The 7th of Victorica

by Beau Schemery

  “We’ll just have t’hold ’em off, Si.”

  “I hope we’re up to it.”

  “It’s a little late fer hopin’, Si. We do it or we don’t.” Teddy’s hands rested on a rifle, and as if to punctuate his sentence, he chambered a round, preparing for battle.

  Silas pulled his revolvers out and cocked the hammers back. “Do you really think we can do it, Teddy?”

  “I got t’believe we can. There ain’t no other option,” Teddy said. Tension and doubt filled his voice, but the expression on Teddy’s face spoke only of grim determination, denying his tone. “Besides, even if I didn’t believe, I wouldn’t have no choice but t’try my hardest, hell or high water t’fight these bastards, fight ’em with all mah might.”

  “Well, when you phrase it like that, Teddy.” Silas felt slightly ashamed for questioning his allies.

  “What’s the plan, then?” Teddy asked.

  “We wait until they’re upon us, hope Sev takes out the undeads, and fight tooth and nail.”

  “Good plan,” Teddy said with a nod. “Say the word.”

  Silas nodded but remained silent. His gaze drifted up to Sev’s airship once more. He hoped against hope that Sev would be able to counter the magic that animated the South’s undead soldiers. “Here they come,” Silas said after a wait that felt like hours. “Get ready. But hold.”

  Teddy whispered the plan, sending it along its trajectory among the rest of their allies. Silas could sense the rise in tension immediately. Children, he thought. Children, slaves, and people who’d never seen war in their lives.

  “On my mark,” Silas said. “On the count of three.”

  36

  SEV EMERGED from the small room built into the rear of the cabin. He wore one of the gray uniforms of the Southern soldiers. He hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “That’s dead handy, that. Wish we would o’thought o’puttin’ a washroom on our airship last year.” Sev chuckled, remembering how he and Silas had taken turns peeing out the back flap of their ship.

  “Y’all will have t’tell me about it sometime when we ain’t on the lip of a battle,” Mama Gert said, fixing an old handkerchief around her head. Sev assumed she was making herself look more like one of the voodoo priestesses.

  “It’s all yers, mate,” Sev said, offering the empty waterless closet to the other boy who had remained behind. The tall blond slipped into the little room while Sev walked over to the small counter built into the wall. His hat sat next to one of the strangely shaped Southern soldier hats. Sev picked up both and grimaced.

  “It’s just a hat, darlin’. It ain’t goin’ t’suddenly change ya into a slaver.” Mama Gert stood with her hands on her bony hips, tapping one foot and staring at him with one slightly squinted eye.

  He threw his hat back on the counter. “I know that, ma’am.” He smoothed his hair back and pulled the Federation-issue hat onto his head. “It just don’t feel right, if ye take my meanin’.”

  She nodded. “I know, baby. I know.” She patted his shoulder before returning her attention to the controls. They’d begun to drift slightly, and Sev reckoned she was stabilizing them. Sev walked over to where his clothes were hanging and retrieved Fairgate’s Grimoire. He hated to admit he felt safer with it in his possession and rarely didn’t have it tucked within his coat. He flipped through it absently, his gaze roving over the strange characters. He didn’t have time to learn anything new from it; at least he didn’t think he did. Sev jumped when the blond spoke over his shoulder. “How can ya look at that?”

  Sev turned to see the blond, now dressed similarly to himself and hanging his own clothes with Sev’s. “It’s, ah.” He thought about it. “I don’t know. I used t’not be able to. Then one day somethin’ in my brain just clicked like some kind o’clockwork mechanism linin’ up.” Sev shrugged dismissively.

  That seemed to satisfy the other boy’s curiosity, and he meandered off toward Mama Gert. Sev closed the book and tucked it into his uniform coat. Its strangely warm weight felt all too familiar against his chest. When did the book stop seeming disgusting and start feeling like an old friend, a security blanket?

  Sev frowned at his reflection in the window of the airship. He could just barely make out the ghostly image of himself, but he realized they were both frowning, he and his reflection. He wondered how long he’d looked this tired, how long he’d had those huge bags under his eyes. Is the journal doing this to me? he wondered. Fairgate had never looked haggard or tired. Maybe fighting the darkness of the journal had done this to Sev, and because Fairgate fully embraced that darkness, it somehow sustained him.

