***
Scoresby swept out impressively, one hand cockily placed atop the closest thigh holster. William and John followed less enthused to be seen arriving with the overly flamboyant man. As they’d noted before on their arrival through four-mile Finchley Road, the muddied streets were empty, eerily silent of the normal hustle and bustle of London. Rumor had been around the Countryside that King George had fled with his entourage to a distant Country estate, issuing an edict to the populace, to stay indoors, bolt all shutters and hide when undeath scratched at the window.
A tattered beggar woman wandered across their path to the door.
“Please, good sirs?” She was a toothless old woman with a single milky eye and the second sunken deeply into the withered socket. Parry barely spared her a glance, but slipped his hand into his coat pocket where a few pennies chinked. Feeling compelled by his compatriot’s show of charity, Franklin accidentally gave away his hotel money.
The old beggar’s cup rattled with the coins, she smiled joyfully, “thankee, sirs.” And moved on, shuffling in ragged widow’s weeds. It was only after William scuffed the soles of his high trooper boots on the top step of Admiralty House, that John checked over his pockets with dismay.
“Good grief! I think I just gave away my entire purse.”
“Since we’re staying at the same hotel, I’ll cover your bill.” William dismissed, “never forget doing God’s work is the highest reward in earning the keys to the Kingdom of Heaven.” His loftiness didn’t last long - to Franklin’s thankfulness. Last time, Parry had been moved by the spirit, he had almost ended up as an unmentionable’s dinner!
“That’s mighty generous of you, William. But, we shouldn’t dawdle.” Franklin urged nervously. Close to shoving the other inside, he breathed a sigh of relief once the door was closed between them and the city of ghosts London had become. In a far corner, Scoresby argued with a nameless clerk whom had a smooth bore musket slung over one shoulder and apparently kept giving a negative to Scoresby’s persistence.
“Ah! There you boys are!” Scoresby exclaimed, turning about and sighting them. “Come and explain to this idiot,” he sneered, “that we were all summoned by Mister Barrow and mustn’t keep the Lords of the Admiralty waiting!”
Before Franklin or Parry could respond; the clerk replied nasally. “Captains Parry and Franklin are requested by the Lords. You, Mister Scoresby have an appointment with the lowly Director of the Patents office.”
“But-”
“Only Captain Parry and Captain Franklin.”
“But, I was expected-!” Scoresby insisted, flushing an unattractive puce color. Franklin felt a little sorry for the man. Parry didn’t, checking the gold watch swinging from his breast pocket. “Our appointment was at nine-thirty, it is now a quarter past ten, step lively, boy.”
The clerk mumbled his apologies, foisted Scoresby off on another pimply-faced youth, who all but hauled Mister Scoresby through a different more cramped hallway to the Patents office. The original young man then led the men into the inner recesses of Admiralty House, past boarded windows and suspicious bloodstains in the hallway to a set of large, massive oak doors.
“Their Lordships await.” Said the clerk, announcing them in the next breath.
The Lords of the Admiralty oversaw and calculated moves on the chessboard of the world, holding the power of the greatest Naval power on earth - and none looked so well. Seated around a large rectangular green-leather clad table which sat ten; on one wall, flanked by bookshelves and globes of the known world, a large powder blue clock swung through the points of the compass. On a different wall were charts nine-deep ready to reveal any coastline of the world. Croker and Barrow, less important men, sat on either side at small desks.
Without the usual backbiting, intrigue and self-servicing, His Majesty’s Navy had sadly grown wan, nervous and thought Parry, twitchy at the slightest sound. He was half-inclined to throw his voice and mimic an unmentionable moan behind fat Sir George Cockburn, Junior Admiralty Lord, but Franklin might faint as well and that would be too inconvenient for him.
After formalities were observed, tedious though they were, First Lord Dundas spoke clearly on the matter at hand, interrupted by First Secretary, John Wilson Croker’s sputtering choke. Sending a mildly rebuking glance to the Secretary, Dundas began again.
