Tesla's Revenge

by Renee Sebastian

  She closed the box and pulled it close to her body. I frowned. She said frankly, “You wouldn't believe me, if I told you the truth of who sold me the bullets.”

  “Try me. I've seen a lot of impossible things in my life, and I doubt what you have to tell me is even the strangest thing I've been witness to today.” I was thinking about the zombie cat.

  She pursed her lips and considered telling me. I eyed the box a little more to let her know that I was still interested. She puffed out breath and finally said, “Well, let me start with who told me to sell you the bullets. An old gypsy told me to be on the lookout for a woman with hair the color of the sun at sunset, accompanied by a tow headed boy and a finely dressed gentleman.”

  I smiled, she smiled, and then we had a shared laugh. She asked, “So you've seen her too?”

  “Most definitely. However, I would like to ascertain the time line of events, if you will. When did she give you this prediction?”

  “Four days ago. When did you cross paths with her?”

  “Two days ago.” We both shared a thoughtful silence. I asked, “Did she tell you why you needed this bot?”

  “Nothing as clear as that. She started to get all vague and nonsensical to me. I guess that is the trademark of a good soothsayer, right? After all, you all did show up.”

  I again thought back to my own prophecy, but only spared it a moment's thought. No sense going back to something that I didn't even understand myself. It would have made too much sense to have actually have used names, wouldn't it? Instead, I asked, “So I gather, she told you I would need the bullets and you would need this bot. So we trade?”

  “I am a business woman, Mam. She never said how many I was to give you. Did you say that you knew or did not know the location of Mrs. Tallow?”

  “Do I have your word, as a lady, that you will only contact her for fair business transactions? Do not give her location to anyone else and when you go to visit her, bring a gun, just in case.” I might be able to help Bea out more than I thought if I could throw some business her way, besides my own that is.

  “I am mildly offended. I can guarantee that the farmer does not kill the goose that lays the golden eggs, if that is what you are asking. There is money to be made on both sides of our transactions.”

  “Where did you get the bullets?”

  “A strange girl brought them in. She wore a cloak and had a haunted look in her eyes. She kept glancing about the store, as if monsters were about to come out of the shadows. She said she was desperate for money. She told me a story about how special these bullets were and that they were consequently worth a lot more than she was willing to take for them.

  “She seemed to have a full box of them, but only sold me these dozen. As soon as the transaction was made, she disappeared out my door and I haven’t seen her since. They may be special bullets, but I can't put them out on the shelves, since they are not registered or even tradesmen approved bullets. No rational person would want these untested and bizarre bullets anyway.” She winked at me then and then finished by saying, “I simply like collecting the odd and bizarre myself. So I bought them on a whim. Not the most astute business transaction I've ever made.”

  I could have pressed her for more information. I could have asked for a better description of the girl. But I didn't. I didn't want to know or I might have to identify her to Peter one day. Or more than likely, she was one of the other victims of the Fae who somehow found a way out of Neverland. She might not even be alive any more. So instead, I stated, “All the special bullets and a box of regular .32's for the boring bot and the coordinates for its creator.”

  She smiled. “And if you would allow me to know your address, then if any others like these come my way, I would like to extend the courtesy to offer you the first chance at purchasing them.”

  I carefully removed my hand from its sheath and spat on it. Then I extended it to the shopkeeper and replied, “Deal, but let Bea hold them for me. You could say I'm between homes at the moment.”

  She spat on her hand and shook mine vigorously. She said, “I feel like I have just earned more than just a bot. I’m Charlotte.”

  “I’m Wendy.”

  We both smiled.

  I then showed her my map and she copied the relevant coordinates. The box was cumbersome, so she gave me a velvet pouch, just big enough to carry the special bullets and a leather one for the other shells. I thought back to her question about the bot being reusable, and wondered if the bullets would be the same. I planned to find out with the first deader I came across, even if I had to stick my finger into the eye slot and punch through it in order to retrieve it.

  Finally, she showed me out of the storeroom, back onto the main floor. I glanced about and found Dorian occupying the crossbow aisle with Jeremy, who was salivating over a compact kit complete with imploding tipped arrows. It might have been my imagination, but Dorian seemed relieved to see me come out in one piece.

  Chapter 15

  Flickfloggin and Waterways

  “Beware of cities making great displays of fake food.”

  -Dorian, October 2232

  From Dorian's Journal of Memorable Quotes to Live By

  The section we were traveling through had more of the neighborhood flavor of Highgate in London than anything, but without all the hustle and bustle that I remembered. Townhouses and small apartment buildings toppled over commercial establishments found at street side level. All of which were neatly bordered with their trademark pebbled streets.

  Everything looked to be in proper working order, so I assumed that everyone must have been at work or school. Some cities, due to economic booms had adopted mandatory child-care services, paid for through taxes. This way every of age adult could capitalize on the city's good fortunes by working in the boom trades.

  But right now, this section of the city was a virtual ghost town. Not even one mechcarriage to be bought. No penny pushers with papers to sell, or a fresh apple to be bought or stolen. I wondered vaguely about how the tourists moved about, but then realized that this was not the part of town tourists stayed. They would prefer an establishment or hotel closer to The Falls, while the residents lived out here.

