by Michael Rigg
Teivel Hearse, of course, knew more about Alice than any of them. He gathered a lot from her scent, the distraction all the ghouls felt at once that drove them mad wanting to climb the human towers after her. It was Hearse, their leader, who was first drawn by the magics cast by a young witch, then his senses found the delicate deliciousness of the woman. He concentrated not on the witch or the woman but on those who whisked the woman away and those who tried to seize her. Such a fortunate happenstance to have Perek Grubbs' I.D. and papers fall to his earth.
Grubbs shivered as the Lord of the Ghouls stood before him. He was surprised Teivel Hearse wasn't taller, that they were almost eye-to-eye. "I-I know that she's the cause of Mr. Thorne winning the bid over the Atlantic property, my lord."
Hearse walked slowly around Grubbs, looking over him as a master might inspect a slave.
Stiffening as the ghoul stood behind him, Grubbs added quickly, "Sh-She was alone, we think. She —I think she works for L-Landry."
Hearse's cold hand coiled over Grubbs' right shoulder, his long nails gently scratched his neck as he breathed in his left ear. "She doesn't work for Landry. And, I dare say, the Landry's mistakenly believe she works for Thorne & Wolfe." Hearse wrapped his left arm around the man's waist and crawled his right arm over Grubb's shoulder, hugging his back like a lover. Resting his pointed chin next to Grubbs' ear, Hearse whispered, "I could smell her... a stench stronger than that of any witch, and it was a witch's scent that drew my eyes skyward, my pet Perek."
"M-My lord?"
"She's an angel."
Grubbs frowned, suddenly no longer distracted by the feeling of the ghoul's cold velvet-clad body pressing against his back, he winced at the thought and glanced to Hearse's gray and deeply-lined face on his shoulder. "N-No, sir. No, she can't be an angel."
Hearse raised an eyebrow. "You don't think so?"
"N-No, sir. Um, my lord, I don't. She's just a woman. No angel would've done what she did to me," he said, reflecting on the sharp pain of his formerly broken nose and ribs.
"A woman who appeared from nowhere, Perek, and pulled with her a man who could have sealed the strength of the Confederacy for a hundred generations. What kind of woman would have such a power?"
Grubbs frowned, thinking, as Hearse released him from the awkward hug and moved slowly back to his throne. Sitting as he flicked back the tails of his velvet frock, Hearse said, "Then how is it I smelled her? And, yes, while I know when a woman is menstruating, that is assuredly not the case in this instance, not from a distance of a hundred stories at least." The ghoul yawned, then smiled at his own dark humor.
Grubbs wasn't convinced the woman was an angel. Maybe a harpy or a siren of some kind. She appeared as a regular woman, from what he recalled, rather unkempt and shabby-looking. And he didn't expect that an angel could deliver a combination martial arts attack like the one that she used on him. Still, his fate was in the hands of the Lord of the Ghouls and he knew from long years of corporate service, you never argue with the boss. Bowing slightly, Grubbs said, "I don't know, my lord, but I will find out for you.... if you want."
Hearse laughed. He threw back his head, tossing his long strands of black hair, and laughed so loud his voice echoed throughout the abandoned store. Ghouls hidden in the darkness all around them hissed and chattered. A second one joined the one perched atop the display case, and another peaked around from behind a dust-entombed, plastic Santa Claus. "Oh, my darling Perek, you are exquisite. Exquisite!"
Grubbs frowned, but smirked slightly, happy that at least he could make his captor laugh. That could very well buy him his life.
When Teivel Hearse finally stopped laughing, his expression became serious. The ghoul swallowed hard before waving a hand. The gesture caused small clouds of dust to erupt around the room as the ghouls hiding and watching from the shadows all scampered away, their ticking claws retreating rapidly in a herd toward the open elevator shaft at the back of the abandoned store.
Alone now with the Lord of the Ghouls, Grubbs swallowed and again reflexively covered himself against his lord's hungry glare.
Curling a finger, Hearse beckoned Grubbs closer. "Come to me, Perek."
