Gaslit Revolution

by Jason Gilbert

  “If you think about it,” Tabitha said. “We’d be kind of silly to assume that we’re alone. It makes me wonder about this guy killing everyone.”

  Something clicked in Kane’s mind.

  “We need to find Wilhelmina again,” he said. “She’ll have her group with her still, probably more.”

  “Why?”

  Kane looked at her.

  “Because she’ll be able to confirm what I’m thinking.”

  Chapter Eight

  Finding Wilhelmina was a priority. Period.

  Kane had Tabitha transport them back to Antonia’s place. Out of every other location they’d been to, Antonia’s had proven to be the safest. Being a central personality in the prostitution ring in New Chicago had advantages, and one of those was having dirt on everyone of importance who decided to indulge in late-night activities with a lady of ill repute.

  “They ain’t gonna come here,” Antonia said. “Shoot. I’m a madam. I know things about them boys that would curl your toes.”

  Kane made Tabitha stay at Antonia’s. For once, Tabitha didn’t argue. Seeing the massacre under the bridge had shaken her. Tabitha had lost her infant daughter years ago and had watched their friend, Alastair Jones, take a sniper round to the skull. She was no stranger to death. Still, seeing children gunned down without hesitation or thought had shaken her. She’d barely spoken since the shooting. Kane wanted her to rest. Regroup.

  Heal.

  “She’ll be fine here,” Antonia said as one of her girls took Tabitha upstairs. “I’ll have my girls clean her up and get her right.”

  The sun was setting as Kane made his way back to the Walking Bridge. He breathed in the brisk air, looked up as a police airship appeared from behind a building. He ducked around a corner and waited for the vessel to move away before he continued on. Seeing a police patrol ship in South Hidden Valley was unusual.

  They were looking for him.

  A question stirred in his mind as the Walking Bridge came into view. If Danwood knew that Kane and Tabitha were back, why move forward with the planned raid on Hidden Valley? Come down on the place with the full force of the NCPD and the Special Forces? If they were looking for an excuse to wipe Hidden Valley out, remove the nuisance of the poor, what better excuse would there be than two Magicians being harbored by the people?

  Or three Magicians?

  Tabitha’s insane experience revealed disturbing news. A third Magician in New Chicago? Well, four if he counted Gentry. Still, it was a shock. Magicians had all but been wiped out. How many stragglers were still around?

  And what role did the killer play?

  Kane stopped at the Walking Bridge and took a deep breath. He’d have been surprised if the NCPD came to clean up the carnage left behind from the mass shooting. Danwood and Gentry didn’t give a shit about the homeless, and it wouldn’t be above Gentry to make the conscious decision to leave the dead where they lay as a reminder to the people of what being homeless can entail.

  It meant that the shooter wouldn’t have to worry about being hunted by the department. It meant that mass shootings in Hidden Valley were of no concern to the police, to the Oligarch-controlled government in the city. It meant that they might even let Hidden Valley cave in on itself, let the criminal run rampant and weed down the population. There was enough going on without a psychopath running around. How was he able to get guns that had never seen the light of day on a production line? Guns whose tinkerers vanished. Or murdered?

  Kane’s thoughts stopped short as he reached the bottom of the hill that led into the under-bridge area. He felt his chest go heavy as he looked over the carnage that lay in front of him.

  He hated being right so much of the time.

  The bodies hadn’t been touched, the blood now dry on the ground. The shattered forms were undisturbed, still laying in the positions they’d fallen in, their bodies still broken from the multiple bullet wounds. Wil’s barrel fire was dark, smoke wafting from the still smoldering embers inside.

  If Wil would be anywhere, she would be here. Waiting. Maybe.

  Or the Gunman would be back at the scene of the crime. Kane activated his amulet just in case.

  He approached the body of a man, avoiding the dead children near him. It was too much. After everything he’d seen, he dreaded searching them the most. He went through the man’s pockets, pulled out buttons and papers. A broken key. A spoon.

  “I’m pretty sure no one here has any cash, Shepherd.”

