The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  “Will we find our seats now, Jack?”

  “By all means.” He bowed and motioned her on. They showed their tickets to an usher and the man led them to a private box. The interior of the theater was decorated elaborately in a Greco-Roman fashion. It appeared as though no expense had been spared.

  Once they were seated, Midnight searched for Lincoln’s box as Tilly pawed constantly at him. Her advances did nothing for him, but he forced himself to pretend they were flattering. A waiter visited their box and offered cocktails. He also leaned in and pointed out Lincoln’s whereabouts. Midnight thanked the man and ordered two brandies. Soon after, the house lights lowered, the play and the Booths were introduced, and the performance began.

  The man, Midnight’s man, delivered the brandies. Tilly sipped hers enthusiastically. Midnight tasted his, but his gaze remained locked on John Wilkes’s Brutus. He wasn’t interested in the man’s performance; instead he followed Booth’s constant glances in the direction of Lincoln’s box. Tilly made short work of the brandy.

  She grew very tipsy and very grabby. Midnight only had to discourage her for a few moments before she passed out. The brandy had been treated to put her to sleep. Midnight stood, abandoning his own glass. He followed one of his undercover men, who led him backstage. They waited quietly in the wings, listening to the actors delivering their lines. Midnight had to admit that the Booth brothers, whatever other faults they had, were extremely talented actors.

  He waited patiently until intermission. Edwin and Junius retreated to their dressing rooms. John Wilkes lingered, suspiciously glancing around the stagehands and people working backstage until finally he walked over to an overcoat hanging from a hook and retrieved a small caliber revolver. Midnight stepped out from his hiding place too late, and Booth disappeared into a hidden panel in the backstage wall. Midnight ran over and searched for a release, finally finding it. He disengaged the latch and followed Booth into the walls.

  He ran to catch up before Booth could attack Lincoln. Midnight wasn’t surprised when he slipped out of the secret passageway and found himself in Lincoln’s box, directly behind Booth. Lincoln had his back turned, engaged in conversation. All Booth would have to do was throw back the drapes he loomed behind and Lincoln would be as good as dead.

  Midnight slid his daggers out of their sheaths, anticipating Booth’s move. Booth stood with a shuttered lamp in one hand and a pistol in the other. Midnight waited patiently. Suddenly Booth raised his arm and barked, “Sic semp—”

  Midnight leapt forward and clamped his free hand over the other man’s mouth. Lincoln turned at the noise. Luckily, he didn’t see what was happening. Midnight whispered into Booth’s ear, “Et tu, Bruté?” He then plunged his dagger up under Booth’s rib cage, twisting the knife to make sure his enemy wouldn’t live.

  Booth tried to argue, but only a fine spray of blood shot from his mouth. He dropped the lantern and it nearly exploded, catching the thick, old drapes on fire. It spread quickly, and though Midnight wanted to watch the beautiful flames devour the curtains, he wanted more to safeguard Lincoln.

  “You need to move!” he shouted. “You need to get out while you still can!”

  Lincoln regarded him for a moment as Booth’s body dropped.

  “Mr. Lincoln, you know that I am Jack Midnight, that I am here on behalf of the Seventh of London to save your life. We stand on the brink of war, and we need you, sir. I would be remiss if I allowed you to escape assassination only to be killed in the resulting fire.”

  Lincoln’s brow furrowed, but he nodded curtly. “Run! Fire!” Lincoln shouted. A fearful wave rippled through the crowd, and people dashed for the exits. Midnight melted back into the wall corridor and returned to Tilly. He picked her up and guided her to the lobby as best he could.

  They stood on the sidewalk with the rest of the patrons as fire bloomed from the roof of the theater. The slight drizzle did nothing to douse the raging flames. Midnight’s gaze darted frantically, searching for Lincoln. He wanted to make sure the man lived. He caught a fleeting glimpse of a stovepipe hat surrounded by men. The owner of the hat was escorted onto a carriage. Midnight nodded, satisfied that Booth’s plan, the South’s plan, had been thwarted and Lincoln still lived to unite the North in a common goal.

  He dropped Tilly off at her home with a simple farewell and tip of the hand. Her expression screamed disappointment, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about the silly young woman beyond returning her home safely. He needed to find a telegraph office and send word to Seven of his success.

