The Friday Society

by Adrienne Kress

  The Chekhov was a beast of a weapon. Large, like a miniature cannon. Of all the possible choices that Cora could have made, it seemed, at first glance, the least practical. But first glances don’t tell the whole story. The most impressive element of the Chekhov was neither its size nor its awe-inspiring capability for destruction. It was the mechanized system Lord White had invented so that it could be taken apart and stored about one’s person, and then, by means of an electromagnetic current, reassemble itself at the push of a button. Thus, despite its size, the Chekhov was the perfect weapon for Cora to carry on this particular mission. But first. She needed to get dressed.

  Trousers.

  Shirt.

  Boots.

  Leather corset.

  Goggles (the normal setting, not the night vision, not yet).

  She examined her reflection in the glass cabinet that held Lord White’s more explosion-y materials. Okay, she looked kind of good. Even though that wasn’t the point. She grabbed the leather tool belt and strapped it around her waist, her little pistol sitting nicely on her left hip. Next . . . well, next, she had to take apart the Chekhov.

  She lifted the massive gun off its pedestal as gently as she could and carried it to the worktable. On the bottom side of the weapon was a very small button that would deactivate the magnet inside. She just had to be careful not to push the large button on the side that might otherwise set it off.

  She found the small button.

  There was a clunking sound, and, almost with a sigh, the gun broke into lots of smaller pieces.

  Cora went back to the arsenal to retrieve the gun’s very specifically designed holster and brought it back to the table. There was a folded paper inside the holster that contained illustrated instructions of where on her person she should put each piece so that the gun could fly together properly. It was important that the main section, which housed the magnet, was correctly positioned so that the electromagnetic charge would activate nothing but the other pieces of the Chekhov. It was a complicated set of instructions, and Cora couldn’t help wishing she had someone to help her distribute the items about her person. But she figured it all out eventually, and soon she was covered in the shiny metal pieces.

  She looked at herself again, and this time she almost let out a gasp. She kind of looked . . . not-human. Like one of those mechanical toy men she’d seen at the gala last week. She lifted her arms. They were much heavier now, and covered in metal. She twisted her torso. She was able to move reasonably well; it wasn’t bad. After all, this weapon was meant to be brought onto the field of battle, and Lord White had spent close to two years perfecting the way the gun could be taken apart and automatically put itself back together. Designing the look of the reconstructed gun and its firing mechanism had been relatively easy by comparison.

  She’d need to practice moving about in the getup she was wearing. So she’d be better prepared for the next time.

  Next time?

  What are you planning exactly, Cora? she asked herself.

  She didn’t know. She didn’t have time to know. She grabbed the leather jacket and threw it on over the whole ensemble. It covered all the pieces of the gun very nicely.

  She took off her goggles and placed them in the jacket’s deep pockets.

  Now she was ready to go out into the real world.

  * * *

  MICHIKO HADN’T NEEDED to prepare much. She had a light bite to eat, to keep her energy high, and decided to take two daggers as well as the Silver Heart, which she carried on her back. She took a moment to meditate. To focus on the task ahead and to digest—not so much the food that she’d just eaten but the conversation she’d had with her two new friends in Nellie’s room.

  This was difficult, being a team. It wasn’t what she was meant to do; it wasn’t how she was meant to act. But going it alone had not proven to be successful so far. Once this mission was completed, once she’d defeated the Fog with the other girls’ help, she could return to her solitary life. She could fulfill her quest to become a true samurai. In the meantime, well, there was something about Cora’s enthusiasm that had been almost mesmerizing.

  Also, it had been kind of fun watching Cora and Nellie come up with their costumes, which were a little like hers. Granted, the way Nellie wanted to dress seemed silly to Michiko, but the idea of using everything at one’s disposal to defeat one’s enemy was familiar to her. Loud yells, distraction, the unexpected. And there could be an advantage to Nellie’s having her legs free beyond just her ability to climb. It would be very distracting to the opposite sex, and therefore a huge advantage for the three of them.