"W-Why?"
"Because I command it, and because I wish to give you something."
Grubbs stepped forward slowly. "What do you want to give me, m-my lord?" Grubbs asked, wishing for money instead of anything else the recesses of his mind feared.
Hearse smiled, his eyes burning. "An experience, Perek, that you will never forget."
That was hours ago.
Now he rolled out of his plush bunk aboard the SS Air of Grace and stretched. The bites and scratches on his shoulders, sides and thighs burned under the bandages, but other than that he felt like a million bucks; which was ironic, Grubbs felt, because that was half of what he was traveling with.
As the airship's engines hummed loudly all around him, Grubbs walked to his private bath and checked his look in the mirror. He needed a tan, and the gums in his dry mouth were bleeding, but other than that he still felt pretty rich and satisfied with himself. His new-found wealth and power were well worth the price of the pain and humiliation he suffered at the claws, mouth and... other unspeakable parts ...of his lord, Teivel Hearse.
Dressing in a black velvet suit with silver buttons, much like that of his master but with a shell jacket instead of a frock, and a silver gray ascot adorned with a tiny platinum pin shaped like an H, Grubbs smiled. Not only did he feel more rich, and now actually had the bank account of the truly rich, he even looked rich—more rich than he'd ever even dreamed.
A knock at the dressing room door snapped him out of his reverie. "What is it?"
Grubb's personal valet, a man he hired in Philadelphia from the most reputable Imperial service in the nation, said, "We will be arriving in New Yorke in fifteen minutes, suh."
"Thank you, Wilton," Grubbs smiled. My own butler.
He returned from the private bath to finish getting dressed. Wilton helped him into his black leather shoulder holster, a gleaming pearl-handled automatic protruding from its opening. Then he shrugged into his jacket before turning to face his valet. "How do I look, Wilton?"
"Dashing, sir," the English manservant smiled with a slight nod.
Grubbs produced a wad of bills from his vest pocket and handed them to the butler. "Be a good man and go check on the captain. Tell 'im that I'd like the ship to cruise around Yorke for a bit while I have breakfast in the dining cabin."
Wilton's lip curled slightly. "And whom shall I say is making the request, suh?"
"If he gives you static, just tell him this comes straight from Vice President Perek Grubbs of Hearse & Grubbs... Incorporated." Grubbs' smile was self-satisfied and confident. He tugged at his sleeve. “He can stop by to check my Ident if he needs to.”
"Very good, suh." Wilton turned to leave.
"Oh, and Wilt?"
"Yes, suh?"
He passed a couple hundred more toward the butler. "Have the dining cabin cleared before I get there. I wish to breakfast alone."
Wilton nodded. "Very good, suh."
"Oh, and send word ahead to Thorne & Wolfe. Tell 'em I wanna meet with them by 10 this morning—but don't say the V.P. thing—just act like an operator and tell 'em Perek Grubbs is comin' back to report."
"Very good, suh."
Grubbs turned to his wide portal after his valet departed. He drew a deep breath, unconcerned that the only smell in his nostrils was the dankness of death—a leftover from the ghouls, he imagined—and smiled at the view.
"It'll all be mine before ya know it," he laughed. "All mine." And all I had to do to get it was play fancy boy to a male witch.
~~~~~~~
Bryce Landry sat next to his father in
the back seat of the aerocar as it approached Baton Rouge. The cabin of the car was sealed and air conditioned, so he was comfortable in his dark brown suit. The red ascot at his neck was decorated with a round red pin with a blue dot and white diamond in the shape of a star. His father sat next to him in a black suit and charcoal gray tie. Jefferson Landry adorned his lapel with a small red Confederate flag pin.
They flew in silence for awhile, Bryce wondering how Alice was doing and worrying on Lucien. He knew his father would react angrily about the contracts, but he hadn't expected a humiliating beating in front of Alice, his brother, and sister. It was only luck that Savannah hadn't seen.
