by SJ Davis
Violet gagged at the smell of his breath. “I need some air,” she said.
“Shut up. You’ll be fine. But we’ll start slowly.” His rough finger ran across her lips. “Go over to the stretcher and hand me a tie. I’ll just tie your hands, loosely at first. You will find I can be very kind, if you are obedient. You may even enjoy it.”
Her legs felt weighted, slowed with dread. To buy some time, she feigned tripping on a loose stone. “Oh dear, my ankle.” She fell on all fours upon the floor; he saw her bare legs and his eyes fixated on her ankles.
“Let me help you up.” The gin had already made Henry clumsy as he fumbled to her. He ran his hands down the soft silk of her robe. As he squatted in front of her, she inhaled his foul breath. “It’s just a twist. Get up, girl.” His hands lingered on her ankle longer than necessary.
Henry could hardly wait to see her physically restrained. He thought about tying her in an upright position to start things off. His hands pulled the tie of her wrap and she recoiled from him instantly.
“You think you are so fancy?” Henry spat at her. He took her face in his grip and squeezed her cheeks tightly.
She didn’t know how long she could play this game, “I am so sorry, sir. Let me get the ties for you.” She faked a smile and shivered in the stone coldness of the basement. He mistook her trembling for fear.
“What is your profession, sir?” asked Violet.
“I work for a very influential and intellectual man, I get things done for him. A bit of an expeditor, I am.”
“Does he know of your association with Madam Francesca?”
“He is preparing for an important discussion with international interests,” he gloated. “Besides, what I do with my own time is of no concern to my employer.” He wiped his hair back from his large forehead. “This conversation is boring. Take your dress off. Modesty is tiresome and I didn’t pay for it.” He had barely finished his sentence when he was knocked to the other side of the stone floor. The dark drips of water on the basement’s floor mixed with the blood from his mouth.
Violet, still in her mask, stood over him as his vision tunneled and darkened, her blue wrap torn at the waist. “You disgust me,” was the last thing Henry heard.
“YOU BARELY GOT here in time,” Josephine said, shivering. “I didn’t think I could stall him any longer.”
“Sorry, Violet.” Yeshua looked at her. “I mean, Josephine.”
Bodhi, Caroline, and Minnow rushed into the room. Caroline handed Josephine a warm coat as Francesca came in and closed the heavy door. “Thank you, Madam Francesca, for the access to your business and for your cooperation,” said Caroline, out of breath.
Francesca nodded and straightened her hair. “Unfortunately, Henry has always been a sadist, preying on the weak. It was a matter of time before someone came for him.”
“I have to say,” said Minnow, “this is a perfect environment for him. Your business feeds his deviancy.”
Josephine fumbled to adjust the lovely Japanese kimono into a more modest position under her coat. Minnow set down a large linen bag and emptied a front section of the bag. A syringe rolled along the crooked floor.
“We are all deviants. Some hide it better than others,” answered Francesca as she looked at the small cuts on Minnow’s arms.
Minnow squinted her eyes at Francesca and pulled off Josephine’s lacy mask, holding it up. “This is a chamber of horrors.”
“Yes, sometimes.” Francesca grabbed the mask from Minnow’s hand. “But it is sometimes a palace. It is whatever is requested. I cater to those who have specific and difficult tastes,” said Francesca, ignoring everyone in the room except for Minnow.
“Minnow, let’s save our energy for extracting information from Henry,” said Bodhi. “Leave Francesca alone. She has, in many ways, provided a much needed service to the community.”
“Fine. I’ll grab the injection,” said Minnow, retrieving the syringes and rummaging deeper into her bag.
“First, where shall we take him?” asked Caroline.
“Can we keep him here?” asked Minnow, not looking at Francesca but staring down at Henry’s bulging eyes and bloody mouth.
“You can stay here for as long as you need,” offered Francesca. “But lock the door. I have the only key.”
