The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  “Exploited?” Silas was tired of this man’s grandstanding and completely uninformed meddling. “You need to mind your own business, sir, and I will be happy to teach you.” Silas punched him—hard, right across the face, but not as hard as he could. With his over-skeleton enhancing his strength, he had the potential to do serious damage to the man. His opponent stumbled back, rubbing his cheek. “Inserting your nose where it so obviously does not belong is no good for your health,” Silas informed him.

  “My health is no concern to me, sir,” the man barked. “I will not stand by while children are abducted.” Silas’s opponent raised his balled fists in front of his nose. “I—” Silas smacked his fist against his cheek again, knocking him back onto the ground.

  “Stay down,” Silas barked.

  “Never,” the man snarled as he rose from the dirty walkway. He lashed out at Silas’s ankles, sweeping him to the ground. “Run, children,” the man called, and he pinned Silas to the cobblestones. “Run!” he called again, but the children didn’t move. His forearm pressed against Silas’s neck and voice modulator.

  Silas lashed out, forcing the man off him. He followed the escape with a devastating blow from his mechanical hand. The stranger flipped through the air from the force. To Silas’s surprise, the stranger’s beard flew the opposite of his face, his goggles knocked askew. The man pulled himself up and wiped a small amount of blood from the corner of his mouth. Silas cowered slightly from the look in his opponent’s eyes. The man bellowed and charged Silas, tackling him and pinning him to the ground.

  Silas braced himself to throw the man off when he finally took the chance to really look at the face beneath the disguise. “Lincoln,” Silas said with a gasp. His fist connected with Silas’s face an instant later. Silas flipped him off and jumped up, bracing himself. “Mr. Lincoln, please calm down. I can explain.”

  Instead of answering, Lincoln bore down on Silas. Silas swung with his left, and Lincoln easily dodged, catching the arm and lashing out with a kick to Silas’s midsection. His foot connected with a portion of the metallic over-skeleton. “What in the blue blazes?”

  Silas took advantage of Lincoln’s surprise and freed himself from the other man’s grip, jumping back, putting himself just out of arm’s reach. Silas put his hands up. “Mr. Lincoln, this is all a colossal misunderstanding.”

  “The hell you say,” Lincoln said as he lunged. He threw a right hook that Silas easily swatted away and followed it with a left that connected with Silas’s jaw. Silas threw a light punch back at him, which Lincoln blocked. Lincoln grabbed for Silas’s goggles but was smacked away. Silas shoved Lincoln off, but Lincoln redoubled his efforts. They traded, blocked, and parried a few more blows before Lincoln voluntarily paused, stepping away. “Why are you pulling your punches all of a sudden?”

  “I’ve been pulling my punches the whole time, Mr. Lincoln.” Silas remained in a defensive stance.

  “Why?” Lincoln asked. Two men walked up behind him, one in a ridiculous bowler and goggles and another in a fringy leather outfit. They looked vaguely familiar.

  “I’m not the villain,” Silas answered. He stood up straight, raising his palms once more.

  Lincoln only lowered his fists slightly in response. “Why are you wearing a disguise, if you aren’t the villain?”

  “What?” Silas muttered, surprised, glad his goggles hid his expression. “How?”

  “I’m no fool, sir.” Lincoln seemed to relax a bit more.

  “I certainly would never accuse you of that, sir.” Silas lowered his hands, slowly. “But I implore you to give me a few moments of your time, and I think I can explain this situation.”

  Lincoln glanced back at his companions for less than a moment. He lowered his hands, rolling his shirtsleeves back down. “Don’t mistake this for trust, Kettlebent,” Lincoln stated. He picked his jacket off the ground and slipped back into it.

  “Don’t worry, sir. I never would.”

  “Good,” Lincoln said as he retrieved Kettlebent’s hat from the gutter. He held it in front of him for a moment, studying it. He dusted it off before handing it back to its owner.

  “Will you ride with us?” Silas asked, accepting the hat.

  “No!” Bowler hat barked. “Absolutely not, sir.”

  “We can’t trust these polecats!” Fringy added.

  “You’re welcome to come with us as well,” Silas addressed the two men.

  “Sir.” Bowler’s tone was scolding. “You can’t just run off with this deviant.”

