I glanced at the smoke hazed window, as it was just large enough for me to escape through. Being on the second floor, meant an easy drop down that would give me but a moment to slip out, should anyone invade the house from below. Having a window also meant that I could quickly survey additional escape routes and give me a few precious moments to prepare myself.
Since we found additional servant quarters downstairs in this house, I knew I was in an Ordinary’s house. I noticed nothing but a bathroom, a scrubbing machine, and several clotheslines down in the basement, which confirmed my suspicions. Most Users would have a charging closet for an automaton to do their cleaning.
I might have fared better finding a more comprehensive library in the house next door, but it was unlikely. Ordinaries liked to huddle together in neighborhoods, away from the Users. Little did they know that someone like me might have lived right next door to them.
I estimated that we had about seven hours until twilight, and before we could leave. Fortunately, on the way back to the Brownstone, I had spotted a blacksmith's business about a block over. In the back of the building were four stalls that held three serviceable quarter horses. They were quite distressed, and rightly so, after being neglected for a day or two. Therefore, I took a few moments to water, feed, and comfort them, but we had to leave them there for later. Before we left though, I let the third horse loose, with a slap to his hindquarters. I was not going to condemn him to a death of dehydration or fear.
After I studied the map laid out upon my bed one more time to determine our best route out of this town, I decided to rest. It appeared that we would be riding most of the night before we would reach Abraham. I took out my book and picked up where I last left off, hoping for life's little death to find me. After about five minutes of solitude, the door to my room abruptly opened, and I swiftly drew one of my Johnson's in response.
Dorian looked around and scowled. I put my pistol back and asked, “What is wrong?”
“Do accept my apologies. I didn't realize you were... indisposed.” He started to back out and close the door, while he said, “I'll just leave you to your rest.”
I calmed down, since there didn't seem to be an immediate threat and said, “Wait... I'm not resting yet. What do you need?”
He hesitantly walked in and closed the door behind him. “I hadn't realized that you read.”
“I was raised with a governess, Dorian, who, believe it or not, wasn't actually a dog. Barrie got that part wrong in his chef d'oevre. If you're trying to sell a book, it definitely sounds better if a beast of a dog is called our governess, rather than the beast of a woman, that she really was. We are probably closer in age and education than you might realize.” I purposely didn't mention our class disparities, however. Then I smiled broadly and said, “I've had a lot of time to read between killing people.”
His dark blue eyes leveled on my book and he smirked. “You are an enigma, aren't you, my dear Wendy?” He motioned with his hands in reference to the selection of my room. He sighed, pointed to my book, and said, “I wouldn't have figured you for an absurdist.”
“Let me guess, you are an existentialist through and through?”
“I do have a preference for Jean-Paul Sartre's Huis Clos,” he replied smugly.
I smiled. We immortals and our existentialism. It seemed that living for life's sake alone must become the meaning of life, when all you had to live for were the endless years stretching behind and in front of you.
“I just wish I could integrate the concept more into my paranoid, secluded existence. While I have found that it is much easier to find the absurd in everyday life, to live existentially is infinitely more tricky for me, I’m afraid.” He remained silent while I spoke.
I decided to turn the tables then and asked him, “So did they get all the years of partying wrong in Wilde's little piece of fact or fiction about you?”
“Some partying, yes, but more gambling and drinking than anything.” I noticed that he studiously avoided discussing the whoring part. He did reveal a small candor by looking slightly abashed as he took a seat on the side of the tiny bed. Then he said, “He was also correct, though, about the part of wanting to atone for my bad behavior.”
“And you believe S.O.A.R. will do this for you?” I asked incredulously.
“I've served in many agencies for righting wrongs over the years, but none of the good I do, seems to right the bigger wrongs I've committed in my life.” He didn’t exactly answer my question, but I would assume that I already knew the answer.
I didn't like this turn in conversation, so I asked, “That was some neat trick with the dust devil. I've never seen a Hemomage who had to write their spells down before using them. Is it unique to you?”
“No, I trained in Asia. It is a traditional application there.” It was one of the few countries I hadn't toured, because the visa process was arduous at best for single women.
“So that is where the blood sword came from then?”
“Yes, my Sen-Sei was the one who collected it from the Arab, who then gifted it to me. He was a master swordsman, who taught me the Dance of a Thousand Swords.
“As for the magic, I already had a knack for runes and sigils, so creating spells with blood and paper was a natural progression for me. Calligraphy and fine art go together like strawberries and champagne. Which brings me to why I came to talk to you. Did you recognize the sigil carved into the earth around the epicenter?”
“No, I did not recognize it at all, although it did seem arcane.”
He said, “The Strutt meter indicated high beta decay.”
“Do you believe that the Earth Quake Machine is a magical device, from which the caster was safe while detonating it, so long as they were standing in the center of the sigil? Because, I touched that device, and it gave off no magical aura.”
