The Crimson Mask

Silas

We sat in silence, anxiously waiting for the final member of our group to arrive. I looked over at the unoccupied leather armchair. In the three years since the Major-General had invited me to join the Foundation he’d never missed a meeting. He was always sitting in that battered old chair by the fireplace and so its emptiness made me feel uneasy. Where was he? Why wasn’t he with us? Surely only something serious would have prevented him from attending tonight’s meeting.

Known simply as The Foundation, we’d been brought together due to our mutual interest in the Sciences, to act as guardians of the vast fortune bequeathed by the late Lord Starkweather. Despite being a library I’d never known the room to be this quiet. Normally we’d be discussing the latest inventions and discoveries; only last week we’d celebrated James Ross’ successful South Pole expedition and then mourned the loss of renowned paleontologist, Richard Owen. We used these weekly meetings to decide who and what to invest in. Ross reaching the South Pole was a particular cause for celebration as his ship, the HMS Starkweather, had been purchased and equipped as a result of our investment.

Tonight I’d been looking forward to sharing the latest reports from Burton and Speke as they continued their African adventure, but instead we sat in silence; the only sounds in the room came from the crackling fire, the ticking clock on the mantelpiece and the rain running down the Library’s domed glass roof.

I sat back, closed my eyes and savoured the sweet smell of burning cherry wood. My thoughts were interrupted by a metallic squeak from behind me. I turned to see Edwin absent-mindedly spinning one of the three antique, table-top globes that furnished the room. Russell put the newspaper he was reading to one side and, without looking up, reached out and placed his hand on the globe. Edwin mumbled something under his breath, pushed his chair back until it caught on the rug, and stood up.

“Edwin, sit down,” said a tired voice from the corner.

I looked over at Lady Cecelia, sitting on her couch with her embroidery in her lap. Of the three women in the Foundation, Cecelia was the eldest. I didn’t know for sure but judging by the grey in her hair and the lines around her eyes I would’ve said she was in her fifties. She was usually the quietest member of the group, sitting in the corner on her couch apparently more interested in her needlework than the discussions going on around her. However, whenever an important decision had to be made, it became clear that she had been listening all along and she could often be relied upon to bring a rational, considered solution to any debate.

Edwin didn’t say a word as he crossed the room, he just tapped the face of the pocket watch that hung from his waistcoat. I looked at the clock above the fireplace, it was twenty-three minutes past nine. For some unknown reason Edwin always left the meetings at that precise time. Even if he was in the middle of a conversation with someone he would just up and leave. What made it even stranger was the fact that he didn’t seem to understand that this behaviour was impolite and he never offered an apology for leaving early.

In one swift movement he gathered his overcoat from the coat stand and swung it over his shoulders before buttoning it up with his right hand. None of us had ever asked him about his arm, we didn’t know if he’d lost it in an accident or whether he’d been born with his handicap. What we did know was that he seemed to cope remarkably well with only one arm. He swept his hair behind his ears, donned his Brunel-style top hat and strode across the room, the floorboards creaking with every step.

“What?” he said sharply as he noticed us all watching him. “At least I bothered to show up,” he muttered quietly as he walked towards the door.

As Edwin left the Library I glanced over at Cecelia who simply sighed and returned to her embroidery. As I watched the clock I noticed that the second hand wasn’t moving. With my professional curiosity piqued (I am a clock-maker by trade after all), I crossed over to the fireplace to have a closer look.

Upon closer inspection, I could see that the second hand was vibrating rapidly as if something was preventing it from moving. I turned the clock so that I could access the rear and noticed the words Frodsham & Frodsham Chronophone engraved on the brass plate on the back. I was very familiar with the name as Charles Frodsham was my former employer and I knew the Chronophone was one of his latest innovations; it combined a traditional clock with a mechanism for playing pre-recorded sound. They could be set to play a piece of music at a specified time and were often used as fancy alarm clocks.

I took one of the small screwdrivers out of the tool pocket on my waistcoat and removed the tiny brass screws from the panel. The Chronophones were notoriously temperamental as bits of wax from the cylinder used to record the sound would often come loose and clog up the clockwork. I removed the panel to reveal the black wax cylinder and gently lifted it out of the clock. My suspicions were right; a large lump of black wax had fallen into the mechanism. I used the screwdriver to prise the wax free and then replaced the cylinder. I checked the clock face and felt a sense of pride as the second hand started to move again.

As I repositioned the clock on the mantelpiece I heard a quiet click as the needle arm lowered and made contact with the wax cylinder.

