The Iscariot Sanction

by Mark Latham

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘You, Agent Hardwick. In their world, Lillian Hardwick did not survive the bout of pneumonia she suffered in childhood. Sir Marcus Hardwick was a changed man thereafter, never fully recovering from the loss of his daughter. It is the promise of a reunion with you that may well tip the scales in our favour.’

  There was silence. Lillian looked at her brother, who had turned almost as pale as she.

  ‘You wish me to… cross over. To visit this mirror-world?’ Lillian asked at last.

  Sir Toby nodded. ‘It will be difficult at first, but our people have managed very short visits already. Dr. Keely believes that he may soon develop the means for longer trips to their side, with the help of Mr. Tesla.’

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Oh, weeks perhaps, even—’

  ‘No,’ Lillian interrupted. ‘I mean, how long have we been sending people to this other… universe?’

  ‘Ah,’ Sir Toby said.

  ‘If I may, Sir Toby?’ Dr. James interjected. ‘Agent Hardwick, you stand upon the cusp of something far greater than any one of us. We few here represent a goodly portion of the inner circle of Apollo Lycea, the epicentre of the world’s secrets. Secrets so powerful they would destroy nations, cause untold panic, cause—or, indeed, end—wars. Knowledge of the mirror-world is restricted to perhaps twenty people. We would keep it that way.

  ‘You ask how long we have been able to travel between worlds? The answer is not long at all. In fact, until my own double appeared in Alaska, we were not sure it was possible to pass through rifts for anything longer than a few minutes. Even then it proved… hazardous, to say the least. We had observed the other world through those self-same rifts, but it was my doppelgänger’s journey here that proved the breakthrough we needed. Using the readings we took while he was in our world, we managed to improve our apparatus exponentially. Now we can cross back and forth for a limited time, rather than make mere opportunistic reaches into the dark. Of course, we need Mr. Tesla to improve our equipment, and Lord Cherleten to provide the services of the Nightwatch. That is to say—’

  ‘Etherium,’ John said. Everyone turned to him. Lillian frowned. ‘Or rather, mundane etherium. The rumours are true, aren’t they?’

  James faded, his enthusiasm checked by an evidently unwelcome question.

  Cherleten smiled thinly. ‘Yes. In the mirror-world, psychic phenomena are virtually unknown. The scientific applications of compounds from their world are staggering; they render demons inert, and offer some small respite to our Majestics.’

  ‘By compounds, he means people. We’ve been snatching people from this mirror-world. That’s the main reason we’ve braved the hazards, I suppose.’ Lillian felt John’s moral objections keenly—it was not like him to speak out of turn. He was different, somehow. He seemed older; more assured. Less subservient to the leaders of the Order. Lillian liked this new John.

  ‘It is a rather unsavoury, but necessary, operation,’ Sir Toby said. ‘We go to great pains to take only those few souls who will not be missed. The destitute, the criminal, the insane. When a window of opportunity rises, we lure them to our universe, and conduct our procedures—humanely, of course.’

  ‘What is mundane etherium? What are you saying?’ Lillian asked.

  ‘It is a distillation of fluid from the pineal gland,’ Cherleten answered, with no hint of the remorse and gravity shown by Sir Toby. ‘In our Majestics, that fluid is etherium, one of the most powerful drugs in the world. From the mirror-people, the fluid has astonishing properties, and is able to nullify anomalous rift activity.’

  ‘You… take people from the other world, and extract fluid from their brains?’

  ‘It sounds awfully crass when you put it like that,’ said Cherleten. ‘But yes, in essence.’

  ‘And yet we judge the vampires so harshly for their blood-drinking and murder!’ Lillian said. ‘This… other… Marcus Hardwick would surely not defect eagerly to a world where such cruelty is propagated in the name of the Crown. If so, what kind of man is he?’

  ‘The same kind of man as your father,’ said Cherleten. ‘Lord Hardwick pioneered these techniques. You will no doubt find that his double is not so very different when the safety of the world depends upon him. Or when faced with the apparent resurrection of his daughter—a daughter who, I might add, cannot die. In this world, he will never have to suffer the pain of outliving you again. Our intelligence shows that this alone will be enticement enough.’