It wasn't until the aero began its circle of Baton Rouge that Jefferson Landry finally spoke.
"I am sorry, my boy."
Bryce only glanced at him. He said nothing.
"I did not behave as a gentleman."
"You behaved as Lord Landry," Bryce said, gazing out the window. The comment was a thinly veiled insult hearkening back to a field of memories of Jefferson Landry outbursts, tirades and violent declarations and threats thrown to strangers, business partners and family alike. The only ones he never raised a hand or voice to were Adeline, Savannah and mother.
Jefferson huffed a laugh. "You're right, my boy. But I had to make you see what it is you'd done."
Bryce looked at his father. As the aero turned, bright sunlight combed through Jefferson's white hair and made it glow like a halo. "I know what I'd done, Daddy. I saved a woman's life—a very special woman who—"
"You already have a special woman, boy, or did you forget about Lady McFerran when you picked up that trampy Property?"
The chord in Bryce's neck bulged and his face grew hot, but he held his temper. "She's not Property, Daddy, she—"
"She's what?" Jefferson's fierce blue eyes stabbed at Bryce. "She's what? What in God's name was so damnable special about her that you brought her home to the Sevens? Why, boy!? Why... did you cast the entire security of the Confederacy to the winds over some piece of tail?"
And like that Lord Landry's apology evaporated.
Bryce flinched. His fists clenched as he turned his face toward the window and gritted his teeth, forcing the growing fury down. What could he say in response to his father's fury? In truth, Bryce knew there was still nothing he had learned about Alice that would placate his father or explain his actions. It was just something he felt.
"Do you realize what you've given Thorne & Wolfe?"
Bryce slightly shook his head and slowly turned to face forward. "It's not like that, Daddy. She was—"
When Jefferson spoke again, his voice was calm but hard as he cut through Bryce's reply. "Atlantis is the greatest discovery since the Tomb of Christ, boy. It's a city buried beneath the waves and filled with more riches than the world has ever known, and—we think—somethin' more."
The “we” in his father's speech referred to the armies of specialist Daddy employed, the earth-combig experts who followed Jefferson Landry's intuition to parts unknown to scoop up rarities so they could be sold to corporations in exchange for power. There was a lot about that Bryce didn't agree with, but he had to admit that his father's actions had managed to buy peace with the Empire. Still, Bryce sneered. There was a lot to be said about the Confederate Peace Machine, thousands strong with more airships and seafaring vessels than any other nation in the world. "So what? All the wealth in the world will not arm the Yankees. None of them have the manhood to stand against a Confederate Corporation." He looked at his father. "You and Clayton can bluster all you want about a third Civil War, but it won't happen, Daddy. It won't. And even if this archeological underwater hole of yours gives Thorne & Wolfe clear passage to the United Kingdom, it won't mean they have ins over there. The King and Queen are solidly supported by our efforts, and the Yankees of the Soviet Union are the weakest bunch of ignorant rabble that ever walked the earth."
Jefferson reached into his coat and dug something out of a pocket. He handed a folded square of paper to Bryce. "Open it."
The driver called back, "Setting down at the Hall of Records, Lord Landry, suh."
"Thank you, Edward."
Bryce opened the paper and looked at it as the aero began its slow descent. It was a grid marked off in inches with each inch equaling one square mile, according to the key on the lower left. The image was muddy and covered with dark blue-black ink, but lighter shades of blue showed squares, rectangles, pyramids and circles of an underwater city partially obscured by a shelf of what Bryce guessed was rock. A pattern of orange and yellow splotches decorated the edge of the shelf. "What's this?"
Jefferson pointed to the map in Bryce's hands. "It's a geodetic survey map taken by an airship over the Atlantic Ocean one year ago. The city was uncovered by an underwater eruption of hydrothermal vents just under the mid-Atlantic shelf. These spots here," Jefferson indicated the orange, "Are what the science boys are calling uninterrupted linear conversion patterns."
Bryce shot his father a questioning glance.
