Brotherhood of the Strange (Kingship, Tales from the Aether Book 1) (9 page)

“It was a long shot,” Heinrich agreed.” Well, while you are here, feel free to peruse the library. There are whole aisles we haven’t yet checked.”

“You’re too kind. I know many of these books are rare.”

Heinrich waved his hand dismissively, “What’s the point in having thousands of books if they never get read?”

“That reminds me,” Vance interjected. “I have some books for you I picked up in Japan. Mostly articles documenting the early Edo period. It’s probably nothing you haven’t already seen, I’m sorry to say.”

“I’m excited to see them nonetheless.”

“They’re in Kingship’s library,” Vance explained. “Come by tomorrow and we’ll have a look and see if there’s anything else that interests you.”

Despite the tragic reminders she had just received, Wingnut watched with amusement at the captain who was lost on a literary tangent and was grateful the conversation had moved on. The Kingship boasted an impressive, if compact, library on board, meant to give the visiting dignitaries another activity in the sometimes long journeys in remote parts of the globe. Wherever his travels took him, she noticed Vance would search out new books. Wingnut noted Afa was even more ravenous when it came to wisdom obtained from dusty tomes, though for entirely different and far more esoteric reasons. In fact it was the library onboard the Kingship that had been one of several deciding factors in the strange, polite Polynesian’s decision to travel with Vance and the crew “for a spell” as he had put it. Apparently “for a spell” was six years and counting. On their visits, it was not uncommon for Vance, Afa, and Heinrich to retire to either the manor's or the Kingship's library and not reemerge till morning, bleary eyed and discussing finer points on subjects that would make the most learned of professors’ heads spin.

“So,” Heinrich said. “What brings you to Germany this time of year? When we received word from Winston you were inbound a few days ago we were surprised. We were not expecting to see you all again so soon!”

Vance replied, “Business, my friend, as always.”

“Well, it’s good to see you all. How long will you be staying?”

“I imagine a few days. Oppenau is always profitable.” The captain added, “And spending time at the Von Fersches is never a waste. I hope we’re not imposing.”

Heinrich waved his hand dismissively, “Absolutely not! You know you are all always welcome under our roof.”

A chiming of the dinner bell interrupted their conversation and Heinrich led the party into a different dining room. This one showed far more use and was where the family of twenty-six usually dined together. Rough-hewn benches accompanied four long tables making for some tight quarters in the room, large though it was. Platters of traditional German foods took up most of the table acreage and the whole room was brightly lit by gaslight lanterns mounted on the stone walls. It was a room Wingnut was quite familiar with, having dined here on many occasions. Winston sat down at the children's table, much to the delight of the “wee laddies and lassies”. He would clearly be occupied for the remainder of the evening. The rest of the family came in and took their seats. A few servants stood near the tables, ready to fill wine and water glasses and to clear plates for another course. It seemed such a contradiction for the Von Fersches to keep hired servants. While the family was quite wealthy, observing the loving bustle of this dining room they certainly acted far more ‘salt of the earth’ than many from the upper classes acted. After a quick word of Grace, the feast began. Laughter and a full belly seemed to be far more important to the Von Fersches than observing every detail of propriety, an attribute Wingnut approved of. The excellent food combined with the hearty appetites paused ongoing conversation for a time but soon the crew was catching up with Heinrich and his wife, Anna. Burd seemed to be going out of his way to boyishly strike up conversation with Grace, one of Heinrich and Anna’s older daughters. Wingnut smiled at their ongoing exchange, both for the rascally boldness of Burd and how his antics seemed to be making the desired impression on the giggling, blonde woman. Through it all Wingnut ate little and said less. She had acted rashly, childishly even. It took a lot to make the captain call her out like that, and she wondered if she’d truly gone too far this time. He felt he owed her far too great a debt to challenge her feisty Irish temper all that often. She also knew Heinrich was not to blame. Nor was his huge family which served as another cold reminder of the plans she and Augustus once had. The blasted Brotherhood had tampered in more lives than she could count, not that she wanted to at the moment. Now knowing it resembled Brotherhood technology, she didn’t even want to think about the strange squawk box back on board. She was now inclined to agree with Winston, the less they dealt with it, the better. Dessert had been served and the servants were offering after dinner liqueurs. Wingnut needed something stronger. Making her apologies she politely withdrew from the Von Fersch manor. She had no desire to spend any more time in that quite literally haunted house, she had ghosts of her own to deal with tonight.

