Brotherhood of the Strange (Kingship, Tales from the Aether Book 1)

by Michael Richie

  Chapter VII

  Degory sat patiently in Cordelia’s drawing room while his niece worked intently on his clockwork arm, a miracle in engineering that had allowed him to regain his mobility, and in Degory’s opinion, a measure of his lost dignity. He gazed down at it, much of it was exposed at the moment, parts splayed out amongst Cordelia’s tools. His niece was wearing a pair of jeweler’s glasses, intently attending to the myriad intricate brass gears and fittings that allowed this machine to mimic human motion. Though fortunate for her nearly unparalleled gifts in the knowledge of clockwork bionics, all the fine tuning in the world would never make his arm human again. The dexterity, sensation, and warmth of the severed limb he had unwittingly sacrificed to the reality altering energies of his Temporal Accelerator were forever lost to him. His real arm was, at this moment, still about eight months away from reappearing, though Degory still knew not where. At this juncture he was no closer to calculating where the device, along with Maxfield LeRoy and more importantly, Pandora’s Box, would re-enter time after its improvised and un-calculated activation some four months ago. When it did, his arm would still be in salvageable shape, mere seconds having passed for it, though his niece had gently told him it would do him little good, as his injury had healed too much to have a hope of reattachment. Degory was therefore doomed to a life of near constant maintenance. Though durable, the technology that drove the arm required calibration every few weeks and depending upon how much he used it, near daily winding as well. Despite the misfortune of losing his right arm, some good had indeed emerged from it. When those loyal to LeRoy had seen his injury, it had removed any suspicion they may have had regarding Degory’s motives. His cover story, that unidentified men had broken into his study, and used the Temporal Accelerator to kidnap Maxfield and himself, had been accepted without question. He had become a member of the inner circle of the Brotherhood of the Strange, which was now the corrupt Hand of Paris, though he wasn’t trusted enough as of yet with their innermost workings. Still, he had learned more in the last few months than he had in the previous two years. Though details of their plans were hidden from him, what he could glean was dark, disturbing information to say the least, and it confirmed Degory was correct in his covert attempts to expose and destroy them. Of late however, he had grown desperate in figuring out a way to track the Temporal Accelerator, and he feared he had aroused far too much suspicion. He had a plan in place, he always did, he just hoped he had enough time to see it through and protect the one person in the world whom he truly loved and called family, the young genius attending to his arm.

  “Almost done, Uncle,” Cordelia said without looking up. “This wouldn’t take as long if you had stopped by last week as I told you.”

  “I do apologize,” Degory replied. “I had far too many errands to attend to.”

  “You always do. When are you going to take some time for yourself and relax? I barely could keep you still for the weeks it took you to heal around this,” the young woman replied gesturing to the area around his bicep where flesh and brass met.

  Degory sighed, “I wish I could, I really do. There is far too much at stake for me to stop, though I must confess I’ve grown fearful that my plans will be discovered and brought to ruin.”

  Cordelia paused and looked up from her work. Her porcelain features and dark hair carried a look of concern which was unbecoming a woman of such delicate beauty. She removed her glasses and settled beside him on the sitting couch. He had tried to shield her from what was happening, but his uncharacteristically pessimistic attitude of late made his worries transparent to his dear niece. He had finally informed her, and then only at her stubborn demand, as much as he dared regarding the dealings of the Brotherhood. Since then he had tried to retain an optimistic attitude for her sake. Seeing her pause from her work and take a seat beside him, he knew he had failed and it was time to revel everything to her.

  “My sweet Cordelia,” he began, taking her hand in his, he of course now used his left hand for such a gesture, “I wish it could be otherwise, but I have come to the conclusion my inquiries and investigations have brought me under unfriendly scrutiny.”

  “Is it my father?” she asked with a note of sad concern.

