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

by Michael Richie

  “I miss him, Captain,” she said softly, her speech still slightly slurred as they walked across the dewy grass.

  “I know,” he whispered back. “Someday though, Molly, you’ll find the strength to move on.”

  “Maybe, but I’m pretty sure there is not another man on earth nor sky who will want someone as broken as me.”

  Chapter XII

  Consciousness slowly returned Degory to the world around him. Lingering sweetness from the chloroform coated his tongue and he ached with thirst. His head pounded with pain, likely another aftereffect of the drug. After a minute, or an hour, he was in no state to judge, the world finally came into focus. It was dark, though not so dark he could not see. A sensation of cold numbed his limbs and Degory realized he was lying on a cold stone floor near a musty mattress. Upon waking, the drug-induced fog was proving difficult to shake. He felt this small room bore an uncomfortable sense of familiarity. Rolling onto the musty mattress, he fell back into unconsciousness.

  When he awoke again, his headache still throbbed, though it lacked the previously surging level of pain. Sitting up, Degory breathed deeply, taking in his surroundings. The drug had been all but completely exorcised from his system and he found it far easier to think rationally. It was still dark, still nighttime. What little light there was came from an illuminated gap at the bottom of the door and a small window above him. Even had it been within reach, it would have proven far too small to make an escape. With the exception of the mattress, the room was barren. Degory had been hoping there was some source of water as his thirst had only become more exquisite with the passage of time. He looked around for his sword cane on impulse but then remembered it had been surrendered at Cordelia’s apartment. With that quick remembrance the weight of the events mere hours ago came to the forefront of his mind. He had given himself up, throwing a duel he had little chance of losing, all for the sake of protecting his niece. When he was escorted out by Edward’s thugs, the sound of the two arguing above could be heard from the street below.

  Concerns for her safety made him pace the small room, some sort of a cell, angrily. Strangely, the room still felt familiar, a feeling he had first ascribed to the chloroform. Worrying about Cordelia pushed the feeling to the back of his mind as he considered all of the scenarios she might be subjected to. He prayed the envelope he left her would remain undiscovered. There was no doubt in his mind Edward would have the place searched though he hoped it would be delayed, given his brother’s haste. Most likely someone would be left to guard her. Cordelia was smart and clever, though no match physically for the ilk her father had brought with him. He pushed those fears aside. What he needed most of all was to believe she would come through and find a way to rescue him, a hope that was easier to have in London than in this dank, small, eerily familiar room. Time passed slowly for Degory until, finally, the dark night finally gave way to the gray gloom of predawn. He sat there on the straw mattress, playing out a dozen or more plans of escape. As was often the case, his gaze fell upon his clockwork arm. He was unsure why it had not been taken from him when he was captured. It was removed easily enough, though the base that fused brass with flesh around his bicep was more or less permanent. It was a mystery as his billfold, his father’s pocket watch, and even handkerchief had all been taken from him. It was indeed odd this most exquisite and valuable piece of technology remained, one that could easily be used to bludgeon the senses out of some brute. He puzzled over whether that was due to negligence of his captors or part of something far more sinister he could not foresee.

  In the distance, a cock crowed as the cell illuminated enough so he could better discern his surroundings. The nagging feeling this room created inside of Degory was in an instant replaced with a combination of emotions so poignant, so varied, they brought with them a sudden rush of vertigo that nearly made him vomit. Degory stood, fists clenched with rage as tears fell freely from his haggard face. He now knew exactly where he had been brought while he was helpless and unconscious. This room, this cell was indeed known to him, and was a place he had worked in earnest to forget. It was the room where he had watched his father slowly go insane after years of service to the Brotherhood of the Strange. He was in Bethlem Royal Hospital, more commonly known as Bedlam. It was a place Degory loathed with every fiber of his being, an emotion he was presently feeling for Edward as well. Within its walls unimaginable horrors took place upon the infirm and the insane. Despite recent reforms in the treatment of the mentally ill from Victoria II, this place still somehow seemed to slip between the cracks, as most Londoners chose not to think too keenly on such a controversial topic, nor bring it up in polite conversation. It was to Degory’s own shame that he too paid little heed to places such as this until he had personal reasons to do so. He knew Edward had done research here, and thought him as much a lunatic for it. Why he would wish to spend time amidst the insane was a mystery. Surely it was not out of a sense of compassion, for Edward never reserved any even for his own father while incarcerated here. It had become yet another point of contention between the two brothers. The fact he was in the very cell that held their father was proof at the callousness that now possessed Edward. For the next two hours or so Degory’s mind was bombarded with the memories of his ailing father James. The countless hours he spent holding his hand, the emotional torture of holding him down when he posed a danger to himself, or weeping as James was drugged to a near coma with Kendal Black Drop and other, even stronger opiates. Degory found himself weeping quietly, much as he had done at his father’s side in days past. Deeply, primally, Degory was fearful of the madness that had claimed James, coming to the paranoid, though not completely unfounded conclusion that following in his father’s footsteps as a member of the Brotherhood would eventually lead to his own mental undoing.

