Brotherhood of the Strange (Kingship, Tales from the Aether Book 1) (15 page)

The past several days had been considerably taxing for Degory Priest. His meetings with Edward were growing increasingly frustrating, and seemed to accomplish little. Though he now met with his brother sometimes three times a day, he felt their often one-sided conversations were getting Degory no closer to putting a halt to this insanity. It was an overzealous mad scheme that Edward had become a willing, and now clearly, overburdened party to. He was still incarcerated in the now silent Bethlem asylum, and aside from the encounters with his brother or a guard bringing him food, Degory had been left to his own devices, such as they were. His living arrangements had improved, if only marginally. After the first breakfast with his brother, Edward had moved Degory to an office located just down the hall from his own. A bed had been added, along with fresh linens, toiletries, and even new clothing. While at first Degory was reluctant to accept any of what his brother must have considered hospitality, just like eating breakfast before, the simple prudence of the situation required he do what he must in order to keep up his strength and appearance of a gentleman. Weakness of his image would be interpreted by Edward as weakness of character, something Degory was loathe to allow his brother to witness. Shaving was not an option, as he not been trusted with a straight razor. So, it had been with accepted reservation, he had bathed, and donned his new wardrobe. Grudgingly, Degory admitted his brother knew both his measurements and taste well, as his new black suit and silver waistcoat fit perfectly. The only part of his outfit that now clashed was his gold chained pocket watch. It had been returned along with his other personal effects when he was shown to his new room. Edward had not even realized the watch was an heirloom from their father, James. Degory sighed; it was yet another sad note in the melancholy song of the Priest family.

This new attire, good food served on the finest place settings, and more comfortable quarters did little to change the fact that Degory remained a prisoner, and the brilliant scientist spent much of his time pacing the office turned apartment, his mind boiling with impotent fury. The fact that project Lazarus had not only been reopened, but successfully implemented under the direction of his own brother made him angry and sick beyond understanding. If this truly was part of Maxfield’s mad schemes, then simply sending him one year into the future with Pandora’s box would be insufficient. He needed to take action and find the temporal accelerator before they did. However, escape was simply not an option, even for the genius inventor. His brother seemingly having anticipated any thoughts of flight he might have possessed, had stripped the office of anything that might prove useful either as a weapon or tool of egress. He was also under continual guard, day and night. While his clockwork arm could be a formidable club if need be, the sheer number of heavily armed guards meant that for the time being, a man capable of building a device as wondrous as a temporal accelerator was at the mercy of barely literate thugs.

Degory looked down at his clockwork arm. His shirt covered it to the wrist, and he had not yet donned his customary black leather glove. He flexed his fingers, the slight clicking and whirring of gears that accompanied any movement always brought his mind back to the mission he had embarked on over four months ago. He wondered if he had been too arrogant in thinking that he alone could expose the Hand of Paris and bring honor back to the Brotherhood of the Strange. While his concerns were as large as the threat, his mind was drawn again and again to his young, beautiful niece whom he feared might not be up to the task he had laid upon her. The constant updates of her whereabouts and activity showed she was indeed carrying out the instructions contained in the envelope, unfortunately under the constant watchful eyes of the Hand of Paris. His forced confinement and inactivity made him think of the darkest of scenarios which might befall her, and he would never forgive himself if any harm came to her by his failure to successfully ascertain his foe.

The key used to wind the various springs in his arm was concealed within the brassy mechanism itself, a convenience Cordelia had the foresight to include in the design. This he removed and began what had become a daily ritual for him. As he had used the arm as little as possible, not knowing when he would have occasion to have it calibrated again, the task was completed rather quickly. It was hastening on towards noon, and he was certain Edward would be sending for him soon. He had posed the same set of questions the previous evening as he had at nearly every encounter. With each inquiring, there seemed to be less pompous elitism and more of the desperation and pleading of a sibling. It was this change of attitude that gave Degory pause, as it was an unprecedented action on Edward’s part. He assumed whatever Edward was afraid of, and wanted his aid for, was the reason behind his nicer accommodations and more urbane attitude. While he was sure Edward’s civility was a mask that could fall away even faster than it had been put on, it was abundantly clear his brother was scared.

A knock at the door brought the scientist out of his dark musings. The same, Cockney accented voice whose acquaintance he had the pleasure of meeting in Cordelia’s apartment spoke through the door. “Dr. Priest be wantin’ a word witcha.”