  ‘And our mother?’ John asked. ‘Is there a double of her? Will the brigadier leave her readily?’

  ‘Dead,’ said Cherleten. ‘Death by misadventure—there are rumours that she never recovered from the loss of her daughter and killed herself.’

  ‘Delicacy, Cherleten!’ Sir Toby snapped, doubtless seeing the dark cloud that had spread over John’s expression. Cherleten only shrugged.

  ‘And John? Does he have a double, too?’ Lillian asked. John’s eyes cast downwards at this.

  ‘He does,’ Sir Toby said gently, taking the reins from Cherleten. ‘We would have asked Lieutenant Hardwick to take part in this mission more directly, to pose as his own self, so to speak, but for two complications. Firstly, the lieutenant’s recent scar is almost impossible to conceal, even for our finest doctors. Secondly, in the mirror-world, father and son are somewhat… estranged.’

  ‘How so?’ Lillian asked.

  ‘It seems that, following the death of his sister, the other John Hardwick’s life took a very different turn from ours. He became a lonesome boy, a dreamer, a poet, by all accounts. We believe the good lieutenant here is the son the brigadier wishes to have. We shall have to tread carefully, but it is another bargaining tool at our disposal.’

  Lillian wondered whether John would have been sent in her stead were it not for such complications. It would certainly be a safer option than sending her—a vampire—on such an important assignment. She did not voice her concerns.

  ‘There is something rather… unbecoming… about this,’ John said.

  ‘Oh, I agree,’ said Cherleten, with his customary ghoulishness so far removed from the piteous figure he had become during the London attacks. ‘But it is a necessary evil. Their world is not in danger from the very demons of hell, while ours is on the precipice of destruction. If you have the opportunity to visit the mirror-world, and I daresay you shall, you will notice that the great cities of London and New York are intact, and have not slid into the bloody sea! Ask yourself, Lieutenant: if this was not the Hardwick family we were discussing, would you hesitate?’

  John glowered. ‘And in the mirror-world, are there no agencies like ours? Agencies who would not take kindly to the defection of their people, or the infiltration of their world?’

  Cherleten smiled deviously. ‘That’s the rub, isn’t it? Of course there are, Lieutenant, which is why we are handling matters rather than trusting to the army or the government. Have no doubt—if we are discovered, there will be war between our worlds.’

  ‘I rather think our father would approve of that,’ John grumbled.

  ‘And you, Agent Hardwick,’ Cherleten addressed Lillian now. ‘You are well disposed to logic rather than sentimentality, are you not? What say you?’

  Lillian did not appreciate another reminder that she was for ever changed, though it was true. She felt little of John’s anger or sadness. If anything, she only felt incredulous at the whole affair. It seemed to her more likely that the opening of the Rift had driven Sir Toby and Lord Cherleten stark raving mad, as it had done to so many folk on the streets of London. She thought on this and more, before finally making her decision.

  ‘I say I rather want to see this mirror-world for myself. And if it is real—if our father exists there—then I shall endeavour to do my duty to the utmost of my ability.’

  Sir Toby looked grave. Cherleten beamed, and strode over to Lillian, placing a hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Now you are your father’s daughter!’ he exclaimed. ‘
Sir Toby, I think we have our recruits.’

  Sir Toby nodded grimly. He did not seem happy about the situation at all; but then, he rarely seemed happy in Lillian’s recollection.

  ‘For the foreseeable future,’ Sir Toby said, ‘you must forget about the vampires, and the Riftborn. By the time our work is complete, you will travel beyond the veil into the mirror-world. Once there, you must find Brigadier Sir Marcus Hardwick, and bring him back. We shall proclaim his recovery as a miracle, a genuine work of God set to restore hope and defeat the dark threat that even now overwhelms us. You shall speak of this plan to no one, not even your dear mother. Even in private, you shall refer to this assignment only as Project Lazarus, am I understood? For that is what you about to do—you are about to bring a man back from the dead. The people need a leader, a saviour, and though the dangers ahead are undeniable, they shall have one.’

  ‘When do we begin?’ Lillian asked coolly.