Henry eyes fluttered and he moved his mouth to form words. “Let’s get him restrained before he comes all the way around,” said Yeshua. “Caroline, get those belts and buckles from the table.” Yeshua pointed to the corner. “Bodhi, help me lift him over to the table.”
Caroline walked over to the table. “My God. Look at these things. It’s like the Inquisition.”
Bodhi and Yeshua hoisted Henry’s limp body onto the rusty steel table. Josephine and Caroline quickly adjusted the straps over his arms and legs while Minnow dug in her bag for the needle.
“What is in the syringe, Minnow?” asked an intrigued Caroline.
“Thiopental, or Sodium Pentothal. It’s used as a truth serum. It decreases higher cortical brain functioning.”
“Wouldn’t that just make him less intelligent or less coherent as opposed to more informative?” asked Bodhi.
“Lying is more complex than telling the truth. Suppressing the higher cortical functions usually leads to the truth,” said Yeshua.
“Couldn’t the reliability of the confession or the information gathered be questionable?” asked Caroline.
“Absolutely,” interrupted Yeshua. “The drug makes the subject chatty and cooperative with interrogators. But an established liar, or someone who has a firmly practiced false story, could certainly circumvent the drug.”
“Is it safe?” asked Caroline.
“Yep. As long as it’s the correct dosage,” added Minnow. “Thiopental can cause cardiovascular and respiratory depression. You know, low blood pressure, apnea, and airway obstruction. But don’t worry. I know what to do. Henry will probably have a headache afterwards, maybe some nausea, but that’s it.”
Henry woke up slowly and blinked at his four captors. He strained against the straps as Minnow held his arm still, inoculating his bicep. “Relax your muscle, otherwise this will hurt. All right, just a quick sting now.”
“Get off me!” Henry yelled and sinewy threads of spit flew from his mouth.
“You should know better, Henry. You can’t escape these straps,” Minnow taunted quietly in his ear.
“Are you trying to kill me? What do you want?” He struggled against the restraints trying to avoid the needle and the table rocked violently, almost tipping.
“We just have some questions about the man you work for, about Professor Anson.” Yeshua’s calm voice quieted the room.
“Why should I tell you anything? You will probably kill me after I tell you,” he snorted. “And I’m not afraid of death.”
“The sodium pentothal will start to work soon,” Minnow said quietly, her hand on his wrist checking his pulse. “He’s slowly starting to relax. Soon he’ll lose his inhibition.” Minnow pulled up his closed eyelid and flashed a light. “Hold off on questioning, don’t ask him anything until he is fully under the influence.”
Henry was still straining, trying to twist his way off the table. “He may be tough to break,” said Yeshua. Henry started laughing wildly, jerking his torso back and forth.
Henry’s breathing slowed and the muscles in his neck relaxed. His body loosened and unwound. Within moments, he lay back, completely still on the metal table.
“Henry,” said Minnow gently, her hand resting on his wrist. “We have no plans to hurt you. We just need to know about Anson.”
Henry remained silent; his eyes drifted from person to person, a trickle of drool fell from the right side of his mouth.
“Is he all right?” asked Bodhi.
“He’s fine. Henry, look at me,” continued Minnow. “We need to know how to get through the security at Anson’s.”
“You’ll never get through. It’s impossible. Every room has a different security
code.” Henry coughed up some phlegm and swallowed it back down with great exaggeration. “Plus, the automatons are always armed.”
“Automatons?” asked Josephine.
“The mechanized guards,” said Caroline. “I’ve seen them at the Royal Science exhibits.”
“Henry, how can we get the Tabulator?” asked Yeshua as he stood over Henry.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Henry.
“Idiot,” said Minnow as she grabbed his face. “The information processor run by an engine.”
“Why do you want it?” asked Henry. His head rolled from side to side when Minnow let go of him.
“It doesn’t concern you, Henry,” Caroline cooed and smoothed his hair and brow. “We just want to know how to get it.”
“You can’t get it. He’s taking it with him on a trip, a high-level top-secret sort of trip. He leaves in a fortnight out of London.”
“This must be the trip I told you of earlier,” said Caroline.