Degory sighed and announced he would be ready shortly. Stowing the key, he donned his coat and glove. He wasn’t sure just how many more conversations he would be forced to endure without any real progress. Desire to learn more about the plans of the Hand of Paris, coupled with his concern for Cordelia, drove Degory out, looking his level best under the circumstances, to once again mentally fence with his brother, hoping he could best him as easily as he did when they were younger.

Edward stood facing the window as Degory entered the office with the guard close behind. In his hand was a half finished glass of whiskey. A steaming lunch of bangers and mash was laid out on a small table, accompanied by a silver tea service. On his desk lay a small, sturdy lockbox. It was this that caught Degory’s attention. He wasn’t sure why, but he knew whatever was in that case, it would be pertinent to today’s discussion.

“Did you sleep well?” Edward asked, facing the rain spattered window.

“Tolerably,” came Degory’s flat reply.

Edward turned from the window and looked at Degory directly. His older brother looked awful and notably older. His eyes were red and swollen, and his hands trembled, making the ice in his glass rattle. He finished the drink with one long pull and refilled it from a nearly empty decanter on his desk. As usual, he offered some to Degory who replied with only a silent shake of his head. It didn’t matter the time of day, each time he saw his brother, he had a drink in his hand. The decanter he had drawn from had been full the previous evening. It seemed one of the rewards of being in the service of the Hand of Paris was alcoholism.

“Aren’t you overdoing it a tad bit there, Brother?” Degory asked as he sat down and placed a napkin in his lap.

Edward sat across from him and drained half the glass before putting it down and retrieving his own napkin. “It takes the edge off,” he replied evasively. “I might not need so much if you would aid me in my work as I have aided you in yours.”

“Persuasion by guilt, Edward? That seems unlike you. Thinly veiled threats followed by violence have been more your style of late.”

Edward stared at Degory, the emotions on his haggard face seemed to walk a thin line between anger and fear. He said no more, but turned fitfully to his lunch.

The two ate in silence for a few minutes. When he finished, Degory wiped his mouth and placed the napkin on his plate. He figured it was time to get some answers, and to do that he would need to be bold, and take a few chances. Pointing with his clockwork arm he inquired, “What is in the case?”

Edward lowered his fork, took another drink from yet another glass of Scotch, and breathed deeply. “All in good time. Degory, I have been trying to reason with you for days now. I know we have our differences, but the work I have been assigned could really use your expertise.”

“Expertise?” he responded. “By your own admission Lazarus has been successful. I don’t have the expertise in biology that you do. I’m not sure what more I could contribute.” He added, “And you should know even if I did, I have no intention of assisting this ghastly, mad affair.”

“This affair, as you put it, is far more ghastly and mad than even you realize. It is a necessary one, however. One that will help to usher in a new era of peace for mankind. Don’t you want to be part of that?”

“Edward, you are speaking in riddles, and have been since you abducted me, not to mention completely alienating what was left of your sad relationship with your daughter in the process. I have no intention of helping you. If you don’t need help with project Lazarus, then I don’t even know what I’m saying no to!”

Edward paused for a moment before he spoke again, “Fair enough. I might as well tell you, because any further lack of cooperation will mean I can no longer protect you.”

Degory interrupted, “I seriously doubt you ever had any intentions of protecting your little brother. If so, you would not be playing errand boy to the Hand of Paris.”

“How little you know them, Degory. They have taken the Brotherhood out of the Dark Ages and are going to guide us all to a better world.” He held up his hand to cut off Degory’s response. “It doesn’t matter. I know we will not see eye to eye on this topic until you know everything. As I said, I can no longer protect you without effort on your part,” he paused. “Grigori is convinced you are responsible for Lord Maxfield’s disappearance.”

“Oh, it’s
Lord
Maxfield now, is it?”

“And he would like nothing more than to question you himself. As your brother, even an estranged one, I have no desire to see that happen to you. If I tell you everything, there will be no turning back. You will know what the most trusted Brothers in the Hand of Paris know. If you are not committed to our cause, they will never let you live after you’ve recovered the time machine, and with it, Lord Maxfield and Pandora’s Box. Not after what I am about to show you.”

