by J. L. Carter
Margaret glances at the Duke, but he’s still staring at the crystal pendant. She sighs, a deep and loud sound. “Is it because of what the King told you? About the invasion?”
The Duke remains silent. And silence, Margaret has learnt, is never a good thing. She steps over to him, hesitantly resting a hand on the Duke’s bare hip. “People say that he is losing his mind.”
“Perhaps he is,” says Julian, softly. “I don’t know. I just want you to be safe. This entire ordeal—I don’t know how to handle it.”
Margaret is floundering, struggling to keep up with both this conversation and the events that have taken place over the last few hours. It’s all happening at once, and she almost feels like time itself is bleeding together.
“Julian,” she says, lightly. “I don’t know what answer to give. But... with you, I think that I’d be safe anywhere.”
5
Over the next month, Margaret finds herself growing even fonder of Julian. She doesn’t love him, not just yet, but she thinks that she can grow to accept their relationship. It’s certainly enjoyable to spend their nights together, and even the conversations that occur throughout the day are something that she can appreciate.
But then, near the end of the first week of her second month living in the manor house, something strange happens. Margaret gets up and opens the curtains to her bedroom window, ready to look out upon the golden morning sky and the garden that rests just outside.
Instead, she’s met with the sight of strange shadows on the land. Curious, she pushes open the window and leans outside, glancing up to try and spot what must certainly be a brewing storm of the worst sort.
There are no black clouds. There are, however, strange floating shapes. “Oh my,” gasps Margaret. “Dear Heavens above!”
In the hallway outside her room, there’s a pattering of clacking shoes. Madeline has no doubt gathered her work force, and they are all rushing about, trying to get a grasp on the sudden onslaught of what can only be described as a fleet of flying ships.
They are cylindrical in shape. The colors vary from silver to black to copper, although the latter seems to be the most prevalent color. A few of the low flying ships are covered in spaced-out strips of bright green metal. They hover there, neither visibly powered by steam nor whirring mechanics.
Margaret’s bedroom door slams open. Julian bellows, “get away from the window!”
“What?” Startled, the young woman spins around. Her fiancé wastes no time in slamming the window shut and wrenching the curtains closed.
Julian demands, “stay away from the window. What’s happening out there, it’s not safe. You can’t go outside! You can’t even think about it, not right now. Margaret, I must leave for work. I must go speak to the concierge of the Prince Regent. Please, promise me that you won’t set foot outside until I return.”
Fear grips Margaret’s heart. It’s a cold thing, the sort that wraps around her bones, that makes her throat feel tight. “You can’t go out! We don’t know what those things are! Where did they come from? Who mans them?”
Gravely, Julian says, “that’s what I’m going to find out.”
Despite Margaret’s protests, Julian does go outside. He pulls on his traveling coat, grabs up his silver crusted walking cane, and heads down the street. It would be far quicker, he’s sure, to take a horse and carriage, but he hasn’t the patience for anything to be hooked up.
It doesn’t matter, either. He has no real intent of going to speak to the Prince Regent. Julian already knows what the problem is.
The King had been correct.
His mad ravings have come true.
They are being invaded, and the enemy is coming from above. Even as Julian walks down the cobbled path to the main road, the sky grows ever more crowded. The ships swarm into reality, invaders from another place entirely.
Julian ventures into town, where the streets are maddened, where people rush outside like ants in a crushed hill.
Someone stops him, grabbing Julian by the arm. The old woman’s gray hair is a mess. She’s still wearing her dressing gown. “Don’t tarry, kind sir! Have you heard? Have you heard?”
The Duke rests a hand on the old woman’s shoulder. He asks, “have I heard what?”
“They’ve sent down a box, those flying ships. They’ve sent down a copper box!”
“Oh? What was in it?”
“Nothing,” breathes the old woman, eyes wide with fear. “It didn’t open. They sent it down, and the box itself spoke!”
Julian’s stomach lurches. It’s tied into knots that no one can undo. This is the moment that he’s been fearing, ever since the King first uttered that fever dream warning. “It spoke? Impossible! A mere box could never utter a word!”
“But it did,” insists the woman. “It did! And in plain English. It gave us a message, one of war!”
“Tell me,” says Julian. “Tell me exactly what it said. Has that word spread? Do the common people know what happened?”
“All of England knows at this point. It’s war! That’s what they’re saying. Those who man the flying ships want the country. They want our entire home! That talking box, it said that they will take England for their own ground!”
A young man rushes up to them. He grabs the old woman by the arm. “Hurry, mother. We must make haste! I have our bags packed.”
“Bags?” Julian can’t help but be surprised. “Where are you going? Surely, there’s no reason to leave just yet.”
The young man shakes his head. “We have family in the south. I’ve sent a letter out already this morning, letting Aunt Hilda know that we’re coming. If that message box is telling the truth, then war is brewing, and the best place to spend war is with your loved ones.”
Julian nods. “May God bless your travels, and may the wind be always at your back. Careful, young man. Keep a close eye on your mother.”
