by J M Bannon
The Holstein-Gottorp-Romanov family had filled this palace with the most exquisite treasures. This clock would be a fitting addition to the collection, and with its inclusion, Petrovitch could tout his work in the royal collection.
“Thank you for the gift Mr. Petrovitch. I will place the clock in my private study to inspire me,” Czar Alexander voiced appreciatively.
The room filled with polite clapping and Mr. Petrovitch bowed. Kiaafa could smell the gloating like a body odor.
The Czar excused himself from the chamber and the court milled and admired the clock after the liege left the room. Kiaafa walked up to the clock and check the time. He pulled out his pocket watch and set the time on his watch to correspond to Petrovitch’s dream clock then walked out of court. He had an appointment to keep.
34
Thursday the 14th of June 1860
12:00 a.m. Grain Mill on the Neva River, Russia
On the outskirts of St. Petersburg on the banks of the Neva sat an aging grist mill. A large waterwheel still turned in the river, but it had been years since a miller took grains to make flour. Above the mill’s old wooden gears that transferred power from the river’s current to the millstone was the rooms of Dimetri Pavlovich.
Here the Mute toiled by tallow candle and whale oil lamp when he could afford the oil. The flickering lights glinted off the large metal contraption he had built, his main project. In addition, a collection of clocks he had rebuilt, his passion. The clocks sat in the mess and squalor of the hovel. Half eaten bread staled on the table, his pack of stray cats enjoyed autonomy throughout the mill, living on a healthy diet of rats and mice. The room was filled with material he had pilfered from Mr. P or from scraping around St. Petersburg. It was hard to tell where the junk ended and his construct began.
The machine had been completed for months he just needed to get the courage to take the next step. Mr. P had pushed him to gather that courage with his lack of appreciation.
Now he engaged the transmission gearbox to connect the old wooden drive shaft of the water wheel and drove power into his machine. Quickly the slow creak of the old wheel was drowned out with the shrill pitch of the box gears, stepping up the heavy, slow rotation into high speed rotation of his dynamo.
He powered up the system and stood before a copper door frame with no door. The outside of the frame housed wires and tubes that connected to the main distribution panel, this was the centerpiece. He opened a valve and slowly at first water trickled down from the top of the door frame. He adjusted the faucet valves to perfect a sheet of water cascading from the top of the frame to the bottom where a drip tray captured and recirculated the water.
The clocks struck midnight, ringing and clanging. With that he threw the knife switch that powered the door frame, the sheet of water shimmered slightly. Dimetri took a deep breath and stepped into the sheet of water but he did not come out the other side. When he stepped through his foot landed into the private study of Czar Alexander. He heard the midnight chime of the celestial clock and looked about to orientate to his surroundings. The room was awe-inspiring, a stark contrast to his one room shit hole. There were paintings and fine furniture and everything had a place. He turned around to see the doorway of water behind him. Then he looked himself over noticing he was not wet.
“Welcome to the winter palace,” a man’s voice sounded from behind the desk in the darkness.
“I have been waiting to meet you for longer than you have been alive,” the man spoke in a hushed tone.
Dimetri's first instinct was to jump back through the gate. Thoughts of the terrible punishment of trespassing in the home of the Emperor chilled his blood.
"Don't run away. Just think of what you want to say, I can hear your thoughts, Dimetri,"
“Here at court I am known as Dr. Kiaafa, in other places I have other names, but you may call me, Caiaphas. I saw this meeting and have been waiting for you to be ready for a very long time. I know what you are capable of I have seen how your genius changes the lives of others, the ability to shake not just nations but worlds.
I have come here to ask you if you would allow me to be your patron, to give you a place to live, along with the money and space you need to continue this work,”
“We all have gifts Dimetri; yours is mechanical and mine is mystical,” The Doctor quietly spoke.
“What you should to know is that I require your unique expertise, I would like to help you achieve the greatness you and I both know you possess. If you accept, then I will go back with you through your gate and we will forget about Russia. If you are not interested I will walk out that door over there and you and I will never see each other again”
Dimetri took a long look around the room. He knew this test would prove fortunate, he did not understand how. He imagined he would pilfer something or learn some state secret, not meet a strange mystery man.
Dimetri smiled and pantomimed for Caiaphas to go through the gate,
Caiaphas stepped up to the gate “I go by Doctor Caiaphas and thank you for the invitation.” Caiaphas then stepped through the gate.
Dimetri walked to the celestial clock and opened the face of it. The contraption was glowing green, and the parts were buzzing. He took out a tiny screw driver and unbolted the device slipping it out of the clock. Placing the gate positioner into his pocket he followed his new colleague through the gate.
35
Monday the 18th of June 1860
8:30 a.m. No. 4 Blandford Square, Paddington
The steam carriage pulled up in front of number 4 Blandford Square. Rose stepped out of the rear compartment and little Rose made her way down the stairs as fast as her little legs could take her to her aunt. “Auntie Rose,” she squealed in her two-year-old language that only Rose and Violet could fully understand. Violet followed giving her the space to get there on her own but close enough to grab her if she faltered.