“...was going to reveal the results of my latest experiments,” came a familiar voice from the Chronophone.

“Is that the Major-General?” asked Russell putting down the newspaper.

Even though the quality of the recording was poor the Major-General’s deep, gruff voice was unmistakeable. He sounded breathless, hurried, and his voice reverberated as if he were in a small room. The others joined me by the fireplace as the message continued, all with concerned expressions on their faces.

“...but it would appear that someone else has already discovered my work. You are all family to me and I love you dearly but a shadow has fallen and I am afraid that I have placed you all in grave danger.”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Cecelia take Harriet’s hand.

“You must all remain in the Library; they will be coming for you. Young Edwin, they will be coming for you first; they can use your handicap to their advantage.”

“Too late,” whispered Vincent behind me. I rolled the piece of wax between my fingers. The Major-General must have scheduled his message to be played before Edwin departed and yet this small piece of wax had caused the delay.

My dear Cecelia, when we said our vows all those years ago, I promised to protect you for as long as I lived but, I am no longer able to keep my promise.”

The rest of us exchanged glances, we had no idea that Lady Cecelia and the Major-General even knew each other outside of the Library, let alone were married. This revelation made me wonder about his relationship with the others in the group. I’d known the Major-General for a few years before he’d invited me to join the Foundation and as I looked around at the worried faces I began to realise that he was obviously an important figure to all of us.

“And so I turn to you Silas.”

My mouth went dry at the mention of my name.

“Cecelia will take you to our home, there is something you need to collect.

There was a muffled banging sound as if someone was knocking on a distant door.

“I’m sorry but I have to go,” his voice became hurried. “There are more answers hidden within the Library, and Allie, you mustn’t t...”

There was a buzz followed by a click as the recording ended abruptly.

“I mustn’t what?”

“What do we do now?” asked Harriet, her voice tinged with panic.

“We need to find Edwin,” replied Russell. “He said they'll be coming for him first.”

“Who are they?” asked Harriet pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

“I've an idea where he might be,” said Vincent.

“Go on,” I prompted.

“And what do they want with us?”

“His tattoo,” Vincent continued. “I’ve only caught a glimpse of it once or twice. It’s on his wrist where he normally wears a wristguard. If I’m not mistaken it’s not just for decoration but a symbol, a symbol of membership.”

“Membership of what?” asked Allie impatiently.

“The Blackwing Angels.”

Allie sighed, “Still no wiser I’m afraid.”

“Do you think the M-G’s de…” Harriet whispered under her breath.

“Don’t,” said Russell in response putting his arm around her.

“The Blackwing Angels,” Vincent continued. “...are a special division of the Brigade, concerned with protecting our Empire’s secrets and discovering those of others.”

Vincent always relished the opportunity to speak to the group and many a meeting had been dominated by him striding around the Library, passionately extolling the virtues of the latest innovation to have captured his imagination. As I listened to him explaining the role of the Blackwing Angels I found myself contemplating what career he might have outside of the Library. He was obviously very confident speaking to an audience and you could tell simply by looking at his clothes that he was well rewarded for whatever work he did. He was also an extremely intelligent man with a scientific background. I knew from previous conversations we’d had that he was acquainted with many of today’s leading scientists and it wouldn’t surprise me if Vincent himself, despite his age, was also a fellow of the Royal Society.

“He’s one of Wheatstone’s men, known as the Blackwing Angels because they’re all branded with the same tattoo.”

He was referring to Charles Wheatstone, Fellow of the Royal Society and Minister for Communication within the government formed by the Society’s Council following the Great Fire of Westminster.

“My department has had several dealings with the Blackwings in the past. There’s a tavern in Whitechapel they frequent when off duty - the Flying Horse, I bet that is where he’s gone.”

“Can you get there tonight, before the curfew?”

Vincent glanced at the clock. “I don’t think so,” he sighed.

“I’ll come with you,” said Allie who was already fastening the straps on her brown riding boots. “We’ll take the Velo. It’ll get us there in plenty of time.”

“The what?” asked Vincent.

“Trust me, you’ll like it,” grinned Allie.

As I watched the exchange of smiles between Allie and Vincent I couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy. From the moment Vincent joined the Foundation, earlier in the year, they had formed a close bond; a bond that I didn’t have with any of the others. Even though they denied it and the unwritten rules of the Foundation meant we never spoke about our lives beyond the Library, we were sure that they already knew each other. Harriet was convinced their relationship was romantic but, as Allie was easily ten years older than Vincent, I always felt that she saw him more as a younger brother than a partner.

