Syndicatus Evolutio

by M J Moores

  With the cask in place, she jumped down and followed the dwarf, who fumbled for something hanging from his belt. A sharp grind and flick made sparks jump from his hands in the dark. The speck of light temporarily glowed orange, illuminating his bobbing head like small lightning bugs.

  Louisa watched the pair disappear into the storage unit. No one else joined them. Setting her plan in motion, she carefully confronted the horses, head-on so they wouldn’t startle, and worked at loosening their bits and bridle. Louisa didn’t have the time, nor was she skilled enough, to take their harnesses off. If she tried to move them, the sound of the wagon and their hooves would bring the thieves running, so that was out.

  She crouched in the shadows near the corner of the building, waiting for the pair to set yet another barrel onto the wagon. When they left, Louisa crept around the building and ran for the main road in search of a patrolman. She caught sight of dark swallowtail blues rounding the far end of a brightly lit boulevard. Now, she had to get his attention without giving herself away. Regardless, the cutpurses would hear a commotion. They had nearly every cask.

  Louisa grabbed a sphere, shook it, and smashed it under the lamp on the corner. A crack split the air as charged particles exploded out, zapping the metal post. Footsteps backtracked around the far alleyway and the bobby hustled into sight. Louisa took off toward the storage unit. She smashed another sphere.

  The horses whinnied and stamped close by.

  She waited just long enough that he’d see her leather jacket flap away from the scorch mark below the next lantern. She didn’t hide her footsteps. She needed him to follow her.

  Louisa took stock of the wagon—same as before. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure the patrolman followed, then smacked into something hard.

  “Eh! Wots that now?” the dwarf drawled, staggering with the barrel.

  Louisa stumbled back. An arm laced around her throat from behind.

  “Got us a little birdy, I’d say,” the woman growled.

  The dwarf spark-bug cantered to and fro, trying to find balance, but the top-heavy cask pulled him off-kilter.

  Louisa gasped, her throat shifting against the Filipino woman’s arm. Her grip loosened as Bug swayed. He missed his step as a sharp blast from the constable’s whistle pierced the air. The horses shifted and nickered, pulling the cart forward just as the dwarf tried to set the barrel on the wagon bed.

  Louisa elbowed the thief in her side and stomped on her foot. The woman let go of her. Louisa staggered forward to help slow the barrel’s fall.

  But it was too late.

  It crashed to the ground on its edge, metal hammering stone.

  Everything moved in half-time: the cask split and bounced; the horses reared up and cantered forward again; the bobby raised his baton; the woman pulled a butterfly clip from her hair—a clip that separated into two small claw-like daggers just as deadly as the rest of her.

  The patrolman’s eyes widened.

  It was Constable Davis or Nichols from Hersh’s team this morning. His gaze shifted from the rearing horses to the casks on the wagon and the one barrel falling for its second landing.

  He knew what was inside. He’d been warned.

  The precious cargo didn’t explode.

  Louisa took her chance. She had to draw the thieves away.

  Bug leaped onto the wagon in search of the reins and jumped down again just as fast. With no way to control the mares, he was better off on the ground. Louisa motioned to Hersh’s man with her gaze, toward the horses, before falling into a barrel-roll of her own, turning to draw the bad guys away. Her borrowed coat trailed out behind her as she whipped around.

  The human scythe slashed at Louisa, weaving her arms in and out hypnotically. Louisa pulled back as the blades cut the air. The dwarf disappeared somewhere behind her as Scythe’s leg shot out and slammed into her shins. Louisa’s legs gave out. She tumbled back and fell over the waiting dwarf.

  Become a ball, her mother’s voice admonished. Roll with it and become a smaller target.

  Louisa obeyed.

  She sprang up out of the roll and grabbed a sphere from her belt. As Louisa raised her hand high, she made eye-contact with Hersh’s man standing between the horses and holding their bridles firm. He gripped them tighter, and she blasted the ground between her foes. An echo of responding whistles came from multiple directions.

  Louisa cloaked herself in the dark, watching as Bug and Scythe scrambled away from the scene of the crime.

