The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  Sev paused next to Rat at the bottom of the stairs and whispered, “Keep an eye on Danforth.”

  Rat puffed on his pipe. “Already am,” he responded.

  Sev snapped him a curt nod before addressing his guests. “Gentlemen, welcome to my workshop.”

  Sharpe dashed laboriously past Lee and his companion to greet Sev. “Mr. Stephens,” Sharpe gasped. “Good afternoon.”

  “Good afternoon, Mr. Sharpe.” Sev snatched the man’s hand and shook it. “Please introduce me to your companions.”

  “Yes, of course,” Sharpe said, breathing heavily. He led Sev to the larger, older man, who wore a fancy, finely tailored suit. “Mr. Stephens, may I introduce you to General-in-Chief of the Federated Army of the Southern Brotherhood, Robert E. Lee.”

  “It’s a pleasure, Mr. General-in-Chief Lee.” Sev shook the man’s hand. He had a fine, solid grip for an older fellow, and Sev returned it.

  “Please, Mr. Stephens, General is fine, and it’s I who am pleased to meet you, sir.” Lee stepped aside and waved the man with the mechanical arm forward. “This is Lieutenant-General Thomas Jackson.”

  “Sir,” Jackson stated curtly offering his nonmechanical hand.

  Sev shook it. “Pleased t’meet ye, Lieutenant-General.” Sev released Jackson’s hand and stepped back. He noticed Jackson leaning forward, his head cocked to the side, and he wondered if the man had some kind of hearing impairment as well. He raised his voice slightly when he spoke next. “I feel like I ought t’recognize that name.”

  Sharpe inflated pompously. “Mr. Stephens, this is none other than the acclaimed Southern general, Stonewall Jackson.”

  “That’s it,” Sev stated.

  Jackson raised his arms, his palms exposed. “Please, Mr. Sharpe, Mr. Stephens. I am not a boastful man, and the Lord frowns upon the sin of pride. I was given that moniker for nothing more than doing the best job I could do for my country.”

  “Is that also how ye earned yer arm?” Sev asked. “If ye don’t consider it improper fer me t’ask.”

  “Not at all, Mr. Stephens. I find that my ostentatious prosthetic often draws curiosity. It’s understandable.” He lifted the mechanical arm for Sev to inspect. “A large contingent of Northern rebels marched on one of our storehouses in Virginia,” he began to explain as Sev studied his brass and wood appendage. “We intercepted them at Chancellorsville, and I was wounded by friendly fire. Nothing heroic or dramatic about it, I’m afraid.”

  “Humility is an admirable quality, Thomas,” Lee stated. “But you downplay your service on that day, my friend.” Lee turned to Sev. “Lieutenant-General Jackson not only defeated a force larger than his own that day but forced their commanding officer’s surrender, despite his injuries. But thanks to modern medicine and advancements in mechanical transportation, Thomas was saved that day. He lost his left arm, but had he died, I would have lost my right hand.”

  “It was Providence that saw fit to spare my life that day,” Jackson added.

  “Well, it was science that gave ye this beauty,” Sev said, indicating the mechanical arm. It wasn’t as advanced as Silas’s, but it was fairly impressive, if a tad bulky, in a place that seemed to discourage tinkering.

  “But it was the Lord that graced men with the knowledge to make it, Mr. Stephens,” Jackson responded.

  “Fair enough, Lieutenant-General.” Sev released the arm. “I don’t suppose ye came here t’discuss religious philosophy or yer military history. What can I do fer ye?” he asked General Lee.

  “Well, Mr. Stephens.” Lee slapped the leather seat of Rat’s gearcycle. “We are terribly interested in these amazing contraptions. I suppose I should say I’m interested in these fantastic machines. What do they run on?”

  “Clockwork,” Sev answered.

  “Come again? What is the power source?”

  “The gearcycles are powered much like yer pocket watch, General. Ye wind ’em up, but unlike a pocket watch, as the bikes—that’s what we call them—move forward, they wind a secondary mechanism that automatically switches on when the first one winds down,” Sev explained.

  Lee barked a laugh and Sharpe joined in tittering. “See, Thomas? That is exactly the kind of inventive know-how that will help us move forward without all the filth.”

  “Filth?” Sev asked.