  33

  SEVEN AND Rat were bent over a workbench, assembling over-skeletons from bits and pieces of salvaged mechanics and clockworks that Teddy, Tab, and the other children and freed slaves sought out for them. They hoped to outfit as many of their allies as they could to enhance their strength and speed.

  “How many have we made?” Sev asked.

  Rat shook his head. “I ain’t been keepin’ track.”

  “Me either.” Sev sighed.

  “Bloody hell. We’ve been workin’ nonstop,” Rat stated.

  Sev nodded, but before he could respond, Teddy ran into the workshop waving a piece of paper. “We have word!” he shouted. “Midnight’s sent us an update.”

  Sev and Rat abandoned their work. Teddy handed Sev the telegram, and he read Midnight’s words. “He did it. He saved Lincoln!”

  Teddy, Rat, and Tab whooped happily, dancing and embracing. Before their celebration ended, another young man ran into the workshop. “Suhs!” he shouted. “Suhs! I’s got word the Southmen are preparin’ t’move!”

  “Shite,” Sev barked.

  “We’re goin’ after ’em.” Teddy gazed at them.

  “O’course we are,” Rat answered. “Ain’t we?”

  Sev regarded the over-skeletons on the tables. “I wish we had time t’make more o’these.” He indicated the contraptions. “But, aye. Gather the troops. It’s time t’roll out.”

  THE NEXT few hours were filled with preparation: airships powered up, weapons distributed, and final human connections made. Sev and Silas distributed the over-skeletons to those members of their allies who were most trained in hand-to-hand combat. “We have time,” Silas said as they walked the compound.

  “I know. The other outposts are farther west. I wish our old allies were here.” Sev sighed. “Tesla, Faraday, and Wrathsbury.” He hesitated. “I wish Heph and Carrington were here as well.”

  “I know.” Silas patted Sev’s arm. “I know.”

  “We’ve got t’finish this for them, don’t we?”

  “It’s our duty.” Silas heaved a deep sigh. He stopped and grabbed Sev’s hand. “Can we win?” he asked in a desperate whisper. “Can we?”

  “I don’t know,” Sev admitted. “I want t’say yes. I want t’tell ye that there ain’t no way we can fail, but I can’t lie to ye, Silas.”

  “That’s one of the reasons I love you, Seven. No matter the ugliness of the truth, you won’t shy away from it.”

  Sev sniffed a laugh. “We find ourselves once again on the lip of a battle we might not survive.”

  “Whenever will we learn?” Silas asked melodramatically.

  “Hopefully never.” Sev smirked. They both laughed, though Sev was certain it was more for show. “We’d better get ourselves t’the airships.”

  Silas nodded and held his hand out. Sev took it, and they dashed through the alleys and streets toward the launch site.

  The troop ships were already in the air. The smaller command ship waited. Sev climbed on board, with Silas at his heels. He was happy to see Mama Gert, Teddy, Tab, and Rat among a few of Mama Gert’s most trusted allies. She fixed Sev with a serious gaze. “Seven,” she said.

  “Mama Gert.” He nodded to the old woman.

  “We’re goin’ t’need yer perception.”

  “I know, ma’am.”

  “We’re in for the fight of our lives.”

  “I know that too.” Sev inclined his head. When she did
n’t respond, he called for the airship to ready for takeoff. “Has word been sent to Wrathsbury?” Sev turned to Silas.

  “It has. I made certain of it.” Silas walked over to the airship controls. “I’ve also sent a telegraph to Grant, asking him to gather some troops and begin a march south.”

  “Hoping to hem the Southerners between two forces?” Mama Gert asked.

  “That’s the idea,” Silas answered. “We know we’re outnumbered. Perhaps a bit of clever strategy will give us an edge.”

  “Can’t hurt t’try.” Gert nodded. “A lot o’this is goin’ t’depend on how good y’all can sling around that hocus pocus o’yours.” She pointed at Sev.

  “Aye, ma’am. I am aware o’that.” Sev felt sweat blossom from his brow and back. He knew too well how much their success depended on him.

