The Infernal Aether Box Set: All Four Books In The Series

by Peter Oxley

  “And besides,” I said. “We have no idea what could be waiting for us. If there is a connection to the disappearance of the local menfolk, it is likely that there would be more than mere domestics at the root of it. No offence,” I added to Kate.

  “None taken,” she said. “Don’t think anyone’s ever thought of me as just a mere domestic.”

  Her tone made me look away, red-faced. “In any case,” I said. “We would be foolish to run blindly into such a situation without some form of back-up… or weaponry, for example.”

  Maxwell laughed. “Very well brother, you have the beating of me! I surrender. Let us try out the weapons I have developed.”

  ***

  We walked out on the moor for around half an hour until we were far enough away to be satisfied that our experiments could not be viewed from the mansion house. Nonetheless, I could not shake the feeling that our exploits were being watched, although whenever I looked round in an attempt to spot any observers, I was disappointed. I reasoned that I was just being paranoid and resolved to focus on the matter in hand.

  Maxwell set down a wooden box and opened the lid, grinning at my barely suppressed impatience. We peered inside at the contents, which comprised a pair of LeMat pistols and a couple of swords. Maxwell handed me one of the pistols.

  I eyed it dubiously. “Whilst I have nothing but respect for Continental firearms, you had led me to believe that you had created something special and unusual. For this I could have stepped into any gun shop. And given the choice, I should have preferred a Lancaster.”

  Kate looked at me. “I never had you pegged for a Howdah type. You served in the Raj then?”

  “Not so much served,” I said. “But I have spent time there, and in Africa, and admired their use whilst I was there. Much more accurate than these things.” I suddenly realised how ungrateful I was sounding. “But still a good firearm,” I added.

  “This weapon has a number of advantages over any others you may have used,” said Maxwell. “For instance, it has a central barrel which can be fired separately to the cylinder.”

  “I am aware of the innovation,” I said. “It is a smooth-bore—I believe that is the source of its nickname: the ‘Grape Shot Revolver’.” I aimed the weapon at a far-off rock and then frowned; even for a piece of this type it did not hold well.

  Before I could comment, Kate spoke up. “It’s really unbalanced,” she said. I turned to see her similarly aiming the other pistol and pulling a face.

  “How do you...” I began.

  She shot me a sideways glance. “Even us mere domestics know how to point a gun. How do you think I managed to survive on them streets as long as I did? Stunning looks’ll only get you so far, you know.”

  “Yes, well,” said Maxwell. “I have made one or two modifications, and I apologise if I have somehow interfered with the feel of the weapon. But its efficacy is much improved.” He took the weapon from me and pulled back the hammer. “Whilst you are correct that the original has a smooth-bore central barrel, I have inlaid grooves on these, which create a certain rotation in the bullets which in turn mimics a vibration that I have found to have rather... deleterious effects upon the Aether. I am hopeful that this would cause issues for Aetheric creatures or phenomena which might otherwise be unperturbed by normal weaponry.”

  I rubbed my head as I worked through my brother’s rather characteristic summary. “Do the other weapons also depend upon concepts as solid and reliable as ‘hope’?” I asked.

  “Ah,” he said as he retrieved one of the swords from the box. “Now this I know you will like.” He handed it to me with the smile of a parent handing a present to an over-eager child.

  In spite of myself, I could not help but beam as I hefted what was to all intents and purposes a broadsword. “The grip, balance, weight,” I said. “It all seems perfect. What is it?”

  “I believe the correct term is ‘Infantry Officer’s Sword’,” said Maxwell. “But that is largely irrelevant. All of the sensations you refer to stem from the inscriptions running the length of the piece.”

  I held the weapon up to the light and looked along it to see red-tinged runic symbols etched into the hilt, guard and blade. Each one was incomprehensible to me and they seemed to blur as I stared at them. “What are they?” I asked.

  “A form of words I picked up from a wise man in Arabia some time ago,” said N’yotsu. “Very powerful.”

  “The symbols embody whatever they are inscribed onto with significant power and potency,” added Maxwell.

  “Such as?” I asked.

  “That sword will cut through anything,” said N’yotsu with a grin, holding up the other sword and swinging it for effect, “like it were butter.”

  I raised an eyebrow and then approached a nearby rock. I attempted a rather half-hearted swing and was surprised that, rather than glance off or chip, the blade instead buried itself into the stone. Pulling it free with little effort, I swung with more force and the rock parted as though it were wet mud. I kicked the stone to be sure I had not tested upon a dud and was rewarded with a sore foot. “Remarkable,” I muttered, gazing upon the unblemished blade.

  “I rather thought you would like that,” said Maxwell.

  ***

  I sat at the dining room table and played with my wine glass, my mind fully occupied by my new sword and the powers which it embodied. I had tested it for long hours out on the moor, marvelling at the ease with which it handled as I sparred with N’yotsu. Whilst the blades brooked no resistance when they encountered any material, against each other they met their match and were fearsomely effective weapons. Kate and Maxwell tested the pistols while we sparred, the report of the guns only just competing with the immense clangs which accompanied every contact between our blades.

