillian and shook his head with a wry smile.
‘So, Mr. Tesla,’ Lillian said, ‘it must be good to be free at last.’
‘Oh, yes, it is—but I would have found a way out sooner or later. It was fortunate that Lord Hardwick heard of my work, though of course he was not the only one.’
‘Only one what?’ Lillian asked
.
‘The only one who ask me to work for him. There are not so many Intuitionists who know the things I know.’ There was no trace of egotism in his words; he was assured of his genius as a matter of fact, not hubris.
‘So you had your choice of “rescuer”?’ Lillian asked. ‘Why choose our father?’
‘Lillian…’ John warned. She ignored him.
‘Lord Hardwick has many associates in the Americas,’ Tesla said. ‘One in particular, he promised to introduce to me. A Mr. John Keely. He is an inspiration to me. When offered an opportunity to work with a man such as this, I could not refuse. Your father is a very influential man, no?’
‘No… I mean, yes, he is. Who is John Keely?’ Lillian began to form a picture of what her father had been doing abroad these past months.
‘You have not heard of him?’ asked Tesla. He swallowed a mouthful of sandwich, and swilled it down with tea, making a face as he remembered that he didn’t care for it. ‘John Keely is a genius—a man who has created devices capable of generating perpetual energy from little more than etheric vibration.’
Lillian looked at John, who stared at her blankly. Tesla sighed.
‘He make… how can you say? Electricity from the thin air.’
‘I see,’ said Lillian. Though she did not.
‘Without John Keely’s theories,’ Tesla went on, ‘I would never have started upon this path in my own work. And to think, he is not even an Intuitionist. A normal man with vision can achieve much, no? John Keely think he has reached the limitations of his study, but I show him that he require only a simple adjustment to the polyphase—’
‘And you are to use your theories of… perpetual energy… for my father?’ Lillian cut short Tesla’s scientific babble.
John’s look changed from amusement to a warning glare. Any information about Tesla’s purpose within the Order was classified; even the offspring of Marcus Hardwick were not beyond protocol. Lillian pretended not to notice.
‘Among other things, I expect so. I have many ideas that will help your Great Britain. Eventually I build generator for Lord Hardwick. The biggest in the world, although maybe one half the size would be sufficient, no? But he knows what he wants—I am but a servant humbly in his debt.’ Tesla shrugged, sipped at his tea, and made a face again.
‘You said “eventually”,’ Lillian prompted. ‘Is the generator not your only task here in England?’
‘No. I am to meet another honoured lord first. A… Charlton?’
‘Cherleten,’ Lillian said, attempting to mask her distaste.
‘Yes, Cherleten,’ the Serbian beamed. ‘He wants what all men want from me—a weapon. But in this case, I agree to help, for the cause is just.’
‘What kind of weapon?’
‘Lillian,’ John said sharply. Lillian ignored him again.
‘A weapon to use against the dark things,’ Tesla said. ‘What you call the “Riftborn”. And worse.’ For a second, his expression changed from one of enthusiasm to one of sadness.
‘Worse than the Riftborn?’ Lillian asked.
‘Oh, the Riftborn are not so bad. They are demons, yes, but they are beasts too. They do what is in their nature; they cannot help it any more than the fish can help swimming. And they are only here because we bring them here, no? In my homeland, they say that the wolves do not come unless the farmer leaves out food for them. It is the same.’
Lillian shivered at the thought, despite the inn’s fire. She couldn’t help but think of Arthur as food for wolves. For the Other.
‘Back home,’ Tesla went on, ‘the elders tell us old Ottoman legends. They speak of monsters that lie in wait in the darkness. Eaters of flesh. Drinkers of blood.’ Lillian looked at John, who had stopped his fidgeting and now drew in close, shoulders hunched and arms folded, as he too guarded against an imaginary chill. ‘When I leave my homeland, I find that these stories are true. In Russia, the monsters are known. In Siberia, they are not only known, but seen. They prey on the weak, dragging children and old people away into the night. But these creatures are not like your Riftborn; they are controlled by men—not entirely human, I think—but men, nonetheless. They have evil purpose by design, not because it is in their blood.’
‘You’ve seen them?’ John involved himself at last in the discussion.
Tesla nodded solemnly, suddenly looking twice his tender age. ‘Briefly. In the camp in Siberia we suffered many losses. The guards could not protect us, and so we had to protect ourselves. The monsters attacked, more than once—horrible, white-skinned creatures, like corpses, naked even in the coldest weather. We find that they cannot easily be harmed. But they can be burned well enough. When we discover this weakness, we light great fires at night, and whenever we hear the monsters howling in the storms, we stay near the flames, ready to fight.
