The Undying Legion

by Clay Griffith

  “That, I don’t know.” Simon held up the heavy tome that sat in his lap. “So I’ve moved on to hieroglyphics and your excellent source of spells from the Egyptian Book of the Dead.”

  “And?”

  “The symbols we saw appear to be Old Kingdom stuff, even Heliopolitan. I can make out a bit of it, but we may need to call in an expert on the texts.”

  “Egyptian hieroglyphics are difficult. I may know someone who can help us with the translation.” Kate then indicated a pot that boiled on a flame and said with a voice hovering between fascination and horror, “Did you know you can hear the ghostbloom mushrooms?”

  “Hear them?”

  “The legend is that they have the voice of the person in the grave where they were growing. Come here. Listen to them.” Kate’s hair was swept back from her face into a knot that struggled to make order from the curling chaos. She was bent over the worktable, her clothes covered by a thick apron of tough leather.

  Simon tucked the book under his arm, leaving the dog to exalt in triumph over the toy for a few seconds. The whitish mushrooms tumbled in boiling water. Kate lifted one of the fleshy objects from a tray of dirt and held it over the steaming pot. She released the mushroom into the water.

  Simon thought he heard a faint scream. He straightened with a look of skepticism. “No. That must be steam escaping.”

  “If you say so.”

  He poked the mushrooms on the plate with his finger. “So you just boil them and you get wulfsyl? That seems simple.”

  “Oh yes,” Kate replied in exasperation. “That’s all alchemy is, making weak soup. And is your scribing merely scribbling? No. I’m boiling them to release their essence, which I’ll then filter and purify here.” She gestured to a complex apparatus of a cucurbit connected to an alembic. “Afterward, I create the elixir through the difficult process of combining it with—”

  “I concede the point,” Simon put a mushroom to his ear. “You haven’t told Charlotte that some of her old colleagues were looking for her?”

  “No. And I don’t intend to.”

  “Probably for the best. Could she just eat the mushrooms and get the same effect?”

  “I suppose, though the result would be far weaker. No doubt that’s what many werewolves do who don’t have access to an alchemist.” Kate pointed to a wooden rack where there were several glass tubes filled with green liquid. “Fortunately, Charlotte does.”

  She took one of the glass tubes and crooked a finger at Simon. Together, with Aethelred dragging his length of rope, they went to the Blue Parlor, where a table was laid for high tea. Several teapots rested in the center of elegant place settings for five. And there was a tower of finger sandwiches and small cakes. Servants bowed and departed.

  “Oh, tea!” Simon clapped his hands together and exclaimed, “I do so hope I’m invited!”

  Kate slapped his chest. “You’re an ass.”

  Without response, Simon went to the table and took a seat, all prim and proper. The door opened and Charlotte entered, with Hogarth close behind her. She was in a very fashionable dress with balloon sleeves. Her hair was done up in elegant buns with bouncing curls along the sides of her face. Kate stripped off the stained leather apron to reveal she was suitably attired in a flowing cotton dress of yellow. Simon felt inappropriate in simple black trousers, a white shirt, and a waistcoat, but no proper jacket or tie.

  Kate put her hands on Charlotte’s cheeks, inspecting the girl’s demure appearance. “My goodness, Charlotte, how nice you look. Did Hogarth do your hair?”

  Charlotte nodded, in silent awe of the hulking manservant.

  Kate smiled at the stoic Hogarth, who had taken up a position in the corner. “You’re still in good practice after all these years.”

  “Thank you, Miss Kate. Her hair was more cooperative than yours, as I recall.”

  Then Charlotte saw the table setting and squealed with glee. “Oh! Tea! What fun!” She raced to the table and curtsied to Simon, who rose to seat her.

  Then Malcolm entered cautiously with his typical dour black outfit and a confused look. “What the hell? I thought the—”

  Kate raised a silencing finger.

  “Malcolm!” Simon called out and patted the chair next to him. “I’ve saved you a seat.”

  The Scotsman wandered to the table, still quite puzzled as Kate assumed the hostess duties. “Everyone, please, sit.”

  Charlotte stared back at Hogarth, and she whispered to Kate, “Isn’t he going to serve us?”