“What night, specifically?” asked Yeshua, giving Caroline a look to hush her.
“Tuesday, the quietest day for travel, he says.”
“Did he book a steam coach or private train?” asked Yeshua.
“An evening train. Three private guards, one driver, one coachman.”
“Excellent. That was rather easy," said Bodhi.
“Let’s leave him, now. Untie him and let him sleep it off. Caroline, tell Francesca she can check on him in an hour or so,” said Yeshua.
“Won’t he be able to recognize us later? Or remember giving us information?” asked Caroline.
“Not really,” answered Minnow, “I used a premedicant.”
“A what?” asked Josephine.
“I added a halogenated benzodiazepine to the injection which adds a strongly amnesic effect. His short term memory of our questioning will be lost to him, or at least substantially reduced,” explained Minnow.
“You seem quite the chemical expert,” said Bodhi. Minnow shrugged and packed up her tourniquets, syringes, and vials.
“Where do you get these syringes and medications?” asked Josephine.
“The world hasn’t changed,” said Minnow. “Money can still buy anything.”
London to High Wycombe
June 1st 1865
“Slow the engine, we can’t go any faster.” Hearing no response, the coachman shouted again, over the hissing steam engine. “Sir! We are running out of coal!” The air inside the train was hot and thick; the sour smell of fear and sweat clung to both men. “Slow the engine to automatic!”
“Have you lost your mind?” the driver shouted over the gears of the grinding engine, “I cannot slow the train down. We are under attack! A rogue zeppelin is keeping pace with us from above and a steam coach is chasing us from the rear. Our only recourse is to continue forward. And quickly!”
“Shall I place the guards on full alert, Sir?”
“Yes. Tell them to protect the second car with their lives. High Wycombe is not far ahead, we might be able to lose the Air Pirates if we reach the forest ahead.”
“Who would attack this train? It’s almost empty?”
The driver spit with exasperation as his hat slid from his head. “Yes, but Professor Anson is on board. The Professor Anson. The influential man of science and invention. I’m certain we’re under attack by a terrorist Anti-Progressive movement!” He squeezed his bulbous head out the side window, his mouth agape at the quick pace the zeppelin kept above. “Go! Place the guards! Move quickly.”
“Luddites in an airship?” mumbled the coachman as he scurried to alert the guards. “That would be most incongruent.”
From above, Bodhi had a clear view via the zeppelin’s telescopic porthole. “So far, all seems according to plan,” he whispered into his bronze-plated headset, his latest contraption using an attached ear and mouthpiece. Josephine looked up from the stagecoach and nodded. “The guards are being roused, Josephine. Be careful. Make certain your ray gun is powered.” Bodhi adjusted his brown leather gloves as he angled the zeppelin into a more centralized position overhead. “Prepare for a fight outside the second car.”
As soon as the front of the train passed the first tree of the forest, Josephine began the heist. She knelt, perched on the roof of Caroline’s steam coach, which kept pace with the train. Her ray gun was tucked inside the hip of her trousers. Sudden shadows dimmed the ground alongside the train as the guards came into motion. Frantic strobe lights flashed through the train’s dim corridor. Josephine launched herself onto the middle of the train’s roof. At the same time, a guard climbed up the ladder from the rear car.
Josephine turned in the wind; her copper hair flew around her face. Her long trousers and black jacket billowed around her. She flattened herself on the roof and crawled on all fours towards him, keeping her eyes straight ahead.
“A woman? A girl?” said the guard as he climbed up the ladder. As she aimed her ray gun, the guard shut his eyes. The laser penetrated his right closed eyelid, leaving a charred soot-filled smell in the air. He raised one hand to his head, and fell backward with a jerk. His other eye, misty blue, slowly opened again. It was still open as he fell into the trees.
“Oh dear,” said Josephine. “That was most unpleasant.”
“Keep going, Josephine,” said Bodhi from above. “You can do it.”
Josephine climbed down the ladder to enter the train. Once inside, she threw a rope to Caroline in the steam coach, keeping pace alongside train.