  Jeremy was quite adamant that we stop to eat. I missed seeing his blonde curls, now hidden under his galvanized rubber hat. I regretted, for what would most likely not be the only time, bringing him into this damned, infernal city. The least I could do was feed the poor ragamuffin. I saw a bistrotrap and since it was en route to wherever Tesla may have been hiding, courtesy of the homing device, we decided that it would probably be as safe a place to eat as any, and plan our next move.

  Once inside, the air scrubbers kicked on. I removed my hat and goggles. It was a relief to feel air on my scalp again. After I saw Jeremy and Dorian remove theirs, the telltale signs of an air born chemical rash appeared on their faces where the goggles hadn’t protected their delicate skin. Because Dorian wore no hat, the tips of his hair were frazzled and would most likely singe off over time. At least the rash would disappear in an hour or two now that they were out of the elements, but until then, they would have to suffer a sun burnt appearance.

  This bistrotrap was one of the fully automated ones that only took dollar coins. Luck would have it, that a battery operated money changer was on hand to modify some of our spare greenbacks into proper coins. The value of greenbacks always varied on a daily rate, established by the stock value of the Republic worldwide. If our national bonds were rated highly, the value of the greenback was correspondingly higher. Currently, the value was meager at best. I was glad we got the money for the horses in coins.

  I calculated that since this was an automated greenback machine, I would go ahead and convert the rest of my greenbacks to gold ten-dollar coins.

  We went over to the conveyor belt and examined the platters of the flickerfloggin, or fake food displays. The assortment was adequate and was clearly labeled with corresponding numbers that we could select through a vendor system. T
he only real regret with these automated machines was the lack of quality meat items. Where was my protein? Then I spotted three types of jerky, consisting of a buffalo, alligator, and a possum variety. Sometimes, horse jerky could be found, but not here... not enough horses around for that I might assume.

  Of the choices, I selected possum three times. They were the shrimp of the forest and were slightly sweet with a consistency similar to the dark meat of chickens. In addition, I chose some unidentifiable, dehydrated fruit that I thought might be apricots or apples, hard to say actually, and a hard cheese called Sbrinz. Lastly, I added two bottles of water to my order and waited for the show.

  The strange and cantankerous behemoth of a contraption set its numerous brass arms into action while puffs of white smoke spurted out at odd moments from its joints. One arm snaked out delicately with its clawed hands and reached for a package of jerky. Then it dropped it into a top-opened, metal pipe. It slid into a vessel just beyond the glass window, which barred us from the beast and our food.

  Methodically, on rollers, it went to each of the designated sites for the selected items and then dropped them in different tubes to be deposited in the bigger shell at the bottom. When it came to my third order of possum jerky, something skipped and it placed some dehydrated seaweed in its place. That was the problem with these machines. They usually got your item wrong about twenty percent of the time or required additional money than was actually required. Customarily, no one was ever present to complain to, so you were left to its mercy. There was already a plethora of notes stuck to it stating it owed various people money or food items. Not really sure what other response they were expecting when dealing solely with machines.

  Finally, with most of my order being correct, it beeped for the required coinage. I inserted five of my silver dollars, as it always rounded up the order to the next dollar. Then the window opened and dumped food onto a collection tin below. The tin was permanently attached, so you had to scoop your items out and hold them, no wrappers included. That was an extra fee in this particular bistrotrap. There were free disposable napkins on a table to our left, so I used them as a pseudo plate.

  Dorian selected a Forsterkase, a soft and mild cheese, an apple cider, some bread that claimed to be freshly baked, and some dehydrated fish. Jeremy ordered sweet cakes and more sweet cakes, with a side order of flavored seltzer water, and a deep fried potato pie. I told him that I was not going to put up with any of his bellyaching from such a meal, and he compromised by also buying some carrots to go along with his sweet and fried delights.

  We sat down at a sticky booth, where I imagined kids carrying their school satchels would stop for a quick snack of sweet cakes while on their way home from school. They would be unchaperoned of course, since their parents would be at work still.

  I missed the comforting weight of carrying my bags. Jeremy must have noticed my solemn mood, since he stuck out a cake in an open palm and said, “One of my cakes, ma’am ? Bound to put a smile on yer’ face. The jam is so...” He took a bite, licked his lips, and said while sputtering bits of the cake, “...yummy!” I felt around on my body, until I felt the comfort of my whip on my hip, just in case I needed to make a leash for him later. He was such an animal, where were his manners? He was probably hanging around his creatures for too long. Maybe a trip to his Uncle’s will do him some good.

  All the same, I nodded my head and slowly opened my palm to receive one of Jeremy's cakes, since he had enough to build a miniature pyramid with, which of course, he had. I figured one less in his belly might be one hour less of complaining later. He gave it to me, and then I stole a second one that I then placed in front of Dorian. He looked down his nose at it and sighed. Then he took a bite. I ate mine, and learned all too quickly that it was too much of everything for me… too much cream, jam, and dense, rich, pound bread.

