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

by Michael Richie

  “I see.”

  Though she had been somewhat liberal in filling John Corbin in on the events of the last few days, Cordelia knew better than to speak of the Temporal Accelerator, Hand of Paris, or Uncle Degory’s abduction at her father’s bidding. Such things were not only too important to divulge, they were so incredulous she feared the older gentleman would not believe her anyway.

  Cordelia finished with her hair and was about to take back her hat when she noticed Mr. Corbin tapping away on a small wireless Morse transmitter and receiver. “Just business,” he stated. “It seems like I’m forever working.”

  “Don’t mention it,” she replied. “My entire family is the same way.” That statement pulled her thoughts in a melancholy direction and she forgot entirely about her hat as Mr. Corbin continued to tap away on his device.

  The remainder of the journey continued without incident through the forest. As they passed into the more affluent sections of the isle, Cordelia saw beautiful estates, quaint villages, and even the Major Oak, a large tree that was reputed to be the gathering spot of Robin Hood and his Merry Men. Shortly thereafter, the forest gave way to a small, very well-to-do city, rife with luxurious hotels, restaurants, sporting, and historical attractions for the upper class.

  “King’s Port is the next stop,” Mr. Corbin stated, echoing the words of a porter a few minutes ago. “Todd and Mathias will see to your belongings and meet us on the street.”

  “Thank you,” replied Cordelia. “I do hope Mathias will be careful with his injured hand.”

  “I’m sure with the touch of your healer’s skill, he is already on the mend.”

  “You’re too kind,” she replied.

  As the trolley came to a stop, the various passengers readied themselves to depart. All except for the man seated across from Cordelia, who had apparently fallen asleep beneath his newspaper. Giving him a light tap on the shoulder she politely and quietly roused him.

  “Many thanks, my lady,” said the man, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “I wish I could be roused by such a beautiful lady every time I fall asleep on the trolley.”

  He said this with such an air of familiarity and confidence that, were it not for his boyish features and disarming smile, she might otherwise have taken a slight offense. He kindly allowed her and Mr. Corbin to proceed ahead of him, and she left the trolley without giving him a second thought.

  It was a short walk from the trolley station to King's Port. Even walking in this new place with people she had just barely met, Cordelia felt far more at ease. The streets were less crowded, and filled with well dressed, well mannered people. It was past suppertime and there were many dressed already in evening ware, apparently on their way to the theater. Cordelia realized if she ever acclimated to the altitude, she might find Sherwood Isle an enjoyable spot to go on holiday, once this ghastly business with her father and uncle was taken care of. As she and her three escorts rounded a corner, Cordelia saw King's Port. Similarly laid out to where she had first disembarked on the opposite side of the isle, this dock was located at the very edge of the upland as well. Dozens of vessels, mostly aetherships, and a few airships as well, were moored along its complicated series of gangways and boarding ramps. This, however is where the similarity ended. While the Worker's Quarter dock was laden with cargo vessels, mining ships, and the like, the air vessels here were yachts for the well-to-do, whose only cargo were the owners themselves along with their personal entourages. While the difference in beauty and design between the vessels here and those in Worker's Quarter were obvious, they did not compare with what Cordelia instantly recognized as the Kingship. The sepia toned, slightly blurry photographs Uncle Degory had provided did little justice to the unspoiled ship that floated idly, tethered only by mooring ropes and the attached gangway. As luck or fate would have it, the setting sun finally undercut the bank of clouds that had remained unbroken all of the day, illuminating the air with an orange haze and glistening off of the feathered, bronze wings, and lion rampant heads. Every detail shone in that gleam of fading light, and Cordelia had an uncharacteristic insight at that moment. She didn’t know how, but the young doctor knew this opulently designed vessel of days past was about to become a key part of her future.

  “That’s the ship I’m looking for, Mr. Corbin,” she said, walking towards it in surprise and awe.

  “Wow!” he replied, walking in stride with her. He looked it over from stem to stern. “She sure is a beautiful ship.”

  “Now I wonder where I can find Captain Williams or at least one of his crew. I do fear I may have kept them waiting.”

