by Sadie Swift
“Sir Percival, “I whisper, indicating the sight to him with a nod of my head.
He looks over, and catching sight of it, his hand uncomfortably grips my shoulder, “Sir Percival!” I hastily whisper, and move my shoulder, to indicate to him that he’s hurting me.
“Hmm? Oh, sorry,” he replies, lessening his grip.
“What is it?”
“I believe it’s the aether conduit underneath the flagstones.”
A chill freezes my stomach. We’re almost walking on top of it? No wonder he gripped my shoulder so hard!
When we turn and head down a thin stone pathway the purple light fades from view, but I think we’re heading in roughly the same direction. The smell of flowers comes to me and I see greyish bushes and large plant pots in the murk. This must be a pretty place to visit when not shrouded by fog, and filled with unseen danger.
My heart thuds with adrenalin as I hear a male voice calling out a query. I feel Francesca come to a stop and I stop as well, thankfully Sir Percival doesn’t bump into the back of me (although I did have the thought about doing it to Francesca).
I hear a female voice speaking quietly. The male voice starts again, but seems to be cut off half-way through, accompanied by a movement of the lantern ahead of us. What is going on?
After some rapid whispers I hear the sound of leaves being moved about.
A whisper then passes back up the line to Francesca. Turning her head, she whispers, “We had to take care of one of their guards.”
Oh. Take care of how? Then it hits me as I realise what the sounds were, and feel glad that whoever did it was on our side.
The sound of thuds starts again, but to my right. Slowly they build in intensity, the flagstones beneath my boots vibrating in time to them.
A purple light catches my eye and I glance up to the right, seeing it through the thick fog as if it’s floating in the sky. But what is it? My sense of danger relights, yelling at me to get away from there.
“Hurry!” I whisper to Francesca. She whispers something to the lady in front and it goes down the line.
The thuds and vibrations get louder and louder, but our speed only slightly increases going down the path.
Worried cries of the ladies in front reach me. I know exactly how they feel, but they probably don’t have some inner sense of danger screaming in their minds.
Sir Percival’s hand painfully grips me then, with a surprised cry, he lets go.
I look back and see darkness where he once was. “Sir Percival!” I whisper, fear almost making my voice fail.
But the Men of the Cog have taken him.
Twenty-One
Where are they taking Sir Percival? What will they do to him? Initially I think of going after him but know I’d soon be lost in the fog among the maze of plants and trees. As we continue hurrying through the darkness my hand upon Francesca’s shoulder begins trembling.
“They’ve taken Sir Percival!” I whisper, horrified to her.
She glances behind, perhaps hoping to see him, but can’t. Quickly she whispers something that travels to the front of the line. A reply comes back and she says quietly, “We’re nearly there.”
She lays her hand on my own, letting me know she’s still there, letting me feel her warmth.
My mind churns with thoughts as we continue through the dark fog. They were so close to me! What if they took me? Would my body be found floating in the canals? Will Sir Percival’s? Will I be able to help Francesca and the ladies of Venice with my own knowledge of aether? I know I can only try.
The path angles to the right and Francesca and I walk into the midst of the ladies standing before a small wooden door. The leader of the group holding the lantern is the elderly grandmother-type. I guess because she probably has many relatives interred here and knows the island like the back of her hand. When she sees me she says a few words in a disparaging, questioning-type voice. I get the feeling she’s either talking about Sir Percival or what’s going on between Francesca and I, as Francesca’s eyes flick guiltily toward mine before she answers.
Satisfied with Francesca’s answer she turns the lantern-light down and opens the door with a key produced from a pocket. She even has her own key? Then she glances quickly inside and then ushers us past her. We swiftly shuffle into dusty-smelling darkness, and I’m heartened at being able to see purple outlines of the room’s contents. She closes the door after me and turns the lantern back up revealing a high-ceilinged, store-room full of boxes on shelves, and a number of tired, dishevelled-looking, worried ladies. At the opposite end is a closed wooden door.