“Follow me Silas,” said Cecelia as she stood, picked up her purse and headed for the door. “Russell and Harriet can stay here.”

I buttoned up my jacket and followed her out into the hallway that encircled the library. As we reached the pod-shaft’s door Cecelia unhooked her personal punch-card from the chain attached to her waistcoat pocket and inserted it into the slot beside the door. She rolled up her ruffled blouse sleeve and placed her hand inside the hatch below the punch-card reader. I could hear the dials turning as she entered her personal identification number. Once the machinery inside the wall was satisfied that she had entered the correct combination the doorway swung open.

A Pod was waiting in its docking bay. Cecelia gestured for me to step inside and I echoed the gesture back at her. She sighed before gathering up her dress and stepping down into the spherical Pod. I followed, making sure I didn’t tread on her dress and sat on the bench opposite. As we fastened the leather straps around our waists the central control panel rose up on its telescopic stand. Cecelia pressed a button and the glass sphere rotated shut behind me. The glowtube that circled the top of the Pod flickered as the gas inside it began to glow orange.

“Ready?” she asked and without waiting for me to reply she pushed her punch-card into the slot on the control panel and pressed a second button. There was a grinding of gears and a hiss of steam as the top half of the metal cage was lowered and locked tight so that we were completely surrounded by the iron cage. We swung gently for a moment as the machinery lifted the Pod up out of its docking bay and onto the rails.

The Pod slowly inched forward along the guide rails before suddenly dropping down the shaft. The metal cage rotated around us as the shaft twisted and turned but thanks to the heavy counterweight in the Pod’s base and the lubricated bearings in the cage we remained upright.

We both sat in silence as the Pod sped through the dark tunnels, rocking back and forth as it switched from rail to rail. Eventually we began to slow and as the top half of the cage was unscrewed and lifted Cecelia retrieved her punch-card. I realised that the Pod had opened behind me and so, as the glowtubes faded, I climbed out of the Pod into the hallway beyond.

I turned to help Cecelia and as I watched her struggle to gather up her skirts I understood why Allie and Harriet had swapped the traditional fashion of billowing, many-layered dresses in favour of much shorter ruffled skirts and tight-fitting shorts.

“Excuse me Silas, you have no idea how uncomfortable these cumbersome dresses are to wear.”

Cecelia disappeared into another room leaving me in the oak-panelled hallway, studying the pictures that lined the walls. Instead of portraits or landscapes as you might expect, the polished copper picture frames contained technical drawings of complex machinery such as Babbage’s Analytical Engine and Trevithick’s Puffing Devil. I paced anxiously up and down the hallway, replaying the Major-General’s words in my head. What danger were we in? Who was coming for us?

I paused by a pair of floor-length, deep red curtains and peered between them. I could tell from the view that we were definitely not on the ground floor. A large open space spread out in front of me suggesting that we were no longer in London. A lake reflected the evening’s moon and as I scanned the horizon I recognised the silhouette of the Victoria Monument, the tall pillar-mounted statue that had been erected on the very spot in Regent’s Park, where the young Queen Victoria had been assassinated twenty years ago.

“Come this way,” Cecelia said as she hurried past me having changed out of her dress into dark blue breeches and a matching waistcoat. A large blue pendant hung around her neck, sparkling in the light from the gas lamps. “They will be here soon.”

Allie

Vincent’s arms tightened around my waist as we sped through the city streets and I could tell from the gasps in my ear that he was enjoying the ride. The roads were clear of traffic so I accelerated, ignoring signals and speed limits. The cobbles were slick with rain and the bright, white light from the roadside arc lamps reflected in the puddles that lined the road. I wiped the spray from my goggles as we rode through a particularly deep puddle. The few pedestrians that were still out this late stopped to stare as we passed them by. The only two-wheeled vehicles they would have seen before were the pedal-powered velocipedes that had become popular across the city. The machine beneath me was a prototype of a new steam-powered vehicle and it was far faster than anything else on the roads. If I’d known I was going to have a passenger I would have attached the side-carriage but Vincent had to make do with perching on the edge of the saddle and holding on for dear life.

As we approached the Flying Horse I pulled into an alleyway behind a disused Engine House and leant the Velo against the wall. The wall-mounted clock above the shop doorway opposite indicated that it had just passed ten thirty and so we knew the Inn would soon be closing. Since last year’s Luddite riots a curfew had been put in place meaning that no-one was allowed on the streets between eleven o’clock and six the following morning without a special licence.