  Kane startled at the voice, stood, his Ethereal Fire cast and a fireball in his hand as he spun. Chris cowered back, his hands up in defense as he called out.

  “Hey, don’t shoot!”

  “You sneaky little shit,” Kane snapped, putting the fireball out. “I could’ve cooked you. What the hell are you doing here?”

  Chris looked out from behind his upheld hands.

  “I heard there’d been another shooting.” He dropped his hands slowly, looking around as his jaw slackened, his eyes widening as he took it all in. “Jesus. They didn’t say anything about this many people. And children.”

  “Who didn’t say?” Kane stepped closer to him.

  “The streeters up at the North end. Rumors of this shooting are already all over the place. I was going to report on it in The Rag. Break the story.” He rolled his eyes. “Lord knows the newsies at the New Chicago Tribune won’t touch it with a ten foot welding rod.”

  “Why not?” Kane said, motioning to the bodies. “This many dead? Why leave something like a killer on the rampage out of the news media? The papers would sell like crazy.”

  “Because the higher-ups paid more not to care. Besides, why should they care?” Chris said with a shrug. “He’s only targeting homeless. And he’s not being specific. If you’re homeless, you die. Period.”

  Kane shook his head.

  “I think there’s more to it.”

  Chris shrugged.

  “I believe you, but this is the reality: he’s not shooting up restaurants and gathering spaces in downtown. He’s focusing his efforts here. Therefore, the upper class doesn’t give a shit. Neither do the cops. Neither do the newsies. They can’t. If they were to report something like this, which risks swaying sympathy to Hidden Valley and, by extension, the Revolution, they could potentially have a real problem on their hands.”

  Kane couldn’t argue that point. He turned around and began searching the man again. Nothing. He moved on to a nearby woman. He knelt down and began going through the pockets on her skirt and moving on to a pocket in her coat.

  “What are you looking for?” Chris asked as Kane closed his hand around something small and round. He pulled the object out of the dead woman’s pocket and held it up. The stone was a blue sphere with silver vines wrapped around it. A long necklace chain was attached to the hoop at the top, also silver and clean looking. Kane peered closer and saw the small gears inside.

  An amulet.

  He looked back down at the woman, her broken body riddled with bullet holes. One had managed to catch her in the eye. She’d been dead before her knees gave out. At least it had been quick. Kane wondered what her element had been. Wondered what her casting language had been. Her heritage.

  He moved on, searched the next body. Nothing. Another. Still nothing.

  “Find something?” Chris asked.

  “No,” Kane said quickly. He didn’t need an underground newsie reporting something like this. He got to another body. A child. Ten or eleven years old. Kane couldn’t remember when he’d come into his powers. He knew that they could manifest in a Magician as early as seven years of age. The girl’s dirty brown hair was matted with blood that had once run from the wound in her neck. He counted fifteen wounds. Fifteen rounds that had torn through her body. He felt a lump in his throat, swallowed it back. A young life taken. Innocent. Victim of circumstance. This child had done nothing, dead for no other reason than being in the line of fire. Her eyes stared blankly at him, lifeless and blind to the world still living
around her.

  He saw the pocket on her trousers bulging slightly. He breathed out slowly, gathering his strength. He reached out, gently slid his hand into her pocket, and pulled out the object. The amulet looked like a locket, its brass exterior stained with grime and exposure. He pressed the small tab on it, let the lid pop open. The amethyst inside was dark. He held the fireball in his other hand closer, saw the crack in the gemstone, the light refracting onto the tiny gears inside.

  Another one. Had to be. Kane had broken a few amulets during his childhood. It was part of learning to control the magic. Learning the limitations.

  Kane shook his head, sighed heavily as he reached to the girl’s face and carefully closed her eyes. It was starting to make more sense. Fury welled inside him, toiled and rolled in his stomach before climbing up his chest.

  How many? An idea came to mind. Kane stood and activated his amulet.

  “Aspectu aethereo.”