  After I had orderly arranged and neatly eaten all my food in logical order, saving one of the jerky for later, Dorian asked Jeremy to use the lavatory to clean himself up. He did so with a little too much exuberance.

  Then Dorian handed over a napkin and he motioned with his pointer finger to a corner of his mouth. I dabbed and then he pounced, “What did you get at the ammunition store?”

  “Bullets.”

  “Now, now, Miss Darling, you must tell me more than just bullets. We haven't much time.” He leaned in and placed his chin into the crook of his hand.

  I copied his posture and said very conspiratorially, “Special bullets....”

  He raised his eyebrows and said, “Do tell.”

  “A dozen special, Fae bullets, that may kill the Necromancer with merely a flesh wound. These bullets kill all forms of magical life and most likely the magical un-life variety.”

  “Most delightful.” Then he smiled a closed lip smile and asked, “What did you have to pay for them?”

  I told him and then he said, “I suppose that it was an acceptable loss then.” He sighed wistfully and said, “I do loathe that I missed the opportunity to buy anything from Ms. Tallow's tinkering shoppe.” I didn't have the heart yet to tell him he was of the wrong persuasion, and that she probably wouldn't have even sold him some, even if he offered her four times the coin that I had paid for them.

  I asked, “We have enough coin to carry on for quite a while, but not enough to get us across the Atlantic. How do you propose us getting to your Agora for safe refuge?”

  “There are three consulate offices for the Agora in the Republic, one in Washington, New Amsterdam, and Petersburg. Once our part in Tesla's plan is played out, it will be a matter of a few steps to the Washington consulate's office where we can be on an airship to the Old World within hours.”

  “We must stop Lovecraft, before we leave.”

  “Agreed, but I believe that may be already a part of Tesla's plan when he overthrows the government.”

  “You think he'll succeed then, don't you?” I asked.

  “I only have faith that I won't die and that I was meant to cross paths with both Lovecraft and Tesla. My part in this is not played out.”

  “How do you know for certain?”

  His countenance took on an annoyed appearance. For a moment, I thought he was not going to answer, but then he said, “Remember when I told you that I have a few quirks related to my magical abilities?”

  “Yes.” What now was he going to tell me, after telling me that he had the lodestone ability?

  He then said, “Well, it pertains to my painting. I don't know how this happens, but on occasion people will appear in the background of my portrait.”

  “Did you paint them?”

  “No, but eventually, they will cross paths with me.”

  “Like Lovecraft and Tesla?”

  He grimaced and steepled his fingers while staring at them. Then he said, “Yes, like them... among others.”

  “Who else Dorian?”

  “Like the woman I was planning on marrying in the younger days of my immortality.”

  “Did she die, like in the book about you?” I asked.

  “Something like that. I woke up that fateful morning and looked upon the portrait. We had been holding hands for some time, like in that Jan van Eyck painting, so I knew it was a matter of time before I asked for her hand.

  “She was painted in the style of the Impressionists, with all soft edges and fuzzy faces, very different from the realistic style used to portray myself. It was as if she was never meant to be a permanent part of my life. Like she was a dream. She claimed that marriage was such an antiquated notion and that she didn't need to get married. But I was determined to be her husband.” He paused, as if he couldn't bear to speak this thing through, but finally he continued.

  “But that morning the portrait was different. The picture of her was fading from my painting. She was disappearing right in front of me. I didn't know what that meant, but I did feel desperate to change whatever the portrait was trying to show me. Somehow, I had to make it right. I threw caution to the wind and I sho
wed up to her home uninvited. I stormed my way into her father's study and proposed for her hand on the spot, thinking that this would make things right... better.

  “We argued and she must have heard us, since she stormed into the room. He brandished a gun, giving me a threatening ultimatum for me to either leave or face dire consequences. I refused to accept any answer other than yes, and when he took aim, she leaped in front of me and that was that. The painting brought to fruition my worst possible fear. She died in front of my eyes, disappearing from my life forever.”

  He finally looked up at me and said, “I can't foresee the future, but apparently my painting can, at least for the immediate future. I hardly ever look at it anymore, unless I have to touch it up with magic.”

  I gave him a moment and asked, “Did your painting see me?”

  He looked away and didn't say anything.

  I could have asked all sorts of things. I could have asked if I was in the background or front and center. I could have asked if I was fuzzy and indistinct, or if I were holding his hand. But I asked none of those things.

  Rather, I asked, “If you paint a beard on your face, will a full grown one appear the next morning?”

  He leaned back and laughed. Then he said, “No, but one will start to grow slowly the next morning.”

  I looked down into my lap and commented, “I've been wondering about that since I met you. I haven't seen you shave yet.” Then I stood up, collected our trash, and placed it in its proper place, the rubbish bin. And, I most definitely did not allow my thoughts to wonder where my proper place in his world might be.

  ···•Ͽ Ѡ Ͼ•···

  When Jeremy came out, he was wet from head to toe. He at least had the decency to look properly abashed. “Sorry, sir and ma’am , my smarts wasn't a match against the plumbing in there.”

  I gave him a stern look as I approached him and said all business like, “Well, there's nothing to be done about it now. At least the coat will block out the worst of the morning's coolness.”