  ‘Go to your mother and spend time in the embrace of family. There will be little enough time for that when the assignment starts. But I shall have you report to Lord Cherleten on Friday morning. Both of you.’ He looked at John. ‘You have a part to play also, Lieutenant Hardwick.’

  ‘Do not look perturbed, agents,’ Cherleten said with a chuckle. ‘The battle to save our world begins here.’

  * * *

  Lillian scanned her father’s letter yet again, willing herself to feel something—anything. It seemed to her that reading those lines, written from the heart as they were, while standing in her old childhood home, should do the trick. Yet her heart was cold, and the fire that crackled in the grate offered no warmth.

  ‘There’s a young gentleman here to see you.’ Dora Hardwick smiled for the first time in many a day, and from that expression Lillian guessed her mother approved of the mysterious caller.

  ‘What?’ Lillian said, placing the letter on the mantelpiece hurriedly.

  ‘I’ll show him in.’

  Without further explanation, and with no time for protest, Dora left the cosy drawing room of their Faversham cottage, and a few moments later the unusually humble figure of Beauchamp Smythe entered, stooping beneath the low doorframe.

  Lillian stood with her back to the fireplace, trying hard to remember the coaching John had given her over the past day—to be more genial, to smile pleasantly, to understand that people were trying to empathise, and she should repay the kindness. It was getting harder to understand the human feeling that had often eluded her even before her transformation. With Smythe, especially, whom she had always found so tiresome, she prepared herself for an act worthy of the stage.

  ‘Agent Smythe, so good of you to call,’ she said.

  ‘Please, Li— Miss Hardwick, might you call me Beauchamp today? Or at least Mr. Smythe? This is not a business call.’

  ‘Of course, Mr. Smythe. Won’t you sit down?’

  ‘Actually I… I prefer to stand.’

  Lillian could see that Smythe was agitated. Given the circumstances, it might have been for any number of reasons. She remained standing as Smythe shifted uncomfortably.

  ‘Might I send for some tea?’

  ‘Yes… no. No, thank you,’ he said. And then added hurriedly, ‘Unless you want tea?’ Even as he said it, he reddened. ‘No, of course you don’t, I was not thinking, I mean…’

  ‘Mr. Smythe?’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘What can I do for you?’

  Smythe took a breath, visibly collecting himself. ‘Miss Hardwick—Lillian,’ he added firmly, ‘I called first of all to offer my sincere condolences. We have not seen overmuch of each other since your father—since Lord Hardwick… passed away. I fear that we have both been preoccupied with business at the club, and I do not want you to think ill of me as… as a friend.’

  ‘I do not think of you… so,’ Lillian said, inwardly wincing as she narrowly avoided making a cruel jest at Smythe’s expense. Her wicked streak, as John had reminded her only that day, had not died with the rest of her emotions.

  ‘Good, good,’ Smythe blustered, ignoring any veiled slight. ‘Is it warm in here?’

  ‘I would not know.’

  ‘No, of course. I’ve rather put my foot in it again, haven’t I?’

  Lillian said nothing, but smiled what she hoped was a forgiving and encouraging smile.

  ‘Lillian,’ he blurted, ‘I know the timing is rotten, I really do, but with all that is to come I think there won’t be much opportunity for us to talk like this. I must say something.’

  ‘Mr. Smythe—’

  ‘No, please Lillian, hear me out. I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but damn it, you must know how I feel about you. And until your… accident I did not know if you returned those feelings or not. I still don’t, but I cannot leave it unsaid any longer.’

  Lillian was not sure how she would have reacted to the imminent proposition even before her ‘accident’, but she was certain her disposition towards it now was unfavourable. She was surprised at the fluttering sensation in the pit of her stomach, the tightening of her forehead, the dryness of mouth. And she realised Smythe was still talking, but she was not thinking of him at all, but of another.