  Sev pressed his hands to his eyes and let out a huge sigh. He rubbed his face, then shook his head. Silas had been right. Rat had been right. They should have destroyed Fairgate’s Grimoire. The damned book was nothing but trouble. Sev made a silent promise to himself: As soon as they defeated the Federation, as soon as Teddy and his people were safe, Sev would destroy the journal. He’d get it out of his life for good and maybe Fairgate would finally go with it.

  Before he could ponder just how he’d destroy it, Mama Gert gasped, and the blond boy swore. Sev spun in their direction. They were standing, gazing out the windows on the opposite side of the cabin. “What? What is it?”

  “They’s comin’.” Gert pointed. “And they’s a lot more of ’em than anybody expected.”

  “That just don’t seem possible,” the blond whispered.

  “What’s yer name again?” Sev hated not knowing the people who fought at his side.

  “It’s Felix,” he answered without taking his eyes off the advancing army.

  “It might not seem possible, Felix. But that don’t change the fact that they’re marchin’ right for us.”

  Like time, they marched unceasingly. Like a fire devouring the forest, they advanced steadily toward the fields bordered by the trees where their friends were hidden. Sev could imagine he heard the thunderous clamor of the undead soldiers’ unrelenting footfalls, but he knew that was impossible. From his vantage point in the airship, they looked like a massive swarm of insects. It had been a long time since Sev had taken any stock in religion or the Bible, especially after the things he’d seen below London in the tunnels connected to Undertown, but his mind couldn’t help but relate what he saw to a plague of locusts.

  “Lookee.” Mama Gert patted his shoulder and pointed out the window. Sev gazed out where she indicated. More airships, similar in design to their own, appeared in the sky above Gettysburg. The largest of the ships had already landed and spilled forth the marching, clockwork undead like enormous pregnant birds spewing forth tainted offspring.

  Birds lay eggs, Sev corrected his imagination. They don’t give birth to hundreds of resurrected babies. As soon as he realized the absurdity of his inner monologue, he wanted to laugh hysterically. He didn’t, couldn’t. He was afraid if he did, he’d never stop. He sniffed a half-suppressed chuckle, but whatever humor he might have felt melted when he saw the grim expression on Mama Gert’s face.

  “Hold it together, Sev,” she ordered. His interior derangement must have bled out just a little for her to say it.

  “I am, ma’am,” he said, trying to sound reassuring.

  “Good.” She nodded once, a gesture he’d begun to expect from her. “Can ya see ’em?”

  He knew she didn’t mean the airships. She meant the magic, the tendrils that connected the priestesses to their creations, and he couldn’t see it. He had to concentrate, had to will himself to see them. He tried. He squinted, trying to focus them in that odd, special way. It wasn’t long before the multicolored threads melted into being, visible finally, showing him which ships connected to the monsters below. He nodded then. “Aye, Mama. I can see ’em. They’re all over.”

  “The other ship is signalin’ us,” Felix said, his mouth agape and his finger pointing.

  Sev slapped his arm down. “Don’t point, ye dunce.”

  “Oh. Oh, right. Sorry.” Felix grabbed up the code book
they’d found back at the compound. He picked up the colored flags and responded with signals of his own.

  “What did they say? What did ye respond?”

  “Um, they said, ‘Hold formation’. And I said, ‘Yes, sir’. Um, basically.” Felix looked terrified as he explained.

  “You done a good job, boy,” Mama Gert said with a reassuring squeeze to his arm.

  “Gert, ye got t’look like ye’re all swimmy and lost, like ye’re on the laudanum.”

  Gert winked and motioned like she was drunk or dreaming. Then she pretended to dance across the bridge until she was hidden from the gaze of the other airships. “I hope they don’t got no one who can see the magic like you can, boy,” she grumbled from the corner. “Else we’re up the creek.”

  Sev studied the other dirigibles. They didn’t move, didn’t break formation. “They ain’t doin’ anythin’. Some are droppin’ anchors. Some are even lowerin’ rope ladders. Men’re climbin’ out t’fight. They don’t know.”

