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

by Michael Richie

  “I know,” he cut her off. “The damned Brotherhood didn’t learn the first time.”

  “He really did die for nothing then, didn’t he?” she said, looking at the fresh tear in her jumpsuit. Vance didn’t have an answer for her.

  The elevator door opened to a corridor of chaos. The air was filled with the sulfurous smoke of gunpowder from Winston’s weapons of choice. It, mixed with the ozone of discharged plasmatic weaponry and the sterile stench of the attacking corpses, was an assault on their senses. Several attackers lay motionless, strewn down the length of the hallway. The battle was concentrated at the far end near the bridge. Burd, Afa, and Winston, were fighting the remaining dozen or so undead automatons, attempting to use the cramped corridor to bottleneck them. Vance took Wingnut’s advice to heart and aimed at the gathering of hoses and tank on the back of one of them and fired true. Hot, orange light sizzled down the corridor to strike the apparatus square. The wretched creature’s movements slowed till it fell to the deck with a thud, now completely still.

  “Go for the tanks and hoses!” he shouted over the din of battle as three of the atrocities turned, bounding down the corridor towards him and Wingnut. It was more difficult now, as the tank of what Wingnut called “Devil’s Juice” was on the back of the creatures. On instinct, Vance shot at the hoses feeding into one of the legs of the nearest one. His hunch worked, and it fell to the floor having lost its ability to walk, the tubes squirting the thick, yellowish liquid. However, it continued toward them with horrid determination, shuffling frantically with its remaining working limbs. Wingnut leaped forward, and with heavy contempt for what these things represented, finished it off with a heavy hammer strike to its tank.

  One of them went bodily for Wingnut, who was pulling her hammer out of her fallen target. Vance threw himself in between the two and his shoulder was raked by the steel claws found on most of the attackers. The wound drew bright rivulets of blood and burning pain that pulled a shrill cry from his lungs. It was a pain the captain quickly forced himself to ignore, for the sake of protecting his crew. The macabre creature raised its saber-like fingers to strike again, and Wingnut reached up past Vance pulling the hose leading to its upraised arm. This caused it go limp instantly as the slippery, foul liquid spurted across Vance’s bloody back. Before it could strike again, the captain rolled and fired up at it. Now that he knew where to shoot, his marksmanship again became an asset, and the mechanized cadaver slowed and fell with two quick, sizzling blasts. The third pounced on him, pinning Vance on the deck, and causing him to drop his weapon. Fortunately this particular model lacked the claws of some of the others, and instead was equipped with red, glowing goggles that held an enigmatic purpose. The stink of embalming fluids and other putrid, unknown smells assailed Vance’s senses as the wretched creature wrapped him in a bear hug and began to crush the life out of him. These things were far stronger than they looked, and he struggled against its iron grip to no avail. As he began to fade, he caught a glimpse of raven haired rage as Wingnut jumped on top and started pulling hoses. It wasn’t long before the revenant relaxed its grasp and slowly went limp. Vance wheezed, and choked momentarily on some of the fluid pouring from the many holes and hoses of his would be killer. He was seeing stars as he pushed the dead weight of the corpse off him, and dimly the sounds and sensations of battle returned. As he forced himself back into action, his gaze focused on Wingnut who was also covered in the slick fluid. Through tears of rage, the engineer emptied Vance’s gun, eliminating the threat of two more attackers.

  “Thanks,” he sputtered, retrieving his pistol from her. The battle at the far end of the corridor was still raging, and Vance staggered boldly into the fray, with Wingnut close behind.

