The Lightning Lord

by Anthony Faircloth

  Boots nodded. “Corn, ground then cooked till soft. I had a tent-mate during the war, Edward Jackson, a Georgian. He bragged about how he was raised on them and indicated they were pure heaven.”

  Persi looked at him, “Georgia? A little far from home wasn’t he, especially during the war?”

  Boots smiled. “His family migrated to Rhode Island six years before the shot at Fort Sumter. He fought and died true blue.”

  Grimm licked grits from his fork, “It is similar to polenta, yes?”

  “I don’t know sir, ‘never had polenta.”

  Grimm licked again. “Yes, polenta, but more course.”

  They all filled their plates, except Persi who placed only a small helping of grits on hers.

  “Not, hungry, my dear?” Boots asked.

  She shook her head. “I think I am still trying to process all the death and loss of the last couple of days.” After tasting the grits, she placed her spoon down. “In fact, if you gentlemen will excuse me, I think I will return to my cabin and rest.”

  She stood, as did the men. “Mr. Morris,” she said, looking at the young man, “I like the grits. Please place some aside in case I am hungry later.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Morris nodded.

  Boots looked concerned but Persi smiled wanly and shook her head and he relaxed.

  After they ate, Boots spoke. “Captain Grimm, we shall land outside the city of Denver and drive the Icarus in. We will spend a full day gathering information, with the intent of finding this supposed facility in or around the town of Aspen. Whether we get the information or not, we will lift the following morning and proceed to Aspen. Again, we will land outside the city limits and use Icarus to move about. Understood?”

  “Understood,” he said.

  “What is your projected time of arrival to Denver?” Boots asked.

  “We shall be there in approximately thirty-six hours, if my fine engineer has succeeded in his repairs and there are no surprises.” Grimm said.

  Parry stood, annoyance radiating, obviously needing a few hours more of sleep. “Though I cannot promise there will be no surprises, I can assure you my men have done all they can to bring Daedalus back to her full capacity.” He tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat. “Now, if you are finished with me, I will get to my station and complete preparations to float.”

  “Time, sir?” Boots asked.

  Parry reached for his pocket watch but did not find it. He patted several other pockets before looking at the sun’s position. “We float in twenty minutes.”

  Boots nodded and Mr. Parry strode to the stairwell. He hesitated at the top step. “Oh, Mr. Beacon, you should know, there is a naked male ... person, curled up in our Number Three line-locker.”

  “Oh, is he in the way?” Boots asked.

  “Not as such, sir, not for now, but we will need access when we get to Denver.”

  “Very well, Mr. Parry, I will speak with the Captain and provide some direction for our guests so they do not hinder your duties.”

  “Thank you sir, it is much appreciated.” Parry said. He took a step down the stairs, but stopped, backed up and stood aside as Mr. Shipley stepped out on the deck with Morris following closely.

  “I tried to stop him, sir,” Morris said as they approached.

  Boots saw Grimm reach inside his coat where he knew the captain kept an original Henry Derringer 41 caliber Philadelphia pistol. It had been refitted with a second barrel and pressurized pneumatic action, quiet and deadly. He knew it had saved Grimm’s life over the years, and had even saved his once. Boots caught his eye with the slightest of headshakes and instead of the gun, the captain removed a small spyglass and turned to look over the side of the ship.

  “Is it true, those animals, you let those animals on this ship?” Shipley yelled.

  “Yes, Mr. Shipley, indeed I have. They have requested Parle with our leaders so they will ride with us to Denver as we finish this mission, then back to Washington where we will provide safe passage to a meeting with our government. After that, I’m not sure. We may offer to return them safely to their home. I take it you have something to say concerning my decisions.” Boots said.

  “Yes, sir.” He hesitated, “May I speak frankly?” Shipley asked.

  “Of course you ...” Boots began.

  “It’s damn fool hardy ... Sir. They are wolves in sheep’s clothing, worse than wolves because at least wolves eat what they kill.”

  “Mr. Shipley, would I be correct in assuming you have had some type of, interaction with the Nightwalkers previous to your joining our little family?” Boots asked.