“I've considered it, but couldn't reconcile why the bomb shell was still in the middle of the sigil. I do concur with your conclusion that the cylinder was strictly technological. However, why wouldn't Tesla want to remove all evidence of his bomb? Or did he want it to be a calling card of sorts?”
“I couldn't really say, but do you think that besides creating an earthquake, that Tesla purposefully used the sigil to hold in or out whatever the bomb or Earthshaker may have had inadvertently consequences? Or was it simply a coincidence?”
“From what I knew about Tesla, I didn't think he had any of the blood to use magic or sigils. This sigil warding disturbs me, because while I didn't recognize all the symbols, I could tell what some of the markings meant.”
“What, do tell, was that?”
“It may be possible that the earth shaker device caused a rip in the fabric of realities. Those particular runes were carved to withstand the pressures of other realm entities. Usually only Summoners create those circles.” Summoners were a specialized type of User that worked with energies to create small openings for other worlds to speak and see through, but most definitely not to invite anything of on the other side to stay on this side. That path led to black magic, and as that was strictly forbidden to use, it would get you a one way ticket to the Dark Continent.
A thought struck me and I blurted, “You mean like the Fairy realm?” I experienced a minor panic attack. Then I lifted both hands to cover my mouth even as my eyes went buggy.
Our realms were held precariously together through a thin web of nine quantum dimensions. Summoners merely stretched it so thin you could speak and see through the membranes that separated them. However, most people did not know that you could in actuality travel to parallel universes through this thin web. Certain rules existed to make passage both difficult and limiting. It involved some powerful magic and a price to be paid, usually through sacrifice and pain.
I didn't know what the price was that Peter paid for every time I was summoned and sucked through some invisible hole, since he refused to tell me. The return trips to earth were always better for me though. I concluded that it must have been becau
se I was made of same particles found in this world. It was as if this world’s matter welcomed me back when I returned; because we were made of the same molecules, therefore there would be no price to pay.
If there was a gate established, where the passage between worlds was easy and free, earth could then be hostilely taken over by another world's inhabitants. Life with Fairies on earth might be my own personal nightmare, but if I were in a fatalistic mood, then I would have to admit that life under the rule of another world might prove deadly for humans, Ordinary and User, alike.
His mouth formed a straight line. He looked like he had eaten something sour while he said, “The Strutt picked up a signature of radiation that seems impossible.”
“What?”
“If someone had found a way to make a breach within the web of realities with a graviton type of radiation, then we wouldn't be dealing with a window between our worlds anymore, but rather with a doorway. This would substantiate the Strutt meter's findings also. Other worldly creatures might be trying to break through, but the perhaps the device failed at the pivotal moment or whoever did this wanted to hold them back temporarily this time. But what about the next time?”
“And there will be a next time.”
“No doubt.” He stood and dusted himself off. He looked worried, as he said, “We need to get word out to S.O.A.R. I will look for a coop and send a note out without delay.”
“Do you need me to cover you?” I swung my legs over the side, but he stopped me by touching my knee.
“Not necessary. The fog has burned off, but the smoke is still thick enough for adequate cover. Um... I won't be able to use the compass on horseback, so I will be relying on you to get us to Abraham tonight. I need our navigator clear headed for our ride tonight. Rest.” He was telling me in not so uncertain of terms that he got lost easily. I hid a smile behind my hand that didn’t need to scratch my nose.
“Are you sure that you won't get lost scouting for pigeons?”
“No, I have the coordinates in the compass for this house. I can walk some distance without getting lost.” He removed his hand, winked, and swept out the door, leaving it open in his wake. I couldn't sleep with an open door, due to years of conditioning. I stood, closed the door, and laid back down. I closed the book, placing it under the pillow. I spent a moment pondering the phantom pressure on my knee and went to sleep.
···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···
I heard a door shut and I sat up in bed too quickly, causing my head to ache. I checked the window and a charcoal gray sky greeted me. I checked my pistols and glided to the door. I pressed my ear to it and listened.
“Are you awake, Wendy?” I jumped, since he sounded just outside my door. I took steadying breath and opened the door.
“Yes, let me pack the rest of my weapons.”
“Do try to rush, it appears that the soldiers have cleared the streets and are moving into the houses.”
I packed and within moments, bags in hand, we slipped out the back door into the night.
···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···
The horses were sweating, I was sore, and the sky was turning purple, when we finally stopped for a respite. We had made it to the stable with no delays. Dorian told me he had found an unmarred telegraph pole further out from where we were, and had been able to tap into it in order to inform S.O.A.R. of our next location. The Society advised its agents to use an encrypted code for emergencies, but preferred the scytale when possible. He told me that he had requested that an agent meet us in Abraham, to give us our new orders for the next phase in our mission in order to save time from travelling to headquarters again.
