The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  29

  SEV OPENED his eyes slowly. His face ached, and his arms felt like the muscles were stretched on a rack. He looked up. Not surprisingly his hands were lashed above his head with thick rope. He spat to rid his mouth of the taste of blood. He wished he had a pound for every time he found himself in pain. He’d be living in Fairside by now.

  “Hello, sleeping beauty.” It surprised Sev that the voice bore a very familiar accent. The man obviously hailed from England, and he sounded distinctly like a Fairsider who had spent too much time among the lower classes.

  The mustachioed man guffawed at the other’s joke. “Oh my, ’at’s a good one, that is, sir.”

  “Thank you, Hinkley,” the man said. He paced lazily back and forth in front of Sev. “You’ve surprisingly accomplished quite an extraordinary feat, my dull-witted friend.”

  “Aw, fank you, sir. I knew ye’d be pleased, I did.” Hinkley had a decidedly lower-class accent, and Sev wondered if he might have passed the man on the streets of Blackside at some point.

  “While this is all terribly fascinatin’,” Sev interrupted. “If ye can just get on with this, I can tell ye t’piss off. Then ye can try t’act hard, and ye won’t succeed in scarin’ me. At some point I’ll get free and knock the stuffin’ out o’you and yer ape. Then I’ll walk out o’here.”

  The smaller, well-dressed man tilted his head back and laughed heartily. Something resonated in the tone of the laughter that poked at Sev’s memory. When he’d finished, one of his greased locks of black hair had escaped from its coiffed brothers, and the man smoothed it back. “Oh, Seven. You are just as delightful as your reputation promised.”

  Sev winced at the sound of his name. “Ye’ve got me at a disadvantage, mate. Have we met?”

  “Oh, no, we’ve not met.” He continued to pace. “No, no, no, but our paths have crossed in a manner of speaking.” He stopped and grabbed Sev by the chin. Sev pulled his head away but couldn’t free himself. “In another manner of speaking, one could say that our paths are inextricably connected. One might say that you being here is Providence or a most fortuitous twist of fate.” The man released Sev’s chin and instantly followed through with a violent punch.

  Sev shook it off. “Ye’ve got a pretty enough voice, but I’m sick o’listenin’ to it.”

  The man punched him a second time.

  “Ye hit like a cripple. Why don’t ye just tell me what ye think I did t’ye? What’s yer name?”

  “My name? You’re very familiar with my name, Seven.” He stepped back and motioned to Hinkley. The hulking man stomped forward and walloped Sev in the stomach. Sev coughed raggedly. “I’m Cranston Fervis,” the man whispered close to Sev’s ear.

  Sev gasped and tried to pull back. “No.”

  “Oh yes. You’re extremely well-acquainted with my family, aren’t you, Seven?”

  “How?”

  “I’ve been in Victorica for quite some time representing my older brother’s business interests. He almost single-handedly funded the Southern push to control this godforsaken backwater colony despite his handicap. You know all about his infirmity, having been the despicable little urchin that cost my brother his eye.” Another gesture. Hinkley stepped up again, giving Sev two more strikes to the torso. “Imagine my surprise when I received the news that the little whoreson who disfigured my brother, my hero, also took his life.” Fervis stepped back.

  Hinkley marched up and lifted a knee to Sev’s midsection. He felt sure at least one of his ribs had cracked on that one. He bit back the scream that wanted out of his throat. “Yer brother was a dirty son of a bitch that killed my entire goddamn family and branded me and my siblings,” Sev spat. “He got everythin’ he had comin’ to ’im. And I ain’t goin’ to apologize fer any of it. So if ye’ve got t’torture me ’cause ye think it’ll make us even, ye better get started, but I’ll tell ye this: ye better make sure I’m dead at the end. ’Cause if I ain’t, you will be. And that’s a promise.”

  “Spin him around!” Fervis barked, obviously fuming at Sev’s insolence. Fervis held out his hand as two men grabbed Sev and twisted him roughly. “Give me that bloody whip, Hinkley.”

  Sev heard Hinkley slap the whip handle into Fervis’s palm. “Yes, sir.”

