The Dead Gentleman

by Matthew Cody

  “Stand back,” said Scott, appearing at my side. He was holding a pair of glass flasks that were joined at the nozzles so that they looked like a miniature barbell. He gave the nozzle a snap, and as the seal broke, the two clear liquids began to mix and take on a bright yellow glow.

  He shook the strange contraption to speed up the process and, with an underhanded windup, threw the entire thing at Miles. As it shattered, the glowing yellow stuff splashed all over the boy. Miles began to shake and shimmer in the yellow light, dissolving like a rock thrown at a reflection in a pool.

  Miles was gone and in his place was a large, bucktoothed and hairy man with pointy ears. The overly large nightshirt now fit him like the tiniest of undershirts and his heavy belly spilled out beneath it.

  “Hello, Lob,” said Scott.

  The hairy man squinted at the Captain and gave a forced, awkward grin. “Why, Cap’n Scott!” he exclaimed. “And yer wee bird! Didn’t recognize you! So blasted dim in here and all. Me fire’s burned down something awful and me peepers ain’t what they should be in the dark.”

  The Captain looked unconvinced. “Tommy, crank up your Tesla Stick, will you?”

  I looked at the Captain. “The Tesla—what … oh, the pole!”

  I hurriedly turned the crank.

  “Now, now, let’s not us be hasty!” said Lob. “One tickle with that there stick is quite enough, thank you. Me butt cheek’s numb as ’tis.”

  “Where’s Miles Macintosh, Lob?” asked Scott.

  “I ain’t hurt him, Cap’n! I swear.”

  “Tommy? Tesla Stick, if you’d be so kind.”

  “Wait! Wait!” shouted Lob as I took what I hoped was a menacing step forward. The Tesla Stick actually felt pretty useless in my hand; its charge obviously gone, the pole barely buzzed, and I doubted that a tap from it would tickle, much less shock. But Lob apparently didn’t know that. “He’s there, in the cupboard,” said the big oaf.

  The Captain walked over to a large chest of drawers and, after testing a few, very gently opened the bottom one. Curled up inside was the real Miles Macintosh, snoozing away.

  “How long were you planning on leaving him in there?” asked the Captain.

  “Look,” said Lob. “We were going to come to an agreement, him and me, just as soon as I got a chance. I just didn’t want to wake the little angel.”

  “You know what I think?” asked the Captain. “I think you snuck in here and ensorcelled the boy—that’s no ordinary sleep he’s in. Then you glamoured yourself to look like him. You were getting ready to throw him into the fire when you heard us coming down the hall.”

  “Throw him in the fire?” I said. “Why, you murdering thug!” I waved the Tesla Stick at Lob’s face, wishing I had enough charge to fry the monster. I think you’ll understand when I say that I’ve got a thing against folks who hurt kids.

  Lob whined. Surprisingly, Scott put his hand on the staff and made me lower the weapon.

  “Tommy, Lob’s a sneak but he’s no murderer. Look closer at the fire. Concentrate, and see past the Veil.”

  Reluctantly, I did as I was told and stared at the fire. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for and, at first, all I saw was a pile of hot coals and glowing charcoal. But after a minute the image shimmered like a mirage, and, an instant later, the fire became a round wooden door. The wood glowed red like the coals but it gave off no heat.

  “Well, I’ll be,” I said.

  “Lob is a Lubber Fiend. A wanderer,” said Scott. “They use fireplaces as portals. If you look them up in the Encyclopedia Imagika, you’ll find that they have a fondness for cow’s milk and are notorious for thieving saucers from kittens.”

  At the mention of milk Lob’s eyes lit up and he smacked his lips. “You don’t have a nice, cold pitcher on you, perhaps? Me throat’s awfully parched.”

  Scott turned back to Lob, ignoring his question. “Normally that’s the extent of their mischief, which is why I must beg the question—why were you swapping yourself for Miles Macintosh? Perhaps you were planning on leaving him in Faerie? To become a changeling child or …”

  Lob let out a terrible cry, like a babe being punished by a parent. “I wasn’t wanting to hurt him! But I need a place to hide. Cap’n, I swear! The dead are up and walking!”