  The world shimmered and went to black and white, the bodies glowing a dull bluish color as if each had become a gas lamp. He held up the girl’s amulet, the thing glowing a brass color in his palm, the gemstone in the center black and shadowed. He looked around at the field of bodies that lay before him. Another lay a few yards away, a small brass-colored glow in the breast pocket of the man’s tattered coat. A woman near that man also had one. Another. And another. An older man clutched his in his dead hand, his fingers locked and clawed in rigor.

  Magicians. A lot of them.

  Kane wiped his amulet clean, looking back down at the little girl at his feet, her face seeming calm and serene now that her eyes were closed.

  “You’re going to report this.”

  “Well, yeah,” Chris said. “I’d planned on it.” Chris stepped around in front of Kane, his notepad out, his pencil ready. “Care to make a statement?”

  Kane glared at him, his jaw set.

  “Off the record.”

  Chris nodded.

  “You’ll remain anonymous.” He swallowed hard. “Don’t need my insides burned out.”

  Kane nodded, his hard gaze still on the newsie.

  “Good. This isn’t a statement. It’s a warning.”

  Sleep was fitful for Kane, coming and going like the tides he’d seen on the beaches in the South. The sounds of the matics in the yards stopped long before he’d dozed off the first time, but he’d woken to every small sound that most people tended to sleep through. The creaking sound of the house settling, the shuffle of footsteps outside the room as Antonia’s girls entertained clients, the low and dull thrum of airship engines as patrol ships moved in the sky outside looking for vagrants and curfew breakers.

  He felt guilty. He needed to be out looking for the killer. The Gunman. It was the only thing Kane could think of to call him.

  And he needed to tell Tabitha about what he’d found at Wilhelmina’s camp.

  Magicians. The first one, the black man in front of Antonia’s place, had been executed. No question. The people at Wil’s camp was part of an onslaught.

  “You write that this guy is killing anyone he sees out on the streets,” Kane had said to Chris. “Everyone needs to be in before curfew. Find a place to hide. Stay out of sight. And don’t talk to anyone. The Gunman is targeting…special people in particular. Make sure you emphasize that.”

  “Is he working for the Oligarchy?” Chris asked, reaching for his notebook again.

  Kane glared at him, and the newsie jerked his hand away from his satchel.

  “I don’t know,” Kane said. “I wouldn’t insinuate that he is. You’re already risking them coming after you, so I wouldn’t push it.”

  The sun seemed to mock him as it began to peer in through the window, the low light in the room warm and peaceful compared to the firestorm in Kane’s mind. He sat up, his body aching, his eyes tired from the lack of rest. He checked the clock on the bedside table. Six. Ralphie’s would be open. It would be early enough to not be noticed. Danwood was mouthy, and it wouldn’t surprise Kane at all if he’d said something to Ralphie that was useful.

  And Kane figured he Tabitha could use breakfast.

  Ralphie stood at the bar looking down at Kane, his large tattooed arms crossed in front of him.

  “That tubby bitch raided my diner because of you two,” he said, his effeminate voice still surprising considering his appearance. Kane wouldn’t want to run into Ralphie in a dark alley on a bad night. “He’s already got it in for me for bein’ a poof. Then you two come up in here and cause more trouble.”

  “These pancakes are always so good, Ralphie,” Tabitha said as she cut off another large bite and crammed it into her mouth. She chewed happily, giving Ralphie a thumbs up.

  “I make them with butter, not oil,” Ralphie said. “Helps the flavor. Now what the hell do you want, Kane?”

  Kane swallowed his bite of French toast and looked up at the large man.

  “Besides a coffee refill, I want to know if Danwood said anything when he was here the other night?”

  “About?”

  “About the killings. And anything else off color.”

  Ralphie grunted as Bette came by and refilled Kane’s coffee.

  “They don’t give a shit about any killings going on here,” Ralphie said. “They’re more concerned with the conference today. Rally. Whatever it is.”

  “That’s today?” Kane said. He rubbed his face. With everything going on, he’d lost track of time. “Damn.”

  “It’s okay, Kane,” Tabitha said. “I forgot, too. Oh, and I’d like to see if one of the girls has something nice I can wear. I hear it’s a formal event!”