“Always,” he swears, already guiding the older woman away from the Duke. In a matter of seconds, the duo is lost in the crowded streets. In a matter of seconds, the iron tight grip that Julian has held on reality is shattered.
This is, simply put, his worst nightmare.
6
News spreads quickly. England becomes a place of fear. In her country estate home, Margaret is kept separate from the city, for fear that they come to harm.
It’s hard on the young woman, not being able to leave. She feels trapped within the walls. Even worse, she feels very lonely.
Julian frequents the castle far more often than ever before. He is there when the British Government comes to King George III and begs him to retake his throne. They need a strategy to battle the “flying ships”. Still mentally unstable but revived by the confidence of his people, King George III cancels the Regency Act that would have his son to become the Prince Regent.
“A matter of days,” tuts Madeline, setting down a silver tray of tea beside Margaret. “That’s all it’s taken for our country to fall apart.”
Curious and desperate for conversation, Margaret asks, “do you not agree with returning the King to power?”
“He hasn’t done a thing in years,” says Madeline. “And tell me, my dear, my darling, tell me right now what you think he can do that the Prince couldn’t?”
“Didn’t the King hear of the invasion in his dreams?”
“Bah! Nothing but a coincidence. I’ve tended many a sick one over the years, my lady. When you’re plagued with a fever, you babble all sorts of nonsense.”
“This nonsense is true,” points out Margaret. She adds some cream and sugar to her tea. “The King had been correct, no matter what way he heard of—”
A scream cuts her off. A loud explosion follows suit. It’s coming from outside, in the direction of town. Madeline and Margaret rush towards the window of the sitting room. Outside, the sky has turned bright with glowing green lights.
People are screaming. Even from this great of a distance, Margaret can tell that much. Strange beams are being fired of
f from the flying ships. Several of them are shooting circular rings of light from the bottoms of their vessels; the lights are filled with small, dark spots.
Madeline says, "they’re attacking."
Margaret stares in horror. Another explosion, this one stronger than the last. It rattles the frames hanging on the wall and sends a blown glass horse teetering off of the mantle shelf.
The sound of the figurine shattering is lost among the chaos of battle.
“No,” says Margaret. “This is impossible! Wait—Madeline, my family!”
“There’s nothing that we can do for them,” says Madeline, firmly. “And there’s nothing that you can do for the city.”
“But—”
“No buts, my lady. I have been given strict instructions,” says Madeline. She takes Margaret by the hand and leads the woman out of the sitting room, down the hall, and into the kitchen. “You are to be kept as far from this horror as possible. Sit.”
"Sit?"
“Sit down, right there. Just have a seat. I’m making you lunch, and then we’re going upstairs to read.”
“Read? How can we read at a time like this?”
Madeline snorts. “It’s easy enough, darling. You open up the book and read the words out loud.”
“You know that’s not what I mean,” spits Margaret. “And I won’t just sit here, either!”
The head maid gives Margaret a withering stare. She picks up the knife that she had been using to slice the smoked ham and points it at Margaret. “Sit down. Sit down, right now.”
The two stare off against each other. Finally, though, Margaret gives in and listens.
It only takes a couple days of battle. With a great sorrow in his heart, King George III is forced to surrender to the Sky Men as the British army simply can’t compete with their technology. What battles there have been are brief but horrendous - entire streets are razed to the ground, hundreds of thousands are killed. It is tragedy at the highest peak.
All across Europe, people suffer. It is not just the bustling metropolitan cities. The small farming communities are targeted, too. Great beams of light shoot down. Sky Men are lowered down from their flying ships, carrying pistols made of steel, leather, and whirring gears.
Each shot is deadly, no matter where the bullet pierces. Many suspect poison. A few of the more liberals suggest magic as the cause, for what science could create such havoc?
None that Margaret can come up with, that much is certain. Worse, though, is the tragedy that takes place on the fourth day of battle. For, from the window in the kitchen, Margaret watches as her family home burns down to ashes.
The thick plume of smoke that rises from the ruins seems to choke Margaret, even though there are miles of distance between them. She sinks to her knees, sobbing, and virtually inconsolable. No one can get her back up until Julian gets home, late that afternoon.
He rushes into the kitchen as soon as Madeline gives him word of the event. Julian drops onto the ground beside her, scooping his fiancée into his arms. “Oh, my dear. I’m so sorry that this war has affected you so gravely. I had high hopes that you would be able to escape this war relatively unharmed.”
“It’s gone,” sobs Margaret. “It’s gone! The whole house, Julian! Everything! What if—what if they were inside? My parents—my sisters!”
Saying the words out loud just makes the horror that much more real. Margaret sobs so hard that she’s shaking, that she’s left gasping for breath.
Julian hushes her, and he whispers kind things into her ear. They sit there until Margaret is brought back to some semblance of reality, eyes blood shot and face ruddy. “There now,” says Julian. “Let’s get you up. Madeline, a cup of tea, if you would? We’re going to rest in my chambers.”