Rose picked up her niece and gave her a hug, “So good to see you Rosie. Did I miss anything whilst I was away?”
"We had more furniture delivered and, well there is the watcher,” Violet shrugged her head towards the park. There stood Pāora watching the house, "He has been there every day, rain or shine."
Rose crossed the street into the park still carrying Rosie. She walked up to the big Polynesian. “Pāora, I would like to ask you to join my household, to work with me. I don’t quite understand you or what you're capable of but I wish to thank you for the talisman and how it helped me. Like you, I could summon extraordinary strength when needed,” stated Rose with deep gratitude.
“It was the Earth that gave you the strength, all I knew was that you would require it,” said Pāora.
“Well, I appreciate it and I want to say that I am sorry for how I treated you, by trying to brush you off,” replied Rose.
“The person who left wanted to protect others by keeping them away, that person did not return,” said Pāora.
Rose thought about what he said. ”I saw my decision to take risks and face problems as exposing others to danger. Now I understand that those around me accept that I take these risks but want to help keep me safe from the dangers I face. I’m not smart enough to know what every situation might need but I am smart enough to grasp that I can learn from you and others." replied Rose.
“As I too can learn,” said Pāora.
“How does this sound? You come inside and stay. We will figure out something for you to do to help around the house and see where this takes us.” asked Rose.
Without a word, Pāora walked towards the car grabbing several of Rose’s bags and up the front stoop into Number 4 Blandford Square to join Rose in Hawkin’s House.
36
Wednesday the 20th of June 1860
1:30 p.m. Gilchrist Manor
Preston lay in his darkened suite. He awoke to a range of noises from the wooden floor creaking, staff walking the halls, an
d Brentwood giving orders. The house was a flutter with activity.
“What is it now?” Preston said in an Arabic dialect.
“Must be Lorelei reorganizing,” Preston said out loud back to Azul.
His latest state was disconcerting for those around him as he would frequently have long open discussions where he spoke to himself, or to be precise to Azul and then Azul would respond. It was as if both had control of the same body.
For each the condition was troubling as they were losing their individuality to one another. Thoughts were slipping together, both were mixing up who was the owner of memories and the mental strain led to severe migraines that could only be eased with laudanum and sleep.
He looked at the nightstand to grab his watch and checked the time, 1:30. He wasn’t sure if it was in the morning or afternoon. This was happening more often since he and Lorelei had returned to Gilchrist Manor. It had only been a short time and ever since daily shipments arrived, Lorelei’s possessions and equipment. She had been taking over part of the house converting it into her personal study where she could continue her work as an alchemist.
Preston ripped open the heavy velvet curtains, his face was blasted by the afternoon sun. “1:30 p.m.,” Azul said.
“This is getting to be an issue bad enough my head is a mash of our thinking and all I can do is drug myself for some peace. When I am awake, I can’t make head nor tails of the day,” replied Preston.
“We will need to better this situation,” commented Azul.
“Well, how about this. Let’s go into London to see Rose and try doing work with her in the Theurgy Chamber?” suggested Preston.
“That my friend is a brilliant idea. How about I send her one of those wire-types?” replied Azul.
“Then that’s the plan,” finished Preston. He felt all right at this point and missed Rose, a trip would do him good. He put on his robe and slippers and went back to the window. His curiosity was piqued by the number of cars and trucks outside; a little too much for Lorelei to assume and bring all this whatever it was.
He went to the bedroom door and yelled, “Lorelei!”
“She is down in the foyer, sir,” said a passing footman.
“Thank you,” acknowledged Preston. He was further confounded by what appeared to be staff opening the master apartments.
“Lorelei, what is going on?” Preston hollered.
“Down here dear,” called up Lorelei.
Preston made his way to the middle of the hall and the stairwell; walking down he became further bewildered by the amount of staff and luggage moving upstairs.
As he bound down the last flight of the stairs, he saw the source, Lord Gilchrist.
“Father,” stated Preston. He was sure it was him but the man looked so different, skinny and haggard with a thick beard.
“Son,” Lord Gilchrist said with a smile, “Lady Lorelei was just telling me you're recovering from an adventure of your own.”
“Ah, yes a little excitement overseas. You look worn out, Sir,” added Preston.
"No worse than you. I would hope having a Lady in the house you would be more productive and out of your bedclothes before supper?"
“He is still recovering from his spell in Königsberg,” Lorelei defended.
Lord Gilchrist frowned “Well, Lady Lorelei, no matter what he does to recuperate I have always found the best thing when returning from the wilds is to plunge deep into society. Entertain and be entertained. Nothing better than the company of those you have missed and share good food and drink that was scarce on your travels.”
“I have some interesting artifacts to show you of an ancient pre-Columbian society I have discovered, the local savages refer to them as the Olmec and the ruins of the city are like no other. I think this Saturday will be an excellent evening to have the Royal Society Board of Directors come up for a private debriefing.”
