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

by Peter Oxley

“So when do we leave?” I asked, keeping my voice level while I let my eyes convey my displeasure towards Pearce.

  “As soon as possible,” he said. “As soon as Joshua is strong enough to transport us.”

  “About that,” said Joshua. “We have one small problem. I can transport us, but I don’t know where to.” As Disraeli and Pearce started to reply he held up a hand. “What I mean is: I know we need to go to Almadel. The only problem is that I have no idea where Almadel is. We could try to work it out but it could take years.”

  Disraeli and Pearce shared a smile. “We thought you would say as much,” said Disraeli. “That is why you have one more stop to make before you can travel through the Aether.”

  Chapter Four

  We watched the horizon as the grey bulk of the French shoreline drew closer, resisting the urge to dive undercover or below-decks lest we were spotted. The English white cliffs were a distant memory behind us, a relic we hoped to see again soon. Until then, we had one more mission.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked Joshua as we both leaned on the rail and contemplated the English Channel’s churning greyness.

  “Much more revived,” he said. “Do not worry, I will play my part.”

  “That was not quite what I meant,” I said. “There has been little time to talk, what with you immersed in your studies and voyaging to the Aether. Not since…” I let the rest of the sentence linger in the air between us, unwilling to finish it and give voice to the man’s loss.

  He nodded. “I have been busy. It is good to keep busy.”

  “Byron says your powers have increased immeasurably.”

  A small smile played across his lips. “Yes. What I once struggled to do are but mere parlour tricks to me now.”

  I shuddered, remembering the mess he had made of the Fury, the terrifying creature that had killed his sister in the aftermath of the Battle of St Albans. With a few short words he had turned a huge and seemingly invulnerable demon into a screeching, flaming torch. If that was now a ‘parlour trick’ to him, well…

  “I am glad you are on our side,” I said, watching him closely.

  He nodded, a sharp gesture. “You need not worry about my abilities.”

  “I only asked because I could see how much transporting us through the Aether drained you.”

  A pained look flashed across his face. “There are different magnitudes of effort required. But conducting magic solely within this realm is much easier.”

  “Even this far from the Fulcrum?” We were by now hundreds of miles from St Albans, the epicentre of the phenomenon where the balance between science and magic was being inexorably tipped in favour of the latter. The world was changing, but only at a gradual pace; Maxwell had calculated that the Fulcrum’s impact was expanding at a rate of around one mile a month. As a result, the world beyond English shores was still the same as it had been all our lives. For the time being, at least.

  “With Byron’s help, a simple misdirection spell is not a problem. Magic is akin to a muscle; the more you exercise it, the easier it gets, even without the Fulcrum’s help.”

  I tried a different tack. “I would never call into question the power of your abilities. But how are you?”

  He blinked at me. “I do not understand.”

  “After what you lost, I appreciate that it must be hard…”

  “Nothing is forever,” he said, staring out across the sea.

  “But sometimes we must accept things as they are,” I said. “When Max and I lost our parents, we found it very hard to carry on. I remember often wishing that—”

  “You were a child then,” he said.

  “Yes. And, after many years of acting out of grief, I learnt to move on with my life.”

  “I am happy for you.” He was as implacable as the rolling waves around us.

  “That is not what I meant,” I sighed. “I appreciate that you still miss Lexie: we all do. But—”

  “You hardly knew her,” he snapped.

  I acknowledged this with a nod, hoping that it would presage an outflowing of emotion, or something, from Joshua. Instead he continued his rigid contemplation of the horizon.

  “How is your mother coping?” I asked, readying myself for another snapped retort. Instead I received little more than a shrug in reply. “Have you spoken with her?” I persisted.

  “I wrote to her,” he said. “I am not in any mood to receive her blame for what happened.”

  “Surely she would not cast aspersions, under the circumstances,” I frowned. “Or has she?”

  “I do not know.”

  “She did not reply?”

  “She did.” He waved his hand in a vague gesture. “The letter is unopened somewhere.”

  I stared at him. “Shouldn’t you…?”

  I flinched as he turned from the railing. “I need to prepare the spells,” he said, marching away.

  I leant back against the railing, blowing a frustrated breath out from my cheeks as I watched him stomp across the deck.

  We stood to one side of the deck, Pearce and I trying to look as inconspicuous as possible while Joshua and Byron chanted on either side of us. The deckhands bustled about their duties, occasionally glaring at the French soldiers intent on checking every inch of the vessel.

  I held my breath as a soldier paused and seemed to stare straight at us, his brow furrowed as though he were trying to remember something half-forgotten. Joshua increased the intensity of his words and they acted as a push on the Frenchman’s resolve; he blinked before moving away and I shared a relieved nod with Pearce.

  After ten minutes, the soldiers were satisfied that the ship was not carrying anyone or anything it shouldn’t and gave the signal for the crew to disembark. At a gesture from Byron we shuffled along to follow the French soldiers, still amazed that no one was paying the slightest interest in us.

  We stepped off the gangplank and made our way through Calais harbour, blissfully ignored by all around us as the bustle of the port continued unabated. We picked our way past stevedores who grunted and sang as they loaded and unloaded crates. The stench of their body odour competed with that of the sea and the rotting fish for most offensive to the nose.

