Mechanicals

by Jordan Stratford

  "That's about the gist of it, Mr. Billings."

  "I imagine so, Mr. Colt."

  "And what about you, Billings, now that we're on the subject. Are you skeptical that communication with the spirits of the dead is possible?"

  "Not in the least skeptical, sir. I know it's possible, with some conviction."

  Colt was taken aback. "What makes you so sure?"

  "My sister could do that, too."

  TWO - BOURNEMOUTH 1854

  It was a teacup that alerted Blake to his future.

  The damn thing had rattled incessantly since the porter had placed it on the train's linen table, along with a pot of coffee he had had to wrangle out of the galley staff. As they had no coffee cups aboard, he had been presented with a blooming and gilded flower of porcelain, which chattered tittering gossip to its saucer while Blake struggled to slog through the Times undistracted. The train's clatter gave the teacup much to go on about, until a counterpoint was introduced sufficient to mute the thing into silence, if only for a beat. And then another.

  Blake peered over the paper's grey to see the car's other officers, uniformed in short blue jackets and striped cherry breeches quite unlike his somber gentleman's attire, craning their necks above one another at the window. Leaning slightly forward, he looked left through the glass as the ditch and short rise alongside the track slid by at the miraculously banal pace of train travel. But above the verge, there was the very future the Morse code of the teacup had been telegraphing to him.

  A mechanical man in grey iron strode evenly alongside the train, gaining slightly. At thrice the height of a natural man, the giant's steady gait allowed Blake a detailed look at the thing. Its legs were more holes than girder, its knees reminiscent of train engine's wheels, and the house for the driver and fireman a narrow armoured box, slit like a knight's helmet. At the crotch of the mechanical man was a whirling disc, a gyroscope to keep the contraption steady; and on its back was a massive, rectangular rucksack, like a soldier's pack, containing, as Blake knew, furnace, boiler, valve, gear, and exhaust. Where its arms should be were merely massive, stubby bolts, each the size of a cannonball; mounting brackets for the new spinning guns. These Blake knew could propel a lead slug the size of a man's thumb through a horse and any three idiots dull enough to hide behind it–a dozen shots in a blasphemy of seconds.

  Had the train been stationary the mechanical would have seemed to wander past at a garden-stroll, but the velocity of the thing must have been quite extraordinary indeed. The men, pipes or papers in hand, seemed to get their wind up at being outpaced, and shouted "Huzzah!" at the triumphal march of the machine. They jostled one another in a tangle of pillbox hats and gold braid, of waxed moustache and well-bred youth's concoction of lethargy, self-amusement and pointless enthusiasm.

  The door to the car opened at the distant end, and a staff sergeant entered. The newly-minted officers momentarily adjusted themselves as they assessed the man, whose obvious experience commanded respect, but whose inferior rank demanded disregard. Clearly this would take them some getting used to.

  The sergeant approached Blake's table, with a respectful nod, keeping himself an appropriate distance from the gaggle of uniformed officers. He spoke casually.

  "Bloody marvelous, innit? British industry and the Queen's army, striding 'bout the countryside without so much as a 'ow-do-you-do. I thought the train was something. Supper in London, put a brigade of men and horses on board, and breakfast in Edinburgh, please and thank you."

  "What a ghastly thought, sergeant," said the dark gentleman.

  "What's that, sir?"

  "Breakfast. In Scotland."

  The sergeant laughed, loud and easily, his red moustache framing a grin. His skin was ruddy, almost baby-pink, despite the deep pockmarks in his cheeks. He introduced himself cheerfully.

  "Staff sergeant Kendrick, sir, and a good morning to you."

  "And to you, staff sergeant. Captain George Blake, recently of the Eleventh Hussars."

  The ginger-haired sergeant immediately snapped to attention and saluted.

  "Sah! Apologies, sah!" His bark distracted the other officers, whose attention now drifted to the seated man in the charcoal greatcoat. His black hair tended to curl, and his eyebrows seemed to be growing vines, creeping away from his forehead. He sported a neat moustache, less fashionable than the fuller contrivances worn by the other men.