  “I’m going to give you a bit of intimate knowledge of what it is like to be a slave. To quote my Southern allies, ‘I’m going to teach you what it’s like to be a nigger’.” He laughed then and cracked the whip in his hand. Sev couldn’t see him, but he heard it. One of the men who spun Sev tore his shirt from his body, leaving his back exposed and vulnerable. Despite the heat, gooseflesh rose on Sev’s skin. Fervis swished the woven leather of the whip so it whispered through the dirt. Sev clenched his teeth against the anticipated bite of the weapon with the sound of each movement.

  Fervis grunted and Sev’s wait ended. The whip slashed against the bare skin of his back, sending a searing pain through his nerves. He winced but refused to cry out.

  “How’s that, boy?” Fervis asked, punctuating his sentence with another whipcrack and a lashing.

  Sev ground his teeth against the pain. “It ain’t as bad as bein’ branded,” he answered, hoping Fervis could tell he was being mocked.

  He must have, because he roared angrily and followed Sev’s taunt with several quick but painful lashes. Sev felt sweat pouring down his back as he prepared for more attacks. His back stung as though it had been burned, but it was a dull ache very unlike the heat that left the namesake scar on his chest. He forced out a chuckle just to make sure Fervis would get no satisfaction from feeling as though he’d managed to break Sev when his brother could not.

  “You dare laugh?” Fervis asked, and again and again, the whip cracked against Sev’s already sore flesh.

  “I’ll laugh all I want. Ye’re as pathetic as yer late brother.” Sev spat on the hay-strewn floor. “Is that all ye got?”

  He waited for another volley of lashes but none came. He tried to look over his shoulder to see Fervis, but he couldn’t manage it with his hands bound above his head. “No.” Fervis growled suddenly close to Sev’s ear once more. “No. That is not all I’ve got, you piece of maggot-ridden filth. I’ll teach you to mock us. I’ll teach you once and for all.”

  “Fine. At least I won’t have t’listen t’yer constant whinging.”

  “Oh, you’ll hear me just fine.” Sev sensed the sneer in Fervis’s voice. “Give me your knife, Hinkley. I’m going to show our little friend just what it’s like to live with an infirmity.” Hinkley slapped what must have been a knife into Fervis’s hand. He was grabbed from behind, and his head was wrenched around to see Fervis grinning madly and wielding a filthy blade. “An eye for an eye, Seven. An eye for an eye.”

  “Shite.” Sev realized what the man meant to do.

  Fervis dug the tip of the knife into the flesh just above Sev’s left eyebrow. His grin widened, and his tongue snaked out as he concentrated in digging a furrow around Sev’s eye socket. He’d reached Sev’s nose. It was obvious he meant to do a thorough job of it. He wasn’t leaving any possibility that Sev’s eye could be saved. He pulled the knife back and flicked Sev’s blood from the blade before he angled it back in, holding it like a spoon to finish his work.

  Mercifully a commotion arose outside the barn. Fervis paused, looked over his shoulder, and cursed. “Find out what’s going on.” He pointed with the knife. Hinkley and the two other men ran out as Fervis watched.

  Sev seized the moment. He drew what energy he could and kicked the knife out of Fervis’s hand. The weapon sailed through the air and landed in a pile of hay. Fervis growled furiously. “You’ve only bought yourself a moment’s reprieve. I’ll have that eye.” He dashed off to retrieve the blade.

  “Like hell ye will,” Sev said through gritted teeth. “A moment’s all I need.” He flipped up, using his bound hands to invert himself, and caught the beam he was attached to with his feet. He rubbed the blood coating his cheek onto his hands and wrists as best he could
, then worked at freeing himself with the gory lubricant. His feet slipped, threatening to send him swinging back to the ground, still bound. He desperately tried to renew their purchase on the rough beam long enough for him to free his hands.

  He spared a glance at Fervis frantically throwing hay this way and that, looking for the knife. Sev rubbed his blood onto his skin once more. This time he felt the rope slide a bit. He worked as fast as he could. Fervis rose with the retrieved weapon in his hand. Sev grunted in frustration. Fervis looked up, and Sev saw something in his eyes that he recognized too well: murder. As Fervis ran to grab him, Sev gave one final, colossal tug on his arms. They slid free the moment his feet came off the beam, sending him crashing down on top of Fervis.