“I need to get myself one of these,” said Vincent as he patted the Velo’s seat and brushed the wet hair from his eyes. The grin on his face faded as he remembered why we were here.

I often noticed moments like this with Vincent - when he revealed the nervous young man that was usually hidden beneath his bravado. With his large brown eyes and long scruffy blond hair he reminded me of my little brother, Isaac. I imagined Vincent was at least five years younger than me and so he could have been the same age as Isaac.

“Shall we?” he said gesturing towards the other side of the street.

We’d already decided that we’d simply wait for Edwin to leave the Inn as we didn’t want to cause a scene inside, so we quickly crossed to the other side of the road. The Flying Horse was located on the ground floor of a Tudor building, squeezed between the abandoned Engine House and a weaver’s workshop. I disappeared into the shadows of a doorway, raised my hood and lowered my goggles. Vincent stood just in front of me, leaning against the corner casually smoking a cigarette. We watched as people slowly began to leave the tavern, nodding and exchanging pleasantries with the two doormen as they left.

We watched and waited.

“No sign of Edwin yet,” whispered Vincent. “Maybe, I was wrong,” he sighed. This was obviously a concept he wasn’t entirely comfortable with.

I leant towards Vincent and through his cigarette smoke I watched as two large men in long, dark hooded coats approached the inn. They spoke briefly to the doormen and then, before we had chance to react, knives were drawn and throats were cut.

I gasped in horror as the bodies of the doormen dropped to the ground and the killers entered the inn. Vincent dashed forwards and I tried to grab him to pull him back.

“Vincent, no!” I cried as his jacket slipped through my cold fingers.

When he reached the middle of the road there was a flash of light from inside the inn and then the tavern exploded.

A ball of flame erupted through the inn’s window showering the street in glass, stone and the bodies of those who had still been inside. I instinctively stepped back into the doorway and tripped on the step. I fell to the ground as debris rained down around me. I scrambled to my feet and ran over to where Vincent was lying in the street. His overcoat had been scorched by the fireball and there was a huge gash across his forehead. Blood flowed from the wound into the puddle beneath us, his lifeless eyes staring up at me as I stood over him. The building opposite the tavern, next to where we had been sheltering was now alight and alarm bells were beginning to sound.

I pulled Vincent back to the shelter of the doorway and covered his body with my jacket. I knew the Brigade would soon be on the scene with their hospital trucks and fire wagons so I sat and waited, tears of shock rolling down my face.

The flames from the tavern were beginning to spread to the neighbouring buildings. I gingerly got to my feet and walked towards the inn. The sirens continued to ring out but there was still no sign of the Brigade. Rubble and glass lay strewn across the street and I counted at least three bodies lying amongst the wreckage.

The heat from the flames prevented me from getting any closer to the tavern. By now thick smoke was billowing out of the upper floor windows and the weaver’s workshop next door was also alight. Suddenly there was a huge crash from within as the ceiling of the tavern collapsed down through the floor into the cellar below. I threw myself to the ground as a cloud of dust and debris billowed out into the street. I looked up as the dust cleared to see a dark figure emerging from the wreckage. He stepped forward, untouched by the flames, clouds of smoke and steam swirling around him. How could anyone have survived?

Without looking up he turned towards me. I froze. Silhouetted against the flames his head had an almost canine appearance with a long snout and two glowing red eyes. His eyes sparkled as if he were smiling and then he vanished. The flames and smoke rushed forward to fill the vacuum left behind by his sudden disappearance. I scrambled back towards the doorway as the fire reached out towards me.

Vincent had also disappeared!

I knelt in the doorway, his blood seeping into my already soaked leggings.

Where had he gone?

I stood up and pulled at the handle of the door we had sheltered beside. Locked. I looked at the ground for a trail of blood – had he somehow managed to crawl away? Nothing. I stood, stunned, and as I watched the flames tear through the building I found myself watching another fire...

...as I watched the flames tear through the building my mother appeared at the bedroom window, her screams cutting through the roar of the fire. Helpless I watched as she disappeared, reappearing a few moments later with my baby brother in her arms. In horror I watched as she lowered Isaac out of the window and let go. I watched as he fell. It seemed like flames from the building were reaching out to try and catch him but thankfully he fell into the outstretched arms of my father.

I watched as my father stood up straight. He turned towards me and smiled with relief. He held my brother close to his chest and then the fireball engulfed them both.

My mother’s body was recovered two days later but my father and brother were never found. I was fourteen years old. I was alone.