  “I’m afraid I can, Brown.” Lincoln buttoned his coat. “And I’m going to make sure these children aren’t harmed in any way.”

  “I have to object to this, sir,” Brown stated.

  Lincoln climbed into Silas’s hansom. “I respect your position, Mr. Brown. I’m still going.”

  Fringy stepped forward. He reached up to climb into the driver’s seat next to Teddy.

  “What the hell are you doing, Roth?” Brown asked.

  “I sure as hell ain’t leavin’ Mr. Lincoln alone with these jokers.” He sat down on Teddy’s right, introduced himself, and shook Teddy’s hand.

  Silas plopped Kettlebent’s hat on his head as he stood by the open door to the hansom. “Well? Mr. Brown? Will you be joining your friends or not?”

  Brown scowled at Silas, his lip curling in disgust. He huffed and grunted before his indecisiveness evaporated and he stomped up the step to take a seat in the hansom. Silas followed him in, pulling the door shut behind him. The ride would be tight, but they’d reach the drop-off soon enough.

  Silas watched in silence as Lincoln spoke warmly to the children, asking them subtle questions to discern Silas’s purpose for picking them up. The children were reluctant to reveal anything substantial, and Silas was grateful for their loyalty, but it was Lincoln’s loyalty, his trust that he truly wanted. “You may speak freely with Mr. Lincoln,” Silas told them. “If he trusts us, if he realizes what we’re attempting to do, we may soon count him as an ally.”

  The children regarded him apprehensively but followed his instructions, responding honestly to Lincoln’s questions. Lincoln’s gaze barely strayed from Silas as he talked and listened to the children. Silas tried to read his expression. He couldn’t tell if Lincoln was devising ways to escape or if he was genuinely impressed with their ambition.

  The hansom stopped suddenly. Lincoln peered out the window. They hadn’t stopped at an intersection or other common spot. They paused in an alleyway. Silas reached down, peeled back the carpet, and opened a trapdoor. A metal door in the street waited beneath the hansom. The portal turned and swung open. Silas ushered the children into the hole.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” Brown asked.

  “There’s one way to find out,” Lincoln stated before Silas could answer. Lincoln slipped down the trapdoor and through into the portal.

  “Son of a bitch,” Brown growled. “I had no idea this is what I had signed on for. For a great man that’s respected by almost everyone, he sure runs headlong into danger.”

  “I appreciate your concern,” Silas responded. “But I assure you, he’s in absolutely no danger whatsoever.”

  Brown stared at Silas apprehensively. “I don’t believe you.”

  “I know.”

  “But I have to follow him.”

  “I know that too.”

  “Dammit,” Brown spat. He shook his head but dropped through the trapdoor.

  Silas stuck his head out the window. “Mr. Roth, your partner has ventured into the underground with Mr. Lincoln. Teddy will drive our hansom to the warehouse. You can stay with him or join us below the city.” Silas watched as Roth glanced at Teddy.

  “Are they safe?” Roth asked Teddy just loud enough for Silas to hear.

  “Perfectly safe,” Teddy answered. “You’ve got nothin’ ta worry about.”

  “I’ll stick with Teddy and meet you back at the warehouse,” Roth called down.

  “Fair enough.” Silas grinned
slightly. “See you soon.” He dropped through the floor of the hansom into the shaft beneath the street and sealed the door behind him.

  LINCOLN AND the children waited in the gloom of the arcane tunnel Sev had carved. Silas landed among them. He groped along the wall until he found a torch and set it alight. Lincoln whistled when the golden light flooded the chamber.

  “This is quite something,” he said.

  “Follow me.” Silas motioned, leading them toward the warehouse. He explained how Seven had created the tunnels, about the grimoire, and a little of the book’s previous owner. He deliberately omitted the blood sacrifice aspect of the ritual.

  “You’ll forgive me, Mr. Kettlebent,” Lincoln stated. “But that does not sound like something that should be toyed with.”

  “I offered the same argument, but I was faced with the enormity of our situation and ultimately forced to see the practicality of utilizing all the tools at our disposal.” Silas continued to lead them along the corridors.

  “Were I not walking through literally rock-solid proof of your claims, sir, I would not believe a word of it.”

