New Town, Manchester, 1897
Excerpt from the notes of Lt. Silas Nylund, RA.
The mass exodus from the ruins of London after the Horde had poured through the gate had not been kind to Manchester, and it was most certainly not kind to the poor souls that had lived in London. Of the estimated four and half million souls in London, nearly two hundred thousand perished in the days following the appearance of the Horde. The fighting that had ensued had caught everyone completely off-guard. Beasts of legend had become beasts of living nightmare.
Initially disbelief had hampered defensive actions. Frantic messages of werewolves, Vampyres, hounds of hell, witches and wizards met disbelief and ridicule. Finally, the various regiments garrisoned in London started to respond. Initially they rushed to engage the enemy in their vicinity. Shortly a real strategy was put together and a horseshoe-shaped cordon was formed, its apex in the middle of London.
It was too little, too late however. Despite the brave sacrifices of the British Army, the volunteer rifle brigades, the desperate mothers defending their children, the Horde cut, clawed, ripped and bit its way through the streets of London like a hot knife through butter.
Members of the Household Cavalry and the Lifeguards escorted Queen Victoria out of London. Eyewitnesses claimed that she had wept as her escorts forced their way through the struggling mass of humanity using their horses and sabres to clear a path.
Prince Albert, moved by his wife’s tears and obvious concern for her subjects, kissed her goodbye and assumed command of the Grenadier Guards as their Colonel leading them in a rear guard action that slowed the disorganised forces of the Horde just enough for Londoners on the outer fringes of the city to make their way out. It was said that Prince Albert stood holding the flag of St George and he and his untouchables went toe-to-toe with a Coven of Hags. The Prince Consort himself was credited with skilful slaying of at least four of the evil creatures. His cries of St George for England and his obvious concern for the men with him is believed to be the first time that he was able to use aether. His righteous anger aided him in slaying the Hags, whilst his love for his adopted people meant that those closest to him were shielded from harm.
As soon as Queen Victoria had deemed herself to be relatively safe, she demanded that Waystations be built and the people of London informed that they should head for Manchester with all possible haste. As regiments of the British army frantically tried to throw a net around London people poured out of the city. Nearly three million people were able to leave London in those terrible days of chaos.
Whilst the Exodus was the large mass movement of people in the known history of the world, it was also the cause of the biggest single loss of life in one month in the history of the world.
Despite Waystations being set up at regular intervals and kindly locals giving what help they could, people died in their thousands. The weak and the infirm were the first to go, falling by the wayside as they struggled through the morass the roads had become. Bodies littered the various roads for miles. There were so many dead that the burial parties were unable to cope. The people had to walk past and even over the corpses of their fellow citizens. When Cholera spread amongst them, they were doubly affected, with the weakest succumbing in a couple of days. Those that were strong weakened and died. It was said that the rats started to eat on those not even dead yet.
As soon as the disease was recognised locals that were on the route hardened their resolve, overcame their Christian upbringing, and started to refuse to help for fear of being infected. When the Exodus finally reached Manchester, there were barely two million souls left.
Those that had been able to bring their personal wealth with them were far better off than the majority who had nothing. The latter were housed in New Town, a hurriedly built shantytown that made Manchester sprawl in a south-westerly direction, practically annexing Liverpool and creating the world’s first sprawl. That year had been a year of many world firsts.
Smythe reached up and scratched at the rough collar of his shirt. The three of them stood before the gates of the New Town. None of them had dressed in their usual attire. Rich, or even just well to do people tended to end up temporarily poor or just plain dead if they entered New Town flaunting their wealth and without considerable back up to ensure their safety. Both of the men wore labourer’s clothing, whilst Lady Ashdown had settled for a factory workers clothing.
“Passes please lady and gents.” The policeman in front of them was not the friendly bobby found in most other places. This man - and those with him - had a hard face, piercing stare and gave the impression that he was ready for violence at the drop of a hat. The standard uniform was also different. Dull black breastplates with the City of Manchester’s Coat of Arms covered their reddy-brown uniforms. At their sides, hung swords and every one of them carried a rifle and pistol. Behind the Constables, an aethermancer stood and watched the line carefully, looking through a scryer at everyone who passed.
