Much to Smythe’s heartfelt relief, the flight back to Manchester proved to be uneventful. The prisoner “Mark Blatchford” was fully healed by the RAS Medical Officer, and then secured in the brig, whilst RAS Parachutists were placed on guard with specific orders that the prisoner have neither visitors nor that he be spoken to.
Jubilant over a successful mission, their spirits were lifted even further when Gubbins produced the torque that had been around the ghoul’s neck until the binding ritual was disturbed. After a glass of celebratory port, Smythe suggested they turned in to catch up on much needed sleep.
*
The Sanction was supplied with the finest equipment money could buy. No expense was spared in ensuring that they had the right tools for the job. In order to provide this equipment they also employed some of the finest minds in the Empire.
Smythe believed that North Whilborough was one of those minds, probably the greatest man he had ever had the pleasure of meeting; often found leading expeditions to “retrieve” technology he believed would help in the fight against the Aether-born.
He watched as Whilborough straightened up from the table where had had been examining the torque, a smile splitting his face and a twinkle in his eyes belying just how excited he was.
“Good Lord the workmanship on this is marvellous! You do realise that it isn’t pure silver? It appears to be some sort of alloy. A mix of earth-born silver and a metal I haven’t seen before. Astounding!”
Smythe knew from experience that Whilborough was never happier than when he had something new to challenge him and he had a massive smile on his face as he looked at the torque from all angles.
“Tell you what, I’m going to be looking at this beauty for a while. Why don’t you stock up on what you need and give young Gubbins here a tour of the facilities, I’m sure he’ll see plenty to amuse him.” He ushered them out of the room and shut the door firmly.
“Clara, Karl, I’ll take Gubbins on the tour, I need to get some Demon rounds so I’ll take him to the Binding Room and show him around at the same time. Follow me old chap.” With a nod to the others, Smythe led Gubbins deeper into the facility.
“Right, be sure you understand these three rules. One, don’t touch anything that you haven’t been told you can. Two, this is eyes and ears only. No one can ever know about the things that go here. If you ever let slip any details, I will personally retire you myself,” that last was said in a perfectly calm voice but the emphasis on the word retire made the threat more than clear. “Three, don’t touch anything unless you have permission.”
He led Gubbins to a balcony that overlooked the room below. On a balcony opposite stood an aethermancer in a full suit of Aether-powered armour. Smythe leaned against the balcony and pointed downwards. Gubbins stepped forward and gasped at the view below. A binding circle, very much like the one they had disrupted the previous night, was surround by aethermancers with what looked like bullet moulds and a small cauldron of bubbling lead.
The air suddenly chilled and small flakes of ice began to float through the air. As soon as that happened the aethermancers turned what looked like a tap on their arm and held then over the bullet moulds as blood dripped steadily into them.
With another twist, they stopped the blood flow and pulled again. A small aether gate opened in the centre of the circle and a cloud of lights fled through it. There was another Pull and both Smythe and Gubbins gasped as the cold air suddenly started to hurt their noses. It was much colder than the night before, the power being used here far beyond the ken of most normal people.
The lights suddenly shot to all points of the circle and then into the moulds. Quickly the aethermancers poured the lead into in to the mould. Another Pull and Smythe looked over to Gubbins to see that his breath had frosted in his beard, tears lying frozen on his cheeks where they had rolled from his red eyes.
Just as suddenly, the air returned to normal and the aethermancers stepped away from the circle.
“And that my dear chap is how Demon Bullets are made. Now you’ve seen the sacrifice it takes to make them I hope you’ll appreciate all of the other tools of the trade you’ll be given.”
He then led Gubbins to another room. At the very centre was what looked like a barber’s chair. Smythe gently guided him over to it and bade him to sit down.
Lady Ashdown entered the room and walked over, a half smile on her face.
“Relax Denbigh this won’t hurt.” she took hold of his face with both hands and stared into his eyes.