  Precision wounds and torn hoses showed that Vance’s instruction regarding the weakness of their foes had been heard over the din of gunfire. Several more of the mechanized cadavers lay motionless, oozing their mysterious contents onto the deck. He was shocked to find Winston was on the floor as well, and was bleeding from a cut just above his eye. The old Scot struggled to reload his shotgun against what appeared to be the nauseating effects of a concussion. Several of the mechanized revenants noticed his movement and began to descend upon him in what would surely be the aged pilot’s demise. Emerging from a side room Burd appeared with a large, brass fire extinguisher and discharged its foamy chemical contents to blind and distract Winston’s would be killers. As they stumbled around, nearly incapacitated yet still groping for victims, Cornelius used the now spent cylinder to bash at the tanks, which finished them off in a predictable manner. Afa sported multiple injuries and his clothing was rent in several places. He stood at the base of the front staircase battling those that were descending from the main deck above. Though the massive war club’s shark teeth cut through the hoses with ease, the confines and unevenness of the stairwell limited the large man’s effectiveness. Burd helped Winston to his feet. Both of them were covered in the white spray of the fire extinguisher and the mysterious fluid of the attackers.

  “Everyone, reload!” Vance barked, inserting another reload winder into the side of his LeMat. Burd tossed an extra pistol to Wingnut as the three of them quickly formed up around him. Shaken and caught off guard as they were with this fight, they still knew exactly what he was planning. They all took aim.

  “Afa, get back!” Vance shouted.

  Afa quickly glanced back at them and understood the unspoken plan. He dove down the last few steps to tumble under the coming line of fire. The four other crew members fired into the tight cluster of attackers. As each of them now knew exactly where to strike, the remaining creatures were dispatched quickly and left to grind to an unholy halt. At long last, the fight was over, and the ship was suddenly quiet, save for the winded breath of the victorious crew.

  Vance’s shoulder burned with pain, but his concern for those around him outweighed it. It took no more than a quick glance to tell him Afa’s and Winston’s injuries were superficial. It looked as if they had all been fortunate indeed, given the unusual circumstances. Vance’s shoulder seemed to be the worst wound anyone had sustained. He did not, however, see Cordelia.

  “Where’s Ms. Cady?” he said, his voice echoing his concern.

  “I’m here, Captain,” she said, cautiously emerging from the restroom behind Afa. She was shaking, and her blue eyes carried a haunted weight about them. “Cornelius shoved me in there when the fighting began.”

  “I got her out of bed as soon as we were boarded, Cap’n,” Burd explained, brushing some of the white powder out of his hair. “I figured she’d be safer with us. Honestly, I thought these things would be after her. I couldn’t have been more wrong!”

  “It was the damnedest thing, lad,” Winston chimed in, holding his sleeve to his forehead and catching his breath. “They hit us on the bow and the stern. Those walkin’ cadavers tried to take the bridge, and kill all of us. All except for her.” He pointed at Cordelia. “One of them got real close to her, the one with the gas mask stuck to its face. He was sniffin’ her like a hungry dog, and after that, they acted like she weren’t even here. Vance, I’ve seen my share of the supernatural, mind you, but nothing like this.”

  “Captain, I promise you I don’t know why those monsters showed no interest in me. I can only guess it has something to do with coercing my uncle. He may be helping the Brotherhood to keep me safe. But that is just a guess.”

  “Well if they didn’t want her, what the blazes did they want?” wondered Wingnut.

  “The ship. They wanted the Kingship,” Vance murmured with deep reservation, his instincts warning him their troubles had just begun. “I imagine whatever your Uncle Degory was planning to do with our ship has piqued their interest.” Vance stared at Cordelia. He was angry, and his shoulder was beginning to throb. Though Cordelia had obviously not told them everything, he could not bring himself to be angry with the clearly terrified girl. He needed answers, but right now was not the time. He had responsib
ilities, not to mention compassion.

  “Afa, Burd,” he said, pulling his gaze away from the scared, young doctor. “Do a sweep. Make sure we haven’t missed anything. Start with the engineering deck. I want to make sure Wingnut will be safe up there. Wingnut, as soon as it’s clear, bring all three boilers to full steam. Once she’s done that, Winston, get us the hell out of here.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to suit up and see if I can catch up to the ship that attacked us?” asked Burd. “I tend to take attempts on my life by the walking dead kind of personal.”

  “No,” Vance replied firmly. “We’re all still here and in one piece. I’m sure we were watched the whole time. But since we really have no idea what we’re up against… Don’t risk it, Cornelius, not tonight.”

  Winston asked, “Where do you want to go, lad?”