  “The coal, the gas, the oil,” Lee responded. “They all spew filth into the air, fouling God’s beautiful creation. I know you know what I mean, Mr. Stephens. I’ve heard of the blanket of filth that covers your London. We started to see it here in New York, Philadelphia, and a few other places before our Brotherhood pressured the powers that be to discourage those endeavors.

  “The Federated Brotherhood of Southern Gentlemen values tradition, history, and family. They are devout in their faith and resolute in their purpose. They can make you a very rich man, Mr. Stephens. You’re a citizen of Great Britain. No doubt you feel slavery is a despicable practice.”

  Sev hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, and he noticed not only Rat but Jackson and Sharpe bristle visibly at Lee’s mention of slavery. Lee locked his gaze with Sev’s, and Sev refused to be intimidated. “Well, General, slavery was abolished in Great Britain fer bein’ an offense against humanity, but I’m certainly no saint, forgive me, Lieutenant-General Jackson.” Sev spared a glance, but Jackson seemed to either not hear him or to ignore him. “I’m not certain it’s my place t’judge,” Sev lied, though these Southern villains were not at all what he had expected.

  “I understand your apprehension,” Lee answered. “Slavery as an institution is abhorrent, Mr. Stephens. It does a disservice to whites and blacks alike, but it is not our place as men to decide that. We are servants of the Lord, God and he has deemed slavery a necessity for the good of the African race, to lift them up into his grace. It falls to us to discipline them so that they may be civilized as a race. And the alternative, the Northerners’ stance, is nothing short of frightening.”

  “This is all news t’me, General.” Sev climbed onto his gearcycle. “But it’s fascinatin’. Please, continue. What is the Northern stance?”

  “They want to replace the negro workforce with automatons, machines. Can you imagine?”

  Sev didn’t need to imagine it; he’d lived it. “And this is a bad thing?”

  “It is, Mr. Stephens. By all means, it is.” Lee folded his arms behind his back and began pacing. “Do you imagine it will stop there? No. It most certainly will not. If we can replace the blacks with machines, then what will stop progress from replacing white workers?” He paused, Sev assumed for effect. “Nothing!” he answered his own question. “And the more machines that replace breathing workers, the more filth that will be spewed into the air. The Brotherhood has humanity’s best interests in mind. We do not want to live in a cesspool.”

  “It all sounds very noble.” Sev wondered for a moment if he was lying. He wanted to ask Lee about the clockwork that could think for itself, but he didn’t want to ruin his chances at infiltrating the South.

  “Clockwork is the solution, Mr. Stephens. Clockwork is clean but can lead us into the future. I feel like it’s the solution the Brotherhood is looking for.” Lee gripped Sev’s shoulder. He dropped his voice to a whisper. “I think you can help us with that, Stephens. If we can utilize clockwork at the advanced level you’re working at? We can wean our society off slavery. I truly believe the Lord has sent you to us.”

  Sev’s mind swam with his expectations and reality. It seemed like Robert E. Lee, the lead commander of the Southern army, was fundamentally opposed to slavery. Yet he publicly defended it. “General Lee, I can’t claim t’be sent from the Lord, but I can appreciate yer philosophy. I’d be happy t’meet with yer Brotherhood.”

  “Excellent,” Lee exclaimed and clapped Sev on the shoulder, grabbing his hand and shaking it. “A gift from the Almighty himself.”

  “I don’t know about that,” Sev responded.

  “I do, Mr. Stephens. I do. You’ll need
to visit our capital in the South, meet our governing body.”

  “The South?” Sev asked. “Washington DC?”

  Lee chuckled. “No, friend. The proper capital, Richmond. Virginia.”

  Sev’s first instinct was to give him a hard time, but he willed himself to silence.

  “I’ll send you an itinerary. We’ll get you south as soon as possible.”

  Sev opened his mouth, but Danforth interrupted, shouting. “Oy! There’s someone up there!” His hand flashed out and a dagger zipped toward a window near the ceiling.

  “Son of a bitch,” Sev spat, looking toward the shattered window.

  “Danforth,” Lee barked, but Danforth had already dashed from the warehouse to pursue their onlookers.

  “Bloody hell,” Sev growled.

  “Danforth will find the spies.” Sharpe dabbed a handkerchief on his sweaty forehead.