  “I just wonder how far the Brotherhood o’Gentlemen are willin’ t’go t’win this fight,” Teddy stated darkly. “Are they willin’ t’burn down all o’Victorica t’make sure mah people ain’t freed?”

  Only the sounds of the wind and engines answered Teddy’s question. It seemed as though no one was willing to venture a guess and they remained awkwardly silent, though Sev had a suspicion he knew the answer, and he didn’t like it one bit.

  SUTHERLIN STOMPED across the dry ground, brown grass crunching underfoot. A cloud of dust rose in his wake. His face glowed red, and it had nothing to do with the midmorning sun. It had everything do with the string of bodies left by the Masked Shadow, by the continuous failures to capture that man, and now by the colossal failure of his compatriot in New York.

  That failure forced their hands, and the order to begin their march nearly a month early was issued. He’d driven all night after hearing the news, forcing his driver to push the horses to their limits. He needed to speak with General Lee, needed to see with his own eyes that their campaign moved along according to plan.

  Now, bleary-eyed and travel-weary, he approached Robert E. Lee’s back while he directed his men to prepare their army of the dead and their airships. “General!” Sutherlin barked.

  Lee turned, his eyes growing wide. “You look like shit, mah friend,” he stated dismissively, before he returned his attention to the task at hand.

  “That’s appropriate, Bobbie, because I feel like a tin full o’smashed assholes.”

  “Vulgarity,” Lee said without looking at him. “You must be upset.”

  “You’re damn right I’m upset. I’m so mad I could spit!” He grabbed Lee by the shoulder and spun him roughly.

  “Y’best watch yourself, suh. I can tolerate much, but I ain’t no dog t’be beaten or manhandled.”

  “Forgive me, Bobbie, but I am at mah wit’s end. Booth is dead! Lincoln still lives,” Sutherlin shouted in exasperation. “And where is Jackson? Stonewall’s been missin’ for weeks. What is goin’ on?”

  “Calm down, Billy.” Lee motioned with his hands so Sutherlin would relax. “I’ve heard about Booth and Lincoln. I did not assign Stonewall with a specific task. It’s very likely that he has gone home t’visit his family.”

  Sutherlin didn’t buy that at all. He narrowed his eyes as he regarded the commander of the South’s entire armed forces. “General Lee, I have reason to believe that is not the case, and God help you if you are lyin’ t’me, suh. For, as invaluable as you are, you are not irreplaceable, and I can assure you that I will end you with my own hands if you are tryin’ to betray this Federation.”

  Lee colored. “I can assure you, suh. I am as trustworthy today as I was on the day we first decided to undertake this colossal task. But I will not, suh, for one second, pretend that I think this is the wisest course of action. I will, in fact, as I have in the past, state my concern for the logic of this campaign. But I have pledged my loyalty to this cause, suh, however misguided, and I mean to follow it through.”

  Lee stood nearly nose to nose with Sutherlin. The two men heaved heavy breaths as they stared each other down.

  “I pray that is true, mah friend.” Sutherlin clasped his hands behind his back and fixed Lee with as serious a stare as he could manage. Sutherlin’s assassin had followed Lee since their last meeting and had reported the general of no suspicious behavior. It’s why Lee still drew breath. “If I find out he has betrayed us, I will personally ensure that he dies, painfully and slowly.”

  Lee answered with a rough grumble.

  “That goes for anyone that seeks to betray us,” Sutherlin added, looking pointedly at Lee. “Anyone.”

  “If that’s all, Billy. I have an army t’mobilize.”

  “That’s all.” Sutherlin sneered. He no longer trusted anyone. He didn’t like the feeling he was getting from Lee. He knew something but was hiding it. “I’m going t’get some rest,” Sutherlin stated, turning on his heel and walking away. “I will ride on the command ship as it flies into battle.”

  “Very well, suh,” Lee responded. Sutherlin could almost sense the dark look Lee shot his way, but he didn’t bother to look over his shoulder to confirm. He wanted nothing more than to sleep now. He dragged his heavy limbs toward the officer’s barracks, where he knew a clean bed would be waiting: cool sheets, soft pillow, blessed sleep. He shuffled his way into the building, up the steps, and into the room, where he collapsed on the bed.