  She still wasn’t quite sure what the Silver Heart had to do with anything, why she’d had to reveal the name of her sword to them.

  “Silver Heart!” Hayao appeared from the shadows in the alley. Speaking of which . . . Michiko had thought he might show up, but had hoped he wouldn’t.

  “Little monkey, go home. I’m busy.” She walked past him, trying to indicate that she wasn’t kidding around.

  “Where are you going? What are you doing? Who was that girl? Can I come with you?” he asked, keeping pace with her.

  “Go home.”

  “I could help. You know I could!”

  Michiko stopped dead in her tracks and whipped off her mask so that he could see her expression. “You can’t come. You must stay home. Your master orders you so.”

  Hayao’s face fell and his whole body deflated. He looked so sad, so pathetic, that Michiko almost wanted to take it all back. But she knew he couldn’t come with her. And this would be a good lesson for him. In discipline.

  “Well?” she asked.

  “Yes, Master.”

  “Go home now.”

  She started walking again, and after she’d gone a block, she turned to see if she’d been obeyed.

  He was gone. The street was deserted.

  Michiko glanced up.

  She wasn’t entirely convinced that the rooftops were as well.

  * * *

  NELLIE ATTACHED THE wire rope to her hip, a little box that held two flashcubes and some matches, and another that contained a special and unique compound: a combination of glitter and a green copper powder that the Magician used for some of his pyrotechnics. It was poisonous, so Nellie handled it with gloves. Then she thought that gloves might add a nice finishing touch to the whole ensemble, so she found a pair of black leather ones she wore in the winter.

  She was admiring her whole outfit: the corset, short black skirt, the fishnet stockings (silk stockings would be too slippery to do real climbing), the gloves, the boots, and her various tools at her waist, plus a black mask framed with dark blue feathers—when the Magician walked into her room.

  Normally he knocked, but he didn’t this time. There was nothing she could do, but just stand there in her getup and stare.

  “Interesting look. Is this for the show?” he asked casually.

  “I didn’t think there’d be a show tonight, what with the death threat and all.”

  “Then what’s this costume for?”

  Right. She hadn’t thought the answer through. Now she had no excuse. She didn’t know what to say. She just sort of shook a little.

  The Magician smiled and sat down in her chair. “I’m sorry. I’m being cruel. This . . .” He gestured toward her. “This is all because of Miss Bell’s plan, is it not?”

  Now she still didn’t know what to say and so continued to stand there and shake a little.

  “She wanted my advice about you. I said I couldn’t say anything. It seems you decided her idea was a good one after all.”

  Nellie nodded.

  “This outfit, it needs a bit of work, but it will do for now. You need better shoes, better gloves. Everything needs to be more durable. Next time.”

  “What do you mean ‘next time’?”

  The Magician shrugged. “Maybe you could make a real difference. You like to help people. Maybe this all makes sense.”

  “You appr
ove?”

  “I do.”

  “You aren’t worried?”

  “I am.”

  “But—”

  “But we don’t live our lives in fear. And we don’t stop ourselves from doing the right thing even when it might be risky. Costumes, masks, props—it’s not a bad idea to be prepared. You’ve made wise choices in the past. I trust that this one is wise, too.”

  “I’m scared.” She felt tears welling up inside, though she wasn’t sure if it was from fear or from the kind words the Magician had just shared with her.

  “Good. Be scared. But still be strong.”

  Nellie nodded.

  The Magician rose and came over to her. “I shouldn’t have come in. I should have hidden in my room until you left to meet the others. I just wanted to tell you I was proud, but now you are . . . sad?”

  Nellie shook her head. She couldn’t speak. She couldn’t say anything. It meant the world to her that Raheem was proud of her. That he approved of this madness. But, of course, he would. He was a hero, too, in his own way.

  “I’d hug you, but . . .” She looked down at her outfit. It wasn’t conducive to hugs.