The air chilled as she Pulled and Smythe grimaced as Gubbins gasped and shivered as if a bucket or ice-cold water had been poured over him.
“All done, there’s a brave boy.” she patted his face and walked out of the room.
“Sorry about that old chap. Standard procedure don’t you know. No matter where you are in the world, an aethermancer of the Sanction will always be able to find you. If you’re on a solo mission and you’re killed we’ll know where and when. If you turn traitor and run, we’ll know where and when.”
*
Von Adin was speaking to Zack, looking at the young boy’s trusting eyes as he tried to impress on him how important what they did truly was. The signs of his beating were finally fading into yellow and would be gone soon. How long it would take the mental scars of living a life where daily beatings were a perverse norm he didn’t know. What he did know what that he would give anything for a chance to visit Exeter and the boy’s sadistic former master again.
“What we do here is very important. The Queen Victoria herself founded this organisation to ensure that your great British Empire is kept safe.
You too are part of this organisation. For now, you will with Miss Middleton there. She will be taking you to a very special school where you will learn all the skills needed to defend your country. Good luck little man.”
They solemnly shook hands and then Miss Middleton led Zack from the room. Clearing his throat Von Adin cursed at the dust making his eyes water and left after them. Looking at his timepiece he realised he was late for a briefing and headed back to the examination room.
Entering it he saw that a number of other cells had joined the briefing. Being relatively new to the Sanction, he had no idea as to who anyone was so – rather than embarrass himself by breaking any number of British social etiquette rules – he contented himself with a brief nod to any that met his eyes, and made his way to join the others.
Standing by his comfortable chair, he leaned on the back, watching as Whilborough and the Professor entered the room and stood at the front of those gathered. When the room was so silent you could hear a pin drop onto a mattress, the Professor cleared his throat and spoke.
“Sit down please ladies and gentlemen. If you are comfortable, I shall begin.
“The torques are made from the purest silver - taken from the Royal mines in Bere Ferres - and a metal that we have not come across before. We believe that it is an aether-born metal. The metals are forged into what we refer to as a torque. These can literally be any size depending on the size of the creature being bound.
Makes sense, having seen them used on humans, Vampyres and ghouls, I’d hate to see them used on anything bigger. God forbid the enemy get their hands on a Draco! The very thought sent chills down his spine.
“An aether-born is either summoned through an aether-gate created for the purpose, or captured and placed into a sealed circle. At the centre of the circle is a sacrifice. It appears that the sacrifice has to be the death of an innocent. The circle in Exeter used a young baby. It is a fusion of the life force from the sacrifice - their very soul - and the aether that binds the subject. We believe that the more powerful the subject, such as the Vampyre in Dartmoor, the bigger the sacrifice has to be. This behaviour is abhorrent, and just goes to show to what depths the enemy will sink to achieve their objective.”
Even now, images of the dead baby sprang into Von Adin’s mind unbidden. To know that men had knowingly killed the baby, men who mixed with all members of society on a daily basis, who probably had children of their own, made his stomach roil with acid. He smiled as more images of Lady Ashdown aether-gutting the men . He hoped with all of his heart that their deaths had been slow and painful.
“Now, a number of cells have been busy combatting these torqued creatures. It appears the there are many more than we thought and that the enemy is far more numerous and better organised than we thought. This is not a one-man-band, this is a dedicated and insidious attempt to destabilise Britain. To replace Her Majesty and Her Majesty’s government no less!” Dextor paused as a collective gasp filled the room. Voices mumbled and muttered as those present tried to take in what he had said. All present knew that the Empire had enemies, but to know that the greatest enemy they currently faced was most likely home grown was a shock.
Once the room had quietened down, Whilborough stepped forward to continue the briefing “Fortunately, we have a prisoner, thanks to the hard work of a cell that went to Exeter. We are currently speaking to the prisoner in order to learn more.
