Regina's mouth dropped open. "Yes, well, I suppose we can take some of the excess padding from the bustle."
Bartleby rapped his knuckles on the table. "Okay! Good! Great! You all know your parts. I'd say let's put those plans into action. And remember -- if Sarsosa becomes aware of our deception, he will strike, so don't let your guard down, and be prepared to fight. Above all, we must keep him from suspecting that any of us have departed."
The Brigadier stopped him as the others left. "A word, Mr. Bartleby?"
"Yes?"
"You are, I must admit, a capable officer with a keen tactical wit."
"Oh. Well, thank you, sir."
"I am not unfamiliar with the reputation you carry in London. Why is it that you masquerade so?"
Alton hesitated, then folded his arms. "I've seen action abroad, Brigadier, and I've seen the London social season, and I cannot rightly say which is the more vicious. In war, at least, there are lulls in the shelling, the fighting. There are no such reprieves in social politics, and the conflicts have been waged longer than the Hundred-Years War. I will tell you this, but only because you seem a man who does not involve himself on that battlefield.
"Call it a ruse, call it a feint, but I prefer my foes and potential foes to underestimate me. Let them think of Alton Bartleby as a rogue, and let them forget how keen is my wit. Give people the image of you that they want to see, Brigadier, and they'll never look any deeper."
"I can't say that I understand," the Brigadier said. "But I thank you your honesty. I will not underestimate you again."
"And that is why I keep it close to my chest," Bartleby grinned.
***
Aldora opened the door to her mother's bedroom quietly, the light from the hall forging a path through the darkness that lead to the still form on the bed.
"Aldora?" Her mother's voice sounded so weak.
She slipped into the room, pulling the door shut behind her. "How are you feeling?"
"Not so well, but I manage. How are things outside? How is your father?"
"Father is shaken but unharmed." She sat on the bed alongside the woman who had given birth to her.
"And your fiancée?"
"Alton is doing better."
She could hear her mother settling back onto the bed. "That's nice."
Aldora found her mother's hand in the darkness. It felt like ice in her hand, and she held it close to warm it up.
"You were always such an obedient child," Mary said. "Not like your brother. Grayson... your father and I did the best that we could with him."
"It wasn't your fault," Aldora said. "The way he ended up--"
"It wasn't your fault," her mother echoed. "I loved him, but... you did what you had to do. I understand, perhaps even more than Lucian does."
"Mother..."
Her mother placed her other hand upon hers. "If I forgive you, can you promise that you will try to forgive yourself?"
Aldora remained silent, hot tears filling her eyes.
"Please?"
She wiped her eyes dry. "Yes, Mother. I will try."
"That's a good girl. Do your mother a favour, Aldora, and close the fire's air vent? It's getting uncomfortably warm in here."
Aldora slowly turned to regard the cool and flameless fireplace in the corner of the room.
"Yes, mother." She tried very hard to keep the anguish from her voice. "I'll send Charles up with some cool towels."
***
Missing Expedition Recovered
London, AP -- American Motion Picture producer Edward Girnwood's expedition into Mexico's Lacandon Jungle has been recovered by London's Gentlemen Explorer's Adventure Club in a rescue mission financed and sponsored by one Miss Aldora Fiske. Lead by Colonel George Isley, the club had dispatched to Central America in search of the missing expedition last month.
The expedition had entered the jungle while filming a documentary of Mr. Charles Babbage, who had spent some time in Mexico decades before. While there they were kidnapped by local bandits, and were held in poor conditions until rescued by Isley's rescue mission. Sadly, their guide, Henry Robinson, 30, had already been executed by the bandits. His surviving daughter was graciously adopted by the Sponsor, Miss Aldora Fiske.
Among those missing was veteran London stage star Carvel White. Mr. White is reportedly exhausted from his ordeal, but otherwise in good health.
