The unexpected discharge rocked her backward. The noise deafened them all, the sound and fury immense and powerful. Unfortunately her aim was not true. The bullet slammed into the tanks of an airship with a steadily growing airbag and caused the boiler to explode. It sent pressurized steam in the direction of the faeries. The steam caught the big warrior full in the face, and he crumpled to the ground, flash fried and dead. The others were blown back. Kailen nimbly managed to roll away to safety. He leapt up to give chase, his eyes narrowed to points, but found he was blocked by flames.
“Go. We have to go right now!” Wish commanded, reaching out his hands.
“We?” Landa asked.
“Yes, now come on,” Wish said. He grabbed Lucas and Landa by the hands and led them at a full run across the battlefield. Landa ran with him, glancing at him, wondering.
Several British airmen, armed with swords, sprung into view, turned, and engaged the enemy.
“Thanks to fearless English lads everywhere,” Wish said as the soldiers pushed Kailen and the other faeries back away.
Shall I Not Join the Fight?
THE HOSPITAL in Parliament mostly catered to councilmen attachés with headaches and the occasional bruise. Due to its central location in the battle, the medical bay had been transformed into a triage and surgical field unit. Soldiers in red infantry trench coats, their white sashes and epaulets smeared in blood, covered every cot in the small med bay. Their cries of pain pierced the air in a terrible cacophony.
Masheck slowly opened his eyes, a bit groggy. He must have taken a little nap. The light coming in from the window had changed. It was almost night. He watched as the doctor nearly slipped in one of the pools of maroon below his feet when he neared the surgical table of a blue-coated artilleryman. The soldier’s right leg had been torn off at the knee, and his life force spurted across his pressed white pantaloons. The doctor had barely grabbed the spurting artery when he turned to his previous table and saw the monstrosity there attempting to get up.
“Do not let that man leave, nurse,” he said. “Maybe he can tell us what in blazes is going on out there.” The doctor quickly turned back to the more pressing matter of bleeding men.
Masheck ignored the plea and winced when he hopped off the other hospital surgery table. His stomach was in pretty bad shape, the shrapnel that had pierced his faerie attacker having gouged into him deeply. The doctor had pulled out as much metal as he could separate from what the… man… implanted in his body already. There had been no time for fancy procedures, so he’d sewn him up and bandaged him tightly before moving on to the next bay.
“You’d better lie back down if you want that wound to close properly. You’re likely to get infection, peritonitis, if you don’t let me tend to you better than a few stitches, Agent…. Agent?” the attending nurse called after him as he walked away. Masheck grunted, pretending not to feel pain, not unlike these boys, playing at being men, ever the British heroes. Service to Council and Country and all that, pip pip.
When she looked at Masheck, he noticed how hesitant she was. He knew he scared her.
He scared most people. For a long time, he had tried to be more discreet with his rust-colored irises, which people could neither stare at nor avert their eyes from. He knew things about his body and what it could do that she did not.
“I’m sure I’ll fare a sight better than the faerie did. I just hope his blood in my belly doesn’t make me sprout wings,” he joked, grinning. The nurse stared in horror.
His stomach still felt like there were knives poking around looking for something in there. But he had a duty to report to command and then get to Haveland to inform him of his failure and get new orders.
MASHECK ATTEMPTED to straighten his disheveled shirt when he saw Jacobson seemingly appraising him in the operations room of the Parliament building. They both lurched to the left slightly as the building’s defensive maneuvering changed direction. The entire Parliament had become a swirling and shifting target to make it harder to strike. In the case of faerie attack, the maneuvering discouraged easy landings, the faerie needing more time to get inside. This allowed Britain’s men time to take proper aim.
The swinging of so much mass did not come quietly. The clicks, whirs, and ratcheting sounds of chains being run across metal teeth had a disturbing, grating sound. Jacobson didn’t appear to notice. He looked down his nose at the agent. Masheck’s shirt had blood on it. “You had better not get your blood on the carpet, Agent Granville.”