  I heard a commotion to our left and turned to see a gaggle of people, some clearly middle class by the cut and style of their clothing, being herded into a fenced-off area.

  “Look here,” shouted one elderly gentleman at the soldiers. “You can see that we are no threat to any of you. I have visited France many times and—”

  “France is no longer welcoming to you and your people,” snapped back a soldier in heavily accented English. “We will not allow contamination by demons.”

  “Look at us!” bellowed the man. “Do we look like demons to you?”

  “Please,” begged another man, his clothes in tatters. “We have nowhere else to go. The demons have driven us out of our homes, that is why we are here…” A rifle butt hit him hard in the face and he staggered backwards, blood pouring from his ruined nose. Still he persisted, shrugging off the helping hands offered by his fellow refugees and begging the soldiers: “At least let my wife and children through…”

  I shuddered as I watched. “We should do something,” I muttered.

  Pearce put a hand on my shoulder. “We have a bigger task ahead of us. We must focus on the mission.”

  “But surely…” I persisted, seeing the logic in his words but unable to tear my eyes away from the scene before us.

  “England is not yet so overrun that they have nowhere to return to,” said Pearce. “If nothing else, there are plenty of camps along the south coast.”

  “But what about if—when—the demons spread their influence?” I asked. “If there is a full-scale invasion from the portal and anyone who tries to flee meets with this treatment… Well, it would be a massacre!”

  “And that is why we should focus our energies on our mission,” said Pearce. “The first stage of which is to rescue Kate. Then we deal with the rest of the
threat, as agreed.”

  I nodded slowly as I followed the others towards the dockyard gates. I was as keen as anyone to get Kate back but I wondered whether we were in danger of ignoring the bigger picture. Then again, given the alternative of submitting to Gladstone’s infuriating inertia, any form of action was a veritable tonic.

  The dockyard gates loomed up ahead of us and I glanced at my comrades, wondering how we could get the guards to open them for us. We stepped to one side to allow a cart to rumble past before following in its tracks, Joshua and Byron still mumbling their spells and incantations.

  The soldiers spoke to the driver of the cart, checking through his papers and then inspecting the items loaded behind him for any signs of tampering, contraband or hidden refugees. All the time, they appeared oblivious to our presence.

  After a few moments, the guards signalled their satisfaction and opened the gates, waving the driver through. We followed the cart at a steady pace, fighting the urge to break into a run. As the gates closed behind us we looked up to catch our first glimpses of the bustle of the town of Calais itself.

  The road from the port led straight to a large square bordered on three sides by a jumble of tall and imposing buildings. Everything before us looked as though it had fallen straight out of a book of fairy tales, with regular arched windows and colourful slanting roofs all around. It was all sublimely foreign, the mundane exoticism of the scene feeling fresh in its contrasts to the dull, grimy English streets to which we were accustomed. What a difference a short stretch of water makes, I marvelled.

  The next thing to assail us was the smells, more complex and nuanced than the pure fishy stench of the docks, but no less offensive for it. The ever-present odour of the sea provided a canvas for the noxious fumes from the huddled masses in and around the square. There was the food being hawked, both fresh and rotten; the stench of sweaty and unwashed bodies stirred up by their exertions; and of course, the faeces and urine liberally distributed by stallholders and customers alike. I wrinkled my nose as an old man dropped his breeches in plain view and defecated against a wall; at least back in England he would have had the decency to go around a corner and out of sight.

  Pearce glanced behind us. “I think we are safe now,” he said to Joshua and Byron, who ceased their chanting and relaxed. A nearby boy jolted to a startled halt as he suddenly noticed us, the magical cloak that had hitherto obscured us having been lifted.

  “You rest here,” Pearce continued. “Gus and I will find us some transportation. We need to make it to Paris as soon as we can.”

  I followed him, mentally running through my French words in preparation. “I am still not convinced this is a good idea,” I said.

  “If you have a better one, I am more than happy to listen,” he replied. “Unfortunately, there is no choice; he is the only person who can take us where we need to go.”

  “Assuming we can trust him to not double-cross us when we get there,” I pointed out.

  Pearce nodded. “If he tries to do that he will soon learn that he is not the only one who can inflict pain beyond imagining.”

  It was an unassuming house in a grand if quiet and nondescript Parisian street. I knocked once more on the door and waited as the sound echoed its way into oblivion around us.

  “Are we sure this is the right place?” I asked.

  “Positive,” sighed Pearce. He turned to Joshua. “You said your spell pointed here as well?”

  The young man nodded. “Yes, there is no doubt.”

  “He could be out shopping or taking in the sights,” said Byron. “Paris can be very pleasant at this time of year. We could take a stroll along the Left Bank…” He winked at me.

  “I have a better idea,” said Pearce, ushering me aside and then bending over the lock. After a few moments the door opened with a barely perceptible click.

  “Captain Pearce,” I said with mock indignation. “Do my eyes deceive me or did you just pick that lock?”

  “I learnt a few tricks of the trade from Kate,” he said, gesturing for us to enter. “I suspected that they would come in handy one day.”

