by Paul Crilley
“So what happened?” asked Octavia. “Why did you go back underground?”
“What always happens? War. Greed. Fighting. The Egyptian rulers started to curry favor, trying to gain power, gain access to technology we knew they weren't ready for. We were not that many. Our kind are long-lived and slow to breed. The Egyptians soon outnumbered us, and their entreaties became demands. Our rulers decided it was best for us to…retreat back into the world, to rejoin those who had stayed in Hyperborea. Once we had done this a law was passed. A very, very strict law that has been in existence now for over three thousand years.”
“The Covenant,” said Tweed.
“Correct. The Covenant says that our people were to stay in Hyperborea and never again—on pain of death—show our faces above ground. Our rulers saw the way the world was turning. They saw how fast humans were spreading, and knew they would not share the world with us.
“But some were not happy about returning below ground. One of our rulers, Osiris, was against it. He had no choice, of course, but once we had abandoned the world, his supporters began meeting in secret, forming a hidden cabal of like-minded individuals.”
“This Hermetic Order of Osiris?” asked Tweed.
Molock nodded. “Osiris died long ago, but his ideas live on, given strength by his followers.”
“And what exactly are these ideas?”
“That we should not cower underground. That the world was ours first, and it should be ours again. That we should retake it from the upstart human race, turn you all into our slaves.”
“And this Sekhem fellow? And his sister, Nehi?” said Octavia. “They follow Osiris?”
“Not followers. He and his sister are the leaders of the order.” Molock paused. “But with Sekhem dead, I suppose Nehi will lead them on her own now.”
“Er…” Tweed raised a hand. “Sekhem's not dead.”
“What?” Molock looked at him in astonishment. “But your weapon. I saw him fall.”
“So did we. But after we chased you and went back to look for him, he was gone.”
“But…this is terrible. I thought it was just Nehi I was up against. That Sekhem's death might give me more time. But if he is still alive, their plans will still be in place.”
“It, ah, kind of gets worse,” said Octavia. “I saw Sekhem. Here. Aboard this airship.”
Molock stared at her, then strained at his bindings, trying to break free. “You must let me go. I need to find them. Stop them.”
“You didn't tell me you saw Sekhem,” said Tweed.
“I was going to. But then he turned up.”
“And anyway,” said Tweed, turning back to Molock. “Stop them doing what? He took Tesla's plans, but what are his intentions?”
“What do you think?” snapped Molock. “They're going to build his super weapons, are going to turn them against the human race.”
“But…why? What does he have against us?”
Molock looked uncomfortable. “That…doesn't matter right now. What matters is stopping them. Sekhem and his people, they are now the main power in Hyperborea. The old rulers, they believed in the Covenant. They did not want any contact with humans. They thought, they knew, that any such contact would lead to the annihilation of our people. You outnumber us. We wouldn't stand a chance. But Sekhem and Nehi, they staged a coup. They ousted the royal family and took over. This was about five years ago, and since that time they have been pushing forward with their plans.”
“Do all your people stand with them?” asked Octavia.
“No. There are rebels, those who still believe in the Covenant, but Sekhem and Nehi have been hunting them down and killing them. Once they have achieved this, nothing will stop them.”
“And you?” said Tweed. “What's your part in all this?”
“I am—I was—the ruler of Hyperborea. I am the one they ousted. They would have killed me, but I had help. I escaped. Now I do my best to stop Sekhem and Nehi revealing our race to your people.”
Octavia sat down in a chair. This was all so much to take in. “What did all this have to do with Stackpole?” she asked.
“Stackpole stumbled upon a hideout of Sekhem and the Order of Osiris. He found many carvings, most of them new to Egyptology. If he gained funding to excavate this site, wherever it is, he would have exposed us to the world. That cannot happen. I was hoping to convince him to forget about it.”
“Then you did have motive to kill him,” said Octavia.
“Why do you insist on thinking of me as a cold-blooded murderer?” Octavia could see Molock was getting annoyed. “Must I judge your entire race on the actions of Jack the Ripper?”
Octavia flushed, embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“But what would you have done if Stackpole refused?” said Tweed.
Molock didn't say anything. He looked uncomfortable, then changed the subject entirely. “If Sekhem and Nehi are aboard, they must be returning to this hideout in Egypt.”
“You don't know where it is?”
“No idea.”
“You still haven't explained how all this relates to my mother.”
Molock winced. “Do you think you could untie me? These cords are chafing.”
“Talk first,” said Tweed.
Molock sighed. “As I said, your mother thought she was investigating Professor Moriarty. She had made the connection to Lucien, and was in danger of uncovering the conspiracy with the Tsar of Russia. This conspiracy involved Sekhem and Nehi.”
“How?”
“Sekhem and Nehi have a…very deep hatred of your Empire. They were behind the Tsar's actions, urging him onward. They want to see your Empire fall and they saw this as one way in which to do it. But when your mother came too close to the truth, word was passed to Lucien and she was taken to a Ministry prison. The Hermetic Order, they have someone on the inside, a member of one of your government agencies loyal to Sekhem and Nehi. They wanted to know how much she knew, who she had told. The plan was for this spy of theirs to interrogate her to find out.”
