The Friday Society

by Adrienne Kress

  “You don’t recognize me?”

  Cora looked at the woman carefully. She was probably in her mid-forties, her face, sharply angled, seemed a little wan, a little drained of life. Her dark auburn hair she wore loose, falling in waves over her lab coat. Hanging around her neck was a very familiar device, the one Cora had spent far too many hours on. Okay, yes, there was something vaguely familiar about her, actually. Still . . .

  “Not really, no.”

  “Do you?” the woman asked, looking at Nellie.

  Nellie shook her head and almost looked embarrassed that she didn’t.

  The woman placed her sword to one side and leaned back in her seat. “Well, isn’t that typical. I thought maybe someone of my own gender might notice me. But clearly I was wrong.”

  “Stop pouting and tell us who you are,” Cora said sharply.

  The woman looked at her and gave her a wry smile. “My name is Jane Webb. And I work the front desk at the Medical and Scientific Institute.”

  “Oh my God, yes! Now I remember,” said Cora in amazement. “But . . . you helped me. You told me where they’d taken Nellie.”

  The Fog rose and held up a finger. “First of all,” she said, moving to the front of her desk, “that whole kidnapping murder thing, that had nothing to do with me. Dr. Mantis has his . . . projects. He’s been kind enough to assist me with mine. As you see, there are many other experiments being carried out down here by various gentlemen, but our interests vary widely. And second, since both of you came in search of those two fools, I thought maybe you were on my trail. Clearly, I thought right. So I had no compunction sending them after you. My hope was that they’d get rid of you. Obviously, they didn’t.”

  Well, that was interesting.

  “Why are you doing this?” asked Cora. “I don’t see the point.”

  “Of blowing up the city?”

  “Well, threatening to blow up the city.”

  The Fog smiled. “I think both you and I know that the government isn’t going to pay the money.”

  “So you’re really going to blow it up?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “Glad you asked. Because I can. Because I want to prove that I can.”

  “But . . .” and again “Why?” Was there an advantage to keeping the fog woman talking? Clearly she wanted to, and to be perfectly honest, Cora did kind of want to know the answer to her question.

  “Why? Do you know how long I’ve worked at the institute?”

  “No,” said Nellie.

  “That was a rhetorical—oh, never mind. Anyway, I’ve worked there since I was younger than you are now. At first I was just a happy assistant. But as I got to know the men, and they me, I was invited to watch certain experiments. It got to the point where I was invited to assist. Even given small tasks to do on my own. You can imagine how it grew from there.

  “By now I’d say I’ve worked on almost every kind of experiment there is. There was even a time when I was considering going to medical college. But the men at the institute convinced me it wasn’t worth it. Why go elsewhere and fight to be respected when all of them there knew just how much of a genius I was? Enough to do all the hard work, but not enough to join their super-secret club.”

  “The Society of Heroes.”

  “Yes. For no good reason, it was a ‘no girls allowed’ affair, and nothing I said could convince them I should be a member. Then one day that idiot Thompkins mentioned that the society had come up with a brilliant new invention, inspired evidently by an article about the exhibit from the Library of Alexandria that was coming to the British Museum. Something about some long-lost scrolls. Thompkins realized that if what they hinted at were true, a bomb could be manufactured, one that used uranium, and that could destroy an entire city. It was all a theory, of course. None of those fools knew how to put it together. So I offered to try, in exchange for membership.”

  “What’s uranium?” asked Nellie.

  “Something that your magician friend can easily come by.”

  “What?” Cora glanced at Nellie, who looked utterly bewildered.

  “In any event, the deal was that if I could make it, I could be a member. And they would act as my assistants, should I need them. However, it was clear that the society was very divided about the moral implications of creating such a bomb. There were some who helped, who engineered this fantastic space you see here, and thought it so fine that they brought some of their more questionable experiments along with them. There were others, however, like Dr. Thompkins, who thought that a bomb of such destructive power should never be created. He tried to sabotage the experiment.”

