by Michael Rigg
"Come, Bryce. Let's step out and give the lady some privacy."
"No, Lucien," I said as I gathered up the clothes. "I saw that we passed a large pilot's lounge downstairs at the base of the steps. I'll go down there. Besides, I want to freshen up." I wrinkled up my nose for effect. It was doubtful Bryce would agree with me the way he kissed me, but I still wanted to take the opportunity to take a decent hot shower.
"Fair enough," Bryce nodded. He looked at his pocket watch. "We'll try to be in the air in about an hour."
Smiling, I threw him a playful salute. Then, arms loaded with clothes, I headed out. I kissed Lucien on the cheek as I passed him. "Thank you, Lucien. These are perfect."
~~~~~~~
Moments later I was in a private shower stall in the main pilot's lounge. The hot water and soap felt so good on my skin I almost fell asleep standing up. Only the undercurrent of urgency lit a fire under me. I stepped out of the shower and dried off, then I got dressed in the clothes I got from Lucien. I let my damp hair hang over my shoulders rather than pull it back into a pony tail.
I had just tucked the hat into the bulky pocket of my new jacket when I heard voices outside coming closer. Ducking into a toilet stall, I closed the door and stepped up on the rim of the bowl, crouching low so they wouldn't see me in here. I winced as the voices suddenly jumped in volume as the men came in.
"I said there's a lot of sky to cover and we're not going to get very far in this dark."
"So what are we gonna do about it?"
"Nothin' we can do."
By the accents—or lack of accents from my perspective, I could tell they were from a northern city. Leaning forward, I peeked through the crack by the door and saw that there were three men, all young and all wearing black uniforms with black leather jackets. I immediately recognized the TW logo on their sleeves from the planes that attacked the Mystic Lady and covered my mouth to keep from gasping out loud.
"We're gonna have to report back to General Gehrels in like twenty minutes."
"So?"
"So, we have to give him somethin'."
"What were the orders again?" the third, youngest-sounding voice said.
"Jesus, kid, you are a pathetic stick jockey," the apparent leader said. Then he recited, "We're looking for some broad traveling with Bryce Landry."
My eyes widened.
"So?" The same guy.
"So, we get her and bring her back to the S.S. Republic. She's gotta be alive and kickin'."
The young one asked, "And what about this Bryce guy?"
"Expendable. Mr. Thorne don't want no witnesses or trouble."
That's when I stepped down from the toilet and opened the stall door. I stepped into the middle of the pilot's lounge and looked at the three men standing around. One was washing his hands. One was combing his hair. The third stood nearby leaning against the wall—until he saw me. Then he stood up and rested his hand on the butt of his holstered pistol and loudly cleared his throat.
The two men facing their individual mirrors froze and watched me in the reflections.
I said, "I'm the one you're looking for. Take me to Mr. Thorne."
They all exchanged glances. The one by the door, the young one, drew his weapon but kept it pointed down. The oldest looking one, a balding pale man with dark deep-set eyes, started to laugh. The other two followed suit almost immediately.
I began to regret my ploy. And I wondered what made me attempt it. I just couldn't let Bryce stumble into a trap. It was better that I sacrifice myself—especially if I'm wanted alive and he's wanted dead. I could take down a pirate ship, I could surely take down some corporate baddy.
"Seriously," I said, "I'm the one he's looking for. They call me Alice."
The middle one stopped laughing and said, "Ooh, are you now? Well, Alice, how do we know you are what the old man says you are?"
I lifted my chin. I felt my muscles start to coil. "This is about the city of Atlantis, right?"
That did the trick. The laughter or lingering smiles immediately stopped and each man turned to me with blazing eyes as if I had turned into a dangerous wounded animal. The young one with the weapon reached over and flicked a switch on it. The bald one reached for a back pocket. I heard the familiar metallic clacking of handcuffs, but didn't waste a thought on how I knew the sound was familiar.
The middle one stepped forward with a lecherous grin and said, "Thanks for makin' this easy, little lady."
"Who said it was easy?"