  “No, sir, and I wouldn’t blame you for it,” Silas spoke over his shoulder.

  “It does prove troublesome.”

  “How so?” Silas asked.

  “There are rumors, dark rumors drifting up from the South, stories told of regiments of the undead.” Lincoln sighed. “Abductions. Battles. Black days. And if this tunnel is any indication of the possibilities we’ve heretofore ignored or written off as myth or legend, there are darker days ahead, I’m afraid.”

  Silas couldn’t argue with the man, but the grim realization shocked them all into silence, and they remained so until they reached the doorway into the warehouse.

  22

  “HE’S BRINGIN’ Lincoln!” Teddy shouted, bounding off the auto-carriage no sooner than it had pulled into the warehouse.

  “What?” Sev stood. He wiped oil and grime from his hand. Rat looked up from the gearcycle they were tuning up.

  “Silas,” Teddy continued. “He’s on his way through the tunnels with some army fella and Mistuh Lincoln hisself.”

  A man in a fancy cowboy-style hat climbed down from the driver’s seat. Sev hadn’t noticed him until now. “Howdy,” the man said.

  “This is Mistuh Roth.” Teddy hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “He and his partner was followin’ Silas. They were with Mistuh Lincoln.”

  “Bloody hell.” Rat joined them, puffing on his newly lit pipe.

  “How much do they know?” Sev asked.

  Roth shrugged. “I know enough t’know we’re on the same side. I don’t know what your pal’s told my partner and Lincoln. And I got to admit I am curious about your meetin’ with the Southerners.”

  Rat snapped his fingers. “Ye’re one o’the filthy beggars that was spyin’ on us the other night.”

  “Guilty.” Roth held up his hands in surrender.

  “He’s a straight shooter.” Teddy defended Roth.

  Sev traded glances with his friends, then offered Roth his hand. “That’s good enough for me. Welcome, Mr. Roth.” They shook hands.

  “Thanks. I’m assuming you’re Stevens?”

  “Just call me Sev.” He nodded to Rat. “And this is Rat.”

  He only puffed his pipe with his arms crossed. Sev elbowed him. He grunted and reluctantly shook Roth’s hand. “All right?”

  “Fair enough,” Roth answered. His gaze wandered to the gearcycles and other gadgets scattered around the warehouse floor. He whistled and asked about the machines. Rat’s apprehension melted in the face of his pride at the invention, and he launched into an explanation of the bikes.

  “Ye’d better go and fetch yer sisters and brother,” Sev said, pulling Teddy to the side. “They’re goin’ t’want t’be here when Lincoln gets here, I’m sure. And we ought t’put some tea on and maybe fix a bit t’eat.”

  “I’ll see to it,” Teddy answered as he shot off through the warehouse. He called for his sisters, and Sev decided to straighten up the tools before their new guests arrived.

  WHEN SILAS finally led Lincoln and Brown through the back of the warehouse, Sev sat surrounded by an eager crowd: Teddy, his siblings, Philson, and Nichols. Rat sat trying to look disinterested with his arms folded over his chest. Silas’s gaze darted around the gathering. “Well, it appears we are anticipated, Mr. Lincoln.”

  “Please.” Lincoln motioned them forward. “Do not be intimidated. We are all of us people. My name, as I’m quite sure you know, is Abraham Lincoln. I would be very honored to know your names as well, friends.” Tentatively they approached the great man, introduced themselves, and offered some small accolade or expression of gratitude. Tab unabashedly hugged him around the waist when it was her turn. Lincoln chuckled and patted her affectionately. “I am very pleased to meet you also, Tabitha.”

  Sev waited for the rest of his friends to finish the reception before he stepped forward. “Mr. Lincoln.” Sev made no move to shake the man’s hand until Lincoln offered. Then he shook it firmly and briefly.

  “Mr. Stephens.” Lincoln smiled slightly. “I have heard a great many things about you, sir, and if even half of them are true, you may consider me impressed.”

  “Likewise,” Sev said, earning a sniff from Rat. “But if we’re t’be allies, there’s somethin’ ye need t’know.”

  “I think you would be a valuable ally, Mr. Stephens, and I’d like to hear anything you have to say.”