Masheck instinctively looked to the ground to ensure his necessary liquids had not fallen from his wound. He chastised himself for being at the beck and call of a politician who did not care for his men.
“Report before that nosey old man Councilman Rolston finds us.”
“Yes, that would be unsavory.” Masheck knew being cagey would anger his boss but could not help himself. “I found your son’s cronies and had them in custody. The faeries attacked the square near your home. A creative sergeant, Abberline, fired a makeshift cannon round and took out many of them, sir. Quite ingenious. It unfortunately took me out as well.” Masheck grimaced and held his wound tightly to ease the pain.
“So you had them? And you lost them. Because of faeries?” Jacobson admonished.
Masheck stood proudly. He would never defend himself to anyone, politician with power or not. He simply relayed facts. His charge was to follow orders to the best of his ability and do his duty, which he had every intention of completing.
“And where are you with collecting my son?” Jacobson asked, his words dripping disdain, which gave Masheck chills. He had imagined Haveland caring more for his son—he too knew the coldness of the tasks that lay before him in times of war—but the manner in which this father now spoke of his son gave him pause.
“It is not your order to join the fight?” Masheck inquired, confused. Jacobson’s face turned to a deeper scowl.
“These faeries will be dealt with quickly and severely, Agent. Your task, if you think you can manage it this time, is to retrieve Gavin and bring him and any of his little traitorous bunch to me.”
“I understand. I tracked the girl like you suggested, but she did not lead me to the boy. Do you suppose he is hiding from the faeries somewhere?”
Jacobson thought a moment before saying, “No, he is too foolish to secret away. He will be heading to the airfield.”
“The airfield? You said he wrecked an airship early this morning,” Masheck said.
“Yes, he fancies himself a pilot. He will try to take to the air, where he will assuredly continue to wreak havoc on the empire. You will go retrieve him with all prejudice.”
“The girl, Lilandra, is formidable with her steam cannon. Your orders, should they disturb me?” He asked it knowing what he would hear.
“Your orders? None of them, save my son, need be breathing. He will need to be… questioned.”
“I understand,” Masheck said. And he did understand how cold and heartless politicians like Haveland could be. His prior missions from this particular councilman had resulted in much blood and tears.
He turned to leave the room, but not before he noticed Jacobson had already returned to his papers on his giant wooden desk, dismissive of Masheck like he was hired help. In a way he guessed he was. Masheck in fact contributed more to the British cause than any ordinary soldier, though. The amount of resources poured into him due to his enhancements were excessive. It mattered little what Jacobson thought of him, as he was a soldier with a mission. He would do his duty.
Orion’s Deception
THE LAND looked green and fertile. For Orion it did not hold a candle to the lush colors of Éire. Nothing looked quite like the images from the scrying bowl either. Orion tried to use his feelings to navigate the little skiff toward the encampment he had seen, but finally had to consult the maps he’d taken. He worried he could be blown out of the sky by defensive cannons or spotted by any number of patrol airships he knew tracked around the edges of England
.
He also grew weaker with every passing hour. He had studied attack spells and defensive incantations, not flight wizardry. Keeping even a little boat aloft and moving used considerable power, power that faded with effort. He distracted himself by thinking about what had happened in his scrying bowl in the cabin. Never before had he been able to see so clearly, nor smell anything while drawing on the seeing arts. What did it mean? It was something powerful that had drained him quicker than anything, including conjuring the dragons on the testing field.
Inspiration and luck pulled Orion past rocky embankments, over stone-strewn fields, and around any pesky lookout towers or airships until the landscape became familiar to him. The skiff dipped faster than he wanted, his body growing weak and his control waning. Eagerness to unfold the prophecy drove him onward. He marshaled his will and leveled off the little ship before it rammed a stand of pines. He dropped suddenly. The ship made contact with branches, which sent the boat sideways to the ground. Orion leapt from his vessel an instant before it smashed to pieces against a protruding stone fence. He rolled several times and came to a stop on his side.
