Brotherhood of the Strange (Kingship, Tales from the Aether Book 1) (17 page)

“Well I say, let them come!” Wingnut stated with a barely contained anger that seemed to come out of nowhere. “I’d be more than happy to throw a few of them overboard myself, don’t ya know. I figure I owe them that much, at least!”

“Molly.”

“Don’t Molly me, Vance! How many lives have these bastards ruined? Now Cordelia! Her uncle! What do we do about them? You better not be plannin’ on abandoning these two to the likes of them, because I sure as hell won’t be walkin’ away quietly this time, oh no!”

Cordelia noticed tears forming as the engineer spoke. Whether those tears stemmed from anger or grief, she could not yet be sure.

Vance looked Molly Clocker straight in the eye, “No one is abandoning anybody.” He looked at Cordelia, “Not tonight”.

Cordelia was shocked at the woman’s rage, and at the captain’s quiet calm. While she was grateful at their apparent desire to help her, she had no idea why anyone on this ship should hate the Brotherhood of the Strange, and she felt she needed to. “Captain. How is it any of you know about this Brotherhood? I’ve watched you all tiptoe around the subject for two days now. From what Uncle Degory told me, it seemed like it was a rather secret organization.” She of course knew it was even more secret than that, but felt continuing to feign a lack of inside knowledge would be best.

Wingnut opened her mouth, but Winston spoke first, “Well there, lassie, it’s quite the sad tale, best reserved for another time. But the Brotherhood is responsible for bringing some of us together, in a way.”

“I’m sorry, but I don't follow,” she replied.

“No, I don’t imagine you would, lass.”

The captain spoke again, “Ms. Cady, except for Afa, everyone on this ship is ex military. Some of us have served in several different military organizations in our careers. We’ve had our dealings with the Brotherhood of the Strange.”

“I even got a nice, fat warrant for my arrest because of it!” Burd said with a sardonic smile. “The captain got Wingnut. I think I got the better deal, honestly.”

The Kingship’s engineer smiled, in spite of her outburst, and punched Burd squarely in the arm.

“Okay, back to the subject at hand,” Captain Williams said. “I’ve been thinking about this for most of the day. Forgetting for the moment that we are dealing with the unconventional, if this were a normal attack, I can think of two likely scenarios. If they try to sneak on board, we will be approached from astern, from beneath. If they want to overpower us, we may just find ourselves surrounded by several heavily armed aetherships.”

“Do you really think they will be able to find us, Captain?” Cordelia asked. “We’re out over the ocean, after all.”

He replied, “Normally we can give someone the slip if we really need to. There’s just something about the way that Corbin guy acted. He was so calm and sure of himself, like finding us wouldn’t even be a chore. That’s what got me worried.” He looked at the others, “I’d like some suggestions. Go.”

Cordelia got lost in the next hour of conversation as the crew discussed tactics, plans, and other combat related subjects. Though much of it was lost on her, it became abundantly clear these were very experienced people, not just in their military expertise, but also in the recognizable confidence they had in each other, and in the knowledge they had of their vessel. It also gave her relief, hope, and some confidence knowing that leaving her to the mercy of what she knew to be the Hand of Paris did not seem to be an option for these people she barely knew. Uncle Degory had indeed chosen well. Eventually, the meeting broke up, each of the five crew members seemingly satisfied with whatever plan they had agreed on. Cordelia still hadn’t been able to keep all the ideas straight. Afa disappeared into the kitchen to prepare dinner, politely telling her he would let her know when it was ready, and oddly, asking how spicy she liked her curry. She had made her way back to her stateroom to change her shoes and feed Oscar when Captain Williams caught up to her.

“Ms. Cady.”

“Yes, Captain?”

“Can you really find your uncle if you install that equipment?”

Cordelia looked him in the eye, “Yes,” she said resolutely. She hoped that was true.

“Once you figure out the instructions?” he smiled.

She smiled back, “I’ll figure them out, Captain.”

“Good. Let’s get him back as soon as we can.” He turned and began to walk back the way he came.

“Captain,” she asked him hesitantly. “Why are you so willing to help me? This certainly is far more than you bargained for, or got paid for. It’s more than even I bargained for.”