  "Please, do sit and join me, and no apology necessary. I've spent less than an hour in uniform outside my tailor's, and that to sign my commission."

  "Very good sir, and welcome to the Eleventh." The man pulled the chair curtly towards him and sat with an economy of motion. "Anything at all I can do to accommodate your situation, sir, I'm your man."

  "That's terribly kind of you, sergeant. I will in fact be needing a man."

  "A man, sir."

  "A batsman. A corporal, if you can spare one. I'd be loathe to be saddled with a private and have us both find our bearings simultaneously."

  "Understood, sir. I know just the lad."

  "Well done. I'll be quite at sea without an experienced hand, knows the men, help avoid gossip and the wrong sort, as it were."

  "I'm sure you'll have no trouble, sir, an educated gentleman such as yourself."

  Blake answered dryly. "Indeed. Since my uncle purchased this commission, I've been educating myself to the best of my ability. I know practically all there is to know about the battle of Thermopylae, as terribly useful as that shall be in this age of cannon and mechanicals."

  "I've no doubt it shall, sir. I enlisted as a private m'self, sir."

  "Seen much action, sergeant?"

  "India, sir, but not much to see. All over before I got there. Regimental life, really. Known no other. The army's been fair to me, and I hope to have been fair to 'er, sir."

  Blake nodded. "My uncle, well, step-uncle, or should I say half step uncle, being my mother's half-sister's second and recently late husband, decided at his appointed hour on the army for me, leaving allowances. A mere thousand pounds short of making Major, or so it would seem!" He seemed to find the entire matter absurd.

  Kendrick’s eyes widened appreciatively. "A thousand pounds! That's a packet, sir."

  "Indeed. And I'm afraid I'm all out of rich dead half step-uncles, so it's a Captain's lot for me."

  "That's very forthcoming of you, sir."

  "What of it? It's not my money, nor my fortune, in either sense. At least I got to choose the regiment, and I'm fond of horses."

  "It is a fine regiment, sir. But the horses may be a bit of a problem."

  "A problem? In the cavalry?"

  "It's the mechanicals, sir. We've had the blazes of a time getting the horses to drill with 'em. The iron men spook 'em, you see."

  "One can hardly blame the beasts. Still, if you can get a horse alongside a train, I'm sure they can be brought to heel eventually. I've found with kindness and time a horse will do anything asked of a gentle hand."

  "I'm sure you're right, sir. Still, when we get to marshal, you'll no doubt have your full appraisal, sir."

  There was a renewed flurry of activity among the men, hands pressed now at the window and a second chorus of "Huzzah!". Behind the first mechanical, by now well ahead of the train, was a second, stouter unit. This one had a long, narrow cannon affixed to its shoulder, and longer legs, though it squatted closer to the ground. It was appreciably faster than the first, and seemed intent on catching up with it, a plume of jet coal-smoke in its wake. Its impact on the ground didn't seem to interrupt the now-familiar rattle-and-respite of the tableware; Blake assumed it was farther away, or perhaps engaged in different terrain.

  "Exciting! Terribly exciting!" declared one of the young officers.

  "Yes, indeed, it is terribly exciting!" joined another.

  "Terribly, quite terribly so!" parroted a third.

  At this prattle Blake was inclined to rise and slap the lot of them, but just then the hindmost mechanical twisted itself viole
ntly at the torso, and seemed pinned swiftly to the ground like a butterfly to a card, vanishing behind the ditch's verge. The suddenness of its disappearance seemed to suck the air out of the car, rendering the men silent. The first mechanical slowed slightly in its hitherto-unrelenting march, now stopping to turn and look behind itself, as the train hurtled past. The men pressed their cheeks to the cold glass, looking back at the lone, stubby-armed iron man.

  THREE

  My Darling Celeste:

  I suffered no illusion that the initial volley of letters lost any haste in their dispatch; therefore my course of action was apparent. I had to use every method at my immediate disposal to ameliorate, through the generous employ of social teas, what damage I could, and then extricate myself from my current parsonage in an effort to pre-empt the arrival of further missives to the bishop.