“Of course,” says Madeline. The maid shuffles off to do her job, and Julian helps Margaret to her feet.
“This way,” says Julian. He guides the young woman to the bedroom and, for the rest of the night, works at trying to ease her concerns.
7
News comes, in these dark days, of a wedding being planned. The letter comes shortly after the white flag has been raised above the castle.
To those whom it may concern,
Percy Harris and Emma Campbell will be wed in the coming days. We hope that their union can help bring the family closer together, to reinforce the bonds in these days of hardship.
The wedding has not been given a date yet, but news can be expected in the coming hours. It will be quick, in all due haste, for the war is on the horizon.
Say a prayer for the new couple, and say a prayer for your nation.
May you all be safe.
Truly, Margaret pities her cousin. She can’t imagine what it would be like to be engaged to a man like Percy. Even worse, thinks Margaret, is the face that the wedding will be a rushed affair.
It sounds like Emma and Percy will have no time to try and work things out. They will be pushed from engaged to married in a matter of days.
Still, despite how bad Margaret feels for Emma, she finds herself too focused on her own life to even write back!
From her manor house, she can see the destruction brought about by the Sky Men, as they march on London, countless homes are taken. Smoke fills the sky. Even the strong winds from the north can’t blow it out of the way.
Way-stations crop up across the land. These are houses where the Sky Men are put up against the will of the families who live there. Margaret hears of them each day when Julian comes home.
At least, she does... until he quits coming home every day.
As the pillaging and raiding continues to spread across Europe, Julian sends less and less time at home. He is very busy, according to Madeline, dealing with business and issues that can’t be passed around to the common ear.
It’s during one of these outings that someone raps upon the front door. Margaret waits for a few moments, but no one comes to answer it.
“One moment,” says Margaret. She sets down her book, smooths out her skirt, and goes to answer the door. As soon as it’s cracked open, a strong arm wedges its way inside. A shoulder follows suit, and then the rest of the body.
The man that shoves his way inside is rugged and broad shouldered, with short black hair and sharp blue eyes. There are two men behind him, each one carrying one of the copper pistols that the Sky Men are famous for.
Margaret hollers and quickly retreats, trying to put as much space between herself and the intruders. “Get out,” she screams. “What are you thinking? This is an outrage! This is insane! Get out! Get out!”
The three men trade amused looks. The one at the front steps forward, holding up one hand. “At ease, Madam. We do not mean you any harm. This house has been chosen as a way-station for my kind. I am Prince Aidar. You should consider it to be a great honor that I have chosen this home as my temporary place of residency.”
Aidar gestures to the two men behind him. “These are my guards and companions, Eidan and O’lat. You will hardly know that they are here.”
“My apologies! I was busy in the—oh my God.” Madeline rushes into the sitting room. Upon seeing the three Sky Men, she comes to a stop so sudden that she nearly trips. “No! Margaret, quick! Come here, my dear. Hurry, come here!”
“There is no need to hurry,” says Aidar, in perfect English. His voice is smooth and deep, like an instrument that can’t be named. “I have no plans on harming you. We are merely here for a place to rest. Gather all those who live here. I must know the numbers of this house.”
Much like when her parents stepped out to town, when Julian is away, Margaret is in charge of the house. Trembling and uncertain, she gives the head maid a hesitant nod. “Go on,” says Margaret. “Fetch the others. The head of the house is away on business at the present.”
It doesn’t take long to gather everyone in the kitchen. Madeline, Johnson, and Castor have all gathered those who work under them. Even the gardener and his apprentice have been brought inside, despite the fa
ct that they seldom step foot in the manor house.
Margaret stands in front of them all, staring down the so-called Prince. She folds her hands in front of herself, tries not to look as frightened as she feels. “I don’t think that this house is right for you. We have no contact with any in battle, and no business of any kind with your sorts. Truly, there are other places to stay.”
“Truly,” says Aidar. “This is the place where we will be staying. It is not up for debate, nor does it matter what you say.”
And that, it seems, is that.
Outside, the country is at war.
They try to fight against the invasion, even though the King has already raised a white flag. Unofficial troops storm the streets, taking up arms of every sort. While they appear to have no way to fight against the invaders, they still refuse to give in.
This is their country, after all. This is their home.
And this house, while small and unimportant in the grand scheme of things, is, in the absence of its owner, Margaret’s home. She is loath to give it up to the people facing her, whether one claims to be a prince or not. Eidan and O’lat have very little to do with the humans that day. They slip away to a back room, one that’s filled with a massive book shelf, and promptly begin to rip apart the leather-bound books.
“I hope that they never find what they’re looking for,” says Margaret, bitterly.
Madeline gives her a hooded look. “I hope that they find it, and right quick. That might make them leave, Margaret.”
“They haven’t left any of the other taken houses.”
“But perhaps what they sought wasn’t there?”
“And you think it could be here?”
“I think that I have seen war before,” says Madeline, gravely. “And I think that I would rather not fall prey to it a second time.”
Margaret purses her lips together. “I have no interest in having those—those things in my home!”
