Brotherhood of the Strange (Kingship, Tales from the Aether Book 1)

by Michael Richie

  “You are starting to sound like Maxfield.”

  “Maybe I am, Degory. He, at least, has plans to bring order and the rule of law to this world. He knows man is not fit to rule man. It takes gods to rule the unruly. He means to make this world ready for their return and serve them when they arrive.”

  Degory was stunned. While he had known the motives of Maxfield and the Hand were evil, Edward’s statement still carried a weight about it that Degory now found difficult to bear. As insane as it sounded, he knew better than most the resources of what was once the Brotherhood of the Strange, and knew these mad schemings might indeed be possible. It also served as a final validation that stealing Pandora’s Box, along with the temporal abduction of Maxfield, was indeed the right thing to do. Whatever ‘gods’ they were preparing for, it was most certainly not the God to which Degory too seldom bent his own knee. He looked at his brother who clearly believed the lies told to him by the Hand as well as the ones he told himself. Believing such things was apparently far easier than facing the truth. Whatever work he was doing for them, Degory would have no part. Now that more was being revealed, he felt he could make a few guesses. Quietly he asked, “Edward, what work are you doing for the Hand of Paris?”

  “It is my job. Grigori has called it my sacred duty, to create the soldiers that will help pave the way for those to come.”

  All of the pieces fell into place for Degory; the synthesized ectoplasm, the vacant and silent cells throughout Bedlam, his statements the previous evening to Cordelia and the half whispered clues he had gleaned in the previous months. It all pointed to the same thing.

  “Edward,” he said quietly, “Please, please tell me project Lazarus has not been resurrected.”

  “An interesting and rather apt choice of words,” Edward replied. “Yes, I have been working on Lazarus for some time now.”

  “That project was shut down by the Brotherhood years ago. It was insane and unnatural. It also never worked.”

  “You are correct Degory, the project was a failure. The notes and details were smugly locked away in the Vault where the Brotherhood could keep their self-righteous eyes on it, denying the world the benefits that could be had.”

  “What possible benefits could be had from animating the dead?” Degory demanded. He was getting angry, both at the pure evil of the organization that had strayed from being so noble as well as Edward’s own foolish blindness.

  Calmly, Edward motioned around him. “My work can put an end to so much insanity and pain. There would be no more resources foolishly squandered on lunatics. They have been called upon to serve a much higher purpose than they ever would have been, wretched creatures that they are.”

  “Brother this is madness.”

  “Madness? Ask yourself this, Degory. How many useless people are there in the world? Not only the insane, but the homeless, the vagabond, the criminals? The numbers stagger the mind. And yet, whenever there is a war to be fought, or even a dangerous task to be performed, we send the skilled and useful off to die. Artisans, painters, musicians, engineers, even the common laborer, all educated people in their own right not to mention them being fathers, brothers, and sons. These are they who can contribute something to society instead of perishing in a ditch on some distant battlefield. My work can end that. It took a visionary like Mr. LeRoy to understand these simple facts and give me the latitude I needed to make this work a reality.”

  Degory hoped he was still right, “Well thank God the project never worked.” He then continued. “Killing someone, no matter how useless you think them to be, and then violating their memory by unsuccessfully attempting to turn them into some form of ghastly automaton was never justified.”

  Edward smiled, “Degory, the project has worked. Why do you think the silence is so loud here?”

  Chapter XIII

  The cacophonous sound of bagpipes brought Vance’s morning earlier and harsher than he would have preferred. Dinner at the Von Fersch manor had gone late, and after the side trip to collect Wingnut, the captain of the Kingship had been hoping to sleep in later than usual. As the ship was landed in a field next to the open market, there was no need to arise as early as those vessels which were moored at the towers. Their crews would be busy getting their cargos and wares onto the enormous steam powered lifts in a bustle to claim prime vending space for the buyers whose ships were likely moored in the same towers. It was hot work Vance had performed many times and was grateful once again at the Von Fersch’s hospitality that allowed them to land the Kingship in such a convenient location. The thought of sleeping that extra hour or two had been refreshingly exciting once he had climbed into his own bed after having escorted Wingnut to her room and making sure she was settled. Now, with each note of Winston’s bagpipes vibrating through the metal decking, Vance felt somehow cheated. After a wasted minute of trying to shut out the music with his pillow, he rolled over and hammered his fist on the floor.