  Her throat burned, her elbow throbbed, and her shins ached, but none of that mattered. She couldn’t let these villains get away.

  At a fast hobble, she followed them into the night.

  The Mad Hatter

  T hree patrolmen converged on the scene as Louisa followed the ever-present spark of light. The halfinch moved undetected through the streets and alleys of London, but not toward the thieves’ quarter or even the slums. Quite the opposite. She followed them to the edge of one of the most opulent neighborhood, straight into the backyard of an estate manor home. Steam landaus lined the half-moon drive, and laughter and music spilled from the house.

  This doesn’t make sense. Why are they here? Where’s their base of operations? Louisa sucked in a deep breath and held it, trying to still her nerves.

  She shook out her hands and hugged the tall shrubbery as she slunk along. Louisa tracked Scythe and Bug into the deeper shadows, past an ornate wrought-iron gate toward a blacked-out conservatory attached to the back of the house. The two thieves approached the door and knocked twice.

  Louisa crouched low, straining to hear … anything. But neither cutpurse spoke.

  A warm light blossomed around the edge of the half-open door.

  “We need to see him,” Scythe said.

  “It’s a bad time,” a hollow, female voice droned.

  “It’s important. Find a way,” Bug said.

  “Why should I?” The detached indifference of her voice gave Louisa goose pimples. She rubbed her arms through the large coat sleeves.

  “Don’t test me, Princess, or I’ll make you regret it,” Scythe growled.

  “Huh, I doubt that. Wait here.” The light around the door disappeared as it shut tight. Bug hit Scythe on the arm.

  “What’d you say that for? She’s on our side.”

  “She’s on no one’s side but her own. A threat’s the only way to get through to her. Now shut up or I’ll send you back to that Godforsaken sideshow you came from.”

  He sparked his device but said nothing more. They remained there for several minutes, Scythe, a tall, thin shadow, unmoving; Bug, pacing and sparking and sparking and pacing, drawing Louisa’s gaze. The back servants’ door opened, but no light escaped the house. Footsteps shuffled toward the two thieves. Bug stilled and stood at attention beside Scythe. The presence of a broad, rounded shadow, no taller than Scythe, filled the yard. A palpable weight hovered—expectation soaked in reverence and … disgust.

  A deep baritone voice wrapped tendrils of menace around the thieves. “How dare you step foot on my property. The rules exist for a reason.”

  Scythe cut the lecture short. “The police and that Phoenix wagtail foiled the plan.”

  “Are you that incompetent?” he growled.

  “She got lucky, she did,” Bug said.

  “This needs to be taken care of before the launch. Do I need to put another team on it?” the big man spat.

  “No, sir. This prize is ours. We’ll get it done,” Scythe confirmed.

  “Next time, use the steward to contact me. Better yet, get the job done right the first time. And never set foot on my property again.” He whirled around and disappeared back into the main house.

  “Wot right does he ‘av to treat us like shite?” Bug asked, his accent heavier than Louisa had heard yet.

  “Thinks he’s a big man. Problem is, he is. Come on; let’s get out of here before someone sees us, and he puts a hit on our heads next.” Scythe pulled on Bug’s ear to get h
im moving.

  Louisa waited until they passed, then shifted to follow. I should figure out where their hide—

  “Arugh! Help!” a feminine voice cried from inside the conservatory. Bug and Scythe kept walking, oblivious. No one from inside seemed to notice either. A whimper stopped Louisa from leaving and, just as she had with Master Bennett, she ignored her duties and raced to help.

  Louisa clicked open the conservatory’s door and slipped inside.

  She gasped.

  Warm lighting refracted off copper, steel, tin, and every type of metal imaginable strewn about on a worktable fit for a banquet. Tools and strange devices littered the surface as abundantly as the nuts, bolts, and other hardware. Indigo paint blocked the old windows except for those overhead, allowing the moon and stars to shine in. Stands, tables, and chests that once might have held a myriad of plant life swelled with cogs, gears, mechanics, coils, and various engineering supplies.

  But she didn’t see anyone.

