Dark Age

by Robert T. Bradley

  The wolf rolled his head to one side and licked his lips, and with a sudden snap he snatched the peace offering and laid his body on the floor, breaking it apart in a drool-flooded mush. One of the wolf’s paws was wrapped in a cotton bandage. Baxter moved forward slowly to take a better look at it.

  ‘He’s harmless, young man.’

  A trembling hand touched Baxter’s back.

  ‘His name’s Loki,’ Sidney said, giving the dog a rub on the head.

  ‘Sidney, sir, I am so sorry, I got lost trying to find my way back to my quarters.’

  ‘Is that so.’ The old man smiled a display of white dentures and patted the dog on the head.

  To Baxter’s surprise, the wolf rubbed his head in his hand. ‘Why is he here?’

  ‘The Fulton brought him in around, oh, six or seven weeks ago.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘His Lordship’s fleet directive.’ The butler said it in a tone suggesting Baxter should know what he was talking about. Sidney let out a huff. ‘Directive number six? If ever beyond the city walls an animal is discovered to be in distress, all airships are to bring them back here.’

  Baxter’s eyes widened. ‘Is this a zoo?’

  ‘No,’ said the old man, shaking his head, suggesting such a thing an unlikely guess. ‘This is an animal hospital.’

  Baxter felt a warm glow come from within. He looked around, placing his hands on both his hips. ‘A hospital for animals? That is something.’

  ‘Indeed,’ Sidney said, raising his arm to Baxter. ‘Come, young man, I’ll show you where his Lordship treats them.’

  ‘Lucian, Lord Seagrave, takes care of them himself?’

  ‘Yes,’ Sidney replied.

  He followed Sidney through the garden, passing a goat also chained far enough away from the wolf, and a large enclosure holding all different types of exotic birds. Behind a glass door was a pristine operating room with white walls and surfaces, and a bed with a large gas lamp hovering over the top of it. Windows let in the light from outside.

  ‘His Lordship takes care of all the animals,’ said Sidney, ‘you could say it’s a hobby of his.’

  Baxter tried the handle, locked. ‘Only his Lordship’s allowed inside, stops the contamination.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Baxter asked having never heard the word before.

  ‘It’s rather complicated to explain. Come on,’ Sidney said, ‘you’ll have plenty of time to spend here, I’m sure. No doubt his Lordship is wondering where we both are.’

  III

  Baxter tottered back to his quarters with his hands in his trouser pockets. He wore a smile the size of which only matched the surprise of what he’d just discovered. He opened the wardrobe, and in the multitude of colours he found a sapphire outfit just as Lucian had suggested. He took off his clothes, stumbled over to the chest of drawers and opened several. The room resembled the Orgotten Forest, the closets looked like feminine trees, wrapped in natural patterns of painted green. The designs were intricate, resembling elfish art, matching the curtains. He walked over and pulled them back. The city and its structures churned in an unnatural contrast to the rooms decorations, each light resembled one of his father’s jewelled clockwork arm circuits.

  Getting dressed Baxter noticed the sleeves were slightly long on the jacket, he resembled an adventurer, he thought, ready to take on the Uppers, a character from one of the many books he loved. Ideas of how he might behave flickered against the fabric screen of his mind. He wished for the charm of his uncle; he’d always entertain people with his stories and animated gestures. He had a way with words, yet always fluttered and fought to find them when he spoke to Baxter’s father, was it intimidation in the face of his father’s intellect? Their relationship with one another, Baxter knew he would never understand it, yet how he longed to study it now, and be back with them both, for them to see him now, Baxter Nightingale Engineer Apprentice.

  From behind his chamber door, a person stood in waiting for him, his shadow flashing under the doorway. As each of the knocks hit the door, Baxter’s nerves contracted. His brow moistened and his armpits turned sticky. He opened the door, and the man dressed in fleet regalia bowed.

  ‘Good evening, sir, this way please.’

  ‘You wouldn’t happen to have a cigarette by any chance, sir?’

  The servant didn’t expect a question but proceeded to pat a hand about his own torso. ‘Were there none to be found in your dresser, sir?’

