by David Wake
What was the happiness of two people compared to that?
They were near each other now.
“You have your duty,” she said.
“Ja.”
Earnestine stepped forward, wanting to hold him and kiss him, but they moved apart and stood on either side of the yawning gulf of the freshly dug grave.
Mrs Arthur Merryweather
As her dear Arthur was carried into the church on the shoulders of his colleagues, Caruthers and McKendry at the front, the Vicar had read the traditional announcement.
“I am the resurrection and the life, saith the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he were dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever liveth and believeth in me shall never die.”
No–one had appreciated the words, so desperately ironic and terrible.
He’d gone on: “worms destroy this body” until finally “the Lord taketh away”.
It had been a lovely service, everyone had said so as they left the church, so it must have been. Georgina had a few handkerchiefs embroidered ‘APM’ and she’d used most of them already. Caruthers had spoken about Arthur’s bravery, his actions and awards, and his love for poor Georgina. Their life together had been cruelly cut short, everyone said – so short, so sad, so sorry.
But she had enjoyed the precious little time they’d shared.
The reading had been from Corinthians: “…risen from the dead, and become the first–fruits of them that slept. For since by man came death, by man came also the resurrection of the dead…”
She saw his ruined face as if it were in front of her, and she had seen that fleeting expression of understanding and forgiveness.
The Vicar droned on: “…what advantageth it me, if the dead rise not?”
But she would not remember that, or if she did it would be in cold, dark moments; instead, in an act of will that Earnestine’s example had taught her, she would remember him alive.
“…but some man will say, How are the dead raised up?”
They are raised up, she thought, in our memories and it was her choice whether she should remember his death or his precious, wonderful life. This was more powerful than any monstrous apparatus born of Unnatural Philosophy and Galvanic processes.
“…so also is the resurrection of the dead: It is sown in corruption; it is raised…”
She would live, she thought, a good life, a life dedicated to her lost husband and she would make him proud.
And then they went to the grave, outside in the persistent, dreary rain.
“Man that is born of a woman hath but a short time to live, and is full of misery. He cometh up, and is cut down, like a flower; he fleeth as it were a shadow, and never continueth in one stay.”
But he was not full of misery. Certainly not that one night, and there were other moments too when she thought back across London, the seaside, under the sea, on the doomed ship Mary, on the train through Europe, on the mountain, in the school, when he stuttered in the hut and when he’d appeared out of the snow to save her. She saw him smiling, always a smile – for her.
The Vicar, his balding head glistening with the rain, read on in a muttering voice: “In the midst of life we are in death…”
She would remember his life and lock it away in her heart.
“…the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection–”
Georgina flinched at the mention of resurrection. For a moment the sisters were back underground facing the unspeakable horror of it all.
The priest, oblivious, droned on: “…to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.”
“Present… fire!”
The soldiers of the late Captain Merryweather’s regiment raised the weapons and fired a volley, the sound muffled in the wet air. The bolts clanged back and forth. It was as if the burial itself was a re–enactment of the battle they’d fought below.
“Fire!”
In her mind’s eye, Georgina saw those terrible creatures lumbering towards them again.
“Fire!”
The third volley jolted her back to the present and she was standing in the graveyard again.
The funeral was done.
The dead lying all around them stayed in their graves and the horrors were only in their minds.
Uncle Jeremiah patted her hand to comfort her, before he shook his head sadly and made his way to his carriage. Some lady in a burgundy dress and a hat with a black veil opened it for him, but Georgina’s eyesight had misted over again. The officers came next and mumbled some condolences, words oft–repeated by soldiers used to losing comrades. Georgina heard none of it. Eventually, the troops armed with umbrellas broke formation and made their sorry way down the path.
The rain too had deserted them.
Finally, even her sisters took a few steps back to leave her by the graveside. In that oak box, once bedecked with a Union Flag, but now only spattered with handfuls of mud and earth, was her husband. She knew she should feel something, but it was as if she had been killed and her body merely carried on as a facsimile. Like an untoten.
Miss Charlotte
“You can cry if you want,”? said Earnestine.
“No,” said Georgina.
Standing at a respectful distance was a contingent of Europeans gathered in a knot around Prince Pieter. As they passed, the Prince bowed to each in turn.
“Fräulein Charlotte.”
“Your Royal Highness.”
“Frau Merryweather.”
“Your Royal Highness.”
“Fräulein… Derring–Do?”
“Miss Deering–Dolittle,” Earnestine said.
“Miss.”
He clicked his heels and moved on, walking slowly towards the open iron gateway.
“Ness?”
“Gina?”
“Go to him.”
“Gina, it’s–”
“Ness, go to him.”
Earnestine picked her way carefully over the graves and as she approached, Pieter came forward until it was just the two of them surrounded by stone angels. The Austro–Hungarian stepped forward and took her in his arms.
“Lawks! She’s kissing him,” said Charlotte.
“Disgusting,” said Georgina, “if anyone sees…”
“What’s the harm?”
“Charlotte! He’s to be engaged to another woman, so that activity makes our sister a loose woman.”