  Kane pulled his hands away and looked at her.

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  She looked at him innocently.

  “Why would I kid? I like dressing up.”

  “You got time,” Ralphie said, shaking his head at Tabitha, then looking at Kane. “It’s this evening. Supposed to be right outside city hall. The Revolution is gearing up to go protest.” His tone went dark. “And the police will be ready.”

  Kane’s ears perked up at that one.

  “Ready how?”

  Ralphie shrugged.

  “Dunno. I do know that Danwood was chattin’ away with one of his boys when— ”

  Bette’s voice cut Ralphie off.

  “Ralphie!”

  Ralphie spun on his heel as Kane stood, activated his amulet, and prepared to utter his Ethereal Fire. Tabitha turned in the booth, her eyes wide, her mouth still full of pancake.

  Police Commissioner William Gentry sat casually at the bar, smiling at them as he nodded his head at Bette.

  “Some coffee, my dear. Please. No cream.”

  Kane jumped up from the booth as Tabitha cried out at him.

  “Aethereum Ignus!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t do that, Mr. Shepherd,” Gentry said, holding up a finger. “You could cause so much more trouble than you want on this…quaint little establishment.”

  Kane hesitated, letting his hearing stretch out. Around.

  Up.

  Man the cannon.

  Explosive round.

  Kane extinguished the fireball. Damn. They had Ralphie’s in their sights. Shit.

  “Very good, Mr. Shepherd,” Gentry purred, his British drawl making his voice even more silken and snakelike. “Like a well-trained dog.” He winked at Kane. “Or Wendigo, as it were.”

  Kane bristled.

  “I didn’t see him come in,” Bette said to Ralphie, her eyes wide and magnified behind her large glasses.

  “You wouldn’t,” Kane said, his eyes still on Gentry. “He’s a Magician. Probably has a spell that lets him travel.”

  It was Gentry’s turn to bristle.

  “That’s right,” Kane said to him. “I’m telling anyone who’ll listen. Your ass is cooked.”

  Gentry smiled at him.

  “Yes, so it would seem.” He nodded to Bette. “My coffee, please?” He leaned forward, his eyes wide as his smile grew.
“Or I might turn you into something unnatural!” He chuckled as Bette poured him a coffee, her hand shaking as she sat the mug down in front of him. He thanked her and took a sip.

  Kane glared at him.

  “What do you want, Gentry?”

  “To talk,” Gentry said, his tone simple and straightforward. “I do forgive you for your response to my being here. I can understand how I may have caught you by surprise. Your attempt to keep your presence here in New Chicago a secret was laughable at best.”

  “So go ahead and have your shithead Templar goons come in and arrest me,” Kane said. “Where’s that steam engine that broke my ribs last time? I’d love a shot at him.”

  Gentry shook his head, clicked his teeth.

  “Tsk, tsk, Mr. Shepherd,” he said. “So angry. So much rage.”

  “Got a lot to be angry about,” Kane said back. “I’ve got a good mind that you’re the one behind the killings going on here in Hidden Valley. I damn well know that I’ve got you to thank for Captain Bill’s illegal arrest, and the murders of two hundred men in that shipyard you had the Special Forces torch.”

  “It would seem that I, and I alone, am the source of all of your problems,” Gentry said, taking another sip of his coffee. “Might I suggest that some self-reflection might be in order?”

  Kane grit his teeth as Gentry sat his coffee down and cleared his throat.

  “My son has disappeared,” he said, his tone even. “I’m to gather you had something to do with this?”

  “He may have had a mishap involving a knife in the face and being fed into an incinerator,” Kane said. “Oops.”

  Gentry nodded.

  “Just as well. He was becoming unmanageable.”

  Kane raised an eyebrow.

  “Richard was your son. You don’t care he’s dead?”

  Gentry shrugged.

  “He was an asset once. Then he became a handful. He served his purpose.” He eyed Kane. “To a certain point. The curse was a failure, obviously.”

  Kane shifted gears.