  “No, dear,” Kate said pleasantly. “Hogarth doesn’t wait tables. We shall serve ourselves.”

  “How bohemian,” Charlotte said with a smile. “It’s like the French Revolution.”

  Malcolm sat and nodded to Simon. “Madame.”

  “Is Imogen joining us?” Simon inquired hopefully.

  “I hoped she would.” Kate’s eyes betrayed her sadness at the last empty chair. “Perhaps another occasion.”

  “She’s your sister, yes?” Charlotte’s voice sounded a trifle disappointed.

  “Yes. She’s had a very hard time. She’s been sick.”

  Though Kate had tried to state the matter politely, the young girl beside her bowed her head. “I know what happened. I wish I could help her. I’m sorry for what Gretta did. She helped Dr. White hunt your sister.”

  “Thank you, Charlotte, but you weren’t to blame. That is reserved for those that did the deed itself. But enough of that. Today we concentrate on more important matters.”

  “Like tea and fancy dresses!” Charlotte beamed once more, her hands smoothing down the elegant silk material that bunched around her hips and legs.

  “Yes.” Kate poured tea and passed trays full of sandwiches. Charlotte began to pile her plate.

  A shadow filled the door and there stood Imogen. She wore a dark gown that whisked the floor. Her hands were covered in black silk gloves although the right one fit poorly. Her face was draped in a black veil.

  The gentlemen rose from the table, as did Kate, whose eyes were near to brimming, a hand flying up to her mouth to hold back an exclamation. Her throat was locked and she couldn’t find the words to express her joy.

  Imogen, suddenly fearful now that all eyes were on her, took a step backward. Thankfully, Simon knew just what to do. He quickly pulled out a chair for her between Charlotte and Kate.

  “Here, Miss Imogen. This is a prime spot. Near the cakes.”

  Imogen hesitated and Kate was afraid she’d flee upstairs. But the young woman came forward with a slow deliberateness, as if uncertain how to even walk properly. There was only a slight bobble near the table, and she slumped into the seat as if weary with relief. Simon was quick to slide her forward while Kate poured tea and placed sandwiches on her plate.

  Imogen didn’t move. Her dark veil swayed up and back ever so slightly with her breathing. Then Charlotte stuck her face in front of her, and Imogen jumped.

  “Hello. My name is Charlotte.” Imogen sat mute, so the young girl continued. “This party is for me. I’m supposed to take some medicine. But then maybe you will play with me later? I think I’m wearing your dress!” Charlotte seemed pleased when Imogen turned to regard her.

  Kate’s first instinct was to say no, but she was so pleased to see Imogen react, any attempt at normalcy would be a step in the right direction. She smiled with encouragement.

  Suddenly, Charlotte shouted loudly which made everyone jump. From out of the folds of Imogen’s dark veil poked a very wiggly nose.

  “Oh, a hedgehog!” Charlotte cried. “I love them. I just love them! May I pet it?” Her index finger reached out toward the small bristly creature perched on Imogen’s shoulder. Imogen didn’t reply, of course, so Charlotte merely took it as a sign of acceptance and brushed her finger over the tiny animal.

  Imogen froze, and because of the mourning clothes, Kate couldn’t tell if she was frightened or curious.

  Charlotte giggled. “I never had a pet. What does it eat? May I hold it?”


  “Charlotte.” Kate attempted to distract the child from her endless questions and held up the glass tube. “This is wulfsyl. I can’t be sure it’s correct.”

  The girl looked at Kate with excitement, then asked hopefully, “Will it stop me from eating someone?”

  Kate looked uncomfortable. “We believe that if you take it now, you will never have to eat someone.”

  “But what if I do?”

  “Eat Malcolm,” Simon suggested.

  Malcolm sat with a sour scowl on his face.

  Charlotte pushed a sandwich in her mouth as she stared at the concoction. Then she attacked another sandwich, and mumbled, “What does it taste like?”

  “Probably a bit strong. You should put it in your tea.” Kate handed the glass tube to the girl.

  She pulled the cork and sniffed. She threw her head back with a grimace. “That’s horrible! It smells like dead people.”

  Simon could smell it too, and it did stink of death. Far worse than the rank earthiness of the mushrooms themselves. He snatched the sugar bowl and began to drop spoonfuls into Charlotte’s tea. “Here. This should help.”