“Caroline! Catch!” yelled Josephine as she tossed a knotted hemp rope from the back car. Caroline swung open her door and grabbed for the rope. The now unmanned coach swerved into the trees while Caroline swung onto the train and carefully caught her balance.
“I should have worn my older gloves,” said Caroline. “These are utterly ruined.” Several ivory buttons, decoratively carved with her initials, had fallen off. “Bloody hell. Even the seam is torn.”
“On the bright side, that was a lovely jump,” said Josephine. “Now, you stay here while I flush out the remaining guards.”
“I am a better choice to clear the train, Josephine, no one will suspect me or my ladylike comportment. You look less than appropriate at the moment in your trousers. Frankly, you look suspicious.” Caroline smoothed her hair back into place and threw her ruined gloves into the trees. “My goodness, Bodhi let you wear his new goggles? They’re so dark! Can you even see through them?”
“Yes, most perfectly. Bodhi constructed them to help with night vision. They detect body heat. Do you want to try them on?”
“No. They would interfere with my hat.” She pointed to her head. Her red and black chapeau was decorated with small ivory chess pieces. “Thank God my hat is still intact.”
Josephine groaned with impatient annoyance. “Let’s hurry up. You know the plan.”
Josephine climbed out the window and looked back quickly, “Caroline, I will meet you outside the second car. Do not let Anson see you. Make no mistakes.”
“I never do.”
As Josephine sprinted across the roof towards the front cars, Caroline began her diversionary tactics inside.
“Excuse me, Miss.” A guard stopped Caroline as she sashayed past. “I’m sorry, I must ask you to return to your car. The train is on lockdown.”
“But I am Lady Ratcliffe, daughter of the Prime Minister.” She smiled under heavy eyelashes. “Certainly you can think of a more interesting activity for me. My car is rather dull.”
The guard cocked his eyebrows as Caroline drew closer. “They must have been keeping your presence a secret,” he smiled. Toe to toe, she looked up at him and tilted her head to the side. Noiselessly, he fell in a silent heap upon the floor, paralyzed by an electric jolt, courtesy of Caroline’s stun gun.
Josephine straightened her goggles and readjusted her headset. She looked up to the dirigible and gave Bodhi a smile as she wiggled inside the second car through the hatch of the roof.
“A
ccording to the ticket agent, that should be Anson’s car,” Bodhi said into his transmitter. “Grab the Tabulator and leave. Nothing more. Do not engage him in any way. I’ll ease back and drop a rope at the end of the train for both of you.”
The coachman ran through the train’s corridors to the driver. “The guards,” he yelled between breaths, “all of them have been knocked out.”
“What? Is Professor Anson all right?” the driver shot back. “Is he harmed?”
“He is safe but in shock from the assault. The Air Pirates were precise and quick, sir. They’ve already escaped in the airship.” The coachman shook his head. “Another thing. Quite strange, sir. They were ladies. Young ladies. Two of them.”
“Check on the Professor and see if anything was taken. Also check if he was hurt.” Then he turned around in surprised repulsion, “Ladies? Did you say ladies? Are you quite certain?”
“Most certain, sir. One was even sporting trousers.”
“Good God! Trousers? Like a man? Come back soon with a report, we will be in High Wycombe within the half hour.”
“Professor Anson!” The coachman yelled through the door, as a white fog surrounded the train. “Professor Anson?”
“Yes,” cracked a deep voice.
“Are you all right?” The coachman knocked again. “May I come in?”
“If you must. There is nothing I need of you, now. You are far too late.”
The coachman entered, seeing Anson still seated by his foot warmer. The light of the oil lamp threw harsh shadows across his face.
The coachman’s eyes fell on the broken casket sitting on the lap of the professor from the doorway. The casket, a beautiful rectangular box, was carved ivory with lined with burgundy silk. Professor Anson, his trembling fingers twisting over the box, sat slumped in his seat. He stared ahead, shrunken and unmoving.
“It is gone. You can be of no help to me.”