  “I should say so,” Shipley said, and began nervously rubbing his hands together. “They killed my family, my entire family. Not only my mother and father, but my brother and sisters, even little Maggie.”

  Boots saw the young man was close to hysterics. “Mister Morris, please bring three cups of coffee.”

  Morris hesitated, also seeing the change in Shipley.

  “Daniel, all is well. The captain and I can deal with this. Please do as I ask.”

  “Yes, sir,” Morris said with a slight bow, “of course. I will return shortly with the coffee.”

  “Good lad,” Boots said, then motioned to Shipley to sit. “Please, tell us your story, Master Shipley?”

  The young steward took a seat, wiping the sweat from his forehead with his coat sleeve. “I was ten, when Father decided to leave Lynn, Massachusetts, a little town near Salem. He had worked as a hatter for a top milliner in Boston for several years, then thought he would move to Kansas City and set up his own business. With the big push west he promised us all a better life.

  “We sold our home, said goodbye to our family and friends and hopped aboard the large wagon father purchased, stacked with all we owned, and pulled by three matched Morgans. We used two and tied the third to the wagon. My uncle offered an old steam powered land wagon that would have decreased our crossing time by a month or two, but Father had little mechanical knowledge and less skill so he turned him down. Perhaps if he had taken the chance ...” His voice drifted off into the land of perfect ‘what ifs.’

  “Mister Shipley,” Boots said after a minute, pulling the steward back to the now.

  “After several months on the road,” Shipley began again, “we came to the Missouri River. It was flooded but my father and two other families paid a ferryman to take us across. In the middle of the river, a rope broke and one of the other wagons rolled to the end of the barge. The barge capsized and we all went into the water. The two horses still harnessed to the wagon and went down with it, but Father cut the halter of the third which allowed it to swim to shore.

  “By a miracle, we all managed to find something floating. Even mother managed to keep Maggie close. Father found a rope and succeeded in keeping us all together.”

  “And what of the other families, they too were saved?” the Captain asked.

  Shipley shook his head. “One wagon belonged to an older couple. They tried to stay with their belongings and it took them to the bottom. The other family, a younger couple, had a baby and a little boy. I remember because he and Maggie were playing together before we capsized. I saw the man pushing the boy to the opposite shore on a plank but I saw neither the woman nor baby.”

  The captain made the sign of the cross.

  Morris arrived with the coffee and Shipley stopped until all were served. When Steward Morris was not dismissed, he stepped back and folded his arms behind him.

  “Go on, Mr. Shipley,” Boots said.

  “Well, as I said, we all survived by some miracle and after nearly an hour of floating, we managed to get to a sandbar, then to shore on the Missouri side, but by now the sun was dropping behind the trees and we had no idea how far we were from civilization. Fortunately, the night was warm so we found a shallow ravine and huddled together for warmth. We even fell asleep, until we heard the shrieking.”

  “Sacr’e bleu, vampires?” Grimm asked, though already knowing the
answer.

  “Yes, sir, and they found us quick. I guess it was the blood from the scratches and cuts. We all had some kind of nick or scrape. Before they surrounded us, my father told us to get back into the water. We ran toward the river ...” Shipley’s throat caught.

  “Take your time,” Boots said.

  Shipley took another sip of coffee and sat back in his chair. “We ran to the river, me in the lead, and I got there, grabbed the same board I had floated in on and waded out into the river thinking they were all behind me. Like I said, the river was swollen and I got caught up in the current. All I could do was listen as those damn animals ripped my family apart.”

  Boots leaned across the table. “I am sorry, Shipley, it was a horrible thing.”

  “And you lived how?” the Captain asked.

  “Well, I was too afraid to try to get to shore, not that could see the shore since it was still dark, so I rode the river down until the next morning when a small paddle wheeler saw me floating and sent some men out to investigate. I spent a week in the home of a local preacher, then left early one morning, before anyone was up. Eventually, I worked my way back east and found employment in the great houses of Salem, where I had family in service, then Boston.” Shipley stood abruptly. “And you brought them on this ship!”