  “My name is not Steven Stephens.” Sev waited for a reaction, but Lincoln remained stoic, his arms clasped behind his back. “It is Seven.” Lincoln’s expression remained unchanged, and Sev felt a little surprise at that. Generally his name elicited some response. “I am the Seventh of London,” he said as if Lincoln should instantly recognize the name.

  Lincoln nodded slowly. “The fellow who led the recent rebellion of Blackside? Well, well, well. So it’s true.” Lincoln reached up and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should be in awe of you, young sir.”

  “I did what I had t’do fer my people and my country.”

  “Admirable, indeed.” Lincoln nodded approvingly. “I believe your brand of grim determination and stubborn optimism is just what our cause needs.”

  Sev laughed softly. “Ye might be half-right, Mr. Lincoln. I am certainly determined, but I can’t speak t’my optimism.” Sev paced a few steps. “I can, however, assure you I will not rest until we have obliterated slavery in yer colonies.”

  “I believe you, Mr. Seven,” Lincoln answered. “Beyond a shadow of a doubt.”

  “If we’re through kissin’ each other’s bums,” Rat growled.

  Lincoln turned his gaze on Rat. “And who might you be, young man?”

  “I ain’t nobody, string bean,” Rat said, almost completely confidently.

  A smirk pulled the corner of Lincoln’s mouth.

  “What’re ye smilin’ at?” Rat asked, lighting his pipe with nearly steady hands.

  “You must be Rat.” Lincoln planted his hands on his hips and looked on Rat appraisingly.

  Rat’s eyes grew twice as wide, and his pipe dangled from his open mouth.

  “Oh yes, my young friend, I have read of you as well. Faithful companion to the Champion of Blackside. You were nearly lost in the Battle of Buckingham. The other stories are vague but mention some sort of encounter in the catacombs below London.”

  Rat grimaced at the mention of their time in the sealed-off portion of Undertown. Sev saw tears in his friend’s eyes, but they did not spill over. “I don’t care t’talk about that, sir. And I would appreciate it if ye’d refrain from discussin’ it.”

  Lincoln seemed to see the same emotions Sev had and looked properly ashamed. “My apologies, Mr. Rat. I was not aware that it was such a sore subject for you. I shall not bring it up again.”

  Rat regarded Lincoln with a crooked expression for a few moments. “Sincerely?”

  “Most sincerely.” Lincoln closed his ey
es and inclined his head.

  “All right,” Rat said reluctantly. “I suppose ye’re all right, then.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Rat,” Lincoln said with a chuckle. “That means a great deal to me.”

  “I reckon ye’ve already met Silas.” Sev indicated Kettlebent. Silas pulled down his beard and lifted his goggles.

  “Well I’ll be.” Lincoln ran a hand through his hair before offering it to Silas, who shook it. “You must accept my apology, Silas, for our earlier meeting.”

  Silas smiled and rubbed his chin. “No hard feelings.”

  Sev nodded, happy they’d all gotten along so well. “Now that we’re all acquainted,” Sev announced while Silas slipped off to change. “I think it’s time fer us t’get down t’discussin’ our next move, formulatin’ a plan.”

  “Agreed,” Lincoln said. “Let us get down to business.”

  Once Silas returned, they spent the rest of the day and late into the night trading information, devising plans, and puzzling out the enemies’ strategy. They discussed the Hercules and the value in destroying it. Sev and his friends described the Prometheus project, the giant clockwork man and how it could help them to cripple the train. Sev explained the creation of the literal Underground Railroad, and Lincoln showed obvious enthusiasm for the network of secret tunnels. He asked for further information about the ritual, and although Sev was reluctant, he told Lincoln the complete truth.

  Lincoln frowned. “I cannot deny that the implications of that spell not only give me pause but illicit feelings of severe apprehension. I fear this is dark, dark magic.”

  Sev didn’t try to sugarcoat it. “Yes, sir. It may be the darkest o’magic, but we can use it to our benefit, and as long as I am in control o’this magic, I will guarantee that it will only be used in the service of our cause.”

  Lincoln regarded him for a few silent moments. Sev was almost certain the grimoire would be the deal breaker. Finally, Lincoln nodded. “I see the wisdom in its use, but I also see the dangers. I pray that you are strong enough to resist it, Mr. Seven.”