‘One time, when the monsters came in great numbers, there was another amongst them: a man with strange eyes, riding a horse. He shout curses at us, and tell us we are cattle, to be slaughtered at his will. His words strike fear into us all, and we flee inside and barricade the doors. To our shame, the oldest amongst us did not make it, and were taken.
‘After that, I begin to develop a way to protect us. I think that if fire can harm the creatures, then so can electricity. The guards, afraid of the enemy, fetched everything I needed. Soon, our work camp was ringed by fences, all charged with electrical energy, through which nothing could pass without being horribly burned. We were safe behind those fences at night. The villagers thereabout were not so lucky.’
‘Do you know who the man on the horse was?’
‘No. But I hear talk that he was a knight of the old country. An immortal, they said, from an ancient order who have stalked the earth since the time of Christ.’
‘The time of Judas,’ Lillian muttered.
‘Then you have heard it too,’ Tesla said. ‘The Knights Iscariot. If I can help to destroy them, I will do so. I have vowed it.’
There was silence in the little room, punctuated only by the crackling of the fire.
‘You said that your weapons could be used against the Riftborn,’ John said. ‘Do they use electricity also?’
‘Yes,’ said Tesla. ‘The weapon is one and the same, by fortunate happenstance. With some adjustments, I believe I can equip agents such as yourselves with these creations. Here, I show you.’
Lillian and John exchanged glances as Tesla rummaged around in the kit bag that contained all his worldly possessions. He eventually pulled out a construct of metal and tangled wires, which protruded crudely from a pistol grip. It looked like a revolver that had been taken apart and reassembled by a lunatic with a penchant for copper wire.
‘It is an early design. I have not tested it yet, but I am sure it works,’ Tesla said proudly, swinging the strange weapon outwards as he did so, so that the barbed ‘barrel’ pointed first at John, then at Lillian. Both agents in turn ducked out of the way instinctively.
‘Oh, fear not!’ Tesla chuckled. ‘I have not primed the device. Look.’
Nikola Tesla showed John and Lillian the small crank-handle on the side of the weapon. ‘This must be turned until the charge is primed,’ he explained. ‘The two coils rise up until they are aligned. When there is a steady spark between the coils, the gun is ready to fire. That is when you point, and shoot.’ He indicated two rods, each topped with a steel ball and wrapped in tight coils of thick copper wire.
‘It is, ah, that is to say… a little cumbersome?’ John ventured.
‘And slow to fire,’ Lillian added.
Tesla looked somewhat indignant. ‘It is not perfected,’ he said. ‘I make this on board a ship, with nothing but scraps from the engine room, and tools I had to make myself. With your Lord Cherleten’s help, I will make it smaller, lighter and more efficient.’
‘And… how does this work against Riftborn?’ Lillian asked. ‘As far as we know, nothing of this earth can harm them—only Majestics, and that is a risk in and of itself.’
&nb
sp; ‘Ah, but ask yourself why the Majestics can harm them,’ said Tesla, his confidence growing. ‘I tell you. It is because their powers are increased by imbibing etherium. The essence of etherium flows through the Majestic, augmenting his power. In its raw form, etherium feeds the demons; but when enervated through the Majestic’s innate abilities, it can repel them, even wound them, because it is the very stuff of which they are made.’
‘The stuff of nightmares,’ Lillian said.
‘Precisely that!’ Tesla said, not interpreting Lillian’s rueful tone. ‘Now, imagine that instead of enervating the etherium by using a poor Majestic as a vessel, we instead use electricity. This is the genius of Mr. Keely, whom I mentioned before. He had the idea long ago of a vaporic gun, creating energy from water and air—I have perfected his idea, and made the theory a reality, only I use etherium instead of water. Look here.’ He turned his strange device about, and flicked out a small compartment that sat behind the barrel, between the two strange coils. ‘I have had to guess at the measurements based on my reading,’ he said, ‘but this chamber should house a cartridge of etherium. You are familiar with these, yes?’
Lillian nodded. She carried etherium rounds for her pistol at all times. They could not kill, banish or severely harm the Riftborn, but they did slow them down enough that an agent could escape a demonic attack. She had seen this once with her own eyes, when Arthur had fired at one of the horrors during their last assignment in Paris—and she had caught the briefest glimpse of the indescribable Riftborn as it squirmed beyond her sight, beyond her understanding. She hoped never to see it again.
‘The current passes through the chamber,’ Tesla went on, ‘and the charge is carried outwards in an arc of enervated etherium. It will burn the Riftborn as surely as it will burn flesh.’ He handed the gun to John to inspect, before sitting back in his chair, arms folded, a look of triumph on his thin face.
John passed the gun to Lillian, who turned it about gingerly in her hands before passing it back to Tesla.
John checked his pocket watch. ‘Mr. Tesla,’ he said, ‘we must get underway soon. I am sorry we can offer you little hospitality after your voyage, but once we are back in London I am sure you will be more comfortable.’