  “Shipley, these Nightwalkers don’t seem to be the crazed vampires you encountered, in fact, we have learned that there are two types of vampires, Nightwalkers and Nosferatu. The latter seems to fit your description, the former are the ones traveling with us. And lest you forget Mister Shipley, this is MY ship.”

  “But sir ...”

  “Mr. Shipley, I am sorry to say that I cannot trust you with our new guests.”

  “But sir,” Shipley tried again, though his energy was fading.

  “So, Mr. Shipley, for your protection, theirs and ours, I must ask you to confine yourself to your quarters for the next 36 hours. If you are caught outside them, without an escort, I will order you confined under guard. When we moor at Denver, I will pay you triple your wages, and provide you with transportation back to Boston first class, if that’s what you wish.”

  Shipley stood quietly, looking at the table and his empty coffee cup.

  “Mr. Shipley,” Boots said, standing. “I am sorry this has worked out this way, but the world is changing and these United States must change with it, at least in this case. These people want to be a part, to join us without thought of being murdered with each rising of the sun. Think on this and what new role you might play in it.”

  Shipley nodded, resigned to the decisions for which he had no control.

  “Mr. Morris, please escort Mr. Shipley to his quarters.”

  “Yes, sir.” Morris said and followed Shipley down the stairs.

  Boots looked at Grimm. “I did right?” he asked.

  Grimm shrugged. “Who is to know? He has reason for murdering the Nightwalkers and has shown himself to have the desire also. He cannot be trusted so – yes, you did well.”

  Suddenly the ships bell rang twice, the Engineer’s signal he was ready to float.

  “Well, mon Capitan,” Boots gestured toward the stairs. “Shall we float?”

  “Absolument,” Grimm said, but before he could take his first step, the emergency bell rang.

  Both men placed their arms on the stairwell railing and slid to the bottom. Nicholas ran past carrying a long wrench.

  “Master Nicholas, what is the emergency?” Boots asked.

  “It’s Steward Shipley, he knocked Morris in the head and ran. He’s somewhere in the ship.

  Chapter 21 – Mr. Shipley Makes a Bad Decision

  Both Boots and Grimm pulled their pistols. Grimm, his Derringer, and Boots, his small four shot back up 38-caliber revolver. “You go to the first deck and aft to the engine room spaces,” Boots said, “I’ll do a quick reconnoiter on this deck, then join you below since there is more to check in Mister Parry’s realm.”

  “Aye, sir.” Grimm said and slid down the next set of stairs to the first deck.

  Boots made a quick check of the Bridge, then both the Captain’s and Navigator’s cabins. The Captains on the port side and the Navigator’s on the starboard. Both were empty, though he made a note to get Morris to carry Persi’s remaining luggage to his stateroom now that the proverbial cat was out of the bag. Seeing the bags poked at a feeling. He sought for a label, nostalgic, uneasy? He came back to himself and set it aside to continue with the search.

  Next were the two the guest cabins on either side of the passageway. Each held a set of bunkbeds and two desks, two chairs and two clothes lockers. He checked the small head, its newly installed Jennings model flush toilet sat there, porcelain gleaming and dry, and the washbowl upside down on the counter. Boots installed the toilets when he proposed to take his family to Europe two years previous. His mother refused to return to “the dark ages” as she called the years of the chamber pot, which lead to the refitting of the ship with the updated plumbing. He was proud to say Thomas Crapper & Company had done the work.

  In the opposite guest cabin, a small pale naked woman was curled up, partially covered by a blanket, one of their guests. Since she was still alive, Boots decided Shipley was not hiding there and backed out. Still something about Persi’s bags bothered him. Perhaps he should ask Persi if she wanted the bags brought to his room. On the other hand, he thought, our room is rather crowded and maybe there are items that can remain here. If only she were here, she could .... It hit him suddenly and he chided himself for not questioning the obvious. Where is Persi? She was an agent, same as he, and was normally, Lord knew, in the thick of everything, yet she had not made her presence known. Boots hastened down the hall until he got to his stateroom door, which stood ajar. With the gun in his right hand, he slowly pushed the door open.