The bobby looked at their passes, taking care to compare the photographs to the owners. He tipped his head slightly back over his shoulder towards the aethermancer. “What you got Bill?”
“Scryer says they’re all clear, no Changelings. The girl’s an aethermancer though. What’s it say on her pass?” The aethermancer lowered the scryer and faced the group, slightly shifting his right foot back, whilst his left hand grasped a talisman hanging around his neck.
At those words, the attitude of the Bobbies became a lot more focused. None made an overt movement towards their weapons, but there was a subtle shifting of feet and the bobby with their passes made sure that he was not blocking anyone’s line of fire. He gave Lady Ashdown’s pass a quick scan again.
“Says she’s fully paid up on her licence, restricted use. Do we let her in, Bill?” Smythe tensed as he saw the bobby shifting his right foot back, moving into a stance that was both more stable, and which narrowed his profile. The slightest provocation could see all hell breaking loose.
The aethermancer wandered over and stood directly in front of Lady Ashdown. “Look at me, lass,” he held her gently by the chin, leaned forward and peered into her eyes. “Draw aether if you would please.”
Smythe suppressed a shiver as the temperature changed slightly. It was as if someone was walking over his grave, or a particularly good opera singer had hit the perfect note. The hairs on his arms stood straight as goose bumps covered his skin.
“If you draw in New Town I’ll know. If you kill anyone in New Town, I will most certainly know. Moreover, if you think you can escape me, know this. You cannot. Make sure you behave yourself, as your licence does not say you are a healer, illusionist, conjurer, summoner or any other type of person who actually needs to draw on a daily business. Let 'em through please Jack.”
He stepped back and let the bobby give their passes back to them. The tension went out of their shoulders as they stood to let the group through.
“Bloody hell Clara, that was tense! My heart feels as if it could burst!” Von Adin muttered as he wiped at the sweat that was on his forehead, grinning at Lady Ashdown.
“More than tense, he drew too. I could feel the power in his fingers. If he had seen something that he viewed as a threat, he would have fried my brains without a second thought. The bastard has my spoor as well now. Clever sod, they don’t usually bother with that sort of thing but news of the ghoul and the faeries has probably got out. They’re worried. I should doubt that ....” she cast around, turning on the spot. “Aha! Yes, look they have one of the old Templar suits, steam-powered no less. I bet they wish they had a diesel or aether-powered one!”
Von Adin’s laugh seemed particularly bitter to Smythe as they looked toward where she pointed.
“Steam-powered?” Von Adin scoffed. “Those suits were only ever good for mass charges. Suicidal mass charges at that. The boiler would get so hot that you felt you were roasting. Hell, some people literally roasted in their suits. They were damned near impossible to get out of if they started to brew up. Too many restraints on the chair you see, and the bolts would expand in the escape hatch due to the heat.” Smythe moved closer to Von Adin, the efforts of the Germans to contain the invasion of Berlin were legendary and to hear about them first-hand was too good an opportunity to miss.
He glanced back at the aether-suit, taking in the rough edges, the large cast-iron hinges on the pilot’s hatch and the thick bolt that they hung from. Bloody mobile coffin he thought as he tried to imagine would it would be like to stride into battle in such a machine.
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“How did you get out then?” he asked.
Von Adin looked down at him, lowering his voice. “We used to carry pistols. Quick shot to the head and we would not need to worry about being cooked.” He flexed his aether-glove absently, pumping it gently and making the dynamo whirr. He had had to hide the hand under leather gloves, and it had a misshapen look to it.
“How did you lose your hand? If you don’t mind me asking old boy.” Smythe moved closer to the German, patting him on the back as if they were talking about something far less serious.
“I was a member of the Order of Knights Aether. My family, they are Prussian Nobility. It afforded me ... status. During the first days of the invasion I was on leave in Berlin. I managed to get some police and Imperial Army soldiers to follow me and we managed to save many lives. My superiors noticed and promoted me. During the Fifth Battle of Berlin ... ach, what a mess that was. Anyway, during the battle I came across a Vampyre Lord and his standard-bearer. With the help of my men, I managed to kill the Lord and seize his personal standard. Unfortunately I was the only one to survive the encounter.”
He paused as a particularly curvaceous and openly wanton woman brushed past him. Quickly he patted himself over, checking that all his belongings were where they should have been.