  The first letters could safely be presumed to be dismissed, eliciting a raised eyebrow at best. These would be readily rejected as the curious rantings of the outlying farmers and their inarticulate testimony. But I must confess that my pursuit and eventual detonation (you know my fondness for explosives) of Widecombe's problematic and cyclopean hirudinea left my ears ringing and my composure discombobulated, so that a graceful yet expedient exit seemed called for.

  So did I begin the arrangement of my affairs to accommodate my return to London, having first stowed away the book–extricated successfully from the creature’s lair–and sealing it with the usual preparations of wax, banishings, incantations, blessings, and the precaution of a masonry wall beneath the foundations of the abandoned mill.

  The carriage-journey from Devon was not entirely unpleasant, despite the season, and I thought of you often in St. Petersburg, where I imagine the weather must be quite dismal. The snow here is paler than your cheek, my darling, and less smooth. While needs dictate I must think of war, in this terrible time, I think more often of love, and your cleverness, and your constant sweetness.

  Having now arrived, I shall establish my lodgings at the club, await various admonishments and further orders from Canterbury, and assemble my resources for what I must assume, and dare hope, to be the journey to join you in Russia, or at least Constantinople, to see what is to be done.

  I see now my error in my brief appearance in Widecombe-in-the-Moor, although successful in my objectives of securing and making impotent the tome of my mission. I require, as I have ever thus, a feminine distraction from my efforts, so that my agency and activities go largely unperceived. In short, I must acquire forthwith a new niece, and have taken steps in this regard.

  I first spied her behind a bookseller’s stall in the Greek neighbourhood. She drew no attention to herself, though pretty, and stood motionless, having completely fallen in thrall of a book. She did not fidget, as girls her age are so apt to do, and in this capacity for stillness, for disengagement from the market and the prattle of accompanying girls who preened and clucked like caged canaries, this one merely stood, and breathed, and read. But there was a fiery nature to the young lady, I could tell straightaway, that had been momentarily set aside, quieted, by the simple pleasure of the written word. You know me well enough, my darling, to recognize that I simply had to extend an invitation to our Work to the girl, and offer some possible respite from the drudgery fate had no doubt aligned for her.

  As Eleanor is now sixteen years of age, her father had hoped to place in her marriage, but I convinced the man, with the aid of a generous donation of notes, that the girl's education and match were to be entrusted in my care. It was likewise necessary to ensure the family's Orthodox priest that I would in no wise seek her conversion from that Church, and merely found a peculiar promise in the young lady's aptitude for learning, assuring them of the significant increase in her future prospects should she function as my ward and I her guardian. That I had the means at my disposal to convey her to their homeland and ensure her safe return was enough to convince them utterly of the suitability of the arrangement.

  As for the young lady herself, she was vociferously opposed to the idea. Enraged, she assaulted her father quite thoroughly, assuming he had sold her for a dollymop to a "choker", apparently a disparaging term for clergyman of which I was unaware and find uniquely delightful.

  Once in private, having officially acquired both role and title of chaperone, I appealed to her practicality; obviously as a gentleman of means, I could obtain the attention of all manner of ladies of negotiable virtue, and I did not require such service from her. Rather, I identified within her certain characteristics I found frequently useful. While she directly inquired as to what these might be, I withheld that it was her obvious willfulness and innate difficulty that was most appealing. I have always thought it was such fire that can be made to work both glass and gold, to warm and ignite in turn. It is a rare thing in a woman, and almost extinct in a man.

  Helena! I forgot to mention, and I beg your forgiveness, that immediately upon my arrival I was informed that our friend and sister Helena had returned from India and was awaiting my appearance. She has imparted certain information to me – and a valuable technique or two you may find of interest – and I escorted her to the Chapter House where her initiations were there completed in proper course. As she presents these recent credentials to you, I assure you they are in every way genuine. She makes her way now to St. Petersburg, and brings with her an embrace from me meant only for you.