  Persi sat on the bed, covers pulled up watching him. As the door opened, she waved and smiled. “Hello, my love. While I must thank you for posting Mister Shipley as a guard, I think his skills might be better used in the kitchen, or perhaps polishing the silver.”

  Boots pushed the door open to reveal Shipley sitting across from her, his chair backed up to a large clothes locker. A smear of blood across the bottom of his face told Boots that the, as of now, ex-steward, had not been warmly welcomed into this room.

  Boots glared. “Shipley, I say, this is a huge breach of etiquette. I mean to say, my wife is in her night clothes.”

  “Yes, sir, and I apologize, but I needed some leverage,” he took a breath, as if to center his himself, “to get you to understand the huge mistake you are making.”

  “Oh, which huge mistake would that be?” Persi asked Shipley while continuing to stare at Boots, her hands now folded in her lap.

  Boots’ face crinkled. “Not helpful, dear.”

  “The mistake of helping these vampires obtain social privileges. It is un-natural, at its very core.” He switched his gaze from Boots to Persi. “Surely you can see that Ms. Shuttleworth. Can’t you see that no one beds the dog down in the chicken house. Don’t you see?”

  Shipley’s voice had taken on an odd tone, half simpering and half pleading. Boots feared the poor man had gone over the edge and was not in his right mind.

  “I am no animal. When I gained entry to this cabin, I didn’t kick the door open. I knocked, politely, then when Miss Shuttleworth answered it I showed her my weapon and gently pushed. In fact, if anyone is in violation of etiquette, it is she. She punched me in the face!”

  “Only because I was unarmed, Mister Shipley. Had my six-shooter been handy, my husband and I would be the only ones having this conversation, and most of it would deal with how would we get the blood out of the rugs. They are from the orient – very expensive.”

  As Persi spoke, Boots noticed a movement behind Shipley. Had the locker opened a crack? He could have sworn it had been closed tightly when he entered but now ... It moved again, opening an inch further.

  “Rugs!” Shipley shrieked. Had his sanity been in q
uestion, it was no longer. “You speak of rugs while I speak of the safety of the innocent. If these things are allowed to merge with civilized people -- we will become slaves. Slaves to blood suckers, kept for food, like we keep livestock.”

  He stood, his eyes having a wild look and pointed the gun at Boots. “Mr. Beacon, you have been good to me but I must do things, things that will seem evil in the moment, but will be better understood in the wisdom of time.”

  Boots tensed, understanding what he saw in Shipley’s eyes. Shipley had made a decision. He had seen the same look many times before, on the battlefield. Like the private who shot his captain, whose sin was moving his men into a suicidal position. He had also seen that look before a soldier dropped his gun and ran blindly, sometimes away from fire, but sometimes directly onto the battlefield, all hope lost and wishing to die.

  “I need to shoot you.” Shipley said. “I’m sorry, but it is needed. I will also remove the Captain then set the ship down and remove the parasites onboard. I think Officer Parry is a reasonable man. He will see the logic in what I say. Anyway, goodbye Mr. Beacon.”

  Shipley raised his weapon and pulled the hammer back. Persi screamed and suddenly, the locker door burst open and a naked pale arm reached out and caught Shipley by the head. The hand, claws piercing the man’s skin, pivoted him around making him look into the face of his nemesis, his nightmare incarnate, rows of sharp teeth in the open maw of a Nightwalker, now in its Nosferatu form. He uttered no scream but dropped his gun as his knees buckled. The Nightwalker had the slight build of Aiyana, but physics did not seem to play a part here for she set her claws deeper into his scalp and held him suspended by his head. Suddenly she pulled him gently into her waiting embrace.

  Boots rushed to Persi’s side, wrapped his arm around her while training his gun on the horror taking place mere feet away. His wife shivered against his chest but couldn’t shift her eyes away from the events at the foot of the bed. It briefly registered that his gun was NOT carrying Sundowner rounds and would be useless against the vampire.