Chapter 8
These were not the men she had grown up with, Aldora was forced to remind herself. They were empty shells, inanimate flesh, turned into a mockery of the human form. These were nothing more than remains that had been desecrated, their insides scooped out and replaced with mechanism most foul. Somewhere, far away, an old enemy was controlling them like puppets. His was the malign intelligence that she contended with. These men of cogs and brass were simply his weapons.
That didn't make it any easier for her when she stopped behind the corner of the stable while the former baker Mr. Cotter shambled by, one of his hands replaced by a circular saw. She'd been to see him but a week before to make arrangements for the wedding cake, but her memories of him were older, more primal, those of a girl who would sneak into town to get a pastry. Her moves were silent now because she had honed the talent for stealth then, to evade tutors and governesses when the mood struck her.
Was this why father had never seriously chided her for her girlhood escapes? He put such a watchful defence upon her in her youth, but expressed no more than a tsk when she was caught. Perhaps he simply expected that, as a Fiske, her life would be a dangerous one. Perhaps he was, in his own way, trying to prepare her for the life she was destined to lead.
Or, perhaps, he was simply a neglectful parent with concerns beyond where his daughter was getting up to.
John Fuller waited behind her, his breath loud to her alert ears. He'd been a constant companion in those days, when they were young, before it was quite improper for boys and girls to play together unattended. As they'd aged she hadn't been ignorant to his feelings for her, but ignored them as was expedient to do. Even if she had returned his affections they could never be together. It was kinder, less painful to pretend his attentions were entirely platonic.
The baker shambled on towards its unknown goal, and Aldora took the opportunity to slip by, letting his broad back provide cover from his fellow cogsmen. John followed only a moment behind.
Its. Its back. There was nothing human left in that shell, let alone anything male.
Their path took them behind the topiary leading from the stable past the tennis court. Aldora could see cogsmen scattered seemingly randomly across the lawn, but there was a pattern to it. There had to be. Jago Sarsosa was a military man, a practical man, not one given to arbitrary decisions. No, she had little doubt that her opponent had placed his chess-pieces with precision and intent.
It was easier to think of them as pawns and rooks than as the defiled dead, and in her mind the problem became one of the board. She was a lone king on a field of rooks, and their line of sight was the threat they projected. Their vision was, no doubt, keen with machine precision, so she could not count on flagging intention as she would with human sentries.
She glanced back at the constable. She wasn't alone. She had someone to protect. Wasn't that the way it always was?
A light thrumming at her wrist drew her attention. She drew back the sleeve of her blouse, regarding the leather and brass bracer that had been strapped to her forearm. Her eyes closed and she concentrated on its pulsing.
.- -.. ...- .- -. -.-. . / ..... / -.-- .- .-. -.. ... / -. --- .-. - .... / - .... . -. / .. -. - --- / --. .- .-. .- --. .
Morse code, from Alton, transmitted to her through the portable wireless telegraphy device he'd given her. A quick glance back at the house showed Bartleby in her father's study, watching her through the upper window, spyglass in hand.
A smirk quirked at her lips. When her fiancée rose to the occasion, he didn't do so by half-measures.
"Move now, John."
She launched into a run, no hesitation in her steps, her companion a moment behind. Alton Bartleby's intuitive tactical sense was keen, and she trusted it even if she didn't always trust his intentions. She followed his instructions as they came, pulses against her heartbeat, running, stopping, ducking behind statuary or falling flat. There was very little room for error, even in his calculations, and several times she feared that John was going to trip or fall or get caught. She was grateful that the plan had called her to give Regina the wedding dress to wear; it gave her the opportunity to change into a far more sensible sport skirt and woollen blouse.
With Alton, working together, they could make it away.
***
Alton lowered the spyglass he held, setting it on the windowsill.
"They made it." He turned to address Miss Worth. "She's over the wall."
"That was amazing," Miss Worth said. "I've never seen anything like it."
Bartleby walked to the wireless telegraphy transmitter, sitting before its controls like an organist about to play. "It was nothing special. I'll send word to James and Mr. Fiske."