  “Danforth will spike those filthy sons o’bitches,” Jackson added.

  “Rat!” Sev searched, but like Danforth, Rat was already on the move. He waited patiently for his friend to return. Silence dropped over the warehouse like an awkward blanket. Everyone stood tensely. Sev’s gaze floated about the room.

  “Damned Northerners,” Lee grumbled. “I apologize for this intrusion on your privacy, Mr. Stephens.”

  “I certainly do not blame you gentlemen,” Sev answered. He wanted to dash out and join Rat and Danforth, but he couldn’t abandon Lee and Jackson or his mild-mannered-inventor disguise, so he sat and waited for their return. The warehouse remained eerily quiet as he and his guests waited for news of the pursuit.

  The sound of someone running from within drew all three men’s attentions. Sev was mortified to see Teddy trotting into the main warehouse. His gaze flashed to Lee and Jackson, worried how they would perceive Teddy’s presence. Thoughts of the intruders were driven from his mind.

  “Hey, Ratty,” Teddy called as he ran until he saw Sev and his guests. He hesitated, stopping just before he reached them. “Stuh-Stephens,” he stuttered. “I was looking for Rat.”

  Sev was glad Teddy remembered their cover. “Rat is occupied at the moment.”

  “Oh, uh, very good, suh.” Teddy alternately bowed and nodded. “I’ll just get back to work, suh.”

  “Hold on there, young fellow,” Jackson said. He waved Teddy over with his mechanical hand. “Come over here for a moment.”

  Teddy didn’t move but looked to Sev, giving him a questioning shrug. Sev spared a look at Lee and Jackson, then gave Teddy a single nod. Teddy stepped tentatively toward Jackson. “Is there somethin’ I can do for ya, suh?” he asked. Sev noticed Teddy accentuating his accent and wondered if he did it for the same reason Sev sometimes did, so people would underestimate him.

  “You’re not a slave, boy,” Jackson said as Teddy approached him.

  Teddy glanced at Sev for direction, but Sev didn’t move. “No, suh,” Teddy said. “I am a free man who chooses t’work for Mistuh Stephens.”

  Jackson patted him on the shoulder. “That’s fine, son, just fine. What’s your name, son?”

  “Theodore, suh. Theodore Bushpig. But my friends call me Teddy.”

  Jackson chuckled. “That’s grand. I’m Thomas Jackson.” He shook Teddy’s hand. “Some folks call me Stonewall but my students used to call me Marse Major.”

  “What should I call you, suh?” Teddy asked, playing his part.

  “I’d be honored if you called me Thomas.”

  “All right, then, Thomas. I’m very pleased to meet ya.”

  “Likewise, Teddy. You seem like one sharp fellow.”

  “Thank you, suh.”

  “I must admit that does my heart good,” Jackson said. “I think the education and elevation of your race will be the boon of our age, Teddy.”

  “I’m doin’ my best, Mistuh Thomas.”

  Jackson laughed and clapped Teddy on the shoulder once more. “You see, General? Mr. Stephens? They can be taught; they can be instructed. It does a proper Christian man’s heart good to witness this kind of growth.”

  Sev watched both men’s faces, searching for a hint of dishonesty, but the respect and genuine affection he gathered from their expressions surprised and humbled him. Sev really wondered if he and his allies were way off base to wage war on the Southerners. “And this is exactly why we must preserve the Southern way of life,” Lee commented. “Slavery will guarantee that the African race will be properly instructed.”

  With that comment Sev’s doubts faded like morning fog. They might have good intentions, but they were still defending slavery, and Sev couldn’t stomach that. Luckily his thoughts were interrupted when Rat and Danforth returned. Unluckily they were empty-handed. “They got away?” Sev asked.

  “Sorry, boss,” Rat said. Danforth walked directly over to Lee and spoke too softly for the rest of them to hear. Lee listened, nodded, and patted him on the shoulder. Danforth shot a suspicious glance toward Sev, who managed to keep his face neutral.

  “It appears our friends to the north have taken an interest in our business here today,” Lee related Danforth’s conclusion. “Perhaps we should adjourn for the day.” Lee stepped forward and shook Sev’s hand. “I’ll be in touch. I trust you’re willing to visit us in the South?”

  “Aye, General. I’d consider it an honor.”