“Who is this spy?” asked Octavia.
“I do not know. I'm sorry. All I know is that Sekhem has someone loyal to him very high up in one of your government agencies.”
“Then what happened?” asked Tweed.
“My people found out. If Elizabeth had any information, anything that could help us oppose Sekhem and Nehi—remember, we did not know their plan at this time—then we had to know. So we infiltrated the prison and took her.”
“Using your own name in the process,” said Tweed. “Not very clever.”
“Wilberforce isn't my name. It's associated with me, and that's why I used it. I couldn't resist leaving a little calling card for Sekhem and Nehi. So they would know we were still watching them.”
Molock sighed. “But then we were faced with another problem. What to do with your mother. She had indeed found out about Sekhem and Nehi. She was in possession of the biggest story of her career, the most important story of all time. If we let her go, we would be exposed. She tried to convince us this was a good thing. That we should approach the Empire and ally ourselves with them against the Hermetic Order, but this is not the path forward. The Covenant still holds. If we did as she asked, my people would face death.”
“So you kept her prisoner?” said Octavia angrily.
“Not prisoner. Not as such. She was given free reign of our hideaway. She taught our children to read English. To write. She taught us your history. She has been an invaluable member of our group.”
“And she couldn't get a message to us?” asked Octavia, feeling betrayed. It was as if her mother had abandoned her family for another. “To her own daughter and husband? To let us know she was alive?”
Molock squirmed in his seat. “Ah.”
“Ah?”
“Yes. Um…I'm afraid she did write to you. Every week, actually. Telling you of the wonders she was seeing in Hyperborea. But you have to understand we couldn't let those letters get out. If they were intercepted
, and someone believed them…”
“You took her letters?” said Octavia in a low voice.
“Well…sort of. Broadly speaking, I suppose you could say…” He broke off under Octavia's angry glare. “Yes. I'm afraid we did. Sorry.”
“And she's still there? In Hyperborea?”
“She is.”
“You can't just keep her prisoner forever,” said Octavia. “She doesn't belong there. She belongs here, with her family.”
Molock sighed. “I know, I know. But can you blame us? Your Empire has been expanding all over the globe, conquering lands, wiping out any who stand against them. If word got out about us, your government would simply see new mineral wealth. A new world to claim for Her Majesty the Queen.”
“We're not all like that,” said Tweed. “There are ways our people can live together. Trade is better than war. It lasts longer.”
“I disagree. Why trade when you can simply take?”
“You have to tell me,” said Octavia. “Where is my mother?”
Molock stared at her speculatively. “I will make a deal with you.”
“No deals,” said Tweed firmly. “Just tell us.”
“I cannot. I would have to show you. Here is my offer. Help me stop Sekhem and Nehi. Help me capture them. Then I will take you to your mother. I promise you this on the lives of my people.”
Octavia stared at Molock, then indicated to Tweed that he should join her in the bedroom.
“What do you think?” she asked.
“I think my brain is hurting,” said Tweed flopping back onto her bed.
“I mean about the deal. Stopping Nehi and Sekhem is something that has to be done, and it looks like we know more about them than the authorities back home. If we can help with that and get my mother back…?”
Tweed thought about it, then nodded. “Fine. I'm game if you are.”
They returned to Molock.
“One thing,” said Tweed. “This Hermetic Order thingy. Why is it made up of us? Humans?”
Even though his face was that of a lizard, Octavia could see the look of embarrassment that crossed Molock's features. “Um…Some of you still sort of look on us as gods. The Hermetic Order of Osiris has been a secret society here in your world for centuries. They are fanatical, willing to do anything for their Hyperborean rulers. Sekhem takes full advantage of their services.”
“So…what's our next move?” asked Octavia.
“You untie me. And we see if we can't find Sekhem and Nehi before we reach Egypt.”
Tweed spent the day wandering around the airship, acting as a slave for those apparently too rich to do anything by themselves, while at the same time keeping an eye out for Sekhem or Nehi.
After spending hour after hour tending to the passengers’ needs (and being told off for forgetting to take the Captain and his crew their drinks), Tweed started to wonder how the upper class would actually function without servants. Would they remember to breathe? To eat? Or would they just lie in their beds, withering away while they wondered where Jeeves was with their breakfast?
In fact, forget strikes. Forget rising up and fighting for your rights. All the lower classes had to do was not turn up for work and the upper classes would be trapped in their bedrooms while they tried to remember how a doorknob worked.
Tweed realized he was being slightly uncharitable, but he was in an incredibly bad mood so he reckoned he was allowed a bit of nastiness. His feet were absolutely killing him. He didn't think he'd ever walked as much as he had today. Plus, he wasn't having any luck finding Sekhem and Nehi. Checking for two people amongst over a thousand was actually quite difficult, especially when everyone was constantly moving around, going to lunch, going dancing, watching a show, going to dinner, heading back to their cabins, etc., etc.
And time was running out. They were approaching Egypt, due to land a couple of hours from now.