He was keenly aware of her proximity as she walked up behind him. "Don't downplay your capabilities, Mr. Bartleby. I swear, you're like a general, commanding his troops and moving us into the positions you desire us to be in."
He paused, eyes shifting in her direction, then back to the telegraph broadcaster. Muted clicks sounded as he composed a message.
"Tell me, Mr. Bartleby -- how is it that you can communicate with both Aldora and her father? And keep Jago from overhearing what you have to say?"
"I trust that when I send a missive that Aldora and her father are both keen enough to discern who it is meant for. And as for Jago, we're not transmitting in the standard telegraphy bands. Neither are they, and the Cogsmen's instructions are not in Morse code in any event."
"You're just trusting that he isn't listening." Her hands lit upon his shoulders.
Bartleby leaned back, shifting into her touch. "Hope is all we've got at the moment."
"You must be under a great deal of stress," Miss Worth said. "Your shoulder muscles are so tense."
Bartleby stood suddenly, rising and grabbing her wrists in his hands. She yelped and tried to pull away, but he held her fast.
"Just what do you think you're doing?"
"Let me go!"
"Are you seriously trying to flirt with me here? Now? While we're surrounded by half-dead half-machine soldiers?"
"Let go!"
"How deep does this pathological obsession with showing up my fiancée run?" Alton pushed her away. "Since our moment of introduction you've been all but flashing your ankles at me, trying to entice me."
Miss Worth's face reddened. "Stress is causing you to have strange imaginings, Mr. Bartleby--"
"Coy now? We both know you the coquette, Regina." Bartleby pulled a cigarette from his breast pocket. "At first I was simply amused, but your inferiority complex has grown tiresome."
Regina turned and stormed towards the hall. "I don't need to listen to this--"
Bartleby stepped past her, kicking the door shut. "Don't be daft, woman. You're Aldora visiting her fiancée while under duress. Storm out now and Jago takes a closer look, and our charade cannot withstand close inspection. Much like your own."
"You needn't be so cruel!"
"Oh, tears now." He struck a match, lighting a cigarette. "Brilliant. Look, Miss Worth, were I a man of less honour I would simply have my way with you and let you leave thinking yourself the winner. I've no doubt you'd attempt to hold my infidelity over Aldora's head like some sort of sword of Damocles, leaving her unsure as to when it would fall and cut her socially to the quick, yes?"
Her face went ashen, then darkened. "You... disgusting man..."
"Don't misunderstand me, woman. You're comely enough a wench, but as I said, I am a man of honour, and would not dream of taking advantage of you in that way. Aldora and I have... will have... a certain marital understanding. An illusion that London Society is all too willing to indulge us in, even as our appetites may individually lay elsewhere. We could share a tryst, you and I--"
"Horrid, horrid, man!" Despite her words, Regina Worth seemed almost spellbound by Alton's words.
"We could share a tryst and Aldora would think the less of me only for my poor taste. Should your tongue wag, the height of Society would deem you nothing but a jealous spinster."
Miss Worth pushed him away, retreating to near the door.
"See what a gentleman I am?" Alton said. "Now, so informed, should you still wish a dalliance I can gently inform you that I need my wits about me until this matter be resolved. If you're willing to wait--"
"Why are you being so cruel to me?"
The laughter left Alton's voice and his eyes grew cold. "Because no matter Aldora's and my relationship, make no mistake that she is precious to me. Since the moment we met your sole purpose has seemed to be to cause pain to someone I care rather deeply about. This alone is sufficient to make you my enemy, but your clumsy flirtations have earned you my contempt."
"You don't know what it's like!"
"I should hope not."
"Growing up with Aldora. Going to school with her. Always in her shadow, no matter what I did, no matter how hard I tried."
Bartleby shrugged and turned back to the telegraphy machine. "Such is the way of the world."