  SUTHERLIN AWOKE late the next morning feeling stiff and disoriented. He stretched his limbs, listening to them pop and crack. He rose and washed off in the basin near the bed. He summoned one of the house niggers for a clean change of clothes.

  After he changed, he walked out into the supplemental compound. The airships drifted low, awaiting their cargo and passengers. He picked his way through rows and rows of the waiting dead, their bizarre shoulders crowding him. They smelled like death and oil; rotting flesh and sharp metal. Sutherlin pressed a fresh handkerchief to his mouth and nose as he walked among them. He hated the depths they’d needed to stoop to. Yet, at the same time, he knew what had to be done and refused to shy away from that. So he choked back his bile and forced himself to march through to the hub of activity. He found Lee in the command tent and greeted him anew. “How does our operation look?”

  “Fairly well, I think,” Lee answered. “We’ve got more troops than will fit on the airships.”

  “How do we deal with that?” Sutherlin scanned the gathered clockwork corpses. “What will we do with the extraneous troops?”

  “They will march beneath the airships,” a captain answered. “That’s all we can do.”

  “The airships will have to follow established land routes, in that case,” Sutherlin warned.

  “I don’t see any other option.” Lee folded his arms. “We need to march as a united front.” He paused. “Especially now.”

  “Why ‘especially now’?” Sutherlin furrowed his brow.

  “You haven’t heard?”

  “Heard what?” Sutherlin grimaced.

  “The slaves are runnin’.” Lee walked over to his table, retrieved a newspaper, and handed it to Sutherlin. “News of the Brits’ defiance has spread like wildfire. It’s inspirin’ dissent among the blacks.”

  “Damn it all,” Sutherlin barked, crumpling the newspaper in his fist. He ground his teeth and tore the paper in two. “It’s time for us to turn this God damned country around, get it back to its roots. Once we’ve done that, we’ll worry about all these niggers runnin’ away. We’ll get all those freemen niggers back under control as well.”

  “Yes, that’s the plan,” Lee responded. There was an odd tone to his voice that Sutherlin couldn’t quite put his finger on.

  Squinting suspiciously, he regarded Lee. “That is the plan. And I expect y’all t’stick to it, Bobbie.”

  “Are yuh questionin’ mah loyalty? After all I have done for the Federation o’Southern Gentlemen?” Lee planted his feet wide and folded his arms defensively, looking ready for a fight.

  “I ain’t questionin’ anythin’. I just want t’make certain there ain’t nothin’ that’s goin’ t’stand in our w
ay.” He folded his own arms and squared his stance in response. “Well, General? Are we goin’ to allow anythin’ t’stand in our way?”

  “No, suh. No, we most certainly are not.”

  They stood in silence staring at each other until Sutherlin finally nodded quickly. “Good. Carry on.”

  “You said you’ll be riding in the command ship,” Lee stated.

  Sutherlin thought about that: flying over the battlefield looking down at all the little people, the animated corpses. It would be proper for him to hover high above his handiwork, for him to watch as the positive change rippled across the country. He thought that, but what he really wanted was to wade in there on horseback. He wanted to fight alongside his Southern compatriots. He wanted to ride into the battle on a great big stallion like all the legendary soldiers and generals before him, plunging their blades into the flesh of their enemies, having stories and songs written about them. He wanted people to write stories and sing songs about him, wanted everyone to know that he was the one who grabbed this country and dragged it kicking and screaming back to a better way of life, not lived beneath the thumb of Her Majesty good old Queen Vic. “No.”

  Sutherlin didn’t elaborate, just spun and marched away from Lee. He’d decided to visit the camp’s quartermaster to be outfitted for battle. He would need a horse, some of that new body armor, and as many weapons as he could carry. When he arrived at the armory, a number of other officers had similar ideas, or they’d been assigned their missions. The quartermaster welcomed him and instantly began taking his measurements.

  Sutherlin rattled off all the things he would require for his epic ride into battle: the tools that would make him a legend. The quartermaster listened intently with a thoughtful look on his face. “Above all,” he concluded. “I do not want them t’forget mah name. I want everyone t’speak of mah exploits in battle for decades to come. I want t’be the man that single-handedly saved this country and defeated her most virulent enemies.”