He turned and retraced the few paces he had taken. Like before, he looked her directly in the eyes. “Ms. Cady. There’s a lot of history here you don’t know. This isn’t the first ship I’ve captained and,” he looked past her, “I’ve made my share of mistakes. I have no intention of letting anyone else on my watch die because of the Brotherhood of the Strange.”

Sleep did not come easily to Vance that night. Thanks to his self discipline, garnered from years of sleeping in uncomfortable situations, the captain of the Kingship was able to push his cares aside and rest, fitful though it was. He had refused Afa’s calming teas he often drank when sleep eluded him, nor did he indulge in any alcohol. He knew if things went awry, he would need his wits about him, and stumbling around trying to wake up in a crisis was a good way to get someone killed. Before he had retired, he had double checked on everyone, making sure they were ready for the uncertainties of the night ahead. Cordelia was nervous, and he had assured her Burd was next door, and he himself was right down the hall. Wingnut insisted on sleeping in her hammock in the engine room, arguing it was the best place for her to be in a crisis. After he foolishly tried to argue the point with her, he at long last sought his own bed.

He awoke to the sound of footsteps above him. Even one so removed from military life as he, his senses still retained the keen awareness a soldier inherently possesses. Those same senses also told him it was Afa who was the source of those footsteps. They did not have the sound of one who was attempting to conceal their presence, and Vance knew the brooding pace of his peaceful friend all too well. He was curious as to why he was outside, walking the open air deck above him. Afa had volunteered to take the first watch for the evening, and his keen, almost preternatural sense of his surroundings, far outstripped Vance’s own. Curiosity and concern drove him out of bed. He had remained dressed for the most part, another survival habit from the old days. He donned the black, double breasted frock coat, given him by his grandfather. It had been the de facto uniform worn by the Kingship’s original crew, and the rank and insignia had been removed long ago. Vance wore the garment often, particularly on chilly nights. Though he certainly didn’t have Wingnut’s gift, wearing it always brought back memories of his grandparents, and those gave him strength. Strength he hoped he wouldn't need in aiding Ms. Cady.

Vance was almost out of his quarters when he remembered he had forgotten his gun. The LeMat plasmatic pistol was out, fully charged, and sitting on his nightstand, a necessary precaution given the circumstances. It had taken him a long time to become accustomed to not having it strapped to his thigh, and it was not something he necessarily wanted to get too comfortable doing again. Not that he didn’t enjoy shooting. Quite the contrary. As captain of an aethership in an uncertain world, it was only prudent to keep his skills sharp, but the thought of it becoming a necessity at all times represented a life he had left behind nearly eight years ago. Sighing, Vance retrieved his gun belt and strapped it on, placing the weapon in its well oiled holster. After checking to make sure the reload winders and pouch of flares were also secure on his belt, he left his room. One dim light at each end gave the main hallway a moody, almost ominous feel as he made his way forward through the ballroom and out onto the foredeck.

It was a bleak night. A chill dankness overrode the otherwise sweet smell of salt air which prompted him to flip up his collar. Wearing the coat had been a wise decision. The Kingship was passing through a cloud bank, and it was difficult to see more than a few feet. Afa was standing above and behind him on the open deck. Vance climbed the stairs to him, attempting to read the concerning emotions on his friend’s face. The sizable man looked more formidable than usual holding a two handed, shark toothed war club firmly in his grasp. Vance had hardly ever seen the mighty weapon in his friend’s hand. Afa was such a peace loving man, it was easy to forget he was a skilled warrior. Yet there he stood, breathing deeply, seemingly poised for battle.

“Fekitoa,” the large man said with a near whisper.

“Afa,” Vance replied in the same quiet voice, the anxious quality of the night seemed to require a subdued tone. “What is wrong, my friend?”

“I do not like the mood of this fog. There is a way about it that feels… conflicted.”

Vance drew in the damp, salty air. He could almost sense it too. An elusive unnaturalness, like a half remembered, unpleasant memory. Knowing Afa was more in tune with such things, he asked for some elaboration.

“It almost feels like there are voices on the wind. Some of those voices are hungrily eager, while others repulsed and confused. But above them all, a terrible compulsion.” He shook his head, “I’m sorry, Fekitoa, I wish I could explain it better.”