“-It has come to our attention that the vast lands of the North may hold the key to our preservation - I - ah, expansion of our Arctic charts. So, much of the frozen north is unknown, indeed popular belief holds of an open polar sea, fortuitous to resuming trade if it -” Or tried to. Croker gave a particularly loud wheeze as though he couldn’t catch his breath. His sallow, hollowed out cheeks and waxy hands clutched at his lace jabot. John Barrow, Second Secretary, paused in his copious note-taking to fixate his strong gaze on the obviously-ill fellow with suspicion.
“-were discovered.” Dundas finished sharply.
Parry tried his best to appear fully absorbed by the First Lord’s words while Franklin fidgeted, uncertain of whether or not to try and aid Croker or suggest a Doctor was called in. The latter urge won out. “If I may speak momentarily, sir, Mister Croker seems quite ill. Perhaps he should be excused?” He ventured quietly, worrying his silk chapeau in thick hands.
A few of the white-wigged heads swiveled curiously to Croker, as if they’d quite forgotten he was of the company. Without anyone noticing, Mister Barrow had curled a hand around the spare single-shot revolver he carried for just these purposes.
“No,” Dundas said severely, peering down his aristocratic nose. “That won’t be necessary. Clerkenwell, retrieve a glass of honeyed wine for Secretary Croker.” The same young man who’d escorted Parry and Franklin to the inner Admiralty chambers, hurried to a side table where a crystal decanter of burgundy liquid sat.
Dundas began again, clearly annoyed his brilliant speech had been interrupted by a trivial concern. “Captain Parry, you will begin an assault on these northern reaches by sea, ships Hecla and Fury will be at your disposal.”
“Thank you, sir.” Parry said emotionlessly, though inside he was quite moved. The ships had been through the ice before and proved themselves seaworthy vessels, it was the same as reuniting with lost-lost friends. “My Second-in-Command?” He inquired, hoping secretly Hoppner would be rejoining him.
No one noticed that Croker had bitten young Clerkenwell. Dundas affected an expression of regret. “Anyone whom is willing and able by your judgment - and living, I might add. We received word this morning of Lieutenant Hoppner’s demise.”
Franklin gasped, immediately sorry he’d been thinking up ways to convince them he was the better man for the expedition and William could be his second. Parry kept his emotions in check though this was quite a blow. On the road to London, he presumed silently, running his mind over a list of men he knew. Ross the younger would make a fine commander one day, yet by age standards wasn’t proven in full command. Ross the elder, would never do, never mind his arrogant mindset, Parry and he had been in command of the expedition during the ‘Croker Mountains’ incident. Speaking of Croker...Parry withdrew from his musings to suddenly realize Secretary Croker had gone deathly pale, a pervasive reek of the grave wafted from his fine brown frock and blood-stained jabot. John began grasping at William’s arm, internal alarms going off on seven bells.
“W-William...”
“I know.”
“Is he?”
“I think so.” Warily the two men began edging for the massive oaken doors. Dundas hardly noticed, winding off into a long discourse of Franklin’s reason for being called. Mister Barrow rose from his seat, deciding things had gone on long enough. Dundas reached the point of orating with the flow of his hands, “-and with the discovery of a haven in the wilds of the North, a little England shall be-” his words choked off as Croker’s teeth tore through cloth and flesh, tearing open Dundas’s jugular. The First Lord went down with a gasping cry as the remainder of the Lords fled from their seats
pell-mell, knocking down pillowed chairs and colliding into each other in a mad dash to escape the unmentionable Secretary. Only Mister Barrow was calm among them, striding forward with his pistol cocked.
A single gunshot rang out over the frightened whimpers of the noblemen; Parry and Franklin froze on the threshold, determined to escape the melee before they too were caught up in it.
“This meeting is adjourned, gentlemen.” Mister Barrow said, voice ringing as Croker collapsed onto the stone floor. “We will reconvene tomorrow at Deptford. God save us all.”
Zombies! The Fall of London Page 5