  Vance looked back at Cordelia, “Anywhere but here. Whatever ship that was, it’s still out there, and I have a feeling we’re not through with the Brotherhood of the Strange.

  Chapter XXIV

  Golden mid-morning sun shined through the porthole window in Wingnut’s stateroom as Cordelia sipped a warming cup of Earl Grey tea. The events of the previous evening had frazzled her nerves and still laid heavily on her mind. It had taken another draught of Afa’s calming brew to allow her to rest, though not before she had insisted on helping clean up the aftermath of the attack for which she felt responsible. After all, though she had tried all these years to not see it, she had known the great advancements her father and his father had made in mapping the human body. Edward had spoken publicly when she was a little girl regarding the possibilities of animating the dead. It was a moralistic point, one of dozens her parents had argued over when they still shared a bed and home. She of all people knew the enhancements clockwork bionics could give the human body. Not two weeks ago in her own apartment, Uncle Degory had informed her of the perfected synthetic ectoplasm, a concept she had readily scoffed at. No, the pieces of the puzzle were all there. If she hadn’t been a silly, naive girl, she might have seen them herself. Now, this crew of people she barely knew, but for whom she already held a warm fondness, had been put in mortal danger, and probably would be again. Furthermore, she sincerely doubted if the captain would let her install Uncle Degory’s equipment now. Without it, she had no realistic chance of finding him, to say nothing about mounting a rescue. She was in over her head, and she knew it.

  There hadn’t been any serious damage to the Kingship. Winston had flown an erratic course in hopes to confuse any potential pursuit. He was so adamant in his duty, Cordelia needed to treat his wounds on the bridge. She helped the rest of the crew as much as she could with cleaning up, as well as attempting to glean any information from the corpses. So it was after tending to the captain’s and Afa’s wounds, that the young doctor performed an impromptu autopsy on one of the cadavers in the Kingship’s well equipped sickbay. It didn't reveal anything she already didn't know, or at least suspect. She had hoped to analyze a sample of the synthetic ectoplasm, but it had all evaporated within minutes of the battle. It seemed it couldn’t survive outside of the automaton’s enclosed systems. Though disappointing, the knowledge could give the crew an edge. All of this was indeed her father’s work, though she didn’t know the research had ever progressed beyond the early experimental stages. She had even thought the work had been discontinued years ago. Obviously, the Hand of Paris had been quite busy, possibly even busier than Uncle Degory knew. Once she was done, they photographed them all and then tossed the bodies overboard, sending them to the dark ocean below. The whole business seemed quite mad, and what continually surprised her was the crew’s casual acceptance of that insanity.

  “Your tea’s goin’ to get cold, don’t ya know?” Wingnut said with a concerned smile, pulling Cordelia out of her musings. The two ladies were sitting at a small table which had their late morning tea service.

  “I’m sorry, Wingnut. I’m afraid my mind is still on last night, and my uncle’s well-being.”

  “Of course it is. But ya need your wits about ya. The two of us got a lot o’ work to get done today, girl!”

  Cordelia stared at her blankly, “I don’t understand.”

  “Well your uncle sure isn’t gettin’ any safer as a guest of the Brotherhood of the bloody Strange, now, is he? We need to get those parts installed so we can find him!”

  “Wingnut, after last night, I’m pretty sure Captain Williams is going to drop me off as soon as he gets the chance. He seems to have a gallant streak, but this is hardly the job he was paid for, after all.”

  “Nonsense!” Wingnut countered, “Vance won’t put you to his rudder until your uncle is safe. That’s just who he is. And don’t you worry about the rest of us, either.”

  “Last night was horrific! Why on earth would any of you risk another encounter, or worse, for my uncle and I?”

  Wingnut reached up and took an elegantly framed photograph off the wall and handed it to Cordelia. It was a man, a quite handsome man, dressed in a much newer version of Wingnut’s characteristic jumpsuit. He had a large wrench in his hand and was leaning up against the inner workings of some unknown aethership.

  “His name is Augustus,” the engineer said simply. “He’s my husband. He died almost eight years ago.”