  “Good. Good. Be sure to bring these with you,” Lee said with a sweep of his hand toward the gearcycles.

  “I wouldn’t dream of leaving them behind,” Sev assured him. Jackson and Sharpe bid them farewell, and Sev showed them out. After he closed the door, he rested his forehead against the frame. “Well, that was a bloody mind-bendin’ experience.”

  Rat and Teddy stood behind him. “Those fellas weren’t anythin’ like I was expectin’, Sev,” Teddy said.

  Sev turned slowly to face his friends, resting his back on the frame instead. “This whole situation has gone pear-shaped. I expected villains. Monsters. Like Fairgate. People we could stop. I didn’t expect good-intentioned men who honestly believe they’re doin’ what’s best for their country.”

  “What do we do now?” Rat asked.

  “That’s a good question, Ratty.” Sev sighed. “I need t’talk t’Silas. He needs t’know this.” Sev went on to ask Rat about the spies but received little information. He and Danforth chased the men but were unable to catch them. Sev, Rat, and Teddy continued talking as they strolled deeper into the warehouse toward New Undertown.

  20

  “SO THEY’RE not rat bastards trying to oppress black people?” Silas asked after Sev related the afternoon’s meeting with Lee and Jackson.

  “They aren’t rat bastards.” Sev leaned on their little kitchen table. “But they are tryin’ to oppress blacks. They think they’re doin’ God’s work.”

  “So they’re completely delusional.” Silas sipped the tea Sev had prepared for him. “That doesn’t mean they aren’t a threat.”

  “Silas, I’m not makin’ excuses fer ’em, but I am suggestin’ we need t’revise our tactics. We can’t just go in and eliminate all Southerners.”

  “That was never the plan, Sev.”

  “No, but it was close. There’s a good possibility we can turn some o’these Southern fellas to our cause.”

  “If we can make them see our side of it, you might be right. But my experience with religious fanatics doesn’t suggest rational thought.” Silas grimaced. “I can’t believe those Southern bastards managed to charm you into thinking they weren’t monsters.”

  “Silas,” Sev said. “They didn’t charm me into anythin’, but ye didn’t meet ’em. Ye didn’t talk with ’em.”

  Silas shook his head. “No. You’re right, I didn’t. I trust your judgment, Sev. I think this is going to require further discussion, but it’s time for us to meet with the real heroes, the railroad folks. We should go.”

  Sev agreed. And they traveled to their meeting in the hansom.

  “THAT WAS fruitful,” Sev said as they rode home. “They seemed prope
rly impressed with the tunnels I opened for them.”

  “Well, your newfound powers will allow them to establish a literal underground railway.”

  “That’s not exactly true,” Sev said.

  “What?” Silas stared at Sev with his mouth open.

  “It’s literally underground, but it’s not really a railroad.”

  “Ha. Ha.” Silas groaned. “You damn smartass. What will we do now?”

  “We’ll do exactly what the North and South want us t’do.”

  “Explain.”

  “We’ll travel to the South,” Sev said. “Just as Lee wishes. But we’ll ride the gearcycles. And while we travel, I’ll extend the tunnels for the Underground Railroad to help the North. We can play both sides.”

  “That seems risky to me.”

  “That’s because it is risky.” Sev sighed. “But I don’t think either side is completely right or completely wrong. It’s not like the Battle for Blackside.”

  “No. It most certainly isn’t,” Silas answered. “But our goal remains the freedom of the slaves.”

  “Aye,” Sev agreed.

  “It appears we have a trip to prepare for.” Silas slapped Sev on the knee as their hansom rolled back to the warehouse.

  ACROSS TOWN on East Seventeenth Street opposite Union Square, another hansom, bearing the crest of the office of the Commander of the Victorican Civilian Militia, pulled up alongside the curb. A valet dashed up and opened the door, allowing Ulysses S. Grant to exit the conveyance. Mason Brown and Burt Roth stepped out after him. They walked up the steps to the Loyal League Clubhouse. Brown had never been inside the building before, though he’d seen its ornate façade enough times.

  Inside, they checked their coats and were shown through marble-tiled halls. Brown and Roth gazed about wide-eyed and openmouthed, suitably impressed by the furnishings and décor. “Close your mouths, boys. You look like a pair of bumpkins,” Grant growled at them, his voice low.