I had two thoughts going through my mind in the next instant before the tip of my boot connected with the guy's jaw. First, I wanted to go with them—or take them all down. I knew I had to. Bryce and Lucien were unarmed and these guys just wanted me alive. If I didn't take them down or surrender, Bryce would be in danger.
My spring-kick to the first man sent him reeling backwards into the sink. The bald man swung wide for my head. I ducked, then came up with a solid blow to the stomach. He doubled over and fell to his knees with a loud Oof! I brought my fisted hands down on the back of his head to knock him out.
As I turned to throw myself at the one with the weapon, planning to cartwheel into him in the hopes of taking the weapon out of his hand, I felt a jolting sting in my side and everything turned black.
I was dead.
~~~~~~~
How could I be dead? My ears popped.
As I came to, I winced. My body felt hammered. My head pounded and my ribs ached. I felt like I was on fire from my hair to my toenails. I remembered the electric blue flash from the young kid's weapon, then darkness. Another stun pistol of some kind.
Bryce!
As the thought came to me, my eyes popped open and I tried to sit up. I couldn't. My arms were both asleep, prickling on pins and needles, and pinned under me, tied together with rope that wrapped around my waist. The line split there to my ankles and to my neck. The slightest movement made the rope on my neck tighten like a noose, so I held still. I was still dressed, minus my jacket and hat. My hair was dry and pinched under the line around my neck.
I closed my eyes and hoped my ploy saved Bryce. If the Thorne & Wolfe thugs knocked me out, maybe they quickly took me out of the hangar to this new place and left before Bryce knew I was gone. I had two thoughts that kept my heart beating. One, they apparently needed me for something, and two, if I could take out a pirate ship, I could take them out as well. I prayed they didn't find Bryce. The only question that remained was where am I?
Before opening my eyes again, I used my other senses to gather intel.
I heard a deep thrumming whomp-whomp-whomp that reminded me of the engines of the Mystic Lady, but these were muffled, distant and felt more... fluid. I also heard periodic tinks and metallic clunks, distant muffled jets of steam... and bubbles? Judging by the sounds, I thought I was in the hold of a ship. I was close.
My sense of smell was only confused because it didn't smell like a ship. I smelled a putrid combination of cigar smoke and... perfume?
For the brief moment my eyes were open, I saw bronze ribs with rivets arching up along a wall next to me, flickering gold candlelight.
A heavy metal door squawked open. I heard voices as someone entered the room and spoke to someone else outside. The man's voice inside said, "I will make arrangements with the quartermaster once we reach Atlantis. Just have Captain Moon notify me the second he detects we're being followed."
"Yes sir."
"Oh, and make sure the torpedoes are loaded and ready for bear."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Thorne, sir."
Then the heavy door thumped shut and I heard the squeak of a wheel turning, locking pins into place. So, I was aboard a ship, or submarine, heading for Atlantis in the company of none other than Bradford Thorne himself. Good lord, how long had they held me unconscious? It must be—
"I know you're awake, Alice."
Thorne's greasy voice startled me and I opened my eyes. I turned my head slowly against the tight burn of the rope and looked at him. He wasn't
what I expected. He wore a black suit with a silver ascot. The jacket was smooth and flawless as was the fold of the ascot around his neck. On his head he wore a skull cap of some kind, a glass dome banded with gold and silver. Short and skinny with dark beady eyes and a large handlebar mustache, he was almost comical, especially with the glass helmet. As bits and pieces of my memory came to me, mostly of things that had no relevance to my situation here, I flashed back to an old Dudley Do-Right cartoon. "Snidely Whiplash, I presume?"
Apparently, cartoons were something else that didn't make it into this reality. Thorne merely raised an eyebrow and smiled. "No. Bradford Thorne, actually." He kept his distance from me and leaned back against a gold gilded desk, folding his scrawny arms over his chest. My heart panged for Bryce seeing this corporate thief mimic his stance.
The cabin I was in was small, no more than 12 to 14 feet wide with curving walls banded with metal and rivets. Lanterns on either side of the door and on the desk cast the only illumination in the space, shining their flickering copper-gold glow on the junk scattered about. The room was crowded with bric-a-brac. A suit of armor brandishing a sword, a rack with a thick fur coat, a Confederate battle flag half burned with holes torn through it, small statuettes, a gold and platinum chess set and several rich-looking humidors in mahogany and cherry. I quickly had an idea that this man enjoyed his materialistic lifestyle.