  Looking at the picture, and then Wingnut, Cordelia quietly said, “I’m sorry. Was there some sort of accident?”

  Before she could reply, Vance knocked. The door had been left open and he, seeing the two ladies, let himself in. Cordelia watched as he paused, seeing the photo in her hands. A look of pain and consternation furrowed his brow briefly.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “I can come back.”

  Wingnut continued, as if she hadn’t heard the captain, “It wasn’t an accident, Cordelia. He was murdered, by the Brotherhood of the Strange.”

  Cordelia didn’t know what to say. There was a thick, nearly palpable sorrow in the room emanating from Vance. His shoulders slumped a little, and Wingnut went on, “After they destroyed the ship I was engineer on, winning me a bloody broken leg in the process, the cap’n here took me in, fixed me up, and then let me fix up this old gal we’re flyin’ in. So you see, Cordelia, we have reason plenty of our own to go after the bastards. Cap’n here’s a good man, he won’t let a damsel in distress, or her uncle for that matter, down without a fight.” She turned to look at him, “Isn’t that right, sir?”

  Vance met her gaze and resolutely replied, “Yes, that’s right.”

  Cordelia handed the photo back to Wingnut, “Was there something you needed, Captain?” She was unsure how to react to his quiet commitment to her cause.

  “Yes, actually, Ms. Cady. You wanted to see me this morning to check my stitches.”

  “Yes, morning, not mid-morning,” she said in a very doctor-like manner. “You should always listen to your physician.”

  His smile returned, though it was a rueful one, “Sorry, doc. I wanted to double check the ship in the daylight. Make sure there wasn’t something we missed. We need to be in top shape.”

  “And just what type o’ shape do you think we’ll be in if the captain is wailing an moanin’ cause he didn’t take care of a few scratches, now?” Wingnut said, waving her finger at him, a smile returning to her face.

  “She’s right, Captain. I need to make sure there’s no sign of infection.” She said it innocently enough, but was learning to follow Wingnut’s lead when she baited the captain.

  He stared at the two women and sighed, “Now there’s two of them,” he said to no one in particular.

  Wingnut stood, drained her tea in a loud, slurping gulp, and zipped up her jumpsuit. A recent patch had been added to repair the tear from last night’s encounter. “I need to get back to the engine room. Time to drop some more coal. Cordelia, I’ll meet you in the cargo bay in half an hour? We’ll get workin’ on those parts. In the meantime, take our dear captain down to sickbay and make sure he’s not gonna die on us
.”

  Vance and Cordelia made their way down to the Kingship’s sickbay, just aft of the bridge. There was no evidence of the gruesome fighting that took place here a mere ten hours ago. The synthetic ectoplasm had evaporated so quickly and cleanly, not even a stain remained to be found. Cordelia wished the images of those mechanized revenants would evaporate as easily. The captain poked his head in to tell Winston to make another course change, and he would give him a break in a bit. The old Scot waved in reply and Cordelia could feel the ship tilt a little as it turned. She had taken Vance’s advice and changed into more practical shoes, and such turns and turbulence were affecting her less and less. She motioned for Captain Williams to sit up on the exam table and told him to take off his shirt and waistcoat.

  “Is this really necessary, Ms. Cady? You certainly don’t need to see me half naked again, do you?” he asked, as he began to disrobe.

  “Oh, don’t be silly,” she said. “I’m your doctor… for the moment, anyway.”

  He finished taking off his shirt while she washed her hands with some alcohol. She was grateful again that the sick bay was far better equipped than she imagined it would have been. Their supplies, combined with her medical bag and skill should be more than sufficient to see to the crew’s needs while she was a passenger. Anything to keep herself useful in their eyes and sympathetic to her cause. She turned, and began to examine the four deep gashes she had expertly stitched up the previous evening. Though always a professional, the young doctor’s eyes were not above being distracted by the captain’s other noticeable features, now that his shirt was off. He was fit, and just muscular enough to be interesting to a lady. What drew the most attention, however, were several noticeable old scars on his chest and torso. Without thinking, her fingers sought a prominent one out, causing him to jump.