  ‘My dresser?’ Baxter bound back over to it, and there, tucked in one of the dresser boxes, was a silver cigarette case with a red leather top. He cracked it open, finding the cigarettes lined up neatly together. ‘Perfect.’

  IV

  ‘Doctor Viscountance, and her husband, Richard.’ The servant’s introduction of the city’s best lung surgeon caused the party rooms guests to clap and smile in a way Madeline found to be repulsive. No sign of Lucian, or his new guest. She tucked the wolf pelt under each of her arms. She suspected the worst.

  ‘Captain, my goodness, how delightful you look!’ The unwanted compliment came from the tall toff who hadn’t stopped staring since she got introduced. ‘May I?’

  The weasel grabbed her hand, forced the glove off and arched the palm, pressing his vile lips against it. The temptation to render the hand into a fist burnt away in her chest. He wouldn’t be doing it if he knew where those hands had been.

  ‘Yes, thank you, you look quite lovely too.’ Madeline tipped her head with mocking which went unnoticed.

  ‘Oh, Captain, would it be too much to request a dance later?’ begged the weasel. ‘I gather plonk Captains are able to shuffle their feet about.’ He tipped his thin head back at his own gag, revealing a row of plague-encrusted teeth.

  She tried to figure out if the question was due to his rudeness or ignorance, and settled on both. ‘I am so sorry, kind sir,’ bowing her head shallowly, ‘but we airship Captains only accept dance invitations from our superiors, military and civilian.’ Madeline grabbed the glass of Absinthe from his slender hand and took a deep swig of it, then pressed the empty vessel back at him.

  Shocked and unbeknown how to handle the situation, the weasel sniggered, blinked several times and backed away from her to the nearest group of people he trusted to have better manners.

  Madeline’s eyes rolled away from the vermin. How she loathed such parties. Making her way around the other small circles of guests, a servant offered her a drink. She took it, necked it and grabbed one-half full on the side belonging to another rodent making a similarly squandered fuss. It saw her uniform and accepted the mugging while waddling as far away from Madeline as possible.

  The servant opened the grand doors for another introduction. ‘Mr Baxter Montgomery Nightingale.’ The room sharply silenced, everyone faced the door.

  Madeline saw the top of his head among the grease of all the slick backs and reflections emitting from balding patches, creating a row of what resembled buttock cheeks. She heard their whispers:

  ‘A Nightingale, here?’

  ‘Can’t be?’

  ‘I thought they were in exile.’

  ‘Must be a different name?’

  ‘Are you sure he said, Nightingale?’

  V

  Every eye in the room locked on Baxter, he slouched in his hips fiddling with his chuff, he body felt empty. He reached into his top pocket and removed the cigarette case. Plucked one, dropped it, stomping around to pick it up as it rolled under a person’s shoe, it crushed it. He stood back up, eyes still on him.

  The first person to bow was a tall man stood directly in front of him. It was a shallow one. People repeated his name aloud. They all eventually turned away from him, continuing their conversations. Everyone appeared as though they knew each other.

  ‘Drink, sir?’ asked one of the servants, holding a tray.

  ‘Yes, thank you so much.’ Baxter fudged a glass from the tray, held it up in front of his face; wishing it was larger, he took a sip. The Absinthe tasted di
fferent to the one he’d had with Lucian earlier. He looked around the party for him.

  Older people, over the age of fifty, balding men, the women decorated in jewellery like Saint’s Day trees. Between them all the airship Captain from the moor sailed into his gaze. Her dress was white and long, her hair tied back in plats. The other women around her wore dresses flaring out at the side, but her outfit cut into her hips, showing her figure. She looked more beautiful than she did when he first saw her, if it was even possible. She caught him staring, and he smiled awkwardly as he noticed the wolf pelt he’d given Tabitha, wrapped around the Captain’s neck. She removed it and approached.

  ‘Here.’ She handed it to him. ‘This belonged to your friend. I’m sorry I stole it.’

  ‘Oh,’ Baxter said, surprised. ‘You can hang on to it, I have hundreds.’

  She pushed it further at him. ‘No, it was wrong for me to take it.’