  Scott’s eyes narrowed and he stood for a moment, tugging at his mustache. He gave Merlin a look and the bird cocked its head back at him. Something passed between the two of them, but I had no earthly idea what anyone was talking about. As usual.

  It all sounded like a bunch of stuff to me. But then I remembered the smiling corpse. I remembered the smell of rot on his breath. “What’s he mean, the dead are walking?” I asked. “Dead means dead, don’t it?”

  “It does in our world, Tommy,” said the Captain. “But there are things from other places.… Tell us what you’ve seen, Lob.”

  Lob swallowed and wiped his nose with a big, meaty palm. “It ain’t what I seen but what I heard. The Lubber Fiends are talking, and there are some that has seen things—things moving in the shadows that by rights should be at peace and asleep beneath the earth. Them that can are packing their bags and heading for safer pastures. Why, I heard whole worlds that Lubbers have stopped visiting, small worlds on the outskirts, you know. Places that even you Explorers ain’t yet seen. Those places have gotten dark. Dark as a closet, if you get my meaning.”

  At the mention of the closet, I realized for the first time that Miles Macintosh’s bedroom had no closet. A giant dresser and the chest of drawers, but no closet.

  Lob looked around as if someone might overhear what he had to say next. “I ain’t the only one. You’ll see. More of us are getting spooked, and everyone knows that this here’s the safest place to be. They say he’s building an army, you see. But everyone knows the Gentleman has no sway here. The dead know their place, here on Earth. Like the boy said, dead stay dead.”

  Scott mumbled something under his breath and then plopped down on the edge of the bed. He seemed for all the world to have forgotten us, and for a time he just sat there chewing on his mustache. In the short period we’d been together, I’d noticed that there seemed to be two Captain Scotts: one was sharp and decisive, and the other seemed nearly as doddering as one of the bridge folk. One could trade places with the other in an instant.

  “You, Lob,” Scott said distractedly. “Get a move on. Be on your way.”

  “What?” I said. “We’re not just letting him go, are we? He may not have been ready to kill that kid, but he was still getting ready to swipe him! That’s like, child endangerment, or something, at least.”

  “We’re Explorers, not policemen!” snapped the Captain. “Miles is safe now. That’s enough.”

  Lob scraped and bowed his way toward the hearth, all the while blubbering a string of apologies and promises. With a grunt he squeezed his fat body through the odd little door and disappeared. Soon the fire was back to being just a fire. Somehow the room seemed darker than before. Colder, even.

  “What was all that?” I asked. “All that stuff about the dead walking sounded pretty bad.”

  The Captain looked at me with unfocused eyes. It was like he was genuinely surprised to find me there, to find that he wasn’t alone. A moment later he smiled a tired, tired smile.

  “The dead don’t walk here, Tommy. Not yet.”

  The Captain stood, hoisted up his pants and took a deep breath. Just like that, and the fogginess was gone. The old Captain had returned, his eyes bright and mischievous. He held out his hand and Merlin landed, lightly, on his glove.

  “We’ve work to do, it seems,” he said. “But first, I need to check on a few things and you need a pair of proper clothes—ones a little less soaked in seawater, I’d say. Come then, back to the Nautilus! We have official business at the Academy of Explorers!”

  CHAPTER TEN

  TOMMY

  LONDON, 1900

  “Name, please,” said a phlegmy-sounding voice on the other side of the door.
<
br />   “I’ve already given you my name. I’m Captain Jonathan Scott!”

  “The name of your companion, I meant. Know full well who you are.”

  Captain Scott sighed as he pulled his cap down farther over his eyes to protect himself from the onslaught of rain. As he did so he sent a shelf of collected rainwater spilling down his front.

  Looking at my own soaked trousers—pools had formed in the cuffs—I wondered if I’d ever be dry again. I envied Merlin, safe and snug and dry back at the Nautilus. The Captain had insisted that he stay there as we made the trip from Miles’s bedroom in Southampton to the Academy of Explorers in London. For this leg of our journey we’d relied on the train (a bit of a letdown after traveling along the ocean floor, I can tell you), and we’d just managed to dry off when we arrived at our destination in the middle of a proper English downpour.