Wincing, Jefferson said, "Hell, I don't know, boy. That's why I have them. That's why we're goin' to see 'em at the Hall of Records—to show you what they told me."
"And what's that, Daddy?" Bryce asked, nonplussed as he handed back the map.
As Jefferson re-folded the map and tucked it into his pocket, he said, "Nearly four-point-six miles down, under an ungodly ton of pressure... there's life."
Bryce paused a moment before shrugging. He had heard of deep sea discoveries before. Giant jellyfish, squids, blind whales. It didn't phase him. "So?"
"The scientist boys have determined that those linear conversion pattern things are man-made, like generators or somethin'. Powerhouses strong enough to fuel a city—or a weapon powerful enough to level a continent, and there's more that you can't see on this map."
Bryce's brow creased as he studied his father's sincerity.
"The generators were running long before the vents attracted out attention." Jefferson shook his head. "At first, we thought it was a fluke, some kind of channeling thing in the rock, but nope. No, no. It's definitely by design—intelligent design, and it started heating up bright about four years ago."
"Daddy, what are you sayin'?"
"Life, boy." As the aerocar landed gracefully with a soft bounce on a platform attached to an immensely wide fourteen-story building made of red steel, Jefferson said, "Human life. A new continent under the waves... and they have more power than all the nations put together."
CHAPTER 17, “Clockwork Memories”
Maybe it was because it was such a pleasant morning. Maybe it was because I was finding Adeline to be such welcome company after the traumatic scene on the front steps of Seven Orchards, But "Addy" and I gravitated toward the shade under the west wing porch and a pair of lounge chairs next to a glass table, choosing to—as she put it—"Set a spell" before taking me in to get me settled.
Admittedly, just sitting down and not being on the run anymore seemed like a good idea to me. I was curious to know more about Bryce and Lydia's engagement. I wasn't sure why, but it was the latest bombshell to hit me since yesterday and Addy would surely be able to cover that one. She might even be able to give me some clue as to where, when or how I got where I am.
I opened my mouth to ask, but Addy beat me to the punch. "I don't know your full story, Alice. What can you tell me that daddy'd be too blind to hear?"
It was up front, but not unwelcome. My thoughts of Bryce and Lady McFerran could wait. I felt I needed to talk to someone. I had to tell a sympathetic ear my story, and it was possible someone as simple and wholesome as Adeline Landry would have an answer or two. True to Bryce's words so far, she certainly seemed to be the wise one of the family despite her youth.
"Well." I looke
d out at the fountain in the middle of the circular drive, the orange and green of the groves beyond, the dappling shade of the enormous oak trees, and the enormous ivory pillars of the estate. "My memory started yesterday afternoon. I woke up in the World Trade Center thinking it was nine-eleven."
"Nine eleven?"
"September 11th. The clock between the towers had stopped there, according to Bryce—which is really strange—because that date and those towers mean something to me. Them, and a cop—police officer—named Ray Simcoe, are the only connections I have to my own reality."
Addy smiled crookedly and leaned closer to me as though begging a secret. "Memory, you mean, right? Your own memories? You said 'reality'."
I shook my head and glanced at her before turning back to the fountain. "You're going to think I'm crazy."
Her laugh was light and sweet. "Darlin', if you weren't here not ten minutes ago and saw that mess my daddy made, I'd be askin' you not to think I was crazy for bein' part of this family."
I gave her a weak smile. I really had nothing to lose by telling her the truth. I was cleared of being a witch by the Witchteller Wilco. The only mystery I now possessed that I thought it best to keep secret were the scars on my back and the nightmare that went with them. I took a deep breath and said, "As far as I know... The World Trade Center was destroyed on September 11th 2001. I don't quite remember how, but I have an intense feeling of sadness and fear in the bottom of my gut when I think about it."
"The Center of Trade, ya mean? Fourteen years ago?" Addy started to say something else, but I held up my hand.
“Didn't you say your father started all this digging around, as you called it, about fourteen years ago?”
She nodded, her face still forming questions. “That's right, round about this time o' year, 2001.”