  “More,” the girl instructed, and Simon tossed in two more spoons. “More.”

  “Try it first,” he said. “Even I could eat a dead person if he had that much sugar poured on him.”

  Charlotte dribbled a few drops into the milky tea. “How much should I use?”

  “Half the tube should do,” Kate answered.

  The girl poured with great deliberation. Then she stoppered the tube and gave it back to Kate. She took a spoon, turning it around in her hand to see her reflection. She realized it was plain dull pewter. “Miss Kate, are you not using silverware because I’m a werewolf?”

  “No, dear.” Kate selected a sandwich. “We’re not using the silverware because we melted it all for weapons when Gretta attacked us. Drink.”

  Charlotte stirred her tea for a long time. “This won’t make me change, will it?”

  The rest of the company stiffened and exchanged worried glances.

  “No,” Kate said with some false authority. “No.”

  Charlotte lifted the cup to her lips, where she paused. All eyes were on her. She let the liquid dab her upper lip and pulled the cup away. “Is that enough?”

  Kate scolded, “Charlotte, drink it, please.”

  The girl sighed, brought the cup up in a quivering hand, and took a sip. She held it in her mouth, and then swallowed with much effort. Her eyes tightened. She let out a wet gasp and set down the cup with a loud clatter. Charlotte grasped her throat with palsied hands. She swayed in her seat and growled.

  Chairs scraped back and clattered to the floor. Kate reached desperately for Imogen, who sat utterly still. The runic tattoos on Simon flared while Malcolm drew his pistols and brought them to bear on the flailing girl. Frightened shouts were cut by childish laughter.

  Charlotte fell back in her chair and giggled uncontrollably. The adults stared in disbelief at the girl, who kicked her feet with delight.

  “Did I scare you?” Charlotte laughed, looking at the stricken faces around her.

  Malcolm angrily jammed his pistols back into the holsters with a look of incredulity.

  Simon shook his head and joined in the girl’s laughter. He righted his chair, finishing his sandwich between chuckles.

  “Charlotte!” Kate stood with her mouth open and hands shaking. “That was horrible! Don’t ever do that again.”

  The girl looked suddenly crestfallen. “I’m sorry, Miss Kate. I was just being funny.”

  “Funny gets you shot,” Malcolm muttered.

  “Spoken like a Scotsman.” Simon turned to the girl and said with an even tone, “Finish the wulfsyl, Charlotte. And then we’ll have dessert.”

  Charlotte took her cup and drank with a joyless slump. Kate watched her with a guilty face, and said, “I’m sorry I snapped, dear. You must understand your condition is serious. You shouldn’t joke about it.”

  “I think I know better than almost anyone how serious it is,” Charlotte offered. Imogen shifted almost as if nodding.

  Kate and Simon exchanged pained looks. Kate leaned over and kissed Charlotte’s cheek. The girl gave a begrudging half smile.

  Kate asked, “So how does it taste?”

  Charlotte smacked her lips and thought. “Needs more sugar.”

  Chapter 6

  The brisk morning air refused to be warmed by the sun overhead. Kate walked with Simon along one of the many lanes that crisscrossed through the immense gardens around Hartley Hall. Despite the cold, they were not heavily bundled, taking advantage of the sunlight. The garden hosted no blooms this time of the year but it didn’t lack stark magnificence. Her father had planted many species with winter color and evergreens, some brought back from his travels around the world, plus he had laid intricate stonework and fascinating statues to make the stroll pleasant whatever the season. Ahead of them, Imogen and Charlotte raced after Aethelred. Charlotte laughed and turned to wave on Imogen, who lagged behind because of her awkward gait. Imogen still wore a veil over her face, but under her open coat she was clad in a lovely flowered dress, one of her old favorites. Kate recognized it as one from Imogen’s first debutante ball. Their father had told Imogen it matched the blue in her eyes. The fact that he had even noticed that she had matured to a lovely young woman had meant so much to her. Imogen hadn’t fit into the dress for years now, but her body shape had changed, withered a bit. Earlier this morning, she had selected it from a trunk of her old clothes that had escaped her ferocious shredding.