“How large would the machinery be, Miss Lovelady?” Francesca quietly asks me.
“I don’t know. I can only assume large but apart from that I haven’t the foggiest. Sorry,” I apologise for the unintentional pun.
Francesca and the elderly lady then have a quick whispered conversation. I must say the lady seems quite full of beans at the adventure she’s having. And possibly killing someone. All in a good cause, of course.
“She says there are several large rooms in the church. But one thing she did notice in previous visits was that one of them was closed off for repairs. To her knowledge that hasn’t happened before. I submit that that is where we must go to first.”
“Certainly sounds fishy. Sorry.” I cringe again at the unintended water-type pun.
Francesca then addresses the assembled ladies, with the grandmotherly-type giving them a severe gimlet look like a Sergeant-Major at his men when the commanding officer addresses them. She was probably in her element.
For my part I reach into a specially designed large pocket and pull out my customised rifle, making sure the Tesla coils are fully charged. As I sight along the barrel I sense the room go quiet and look up to see everyone’s wide eyes on the gun and myself.
“Hmm?” I question Francesca with a look.
She clears her throat before saying, “They’re unfamiliar with guns. Especially a lady with such a… large one.”
“Oh.”
I smile warmly at them and can’t but help noticing the hungry look in the elderly lady’s eyes. Definitely one to watch.
One of them points at me and asks Francesca a question. She shrugs, and answers, “Si.”
Whereupon the ladies spread out into the room and look through the shelves and storage boxes to find a veritable Peeler’s nightmare of sharp, and blunt, instruments. I didn’t notice the elderly lady go looking but she appears to be very happy holding an impressively wicked-looking, fishing hand gaff. Is there a suspicious reddish stain upon it? My spoken Italian is non-existent, so I don’t enquire.
Fully tooled-up, as I believe the underworld saying goes, we line up before the door leading further into the church. The elderly lady decreases the lantern light and unlocks it, and Francesca slowly opens the door.
Twenty-two
Surprisingly, as much as I feared it would, the door didn’t emit a single creak. As well as having her own key the elderly lady probably oiled it so she could sneak in late at night to have a good nose around as well!
Taking a quick peek Francesca checks the way is clear and we all follow her out, with the elderly lady closing and locking the door behind us.
Rich red carpet covers the high-ceilinged hallway to the left and right. The air is scented with beeswax polish. Wall-mounted gaslights alternate with large paintings of constipated-looking men between large windows. Through them I see the fog is still in possession of the island.
With a definite sense of purpose, and the fish gaff gripped tightly in her hand, the elderly lady takes the lead and heads to the right. We wordlessly follow, the carpet silencing our footsteps.
We come to a cross-hall and hear faint sounds of raucous merriment coming from the left hallway. Francesca hurries up to the elderly lady and taps her on the shoulder before she can head along towards it, and nearly gets the fish gaff in her face!
Francesca then angrily tells her off in a hissed whisper. And right
ly so!
Again I wonder where the men of the Cog are. There was only that one guard (who met a very dangerous little old lady, and is likely feeding the bushes now), and whatever it was that took Sir Percival, but they can’t all be making merry in that one hall?
A thought comes to me and I hurry up to Francesca. “Where are the other ladies? The one’s that headed straight to the islands closest entrance? Shouldn’t we wait for them?”
Her dark eyes look into mine. “They would have been here by now. I fear the worst for them.”
My heart sinks at the thought that if she’s right then lots of ladies have died on this island, all due to the Men of the Cog and their evil plans.
“We must do our best to destroy the filth that would do such a thing.”
I know she’s right. Taking a deep breath and tightly gripping my customised rifle, I give her a curt nod.
It’s time to face the Men of the Cog.
Twenty-three
The sound of raucous male cheers and laughter increases as we head along the corridor towards two large decorated wooden doors. The carvings in the wood are exquisite and I recognise various images from the bible. It being a church and all.