“Ha! Anyway, after that I became a bit of a Hero of the German Empire and I was promoted again, to Hauptmann. The day after I was more than a bit worse for the wear when we were sent to retrieve some more civilians. We had a spot of bother with a Werewolf Packmaster and a number of werewolves.” He paused at a gasp from Lady Ashdown, Werewolves were practically legendary aether-born, and Smythe found his respect for Von Adin growing with every word.
“They were killing my men and the civilians as well. I found myself filled with a great rage and everything dimmed. When I came to my senses, the Packmaster was dead at my feet, as were a number of the werewolves. Five I believe. It was then that I noticed that whilst my sword was buried in his skull, my hand was deep in his maw. There was nothing the healers could do. Too much damage. They had to amputate. Smythe marvelled at how matter-of-fact Von Adin seemed. The loss of a limb – to him - literally seemed a fate worse than death, and the thought of being cursed with a hand such as Von Adin’s filled him with a gut-wrenching fear.
“Fortunately, I was a Hero. No wooden hand or hook for me. No steam or electric hand, I was to be given only the best. A dynamo-driven aether-glove. Unfortunately it meant that I was unable to use a suit again, too much feedback. So I was put into a training role at the Order of Knights Aether’s training camp in Bavaria.
Smythe nearly tripped when he heard that Von Adin had been an instructor in the Order of Knights Aether. One of the most select groups in the world, only the bravest soldiers and the most powerful aethermancers were invited to join their ranks. He looked at Von Adin with something bordering on awe.
“Ach, they are good lads there but they are so young, just babes in arms. They are going to grow up in a world that we don’t recognise and they are going to think it normal. The children born today will never know an earth without the aether-born. Anyway, I was teaching at Bavaria when some gentlemen from Sektion IIIB asked if I was interested in working on an exchange programme with the British Government. Und so, here I am.”
“Good grief old chap, that’s a story to dine out on.” exclaimed Smythe. “Killed a Vampyre Lord, captured his standard, killed a Packmaster and his pack and still managed to walk away and tell the tale. Amazing. I owe you a drink and you can tell me a bit more.” He cringed inwardly, hearing himself speak as though he was an inexperienced lad on his first mission.
“Naturlich, but I hear that you’ve got a good background! You were on the Zeppelins weren’t you?” All the time that they were talking, they scanned the surrounding area and people, never letting themselves be distracted for a second. Every so often one of them would casually turn in order to check that they weren’t being followed.
“Indeed I was, however that’s a long story too and I rather think I’d prefer to tell it with cigar and port in hand.” Smythe pointed to the aether- and airships that were above them, “Nothing like the sort we have now. Even that trader has better engines than my first ship.” The ship he pointed to was a decidedly unimpressive merchant’s ship. Fat, bloated like pig ready for slaughter, it wallowed its way across the sky, two outer-bladders helping to keep it flying. Von Adin laughed as one of the engines backfired.
You truly think I’m joking. God, I wish that were true. Even now the memories of the early hydrogen-filled dirigibles refused to fade. Just the very thought of them filled his mind with images of men screaming as they were incinerated, dying because of the incompetent officers commanding them. He willed them to the back of his mind and continued to lead them along the road.
Finally, they were out of the good area and into what Smythe could only describe as a bloody awful area. The streets here were still set wide apart and were designed on a grid basis, but that was where the orderliness ended. Military field tents lined the streets and the inhabitants had tried to improve on the meagre shelter they provided.
A blast of warm air hit them, Smythe felt the gorge rise in his throat, and his eyes started to stream. He glanced across and watched Lady Ashdown struggle frantically as she tried to swallow the saliva that also flooded into her mouth. Von Adin gave a quiet belch, covering it by placing his hand over his mouth. The stench was awful, raw sewage and decomposing food waste lay heaped in the gutter. Near-feral swine rooted amongst the waste, slobbering as they found a juicy morsel, squealing and snorting at each other as they did so. Stray cats and dogs hissed and growled at any humans passing them, clearly aware they were viewed more as a source of food than as a possible pet. The squalor was a hundred times worse than any other slum he had seen.