For now, we believe that the threat is limited to these shores. To be certain however, we are warning those cells in foreign climes to be on the lookout for any activity. We will also be sending a number of those present here to those cells with simulcras of the torques.
That is all. Please leave cell-by-cell. You will receive your assignments as you leave.” Whilborough picked up a glass of water and toasted them all before taking a sip.
Outside of the room, Von Adin and the others paused as Smythe was handed a sealed courier packet and given a key with a numbered tag. He led the others to the door corresponding to the number, unlocked it and ushered them inside. The door shut and Von Adin shook his head as his ears popped at the sudden change in pressure.
Cell briefing rooms were very comfortably appointed. Plush leather armchairs were situated around the room, and maps and bookshelves took up nearly all of the wall space. At the centre of the room was a sand table roughly the size of a billiards table. Von Adin plonked himself into a chair with a sigh of contentment, helping himself to a glass of whiskey and gesturing to Gubbins to do the same.
Von Adin watched Smythe broke the seal on the package and read the letter inside, flicking through the rest of the documents contained within, a smile spreading across his face.
“Good news people. It appears that we have established a connection between Berre Feres and Mr Mark Blatchford. Berre Feres was entrusted to a Lord Dorian Miles to run, and the soon-to-be deceased Mr Mark Blatchford was a clerk in the employ of company also run by Lord Dorian Miles.”
“But he’s one of Her Majesty’s most vocal and loyal supporters! He helped suppress the 1889 Revolution in the Australian New Territories!” From her incredulous tone, it was clear to Von Adin that Lady Ashdown could not believe what she was hearing. Even he was struggling with the revelation, or suspicion that someone such as Lord Miles could be involved. He was one of the most highly decorated men in the Empire. He had been made an Imperial Freeman, able to travel to any point of the Empire for free and at will. As a powerful aethermancer and distinguished member of the Knights Aether, he was a true hero.
Smythe made calming motions with his hands, waiting for Lady Ashdown to sit back down before continuing. “Fortunately your faith in the defenders of the Empire can remain steadfast. Lord Miles has undergone voluntary questioning by aethermancers, and has been found to be completely innocent.
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It appears that although there are strong links to his companies, Lord Miles has been exonerated. He has given us his full cooperation and said he will offer any help or information freely. He’s just as hungry as us to find these people.
Our mission is to investigate the ore processing plant in Cornwall, near to Newquay. We’re to fly down using one of our own airships. It seems that we delayed some RAS manoeuvre or other when we diverted our previous flight. Get some rest, we depart at six tomorrow morning.”
*
The next day saw Smythe looking in admiration at the airship they had been assigned. It was a dual-purpose ship, which meant that it could both fly and float. Heavy armour protected its sides and deck from enemy cannon fire and the double bladders rose from the centre of the deck under an armoured dome. Two powerful engines were mounted on each of the sweptback wings and a further two were mounted on the stern.
The Queen’s Pride was clearly designed for speed and stealth. Her lower hull was painted a light blue with upper hull being a grass green. Black canvass hung rolled up, ready to be dropped over the side for night flying.
God this is a beautiful ship. I might not like much of the new technology, but this gal is everything a man could dream of! He ran his hand along a rail, enjoying the feel of the polished wood as it slid under his palm, pride at British engineering filling his heart.
Her weapons were just as impressive as her lines. Mounted to the sides of her bow were two double sponsons, the upper sponson sported the latest eight-barrel Gatling gun whilst the lower sponson had a 6-pounder. At the stern was the same. On the deck were a further four Gatling gun points giving her an anti-boarding and anti-aircraft facility.
God, those guns would tear a man apart in seconds. If only we’d had those at the start, we could have saved a lot more of our own people. He pushed the regret to the back of his mind as he continued to wander, knowing that all of this meant that she would be able to deal some telling blows whilst using her engines and sleek hull to get herself out of trouble.
