As evening approached, the effects of our paper became apparent. Villagers and the various strangers who come to Rothsfield arrived outside of Clifton Manor, led by Father Joseph himself. It was the first time I had actually seen the man in the flesh. I had imagined him in a lot of ways, and yet, looking upon him, I found this was beyond my imaginings. He seemed almost to be banality incarnate. A plump man with a round face and skin so pale he resembled the moon. Small round spectacles perched on his nose and a pair of under-developed muttonchops framed his cherubim face. Such fierce words from so unassuming a man was rather unfathomable. Yet, I watched as he marched at the head of his motley congregation, held up his hand to call for halt and, even from down the road, we could hear him launch into his latest diatribe.

“Brothers and sisters, put on the whole armour of God, that ye may be able to stand against the wiles of the devil. Remember the words of the good book: ‘There shall not be found among you any that maketh his son or his daughter to pass through the fire, or that useth divination, or an observer of times, or an enchanter, or a witch, or a charmer, or a consulter with familiar spirits, or a wizard, or a necromancer.’ A necromancer, here in this very manor lays hidden, as he has hidden for years within this village. But his own pride has driven him into our light. His hubris. He seeks to control the forces of life and death. Forces beyond any man’s control! Though his promises of everlasting life, the overthrow of death, seem a mighty temptation, they are lies! As they are always lies! The only eternal life to be found is by the side of the Lord. Remember: now the Spirit speaketh expressly, that in the latter times some shall depart from the faith, giving heed to seducing spirits, and doctrines of devils. We find them here, Lord Fairfax and his children. They have fallen prey to such seduction! We must save them, for they can be saved, once the evil is destroyed. The evil of the necromantic mechanical man. Render him unto us and repent of your evil ways!”

Inside, the day’s excitement quickly transformed into a somber atmosphere. Dr. Blyth watched nervously at the window, “I fear, we may have put you all in great danger.”

“Nonsense,” Father insisted. “It is all for show. Don’t give in to their intimidation. Mr. Pitt, how are the doors and windows coming along?”

“Nearly done, sir,” Mr. Pitt bowed.

“Very good. Point me to what needs to be finished and I shall lend myself as well to the endeavors.”

As the evening wore on, there seemed to be a constant trickle of new comers to the ever-burgeoning crowd. It seemed that fewer people were paying much mind to Father Joseph’s continually droning sermon. There grew a competing noise; the buzz of restless conversation. Yet somehow Father Joseph’s voice kept rising above it and punctuated with sudden impassioned cries.

“I will even set my face against that soul, and will cut him off from among his people. So it is written. The Lord is forgiving but only to a point. Those inside Clifton Manor are not so far gone yet, I will not believe such words, but they need our help! Brothers and sisters, this infernal machine must be dismantled in order to save the poor souls trapped within the den of Satan! The machine is fueled by recently deceased brains robbed from their eternal resting places. We must end this blasphemous experiment together. God is the creator and master of the divine plan…”

“Perhaps I sh-should go to them,” Mr. Dowling suggested.

“Don’t even think it. We will not allow it,” Thomas insisted.

“Certainly not,” Father agreed. “Stay in the study. Mr. Pitt and I finished our work. I believe I shall now inform the servants they are not required to stay. This is not their stand to make.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

As it turned out, most of the staff had no intention of leaving. They were determined to outlast the throng with us. I think father was truly touched by their loyalty.

The first indications that the situation was changing came as night fell. The crowd had grown to a mob but what was truly disconcerting was that we could no longer hear Father Joseph. As we looked out it quickly became clear that he was losing his role as leader. His sermons had come to an abrupt halt as he desperately sought a focal point from which to be seen. He attempted to keep the gathered mass behind him and yet they kept spilling in waves past him. Once or twice we caught his almost frantic cries, carried on the wind over the rest of the noise, “Now brothers and sisters, listen to me, please, listen! No please, over here!” The sky was clear and the moon shone brightly, casting an eerie luminescence to the scene outside the manor house.

Inside, we remained in the study. Mr. Pitt asked if we would like the candles lit for the night, but father advised against it. “Best to hide our movements and positions” he reasoned. The drapes remained almost entirely drawn with a few spots where we could keep a furtive watch on the crowds.

It was from this clandestine position that Thomas and I saw the arrival of a wagon. I watched it recklessly proceed to the front of the crowd. In the dull light I could just make out Ogre and his goblins. Ogre drove the wagon, flanked on either side by his torch bearing henchmen. The wagon was loaded with newspapers, which they brought to a stop in front of the house.

“Hoy!” Ogre yelled throwing back a half empty bottle to crash against the wagon. Its contents burst over the papers. After a loud belch and a slight staggering he called out. “These yer papers?”

His goblins then lit the stack ablaze with their torches. The laughter of the three men was soon lost amidst a cheer from the crowd.

Thomas grimaced beside me. “What are the chances they purchased all of those first?”

“W-well,” Mr. Downling began standing just next to Thomas, “Mr. Ridley did say you sold out.”

“Huzzah, for small victories,” I said with an anxious smile.

Father joined us at the window, surveying the scene. “I do believe that Father Joseph has lost control of his mob.”

Father was correct. I peered through the window, watching Father Joseph attempt to speak to the three men. Ogre shoved him aside and laughed as Father Joseph fell to the ground.

We waited long enough, father. Now! Bring us yer machine!” Ogre demanded. “Oh but beggin’ yer pardon m’lady,” he sneered. “We’re bein’ right ill-mannered louts, aren’t we now?” He lit his own torch from the burning papers and held it high above his head.

“You know what? You can’t ‘ide in there forever!” His goblins raised their own torches high. We then watched in horror as they turned and staggered toward the stables. Several members of the mob, to their credit, attempted to halt them but were cast aside just as easily as Father Joseph had been.

“Oh dear God…” Mr. Pitt whispered in the study as the stable doors were pulled open and the torches tossed inside. The men returned, pulled more unlit torches from the wagon’s seat, and pointed toward the house. Their message was clear. Servants rushed from the house toward the stables to release the animals and attempt to quell the flames. Even a few of the mob, whether due to a sudden burst of altruism or simple self-preservation, could be seen stamping their feet at the quickly spreading fire.

“The fire could spread and those men look to be drunk beyond reason,” Father declared. “It is no longer safe to remain here. Mr. Pitt, please get everyone out through the servant’s entrance, quickly. We are leaving!”

“I had your carriage readied in case of emergency, my Lord,” Mr. Pitt said. “Mr. Harlow is already awaiting your escape.”

“Well done. But see our guests and the children out first. I will see that the rest of the servants are safely evacuated from the grounds.

“Father, no!” I cried as Mr. Pitt took my arm.

“It will be alright, Abi. Thomas, see to your sister,” father called after me as he hurried in the opposite direction.

As I was ushered from the study by Thomas, a stifled cry caught my attention and I wrested free of Mr. Pitt’s light grasp.

“Abi! No! This way!” Thomas yelled as I hurried back to the window.

“Oh no…” I said peering cautiously around the drapes. Mr. Dowling rattled to the window followed by Thomas.

“What’s going on?” Thomas asked.

“They’ve got one of the stable boys!” I explained to Mr. Dowling.

Ogre and his goblins stood facing the house, holding the poor boy in front of them. Ogre held a knife to the boy’s throat.

“Fair trade?” Ogre yelled. “Bring out the machine, m’lady, and you get yer runtin’ boy!”