“I guess I will have to dust off my dinner suit,” mumbled Preston.
“Or we can tuck away in the study,” suggested Azul out loud.
“Preston Stewart Gilchrist, there will no more of that nonsense while I am here,” ordered Lord Gilchrist. The tone and volume of his voice stopped all talk and movement in the house.
The Lord of the Manor had returned.
37
Thursday the 21st of June 1860
3:30 p.m. No. 4 Blandford Square, Paddington
The advice of Preston and Azul was usually worth following. Rose told no one about the journal after receiving Azul’s warning at the hospital. From the time, they entombed Pruflas the tome had been wrapped in her overcoat and by her side. Upon reaching home she had placed it in the strong room at the end of the hall between the studio arcana and the theurgy chamber ... until today.
Today she would apply further protections to the book. Retrieving it from the strong room Rose set the wrapped book on the lab counter in the studio arcana. A pot of molten sterling silver was ready to be poured. Wearing her leather apron and heavy leather gloves for protection from the molten metal, she began.
Unwrapping the journal from her jacket, Rose laid it on a sheet of asbestos fabric, a miraculous cloth impervious to flame and high temperatures. She wrapped it snuggly in two layers then placed it into a ceramic mold, silver slugs at the bottom, to keep it from the surface of the mold base.
With the journal in place she looked into the top and saw she had a good half inch of lip above the asbestos blanket. Rose went to the furnace and pulled out the melting pot with large pliers. She could see the waves of heat radiating from the graphite pot and molten silver as she walked across to the mold. Her arms flexed to tip the heavy crucible and pour the molten metal into the ceramic tray. The book was now submerged in a bath of molten silver, Rose enchanted wards of defense and protection into the cooling metal.
Once it returned to room temperature, she would place the book inside a lead strongbox, fill it with graveyard dirt then back into her walk-in strong room.
As the mold cooled she sat on the edge of a bench and went through her post, mail had piled up while away.
There was a knock on the door. “Who is it?” asked Rose.
“You have a visitor,” stated Pāora through the door.
“What do they want? I am busy.”
He said he is here on behalf of Raziel. That name got Rose’s attention.
Rose followed Pāora upstairs to the parlor, beside the fireplace stood a spry elderly man with a short well-trimmed beard. He looked quite fit, not an ounce of fat on his frame.
“Can I help you, sir?”
“No, I am here to be of service to you,” he replied in an Italian accent and giving her a smile.
“How is that?” asked the Sister.
“My name is Enzo Bonaventura, but a select few know me as Il monaco abatless and I am here because your use of the Rod of Raziel has crossed through the aether and to my ear it is like a two-year-old banging on a drum.”
"So, you came here to insult me?”
“No, If I were to insult you I would say it was like finger nails on a chalkboard or a paper cut on your tongue. I said you used the relic like a two-year-old banging a drum. At least you know that a drum is to be hit. I need to show you how and when to hit it so it makes the sound you wish.” The Italian suggested.
“So, I am to believe the Abbotless Monk heard me use the Rod, and it was so offensive you came here to help me?” questioned Rose. Her mind hopped between the urge to know how this stranger knew of the relic to wanting to punch him for his rudeness about her abilities.
“Why else would I be here? I would rather be elsewhere, I hate the city, but I can’t be a hermit in contemplation while you pollute the aether with your banging and clanging and seeing as you are a veritable magnet for relics, God only knows the racket you will make without my help.”
She looked at the man and gave him a forced smile, not knowing what to say.
“I would like the guest room at the rear of the house and we can begin working tomorro
w,” he answered.
“You think you're staying here?” asked Rose, still offended.
“I know I am staying here. I know how long I am staying and why I will leave. I know that until you let go and accept our path together you will continue to use the tools you’re given like a two-year-old banging on pots.”
“Now it’s pots not even a drum?”
“Do you disagree with my assessment?”
“No, your delivery,” said Rose.
“Well you can help me with that while I bring you to harmony with the Rod, can I take my bag up to my room?”
She stared at the man thinking if she was prepared to see where this would take her. “Mrs. Kechell, we will need to set another place for dinner,” Rose yelled down the hall.
Mrs. Kechell came out from the kitchen drying her hands in a dish towel. “Who do we have as a guest?”
“This is Mr. Enzo Bonaventura…” answered Rose.
“Please call me Brother Enzo,” said the Abbotless Monk.
“Brother Enzo, will stay with us for some time,” advised Rose.
“Well Brother, welcome to Hawkin’s House, I am Mrs. Kechell the housekeeper and cook.”
“He will take the second guest room.”
“Very well, you heard M’lady, let’s get you settled upstairs and set another plate on the table,” finished Mrs. Kechell.
38
Monday the 2rd of July 1860
9:40 AM HMS Woodlark, Coast of Ireland
Detective Dolly Williamson was enjoying his first airship flight on the HMS Woodlark. Far smaller than the Victoria, the only other airship he had toured whilst dry docked.