Finding a beer house in Oppenau was not difficult, yet choosing which of the fine establishments to attend was. She walked into one that was located near the aether and airship mooring towers. There she found a multinational assortment of rowdy folk, exactly what she was hoping for. She drew attention in her fine evening wear but paid it little heed. Ordering a pitcher of a fine german lager and several fingers of whiskey, she was soon drunk enough to enjoy a good old fashioned bar fight, a fight she started. In the process she knocked out a short, fat Ottoman with her empty stein, and a tall, skinny American with his own bar stool. It was not till some hours later, when the anger had turned to grief, that Vance showed up. He always showed up. Asking no questions, he paid her tab plus a generous tip, offered her his frock coat, and escorted her with her torn dress and ruined makeup, back to the Kingship.

“I miss him, Captain,” she said softly, her speech still slightly slurred as they walked across the dewy grass.

“I know,” he whispered back. “Someday though, Molly, you’ll find the strength to move on.”

“Maybe, but I’m pretty sure there is not another man on earth nor sky who will want someone as broken as me.”

Consciousness slowly returned Degory to the world around him. Lingering sweetness from the chloroform coated his tongue and he ached with thirst. His head pounded with pain, likely another aftereffect of the drug. After a minute, or an hour, he was in no state to judge, the world finally came into focus. It was dark, though not so dark he could not see. A sensation of cold numbed his limbs and Degory realized he was lying on a cold stone floor near a musty mattress. Upon waking, the drug-induced fog was proving difficult to shake. He felt this small room bore an uncomfortable sense of familiarity. Rolling onto the musty mattress, he fell back into unconsciousness.

When he awoke again, his headache still throbbed, though it lacked the previously surging level of pain. Sitting up, Degory breathed deeply, taking in his surroundings. The drug had been all but completely exorcised from his system and he found it far easier to think rationally. It was still dark, still nighttime. What little light there was came from an illuminated gap at the bottom of the door and a small window above him. Even had it been within reach, it would have proven far too small to make an escape. With the exception of the mattress, the room was barren. Degory had been hoping there was some source of water as his thirst had only become more exquisite with the passage of time. He looked around for his sword cane on impulse but then remembered it had been surrendered at Cordelia’s apartment. With that quick remembrance the weight of the events mere hours ago came to the forefront of his mind. He had given himself up, throwing a duel he had little chance of losing, all for the sake of protecting his niece. When he was escorted out by Edward’s thugs, the sound of the two arguing above could be heard from the street below.

Concerns for her safety made him pace the small room, some sort of a cell, angrily. Strangely, the room still felt familiar, a feeling he had first ascribed to the chloroform. Worrying about Cordelia pushed the feeling to the back of his mind as he considered all of the scenarios she might be subjected to. He prayed the envelope he left her would remain undiscovered. There was no doubt in his mind Edward would have the place searched though he hoped it would be delayed, given his brother’s haste. Most likely someone would be left to guard her. Cordelia was smart and clever, though no match physically for the ilk her father had brought with him. He pushed those fears aside. What he needed most of all was to believe she would come through and find a way to rescue him, a hope that was easier to have in London than in this dank, small, eerily familiar room. Time passed slowly for Degory until, finally, the dark night finally gave way to the gray gloom of predawn. He sat there on the straw mattress, playing out a dozen or more plans of escape. As was often the case, his gaze fell upon his clockwork arm. He was unsure why it had not been taken from him when he was captured. It was removed easily enough, though the base that fused brass with flesh around his bicep was more or less permanent. It was a mystery as his billfold, his father’s pocket watch, and even handkerchief had all been taken from him. It was indeed odd this most exquisite and valuable piece of technology remained, one that could easily be used to bludgeon the senses out of some brute. He puzzled over whether that was due to negligence of his captors or part of something far more sinister he could not foresee.