  The first shots rang out below, and Sev’s gaze snapped down to see his allies emerging from the trees. “Shite.”

  “You had best get out there and put a stop t’this horseplay.” Mama Gert winced as the battle below grew more intense.

  “Dammit.” Sev scooped up the grappling rifle and strapped it to his back. “Get me a little closer t’that ship.” Sev pointed at the nearest vessel, its mystic tethers attached to the corpse forces at the front of the battle. Felix nodded and dashed over to the controls. Gert walked him through the piloting. The ship drifted purposefully closer to the other vessel.

  Sev slipped out of the cabin and reached up, grabbing the material of the blimp. He pulled himself up the exterior until he could stand on the spongey surface. He tested his footing a few times while he judged the distance to the next ship. Sev felt fairly confident that his enhanced over-skeleton would facilitate the jump. He backed slightly away, descending the curve of the balloon until he could go no farther. He closed his eyes, focusing. One miscalculation and Sev would find himself plummeting to the ground. He took a deep breath.

  Sev barreled over the skin of the air bladder. His footing was unsure, and he wasn’t confident he’d be able to build the momentum he needed, but there was no backing out now. He ground his teeth and ran all-out. He crested the peak of the curve and ran until he had no choice but to launch himself into the air. He pushed off as hard as he could manage and flew through the space separating the two dirigibles. He panicked. His heart beat a frantic rhythm as he splayed his arms in front of him, hoping to feel the reassuring fabric of the other ship.

  Time seemed to slow as Sev stared desperately past his fingertips, certain that they’d fall just short of their mark. Air rushed past him, thundering in his ears, competing with his heartbeat. Sev yelped when his palms finally connected with the surface of the air bladder. He grabbed at it frantically, but his hands couldn’t find purchase. He started to slide after he hit, and he clutched at the fabric, hope melting as he pictured all the ways he could fail and die.

  Then his right hand hit one of the balloon seams just right, and he was able to grab it in a viselike death hold. He dangled there one-handed for a moment before he managed to swing his other arm around and grab the fabric as well. He lowered himself, hand over hand, until his toes hit the lip of the cabin. This next part would be a bit tricky. He’d have to release the fabric, slide off the balloon, and grab hold of the cabin. Then he’d need to break the window and attack the southern soldiers within.

  Sev’s fingers and arms started to cramp. He knew it was now or never, so he sucked in a few abbreviated breaths, steeling himself for what came next, and then he opened his hands and slid down the side of the vessel. He felt weightless and free for a moment. For the very briefest time, he considered not grabbing hold again. He was so tired and everything weighed so heavily on him. If he didn’t grab hold again, he would just fall, drift into sweet oblivion, and he wouldn’t have to worry about anything ever again.

  Sev knew he couldn’t do that. When he saw the wood paneling of the exterior of the cabin, his fingers instinctively found purchase. He used his momentum to swing his feet toward the glass. He smashed easily through, letting go of the exterior and rolling into a familiar defensive stance. The startled Southern soldiers stood all around him. He could see them looking pleadingly, could almost see the confusion and questions behind their eyes. He spared them glances until his gaze found the threads of voodoo.

  He used the soldiers’ confusion, launching himself at the nearest uniformed young man, who reached for the weapon strapped to his hip, but Sev slapped his hand away with one hand, aiming a punch upward to the man’s chin with the other. As the man fell back, Sev dove toward another soldier who began to raise his weapon. Grabbing hold of the gun, pulling the soldier forward, Sev brought an elbow down on the back of his head. Two gun hammers clicked, and he dropped to the floor of the cabin as the two soldiers fired over his head, shooting each other rather than Sev. They dropped, identical looks of surprise frozen on their lifeless faces.

  Sev spared less than a thought for the dead and unconscious men. He ran over to the drugged woman in the corner of the cabin. Sev was surprised. She wasn’t like the old woman they’d found in the compound at Griswoldville. This woman was lean, and were it not for her sunken cheeks and dark eye bags, she would be beautiful. Her swimmy, moist eyes seemed to look at him, but she made no indication that she saw him. “Ma’am,” Sev said tentatively. “I’m here t’help.”