  Our testing had however unveiled one flaw in the swords; after a few minutes of intense sparring I felt a sharp pain and dropped the weapon with a yell, holding my hand.

  “What is the matter?” asked N’yotsu.

  “The handle,” I said. “It burnt me.” We looked down at the sword; the runic symbols across its length were glowing with red heat, which gradually dissipated as we watched. After a minute or so it was once again cool enough to handle and I picked it up tentatively.

  “Interesting,” said N’yotsu, and turned to strike a nearby rock repeatedly with his sword. After a few minutes he stopped and examined the weapon; its runes were also notably warm to the touch.

  “That could be a slight problem,” I said. “We will need to be judicious in their use. Still, they are quite effective little toys.” I grinned at him.

  Maxwell had been watching our trials with interest and came over to join us, taking hold of N’yotsu’s blade and examining it. “This is fascinating,” he said. “It would appear that there is a quid pro quo in relation to the use of the weapon. The blade severs the bonds of whatever it encounters at the atomic level with apparently no force required to do so. This had bothered me on a logical basis, as surely such power should create a reaction somewhere, in addition to the act of severance. It would appear that this is the reaction I was missing; the energy produced transfers itself back to the symbols in the form of heat.”

  “What’s he saying?” asked Kate, joining us with a smoking pistol in her hand.

  “It gets hot if we use it too much,” I translated.

  We tested the blades for a while longer and managed to identify the extreme limits to which we could use the swords before we had to pause and let them cool down. I should gladly have stayed out there and sparred all night, were it not for the others ordering me back to the mansion house.

  As we trudged back across the moor, we formulated a plan; none of us expected Richard to be any more forthcoming that night, and an outright inquisition would likely yield precious little results. If our suspicions were correct, then Richard—or at least someone in that household—was up to no good, and the only way to solve the mystery was to catch them in the act. We would therefore wait
until the household was at rest and then investigate. Should the same racket take place after dark as it had the previous night, then that would be the focus for the start of our investigations.

  The various clocks in the household had struck eight o’clock by the time that Richard finally surfaced to join us for dinner; as expected he was looking suspiciously on edge and distracted. Once again, all three of us tried to elicit information from our host while we worked our way through an excellent meal. Once again, Richard proved himself evasive, managing to say plenty but reveal nothing. By the time he inevitably made his excuses and left, long before the end of the meal, we all felt little but frustration.

  “There is no point in us imposing ourselves here any longer,” said Maxwell. “We are clearly not welcome. We will leave in the morning.” He turned to Kate, who was stood in attendance with the other waiting staff. “Please inform the driver that we will be leaving after breakfast. I shall also need some help with my packing.”

  Kate curtsied. “Of course, Mr. Potts.” She glanced at me and winked slyly as she left the room.

  I glared at the door as she closed it, irritated that the girl’s carelessness in front of Richard’s own staff could have given the game away. “Why do I get the feeling that she is trying to make a point?” I asked.

  “In what way?” asked Maxwell.

  “She treats me like some common street trader, while you get the ‘Lord and Master’ treatment.”

  “I do pay her wages,” said Maxwell. “The last time I checked, her duties did not extend to my family, however needy they may be. In any case, I thought that such niceties did not bother you, the champion of the common man?” I glared at him and he grinned back. “Now, if you will excuse me, I shall go and start arranging my things. I do not wish to be detained here any longer than necessary.”

  I drained my glass. “In which case, if an early start is in the offing, then I shall have an early bed. I bid you a good night, gentlemen.”

  Maxwell and N’yotsu similarly rose and accompanied me out of the door. As we reached the top of the stairs and went our separate ways, we all nodded to each other, a grim acknowledgement of the mission which we would soon be undertaking. I was torn as to what outcome I hoped for; an innocent explanation would be much more pleasing from a personal perspective, as Richard was an old and dear friend of the family. Then again, an opportunity to test out my new sword would be most welcome.

  * * *

  As expected, shortly after midnight the same banging and clanging which had disturbed me the night before commenced anew. The noise shocked me out of a frenzy of focus; I had intended to kill a few minutes continuing my acquaintance with my new sword before settling down to some light reading before the appointed hour. I was surprised to note that I had spent the whole time toying with and inspecting the weapon.

  I checked the clock by my bedside; the plan was to meet in the hallway which linked our rooms at one o’clock, but I was itching to do something at that moment; a further hour’s waiting was intolerable. Holding the sword loosely at my side, I gently opened the door and stepped through, holding my breath as it clicked closed behind me. It worked in my favour that Richard, ever the impeccable engineer, clearly insisted on all his doors being well-oiled.

  I stood in the hallway and listened, but no sound came from Maxwell or N’yotsu’s rooms. I toyed with the idea of tapping on their doors to advise them of my impatience, but discounted the idea; the sound might have alerted any others nearby. In any case, Maxwell would never have deviated from the agreed plan; for him, plans and rules were made to be followed, not broken. N’yotsu had an irritating tendency to defer to my brother in such matters, so I resolved to press on alone. I would be an advance party, scouting out the infernal racket before heading back to join my comrades at the appointed hour. Kate would have been a welcome companion, but I had no knowledge of the whereabouts of the servants’ quarters in that vast house and so pressed on alone, relishing the idea of solving this mystery single-handed.

