The next day found them at the train station. Spencer’s left arm had been cleaned, bandaged and set in a sling. His right hand was also bandaged. Abigail was all aflutter when she heard the news of him being shot, and hung on his good arm, insisting she would not leave the side of her hero. When Spencer had tried to explain what had happened last night, of Trudy’s heroics, how she had beaten both men back, and the nightmares that had given him no rest, his sister had pressed into his wound, stopping him as he squealed in pain. Trudy explained how Spencer had fought the men and after taking the bullet to save her, scared the man away. Though Doctor Terrible had not been found, pieces of the Hideous Man had been discovered. He had been mauled and devoured by beasts.
As the conductor unloaded the passengers from the train the twins craned their necks, searching the crowd for their uncle. The platform smelled of coal and diesel smoke. Warm steam misted across the feet of the bustling crowd. It was difficult to hold a conversation with the person next to you, and calling out for their uncle would have been an exercise in futility. The sea of parasols and top hats made it impossible to see the shock of white hair that would reveal the patriarch of their family.
“Greetings Miss Trudy and Master Spencer,” said a voice behind them. They turned to greet their uncle, only to see the stranger that had sat in their parlor four years ago. He was dressed exactly as they had seen him then, from the dust on his boots, to his vest, long leather coat, and his low brimmed hat. “Jack Tucker, at your service. This must be Miss Abigail Brewer, Wally has told me all about you!” Abigail tittered, raising a white lace glove to her painted lips.
“Where is Uncle Waldorf?” the twins asked in unison.
“He missed the train. Follow me, and I will explain.”
Thirty minutes later they sat in the same parlor in which they had first met. This time was very different though. Uncle Waldorf was gone, Abigail was present, and Spencer and Trudy were no longer children. Both men had a brandy without the pretext of tea. Abigail had looked shocked at first at the gentleman she adored being so bold. Her eyes became thoughtful and a smoldering smirk crossed her features as she considered the implications of Spencer being a bit of a bad boy. First the bullet, now the brandy, she had to wonder if he would soon begin smoking a pipe.
“Dark and evil things have been released into this world. I tried to warn your uncle of this, but had no way of knowing of the men and their part in this conspiracy. The two you saw here last night were part of an expedition to Drungia with your Great-Uncle. I doubt the constable will be able to find the man you so boldly confronted,” he said, meeting Trudy’s eyes knowingly. “We will not be safe here. You must gather your remaining notes and research and we must return to your uncle.”
“Why didn’t Uncle Waldorf come with you from Southern Gallia?” asked Spencer.
“Your uncle did not make it to Southern Gallia,” the stranger began, “Most recently; I met him nearly thirty years ago. I was on expedition in Drungia seeking a huge magnetic flux that may be a natural portal through time and space, reality if you will, with his father, your Great Uncle. It seems Waldorf’s father did not disappear into the wilds of the Dark Land, but into something much larger.”
“What do you mean? Who sent the telegraph last week?” Trudy said as she stood, knocking Spencer’s brandy onto his white trousers.
“I sent it, and you have inherited more than your Uncle’s fortune with his disappearance; you have also gained the shadowy legacy that began three generations ago. They need your help. We must lay things to rest, specifically the horrors that came with the opening of the portal last night, as well as stop anything that may be waiting to enter our world. I will explain on the train leaving this evening. You must get packed, and pack light. What has happened leading up to this was a mere prologue to your story, and now the true adventure begins.” He stopped to take a sip of brandy as they stood in stunned silence. “Oh, and Trudy? I think it would be best if you left your bustle behind, and brought breeches. And Spencer, I believe a mustache may look good on you now. You have earned it.”
Trudy and Spencer smiled at each other.
Faith Be Damned
Aetheric Elements: The Rise of a Steampunk Reality Page 32