  Degory winced in his heart. This was the information he wished Cordelia could be spared from. Though she had done quite well for herself at the a young age of twenty-four, mastering two degrees from Oxford, Clockwork Mechanics as well as the more traditional field of Physician, she was still naive to many of the horrors of the world. This made her speak more boldly on some subjects than she had a right to, but her heart, Degory felt, was always in the right place. She knew her father, Edward, was corrupt, but the depths of which she did not or would not admit to herself. He keenly felt the weight of guilt at the necessity of breaking down that barrier, though he was unsure if mere words alone would suffice, despite the deep trust they had for one another.

  “Only partially,” he began, “Edward certainly has been busy with the Brotherhood. He has involved me less and less with knowledge of his work though he has been spending an awful amount of time away. Where, I cannot be sure. I am sorry, more sorry than I can tell, but my brother is deep in the confidence of the Hand of Paris.”

  Cordelia withdrew her hand and retired to the nearby third-story window of her posh London apartment. The Friday evening was in full swing as people below hustled to the parties, theaters, and dinner engagements that occupied the well-to-do Londoner on the weekends. Hansom cabs as well as steam-carriages darted in and out of the gas-lit streets, their evening attired occupants oblivious to the internal struggles of the young lady who gazed down upon them.

  After a few moments of silence, save for the chiming of the grandfather clock in the room, she replied, “I really don’t want to believe what you’re telling me. I know I should, you’ve never lied to me, Uncle. It’s just… he’s my father.”

  Degory stood. He wanted to protect her, and though it pained him, the truth was the best assurance of her safety at this juncture. “He’s also my brother. I wish as much as you things were different. But sadly, they’re not. Though I don’t know the specifics, he’s doing research that the Brotherhood banned years ago due to its unforeseen and quite frankly dark implications.”

  “What research is that?”

  “A number of years ago, before my time, a scientist with connections to the Brotherhood discovered a way to make synthetic ectoplasm.”

  Cordelia turned from the window and looked at him incredulously. “Ectoplasm?” she said with a measure of disbelief. “Ectoplasm is a myth. A substance made up by charlatan mesmerists looking to scratch a few farthings from the gullible masses.”

  “No, my dear, it is not,” Degory said seriously. Cordelia’s one sided, expensive education was showing a lack of knowledge of the world Degory had become all too familiar with. “It is, however, extremely unstable, usually evaporating shortly after an apparition makes its presence known. The synthesized version, however, could be stabilized, provided it was kept within an enclosed system. It’s creation led to rueful consequences.”

  “Such as?” she inquired, her trust in her uncle overriding her skepticism.

  “Well it’s difficult to explain. Ectoplasm is the stuff of the other side. When it was made artificially, denizens of that other side were attracted to it. The Brotherhood tried to harness it, use it for some blend of arcane technology, but never got it quite right. Needless to say, the negative consequences led to the research being banned and buried in the Vault. Your father is a brilliant man, and I’m afraid his diverse scientific disciplines are being put to nefarious use by the Hand of Paris.”

  “If what you say is true, then might he be in a situation where he is being coerced into helping them?” He saw there was still hope for her father in her eyes, a hope Degory knew he needed to quell, as gently as he could.

  Degory shrugged, “I do suppose anything is possible, though from the few conversations we ha
ve had, and mind you they have been few of late, I can come to no other conclusion than he honestly believes in the Hand of Paris. Again, I am sorry.”

  “How is it that this Hand of Paris is still even a threat?” she stated, clearly growing exasperated at the situation. “You sent that vile creature Maxfield away on the Temporal Accelerator, along with that accursed Box. I would have thought after four months you and the loyal Strangers would have routed out any further traitors.”

  “Well at first I believed so as well. Four months ago I was still clinging to the belief that the Hand of Paris represented a tiny fraction of the Brotherhood. I was sure if they were revealed to be the evil conspirators they clearly are, then the majority of the Strangers would run them out of town on a rail. Unfortunately, the cancer has spread and those few who still held true to our founding principles have been replaced, killed, or driven into hiding. There have been rumors that loyal Strangers survive in pockets over in Eastern and Western America, though I have yet to confirm it.”