  She smiled, giggled, and almost collapsed. Sev caught her, held her up. Her clothes were dirty, and she smelled sharply of sweat. Sev didn’t want to harm her. He cradled her too-light body and whispered into her ear, trying to coax her back, trying to break the spell of whatever they’d given her. “Come on, luv. Come back. Ye need to end this spell. Ye’re free now.” He stroked her forehead and her eyes fluttered. “That’s it, luv. Come along back to us.”

  Sev felt the gun barrel press into the back of his head before he heard the voice. “Take yer hands off the negress, friend. Or don’t. I’ll be happy t’put a bullet through yer skull.”

  SILAS HELD his breath. He ground his teeth as he waited for the troops to appear on the horizon, harboring little hope that the rest of their allies would show up in time, though his ears strained for any sound of them. He feared engaging the Southern forces before the backup arrived would be nothing more than a suicide mission. There was absolutely no way for them to overcome the larger army on their own.

  Silas could just make out the undead soldiers’ grim visages coming into his view. The clockwork monsters clanked and wheezed along. Silas realized at that point he and his allies had to fight. They couldn’t just hide in the forest. His gaze drifted to Teddy, Tab, Rat, and everyone else he could see from his spot on the ground.

  He spared a glance to the sky. Sev’s airship wasn’t the only one hanging there against the gray slate. It was joined by a number of others. Silas said a silent prayer that Sev would be able to pull off his side of the plan without incident or injury.

  Silas could feel the expectant glances of his friends and knew instinctively that he could wait no longer to call them to battle. “On my mark,” he repeated, raising his hand. He counted down in his mind, hoping he wasn’t condemning all these children to an early grave. He wasn’t naïve. He knew they wouldn’t all make it. He chased away those negative thoughts and shouted, “Now!”

  Silas jumped up, and their army surged from the woods at his command. Gunshots rang out. Immediately numerous clockwork monstrosities fell. It was reassuring until one of their allies got within arms’ reach of the undeads. Silas fired his pistols slowly and accurately before agonized screeching drew his attention. He turned in time to see a young boy rent literally limb from limb by one of the clockwork soldiers. Silas roared and fired a shot through the eye of the beast. The creature stumbled back and dropped the pieces of the young man he’d been holding.

  Silas had to turn his attent
ion away from the grisly scene. He picked his next shot, opening the back of another undead’s skull. He caught sight of Tab flipping and flashing through the oncoming throng, her staff cutting through their enemies with brilliant devastation. Fire erupted at the edge of his vision, and he was pleased to see an entire regiment of marching undead burst into flames. He was not pleased to see the abominations continue their march engulfed in those flames. More than a few of Silas’s people dove out of the way.

  Enemy bullets whined through the fray from behind the clockwork zombies. Living soldiers shouldered rifles and muskets, firing into the crowd. They took out not only their enemies but their undead allies as well. Silas saw it as a sign that they didn’t really value the undeads, but on the other hand, maybe they were so confident in their numbers that friendly fire was of no concern to them. One of the angry lead bees flew too close past Silas, and he ducked behind a low stone wall for cover. While bullets zipped by over his head, he reloaded his weapons. He stood and found the men behind the monsters, leveling his pistols. He fired three times and three Southern soldiers dropped.

  Silas launched himself over the wall, firing and kicking at a group of clockwork zombies that crowded around two of his allies. Unable to reload, they fought hard using their rifles as clubs and defensive weapons. Silas holstered his pistols and fought the creatures, swinging his metal arm, relishing in its destructive effectiveness.

  His optimism soon faded. A thundering quake reverberated through the ground beneath his feet. A blast of steam whistled, and he turned in time to see an armored monster atop a steam-powered steed. The metal creature swung two swords, their blades crackling with arcane lightning. Silas searched the ground for something, anything he could use as a projectile. He found a large stone and wrapped his clockwork fingers around it. He hauled back with his mechanical arm and let loose his projectile. The rock whistled through the air and caught the metal behemoth in its iron helmet.