  “Hello? Are you all right? I heard—”

  A pained gasp alighted on thick, oily air.

  Louisa crouched and looked under the table. A Middle Eastern girl, about her age, lay cradling her hand to her chest. Brilliant blue and yellow layers of chiffon flowed out from a highly impractical saree. Louisa scrambled around to the opposite side of the table. A pair of large doe eyes lined in Kohl contradicted their gentle nature with a sharp, haunting stare rimmed with pain.

  “What happened? What can I do?” Louisa asked, almost afraid to touch the girl.

  She uncovered the hand she held to her chest. Two fingers were ensnared in some kind of double cog and spring device, swelling fast. Louisa helped the girl sit up, and as the engineer leaned back against a chest, Louisa held out her hand.

  “Let me see.”

  Mistrust flashed across the girl’s face, and her eyes changed from grey to black. Louisa had seen this happen to her mother but thought only Welsh daughters inherited the trait.

  The girl gingerly placed her gnarled hand onto Louisa’s palm. Louisa brought her face closer to the device to inspect it—no easy feat with driving goggles on.

  “Is this part a catch?” she asked.

  “Yes,” the girl gasped.

  “And this here, the release?”

  “Jammed.”

  “The spring looks incredibly tight.”

  “Was experimenting.”

  “I’ll need a small, pointy tool to dig into the space here.” Louisa pointed.

  The girl considered her idea and nodded. “On the table.”

  Still holding the engineer’s hand level, Louisa shifted to her knees and rose to glance at the tabletop, her eyes just above the work surface. She spotted the tool she needed, nabbed it with her free hand and eased back down to the floor.

  “This will hurt. Do you want something to bite?” Louisa asked, poised to attack the clamp.

  The girl gritted her teeth. “No. Do it.”

  Louisa obeyed. Second thoughts might mean the end of this girl’s fingers. She did her best to avoid the swollen, angry flesh and jabbed the pointed tool into the slot.

  It released a notch.

  “Not enough,” the girl growled.

  “I know. Hold on to the table leg with your free hand,” Louisa advised.

  The girl did as instructed. Louisa jabbed a second time, heart hammering in her ears as it walloped her chest. She gave a sharp twist and forced the tool in deeper.

  The girl cried out.

  The device clattered to the floor.

  “Where are your dressings?” Louisa asked. She should leave and try to catch up with the thieves but …

  “In the house.”

  “What good are they in—” she stopped herself from chastising the invalid and popped up from her knees to her feet. Several rags lay amongst the parts on the table. She pulled a less-soiled one out from under a nasty looking arm-length device and grabbed a thick steel bar, a tad longer than she wanted, but she’d make do. Louisa ripped a thin length of the cloth and set it across her lap.

  “Again, this will hurt,” she said and grabbed the engineer’s hand before the girl could hide it away on her person.

  She gave it willingly. Louisa didn’t have time to wonder at what other misfortunes happened in her inventive past.

  Louisa pried the girl’s fingers open.

  Another yell.

  She pushed the flat steel onto the girl’s palm, forcing the two damaged fingers straight.

  A guttural snarl.

  And wrapped the metal to the engineer’s fingers, not so tight as to cut off circulation yet loose enough so her sore fingers could breathe. Then she tied it all off with the thin strip and released the girl’s hand.

  Both women sat there, panting, staring at each other. Louisa had no idea what coursed through the other girl’s mind, but she didn’t run. She didn’t blaspheme or shout for help. She just sat, analyzing Louisa—Shadow Phoenix.

  “Thank you,” the girl said, but a strange note in her voice caused it to fall flat. Louisa had no doubt this person appreciated her help, but something about her was unsettling. Louisa watched as the girl’s eyes gradually changed from black to bluey-grey as a spark of curiosity led her to scrutinize her wrapped hand.

  “I’m impressed,” she said and held her flipper aloft, twisting and turning her wrist to look at Louisa’s work from all angles. “The servants always choose a flimsy wood—much like a tongue depressor. Worthless. But this”—her eastern accent bloomed the more she spoke—“is the work of someone who knows better.” She shifted to stand. Louisa rose and offered the girl a hand up.