  Cordelia replied, “But surely without their leader they are less organized and somewhat vulnerable?”

  “One would think. However I had barely come out of surgery after losing my arm when LeRoy’s,” Degory paused, “what I thought was his bodyguard stepped forward and took command.”

  “Who is he?”

  “A man by the name of Grigori.”

  “I’ve never heard that name before,” she said, crossing the room and resuming working on Degory’s arm.

  “I’d be surprised if you had,” Degory replied wincing slightly as Cordelia tightened and adjusted various springs and cogs. “He has followed Maxfield around for the past several years. Showing up one day offering his service to the Brotherhood, his unique skills were quickly put to use. It sickened me because in days past he would have been turned away on the spot.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He’s rather infamous in Russia. The man was some sort of mystic and had a following of zealots who believed the end of the world was nigh. Apparently this Grigori sought out Maxfield in response to some revelation he had supposedly received. At one time I would have thought it nonsense, but the implications of Pandora’s Box have made me wary of him. He has powers, Cordelia. Early on he was allowed access to nearly every sealed section of the Vault. There is knowledge, spiritual, arcane, alchemical, and scientific few should be privy to. As odd and mystical as he was when I first met him, he was nothing compared to the man he is now. At any rate, he picked up where Maxfield left off, took control of the Brotherhood, and employed me to calculate where Maxfield will reappear. A task which I have been publicly stalling but privately pursuing to the best of my ability.”

  Cordelia finished her work. Degory’s arm was fully wound and calibrated. She packed away her tools and glasses as Degory rolled down his sleeve, donned the black leather glove he always wore now, and somewhat awkwardly buttoned up his waistcoat checking the time on his pocket watch. Putting on his black frock coat he felt the bulge of the thick, bound envelope, the other, and far more important reason for his visit. He had allowed the conversation to become sidetracked, discussing Edward, attempting to spare her feelings. He needed now to get to the point.

  “And how is that research going?” she asked.

  Degory’s thoughts were pulled back to the conversation. “What research?”

  “Tracking the Temporal Accelerator of course,” she replied.

  “Oh, that’s one of the reasons I’m here.” At least she had brought it up first. He gently grabbed ahold of her arm, the click of the gears and springs from the quick movement of his right arm could be heard in the sudden silence.

  “Cordelia, I mentioned I may have aroused suspicion. I’m afraid it’s far more than that. As I’ve said, I’ve attempted to give them false leads regarding the Accelerator while at the same time attempting to figure out the whereabouts legitimately. I’ve run out of excuses and Grigori clearly suspects me. I’m afraid it will only be a matter of days before I’m taken for questioning. Others have as well and have never been seen again.”

  “Uncle.”

  “Listen, I’ve seen but a small fraction of their plans and the only word that can come to mind is genocide. Pandora’s Box is key to all of this, I’m sure of it. I had hoped to have bought enough time when I sent it into the future. Maxfield was just a bonus. Now I’m not so sure. In roughly eight months the Temporal Accelerator will reappear and Pandora’s Box will resume its countdown. Whatever plans the Hand of Paris has will coincide with that countdown. As of right now nobody knows where it will reappear but believe me, Grigori has considerable resources working to find out, despite my best attempts at misdirection.”

  A combination of fear and resolve was growing in Cordelia’s deep blue eyes. “What are we going to do then?” she asked.

  Degory was proud of his niece. He was also ashamed that, despite his best efforts, she was about to be dragged into this world. “I’ve had some equipment built in Germany,” he began. “Equipment which will allow me to track the Temporal Accelerator. I’ve gone to great pains to keep this a secret and I hope it has remained thus. Arrangements have been made to have this equipment transported to the upland of Sherwood Isle. If all goes well, I will rendezvous with it there. If not, I need you to go in my stead.”