  They struggled there in the hay, a mass of punching, kicking limbs. Sev’s back burned like madness and every piece of hay felt like a fiery brand. Fervis managed to roll on top of Sev, and he bore down with the knife, determined to take Sev’s eye before he killed him. Sev held him off. Fervis cursed without ceasing, spittle frothing the corners of his mouth. Sev knew if he didn’t end this quickly, the man’s madness would win out. He drove forward, head-butting Fervis. He heard and felt a dull crunch.

  Fervis toppled backward, blood pouring from his nose. He dropped the knife and clutched at his injured face with both hands. Sev dove for the weapon just as Fervis realized his folly. He, too, tried to grab it, but Sev had his hand around the handle. They struggled for a moment before Sev managed to free his arm and swing at Fervis’s neck. The blade lodged in the side, bisecting his throat. He gurgled and roared, clawing weakly at the knife with one hand and grasping at Sev with his other. Sev lifted his foot and shoved Fervis backward and off. The villain tumbled into the hay, trying desperately to protest. Blood bubbled from between his lips as he tried to right himself, tried to do anything as his blood continued to leak steadily out onto the hay beneath him.

  Impossibly, Fervis rose to one knee and then stood. Sev couldn’t imagine he had much blood left in his veins with the way it pumped from the wound. Fervis took a few tentative steps toward Sev as he pulled the knife from his throat. Buried as deep as it was, made it a struggle for him, but he finally managed it. He opened his mouth, no doubt to curse Sev some more, but no words came out, only wet wheezing. He held the knife in front of him, arm extended, pointing at Sev. He took a long step and pitched forward, landing face-first in the hay. The knife fell from his hand and bounced twice before coming to rest near Sev’s toe.

  Sev looked at the bloody blade for a moment before all the vitality seemed to drain from his limbs. He collapsed to his knees, dropped his chin to his chest, and feared he might pass out. Darkness crept into the edges of his vision. Then someone began clapping very slowly. Sev turned as quickly as he could, even though it tore new shocks of pain from his back. He must be hallucinating. His mind wouldn’t believe what his eyes showed him.

  Jack Midnight leaned languidly in the doorway of the barn with his rakish grin and smoky, painted eyes. He regarded Sev with his customary air of the cat amused by the frantic scramblings of the mouse. “Bravo, Sev. I worried a bit he might get the upper hand once or twice.”

  “How long?” Sev said, exhausted now. “How long have ye been standin’ there?”

  “Long enough,” Midnight answered.

  “And ye didn’t think t’help?”

  “Oh, I thought about it.”

  “Ye did?”

  Midnight nodded. “Mm. But I decided to let you have the victory all to yourself.”

  “Brilliant,” Sev said before finally succumbing to his wounds and passing out.

  HE AWOKE on his belly a few moments later. His back felt as though it were on fire, and now he did scream. “Bloody hell! What are ye doin’ t’me?”

  “Hush, boy,” Mama Gert said, pressing Sev’s head down. “We got t’wash out these lashes or they’s goin’ t’fester.” She thrust a piece of leather into his face. “Bite down on this belt if it hurts.”

  They continued to clean the wounds on his back, and it hurt like hell, so he bit down on the belt as hard as he could until his teeth hurt. Just when he thought he could take no more, Mama Gert declared him sufficiently cleansed, and she smeared a salve onto his marred skin. It stung at first, then felt cool, then didn’t feel like anything at all. “It’s goin’ t’scar. But this ought t’make it not hurt so bad. It’s got some laudanum mixed in.” She finished by sitting him up and wrapping some strips of torn bed sheets around his torso. When she moved around front and got a look at his eye, she winced.

  “We got t’do somethin’ about that as well.” She pushed the flap of skin with her finger and Sev winced. “Sorry, boy. I think this is beyond me.”

  “It’s not beyond me,” Midnight offered. “Clean it up and smear that sludge on it. I’ll sew him up.”

  Mama Gert shot Midnight a suspicious, apprehensive glance. He stared her down without wavering. She finally gave a nod, fetched the hot soapy water, and cleaned Sev’s eye wound. As she applied the salve, Midnight searched through his pack. He retrieved a needle, thread, and a bottle of Victorican whiskey. He prepared the needle and thread, took a swig of the whiskey, and, holding the needle and thread in his palm, poured the whiskey over it. Sev stared at the odd ritual with an expression of mild terror.

  “Relax,” Midnight crooned and offered him the bottle.