A ratcatcher and his assistant wandered down the middle of the street. The assistant had a portable cooker on his back and the smell of cooking meat drifted towards them. Lady Ashdown’s cheeks blew out as vomit surged up into her mouth. Smythe watched as, with a large gulping noise, she choked it back down, the acid burning clearly burning her throat, making her clear try to clear it without spitting.
“Steady on people, it’s just a God-awful smell, nothing to get worked up about.” Smythe tried to lighten the mood, but the effect was spoiled as he too burped back the urge to share his breakfast with all and sundry.
Further on down they saw a water bowser guarded by employees of the city’s water company. The queue in front of it exhibited all the signs of being completely broken in spirit. Lying just to one side was someone who was broken physically.
“Oh my, the poor man,” Lady Ashdown gathered her skirts and ran daintily down the street, not one man failed to turn and admire her fine ankles. Smythe’s knuckles turned white as he gripped his cane, already feeling that she was drawing far too much attention. Damn her and her beauty. Even he found it hard to resist looking at her ankles.
“Wouldn’t bother with that one Miss,” one of the guards looked her up and down as he spoke. “He tried to steal more than his fair share, off of a kiddie no less. We don’t like bullies so ...” he slapped the ironbound cudgel he was holding in his palm. One of the crowd in front of the bowser spat onto the man, muttering a curse as he did so. The tension in the air was palpable and Smythe could feel himself tensing.
“Come on Clara,” Von Adin leaned in and gently pulled her away from the comatose figure, “you don’t have a licence to practice remember.” The last was said in a quiet undertone and she allowed herself to be led away.
“What a beastly, horrible place! This is England of all places! People shouldn’t have to live like this, it’s nearly the twentieth century.” She too kept her tone low in order to hide her high society accent. Smythe winced, no matter how hard she tried, she just could not blend in like he could. A veteran of Her Majesty’s Air Service, and Her Majesty’s Parachutist Regiment, he had mingled with a great deal more of the lower classes than her. Exposure to what his fellow officers referred to as “the common man”, as well as a natural ability with accents, meant that he was able to blend in to, and become part of, any social group.
She looked around and saw an urchin of no more than three years of age trying to get a piece of not so rotten something away from a pig and lose. Tears leaked from the corner of her eyes at the look of resigned desperation in the boy’s face.
Smythe made a covert grab for her arm but missed as she quickly crossed the road and knelt in front of the boy.
“Hello little man, what’s your name?” The boy looked up at her uncomprehendingly. She asked her question again.
“Boy. Called boy.” He wiped his bare arm across what seemed to be a perpetually running river of snot. Up close, she was visibly shocked at how thin he was, even for these times. Smythe knew that time was running out for the lad. Starvation led to a lowered immune system and in a place like this that would be deadly to the child. Finally, fed up with watching he strode over to them.
“Well boy, I want you to look into my eyes. Just for a second.” Quickly she bonded with him, a small dart of aether entering his mind and taking root.
“What the bloody hell do you think you’re doing woman! Did you not hear what the aethermancer said to you?” Smythe looked as calm as a sleeping baby to the casual observer, but the quiver in his voice gave Lady Ashdown an indication as to just how angry he was. “Are you going to try and rescue every child we pass because I can guarantee that you’re going to want to save another and another and another.”
“Calm down Willoughby,” The ice was back in her tone. “I’ve used so little that it wouldn’t be detected if he was twenty feet away. All I have done is bonded with the boy. When we are done here, I will come and collect him. Now, I think that we should be on our way.”
With that she was up and walking before he had a time to retort. He stared at the boy for a moment then started as Von Adin patted him gently on the back.
“Is she always like this Willoughby?” A frown creased the German’s brow, and he looked almost embarrassed to be asking the question.
“Yes”, sighed Smythe, “merciless one moment and then full of warmth and compassion the next. A Vampyre held her prisoner to be used as a reward for good service by his senior slavs. They broke something inside both mentally and physically. We rescued her on a mission, almost as an afterthought. It took a while to overcome the mental conditioning that they had used on her. It took much longer to heal the wounds. Even now I worry that there might be some sort of instruction we don’t know about.”
“You don’t trust her?”
“God yes, I just don’t trust them! Nevertheless, until that point ever comes, she is one of the best aethermancers you will ever work with. Saved my life many times over too.” Sighing deeply he led them further into Slumville.