  “Winston! Shut it!” he shouted below to the aged pilot’s quarters, located directly beneath his own. There was a pause in the music, followed by some loud muttering that came from Winston. The specifics were lost through the deck plating though Vance was guessing he and all of his ancestors were being insulted. Now painfully awake, Vance never found it easy to fall back asleep, so he instead rose and showered in his private bath. As soon as the water was turned on, the bagpipes recommenced. Once clean and dressed in work pants, waistcoat and shirt, he donned his cap, leather belt containing several pouches filled with useful odds and ends, and his small celtic knife. Ready for the trade and business of the day, he left his quarters and headed to the galley to find some breakfast. There he found Burd cleaning a disassembled plasmatic derringer and Afa who was cooking some sausages which had been given them by Anna Von Fersch the previous evening. Afa always found German sausage a little too mild, and Vance could smell the healthy dose of West African bird pepper he had added. Nearby, some eggs were being poached, tomatoes fresh from Afa’s onboard garden were lightly frying, and the smell of fresh coffee permeated the room. Vance was continually impressed at his friend’s ability to pull such a bounteous larder from a converted greenhouse on the back of his ship.

  “Good morning Captain,” said Afa.

  “Cap’n,” added Burd.

  Vance replied, “Morning gentlemen. Is that coffee ready?”

  “Aye,” said Burd, reaching over and pouring him a cup. “Though you might want something a bit stronger to drown out the musical accompaniment.”

  Taking a sip of the hot beverage Vance nodded, “I see our dear Winston woke you two up as well?”

  Burd replied stoically, “Yup. I was sleeping as sound as a baby. But it’s fine. The sound of ten cats being strangled is an invigorating way to start the day.”

  “I was already awake,” Afa added. “I assumed Winston would be playing music this morning. He always does when he is in a particularly joyful mood. I started my morning meditations in the greenhouse a little earlier to get them out of the way before Winston began his. He is quite good at that instrument.”

  Burd laughed, “How can you tell? Bagpipes always sound the same to me.”

  “Has anyone seen Wingnut this morning?” Vance asked sipping his coffee. Both men shook their heads. “She’s probably still sleeping it off, best not to disturb her.”

  Afa nodded, “Agreed Fekitoa, we all deal with our pain in our own way.” He cocked his head in the general direction of Winston’s quarters, “As well as our joy.”

  The large Polynesian served up the food he was cooking and the three men took their places at the long oaken table that was in the large room by the kitchen. In days of yore this room was reserved for the small banquets and summits held by the many world leaders who once frequented this ship, and had come to be referred to as the Ballroom by the crew. It was easily the largest room on the vessel, second only to the cargo hold and launch bay now turned greenhouse. In keeping with the style of the Kingship and he
r original mission, the furnishings and decorations were expensive and tasteful, boasting the best influences of Victoria I’s era. Huge windows looked out over the foredeck and bow of the Kingship, and stained glass skylights brought multihued beauty when the sun’s angle was just right. Though much of the furniture had been removed, and the remainder in sore need of reupholstery, the money Vance had spent in restoring her was well worth it. An expensively framed photograph adorned the wall, one Vance was grateful to have. It showed his grandfather dressed in uniform, standing next to several Heads of State, including the Queen. In their hands was the signed copy of the Aether Accords. The history books said those Accords were signed and ratified in London. That was only partially true, as the event had taken place on the deck of the Kingship, three thousand feet above London. Vance liked this room as it reminded him of the great things his grandfather accomplished and he could often be found here in his spare time, second only to the library.