  “I can understand that,” said Cora.

  “Can you? How . . . empathetic of you. At any rate, Mr. Proper informed Dr. Thompkins about a recent order he’d placed with the Great Raheem for something from Africa. Mr. Proper was as excited about meeting the Great Raheem as he was about picking up the shipment from him. He’s a fan, evidently. Well, the second Thompkins heard about this, he decided to go to the Great Raheem and warn him not to hand over the shipment. But I followed him and shot him with a poison dart.”

  “Why a poison dart?” asked Nellie.

  “It was all I had on me at the time. Do you want to hear the story or not?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “We needed more and more money, and the society’s principal backer, one Mr. Carter, was getting nervous. Especially after I killed off Dr. Thompkins. He pulled his funding.”

  “So you killed him?”

  “Yes. Because otherwise people would think they could walk all over me.”

  “I see . . .”

  “But last night . . . last night was the crux of it all. Finally, everything had come together. You see, I’d had to wait until the exhibit came to the British Museum so I could acquire the final set of instructions, the final piece of the puzzle. Further, it was important I leave it all till the last minute. I assumed someone would get suspicious about the robberies and killings, and I didn’t want to give anyone enough time to piece it together.”

  “But we did.”

  “Yes, you did. Aren’t you clever?”

  “What were all the pieces for?”

  “It’s complicated science stuff, but to be very basic about it: The cavorite would lift my bomb into the sky, the device I commissioned—which I’ll have you know, none of these fools could figure out how to make and I certainly didn’t have the time to work on—would operate it remotely. I needed the Koh-i-noor diamond because it was large enough to be placed at the bottom of the bomb’s casing to prevent the heat from the cavorite from igniting the bomb.”

  Fine. “And the flowers.”

  “What flowers?”

  “Why did you kill all the flower girls? What was that for?” Cora could feel emotion rising up inside her as she said it.

  The Fog stared at Cora and then shook her head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. You’re clearly an insane person.”

  Cora was thunderstruck. But she believed what she heard. Of everything the Fog had said, this was something she trusted. Then . . . if not the Fog, who?

  There was a frustrated sigh, and Cora turned to look at Michiko, who was clearly finding all this talking to be a huge waste of time. “So. Anyway. Back to my story,” said the Fog. “We were all here, the remaining members of the society, in my lovely little laboratory. We had dinner. I showed them my work. And you know what they said?”

  “What?” asked Nellie, who seemed to understand that Cora was now speechless.

  “That I couldn’t be a member. That I had no proof that the bomb worked. And even if it did, they had been the ones to come up with the plan in the first place.”

  “Ouch,” said Nellie.

  “Yes, that was what it felt like. Very ouch. So I decided I might as well show them.”

  “But . . . why blow up the city? Surely you’ll suffer just like the rest of us,” said Cora, speaking up again.

&n
bsp; “First of all, I’m far belowground, so I won’t get blown up. Second of all, you might say, ‘But what about the radiation?’”

  “What’s radiation?” asked Nellie.

  “Unpleasant,” replied the Fog. “Well, this series of tunnels follows along the Thames into the North Sea. Where I have a boat waiting.”

  “That’s a long journey underground,” said Cora.

  “I’m a clever girl. I have the means to travel it. You didn’t think I needed all that cavorite just for one little bomb, did you?” She rose from the desk and stepped off the platform. She gestured for them to follow her and they stopped before a strange-looking square device. “You strap it on your back. The rockets help propel you; the cavorite lifts you off the ground.”

  “It’s a personal flying device?” asked Cora, fascinated.

  “Yes. And it will make journeying through the tunnels much quicker.”

  “What about everyone else?” Cora looked at the men in the room. They all seemed utterly uninterested in her conversation with the Fog and focused instead on their experiments, as if three costumed girls were a common occurrence here in their secret underground lab.