"Worst of all, it's because I know that it's not unfair! She's always outdoing me because she is better. Smarter. More charismatic. More beautiful. More graceful. Everything I've ever been taught that's good about me, everything that makes me special, with Aldora she's always that much better than I am."
Bartleby said nothing.
Regina wiped the tears from her eyes. "She makes me feel so inferior. Like she's so perfect. And I hate her for it. When that Sarsosa fellow showed up and started to decry Aldora, I agreed with him. I understand him. I feel the same. What kind of monster does that make me?"
Bartleby was there, then, arms around her, and for a moment she panicked, feeling his closeness, his male embrace.
His words were soothing. "She's not perfect. You of all people should know this. Aldora has her demons. She hides it better than most, that's all. She's flawed, as flawed as I am, as flawed as you are. We're all... I don't know. Broken. Some in small ways, others fundamentally. But that is where our humanity lies, Miss Worth."
Alton stepped back, her tears staining his surcoat. "What turns flawed men into monsters like Sarsosa is the inability to let go. He now lives his life defined by his hatred of Aldora Fiske. Whatever he was, whatever he could have been, whatever life is left for a monster like what he has become -- it's gone, now, crushed by his obsession. Don't take that route, Miss Worth."
She lay her head against his chest. He let her rest there, letting her taste brief human contact, a glimmer of intimacy. This was neither the time nor place for more.
He pulled away. "You'd better make another walk across the balcony. Let them see you."
She sniffled and adjusted Aldora's hat upon her head. "Yes, I suppose."
"And if you should need to talk--"
"Why, Mr. Bartleby," Miss Worth smiled sadly. "Such would hardly be proper."
He bowed his head slightly. "You are, of course, correct."
She returned a small curtsy and departed, leaving Alton alone in the study.
He kept his head bowed, deep in thought, reflecting on the words that he'd spoken. Much of the time when he was talking to someone, the words poured out from his subconscious, the right phrase in the right place, without him even considering them. Much of the time they were empty but harmless, or truths he already knew. Every now and again, these little monologues revealed a something he wasn't consciously aware of.
Aldora. She had suffered such pain over the last year, a hurt he was only dimly aware of. That brilliant part of himself, though, the part that was always working, always watching, never resting, that part of his mind had rea
lised that there was much more to it. The demands upon her were many, and the demand that she have no weaknesses was itself a great source of suffering.
For her. And for those around her.
There was sudden activity at the telegraphy machine.
.- - / - .-. .- -. ... -- .. - - . .-. .-.-.-
Brilliant. James and Mr. Fiske were at the transmitter. As soon as Aldora had found Jago's hiding place, he'd give them the word, and Sarsosa would be placed into check.
***
Exalted Sirs,
It is my professional opinion that Talos is considerably unsound of mind. He is a danger to himself, those around him, and to the entire organisation. Even before the misfortunes that befell him Talos was a self-centred narcissist suffering from megalomania and delusions of grandeur, and his actions in Mexico reflect that clearly.
The loss of his humanity has been mirrored in his psyche. He no longer considers himself fully human, referring to his remaining flesh as a weakness. He thinks of himself as inherently superior to all others, including the Octovirate, of whom he has spoken disparagingly several times.
He has also become obsessed with Boadicea to the point of near monomania. It is my belief that he will twist whatever authority he is given into a revenge scheme of some sort. He clearly cannot be trusted, no matter how useful of an asset he has become. He does not care for his responsibilities to our organisation, or to you, exalted masters. He is a creature of pure selfish ego, despite the charming demeanour he is sometimes able to masquerade behind. You cannot control him. Do not let him convince you that you can.
My recommendation is that he be retired immediately.
Your servant,
Solon
Chapter 9
The articulated brass fingers of Jago Sarsosa's hands tore the speaker from the wall and threw it across the mill, wires trailing, sparks flying. It shattered when it hit the opposite wall, its casing shattering, the force of the impact tearing a divot out of the wall's timber.
Steampunk Omnibus: A Galvanic Century Collection Page 35