The captain saluted them as they boarded and led them to the guest quarters. As he did so, he informed them that the crew of thirty were multi-skilled and could man any station on the ship if so required, whilst the guest quarters were in the centre of the ship, sandwiched between the twin bladders and the armour. The crew quarters were on the less protected outer hull.
“By God, Captain you have a fine ship here!” Smythe could not contain his excitement any longer. He was standing on a prime example of British engineering and one of the reasons that the British Empire had lasted in the face of the aether-born.
“Thank you sir. She’s got us out of a number of scrapes without the loss of single man. She can average a top speed of fifty miles per hour and can out run any ship of the line. We even out-dove a Gargoyle once, although that put her in the dock for a couple of weeks.”
He left them to get comfortable and settled in for the journey.
*
The first Smythe knew that they were coming under attack was the sudden ringing of the alarm bells and the speaking tubes bellowing out the command for all crew to man their action stations.
Springing out of their hammocks they quickly donned their assigned flying suits and raced up the narrow stairs to the top deck. As soon as he wrenched the door open, Smythe was were hit by the cold. Unlike hot air balloon flights where the people in the basket feel no breeze or real sense of movement, powered flight caused a distinct breeze. Coupled with high altitude this was more than guaranteed to take a man’s breath away. Smythe gasped, wincing as the cold air seemed to chill his very bones.
“Masks, put on your masks!” following his own advice he pulled the across the wool-lined breathing mask, sealing his face and eyes against the biting cold.
Might cut down on visibility, but I’ll settle for that over frozen eyeballs any time.
Stepping onto the deck he flinched, startled by a flash of list as the Gatling guns on the port side opened fire, spitting a mix of firefly and incendiary towards their incoming attackers.
Following the flight of the bullets, as well as the light from a massive searchlight, he saw that flying towards them was a flock of Gargoyles and their Grotesque riders. As the firefly arced in their direction, they started to roll and wheel.
The stern and deck mounted Gatling guns joined in and Smythe clapped his hands in delight as two streams of bullets met and then converged onto on target. There was a puff of blood as the bullets cut into the gargoyle’s wing, completely severing it. As the wing spiralled down to the ground like a sycamore seed, the rest of the gargoyle and its riders plummeted to the ground below.
“Take that you aether-born bastard!” Adrenalin was flooding through his veins and he found his body responding in the way it had been trained, How I wish I was on one of those marvelous guns!
Another Gatling gun scored a hit on a Grotesque, ripping through its chest armour and blowing its right arm off at the elbow. The Gargoyle mount screeched and tried to roll as yet more rounds gouged holes out of its flesh. The firefly rounds continued to glow, even as they burned the creature’s flesh and no matter how hard it tried to hide in the darkness, they gave away its position.
Things weren’t entirely one sided however and the grotesques started to return fire with their large bore rifles whilst the gargoyles started to launch their iron hard nails from their four sets of fore claws.
Smythe ducked instinctively as one of the rifle rounds hit a crewman near to Von Adin, completely blowing a hole the size of a man’s fist out of his back.
“Clara! Do what you can to save the poor bugger!”
Another crew man screamed and fell to the desk as the claw tips punched into and through him in a fountain of blood, down puffed out of the jacket, filling the air with fine feathers before they were whipped away in the breeze.
Smythe reached up and touched his face a claw tip had scored its way across his cheekbone.
I was bloody lucky there, another quarter inch and I’d have lost an eye at the very least.
Due to the cold, as well as the insulating layers of his flying suit, he barely felt it as Lady Ashdown Pulled and started pushing fireballs out in a near continuous stream. He had to give the grotesques credit, they were amazing flyers and returned fire even as they were forced to roll, loop and spin in order to avoid being incinerated.
“Ware to starboard! Ware to starboard!” A crew man sprinted past him carrying a box filled with magazines for the Gatling guns, shouting as he went past.