We hadn't spoken since we left, so I had some time to mull things over and just couldn't connect Tesla to the sigil yet. Certainly, he activated the machine in Westington, but where was he now? Even though it appeared that he drew the sigil, there is no evidence of Tesla ever being a User. Yet, all clues seem to point that he was, and was indeed still alive. Didn't that incline him to be magical? Certainly, that sigil was made by a User, but that person didn't have to be Tesla, did it? Could he be working with someone?
Why in Westington, though? Westinghouse wasn't alive anymore, but perhaps his descendants were still alive in the town named after him. Could this be simply a case of revenge? Would the destruction stop here? Unlikely. There were bigger fish to fry. Maybe he was working his way up to the White House.
Would S.O.A.R. be interested in acquiring such a device for their own purposes, notwithstanding a desire to destroy the White House themselves? S.O.A.R. had always claimed that they were for balancing the scales. But if such a weapon were in their possession, wouldn't absolute power corrupt them absolutely? Would they destroy the political structure that they claimed they abhorred? Or use it as a pawn to get what they really wanted from Edison?
Once we stopped, I explained my revenge theory, to Dorian, but kept my ideas on the Society to myself. He listened while he patted down his horse in lieu of a brushing. Our horses appreciated the long drink that they were having from a small pond. Several ducks were trying to defend their turf, but they didn't intimidate the horses or us enough to shove us off their turf.
Dorian replied, “Tesla, from what I knew of the man, just wasn't the kind of man that would use revenge as a motivating influence. He really was a gentleman. He could have been angry at Edison after the entire electrical current debacle, but, instead, they became associates for a time.”
“Just like I read that you didn't paint your own portrait?”
He smiled sardonically and replied, “Touché. I will consider this revenge theory of yours. I wonder whom your third party could be that helped with the circle, if he didn't do it himself.”
“I agree that it seems unlikely that Tesla drew that sigil. I only wished we had more time to study it at the site. Perhaps there were clues that we missed. Could you redraw it when we got back in touch with S.O.A.R.?”
“Why, Wendy, I already have, minus a few integral marks that would make it dangerous to carry around.” He slipped his hand into his front pocket and produced one of his little papers. I saw that the duplicate of the sigil in scrolling black ink.
“India ink?”
“Yes, I found some in the Brownstone. It would have been disastrous to use my blood.”
I looked up from the incomplete sigil, to look up into his face and smiled. “Dorian, you use your blood in your paints, don't you?”
He glowered and folded the paper back carefully placed it back into his pocket. He led his horse away from the pond, back onto the road.
“How far are we from Abraham, according to the map?” he asked stiffly.
I left my horse and approached him warily. “I apologize for my intrusive behavior. Forgive me.” I looked down awkwardly.
He swung up into his saddle and said, “Apology accepted. In answer to your query, yes, I do. Now, how far are we from Abraham?”
“About another hour or so.” I fetched my horse and swung up onto his back. The saddle quietly creaked under my weight.
“How can you be so sure?” he asked. “Everything looks the same out here to me, albeit black bush, grass, and tree are now turning into green bush, grass, and tree.”
“I navigate by the stars.” I snapped my reins and dug my heals in. I thanked the stars that real horses still existed to ride and the countryside remained relatively unpolluted so that the skies still remained somewhat clear. Besides, the mechanical horses required special saddles and riding gear, due to their coal heated torsos, that were uncomfortable. I let the wind lift my twin braids, as we rode the land swiftly over cascading hills. I let the said green bushes and trees become green blurs in my peripheral vision.
···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···
Abraham was too small of a town to have any sort of security measures in place; hence, there wasn't even a fence or wall, let alone any guards walking the perimeter of the town. Reasons became obvious, once we arrived. It was mainly a trading post kind of community.
“Do you have any preferences for breakfast?” I asked Dorian.
“Beignets and some cheese, if you wouldn't mind. I fear that you would find it too early in the morning for a glass of wine, but perhaps some coffee would due. Black I think will suffice. I will find a horse stall in this town to house our horses, while you shop.”
“Do you need me to return here when I am done?”
He touched his satchel and replied, “Yes. I think that would be for the best. I will record the coordinates now, but break your fast without me, and I will return as promptly as possible.” Then he walked the horses through the meandering crowds of people.
I walked up the stalls perusing their goods, until I found one that had what I wanted. Once the jerky that I purchased for later consumption was in pocket, I bought two mincemeat pies from a particularly greasy vendor. I then bought Dorian's requests, and lastly, I purchased some bottles of water, which I slipped into my bags. I had begun tucking in on my second pie when Dorian approached me. I handed him a bag of beignets, a coffee, and a wrapped half a block of Provolone cheese. His eyes grew large when he looked in bag.
Tesla's Revenge Page 6