  Sev took a long pull, swallowing the burning liquid. He coughed once, took another drink, and handed the bottle back.

  “This is going to hurt,” Midnight confessed and set to work. He pierced Sev’s flesh with the needle, drawing the thread through so he could tie it off. It did hurt, but it was a far-off hurt thanks to the alcohol and the laudanum. Sev remained as still as he could while Midnight stitched up his face. “That’s got it,” Midnight declared as he finished, tying off the thread at the end of the wound. He leaned forward, his hot lips brushing Sev’s temple as he caught the thread in his teeth. He bit the thread, pulling and severing it. “All finished.”

  Sev reached up tentatively and touched the raised injury. It stung. “Thank ye.”

  “Don’t thank me,” Midnight stated. “It’s going to scar for certain. I can’t prevent that.”

  Sev nodded slowly. “I understand that, but at least I’ve still got me eye.”

  “There is that,” Midnight agreed.

  “You’ll have t’clean these until they start t’healin’.” Mama Gert fussed over him. “Keep yer eyes on ’em.”

  “Aye.” Sev nodded. “I’ll do that.”

  Silas finally stepped forward. Sev hadn’t noticed he’d been observing the entire time. He reached up to Sev’s face, his hand pausing above the stitches, careful not to actually touch the wound. He looked like he’d been crying, his eyes red. “I should have come back for you.” His voice hitched.

  “No, Si.” Sev leaned into Silas’s touch. Ye did what ye needed t’do, what I told ye t’do. This was all me.”

  Silas took a deep breath and shook his head but he didn’t argue. “I hate to say it, Sev, but we still have work to do.” Sev could hear the reluctance in his voice.

  “The undead army.” Sev remembered.

  “Armies,” Silas corrected him. “We looked in the other warehouses. There are hundreds of the undead bastards.”

  Sev forced himself to stand despite the pain. “We’d better get to it, then.” He studied his old friends and new acquaintances standing around the barrack’s interior. “Don’t look at me like I’m a broken duck,” he told them. “Let’s put a stop t’this.”

  They followed him out the door back into the compound. They visited each of the enormous warehouses. Sev used his newly discovered ability to see magic to lead them to the poor, drugged women forced to connect to the decaying monsters. The last one they found was nearly conscious and offered Sev the most coherent conversation he’d had so far.

  “We’s raisin’ ’em,” she said. “Wit’ voodoo.” She pronounced voodoo like it was two separate words.


  “Well, we’ll get ye out o’here. We’ll free ye and them poor souls,” Sev said.

  “Oh no, Mr. Sev.” The woman shook her kerchiefed head. “You cain’t sever the connection so easily. Even if ya take us away, these soldiers can still function. It will be a bit difficult fer them gentlemen t’control ’em. But they’ll find a way.”

  “What should we do, then?” Silas asked.

  “The only way t’stop the undeads is t’burn ’em.”

  “Burn them?” Silas repeated.

  “Yassir. Burn ’em. The sooner, the better, y’ask me.”

  Sev nodded. “We need t’do it. Burn the warehouses with the undeads in ’em.”

  “Bless ye,” she said. “But they’s more. Them Southern sons o’bitches have more places like this all through they lands.”

  “Well, this is a start,” Sev answered. Without delay the New Undertowners, the former slaves, and Midnight’s men doused the warehouses in lamp oil. They sought out anything flammable and piled it around the exteriors of the buildings. With everything in place, they lit their makeshift pyres and watched as the flames devoured the warehouses’ walls and the contents within. Sev and the rest all watched as the fire rose into the night. Silas ordered the compound sealed and guarded just in case any Southern soldiers returned to the outpost. Midnight picked out a few of his men and sent them to assist. Sev wasn’t too surprised to see Linsey and Brooks among them. Bruiser and the Killer were dressed similar to Midnight and the rest, like Victorican frontiersmen.

  Once they were satisfied that the zombie soldiers were no more and the walls were secure, Sev addressed the gathered slaves. “Friends,” he called out, his voice strong despite his injuries and exhaustion. “And I consider you all my friends after what we’ve been through this night. Ye folks ain’t slaves no more. Ye’re free people, and as free people ye’re welcome t’leave if ye want.”

  Mama Gert stepped forward and raised her hand. “We thankee, Seven. And there are a few who wish t’leave, those with young ’uns.”