The deck shook as both of the starboard 6-pounders opened fire, the Gatling guns adding their staccato voices to the symphony of battle. Smythe turned and his jaw dropped as he saw another flight of gargoyles, thus time accompanied by a Draco, a dragon out of legend.
My God but they’re big bastards. He realised that his mouth was hanging open and closed it with a snap. Something primordial in him wanted to do nothing more than run and hide.
There was a surge of power beneath his feet as he felt the engines being pushed to their limits. The Captain appeared at his shoulder and leaned close to shout, “We’re going to have to try to outrun them sir. Beautiful as she is my Lady simply cannot stand up to a Draco on its own, let alone with so many escorts.”
As stream of aether vomited from the Draco’s mouth and the ship suddenly pitched its bow down in a desperate dive to avoid the worst. Even so, there was a loud bang and shards of armour plating from the hull scythed across the deck. Smoke belched out from the hole and a man could be heard screaming as he burned to death.
Scrambling back to his feet, the Captain leaned back in “I’ve had a whisper sent out to all RAS ships and Landing Ports in the vicinity. We’ve also turned towards the nearest Landing Port, hopefully we can get away from these bastards!”
He was about to say more when a claw tip ripped out his throat. Hot blood showered Smythe causing him to stagger back as it splashed onto his face, blinding him for a second. Even as he was wiping them clear, he drew his pistol and fired towards where he had heard the sound of metal-cleated boots biting into the wooden deck.
There was a curse as at least one shot hit home. Blinking, Smythe saw a grotesque gripping its shattered arm. Before it could open its mouth to blast him with power of its voice, he shot it twice in the face.
Fucking bastards are tenacious. How the Hell did they even find us? What’s more, how they Hell did they get past the Curtain?
There was a roar of bestial anger and he spun on the spot. In front of him was a severely injured gargoyle. With a quick slash, the beast cut through his outer flying suit scoring sparks off the light chain mail within. The blow was enough to knock him to the floor severely winded, and he writhed on the deck as his lungs tried to work.
He screamed in fear as the beast lunged forward, its maw opened wide enough to bite him in half. There was a sudden blur of movement from the side and he woofed as a great weight dropped into his groin. Weakly opened his eyes to see that a crewman had cut the beast’s head off with a billhook. The man looked down at him, reaching a hand out to help him up.
“Come on now sir, we can’t have you setting a bad example to the lads now can we? With the Captain and XO,” he gestured towards another part of the deck “dead you’re ranking officer.”
Smythe wiped the gargoyle’s blood from his groin, thankful that his coddes were still in one piece. The realisation that he was in command filled him with energy. I hope to God that he didn’t hear me scream like a virgin on her first night!
There was more smoke coming from the deck and a number of bodies littered the deck. He staggered as another explosion rocked the ship, shards of metal and splinters of wood shooting from where the starboard bow sponson had taken a direct hit, the concussive force blowing the remains of the Gatling gun crew through the vision slits.
The Draco raced overhead and Smythe realised that there was a human aethermancer riding it. Lady Ashdown was still launching aether at their attackers but it was clear she was starting to become drained.
“Ware to the bow! Enemy to the Bow!” A crewman was pointing dead ahead and Smythe’s heart felt as though it had dropped into his boots as he saw another flight of gargoyles directly in their path.
He turned to the crewman who had helped him up, realising that he was a Bosun, “Can we get the engine room to push the engines any harder, Bosun?” the Bosun had a face that looked as though it was carved from wood, craggy and lined where years of exposure to the elements had made their mark.
“Regretfully no sir. They’re starting to burn out as it is. If we push them harder we’ll just end destroying ourselves. I suppose it would save those buggers the effort though.” The bosun laughed as his own joke before saluting and running off to help with putting out a small fire.
Smythe ran towards the bridge and pulled on the buckled door with all his might, grunting as the bent metal finally gave way and opened. Stepping through into the relative warmth of the bridge he pulled his mask from his face and stepped over towards a man strapped into a large leather chair.