“I guess I don’t have to hide the ship now,” he said to himself. Exhausted, he knew he must find the encampment before dark to find shelter. He dragged himself upright and clambered over the countryside.
Orion would have easily missed the camp if not for his inner senses drawing him to it. It was hidden in a thicket of trees, and rock wall formations protected it from most lines of sight. Inside it was large enough for hundreds of people to live comfortably. There were lean-tos and tents, all covered with brush so as to remain hidden. He wanted nothing more than to walk directly into town to find some food. He couldn’t remember when he last ate something. Riley had packed him food, which he left on the galleon.
He knew better than to risk capture for a meal, so he skulked around the edges of the village and watched comings and goings, trying to find a safe path in. Crawling along some bushes, he noticed a firepit with a fat roasting pig slowly being rotated by an old woman. He was so hungry he salivated, even though he did not partake in meat.
Click.
He spun on his knees to defend himself after hearing the sound of a weapon being readied. An orange glow began to emanate from his palm, ready to strike. A man standing there pointed a hand cannon at him. It gave him just enough pause to lose the fight. If he had been rested, it would, or could, have ended differently. As it was, he rested his hand back against his side, hoping the man hadn’t been looking at his hands.
“I do not come for war today,” he said.
“So say you. What business do you have in this camp?” The man looked dirty and tired, his clothes a tattered patchwork.
“My name is… Zachariah,” he lied, trying to disguise his thick Irish accent into a British one, “and I am seeking to join your people.” He grasped at straws.
“My people,” the man said, laughing. “Well, then, let’s get you up to meet my people.” Orion struggled to his feet. The man roughly pulled his arm with a strong hand to assist him off the ground.
They walked through the little village until they came to a big tent shrouded by tree cover and ducked inside the flap. Sitting on a high-backed chair, sewing, was the pretty woman from Orion’s vision. Things had fallen in line as he had foreseen. Soon he would be back with his queen, triumphant. There was something about the woman he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Something… powerful.
“What do we have here?” she asked. Her long black hair flowed with each movement of her head. She was stunning, now that he could see her up close and not through the waters of the scrying bowl. She had deep brown eyes, expressive enough to make him want to cry or love her, he couldn’t decide.
“Miss Hanover, I caught this—”
“I can speak for myself,” Orion interjected and pulled free of the man’s grip. The woman lifted her right forefinger to wave her man back, and he complied.
“Thank you. As I told your servant here, my name is Zachariah, and I am simply looking for—”
“This man is a noble farmer looking to better his—our—situation in this lost country. He is no servant to me,” she interrupted with a soft tone.
The farmer stepped forward again to inform her of important information. “Mum, he is Irish—”
“I’m not,” Orion protested.
The farmer scoffed. “You might want to try a more convincing English accent next time.” Orion dropped his gaze, ashamed at the speed in which a simple farmer discovered him. “And some proper clothes, maybe. He’s also a warlock, Mum. I saw his hand glow. Orange, it was.” He looked pleased with himself for knowing this and sharing it. Orion dipped his head even lower.
She eyed Orion up and down. He felt humbled by her gaze, not diminished or judged, but assessed. She waved her finger at him again to beckon him to continue.
“Yes, very well, I have magick, and I will wield it for you for the price of food and a place to lay my head at night.” Her gaze never fell from his face as he lied to her.
“My name is Victoria Hanover. You’ve stumbled into our encampment, the location of which is secret. We are a simple people. We have common purpose, and in that we may have use of a warlock, if one were to come to us. Where, pray tell, do your allegiances lie?”
He felt her study him. “I have no alliance with anyone. I have been looking for friends and trying to keep fed.”
“Wielding magick is punishable by death in England, Mister…. What was your name again, O—Zachariah, it is.”