  When the Captain announced we’d be visiting this Academy, I hadn’t figured that meant waiting outside a no-nothing brownstone flat in the London rain. There wasn’t even a sign overhead. I’d begun to wonder if Scott had the wrong address as he shouted my name into the tiny peephole for what seemed like the hundredth time. Whoever manned the door delighted in being uncooperative. Either that or he was entirely deaf.

  Finally we heard the sound of a deadbolt being slid back and, with a bit of muffled cursing from the other side, the door opened. As we stepped inside and out of the rain we had to walk around a bent, stoop-shouldered old man carrying a heavy ring of keys. The man’s eyes were no better than his hearing, and he continued talking to us long after we’d passed him by.

  The inside was as unimpressive as the outside, but at least it was dry. The downstairs was made up of a few dusty old sitting rooms occupied by a few dusty old men. Most stared off into space as they sipped whiskey from glass tumblers. A few looked up suspiciously at us as we passed by, but if they recognized Scott they didn’t bother to say hello.

  The Captain led us up a tall, narrow staircase and into a larger, book-lined chamber on the second floor. Entering this room was an immediate relief, as there was a nice, comfy fire roaring in the fireplace, a soft bearskin rug and no old men anywhere. I made for the fire at once and started wringing out my wet clothes.

  “So who’s that bunch of geezers, huh?” I asked. “Don’t tell me they’re Explorers, too.”

  “In name only, Tommy,” answered Scott. “They spend their time bragging about old glories and soaking their regrets in drink. The Veil weighs down on us all. Some bear the weight better than others.”

  As he spoke the Captain examined a bookshelf near the window, unaware or unconcerned about the dripping mess he was making on the floor.

  “Got to tell you,” I said, sticking my butt as close to the fire as I dared. “This here Academy is not quite what I’d expected, to tell you the truth.”

  “This isn’t the Academy,” the Captain said with a chuckle. “This is only a chapterhouse. One of many.”

  “Well then, where is it? If it’s not in London, then why are we here?”

  “Chapterhouses mark the entrances to the Academy, and it doesn’t technically matter which one we use. However, there are a few where I am”—the Captain coughed into his hand—“no longer welcome. Here, at least, I am still tolerated.”

  The Captain pulled a plain clothbound book off the shelf. “Ah, here we go.

  “Now, Tommy,” he began. “The Explorers long ago discerned the need for utmost discretion in our endeavors. We want to go about our work without worrying about the petty politics of nations. And therefore we wanted to avoid placing our Academy within the boundaries of any single country. As you have seen, our science is a good deal more advanced—knowledge gleaned from our explorations, of course—and we are in possession of an assortment of technologies that could be destructive if given over to the wrong hands. Take the Nautilus, for instance. What would naval warfare look like with that ship on one side or the other? Therefore, these chapterhouses serve as … secret embassies, if you will, for an Academy that is entirely independent and off-world.”

  I made a face. My behind was beginning to burn and I was bored.

  “I tell you all this,” said the Captain, “to impress upon you the significance of my allowing you to see the Academy and the importance of this visit!”

  I shifted my position at the fire to get a better angle at my most soaked parts. “Look, no offense, but after what I’ve already seen these last few weeks, it’s going to take an awful lot to impress me.”

  “Hmm,” said the Captain. He held up the book and cleared his throat.

  I groaned. “What? You going to read to me now?”

  “This is a key-book. Just watch. But don’t be frightened by what happens next.”

  Scott opened the book, and out of the pages sprung a long metal coil, like some kind of jack-in-the-box. At the end was a shiny golden key.

  “That it?”

  “Quiet, you. Now watch.” Scott gave me a warning look and continued. “Captain Jonathan Scott, Explorer First Rank, requesting that the door to the Academy be unlocked and passage be granted to two persons of import.”

  The key snaked along the floor until it found a small hole hidden in the dark wood. The key slipped inside with a quiet click. For a moment nothing more happened, but then I felt, rather than heard, a vibrating hum beneath my feet.

  Then a deep voice boomed out. It was coming from the bearskin rug. “Permission granted,” it said.

  The bear’s head began to shift as its mouth opened wide, like an overextended yawn. It kept growing, larger and larger, until the bear’s head was soon the size of a man, its toothy maw reaching, opening for me. Coming for me.