Degory returned his brother’s delusional monologue with silence as he looked out the window. The storm had increased, and the lashing of the rain on the window provided an apt accompaniment to his brooding thoughts. After months, he might finally see enough of the pieces to know how to proceed. The cost, however, appeared to be quite high. He was certain his increasingly unstable brother was sincere in his admonition that his life was in danger. Degory had been taking that risk since he first traveled via Temporal Accelerator to Maxfield’s office. Though the danger now was considerably greater, should he do nothing, he would be turned over to Grigori, and be tortured into coercion anyway. This way, he at least had a chance.

“Show me,” he replied simply.

Gravely, Edward nodded and rose from his chair. He picked up the small lockbox. “Follow me, Brother. I am about to show you something glorious.”

The overwhelming silence of Bethlem was more poignant than ever as Degory and Edward, accompanied by the same two hired thugs, made their way through the polished corridors of the asylum. Like before, Degory saw only a handful of fearful workers, each performing the day-to-day tasks that went into the running of the place, even when vacant.

“How’s Cordelia?” Degory inquired quietly.

Edward looked at his brother with an inscrutable expression. “She seems to be well enough. My daughter doesn’t seem to have the fortitude for this kind of business, I’m afraid. It was unkind of you to pit her against me as you have.”

“Edward, you really can’t take responsibility for anything can you?”

The older Priest seemed to let that pass. “Last evening she arrived in Sherwood Isle, where she was met by an acquaintance of ours. I believe you are familiar with John Corbin?”

“That charlatan?” Degory snorted. John Corbin was a member of the Brotherhood, and Degory had never liked the arrogant, but smooth talking man, though for a while, he could not figure out why. It had come as no surprise when Degory had learned of John’s association with the Hand of Paris. While his skill set was useless in the traditional Brotherhood, his talents as a con man served the corruption of Maxfield LeRoy well. His particular brand of snake oil had unfortunately convinced many otherwise strong and faithful Brothers to join with the Hand.

“I’m surprised he didn’t find running errands for you beneath him,” Degory snorted.

“Not at all,” Edward replied. “We’re all concerned at what Cordelia has been up to. Besides, it wasn't out of his way. There is a great deal of money and influence on Sherwood. We have our interests to protect after all.”

“I see,” said Degory. “What happened after he intercepted her?”

Edward chuckled, “She proved to be most helpful, actually. It seems she accidentally got off her transport in the worker’s area of town. It can be a pretty rough neighborhood, I hear. Anyway, she was apparently quite easy to spot, considering how out of place she looked, particularly with all of that luggage.” He stopped walking and turned to Degory. “Did you know she brought that blasted owl with her?”

Degory shook his head. He wasn’t surprised, as his niece doted on that confounded bird.

“Not to mention your sword cane,” he added. “Obviously she’s hoping to see you again soon.” He continued walking, turning down a broad flight of stairs, Degory and the two thugs in tow. “It’s too bad really. I doubt you two will be reacquainted any time in the near future.”

This time it was Degory who paused. A thug pushed him along, nearly making him lose his footing on the staircase, but he held his ground. “What do you mean by that?” he asked, a slight fearful edge to his voice that he wished he could conceal. The concern was far more for his niece than himself, even considering his own unpleasantries which might lie ahead.

Edward paused his stride again, but did not turn to face his brother, “Don’t worry dear brother. She’s safe, at least for the time being. She boarded the Kingship, much to our dismay. Her crew took them by surprise, it seems. I must say, Degory, it was quite clever of you to use the Kingship to track our time machine. Oh, yes, we’ve finally figured out your game. Honestly, I’m really surprised none of us thought of it first.” He continued walking down the stairs. Degory woodenly followed, not needing any encouragement from his uncouth shadowers. “I’m sure you knew that the necessary systems were deactivated when she was put into mothballs some forty years ago. Which means you would have had to have replacement parts fabricated, and we both know there are only a few groups of people in the world besides us with access to that kind of arcane technology. Were you able to have everything you needed built?” Degory said nothing. “It doesn’t matter. The situation is being looked into, just in case there was something you overlooked. But as I said, Cordelia is safe, as far as I know. I don’t know much about the crew of the Kingship, but I can’t imagine you would have sent my daughter off into the aether without knowing the sort of people she’d be flying with. Whether or not she remains safe, will be up to you. Now that you have agreed to be shown that which you are not worthy of, you will have a choice to make.” They had descended the stairs and had traveled down another corridor, stopping at a guarded lift which was opened before they had reached it. Turning and grabbing Degory’s good arm, Edward looked him directly in the eye, “I hope, for all our sakes, Brother, that you make the right one.”