I glance behind to see the hallway is still empty.
My nervousness ramps upwards with each peal of laughter. I sense a vicious, bullying tinge to it and fear what I’ll see behind the closed doors.
Francesca halts us and quickly whispers instructions to the other ladies. They nod their understanding, whereas the elderly lady merely lovingly strokes the sharpened metal of her gaff.
“Miss Love-, Alice,” Francesca stops and corrects herself. “We don’t know what’s going on, or how many there are, but the ladies and I only have items for close-quarter fighting. We’ll be able to keep the enemy away from you while you use your gun, so you need to go in the lead.”
I look round at the other ladies, seeing my own nervousness reflected in their eyes. A thought comes to me and I almost slap my head for being a fool! Quickly I reach into several other pockets that are cunningly designed into my long coat and pull out some walnut-sized metal spheres. I mimic twisting the top and bottom halves and then rolling them along the ground, followed by holding my hands over my ears. They aren’t designed to hurt, just to disorientate whoever they’re close to. I came up with the idea after the incident with Mr Tok, during some free time whilst Sir Percival and I were completing an aether experiment. I give one each to several of the ladies, and three to the slightly disquieting elderly lady. I feel it best not to give her my current favourite trinket, and most especially not my gun.
From the looks on their faces this gives the ladies some heart to do what we must.
With a quick nod I walk to the front. The two doors have large wrought-iron handles and the elderly lady indicates to one of the others that she’ll take one door while the other lady takes the other. With her non-gaff, left- hand she indicates how to twist and pull the door open. The lady nods her understanding and goes to stand by the right-hand door, the elderly lady taking the left.
When they’re ready they look towards me. I roll my shoulders back and take up my firing stance, left-foot forwards, body side-on, the rifle stock firm against my right shoulder, sighting along the rifle. The Tesla coils seem to whine slightly in their eagerness to be fired.
“Pull!”
Even though they may not understand English the two ladies comprehend my tone of voice and turn the handles, pulling the large doors apart.
As they open, the sounds of laughter and cheers fill the hallway and I see what is going on inside.
I stand frozen with horror at the sight.
Twenty-four
Ranks of chairs with their backs to us curve from the left to right in the large hall. Each is filled with a captured lady with ropes tying them to the chairs. Around the hall are armed men wearing dark tweed suits, some of whom are leering at the ladies. Long red curtains frame a make-shift stage, upon which is the largest human-shaped machine I’ve ever seen - twenty-feet high at least. Black cables and riveted iron give a sense of muscle and bone in its structure. High above, within what passes for its forehead, a bright purple aetheric light shines toward me. Its arms are outstretched, and like some perverse homage to the church we’re in, Sir Percival’s own arms are tied to those of the machine and similarly outstretched. But this isn’t the Sir Percival I’m familiar with, as most of his beard and moustache are missing. As I watch I see him gasp with pain as he carefully moves his feet, one resting on top of the other. Then I realise that there’s only a very small space for him to support himself - barely enough for the heel of one foot. So when that foot tires his arms have to support him before he’s able to change his feet. It’s a form of torture they’re putting him through.
My heart goes out to him, seeing him in so much pain.
He sees me standing in the doorway and almost smiles a greeting, but then his eyes look to his right, toward something I can’t see.
To one side of the machine is a wooden stepladder. Teetering on the top-most step is another of the captured ladies holding something shiny in her hands. At the bottom of the ladder is a man calling up to her and deliberately shaking it, making her sob with fear at falling but also at what she’s being made to do. As I watch she carefully reaches out while tears stream down her face and does something to Sir Percival’s remaining beard. I see some of it fall gently to the floor, raising a cheer from the men scattered around the room. Tears of pain, and shame, and humiliation roll down Sir Percival’s exposed cheeks eliciting more laughter.
A spark of rage ignites within me.
How dare they do this!
The spark rapidly expands, burning away the nervousness I felt.