"I should have known," I said.
His mustache twitched and he blinked. "I would love to untie you—believe me—but you are far too dangerous to risk."
"Look," I offered a false smile, "I'm sorry about your goons, Mr. Thorne, but they had it coming."
"Oh, indeed." He raised an eyebrow. "I understand you put up quite the struggle. It's only a shame they couldn't vent their frustrations on your man Captain Landry."
"Oh?"
"Yes. Interesting, I thought. Why would you have been at an airfield alone?" He paused as he pretended to ponder the question, then he scratched his chin and pushed off from the gold desk. "No matter. They've been executed for their ignorance."
"Executed? Why would you—?"
"They had their orders, Miss Alice. I wanted Bryce Landry." He took a step toward me, though not much closer, as if he thought I'd suddenly snap out of these ropes and attack him. "You see, Mr. Hearse feels you are important to our Atlantis acquisition. I personally don't think so, but we'll see." Then he turned and started to pace. I couldn't follow him because of the rope around my neck, so I just closed my eyes and listened. "If you're important, you'll be well used. If not... you'll be well used." He took a quick breath before I could respond to that. "But Bryce Landry remains as the only other treasure I'd love to have. I would love to have his head mounted...hm... right there." He smiled at the only blank spot on the metal wall in the room.
"So, your dearly departed goons didn't find him? Is that what you're saying?"
Thorne suddenly appeared next to me. I flinched under the thick coils of rope. "In time, my dear. In time." He reached up and touched the crystal helmet. "A little something I whipped up to keep Hearse out of my brain. I think it works. The ghoulish imp had no idea I had you brought to the Republic, or that we are well on our way down to Atlantis without him."
"Ghoul, huh?"
Thorne shrugged. "No matter. We'll be at the beautiful golden doors of Atlantis within the hour, then you are going to help me unlock its treasures... and its knowledge."
"I am, huh? And who says I'll help you?"
Thorne frowned, "Because I'll keep you until I find Bryce Landry—which I'm guessing won't be too hard. He'll probably attempt to rescue you." He took a breath. "You help me get my fortune and I turn you loose into the arms of your dashing Confederate Captain." He shrugged. "What would I care? As soon as I've unlocked the secrets below, Landry won't mean a thing to me. He'll be nothing, him and his whole inbred family."
"And if I don't help you, you'll hold me until he comes, then torture him until I agree to help you?"
His smile widened. "Splendid idea, my dear. Splendid. I can see we'll get along famously."
CHAPTER 34, “Closing Fists”
Lucien shook Bryce awake, shouting in his face, "Captain! Captain, wake up! Snap out of it, man!"
Bryce's eyes gradually fluttered open and focused on the butler. He took Lucien by the arms and was about to blurt out that he had just been stuck in a trance, locked in a mental conversation with Pandora as she warned him that Thorne & Hearse were sending goons to look for Alice. Not wanting to let on that he was communing with a witch, Bryce acted as though he had dozed off and had been stunned out of a deep sleep. Still, he came alert, his eyes wide and darting as Lucien continued to bark at him.
Lucien's eyes flashed and he spun around in the room. "Alice hasn't returned from changing yet?"
Bryce eyed Lucien, focusing on the fact the man was adjusting his spectacles under his unkempt hair. He didn't know how long he'd been out of it while in the trance with Pandora, but Lucien had obviously dozed off and just woke to this realization.
"How long was she gone?"
"Not more than an hour, I'd say, but—"
Bryce pushed past him to the door, grumbling, "A lady of refinement might take an hour to change her clothes, but not Alice. Come on!"
As they approached the pilot's lounge downstairs, Lucien noticed three men in Imperial jackets loading a large steamer trunk into the cargo bay of a twin engine plane. He didn't think anything of it other than to avoid their glances should they look across the hanger toward he and Bryce.
Bryce knocked on the door to the pilot's lounge as the twin engine plane roared to life. The sound of the engines echoing in the hangar were deafening so Bryce knocked harder. He called out, "Alice! Alice, are you all right?"