Degory said nothing to his elder sibling, nor to the thugs who parted ways with them upon reaching the lift. He was beginning to feel sick, and more than afraid his failure would prove to be the undoing of all he held dear. Edward, or others in the Hand of Paris, had successfully unraveled his carefully laid plans. The Kingship was absolutely key to retrieving the Temporal Accelerator and its evil cargo. Should it fall into the Hand’s clutches, his one advantage would be lost. It was also most disconcerting how unstable Edward clearly was. While they had never had the best of relationships, Degory was usually a master at reading his older brother. Now, his mood seemed to swing on a dangerous pendulum. One moment, he seemed on edge, twitchy, and in constant need of alcohol. The next, such as now, he stood with confidence, poise, and determination, as if his destiny was already assured him. Yet under both of those masks, Degory sensed a tremendous burden, one that was always on the verge of unhinging him, and sending him down the same path of insanity that had claimed both of their parents.

The lift let out on a level Degory assumed was a basement corridor of some sort. Here, the floor was uneven stone worn smooth by the footfalls of countless years. They continued on in silence, making several turns and passing through a couple of heavy, rusted doors. Were he left to his own devices, Degory was unsure he could have found his way back. Edward, on the other hand, walked this with the familiarity of an evening stroll around his own grounds. Clearly, he had made this trip many times. The two Priests descended another flight of stairs and came to a large, guarded door. With a curt nod it was opened for Edward, and Degory followed him inside. While he wasn’t sure what to expect, he still would not have guessed at the sheer size of the subterranean room he now stood in. It was a vast and very modern laboratory, though the stonework of the walls suggested the room itself was centuries old. The far wall held an impressive array of mechanized equipment attached to surgical tables. Tables that, for the moment, were as silent as the rest of Bethlem. Large glass tanks filled with a thick, slightly yellowish liquid distorted the rows upon rows of blackboards covered in Egyptian hieroglyphics in back of them. Several dozen containers resembling caskets which were hooked up to what appeared to be some form of refrigeration gave Degory a sense of dark foreboding. A large freight elevator stood open, and these casket-like objects were being loaded onto it by more of the generic, burly hired help Edward was so fond of using. Degory knew he was now standing in the horrific presence of Project Lazarus.

Edward moved to an elevated platform that overlooked the rest of the large room and placed the small lockbox on a work desk nearly identical to the one in his office several stories above them. This office was complete with another nearly empty decanter of whiskey, of which he promptly took advantage. Again, Degory refused the implied offer. He noticed the cockiness Edward bore on the trip down was falling away, and the sense of haunting was again coming to bear.

“It’s beautiful, isn't it?” Edward stated, motioning to the vast room and its ghastly equipment. “It has taken years of research and testing, but my dream is finally a reality.”

“You have a strange sense of beauty,” Degory replied.

“You still lack vision, my brother. I’m looking at the grand scheme. I’ve told you before, the gods are returning. Lord Maxfield has been chosen to make ready their arrival. His temporary disappearance will not change that. At last, there will be peace and the rule of law on this sad little world of ours without wasting otherwise useful lives on fruitless conflict. Project Lazarus will be key in the necessary tasks of the coming months. Thousands upon thousands of our Lazarus automatons will be able to accomplish what no normal army could. They have no fear, they do not question, they simply obey.”

“It is an abomination, Edward. For the last time, I will not help you murder the innocent and animate the dead.”

Edward looked at him, “You still think I need your help with Lazarus?” He gave a small, nervous laugh. “No, no, my brother, as I told you over lunch, Lazarus is well underway. Our factories are in place and ready. Once these prototypes have been field tested, mass production will begin.”

“Then again, I admit I’m at a loss, Edward. If not for this ghoulish endeavor, then what could you possibly need me for? I have no intention of building another Temporal Accelerator. Honestly, I don’t even know that I could. I imagine with the information regarding Cordelia’s whereabouts there is now no point in keeping up the charade that I have any loyalty to the Hand of Paris. With all of that said, why on earth are you so desperate to enlist my aid?”