Treating people like toys for their vicious amusement!
Hot, fiery anger floods my body.
They will pay for what they are doing!
I sight along the rifle, aiming at the man standing at the base of the stepladder, and pull the trigger. A bolt of lightning streaks out, engulfing him in bright light. A loud crackling sound fills the air. The ladies sitting closest to the lightning scream and try to move out of its way but are held by ropes tied around them. An ozone smell fills my nostrils as the man’s body shakes uncontrollably under the onslaught. He can’t even scream as his blood boils and his muscles cook. Smoke rises from his clothes and hair. Atop the ladder the lady screams in fear at what’s happening below her. I release the trigger and the man falls with a thud! unmoving to the floor, smoke continuing to gently rise from his lifeless body.
A stunned silence meets the sight and then all eyes turn towards myself and the ladies behind me. I walk into the hall, my eyes daring any of the men to move or they’ll meet the same fate. For some reason they don’t reach for their holstered guns, but I don’t stop to wonder why.
The faces of the captured ladies are tear-streaked and puffy from crying, the quiet sound of sniffles reaches me. But apart from that they look none the worse for their capture. The faces of the men are hard, their eyes flint-like.
Now I’m further into the room I see what Sir Percival is looking at – to my left, initially hidden from me, is a massive machine, roughly the size of two large steam double-deckers stuck together, with a myriad of riveted-iron tubes within its construction, as well as two large metal tubes, one above the other leading our of the hall through a wall. I catch sight of levers on its side facing away from me. This must be the origin of the aether conduit through Venice.
A shock goes through me that I fired my gun in the same room as exceptionally dangerous aether!
But I’m still here, and the building isn’t a smoking hole rapidly filling with water.
No time to think about it. A much more important matter needs to be dealt with first!
“Release the ladies and Sir Percival. NOW!” I cry into the silence.
No one moves.
A faint pok! of sound begins and from behind the red curtain to the right a man slowly w
alks onto the stage. Another pok! sounds and I see it’s the noise of him slow-clapping me. Looking at him I’m reminded of Humpty Dumpty as his large stomach extends outwards and large amounts of fat apparently surround his body, almost hiding what legs he has. His head is entirely hairless and seems to join without any discernible neck to his torso. Only a large yellow and black plaid cravat indicates the separation of head from body.
In a deep harsh voice he says, “Miss Lovelady, I’m so pleased you’re here. Do you like tonight’s entertainment?” A pudgy hand at the end of a short arm indicates the badly-barbered Sir Percival held above. Sycophantic laughter comes from the men around the hall.
My gun swings to aim at him. “Release the ladies and Sir Percival.”
“You have been rather a thorn in my side, Miss Lovelady. Alice,” he adds with a sneer.
I really don’t like his tone of voice when he says my name. I fire. A streak of lightning leaps out at him but he quickly holds his left palm out to me. There’s something shiny in it and metal from it falls to the floor forming some sort of chain. The lightning hits his palm and seems to flow down the metal to the wood of the stage, charring it. He smiles at me, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
He’s unharmed. I release the trigger as I don’t want to exhaust the Tesla coils. How did he do that?
Quickly I take aim at the closest man to me and cry, “Release the ladies and Sir Percival, or this man dies!”
The fat man’s eyes flick over to the aetheric machinery and, previously unseen by me, a man moves his arm as if pulling a lever down.
What has he just done?
“I wanted to see what weapon you’d bring with you so I could counteract it, Alice,” the fat man says. “It will be a useful addition to our arsenal.”
My stomach clenches and my inner sense of danger starts up at the sight of faint purple-glowing light slowly emerging from a metal tube at the top of the machine, and heading up into the hall’s high curved ceiling. He’s released the aether! This is why none of the men are using their guns – they were ordered not to or they would ignite it! It also means that there’s no chance for me to use my gun again or this time the electricity will definitely set the aether off and the whole place will explode!