  The three men ate their breakfast discussing the previous night’s events with the Von Fersches. Before long they were joined by Winston, still toting his bagpipes, and finally Wingnut. Afa made plates for each of them as they came in, pouring an extra large cup of coffee for the petite engineer. At a glance, one would not notice any evidence of a hangover, or the emotional maelstrom of the previous evening. No words were said by her nor by anyone else. As Afa had wisely said once, “It is her cyclical ritual of grief. Until she, and only she, is willing to break that pattern, she will be forced to repeat it.”

  Finally, with their bellies ready for the day, the silence reluctantly yielded and the crew began discussing the task of selling and trading.

  “Okay,” Vance began, stepping into the shoes of the trader side of his personality. “We have some prime sales real estate here.” He motioned out the window across the field that was the trader’s market. “I want to offload the rest of the machine parts and textiles. I’ve noticed there are several ships from India. We should try to procure a good shipment of assorted curry powders. We’re bound for England next and we always make great profit there with that. Wool is down right now so I’d rather hang onto what we have.”

  “We have quite a bit there lad,” said Winston.

  “I know, but we can always sell that on the higher uplands.”

  “What about that load o’ weapons grade plasmatite?” asked Wingnut. There’s an awful lot o’ money to be had in that cargo.”

  “We still don’t have the necessary permits to resell it.” Vance explained. “When we bought it from that mining colony over Spain I thought it would be easier to acquire them.”

  Afa asked “What’s taking so long?”

  “The Central London Trade Consortium is dragging their feet. I’ve wired them several times.”

  “It’s me isn’t it?” Burd asked somewhat ruefully.

  “Honestly? Probably. Sorry to say.”

  Burd shrugged, “Can’t say I blame them. An AWOL deserter on board must not make them too comfortable when dealing with plasmatite. Sorry, everybody.”

  “You made the only choice your conscience would allow,” said Afa. “We are the better for your company.”

  “Yes,” agreed Molly. “Thank you for that.”

  Vance quickly reverted to the business at hand in order to avoid recapping the past at this awkward time. “We all know what goods we have on board. Burd, you have toys to sell?”

  Burd’s eyes lit up in a way that only happened when he discussed a good fight, one of his rocket packs, or toy making, “Aye Cap’n. I think I have almost three crates right now. I’m pretty sure I can offload two of them to some ships heading to a large city. The third one I have plans for.”

  “I figured as much. How about you and Winston handle setting up in the market. Wingnut, you still have that list of parts we need?” She nodded. “Track as many down as you can. Afa and I will help you all get set up and then we’ll head over to Ulrich’s warehouse and get the cargo we’re being paid to transport.”

  “Do we know anything else about that cargo, lad?” asked Winston.

  “Not yet,” the captain replied. “Apparently a fairly hefty advanced payment and a letter are waiting for us though. All I know is that the wire we received said this cargo was time sensitive. However, it looks to be a simple and well paying job.”

  “Who knows, it might offset your fugitive cursed plasmatite,” Burd said in a self mocking manor.

  Vance chuckled, “It just might. You all know the drill. Trade for what you can, buy what you can’t.”

  It took only a short time to ready the Kingship’s current roster of goods for sale or trade. Soon, piles of wares had been moved from the vessel’s proper cargo hold as well as from several rooms that had once served as crew quarters. The field where much of the area’s trade occurred was over fifty acres, and peppered with semi-permanent structures, tents, and corrals. Several mooring towers served as docking ports for the dozens of aetherships and airships that could be found here at any given time with more always coming and going. Even now at nine o’clock the area was already bustling with activity. Despite its size, one could easily feel claustrophobic due to the constant motion of people and goods.