  The house was even more imposing in the darkness, the shadows giving the impression of extra depth and width so that the corridors seemed to stretch on without end. More than once I fancied that I was being observed or followed, only to realise that it was just the flickering of my candle giving the illusion of movement to paintings and furniture. I had no need for stealth; the incessant banging hid any noise I made.

  The noise grew louder as I made my way downstairs and approached the bowels of the house, past the sitting and dining rooms. I ventured into—for me—uncharted territory: the parts of the house which we had been denied access to by the intrusive, ever-present servants.

  My ears led me to a half-opened door and I stood outside for a moment, marshalling my nerves, before peering into the room.

  On the other side was a study as large as my entire house. A grand mahogany desk stood in the middle of the room, whilst the walls were lined with row after row of leather-bound books. The floor was covered with a dark, oriental-style rug which was matched by very expensive-looking curtains. Satisfied that the room was devoid of life I stepped inside, marvelling at its sheer scale. What masterpieces I could write, I thought to myself, given access to this room. Not for the first time, I felt a rising envy at the resources available to our friend.

  The noise seemed to be coming from somewhere to the rear of the room. I stepped towards an immense bookcase, the sides of which were limned in light. As I drew nearer, it became apparent that the bookcase was hinged on one edge, clearly a piece of ornate trickery designed to conceal a secret doorway to another room. Its existence would have been well hidden in daylight but, in the darkness, the light from the room beyond gave it away.

  I heard a noise behind me and spun round to see Richard swinging a poker at my head. My world exploded in a flash of red before I sank into oblivion.

  * * *

  I swam back into consciousness through a fog of pain and with the taste of blood in my mouth. I tried to put my hands up to my throbbing head but found that they were bound tight to my body. I wriggled a bit but there was no give at all; I appeared to be tied to a table of some description.

  I turned my head to look around. I seemed to be in some form of cellar, with dark stone arches looping overhead. The tick-tock of a hundred clocks echoed round me, and for a moment I fancied that I was trapped inside an immense grandfather clock.

  I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. “Richard?” I said.

  He looked up in shock and then darted over to my side, checking on my bonds. As my eyes became accustomed to the dim light, I was aware of forms standing around us, a silent audience to my suffering.

  “Richard, what’s going on?” I asked. When he still didn’t reply, I continued. “Please at least let one of my hands free. My head feels like it is splitting open.”

  “I am so sorry,” he said. “I am so, so sorry.”

  “Do not worry,” I said, trying to keep my voice as calm and soothing as possible. “Just untie me and we will say no more about it.” I tried to inject some jollity into my tone. “That was some strike; if you had been able to swing a cricket bat like that back at school, we could have had quite a team!”

  “I am sorry,” he said, ignoring me. “He made me do it. He told me to do it.”

  “He?” I asked. “Who is ‘he’?”

  Richard moved round to just by my head, where there was another table, and picked up something which glinted in the candlelight. “I am so sorry,” he said again.

  “Just get on with it,” said a familiar voice. I turned my head to the right and saw the officious form of the butler moving through the rows of immobile watchers, advancing toward us. As he approached, the man’s eyes flashed a fiery red and then his body shifted into a form which seemed slightly too angular to be natural, followed by a leering grin that seemed too big for his face.

  “Andras,” I said, my heart pounding hard.

  “The very same,” the demon said. “You will be pleased
to hear that we have finally found a use for you. Funny how these things work out, eh?”

  “You followed us here,” I said.

  “Not really; more a case of you following me. I could explain, but you would not understand.”

  “So you were masquerading as the butler all along?”

  The demon walked round me, that terrible grin made to seem even more artificial by my prone perspective. “In a way, I am all of them,” it said. “They all had something that they wanted—fortune, knowledge, power, a roof over their heads—and they owe it all to me. Nothing quite like material desires to bind a person to oneself, do you not think?” The demon examined my sword, which was laid on a bench next to me. “Speaking of which, I do admire the workmanship of this article. Particularly the runes. I didn’t think N’yotsu had it in him. Has he told you what it really does? I wonder, does he really know?”

  I glared at the demon. “Of course,” I said.

  Andras grinned. “No, he does not. Otherwise you would not be so keen to carry it around with you. Delicious; quite delicious.” It cackled, a noise which itched my skin as it echoed round the chamber.

  I gritted my teeth and took a deep breath. The creature was clearly trying to drive a wedge between me and my friends, and I was determined not to allow it the satisfaction of seeing me affected by its trickery. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  Andras yawned, a hideous sight which put me in mind of an alligator welcoming its prey. “As tempting as it is to gloat and talk you through all my plans, allowing you to kill time in the false hope that salvation will arrive, I think not. I want to get this over with so that we can get on to the main part of the night’s entertainment.” It turned to Richard. “Do it.”

  Richard came back into my field of vision. “I am sorry,” he said.

  “Please stop saying that,” I said through clenched teeth. I noticed what was in his hands. “Is that a saw?”