  “It’s okay.” The Magician smiled. “Hold out your hand.” She did. He placed what looked like a tiny brass funnel in it. It was no larger than her palm.

  “What is this?”

  “I bought it last week, thought it could be hidden up a sleeve. Here, you attach this to it.” He produced a long thin tube and a small metal canister. “Very dramatic. It shoots fire. An awful lot of fire. Like a dragon roaring. A nice effect. A nice weapon for you, maybe.”

  He attached the canister to the small of her back. They readjusted her corset so the tube could run up it on the inside and then down her arm, plugging into the small funnel, which she hid inside her glove. “You pull this chain here to activate the fire, and release it to make it stop.” He indicated toward a metal hoop dangling from a short exposed chain on her left side by the canister.

  “Wear this,” said the Magician, handing her one of his black capes. “It’ll hide the canister, and a cape can always be useful.”

  Again, Nellie was at a loss for words. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  As if she was feeling left out of the conversation, Scheherazade flew to her shoulder and gave her ear a friendly peck.

  “Could you watch Sherry for me?” Nellie asked, scratching the bird’s head. “She might follow. And she can’t this time.”

  “This time?”

  Nellie didn’t respond, so the Magician gave a small nod and plucked the parrot from her shoulder.

  “Thank you.”

  “Now go,” he said, taking a step back. “Join your team.”

  46

  And So . . .

  IN THE SHADOW of Tower Bridge, three girls met in the dark.

  “I love it!” said Nellie when Cora removed her overcoat and put on her goggles. She made her strike a pose. Cora, for her part, put her hands on her hips, but that was all she was inclined to do. “It came together beautifully, and you don’t look like a man at all.”

  “Well, that’s good.”

  There was a pause as Cora adjusted her tool belt. Nellie coughed to get her attention.

  “Oh, you look great, too! Love the cape and the . . . mask.”

  Nellie grinned. “Thank you!”

  Michiko just sighed.

  “Right. Okay, Michiko, I mean, Silver Heart.” Nellie grinned again. “Lead on.”

  With map in hand, Michiko led the girls toward the river’s edge, just east of the neo-Gothic bridge. She stopped and looked at the map. Then at the building before her. She nodded and folded up the map, hiding it somewhere in her black ensemble.

  “Is that the entrance?” asked Nellie, staring the small cylindrical building before her and reading the words around the top. “The London Hydraulic Power Company.”

  Cora nodded. “Yes. That’s it. It used to be the Tower Subway. Then the hydraulic company took over. Should have an automated lift inside. At least I hope so.”

  The steel door was locked, of course, but Nellie pulled out a thin piece of metal, picked the lock, and they were easily inside. Nellie lit a match and the room glowed for a moment. It was small, only enough space for a lift, and Michiko pulled its grate open as Cora examined the box next to it. It seemed to be a pretty standard winching device that ran on electricity. Nellie lit another match when the first one burned out. Cora examined the box carefully. The power had been turned off, but after a quick survey of the room, she found the generator. Soon she had it humming to life, and a small light in the ceiling turned on. She flipped two of the switches in the box and motioned to the girls to step inside the lift. Michiko closed the grate behind her.

  “Well, here goes nothing.” Cora pulled the lever on the inside of the lift. There was a loud clunking sound, wheels turning, and the faint smell of burning. Dust, Cora told herself. It’s just dust. Then the cage they were in lurched up half a foot and returned to its original spot.

  “Is that it?” asked Nellie, not particularly helpfully.

  As if to say, “No, that’s not it,” the cage suddenly started to descend. Faster than Cora had anticipated.

  “Here we go,” she said.

  The ride was shaky and unsteady, and the girls stood in silence as they descended farther and farther from the light. Soon they were surrounded by pitch darkness, and it took Cora a few moments to remember she was wearing her goggles. She flipped down the thick secondary green glass, pushed the button by her temple, and the goggles filled with a gaseous substance. She should be able to see now. But she couldn’t. She could see a bit of the grate before her, but that was it.