  Cordelia’s stunned look came before her equally stunned words. “Uncle, I want to help, but I have never been to Sherwood Isle. I’ve never been to an upland, the Aether or even stepped foot on an aethership or an airship!”

  “I know, and I wish I did not have to involve you like this.” He handed her the bulky envelope. “In here is all the information you need. If I am captured, I need you to intercept the equipment. It will be aboard the vessel ‘Kingship’. The Captain and crew are honorable people.”

  “Do you know them?”

  “Not personally. I know of them. More importantly I know of the ship. It will be integral to tracking the Temporal Accelerator and finding me should something occur.”

  “Finding you?”

  “Yes, the Kingship is no ordinary cargo ship. It has history. Follow the instructions in the letter to a ‘t’ and you will be able to rescue me. Please Cordelia, the future of our very civilization could be riding on our actions.”

  The young woman gazed at the envelope, “I will do the best I can, Uncle,” she replied with a quivering voice.

  “I know you will. Now let’s see if your adjustments to my arm will allow me to brew you a cup of Earl Grey.”

  She smiled and was about to reply but was interrupted by the jarring ring of a doorbell. Degory froze. “Were you expecting anyone else this evening?”

  “No,” she answered, the conversation of the past few minutes made her as equally on edge as Degory. She returned to the window and let out a gasp. Below, parked on the cobblestone street were two black steam carriages, wisps of smoke rising from the now idle stacks. At her front door, dressed in black evening wear stood her father, Edward.

  Chapter VIII

  “Uncle, it’s my father!” she whispered loudly.

  Degory’s reply was immediate, “Back away from the window!”

  She did as Degory stated, still clutching the envelope. “What should I do?”

  “Did you tell him I was coming by tonight?”

  “Of course not. You know as well as I do we barely speak as of late.”

  “That’s what I feared,” came the reply. “I believe he is here to ask you of my whereabouts. This you must not reveal. Now go and let him in, there are too many lights on for him to assume you are not at home.”

  The front bell rang again, followed by the echo of knocking coming up the two flights of stairs.

  Cordelia turned to allow her father entrance. As Degory retired to the adjoining music room it occurred to him the envelope was still in her fist. “Cordelia! The envelope!”

  White faced, she placed it in an indigo ceramic vase, an import from Japan, and conti
nued down the stairs.

  Degory closed the two large oak doors behind him and listened intently. This room’s windows would allow him a good view of the street below but he dared not approach them, not knowing if anyone had accompanied Edward. The room where he concealed himself was beautifully decorated, though with a bit too much of a lady’s touch for Degory’s liking. A parlor grand piano took up most of the room, and the walls were lined with shelves of clockwork birds. The strange brass menagerie struck a stark contrast to the frilly Edwardian furniture. Degory peered through the crack between the two doors. There, in the center of the room beside the couch, rested his walking stick.

  “Blast it!” he whispered coarsely under his breath. Faintly he heard the front door open and the muted voices of Cordelia and Edward exchanging greetings. Opening the door as silently as he could Degory hastily tiptoed his way across the drawing room to retrieve his stick. It would have been a dead giveaway and conclusively implicate his niece. Degory knew this was no social visit, he was sure he was wanted by the Hand of Paris. His disheartening tale to Cordelia had not revealed even half of the reasoning behind his fears. He also knew his brother had sold them too much of his soul to do anything but zealously obey his new masters.

  He heard footsteps coming up the stairs. His attempts to combine haste with stealth proved successful as he reached the music room and closed the door behind him, stick in hand just as Edward and Cordelia entered.

  “I’m sorry Father,” she said as flatly as she could. “I have not seen Uncle for some days now. Is everything alright?”

  Degory was nervous. Cordelia was not much of a liar. She was cool headed when she could bring her skills to bear, but situations like this were alien to her. There was, however, enough bad blood between father and daughter that Edward might mistake her apparent uncomfortableness as that.