“Well, we’ve all been on edge since Sherwood. But I know you too well to simply dismiss something like this. You’ve always been quite attuned to spectral energies. Maybe we’re flying through some potent ley line or something, who knows?”

“Perhaps,” he said unconvincingly.

“What do you think we should do?”

“I don’t know. And that’s what bothers me.”

Vance sighed and leaned up against the rail. He never liked to linger on the gloomy, unless there was something he could do about it. There was the potential for danger, certainly, and Vance was far from careless. However, focusing too much on a problem which was presently unsolvable, made him less alert to new information. He reached into his coat pocket to retrieve his pipe, only to remember he hadn’t brought it with him.

“What do you think of our passenger?” Vance asked.

“I think Ms. Cady is a delightful young woman,” he responded, still looking off into the shrouded horizon. “She is quite intelligent and talented to be such an accomplished doctor.”

Vance nodded, “Did you see that clockwork wing on her owl? She built that. Impressive really, that kind of skill usually takes years to master.” He paused, staring into the fog “I just wish she was telling us the truth.”

Afa tilted his head in thought for a moment. He then replied, “I think she is scared, and not used to adventure at all. From her point of view, I think she is concealing information to protect herself, rather than to bring us harm.”

“I hope you’re right, Afa. I want to help her. And God knows I don’t want an innocent scientist abandoned to the machinations of the Brotherhood of the Strange. But, I really don’t want this crew wrapped up in their affairs. I danced to their tune once. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“You still blame yourself. You shouldn’t.”

“Of course I blame myself for what happened to her, Afa. I gave the order. ” Vance did not want to talk about this right now. “Have any radiograms come in since you took watch?”

“No, Fekitoa. Admiral McMillan has not replied yet.”

“That’s not like him. We’re not that far from London for the message to get lost in the relays.”

“Perhaps he is simply busy,” Afa suggested, his eyes still on the foggy sky. “He is a rather important person.”

“Maybe.” Now it was Vance’s turn to be unconvinced. “We really need to set some time aside to pay him a visit. He’s done an awful lot for Burd, Wingnut, and I, and I feel like the only time I talk to him is when there is trouble.”

Vance was cut off by Afa’s large hand on his arm, motioning him to be quiet. “Do you hear that?” he asked in a whisper.

Vance strained his ears against the quiet night. The noise of the Kingship, the engine room, the spinning propellers, even the wind across her hull suddenly felt frustratingly loud as he struggled to hear the faint sounds Afa had detected. Finally, he heard it. The unmistakable sound of steam thrusters coming from above, and what sounded to be a large door opening mechanically. Vance quickly drew his pistol and loaded a flare into the secondary, multipurpose barrel. Before he could fire, dozens of human shapes fell out of the fog, crashing with loud ringing onto the steel roof of the engineering section above, and dull thuds on the wooden deck around Vance and Afa. Several of the figures missed the ship entirely and fell silently into the black abyss of the ocean some five thousand feet below. Those that landed on the Kingship sprang into action immediately. The darkness and fog of the night concealed many of their details. There was something about the way they moved that froze Vance’s blood. He fired his flare, and the upper decks of the Kingship were bathed in a fiery, red glow diffused by the mist. Now illuminated, Vance and Afa began to comprehend the sickening horror which had just descended upon them.

They were people, but Vance had seen enough war to know the ghastly pallor of corpses when he saw them. An un-dyed wool shift served as a harnessing system for the myriad of faintly glowing hoses that pierced the flesh in a dozen or more places, rather than any form of intended modesty. These hoses were gathered on their backs, between the shoulder blades, into a small pumping tank which glowed the same pale yellow. Many of them had various pieces of brass framed apparatus riveted into their flesh. Some had lenses that reminded Vance of his own command goggles, others had what appeared to be filtration masks. The most disturbing of all were those with steel claws where their fingers and toes should have been. Whatever was motivating them to action, was a force that felt all too chillingly familiar to the Kingship’s captain. With only a moment’s hesitation, he fired his plasmatic revolver at the nearest one. The shot left a sizzling hole in the undead wretch, who turned and charged at him, along with three others. Swearing, he continued to fire as he and Afa stumbled back a few paces, each horrified at the ghastly scene unfolding before them. Five frantic shots finally dropped it, a mere few inches from his face. His remaining four ended the advance of another one, who was already stumbling on a clearly broken leg obtained by its fall onto the Kingship. Vance was used to one shot, one kill, particularly from a plasmatic weapon. Four to five shots apiece would be a hard won fight, he feared. Afa took Vance’s shooting as an all clear to attack. He efficiently bludgeoned one into inactivity with his war club, and then bodily threw another overboard.