  With the fire at my back, I had nowhere to run. I scrambled for the Tesla Stick at my belt.

  “Wait, wait!” said Scott. “It’s all right. Look.”

  The bear’s mouth had opened to reveal a long brick tunnel. Flickering gaslight torches illuminated the way.

  “What is that?”

  “That, my boy, is the portal to the Enlightened Hidden City, wherein you will find the Academy of Explorers. Come on, it’s entirely safe.”

  The Captain led the way, carefully picking his way past the bear’s teeth. I’d never imagined that I’d be entering this Academy by way of a creature’s gullet, but I was learning to be ready for anything. We’d gone perhaps fifteen feet when the mouth began to close behind us. There was a flash of light all around as my stomach turned queasy.

  “The flash of light signified that we’ve stepped through a portal. That ordinary bear rug back there is actually what we call a Stitch-Golem,” said Scott. “It’s a construct, a kind of machine that we use to guard portals to the Academy. Clever, don’t you think?”

  I pictured the huge mouth opening before me. “And if permission to enter is denied? What happens then?”

  “Best not to think of that,” the Captain said, shaking his head. “Come on.”

  The tunnel seemed to go on forever, and as we walked Scott began to explain the true nature of the Academy of Explorers. The very first Explorer was a young scholar’s apprentice named Theophilus of Crete. Theophilus lived in the tenth century, and the story goes that one morning he was out exploring, instead of paying attention to his studies, when he chanced upon an old well. As he peered into the well he saw not a dank, dark shaft but a glorious, shining city. He’d, in fact, discovered a portal to the Enlightened Hidden City, a city on another world.

  “In the Hidden City lived a race of wise monks,” the Captain explained. “Physically, not so different from you or I, except for the longish earlobes and cow’s tails.”

  “Cow’s tails?” I asked.

  “It’s a mark of wisdom.”

  “They chew cud, too? Maybe while they’re thinking all these wise thoughts?”

  The Captain cleared his throat—a subtle warning. I shrugged and let him continue.

  “As I was saying, the leader of these monks, the High Father, was immediately charmed by The
ophilus, by the young man’s adventurous spirit. You see, the monks of the Hidden City used a mystical tool called the Cycloidotrope to study the past, present and even the future of a thousand different planets, without ever leaving their city. With the High Father’s guidance, Theophilus learned about the different worlds, about the portals that connected them and about the Veil that hid it all.

  “But unlike the monks, he wasn’t content to simply study; he wanted to explore. He began seeking out the portals and using them for travel. He discovered many wonderful things—exotic places, wondrous races. He recorded everything he saw in a book, which would eventually become the Encyclopedia Imagika. Out of that book was born the Explorers’ Society and, in time, the Academy. The High Father graciously allowed the Society to build our Academy within the heart of the Hidden City so that we could share our knowledge with the monks there.”

  After a few minutes’ trek underground the Captain came to the end of the tunnel and an archway that marked the entrance to a sunlit, open square. I stopped at the arch, suddenly nervous. What was on the other side? The Captain had said that we were leaving our world behind, that this Academy place was on a different planet somewhere out there. I’d already seen so much that was strange and fantastical that you’d think I’d be better prepared, but up until that point everything had sort of happened to me. I’d been thrust into this bizarre adventure without so much as a minute to breathe, and now that I’d had time for it to settle in, I was feeling … unsettled.

  Now was the time for me to make up my mind. I could decide to take that step out into the sunlight of an alien world, if I wanted to. But I had to do it. No one would push me this time.

  “It’s all right,” said the Captain. “Whenever you’re ready.”

  Turned out that stepping out of that tunnel onto another world felt little different from stepping out of a dimly lighted shop onto Washington Square Park at noon. People bustled back and forth between a number of large, classical-looking buildings surrounding a public square. Green grass and stone benches lined the pathways that led to tall columns and steep-stepped buildings with high, ornate doorways. And looming over one end of the square was a single grand tower of rose marble. There were people here and there, but not nearly as many as I’d expected to see. And not a one of them under the age of forty, by my reckoning. A whole lot of gray beards and fat paunches.