It suddenly struck him that he was being incredibly stupid. What if Sekhem and Nehi really were purposefully staying out of sight? Octavia had mentioned such a possibility when talking about Moloch, but he hadn't really taken it seriously.
But why not?
Tweed ran down to the kitchens, and half an hour later he was standing in the corridor a few doors down from the adjoining rooms of two mysterious guests who had all their meals delivered, never once leaving the comfort of their second class lodgings.
Rather simple, when you put your mind to it. Of course, he wouldn't be telling Octavia that. She was insufferable when she was right.
Hot sunlight spilled through a porthole to Tweed's left, falling across the carpet and wall. He blinked away the sweat. How could it be so hot? Only two days ago, he had been in the freezing streets of London. Now he was south of the equator, in the middle of summer, and the temperature felt like it was over forty degrees. How did people survive such heat? It was madness.
He wiped his moist palm on his trouser leg, then took a firm hold of the Tesla gun. The corridor was clear. Now was the time. He licked his lips and headed toward the door, leaning forward to listen. Silence.
He knocked.
He waited a few seconds then knocked again. “Excuse me? Albion staff. We've had reports of a small fire on this level. I just want to check everything is well.”
Still no answer.
Tweed reached into his pocket and pulled out a box of Lucifers he had commandeered from the kitchen. He moved a few steps away and struck one of the matches, putting the flame to a newspaper he had picked up. When the paper was burning he dropped it onto the floor and knelt down to blow smoke beneath the door.
He stood up and knocked again, more urgently. “Sir? Please, I think there is a fire. You must move to safety while we deal with it.”
Tweed held his breath and listened. He heard a shuffling sound, then the door was unlocked and started to swing open. Tweed stood on the paper, grinding the small flames into nothing, then kicked the door hard, slamming it into the figure beyond.
Tweed strode quickly into the room, Tesla gun held ready. Sekhem was stumbling back, trying to keep his balance. Tweed closed the door and looked around. No sign of Nehi, but there was a door off to his left.
Sekhem righted himself against a couch and stared at him in puzzled surprise.
Tweed gestured with the gun. “Open that door.”
Sekhem moved across to the door and pushed it open.
“Inside.”
Tweed followed him through into the bedroom of the second cabin. He pointed at the bed.
“Sit.”
Sekhem sat down while Tweed stuck his head out of the bedroom into the sitting room beyond. Empty. He turned back to Sekhem.
“Where's your sister?”
Sekhem held his hands wide. “I do not know. I am not her keeper.”
Damn. This made things complicated.
“I know you,” said Sekhem, looking at him speculatively. “You were at the factory. You and your female friend. You shot me.”
“Behave yourself and I won't have to shoot you again.”
An amused look crossed Sekhem's features. Tweed couldn't help but notice the man wasn't exactly scared of him. In fact, he looked totally relaxed, leaning back on the bed as if they were two friends having a chat.
“Where are they?” asked Tweed.
“Where are what?”
“The plans. The ones you stole from Tesla's workshop.”
“Ah.”
“Where have you hidden them?”
Tweed was watching Sekhem very carefully. He knew about facial tics and uncontrollable reactions, so when Sekhem's eyes flickered over Tweed's shoulder, he smiled in triumph. He kept the gun leveled on Sekhem and moved back a step. There was a long wooden box about the length of his forearm sitting on the dresser.
Sekhem made to stand up, but Tweed raised the gun and pointed it at his face.
“Do. Not. Move.”
Sekhem sat down again and Tweed reached behind him and grabbed the box, placing it on the floor by his fe
et.
“That should keep Molock happy,” he muttered.
Sekhem's eyes darkened. “Molock? Molock is here?”
Tweed cursed himself for speaking out loud.
“Interesting,” said Sekhem. He looked at Tweed speculatively. “But I find it even more interesting that you are helping him. What did he tell you?”
“Enough. Enough to know that the face you're wearing is a disguise. Your true form is some kind of…lizard-man. That you are really from a place within the earth called Hyperborea.”
Sekhem's eyes widened in amazement. “He told you all that? He must be more desperate than I thought.”
“We had him tied up. He didn't have much choice.”
Sekhem laughed. It was a soft laugh, predatory. It sent a shiver down Tweed's spine.
“And what else did he tell you? Did he tell you I'm a terrible person? That I'm a killer? A murderer? A vile terrorist?”
“Aren't you?”
Sekhem shrugged. “It's all a matter of perspective. One man's terrorist is another man's savior.”
“A savior? Who are you saving?”
“My people.”
“And what are you going to do with Tesla's weapon?”
“Isn't it obvious? I'm going to aim it at London and watch the city burn.”
“But…why? Millions of innocent people live in London.”
Sekhem leaned forward, his eyes going hard. “That's the whole point. Sometimes innocents get hurt. That's an important lesson to learn.”
“But you're going to start a war. Surely you can see that? You'll be causing the deaths of your own race as well.”
Sekhem laughed bitterly. “I see Molock didn't tell you everything. Typical of him. My people are already dying. What I do I do to save those who remain.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You think me a killer. An insane, evil murderer whose only motive is to cause pain. To kill others. Don't be stupid, boy. What person is truly like that? There is always a reason.”