In the distance, a cock crowed as the cell illuminated enough so he could better discern his surroundings. The nagging feeling this room created inside of Degory was in an instant replaced with a combination of emotions so poignant, so varied, they brought with them a sudden rush of vertigo that nearly made him vomit. Degory stood, fists clenched with rage as tears fell freely from his haggard face. He now knew exactly where he had been brought while he was helpless and unconscious. This room, this cell was indeed known to him, and was a place he had worked in earnest to forget. It was the room where he had watched his father slowly go insane after years of service to the Brotherhood of the Strange. He was in Bethlem Royal Hospital, more commonly known as Bedlam. It was a place Degory loathed with every fiber of his being, an emotion he was presently feeling for Edward as well. Within its walls unimaginable horrors took place upon the infirm and the insane. Despite recent reforms in the treatment of the mentally ill from Victoria II, this place still somehow seemed to slip between the cracks, as most Londoners chose not to think too keenly on such a controversial topic, nor bring it up in polite conversation. It was to Degory’s own shame that he too paid little heed to places such as this until he had personal reasons to do so. He knew Edward had done research here, and thought him as much a lunatic for it. Why he would wish to spend time amidst the insane was a mystery. Surely it was not out of a sense of compassion, for Edward never reserved any even for his own father while incarcerated here. It had become yet another point of contention between the two brothers. The fact he was in the very cell that held their father was proof at the callousness that now possessed Edward. For the next two hours or so Degory’s mind was bombarded with the memories of his ailing father James. The countless hours he spent holding his hand, the emotional torture of holding him down when he posed a danger to himself, or weeping as James was drugged to a near coma with Kendal Black Drop and other, even stronger opiates. Degory found himself weeping quietly, much as he had done at his father’s side in days past. Deeply, primally, Degory was fearful of the madness that had claimed James, coming to the paranoid, though not completely unfounded conclusion that following in his father’s footsteps as a member of the Brotherhood would eventually lead to his own mental undoing.

Later in the morning after the weeping had subsided and he had regained a measure of composure, Degory heard footsteps in the corridor outside his cell. For the first time it occurred to him just how eerily quiet it actually was. On every visit Degory had made in the past, the cacophony of the insane could be heard at all hours. Now that he had consciously recognized this

unnerving difference, the silence seemed far louder than the patients had ever been.

A key turned in the lock and the rusted metal door swung open with loud protest. Expecting to see doctors or nurses, Degory was instead greeted by the same thugs he had the pleasure of meeting the previous evening at Cordelia’s apartment. For all Degory knew, they were in Edward’s private employ, though it was far more likely these men were simply extra muscle unwittingly in the service of the Hand of Paris.

“Good mornin’ there, gov’nah. Sleep well?” asked one with a particularly heavy Cockney accent. “Dr. Priest be wantin’ to ave a word witcha. Right this way, please.”

Degory grunted. His throat was sore from lack of water. Though the address was cordial, the pistols and knives in their belts drove the meaning home well enough. He stood, and despite his suit’s disheveled and ratty appearance, gave his waistcoat an automatic smart tug to smooth out some of the wrinkles. He was a gentleman after all.

Being led through the silent halls of Bedlam Asylum was unnerving. The hospital was still in use, and Degory seriously doubted there was a sudden drop in the lunacy rate of London sufficient to close this place. He only saw a few attendants who were going about what appeared to be their daily routine. Each and every one of them looked as if they wished they were elsewhere. Exactly who those routines were being performed for only added to the mystery.

After they had walked for a few minutes up several flights of stairs and through several halls and corridors, they came to the open door of Edward’s private office; an office Degory did not know he still kept. Edward sat behind a large, darkly stained oak desk. Looking up he motioned Degory to sit in a plush wingback chair opposite his.

“Good morning Brother,” Edward said warmly, as if the altercations and drug induced incarceration of the evening had never taken place. “Please, sit down won’t you? I daresay this will be more comfortable than your cell.”

Sitting there, all Degory wanted to do was finish the duel he had begun. Unarmed and weakened as he was, it would be impossible to best him and the two thugs. It seemed he wanted something from Degory. Best, he figured, to regain his strength and see how things played out. There were far greater things at stake than his anger towards Edward, the safety of Cordelia not being the least of them.

“Water,” he croaked.

Edward poured a glass from a pitcher on a nearby tea cart and handed it to Degory, who drained the cool liquid in one long pull. Edward refilled it for him, sat down, and looked him square in the eye. “I must apologize for your treatment. I am under a tremendous amount of pressure right now and needed to tie up some loose ends.”

“Where’s Cordelia?” Degory demanded, his voice regaining strength, afraid of what ‘loose ends’ meant exactly.

“My daughter has given me quite the chase these past few hours,” Edward explained. “I would actually be impressed by her resourcefulness were it not proving to be such an inconvenience.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I returned to her apartment I found the man I left there drugged and unconscious on the floor. Soon after I received word she had hastily packed and fled. She is now residing at the Great Northern near King’s Cross.” He stared intently at Degory, “What is she about, brother? Why is she hiding?”