  ‘—And so, Lillian, dear Lillian, even after everything, know that my feelings have not changed. I love you. I do not care what change has befallen you, or what changes may yet come—and by God I understand them more than most. I would step out with you, Lillian, and care for you for as long as—’

  ‘As long as you live?’ Lillian said. She felt something stir within, certainly: bitterness, regret, loathing, of herself as well as her circumstances. She did not want to be cruel, but it was habitual. ‘And how long, pray, would that be, Mr. Smythe? Would you grow old and wizened by my side, whilst using your potions to keep me young and beautiful? Would you feed me with your own blood, making me stronger as you grow feeble and wrinkled? Or would you first die in the field like… like…’

  She could not finish. She felt moisture upon her cheek, though she had not thought it possible any longer. She was consumed by the abrupt recrudescence of emotion. Her thoughts were not of Smythe’s proposal, but rather of one man. The memory of her lost love—and the manner of that loss—came upon her suddenly, and powerfully.

  ‘Like Sir Arthur Furnival,’ Smythe said quietly, almost reading her mind. He looked crestfallen.

  ‘We live dangerous lives, Mr. Smythe,’ she said, sniffing away the tears and hardening herself. ‘I buried my father yesterday. I lost a dear friend in Sir Arthur. My next assignment, as you have clearly heard, will take up all of my time for goodness knows how long. And my “condition”, as everyone insists on calling it, makes it hard for me to even entertain thoughts of any… romantic entanglement. I fear, Beauchamp, that your affection for me is wholly misplaced. If I ever gave you encouragement in this matter, I apologise unreservedly. If circumstances were different, who could say what might have happened? But things are what they are—I do not love you, and do not believe myself capable of love. I am naught but death, Mr. Smythe. That is the fact of the matter.’

  ‘Lillian… I cannot feign magnanimity. I wish I were a stronger fellow, but I do not know how I can live knowing…’ He stopped, flushing.

  ‘You will have to, Beauchamp, as I have to. The Order needs us both. I need you, but as a friend and a surgeon, not as a husband. The world is on the brink of ending—there is more at stake than our individual happiness.’

  ‘Then it seems we shall be miserable apart, rather than happy together. Though I hope—I dearly do—that you will not be unhappy for ever. I am truly sorry to have caused you any distress.’

  ‘On the contrary, Mr. Smythe, you have made me feel something far beyond anger or hate, for the first time since the Iscariot Sanction. For that, I thank you.’

  Smythe considered that. ‘One day, Lillian, perhaps I shall make you feel something other than sadness. Though it pains me to part in this way, know that I will always be your friend. Always.’

>   Smythe stepped forward and took Lillian’s hand, squeezing it tight. She offered him a smile, and he leaned forward presumptuously and kissed her lightly on the cheek, recoiling perhaps a little too quickly as the coldness of her skin and the smell of chemical compounds reminded him exactly what she was. He tried not to let the discomfort show, but Lillian hoped the realisation would help him to accept the rebuttal more easily.

  With one last, weak smile, Smythe backed out of the room, and a moment later Lillian heard the front door close, and saw from the window Beauchamp Smythe trudging down the garden path in the thick snow. She turned back to the letter on the mantelpiece, and read yet again her father’s heartfelt missive.

  Thinking you lost to pneumonia was the greatest test of my life. I did everything in my power to save you, but I could not. In the end the means of your salvation were the same as the cause of your condition. You were too headstrong and determined, too bull-headed to listen to me or your mother or your brother, and far too stubborn to die. Your mother has, many times over the years, told me that you are very much your father’s daughter, and that your similarities to me would be the death of you. Perhaps they will be. Perhaps they already are.

  I could not save you when you were a little girl, Lillian. You saved yourself. I could not save you this time either, when you were put into harm’s way by the greatest evil we have ever known. For all my power, I must live with the fact that I have twice failed my little girl when she needed me the most. I can only hope, then, that you understand what I must now do.

  I failed you, Lily, but I will not fail this world. I swear it. You may not understand, not yet, but I go now to complete my great work. I shall again be the absent father that you have grown to resent, and, by God, how I regret what I have become in your eyes. How I regret all the things that I was too stubborn and too cowardly to say to you. But this time, with the help of Mr. Tesla, whom you brought safely to London, I shall create the engine of our salvation. The Hardwick Gate shall be my legacy to the world and, I hope, the means of our reconciliation.