  Later in the morning after the weeping had subsided and he had regained a measure of composure, Degory heard footsteps in the corridor outside his cell. For the first time it occurred to him just how eerily quiet it actually was. On every visit Degory had made in the past, the cacophony of the insane could be heard at all hours. Now that he had consciously recognized this

  unnerving difference, the silence seemed far louder than the patients had ever been.

  A key turned in the lock and the rusted metal door swung open with loud protest. Expecting to see doctors or nurses, Degory was instead greeted by the same thugs he had the pleasure of meeting the previous evening at Cordelia’s apartment. For all Degory knew, they were in Edward’s private employ, though it was far more likely these men were simply extra muscle unwittingly in the service of the Hand of Paris.

  “Good mornin’ there, gov’nah. Sleep well?” asked one with a particularly heavy Cockney accent. “Dr. Priest be wantin’ to ave a word witcha. Right this way, please.”

  Degory grunted. His throat was sore from lack of water. Though the address was cordial, the pistols and knives in their belts drove the meaning home well enough. He stood, and despite his suit’s disheveled and ratty appearance, gave his waistcoat an automatic smart tug to smooth out some of the wrinkles. He was a gentleman after all.

  Being led through the silent halls of Bedlam Asylum was unnerving. The hospital was still in use, and Degory seriously doubted there was a sudden drop in the lunacy rate of London sufficient to close this place. He only saw a few attendants who were going about what appeared to be their daily routine. Each and every one of them looked as if they wished they were elsewhere. Exactly who those routines were being performed for only added to the mystery.

  After they had walked for a few minutes up several flights of stairs and through several halls and corridors, they came to the open door of Edward’s private office; an office Degory did not know he still kept. Edward sat behind a large, darkly stained oak desk. Looking up he motioned Degory to sit in a plush wingback chair opposite his.

  “Good morning Brother,” Edward said warmly, as if the altercations and drug induced incarceration of the evening h
ad never taken place. “Please, sit down won’t you? I daresay this will be more comfortable than your cell.”

  Sitting there, all Degory wanted to do was finish the duel he had begun. Unarmed and weakened as he was, it would be impossible to best him and the two thugs. It seemed he wanted something from Degory. Best, he figured, to regain his strength and see how things played out. There were far greater things at stake than his anger towards Edward, the safety of Cordelia not being the least of them.

  “Water,” he croaked.

  Edward poured a glass from a pitcher on a nearby tea cart and handed it to Degory, who drained the cool liquid in one long pull. Edward refilled it for him, sat down, and looked him square in the eye. “I must apologize for your treatment. I am under a tremendous amount of pressure right now and needed to tie up some loose ends.”

  “Where’s Cordelia?” Degory demanded, his voice regaining strength, afraid of what ‘loose ends’ meant exactly.

  “My daughter has given me quite the chase these past few hours,” Edward explained. “I would actually be impressed by her resourcefulness were it not proving to be such an inconvenience.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When I returned to her apartment I found the man I left there drugged and unconscious on the floor. Soon after I received word she had hastily packed and fled. She is now residing at the Great Northern near King’s Cross.” He stared intently at Degory, “What is she about, brother? Why is she hiding?”

  Degory gave a corse laugh, “You need to ask that after what you pulled last night? I imagine the poor girl is terrified.”

  “Is that the only reason she has left? Is she running errands for the pretentious Degory Priest? My men told me she left with more than a holiday’s worth of luggage. As if she does not plan on returning anytime soon.”

  “If she has left, Edward, it is of her own volition. You certainly gave her more than enough reasons.”

  Edward leaned back in his chair, “We’ll see. She is being closely monitored. If she is up to your bidding it will be revealed.”

  Degory’s mind was racing. Edward had pieced together far more than he had hoped. He may not know specifically what he and Cordelia were up to, nonetheless he knew there was a conspiracy brewing against the Hand of Paris. Trying to keep up the bluff he continued, “Edward, you are growing paranoid in your age. I was at Cordelia’s place having my arm serviced, nothing more.”

  “Then why did you feel the need to conceal yourself from me when I arrived?”

  “Because of your aforementioned paranoia. You, as well as the Brotherhood seem to think I had an involvement in LeRoy’s abduction.”

  “You’ve roused suspicion Brother. Your inability to track the Temporal Accelerator, a device you invented, mind you, has some convinced that you do not believe in our purpose.

  “Even though it cost me this?” Degory angrily stated waving his clockwork fist.

  Edward dismissed his motion with a wave of his own, “It’s not important at the moment. There is a reason you are here. I have convinced certain members that, as your brother, I might be able to sway you to listen to reason and cooperate. I do hope that is the case. Others would coerce you in ways unbefitting the dignity a gentleman deserves.”

  “If you wanted to show me dignity you would have not felt the need to lock me in Father’s cell. It’s certainly not as though you are lacking in rooms to let. What was it Edward? Did it make you feel powerful knowing how hard I tried to get Father moved to a better place, despite your callousness? Did it feel good locking me in there?”