Degory gave a corse laugh, “You need to ask that after what you pulled last night? I imagine the poor girl is terrified.”

“Is that the only reason she has left? Is she running errands for the pretentious Degory Priest? My men told me she left with more than a holiday’s worth of luggage. As if she does not plan on returning anytime soon.”

“If she has left, Edward, it is of her own volition. You certainly gave her more than enough reasons.”

Edward leaned back in his chair, “We’ll see. She is being closely monitored. If she is up to your bidding it will be revealed.”

Degory’s mind was racing. Edward had pieced together far more than he had hoped. He may not know specifically what he and Cordelia were up to, nonetheless he knew there was a conspiracy brewing against the Hand of Paris. Trying to keep up the bluff he continued, “Edward, you are growing paranoid in your age. I was at Cordelia’s place having my arm serviced, nothing more.”

“Then why did you feel the need to conceal yourself from me when I arrived?”

“Because of your aforementioned paranoia. You, as well as the Brotherhood seem to think I had an involvement in LeRoy’s abduction.”

“You’ve roused suspicion Brother. Your inability to track the Temporal Accelerator, a device you invented, mind you, has some convinced that you do not believe in our purpose.

“Even though it cost me this?” Degory angrily stated waving his clockwork fist.

Edward dismissed his motion with a wave of his own, “It’s not important at the moment. There is a reason you are here. I have convinced certain members that, as your brother, I might be able to sway you to listen to reason and cooperate. I do hope that is the case. Others would coerce you in ways unbefitting the dignity a gentleman deserves.”

“If you wanted to show me dignity you would have not felt the need to lock me in Father’s cell. It’s certainly not as though you are lacking in rooms to let. What was it Edward? Did it make you feel powerful knowing how hard I tried to get Father moved to a better place, despite your callousness? Did it feel good locking me in there?”

Edward’s eyes narrowed. Degory assumed from the dark rings under them he had not gotten much sleep either. “This has nothing to do with James. I simply needed you to understand the gravity of this situation, and I calculated that to be the best way to demonstrate it. I was hoping an evening with your memories might show you how truly desperate I am right now.” He paused then added, “And how much I need your help.”

Before he could describe exactly what this help would entail, or why in the world he felt Degory would help him, an attendant came in. Dressed as a chamber maid she pushed a cart bearing two covered silver trays and a steaming pot of what smelled to be Earl Grey. Without ever looking Edward in the eye, the girl placed the two trays on his desk and poured two cups of tea. She was then casually dismissed and she took her leave promptly.

“I thought we would have a spot of breakfast,” he said attempting a smile while removing the lids to the trays, “before we really discussed things.”

As much as he would have loved to refuse food in protest, the simple truth was that Degory was hungry. The combination of stress, chloroform, and the length of time which had passed since he had eaten anything, made him swallow his pride and tuck in with Edward. Degory noticed the contents of their breakfast trays were different. While his brothers consisted of scones, jam, and steak, Degory’s platter had all of the fixings of a true Irish breakfast. Black and white puddings sat beside eggs, bacon, mushrooms, potatoes, and lightly fried tomato. He ate in earnest, washing it down with the tea, at first suspecting he might again be drugged via his breakfast, but quickly dismissed that thought. As off-kilter as Edward was, he clearly wanted to discuss something with Degory. There would be no drugs, at least, not yet.

“I thought you would like some pudding for breakfast,” Edward ventured. “You’ve always had a love of the Emerald Isle’s cuisine, God knows why.”

Though the food was indeed delicious, Degory could in no way bring himself to thank him for it and merely nodded at the statement between forkfuls. The two ate in silence for awhile, the hiatus gave Degory time to collect his thoughts. It seemed he and his brother were on an intellectually level playing field. They each knew the other was working behind the scenes to oppose the other, yet the details of these cunnings eluded them both. The breakfast also demonstrated that Edward had regained his composure from the previous evening. Despite his grandstanding and preaching, he seemed afraid. Specifically of what, Degory didn’t know. Any work for the Hand of Paris and the Mad Monk, Grigori, alone was more than sufficient reason to be afraid. It wasn’t until after breakfast was eaten and the trays cleared away that words were again exchanged between the two. He had poured himself a full three fingers of Scotch, Glenfiddich of course, and was slowly sipping it, and his eyes wandered from Degory’s gaze. Degory looked with disapproval.