“Simply this,” Edward replied as he began to work the complicated locking mechanism on the case he had brought down with him. “Though it pains me to admit, your knowledge of the arcane and supernatural has always surpassed mine. All that time you spent with Mother trying to contact James after he passed.” He then added, “Not to mention the time you spent trying to contact her once she joined him.” The box opened with a click, and Edward took out a small circular clay tablet roughly six inches in diameter. Strange hieroglyphics were impressed upon it which spiraled out from the center. He placed this artifact carefully on the desk in front of Degory, who let out a long breath of despair. Simply looking at this curious, but unassuming piece of pottery seemed to make the entire room grow gloomier, and it was as if shadows were constantly dancing on the edges of his vision.

“The Disk of Phaistos,” Degory said with a sickening quiet.

“Indeed,” came the equally quiet, though far more reverent reply.

“Is this how you’ve been controlling the reanimated bodies?”

“At first, yes. It was Lord Maxfield who finally made the breakthrough. We all know the Disk of Phaistos could summon and control beings from other realms. He would listen to Pandora’s Box for sometimes hours on end, and then he would know exactly the words and phrases to apply to the disk. That’s how we got the first few animated.” Edward motioned to the blackboards, “After that, some trial and error using the Egyptian Book of the Dead was all we needed. Now we can reanimate a corpse with great ease, and thanks to our breakthroughs with the synthetic ectoplasm, we are able to retain the spirit and control it.”

Degory felt hot bile in the back of his throat, sickened as he was by Edward’s casual violation of all that was sacred. The shear amount of evil his brother had become part of was unnerving. Though his plans were falling apart, Degory still took some comfort in the fact that the orchestrator of all of this was safely tucked away traveling through time. For now, he was not a direct threat. Unfortunately, the Hand of Paris marched on, now to the unwavering beat of Grigori the zealot. He ruefully admitted to himself that, though Maxfield was gone, the situation hadn’t improved.

“Then this project is even more deranged than I imagined. Trapping spirits has been attempted by civilizations throughout recorded history. None of them remain today. Anyway, I still fail to see how this involves me,” said Degory. “As much as I wish it were otherwise, your plans seem to be going well, despite Maxfield’s absence.”

“They are,” Edward admitted. “However, Project Lazarus is just the beginning. A means to an end, if you will. Pandora’s box has revealed to Lord Maxfield much greater things. Now that he and the Box are temporarily unavailable, we have only our faith to guide us. That faith requires the use of the Disk of Phaistos. We are on a timetable that is written in the stars, and it cannot be postponed simply because of his absence.” He was wringing his hands and trembling. “Grigori has charged me with using the Disk, and I have yet to decipher the appropriate glyphs to ensure the success of Phase Two. Degory! I don’t have Maxfield’s spiritual gifts! I have only gotten so far… But together!” he said pointing at the Disk. “Together Degory, we can solve the riddles on this relic! Please help me, Brother! I cannot fail in this! I cannot fail Lord Maxfield, or Grigori, or the gods to come!”

Degory watched as his brother became more and more unhinged. He now understood his desire for alcohol of late. Edward had been put in a nearly impossible position, made in part, Degory had to admit, by his own actions.

“Edward,” he said calmly, “What are you supposed to do with the Disk of Phaistos?”

“You’ve read the ancient writings in the Vault as much as I. There are creatures that dwell in the depths of the earth and sea that have their origins beyond the stars. Many of these are forerunners of the gods themselves. It is up to me to summon one.”

“Edward,” Degory said earnestly, “You cannot be a party to this. It is said that simply looking upon these abominations is enough to drive men mad. You really think that little clay disk will protect you, whether or not you get the incantations correct?”

“Degory, thanks to you, I no longer have a choice.”

“Yes, you do. Walk away with me. Right now. Together we will find the Temporal Accelerator and put an end to all of this. You, me, and Cordelia! What say you?”

“I only wish it were that simple. You still have no idea the forces which are in motion. If I were to leave now, I would be consumed as dross with the rest of the unrighteous and unbelievers. These forces cannot be stopped by you, me, or any mortal man. I will ask you again; will you help me?”

“You know I will not.”

Edward drew himself up, “Before you further seek to council your elder brother, I would ask you to consider the following.” He gave a sharp command to the workers moving the containers, which had nearly all been loaded onto the freight elevator. Nervously, they obeyed and opened the last one. Inside was a loathsome horror Degory believed he would never have had to witness.