  She accepted, her grip as tight as that clamp had been. The engineer rose, looking regal and poised. Louisa wasn’t sure what to do next. They held each other’s hands, staring into one another’s eyes, each waiting for the other to make a move.

  Louisa shook the woman’s hand. “Shadow Phoenix, at your service.”

  The engineer’s smile didn’t reach her eyes but she returned the shake. “Princess Brynna Tamerlane Fitzhugh.”

  Louisa quirked an eyebrow.

  “But you can call me Ryn.”

  Louisa nodded and released the princess’s hand. Her gaze dropped to the over-full work table. “I couldn’t help but notice you’re an engineer.”

  “I am.”

  “And you work for Scythe and Bug?”

  The princess furrowed her brow then gave a half-smile. “No, they work for the overlord.”

  “The overlord? You do realize this is a criminal element?”

  She shrugged her shoulders.

  “You don’t care? But you’re an inventor. Your projects could be used for the betterment of society.”

  She shrugged again. “What do I care? They ask me to make stuff and I do. I’m a princess; I don’t need money. This keeps me occupied.”

  Ryn locked gazes with Louisa as the Shadow Phoenix side of her considered whether to tell the constabulary about this nefarious little side project. Something about Ryn told Louisa the girl tested her. That whoever the overlord was, he’d be able to make any claims against the inventor disappear—and maybe Louisa, too. The fact that it didn’t bother Ryn that she built weapons and devices for the criminal element, and yet also didn’t rat out the Shadow Phoenix, spoke volumes about the girl’s disposition. She really didn’t care. Or, she only cared about herself.

  A by-product of being a princess or something else entirely?

  “You made Bug’s sparker, didn’t you?”

  “I did.”

  “And now you’re working on something more elaborate?” Louisa could identify some of the items crowded on the table around the long, metal invention that looked only half assembled. A fire weapon of sorts.

  “What if I am?”

  “Would you tell me about it?”

  The girl’s eyes sparkled and a smile tugged at her lips.

  “Would you design something for me to counter it?” Louisa asked.

  The princess gri
nned.

  Whose Rules are We Breaking?

  L ouisa absently rubbed her bruised elbow as she looked out the window of the Steamie—a public steam-powered carriage. It was larger than most personal steam landaus, but only just. Her thigh touched Master Bennett’s at every little bump and jostle from the cobbled roads. Normally, she’d have a couple layers of skirts between them, but for today’s fieldwork, she risked donning a modern riding suit, sans jacket. The attire was, perhaps, better suited to horse lovers, but several female engineers had recently adopted the style. Louisa was, by no means, an inventor but she assisted one, and she wasn’t about to go traipsing around a launch field just to remove layers of dust from her petticoats for the next week.

  Still, it meant a lot less fabric between her and her boss and a lot more stares; etiquette be damned.

  When the Steamie came to a shuddering stop, Louisa exited before Bennett reached for his pocketbook to pay the coachman. She collected two satchels of supplies from the parcel holder at the back and tried not to limp. Their field rested at the farthest location from the main hangars and airship terminals, but the enormous long-distance zeppelins hovered like the swollen clouds Bennett wished to create. She glanced up to white wisps not fit for seeding.

  “Are we ready, then?” Bennett asked, coming up beside Louisa, notebook in hand.

  “Ready when you are.”

  He scanned the wide-open field, a hand shielding his eyes from the early morning autumn sunshine. “They were supposed to leave a balloon out for us. Set up the equipment by the launch circle. I’ll go into the hangar to see what’s the holdup.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Louisa walked out to the middle of the field where the short, dry grasses edged a large dirt circle, and knelt stiffly. Her shins ached from her encounter with Bug and Scythe the night before. She’d been woefully unprepared for the physicality of the evening—something she’d need to work on if she were to continue her little crusade. That was a big if. But who would believe her about a new criminal overlord organizing petty thieves for some unknown master plan? And she had no direct proof to lay blame, just some overheard words and a strange girl’s last name.