  “Damn it,” she said.

  “What?”

  “They’re not working.”

  “What aren’t?”

  “My goggles.” Cora turned to Nellie and was surprised that she could see her face and its confused expression all in a greenish tint. “Oh. I guess they do work. I guess I was just . . . looking at nothing.”

  “What are you goin’ on about?”

  “The goggles I’m wearing. I made them so I can see in the dark.”

  “You can see?”

  Cora nodded. Then she realized that Nellie couldn’t see her nodding. “Yes,” she said.

  The lift landed with a heavy thud and the girls were thrown backward.

  “Should I light another match?” asked Nellie.

  “Let me have a look around first. We don’t want our presence to be known.” Cora opened the grate as quietly as she could and stepped out into the wide tunnel. She’d never used the Tower Subway herself, but of course she’d known people who had. And she remembered when the authorities had closed it down, too. People had been upset. Which, of course, she’d found odd. You’d had to pay a toll to use the subway. You didn’t in order to cross the bridge above. But some people hated change.

  She looked both ways and saw nothing. Just pipes overhead that dripped onto the floor. It was worth the risk.

  “Light a match,” she said.

  It was almost too bright for her when Nellie did so. Nellie and Michiko joined Cora in the tunnel and stood by her, gazing out before them.

  “Pretty straightforward. If you hold on to me, I’ll take you through,” said Cora just as the match burned out.

  She led them down the tunnel, not sure how far they were going, just looking for something, anything, that hinted at what they should do next. They walked in silence, just the dripping of the water keeping them company. It wasn’t the most comforting of sounds.

  They were maybe halfway through the tunnel, probably smack-dab in the middle of the river above, when Michiko squeezed her shoulder and said, “Stop.”

  They did. Cora’s heart dropped, and she quickly looked about to see why they had stopped. Had something sneaked up on them? She should have been looking back more often.

  But there was nothing. Nothing that she could see.

&nb
sp; “Listen,” said Michiko.

  Cora strained to hear what Michiko was hearing. But nothing sounded any different than it had a moment before.

  “Hollow.” Michiko released Cora’s shoulder and disappeared. Cora turned and looked down to see the Japanese girl crawling on the ground, her hands outstretched before her. “Yes. Here. Come.”

  “Where’s she gone?” asked Nellie, oblivious to what was going on.

  “She’s on the ground. She’s . . . oh my God. There’s a trapdoor.” She bent down slowly so that Nellie could stay close to her and examined the door that Michiko had discovered. “I can’t believe I missed it. I was looking straight ahead; that was stupid of me.”

  “How did you find it?” asked Nellie slowly.

  “Walking sound. Different.”

  Cora noticed a slight indentation in the wood, enough for a few fingers to slip into it. She pulled, and when the door opened, a crack, a beam of light hit her knees.

  There was as sudden loud clang and Nellie gasped. Cora instinctively held her breath, waiting for the attack.

  “Lift,” said Michiko.

  It took a moment to process the word, and then Cora understood. Someone had just activated the lift. There was no time to lose now.

  She opened the door wide. Beneath it was an iron ladder that led to a floor a short distance away. “Go down, go now.”

  Michiko evidently didn’t need the ladder; she just jumped straight to the floor beneath. Nellie swung herself easily over the edge and jumped to a lower step. Then, placing her feet and hands on the outside of the ladder, she slid down. Show-offs, thought Cora as she hoisted herself onto the ladder and took each step as she carefully climbed down. She shut the door behind her.

  Wherever they were now, it was bright, or at least brighter compared to where they’d come from. Cora flipped up the green glass on her goggles so she could look through the plain glass lens. The tunnel was narrower than the one they’d just been in. It was pretty primitive looking, created not for any regular use or any regular person. Electric lamps were connected to one another at intervals by thick black cables. They went along as far as the eye could see, showing the girls the way down the long winding path that eventually turned out of sight.