Orion pondered this formidable woman in front of him. Did she know him and his secrets? Was she about to say his real name? If so, did she know he was no friend to the Brotherhood?
“I take my chances and do all right,” Orion answered.
“Will you pledge to follow our rules and to keep our, albeit temporary, location secret?” He nodded. “Well, then, Mr. Zachariah, enjoy some rest, and we will speak of your uses later.”
Victoria had dismissed him. He wanted food, water, and a bed, so thus tolerated her casual nature.
“Oh, Zachariah,” she called. “I don’t care where you’re from or what you’re running to. When you are here, you will be one of our nation and what we are building here. If you cannot, you will leave.” Her tone was cordial, but her meaning was not.
“What exactly are you building?”
“This country is broken.” She smirked. “We’re doing the only thing anyone would do when leaders fail and things are not what they are supposed to be. We’re building an empire here.”
He stared and waited for her to elaborate, but apparently she had given him everything he was going to get on that matter. He bid her good day and followed the farmer out of the tent to a place to get settled in, maybe get some rest. Orion needed to recover his strength so he could be refreshed when the three strangers from his vision wandered in, if they weren’t already there.
A Court of Faeries
THE AIRFIELD personnel hustled and bustled to and fro, no doubt in preparation to launch every ship available to combat the faerie attack. The main air control tower and several hangars threw mountains of steam clouds and blast whistles of effort as they rotated their husks on gears to make moving targets of themselves. Great puffs of steam swirled above them as the engines worked overtime.
Gavin skulked around, hoping to use the madness around him to steal a small ship.
He crouched behind stacked boxes at the corner of an equipment shed that was not a high enough priority to have been geared for evasive movement. He knew the place like the back of his hand, much to the chagrin of the traffic officers, especially after his little mishap earlier. Had that been this morning? He hadn’t meant to fall asleep while hiding, but the exhaustion had proved too much. The next hangar had smaller ships he could appropriate. He planned to acquire whatever supplies he could find and hoped to slip away in the chaos.
The clang of swords rang in the distance, and occasional screams floated to
ward him. Screams from what, he did not want to know. No one seemed to be interested in this particular area, so he bolted across the way and slipped against the wall of the dry dock hangar. Almost there, he thought. He was almost ready to leave behind everything he’d ever known and loved. He shoved that feeling down deep and mustered the strength to push forward to the hangar doors.
“Argh!” Gavin shouted in sudden pain. Something indescribably strong was clamped around his bicep, crushing his arm. He squirmed like an animal in a trap and turned to see what had grabbed him. A thing that looked like a man, with bright red hair and rust-colored eyes, eyes that looked as if there were tiny gears moving in them, stared back. It was a strange sight indeed.
“Well, what do you know? Seems Daddy knows a thing or two after all. It’s a good thing I found you before one of the nasty faeries grabbed you up,” the man said. “I suppose your little friends are on their way here now. If they’re not yet dead.”
“Who are you?” Gavin managed to say through the pain in his arm.
“Agent Masheck Granville, at your service.” He pushed Gavin against the hangar wall and surveyed the area. “Your father sent me.”
“Are you going to kill me?” Gavin said, pushing at the metal hand to get free.
“Kill you? Are you dim-witted?” Masheck scoffed. “I’m here to bring you to him. Your friends were lucky enough to get away from me, temporarily. And you can count your blessings I typically don’t kill children. Can’t say the same for the damned faeries. We will all come together soon and go see the good councilman together, won’t we now?”
“Listen, you don’t have to—arghh,” he yelped, cut off by the increased pressure the man’s mechanical arm applied to his.
“I suspect you’re part of this madness.”
“Whu… what?”
“Yeah,” Masheck continued, “it’s most likely why he wanted you children followed in the first place. This is somehow linked to you, isn’t it? No matter. Come along now.”
Absolute Heart Page 12