  Baxter bowed, unsure on exactly how one should address a lady at such an event. ‘Thank you, and good evening, Captain.’

  ‘Good...evening, Mr Nightingale.’

  Baxter blushed. ‘You look beautiful.’

  She ignored the compliment and tried to push him away from the door.

  ‘Lord Lucian Augustus Seagrave.’

  Everyone in the room stood still as he strode in, boots tapping against the marble floor, welcoming everyone with a huge smile and his arms outstretched. Cronos took flight and landed on a far perch; a few officials stood under him. They looked up at the bird with matching worried expressions, but none dared to move for fear of appearing rude to the host.

  ‘Thank you, thank you all of you, thank you for coming. So sweet to see you all again, I will do the rounds…’

  A few ladies cackled as the men smirked at each other.

  ‘I shall aim to get to you all, please enjoy the evening. Before we start.’ Lucian positioned himself in the centre of the room. ‘I would just like to say a few words. As you know its been my life long endeavour to link our city districts. Many of you have been with me since the start of our gas drilling project which we started a decade ago and since then we have brought into the company many new and fresher faces.’ He looked at Baxter. ‘The fleet now comprises of eighty ships, we have five more joining our reconnaissance team headed up by airship Captain Barnuckle of the Gypsy Moth.’

  Everyone looked at Madeline and smiled. She bowed her head and looked at Baxter.

  ‘But the true surprise is yet to come.’ said Lucian. ‘The gas locomotive’s launch is but a few days away and I have in my heart the heavy burden of change. Our lives here, not just in the Machine City but the whole of Britannia will change. The Lowers will be among us, the Uppers will come down to the Middles and see what life is truly all about, a lot will change but stay bright, the Seagrave Airfleet is the jewel in the royal crown, our example when people look up will inspire the unity. How the royal fleet and our fleet work together was just the beginning. We will be united under one banner, that time is coming, but before then, drink now, dance later and let’s enjoy ourselves.’ He raised his arms and shouted, ‘Music!’

  At the end of the room a band kicked in, it was a merry tune, a mixture of a fast fiddling jig with deep bass tones repeating in swift procession.

  Lucian turned to Baxter. ‘Come with me, there are some “people” I want you to meet.’

  Lucian put his arm around him, nodded at the Captain, and led Baxter off to a group of pink round-looking men smoking cigars. Madeline took the final swig of her drink.

  ‘Dance?’ came a voice from over her shoulder. It was a rather handsome fellow, tall, with a long sharp chin.

  ‘Yeah, why not.’ She took his hand, and off they waltzed around the dance floor.

  VI

  ‘So tell me, Mr Nightingale,’ said one of the men, leant in and behaving like he were trying to smell Baxter’s clothes. ‘Any relation to the brothers, Nightingale?

  The other men exchanged looks. ‘One of our scouts found him on the other side of the Moor. Baxter is a great engineer.’ said another engineer, stood away from the group, looking less interested in Baxter and more interested in the buffet table.

  ‘Curious,’ oinked one of the other men stood closer. ‘With such a name, you might consider changing it round here.’ He chuckled at his own wit, wobbling along with a few of the other men’s many chins.

  Another pig spoke. ‘Those Nightingales never amounted to anything more than what they deserved.’

  ‘Enough!’ Lucian cried, half the room hearing and stopping their conversations. ‘Come, Baxter. I’m afraid manners have evaded these gentlemen this evening, together with their memories.’

  Lucian carted Baxter away from the group quickly before he could notice their troubled reactions while contemplating their frugalities after upsetting the host.

  ‘Do you smoke, Baxter?’ Lucian asked.

  ‘I brought the cigarettes, from my chamber.’ He hurried around his person for the case. ‘Do you care for one?’

  ‘No, thank you, I’ve always found it to be quite the revolting habit. However, I have something special here in my top pocket. Let’s go to the balcony and share it from there.’ He looked back at the crowd. ‘And away from these nose baggers.’

  VII

  The people beneath the balcony waltzed around. Their chatter was a sound of rabbling baboons between the musical notes. The group of fat men Baxter had engaged with earlier had huddled closer together.