The nightmarish corpses had begun to scurry across the deck like swarming ants and divide into two groups. The first was clamoring over the engineering section, while the other group was making its way towards the front of the vessel.

“They’re trying to take the ship!” Vance shouted with a panicked realization. “Afa, get to the bridge! Let them know what we’re up against. I’ll help Wingnut!”

Afa nodded, then turned in horror to find another of the revenants bearing down upon him. He swung his club, more as a reflex, than an attack, smoothly decapitating it. He then made his way towards the bridge, battling others along the way. Vance ran towards the dorsal that connected the engineering section to the rest of the Kingship, confident Afa would be able to take care of himself and fearful for Molly’s safety. He wasn’t worried about raising the alarm, the cacophonous sound these things made when they hit the ship would be more than necessary to rouse everyone into action. There wasn’t time for it anyway, he needed to get to the engine room. Controlling the boilers was key to taking the vessel, and they would have to go through Wingnut to get there. As he went he quickly recharged the condensers in his weapon with one of the auto winders from his belt. Nine shots to kill two. Clearly, the normal rules of combat did not apply here and he prayed silently his crew could adapt to fighting this horrendous form of mechanized undead. The Brotherhood of the Strange had exceeded even Vance’s grim expectations this time.

More attacking corpses were ahead of him, climbing the steel plating with unnatural ease. One was about to open the hatch Vance was heading towards. Surprisingly, it took only one round this time to give the sad creature its second death. Vance didn't have time to question his lucky shot as a few others had now noticed the same door, and were making their way towards him. Only his adrenaline kept him from vomiting at the sickly sterile smell of the cold body that was oozing its pale luminescent fluid as he heaved it out of the way, quickly opening the hatch and slamming it behind him. He wasn’t sure how intelligent these creatures were, though so far they had exhibited a fair amount of cunning. As a precaution, Vance jammed a spare piece of copper pipe in the locking wheel hoping it would make it that much harder for the door to be opened.

The captain was in the dorsal of the Kingship which housed the elevator, pipework, wiring, and some of the coal bunkers. He considered taking the elevator, but figured he could get there just as fast climbing the access ladder, giving him the added benefit of not announcing his presence any more than necessary. As he climbed in near darkness, he could hear shouts and gunfire, both plasmatic and conventional, coming from the decks below. The fight for the Kingship had commenced there, too. He could also hear loud bangs and enraged Irish accented swearing from above. A measure of relief washed over him. At least he knew she was still alive. When Vance saw the undead abominations headed for the engine room, he had feared the worst. If harm came to her, then the last seven plus years would have been for nothing.

Arriving at the top of the ladder, Vance hurriedly opened the hatch only to have a thrown ball-peen hammer miss his head by a few inches. Perhaps he should have announced his presence after all.

“Saints preserve us! Dammit, Captain! You should know better than ta sneak up on a girl when there are bloomin’ monsters crawling all over the bloody ship!” The petite engineer’s hair was uncharacteristically out of place, and the sleeve of her jumpsuit was torn. “What the bloody hell is going on?”

Vance pulled himself up into the cramped engine room, noticing there were two of the attackers lying motionless on the floor. One bore several plasmatic wounds, while the other was covered in thick yellowish liquid, liquid that still pumped weakly from various hoses pulled from its flesh. Dents venting steam, claw marks, and smashed equipment around the pipe and valve laden room bore mute evidence of the fight for her life Wingnut had just been in.

Vance grabbed her and pulled her tight in a warm, brotherly embrace, “Thank God you’re safe. We need to help the others. Is the engineering deck secure?”

“I think so, sir,” Wingnut said, already going towards the elevator, a pair of heavy hammers in her hands. “Everything’s locked. They were beating on the doors after these three got in, but then they just stopped. That’s when you showed up.”