  “I imagine they are probably inside this time of the evening,” John Corbin murmured, almost more to himself than to Cordelia, she felt. His face had lost the warmth and calmness he had worn since he had approached her. It seemed to be replaced with consternation, as if he was a man suddenly unsure of his next action.

  This sudden change in demeanor concerned her. “Mr. Corbin. John. Is something amiss?”

  He turned to her with a slightly apologetic smile. “My dear Ms. Cady. I’m sorry things must be as they are. It’s nothing personal, mind you. Simply business.” With a motion from his hand, Todd and Mathias dropped her luggage they were laboriously carrying. Oscar’s cage fell on its side, much to the screeching complaints of the owl therein. The uninjured one, Todd, seized Cordelia from behind, clamping his hand over her mouth. Confused and frightened, she was all but powerless against her much larger captor, and her fitful struggles garnered no results. Though they were in a public place, there were few people down by the docks at that particular moment. She did notice out of the corner of her eye four other burly working class men. Surely they would see her predicament and intervene. To her chagrin they approached John Corbin and conversed briefly with him, asking what he wanted them to do. How could she be so blind and stupid? This polished, urbane gentleman had been exactly the kind of person Uncle Degory had often warned her about, and she had been too naïve to see it. She could only watch helplessly as the hired muscle took up positions at the foot of the gangway as John Corbin ascended, and knocked loudly on the port door of the Kingship. Anybody who opened the door would see her predicament. She assumed she was about to be used as a hostage, the terror of that fact doubled her certainty that she was completely an utterly on her own. After all, these people on board the Kingship were strangers, and had no reason to render her aid. How much would they be willing to risk for a complete stranger? Even if they wished to rescue the damsel in distress she’d so foolishly become, would they even be a match for the number of burly men that had seemed to appear out of the woodwork?

  Before she could think further on the subject, she heard a loud, sickening thunk. Todd stiffened, then quickly went slack, before falling to the ground. His heavy, unconscious body almost dragging her down with him. Standing between her and the now unconscious thug was the boyish man who sat across from her on the trolley. In one hand he held a small pistol. In the other was a much larger gun he was holding by the barrel, apparently having used it to pistol whip Todd into insensibility. Her rescuer quickly flipped it around to hold the weapon correctly. Both pistols were trained on the thugs of John Corbin, all who appeared unsure how to react to this latest development.

  “You okay, Ms. Cady?” the man asked, his eyes locked, not on her but upon those whom his pistols were trained.

  Cordelia stared wide-eyed at him. “Who are you?” she stammered, finally finding her voice amid the chaos of emotions that ran through her mind.

  “Name’s Cornelius, my dear. Most folks just call me Burd.” He trained the larger weapon on Mr. Corbin. “I say, old chap, would you be so kind as to step away from that door?”

  The man complied, looking at Burd. “There’s a lot more of us than you, sir.”

  “True,” Cornelius replied. “But then again, I’m aiming at you first.”

  The hatch of the Kingship was opened up by an old but well built man with a white bea
rd. He was wearing a flight jacket and a bright red and green plaid kilt. It was an outfit so mismatched, that despite the grave situation, Cordelia almost smirked. After a quick glance at the scene before him, the man hit some sort of alarm which echoed inside the ship; two quick blasts, followed by two more. A few seconds later, he emerged again brandishing a large firearm. Cordelia wasn’t sure what type, weapons were not exactly in the standard curriculum of the Oxford educated girl. The bearded man trained his gun on Mr. Corbin as well, who stood but feet from him.

  “What in the blue blazes have ye gotten yerself into this time, lad?” the kilted man exclaimed in a rolling Scottish brogue, eyeing Burd.

  “Not sure there, Winston!” Burd shouted back. “But I think it’s safe to say we can stop looking for Degory Priest.”

  The kilted man Burd addressed as Winston was joined by another man holding a rifle. Above them on the open deck of the vessel, a huge Polynesian man approached and stood up against the rail. Though he carried no weapon, the man’s sheer size and calm demeanor showed he was not one who was easily riled by situations as this.