Lucien watched as the idling airplane began to taxi out of the hangar, out from under the gargantuan folded wing of the transport plane next to it.
"Alice! Answer me!"
As the plane turned toward the runway, Lucien saw the TW logo on its tail. "Oh, dear God, Bryce."
Bryce turned to see what Lucien was saying when the butler lifted a husky leg and kicked in the door to the lounge.
"Lucien, what—?"
Both men rushed in, calling for Alice, but she was already gone. Bryce noticed spots of blood on the floor, signs of a struggle, one of the sinks still running water.
"Bryce, that plane! It's Thorne!" Lucien turned and ran out, Bryce following him, but it was too late.
The Thorne & Wolfe transport plane was already airborne and winging its way toward the rendezvous with Thorne's fleet in the Atlantic.
~~~~~~~
Of course Pandora had no intention of meeting Bryce and Alice back at Seven Orchards. She had other plans. She had to kill the ghoul who impregnated her with its filth.
As the stolen kite roared through the sky, belching a silver stream of exhaust as Pandora banked it toward the Atlantic, she filled her mind with thoughts of her father and mother. She knew there was a chance she wouldn't survive an assault against the King of Ghouls in the center of an Imperial fleet, but there wasn't much left for her to fight for anyway. She was going to give it her all.
She hated duping Bryce, though she spent her life doing just that. He was like a big brother to her and they used to joke around all the time, meeting at pilot's lounges where she would tease him about his engagement to the stuck-up Ms. McFerran, and he would tease her about being a short, snotty little brat.
But now the joking was over, those days were gone. The world had changed drastically in the last couple of days and now Pandora found herself in the cockpit of a stolen kite hell bent on a suicide mission to save the world.
She laughed as she thought about how ridiculous that sounded. "Me? Save the world?" I couldn't even save my own father. Twice. Glancing into the night sky above her, she added, "Hear that daddy? You and momma... you stick with me, okay?"
It was then that she cranked up the wireless box on the kite and placed a direct call t
o the ghoul himself.
~~~~~~~
Teivel Hearse stood on an open air gangway high above the Atlantic Ocean, the freezing wind whipping through his cloak and tossing his black tangled hair as he glared down at the water. He was growing to hate Bradford Thorne even more than he already did. Like Perek Grubbs and any other human he'd come across, Hearse was only using the man until he fulfilled his obligations as a tool, then he was going to have him for dinner. Literally.
But Thorne was becoming an unstable liability. Hearse had been locked in a trance, reaching out mentally to find his escaped bride when he suddenly realized he could no longer read Thorne's thoughts. So, the man either put two and two together and realized the weakness ghouls had against glass extended to its mental shielding properties, or one of Thorne's many female conquests had finally got the better of him.
After searching the airship from stem to stern and finding no sign of the man, Hearse concentrated his attentions on the other members of the crew. No need to look for an airship when its path casts ripples in the clouds. Jumping from mind to mind, he saw what they saw and quickly determined that Thorne had altered his orders to General Gehrels and had already moved to bring the key here. And, since he knew for a fact Thorne was no longer aboard the Victory, that left only one possibility.
The starry sky illuminated the Atlantic with silver crescents of light on its black surface, faint lines of phosphorescent foam churned around the fleet of ships far below. Hearse's eyes locked upon the Stravitskov, the lesser of the two submersibles, squatting in the water next to the aircraft carrier to which both submarines had been anchored. It came as no surprise that the Republic was gone.
~~~~~~~
“You work fast, Thorne,” Hearse muttered to the waves. In the few hours since they'd last spoke, the human managed to shield his mind, change his directive, and bring the woman here. Now, Hearse's erstwhile human counterpart was on his way to the richest treasure the universe had ever known.
"You will suffer slowly," Hearse cursed under his breath just as he sensed the cautious approach of the ship's purser. He cast his red eyes toward the man as the purser gingerly stepped out on the gangway, holding onto the railing with both hands as the salty night wind whipped around him. "What do you want?" The purser flinched. "Um... Sir, I have come at your call, sir."