  Edward’s eyes narrowed. Degory assumed from the dark rings under them he had not gotten much sleep either. “This has nothing to do with James. I simply needed you to understand the gravity of this situation, and I calculated that to be the best way to demonstrate it. I was hoping an evening with your memories might show you how truly desperate I am right now.” He paused then added, “And how much I need your help.”

  Before he could describe exactly what this help would entail, or why in the world he felt Degory would help him, an attendant came in. Dressed as a chamber maid she pushed a cart bearing two covered silver trays and a steaming pot of what smelled to be Earl Grey. Without ever looking Edward in the eye, the girl placed the two trays on his desk and poured two cups of tea. She was then casually dismissed and she took her leave promptly.

  “I thought we would have a spot of breakfast,” he said attempting a smile while removing the lids to the trays, “before we really discussed things.”

  As much as he would have loved to refuse food in protest, the simple truth was that Degory was hungry. The combination of stress, chloroform, and the length of time which had passed since he had eaten anything, made him swallow his pride and tuck in with Edward. Degory noticed the contents of their breakfast trays were different. While his brothers consisted of scones, jam, and steak, Degory’s platter had all of the fixings of a true Irish breakfast. Black and white puddings sat beside eggs, bacon, mushrooms, potatoes, and lightly fried tomato. He ate in earnest, washing it down with the tea, at first suspecting he might again be drugged via his breakfast, but quickly dismissed that thought. As off-kilter as Edward was, he clearly wanted to discuss something with Degory. There would be no drugs, at least, not yet.

  “I thought you would like some pudding for breakfast,” Edward ventured. “You’ve always had a love of the Emerald Isle’s cuisine, God knows why.”

  Though the food was indeed delicious, Degory could in no way bring himself to thank him for it and merely nodded at the statement between forkfuls. The two ate in silence for awhile, the hiatus gave Degory time to collect his thoughts. It seemed he and his brother were on an intellectually level playing field. They each knew the other was working behind the scenes to oppose the other, yet the details of these cunnings eluded them both. The breakfast also demonstrated that Edward had regained his composure from the previous evening. Despite his grandstanding and preaching, he seemed afraid. Specifically of what, Degory didn’t know. Any work for the Hand of Paris and the Mad Monk, Grigori, alone was more than sufficient reason to be afraid. It wasn’t until after breakfast was eaten and the trays cleared away that words were again exchanged between the two. He had poured himself a full three fingers of Scotch, Glenfiddich of course, and was slowly sipping it, and his eyes wandered from Degory’s gaze. Degory looked with disapproval.

  “A tad early wouldn’t you say?” he said motioning to the glass in his hand.

  Edward gave a small, mirthless laugh, “An occupational hazard nowadays, I’m afraid. “Would you care for some?”

  “No, I would not. I would like you to get on with this, however.”

  Edward finished his drink with a large gulp. “Very well. Degory, let me be frank with you. The sudden disappearance of Mr. LeRoy has put me in a most difficult position.”

  Degory prepared to lay out his story of lies again. “Listen, Edward, I had nothing...”

  Edward cut him off, “There is no need to further discuss that as of yet. I am simply letting you know of the difficulties I currently face.”

  “Go on.”

  “What I am about to tell you is only known to the most trusted members of the Brotherhood.”

  “You mean Hand of Paris,” Degory interjected. It was not a question. “Why do you yet cling to the farce that it is still the Brotherhood of the Strange? The Hand of Paris has been calling the shots for years now. There is no strength left in the Brotherhood name. For you to even refuse to acknowledge that in conversation with your own brother is proof enough of that.”

  “Perhaps,” Edward replied. “Or perhaps this is the natural evolution of the Brotherhood. For centuries the Strangers have tried to guide the world towards a better day. We have Counciled the greatest minds and the most powerful leaders with our collective wisdom of the ages. Where has it gotten us, or the world at large, Brother? There is still war, still disorder, still suffering, poverty, disease. Maybe i
t’s time we ended all of that.”

  “It is not our place to rule, but to peacefully provide guidance, provide direction and ensure God-given freedoms. We’ve protected knowledge, powers, and technologies till the world was ready for them. That has always been our purpose since the day the Brotherhood spirited the contents of the Great Library away before Alexandria was burned,” Degory replied.

  “Then we have been nothing but hypocrites all these passing centuries. You say we do not rule, yet kings do as we say. You say we ensure freedom, but deny the masses ancient secrets and wisdom. You mention peace though we have created some of the most powerful weapons in history. We have been frauds.”

  “I disagree Edward. The world is doing better. Yes, it’s a dangerous place, particularly since the Great Calamity, but there is a general peace to be had amongst nations nowadays. Without the Brotherhood, there would have been no Aether Accords. The world was degrading into chaos. It was the Strangers who stepped in and guided the nations of the world to make a far better day.”

  Edward sneered, “I need no history lesson from you. The Accords are merely another in a long line of treaties that will be conveniently forgotten and eventually be broken. We can put an end to that mad cycle. We have the power to force peace on the world.”