  “I want an explanation,” said the man holding the rifle. He too seemed calm enough, though his eyes darted from Mr. Corbin to the five conscious hired thugs. He seemed to be sizing up what was obviously an unexpected situation.

  “I don’t feel I owe you any form of explanation, sir,” replied Mr. Corbin, tipping his hat mockingly, and backing down the gangway.

  Burd interjected, his weapons still trained on his opponents, “This is Ms. Cordelia Cady, Captain. From what I’ve been able to gather, she’s Dr. Priest’s niece. These men seemed intent on doing her some harm.”

  “No more than would have been necessary,” Mr. Corbin replied. He had retreated to the relative safety of his hired help who seemed utterly confused as to what to do. “I just needed to know what she was up to.” He looked over the Kingship once more. “Now I know.”

  “Yes, now you know,” the man addressed as Captain said. “I advise you all to clear out of here quickly, and take your friend with you.”

  With a calm wave of his hand Mathias and the other four collected Todd and began to melt back into the shadows, his head bouncing on the cobblestones.

  Mr. Corbin pulled a small ladies top hat out of his large coat pocket. Cordelia’s hand went instantly to her hair as she realized she had never gotten it back. He held it up to his nose and breathed deeply. Even from a distance, Cordelia felt her stomach turn with the indignance of the disturbing gesture. Looking at it in his gloved hand, he smiled and said, “It’s okay, we can always find you again.” He then turned abruptly on his heel and marched purposefully up the cobblestoned street towards the more populated areas.

  “Okay, is it just me, or was that guy really creepy?” said the small man who had introduced himself as Burd.

  Cordelia could barely see her rescuer, or the vessel behind him, through the tears of frustration which came readily now that the immediate danger had passed. The events of the week and, most particularly, just now had finally caught up to the sheltered young doctor. She had found the Kingship, though not nearly in the manner she had envisioned. Being the first step in rescuing Uncle Degory, she knew she should feel a sense of elation. However, she did not. Any feelings of victory were eclipsed by waves of nausea and dizziness. Her headache had returned, and her otherwise steady hands began to tremble. The last thing Cordelia Cady remembered seeing before passing out was a small, raven haired woman taking her by the elbow for support and loudly berating the others with a thick, almost incomprehensible Irish accent, to not forget her luggage.

  Chapter XX

  The past several days had been considerably taxing for Degory Priest. His meetings with Edward were growing increasingly frustrating, and seemed to accomplish little. Though he now met with his brother sometimes three times a day, he felt their often one-sided conversations were getting Degory no closer to putting a halt to this insanity. It was an overzealous mad scheme that Edward had become a willing, and now clearly, overburdened party to. He was still incarcerated in the now silent Bethlem asylum, and aside from the encounters with his brother or a guard bringing him food, Degory had been left to his own devices, such as they were. His living arrangements had improved, if only marginally. After the first breakfast with his brother, Edward had moved Degory to an office located just down the hall from his own. A bed had been added, along with fresh linens, toiletries, and even new clothing. While at first Degory was reluctant to accept any of what his brother must have considered hospitality, just like eating breakfast before, the simple prudence of the situation required he do what he must in order to keep up his strength and appearance of a gentleman. Weakness of his image would be interpreted by Edward as weakness of character, something Degory was loathe to allow his brother to witness. Shaving was not an option, as he not been trusted with a straight razor. So, it had been with accepted reservation, he had bathed, and donned his new wardrobe. Grudgingly, Degory admitted his brother knew both his measurements and taste well, as his new black suit and silver waistcoat fit perfectly. The only part of his outfit that now clashed was his gold chained pocket watch. It had been returned along with his other personal effects when he was shown to his new room. Edward had not even realized the watch was an heirloom from their father, James. Degory sighed; it was yet another sad note in the melancholy song of the Priest family.