  “What about them? In any event, when I’m on my boat, I will take the plans I have brought with me and go to Germany, where I already have a scheduled meeting with the Chancellor. He has promised me not only a high position in his government, with the respect I so rightfully deserve, but lots and lots of money to go with it.”

  “I have a question,” Nellie said.

  “Yes?”

  “How could you have made this elaborate plan to meet with the Chancellor if you were only insulted yesterday?”

  The Fog thought about this for a moment.

  “I anticipated their response.”

  “I see,” said Cora, rolling her eyes. “Well, I don’t know how much of your story is true. I only know none of it’s going to work.”

  “Oh, come on. You’re not really going to try to stop me now, are you?”

  “That was the plan.”

  “Why don’t you come with me? You’re all so very impressive, and I think we girls ought to stick together.” Right. With that one flying device you have there, thought Cora.

  “You tried to kill us,” said Nellie.

  “To be fair, I only tried to kill you two. That one”—she pointed to Michiko—“I actually decided not to kill. I was impressed with her fighting. And, anyway, you managed not to get killed, and I find that impressive as well. Let’s form our own secret society. Only, no boys allowed this time.”

  “You?” said Michiko, finally speaking up.

  “Me?” said the Fog.

  “You fight me? You Fog?” If Cora didn’t know better, she’d swear Michiko sounded indignant.

  “Yes. Weren’t you paying attention?”

  “Where beard?” Michiko asked.

  “Yes, that’s a good point. What was with the beard?” asked Nellie.

  “What’s with these costumes you’re wearing? A disguise, lovelies, a disguise. And why not throw them completely off the scent and make them think I’m a man?”

  Well, now that they had all the information . . . “Can we see the bomb?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  “I’ve already sent it up.”

  Cora’s stomach fell. “How?”

  “Through that tunnel there.” The Fog pointed to one of the large round holes in the wall. Up close, Cora realized that they were rather larger than she’d originally thought. Almost as tall as a she was. “That tunnel,” she said, pointing to another hole on the other side of the room, “was the one I sent the silly little normal bomb through yesterday. I know you didn’t ask, but I think it’s neat.”

  “Well, thank you so much for sharing all this with us in such grand detail,” said Cora.

  “It was my pleasure. Now,” said the Fog, turning to Dr. Mantis. “Pass me that enormous weapon you took off this girl.” Dr. Mantis, who had been following her around obediently, jumped into action and passed the Fog the Chekhov. She examined it closely. “Fascinating thing.”

  “Wait,” said Cora, feeling a sudden panic rise, “you aren’t just going to kill us, are you?”

  “Well, you don’t want to be part of my club, and that was just me joking anyway. Of course I’m going to kill you. I don’t trust you. You seem . . . awfully capable. Best to get rid of you, I think. Thanks for listening, though. It was a treat getting to brag like that. Let’s see this thing in action, shall we?”

  The Fog aimed the gun at Cora and Cora stared down the barrel.

  Oh God.

  I’m going to die.

  49

  The Game Changer

  MICHIKO SAW HIM just a split second before it happened. He was hidden up near the ceiling, squatting on one of the iron struts that prevented the cave from collapsing in on itself. He launched himself into the air before she had a chance to act, a chance to step in, to do anything. He landed on the Fog, pushing her hard onto the floor. The gun flew out of her hands and skidded to a stop several feet away.

  “Hayao!” called Michiko. The boy was back up on his feet just as the Fog rose to hers with the help of Dr. Mantis. Hayao drew a katana he had strapped to his back and stood prepared. He was still and calm, waiting to see what happened next.

  “Run, Hayao!”

  He looked at her.

  Do it, do what you’re brilliant at.

  “Run!”

  Hayao turned and ran. He ran across the room toward the steps. He easily maneuvered around the scientists who were trying to grab at him, and even leaped over one who was still hunched over an experiment. He reached the steps and ran up toward the door, but was blocked by another man. So he instantly turned around and launched himself, with the help of the railing, up onto the lowest strut. He ran along it as easily as if it had been the ground.