  ‘Conspiring fuckwits, Baxter, they’ve been after this company for years. They’d just as soon see my head rolling down the gallows steps than enjoy the merits of good engineering. Bureaucrats, Baxter, this revolting city is full of them. Here, take this.’ Lucian handed him a pipe. It had a yellow glow emitting from the end, giving it a look of toxicity. ‘A root, it grows in Central Asia, you can’t get it anywhere in Britannia.’

  Baxter placed it inside his mouth and looked at Lucian for guidance.

  ‘You just take a draw, the slightest breath, not too harsh, otherwise the heat of the smoke will burn your lungs, completely ruining your evening and almost certainly your night’s sleep.’

  Baxter took the velvety smoke in his body, it was warm and tinged his insides. His muscles felt relaxed around his chest as he let the smoke escape them.

  ‘Good, Baxter.’ Lucian tapped him on the back. ‘Are you sure you’ve never smoked the Wiccan root before?’

  ‘Never.’

  Lucian leant opposite him on the railing, both of them overhanging the party. The guests had no idea they were above them, all too engrossed in their dullard conversations. Baxter looked back down at the group of men and Lucian tracked his eyes.

  ‘You’ll always get it, you realise,’ Lucian said. ‘Men will always be jealous of those more talented than them.’

  Baxter gave Lucian a sidelong glance, keeping his head pointed at the group. ‘Were they jealous? They behaved more like they hated me. But I guess it’s my surname, my father’s legacy that they hate.’

  Lucian moved slightly forward and placed his free hand on Baxter.

  ‘Jealous and naïve is all they are. I’m afraid you’ll find most of this city hates your surname, regardless of your father having been a genius.’

  ‘He still is,’ Baxter said, looking back at the city lights.

  Lucian removed his hand ‘I know you’re right, he is, I’d have loved nothing more for him and me to have worked closer together. My tech, his tech, but look, Baxter. The explosion was a mistake. Electricity is dangerous, in his ego, he thought he could be the one to control it.’

  ‘But isn’t that how you move forwards, you experiment?’

  ‘Not with people’s lives, Baxter.’ Lucian stood next to him. ‘Clockwork, though, your father created some of the most stunning machines I’d ever seen. Clockwork and kinetic energy are perfectly safe, but just as he knew in his genius, it can only get you so far, until you start meddling with the natural order of the universe.’ Lucian took another d
rag on the pipe and handed it back to Baxter. ‘People are afraid of what they don’t understand, son. Your father took a huge gamble, and he failed. I had to tell the King myself, the death penalty was too high a punishment – I mean what are we, if we are to kill our geniuses? I recommended to the King he be exiled. And look what happened. We have this whole mess with the Brotherhood attacking them, some righteous group of freedom fighting terrorists.’

  As Lucian’s words continued to rail on, Baxter took another toke, this time making him cough. ‘Who are they?’

  ‘The Brotherhood? Just a bunch of ragtails they want the power handed back to the people. They come from Rome, have existed for centuries, each one passes, their name changes. They despise the Mother and want to see us all going back to how we lived in the dark ages.’

  Baxter coughed violently.

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Lucian, taking the pipe back, ‘this stuff actually delays your spell. I’ve not had mine in two years.’

  ‘Two years?’ Baxter said, shocked between coughs.

  ‘Well, I guess the fresh oxygen we have pumped up from the deepest of mines to the compound has helped.’

  Baxter smiled. His chest calmed, and he stood in front of his host ready to make his proposition. ‘Lucian, I want to start looking for my father, first thing tomorrow.’

  Lucian’s grip on the railing tightened, he thought he was going to crush it. ‘And your uncle, where’s he?’

  ‘I think they might be together. The man I met in the village said…’ Baxter halted his voice, aware of a revelation in the following words.

  ‘What, Baxter?’

  ‘That they had friends here who needed them.’

  ‘Did they happen to say they...’ Lucian took another draw on the pipe, ‘...were the Brotherhood, by any chance?’

  ‘I can’t remember.’ Baxter watched Lucian’s eyes moving from one corner to the next and wondered what his host was thinking. ‘I don’t think I want any more of this,’ said Baxter, handing back the pipe. ‘I feel a bit…’