  Forever your most admiring servant,

  Avery+

  ---

  "You're hurting me!"

  "I am not.”

  "You are! You are!"

  "I assure you, dear girl, that I am not causing you any discomfort whatsoever."

  "You cruel, cruel man! Let go of me."

  "I shall not."

  "But you're hurting me!"

  "Again, young lady, I am doing nothing of the kind."

  "Please! Please!"

  "The discomfort you are experiencing is the result of you resisting my grip, and pulling away. Now, if you care to relax, you'll find yourself immobilized but quite unharmed."

  Eleanor ceased pulling on her arm. As promised, the shooting pain through her tendons instantly abated. The priest held her right hand, yet twisted it at an awkward angle, his thumb an iron spike between her ungloved joints.

  "There. You'll find the source of any pain was merely your antagonism to your current circumstance." Avery’s voice remained even, calm.

  "You are a wicked, beastly man, and no gentleman!"

  "Arguably."

  "Please, I do beg of you to let me go."

  "I certainly shall, child, as soon as our lesson is completed."

  Eleanor’s eyes darted around the small sitting room, in the hotel adjacent to the gentlemen's club above the street. The room was modest; well- if conservatively appointed. The rug was a grey-green, leached by age, and bore the hue of boiled cabbage.

  Both she and the priest were perched at the edge of sturdy oak side-chairs, her right hand in his. The late afternoon light, dimming now from winter clouds, entered gloomily through broad windows. If there were any rescuers to hear her earlier cries, none came to relieve her of this most unjust assault.

  "Now, please look at me.” His gaze was firm. “I'm going to inhale quite sharply through my nose, and exhale loudly. You shall do it in the same time. Like…dancing. Ready? Good girl."

  She met his eyes as his nostrils flared, and she found herself matching his breathing, her shoulders falling more than she expected on exhalation.

  "Right. Good. Feel better? Yes. Now. I'd like to draw your attention to your posture. Note: your feet are on the floor, your spine is quite erect, and your shoulders are somewhat loosened after your initial outburst, yes?"

  She took inventory. "Yes."

  "Excellent. Now. Are you able to move your arm?"

  She tried, although she could predict the futility. "No."

  "No. No indeed. Quite right. Because I am holding onto it thusly. Now. Do I appear, to you, to be expending m
uch effort in restraining you so?"

  "No, sir, none at all. But please do let me go, I beg of you."

  "Oh I shall, I shall. My dear girl, we are only a moment away. But first, I must ask you, with your free hand, to touch your nose."

  Eleanor seemed puzzled by this curious request. "My nose?"

  "Yes, dear. You'll find it quite squarely above the lips, although before the eyes, as it were."

  She tried to raise her free hand. It was completely uncooperative, as though she were looking at a doll’s hand. Immobile, despite her will and her previously irrefutable possession of the thing.

  "I cannot."

  "No. You cannot. And why is that?" Avery inquired.

  "Be…because you hold my other hand, thusly?"

  He seemed delighted. "Correct! Absolutely correct. You're doing splendidly. Now. One more mandatory question, and one the response to which is entirely your option. The first: how is it that I know how to do this? To hold your hand, with little effort, and yet utterly immobilize you without exerting superior strength? How is it that I know how to do this?"

  She thought, honestly, for a moment, examining the seriousness of his expression.

  "I'm…I cannot say, sir. Perhaps it must be that you learned it somewhere. That someone taught you."

  At this, he released her with a flourish and a nod. Eleanor reflexively retrieved her hand rubbing the spot where his thumb had been, expecting a bruise, although there was none.

  "That, Miss, is the very essence of the thing. Indeed. I learned it somewhere.” He pronounced each word distinctly. “Someone. Taught. Me."

  Somewhere, a clock chimed the quarter hour. Avery was suddenly transformed from serious schoolmaster to the affable, and admittedly attractive, gentlemen she had first encountered at the bookseller's stall behind the market.

  "You may certainly repair to your room, if you so wish. Supper's in an hour, if you care to join me," he said. “Entirely up to you, my dear.”