  The Fog produced a pistol from inside her lab coat and shot him in the back.

  “No!” cried Michiko as she watched Hayao fall hard to the ground. Wrenching herself free of her distracted captor, she had a dagger prepared before she even had the thought. She threw it at the Fog, and it pierced her hand. The pistol fell as she shrieked in pain and staggered backward. Michiko leaped toward her.

  “Michiko, don’t!” she heard Cora yell.

  She landed in front of Hayao, who was lying on the ground shaking and sputtering, and knelt beside him. She sensed something behind her. She didn’t turn around. But her sword was instantly flashed backward, the tip touching the soft flesh under Dr. Mantis’s chin. “Stay back,” she warned. She turned and made eye contact so he knew she was serious.

  She looked back to Hayao and pulled him up into her lap. She could hear noise in the background, the sounds of something happening, but she didn’t care what it was. All her focus was on Hayao.

  “I was stupid,” he said.

  Yes. So stupid. To follow when she clearly said not to. “It’s not your fault. I should have been a better teacher to you. If I had been a better teacher, you would have made better choices.”

  “I didn’t follow your rules. I didn’t wait. She was going to kill your friend, and I couldn’t think of anything else. I thought I could take care of it. I thought . . .” He coughed, and dark sticky blood seeped from between his lips.

  “No more talking, little monkey.”

  “I’m sorry . . . for following you . . . for disobeying your orders . . .” he said.

  “Shhh. You have nothing to apologize for. It’s me, don’t you understand, it’s all me. I’m so sorry.”

  I’m so sorry.

  “Thank you for being my teacher.”

  Michiko shook her head and held back her tears. She had to be strong for him. But it was so hard. He looked so small, so helpless. Who were they, she and the other girls? Children playing at warriors. Look at the two of them now. Covered in blood and looking pathetic. “I think, in this moment, it’s clear that I failed you.”

  And stubborn as
always: “In this moment, it’s clear to me you didn’t.”

  “Shhh,” she said again. Why did he have to insist on talking, always talking.

  In a whisper: “I am a real samurai because of you.”

  “Little monkey . . .”

  He squeezed her hand by way of interruption and gave her one of his big, goofy smiles. “Don’t you see . . . I’m not afraid to die.”

  There was a loud rumble then, and Michiko glanced up instinctively and then immediately looked back at Hayao.

  He was gone. Dead.

  In such a quick moment. The space of a fleeting glance.

  She held him close for a moment. But it seemed pointless. All she held now was his shell. His spirit had flown and was, she knew, content.

  Everything became very quiet. Michiko had never felt such control, such certainty before.

  It was so clear. Her concern for earthly attachments, her fear of death. It might not make her a samurai, but it made her strong in her own way. Hayao was worth fighting for. These other girls were worth fighting for. Her life was worth fighting for.

  Maybe she wasn’t a samurai, but she could do this.

  She turned and stood up. The Fog was running around yelling at people. Michiko had no idea what the woman was saying.

  “Fight me,” said Michiko loudly.

  The Fog turned and looked at her.

  “Now.”

  The Fog stopped for a moment and then, with a shrug, nodded. She grabbed her sword from by her desk and gave a little bow.

  “I’ve defeated you twice,” she said slowly, making sure Michiko understood.

  A broken sword and poison gas are not defeating me.

  “No,” said Michiko. “You have not.”

  50

  Going Back

  THE BOY LANDED on top of the Fog, pushing her hard onto the floor. The gun flew out of her hands and skidded to a stop several feet away . . .

  . . . from Nellie.

  She didn’t need to think. She elbowed the man holding her in the stomach and lunged for the gun. The man came after her, but she reached into her pouch and grabbed a handful of her special glitter. She tossed it into his face.