  Kate squeezed Simon’s hand with a sudden rush of emotion. It was almost a normal morning, the first in a long time. In the days since the initial dose of wulfsyl, Charlotte had showed no signs of being anything other than an energetic thirteen-year-old girl. But more so, Kate was overjoyed at the simple sight of her sister enjoying a moment. Imogen outside the house in the sunshine for the first time in months, dressed in an old frock that reminded her of the sweeter days.

  It was miraculous how Imogen had made remarkable progress thanks to Charlotte’s joyous influence. The child’s delightful nature was infectious, and Charlotte was instinctively welcoming. She never blinked or shirked when Imogen touched her. Imogen slowly showed signs of feeling safe around Charlotte despite knowing what she was, or maybe even because of what she was.

  They ventured a little farther from the corner of the manor house to stay out of the growing shadow of the uncanny bulk of Hartley Hall. The great mansion was asymmetrically constructed in various architectural styles, deliberately chosen by Sir Roland. Still, Kate always acted as if it was any other home, feeling as if she had grown up in a quaint country cottage rather than a rambling palace with turrets and strange machines and the heads of monsters on the walls.

  Kate cocked her head, hearing a familiar sound in the distance. A deep rumbling ripped through the serene morning. She could feel it in her chest. Birds poured from the trees and fled. Charlotte perked up and came back toward them, with Imogen following closely. Aethelred too returned and took up a position by Kate, barking with a deep booming voice. They all turned to the nearest corner of the house and waited. The din paused for a moment, then roared back into life, coming closer.

  Within seconds, a metal monster rolled into view through the wide lanes of the garden. Steam poured into the air. Licks of flame were visible from the rear of Penny’s steamcycle, where a massive engine was situated. The sidecarriage was empty. Penny bent low over the handles in front, her bright grin showing beneath goggles and above a heavy scarf. Charlotte squealed with frightened excitement and crowded behind Kate, with her face poking out to watch the machine belch its way across the gravel paths. Imogen’s long fingers curled around Kate’s hand comfortingly.

  Penny braked a few yards from the group and kicked at a switch with her heavy boot. The beast continued to rumble, so she kicked harder. This time, the fiery motor coughed into silence. She waved.

  �
��Aethelred, hush! It’s Penny.” Kate touched the dog on the snout and he went silent but remained vigilant.

  “What is that thing?” Charlotte shouted, not quite used to the fact that the engine had stopped.

  “Inside voice, dear,” Kate said, then realized they were outside.

  Penny leaned over to retrieve a heavy rucksack from the sidecarriage. She pushed the goggles up, clearly eyeing Charlotte, but she still smiled, betraying no fear around the girl.

  “Charlotte,” Kate said, extending an arm, “do you remember Penny Carter? She is an engineer. She builds things, as my father did. She made that machine she was riding like a horse from perdition.”

  “Oh my goodness!” Charlotte exclaimed. “You made that?”

  “I did.” Penny pulled off her glove. “Nice to see you again. We didn’t have much of an opportunity to talk last time.” The engineer extended a hand and the girl seemed thrilled to shake it. Then Penny nodded casually to the hunched, veiled figure attached to Kate. “Imogen. Good to see you again.”

  Charlotte started toward the steamcycle. “Can I go for a ride?”

  “Sure.” Penny slapped her gloves against her thigh, raising a cloud of dust.

  “No.” Kate smoothly found a plausible excuse. “I’m sorry, dear, but not now. Penny is very tired from the ride out. She’s been going back and forth a lot these days.”

  Penny looked a little embarrassed for overstepping. “Oh, I’m sorry, Kate.”

  Kate put a comforting hand on Penny. “Charlotte, you and Imogen keep exercising Aethelred. He hasn’t had nearly enough activity today.”

  “All right.” Charlotte stared at the steamcycle as she backed up, reaching out for Imogen’s hand. “Come on.”

  The two ran off with the wolfhound in their wake. When they were a fair distance away, Penny said, “Good God, Imogen looks fantastic. I can’t believe she’s out.”

  “Yes,” Kate said proudly. “This is her first time outside the house since we brought her back from Bedlam.”

  “She found that little bit of hope finally, I see.”

  Kate regarded her friend with grateful smile. “She did.”