  Joshua hesitated on the threshold. “Should we…? I mean, this is technically illegal, is it not?”

  I put an arm around his shoulders, drawing him into the building with me. “My dear fellow, we are breaking and entering. It is not merely technically illegal, but also actually illegal. But needs must when the devil drives.”

  “Literally, in our case,” said Byron. “Come. I suspect that our unwitting host has constructed defences that will require our particular talents to disarm.”

  Ten minutes later, Joshua, Byron and I were seated in a lavish sitting room, debating our next move while Pearce paced the room like a caged tiger.

  “Something is not right,” he muttered. “Can’t you cast another one of your divining spells and find out where he is?”

  “My spells all point to here,” said Joshua simply.

  “Which means if he is not actually here, then he has gone to some lengths to disguise his true location,” added Byron. “We are powerful, but not as powerful as him.”

  “So we sit here and wait,” Pearce spat.

  I picked up a whisky glass and nudged its fellow towards him. “There are ways we can while away the time,” I pointed out.

  He stabbed a finger at me. “How can you think of drinking at a time like this? I thought you cared more for Kate.”

  My glass froze less than an inch from my lips. I hardened my glare at him as I slowly and deliberately took a long sip before setting it firmly back on the table.

  “Do not think you can judge me, Captain Pearce,” I said. “I am as close to Kate as anyone, and care as much for her as—”

  “Then why did you let her be taken? Surely the famed Augustus Potts with his magic sword could fend off one demon…”

  “The creature was holding her close,” said Byron. “It was a—”

  “He can talk for himself,” snapped Pearce, “without needing you to defend him all the time.”

  I flicked an imagined piece of dust from my trouser leg, fighting to keep my voice calm. “You are out of order, Captain. Even if you had been there—”

  “If I had known about your foolish trip, I would not have let you leave in the first place. That is what is truly at stake here: your inability to follow even the simplest of orders!”

  “Orders are for soldiers,” I shot back. “By the by, how is the whole rigmarole of following orders going for you right now?”

  He clenched his fists. “I have given up my life and career to fix your mess—”

  “Enough,” I raised my voice, pushing myself to my feet. “I will not—”

  “Erm, Gus…” said Byron.

  I held up a hand in his direction, not wanting to divert my red-hot rage away from Pearce’s puritanical righteousness. “If you care to settle this with our fists, I would be happy to oblige,” I said to Pearce, stepping towards him.

  Pearce laughed, moving forwards as well. “My pleasure.”

  “Gus! Albert!” shouted Byron, barging between us and pointing at the window. We turned to see Andras stood there, arms folded across his chest. He was dressed in the height of fashion, grinning that implausibly wide grin from beneath a tall top hat, while the rest of him was clothed in a fine Italian evening suit of exquisite tailoring.

  The demon clapped in a slow, almost mocking manner. “Please, do not stop on my account. That was most diverting; do we get an encore? I could open a book on any fight you two use to settle this. Byron, you like a flutter: will you join me in a wager?”

  Andras appeared completely unchanged since we had last laid eyes on him, which was shortly after the Battle of St Albans where he had helped us to drive back the Almadites led by Gaap. While the Pooka’s help had been welcomed and rewarded, our memories of the pain and suffering Andras had caused in the past was still far too fresh to bear. After all, Andras had been the one who had first tried to subject our world to the creatures
from beyond the Aether at the Battle of Greenwich, some four years earlier. We had defeated and turned him into his more benign N’yotsu alter ego, only for the amoral demon side to resurface thanks to the machinations of Gaap, an evil Almadite demon who was an aide to the fabled Four Kings. Many lives had been lost thanks to Andras’ past actions, and him fighting with us for once was not enough to assuage those memories.

  “Shut up,” said Pearce, diverting his anger from me to Andras. “You will come with us.”

  Andras tutted. “Is that how you speak to the host when you’re a house guest?”

  “We are not your guests—”

  “Ah yes, that’s right: because I did not invite you.” He glared at us. “How did you find me?”

  “Your friend Disraeli told us where you were,” I said.

  He frowned. “I told him to only share that information if there was an emergency.”

  “Well, there is,” said Joshua. “Kate has gone missing.”

  Andras shrugged. “As entertaining as she is, I do not think her disappearance alone warrants ending my self-imposed exile, do you? I have other important work to attend to.”

  “She was taken by a Warlock,” I said. “To Almadel. That’s why we need you.” I shook my head. “And what ‘other important work’ do you mean?”

  Andras ignored my question. “A Warlock, eh? When was this?”

  “Two days ago,” said Pearce.

  “Where were you when this happened?”

  “We were on a scouting mission beyond the Aether, in another realm,” said Byron. “We’re not sure which one.”

  Joshua took up the tale. “I had sensed Almadite presence in that realm, and so we went to investigate. We foiled their plans but then Kate was seized by a Warlock that pulled her through another portal. They disappeared before we could follow.”

  “And while your powers are growing all the time, you cannot navigate to a realm that you do not know the location of, correct?” grinned Andras.

  “I could,” pouted Joshua, “but it would take too long for me to find it. You, on the other hand, know exactly where it is.”