“Pilot, I’m assuming command of the ship. Sound the diving klaxon and get this ship as low to the ground as fast as you can.”
The man obeyed without question and slammed his hand down onto the warning button. There was an intense wailing sound that set Smythe’s teeth on edge, and he grabbed for a handhold as the pilot pushed the ship’s wheel as forward as it would go. The effect was immediate. The ship appeared to spin on a pin as the nose dipped down at an angle of seventy-five degrees.
Smythe grimaced as he watched the bodies of friend and foe alike on the deck tumble down and over the bow, some bouncing as they hit an obstruction before flipping out into the night. Grabbing hold of a spare viewing scope, Smythe turned to the rear and watched as the Draco and the gargoyles already attacking them were thrown into confusion for a minute by the sudden manoeuvre. It appeared that the ship’s gunners were just as confused. Aether and bullets alike hissed impotently through the air.
Spinning back to the front Smythe watched as the gargoyles flying in from the front also dived, the grotesques started to fire in front of the ship, scoring hits as it flew into the path of their shots. There was a massive explosion on the bow and Smythe and the pilot flinched as chunks of shrapnel rattled off the armoured windows.
“Jesus Christ that was close.” Smythe wiped away the sweat that was suddenly running down his face. Although he was used to combat, the last couple of days had been particularly strenuous and he was starting to think that early retirement would be a good idea.
There was a flare of light ahead of them and what looked like a firework streaked towards them. Tired as he was, it took Smythe a few vital seconds to realised that their new attackers were using rockets. He watched helplessly as another rocket was launched and sighed in relief as both hissed past harmlessly.
There was a sudden beeping noise behind him and he realised that the bridge also housed the Morse code station. The operator gave a relieved shout.
“Sir! Church of England Airship Deliver us from Evil requests that we level out and head towards two o’clock.” The ship lurched as the pilot started to comply straight away, not wanting to waste previous seconds whilst Smythe confirmed the order.
“Take this down and send,” Smythe could not believe how relieved he felt at the news. What had seemed to be their final battle was turning out to hopefully be yet another skirmish in the annals of the Sanction, “Message. Will comply immediately stop. You are a God-send stop. Give them the name of our aethermancer as well.”
A solid fuel Flitter shot past them, a stream of bullets hosing through the sky to cut into the gargoyles ahead. More Flitters overtook the airship, their gunners in their noses adding their firepower to that of their companion as they edged into a wedge formation
What remained of the gargoyles was forced to scatter in all directions as the bullets from the Flitters shredded mount and rider alike, sending them plunging to the ground thousands of feet below.
“Bloody hell! Look at that sir!” the pilot sounded as relieved and excited as Smythe felt and he watched as the Flitters pulled up sharply in a loop, rolling at the top of the loop so that they were the right way up and heading directly back towards the airship. The glow of their solid fuel rockets resembled nothing less than halos.
Today, I’ll gladly call them angels of deliverance. He could not help but smile at how he knew the pilots would react at being told that, These holier-than-thou types really are touchy about that sort of thing.
He shouted in surprise as the Flitters opened fire at targets behind the Sanction ship, barely missing her as they rocketed over her deck. Of the Draco and its rider, Smythe could see no sign. He grabbed the viewing scope and did a three hundred and sixty degree scan. The air appeared to be completely empty of enemy flyers.
The ship’s aethermancer stepped into the bridge. “Just had a whisper sir, We’re to climb to two thousand feet and heave to.” Smythe hadn’t realised just how low they had dived to and leaned forward to see what was above him.
“Good God!” the airship hanging above them was simply massive, there was no other word that could describe it. The Deliver Us From Evil was a Leviathan class airship. At least another twenty Flitters hung nose down from their launching bays and two Sloops were in the process of detaching themselves in order to recover the Flitters that had saved him.
“Bishop Magnus also says that he would very much like to discuss the Torques.”