  Vance felt as though he were in his natural state, as he breathed in the wide variety of smells, ranging from coal and greasy steam engines, to fresh strawberries and cattle. Of course, it was one of several natural states he felt he had. Whether he was helping those around him attain their dreams through this successful mercantile life, or learning some obscure historical fact, or simply feeling the wind upon his face up in the aether, he was a man who was on the cusp of being at peace. The long years of military service, first for America and then later for England, no longer dominated his thoughts and he slept much more easily. He had seen more than his share of horrors, both man-made and by-products of the Great Calamity. Looking at his crew of once broken people, himself included, Vance knew he still had debts to be paid, but his crew were all in better places than they had been a few short years ago. Even Molly was doing better, the cycle Afa mentioned seemed to come with less frequency. Vance resolved, as he did almost every day, to keep those kind of days in the past.

  As the first hour drew to a close, they were all commenting on how busy they were today. Though the crew usually did well for themselves, on this day their business seemed to be going exceptionally well.

  “It seems that fortune favors the prepared today,” Afa observed sagely.

  “Well,” said Winston motioning to the Kingship in back of them, “the old gal was always a beauty. She does turn heads wherever she goes.”

  Vance had to agree. Living on the Kingship every day sometimes made him forget just how beautiful of an aethership she truly was. He looked back at her. Winston continued rattling off her finer selling points, which were many, but Vance paid him no heed. He knew the ship almost as well as him, thanks to his grandfather’s stories and logs he left behind. She was indeed a thing of beauty. So many ships seemed to be designed with aesthetics last, if at all. Not so with the Kingship. She had a singular mission in her glory days; help rescue a world of bickering nations from themselves before global war broke out. The Great Calamity and the creation of the uplands had changed the world so dramatically and so suddenly the countries, empires, and kingdoms of Earth had become even more mistrustful than they previously had been. With untold horrors regaining their hold, humanity might not have survived without the Aether Accords, and those accords might never have been written without the years of service Vance’s grandfather Dyson, Winston, and the rest of the original crew performed. The Kingship helped make that happen. She was ahead of her time, and even now she was comparable with the newest and most advanced ships. Some technologies, like the enigmatic radio and the ley sails, still proved a mystery, though it was no mystery why she was built as beautifully as she was. In the past, the Kingship had been considered a diplomatic neutral zone, where various dignitaries could discuss the perplex
ities of nations without the watchful eyes of the world. Therefore, she needed to be able to see to the visitors’ needs as well as impress them when they saw her. Vance pulled his mind back to the day’s work. His grandfather had been both important to him and to the world at large. As always, Vance was proud to captain the vessel as he once had. Though Vance’s mission was not nearly so grandiose. He was only trying to save his shipmates, not the world.

  A steam tractor precariously wove its way through the crowd. It was pulling what appeared to be quite a heavy wagonload of crates and bundles. Before it had come to a complete stop, Wingnut victoriously emerged from the wagon. “I got all the parts we be needin’ for the next while.”

  Burd, who haggled an absolutely outrageous price for twenty dollhouses he had built, took one look at the amount she had purchased and sardonically stated, “Parts? It looks like she’s planning on building her own ship!”

  Wingnut simply stuck her tongue out at him, “This be what we need sir. I been tryin’ to tell ya all fer some time now. If you want me to put it back then don’t come a cryin’ ta me the next time the git of a captain over there orders a full bloody free-fall!”

  “I don’t think we were actually free falling,” Vance stated flatly, purposefully goading the discussion.

  “Right,” Burd added, putting more of his hand made toys on display, “that would’ve been even more fun!”

  It wasn't till after three o’clock when Vance and Afa were finally able to break away and head to Ulrich’s warehouse which was well away from the market proper. Vance had only been there on a few occasions and was unfamiliar with the owner. Ulrich dealt mostly in creating, importing and exporting expensive and unique scientific equipment, employing engineers and craftsmen of his own to fabricate such items. They had received a wire from Ulrich that the Kingship had been requested for a shipping job. The promised pay was high enough for Vance to cancel other plans and make an always profitable visit to Oppenau, which made Winston a happy man. There had been no other details. Had the wire not come from such a well respected hub of trade, it might have seemed suspicious to the seasoned military man.