  This new attire, good food served on the finest place settings, and more comfortable quarters did little to change the fact that Degory remained a prisoner, and the brilliant scientist spent much of his time pacing the office turned apartment, his mind boiling with impotent fury. The fact that project Lazarus had not only been reopened, but successfully implemented under the direction of his own brother made him angry and sick beyond understanding. If this truly was part of Maxfield’s mad schemes, then simply sending him one year into the future with Pandora’s box would be insufficient. He needed to take action and find the temporal accelerator before they did. However, escape was simply not an option, even for the genius inventor. His brother seemingly having anticipated any thoughts of flight he might have possessed, had stripped the office of anything that might prove useful either as a weapon or tool of egress. He was also under continual guard, day and night. While his clockwork arm could be a formidable club if need be, the sheer number of heavily armed guards meant that for the time being, a man capable of building a device as wondrous as a temporal accelerator was at the mercy of barely literate thugs.

  Degory looked down at his clockwork arm. His shirt covered it to the wrist, and he had not yet donned his customary black leather glove. He flexed his fingers, the slight clicking and whirring of gears that accompanied any movement always brought his mind back to the mission he had embarked on over four months ago. He wondered if he had been too arrogant in thinking that he alone could expose the Hand of Paris and bring honor back to the Brotherhood of the Strange. While his concerns were as large as the threat, his mind was drawn again and again to his young, beautiful niece whom he feared might not be up to the task he had laid upon her. The constant updates of her whereabouts and activity showed she was indeed carrying out the instructions contained in the envelope, unfortunately under the constant watchful eyes of the Hand of Paris. His forced confinement and inactivity made him think of the darkest of scenarios which might befall her, and he would never forgive himself if any harm came to her by his failure to successfully ascertain his foe.

  The key used to wind the various springs in his arm was concealed within the brassy mechanism itself, a convenience Cordelia had the foresight to include in the design. This he removed and began what had become a daily ritual for him. As he had used the arm as little as possible, not knowing when he would have occasion to have it calibrated again, the task was completed rather quickly. It was hastening on towards noon, and he was certain Edward would be sending for him soon. He had posed the same set of questions the previous evening as he had at nearly
every encounter. With each inquiring, there seemed to be less pompous elitism and more of the desperation and pleading of a sibling. It was this change of attitude that gave Degory pause, as it was an unprecedented action on Edward’s part. He assumed whatever Edward was afraid of, and wanted his aid for, was the reason behind his nicer accommodations and more urbane attitude. While he was sure Edward’s civility was a mask that could fall away even faster than it had been put on, it was abundantly clear his brother was scared.

  A knock at the door brought the scientist out of his dark musings. The same, Cockney accented voice whose acquaintance he had the pleasure of meeting in Cordelia’s apartment spoke through the door. “Dr. Priest be wantin’ a word witcha.”

  Degory sighed and announced he would be ready shortly. Stowing the key, he donned his coat and glove. He wasn’t sure just how many more conversations he would be forced to endure without any real progress. Desire to learn more about the plans of the Hand of Paris, coupled with his concern for Cordelia, drove Degory out, looking his level best under the circumstances, to once again mentally fence with his brother, hoping he could best him as easily as he did when they were younger.

  Edward stood facing the window as Degory entered the office with the guard close behind. In his hand was a half finished glass of whiskey. A steaming lunch of bangers and mash was laid out on a small table, accompanied by a silver tea service. On his desk lay a small, sturdy lockbox. It was this that caught Degory’s attention. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew whatever was in that case, it would be pertinent to today’s discussion.

  “Did you sleep well?” Edward asked, facing the rain spattered window.

  “Tolerably,” came Degory’s flat reply.

  Edward turned from the window and looked at Degory directly. His older brother looked awful and notably older. His eyes were red and swollen, and his hands trembled, making the ice in his glass rattle. He finished the drink with one long pull and refilled it from a nearly empty decanter on his desk. As usual, he offered some to Degory who replied with only a silent shake of his head. It didn’t matter the time of day, each time he saw his brother, he had a drink in his hand. The decanter he had drawn from had been full the previous evening. It seemed one of the rewards of being in the service of the Hand of Paris was alcoholism.