“But… you’re as bad as Ness.”
Georgina considered for a moment: “Thank you.”
Charlotte made a noise and leaned closer to try and catch what the Prince was saying.
“Goodbye, mein… my love.”
Crown Prince Pieter held out his hand and Earnestine took it. He held her grip far longer than was seemly, before he clicked his heels and bowed formally, taking her hand higher and kissing it for far longer than was decent.
And then he was gone.
Earnestine seemed only vaguely aware that time was passing as her sisters joined her.
Georgina plucked a small embroidered handkerchief from her handbag and passed it to Earnestine.
“Here,” she said.
Earnestine looked down at the white cotton square fluttering like a flag in the breeze.
“What’s that for?” Earnestine asked, “there’s nothing in my eye.”
Georgina’s bag snapped shut: “Of course not.”
“It’s not back to school, is it?” Charlotte asked.
“No,” Earnestine said, “it’s Georgina’s decision, but I think that the Derring–Dos would–”
“Ness,” Georgina interrupted, “I’d rather you were in charge.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“In that case, as we’ve just saved the British E
mpire, I think the least they can do is finance a little expedition up the river.”
Charlotte jumped: “Spiffing!”
“Charlotte, although Mrs Merryweather and I agree with your sentiments, perhaps a little more decorum please.”
“One for all,” said Charlotte and she put out her hand.
“And all for one?” said Georgina, and she added her own.
The two girls looked expectantly at Earnestine.
“An adventure?” Earnestine said.
Come on, come on, Charlotte prayed, and then her sister, Ness, added her own hand to the clutch and summed it up in a word.
“Abso – bally – lutely!”
The End
will return in the
Year of the Chrononauts
About the Author
David Wake is a writer, director and technical stage–manager and has an MA in Writing from Birmingham City University. He’s been part of SF fandom for many years and published this book to mark being a Guest of Honour at ArmadaCon.
Thank you for buying and reading The Derring-Do Club and the Empire of the Dead. If you liked this novel, please take a few moments from your own adventures to write a review and help spread the word.
For more information, and to join the mailing list for news of forthcoming releases, see www.davidwake.com.
Many thanks to:–
Dawn Abigail, Roy Abigail, Apple, ArmadaCon, Sarah Bartlett, Bridget Bradshaw, Andy Conway, Dave Gullen, Charlie Harry, Pow–wow, Jessica Rydill, Smuzz and Marta Soldevilla.
Cover art by Smuzz.
www.smuzz.org.uk
Also by David Wake
NOVELS
I, Phone
#tag
NOVELLAS
The Other Christmas Carol
ONE–ACT PLAYS
Hen and Fox
Down the Hole
Flowers
Stockholm
Groom
The Other Christmas Carol
Evil forces threaten the festive season and only Carol Christmas can save the day... in this grim fairy tale, a dark novella, told in the style of a children’s book that’s not for children at all.
______
A tonic for the Xmas Spirit.
______
“Genuinely charming…”
“You’re an odd person.”
“You’ve woven all our fears about the commercial side of Xmas into a very compelling Twilight of the Gods drama. Beautiful.”
“Yes. It’s amazing. Click publish before someone gets you to water it down.”
______
This novella is available from Amazon as an ebook and paperback.
I, Phone
In the not too distant future, Alice Wooster’s speed-dating goes so disastrously wrong that she ends up framed for murder. On the run from the police, a mysterious cult of magic users and intelligent spam, the situation looks desperate. Her only hope to save herself, clear her name and buy more clothes lies with her trusty friend and ally: the obsolete, second-hand phone in an unfashionable colour that framed her in the first place.
The phone tells its own story as events build to a climactic battle that will decide the fate of augmented, virtual and real worlds.
______
“Excellent novel – by turns strikingly original, laugh–out–loud funny and thought provoking.”
“Want to read it again soon…”
“A thoughtful, tense and funny look at a future that seems to be already upon us.”
______
This novel is available from Amazon as an ebook and paperback.
#tag
In the near future, no-one’s thoughts are their own and privacy is a thing of the past. Everyone shares their lives in the global social media network and pre-meditated crime is no longer possible.
So when Detective Oliver Braddon finds a dead body, the victim of a planned murder, he is plunged into a dangerous investigation, and forced to use unorthodox means, as he tracks down a murderer, who can kill without thinking.
Published Easter 2014
This novel is available as an ebook and a paperback.
Table of Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Epilogue
Table of Contents
Chapter I
Chapter II
Chapter III
Chapter IV
Chapter V
Chapter VI
Chapter VII
Chapter VIII
Chapter IX
Chapter X
Chapter XI
Chapter XII
Chapter XIII
Chapter XIV
Chapter XV
Chapter XVI
Chapter XVII
Chapter XVIII
Chapter XIX
Chapter XX
Chapter XXI
Chapter XXII
Chapter XXIII
Chapter XXIV
Chapter XXV
Chapter XXVI
Chapter XXVII
Chapter XXVIII
Chapter XXIX
Chapter XXX
Chapter XXXI
Chapter XXXII
Epilogue