That was fifteen years ago. Back in the present I found myself staring up at a first-floor window of the building opposite expecting to see my mother appear. Before that nightmare had chance to become reality I ran to the Velo, fired up the boiler and sped off into the night. I didn’t slow down until I had reached my destination – the only place I ever felt truly safe and the only place where I had any family left - the Library.

I followed Cecelia into the Major-General’s study and was surprised to find the room completely empty except for eight wooden cabinets arranged in two rows of four. There was no carpet on the floor, the walls were bare and a strip of glowtubes ran around the top of each wall bathing the room in bright, white light, eliminating any shadows.

“Who is coming?” I asked

“Shades,” she replied.

“Shades?”

“We haven’t got time to explain…”

Her voice trailed off as she unhooked the latches on either side of one of the cabinets. The top third of the cabinet swung open like the cantilevered lid of Cecelia’s sewing box revealing what appeared to be the letterboard of a Mill Mechanical Writer. As she pressed down several of the brass levers I noticed a look of determination I’d never before seen on her face. The two halves of the cabinet’s lid swung shut and then, a few moments later, reopened to reveal that the Writer had been replaced by a dark red, leather gas mask. The mask was designed to cover the entire head, had black goggles built in and two large filters on either side of the mouth.

“This is yours,” said Cecelia as she passed the mask to me. “Try it on.”

Slowly I placed the mask over my head and Cecelia pulled the straps tight behind my ears. I could hardly see anything through the eyepieces and it was difficult to breathe.

“Don’t panic,” she said, her voice muffled by the leather covering my ears.

She moved in front of me and pulled at the mask, there was a click as she slotted something into place and I began to notice a strange, subtle smell. Finally I was able to breathe deeply but as I did a tickling sensation in the back of my throat began to burn more and more. My whole body started to tingle and it felt like my blood was beginning to boil. I dropped to my knees as the noise in my head grew; I could hear my own heart beat thumping faster and faster and I realised that the roaring sound in my head was actually my own breathing. The light from the glowtubes was a blinding white which slowly faded to shades of purple, yellow and orange. Cecelia stepped in front of me but all I could see was an orange blur against a purple background. She put her hands on my shoulders and as I stood up she pulled me towards her and held me tight.

“Relax,” she whispered but her voice sounded like thunder through the mask.

Slowly the noise faded and the thumping in my head subsided. I could still feel the blood running hot through my body but it now made me feel energised. As I relaxed I found that I was able to focus my hearing so that if I concentrated I could hear Cecelia breathing. We both stood still as I grew accustomed to this new ability, focusing on the sound of my heartbeat, her hand brushing against her trousers, a creaking floorboard.

A creaking floorboard? Neither of us had moved.

There it was again. I honed in on the noise; it was coming from beyond the doorway. I turned towards the sound but could barely see the outline of the door against the purple of the wall. Creak, creak. It was definitely coming from the hallway. Two creaks now, one slightly after the other. I gestured for Cecelia to stand behind me. Creak, creak. As I watched the door I noticed the colours begin to change, as the creaks gradually grew louder the purple began to turn pink in places and then slowly turned to red and orange as the shape of two approaching figures became clearer.

“Shades,” whispered Cecelia.

The creaks stopped. They were outside the door. Two of them. The doorway began to change colour and soon it was a glowing white rectangle. The door imploded with a deafening boom. I reached out for Cecelia but she was no longer behind me. The two mysterious “Shades” slowly entered the room. I still couldn’t see clearly, they were just orange shapes. I crouched, my head still ringing from the noise of the door falling in, then they attacked.

As the first Shade advanced I instinctively ducked underneath his swinging arm. Surprised by the speed of my own reactions I kicked out, connected with his knee and knocked him off balance. The second took a swing at me. I sidestepped his fist but with my eyesight still affected by the mask I was unaware of the weapon he was holding. The blow caught me just above the left eye and I fell to my knees.

The roaring noise returned and as I opened my eyes I was once again blinded by the brightness of the glowtubes. I shook my head, trying to focus, but the sound of my rapidly beating heart echoed through my skull. Cecelia screamed my name and I turned just in time to see a dark blurry figure swing a large wooden pole at me. The blow caught me right across the temple and I fell sideways onto the floor.

I lay there, bracing myself for the next blow, but it never came. After a few moments I opened my eyes, my vision had returned to normal and I realised the room was silent. I tentatively moved my arm but no further blow came. I jumped to my feet, in front of me were the two Shades, both frozen like statues. The one that had just struck me was still in mid-swing, his staff about to strike the floor. The other was in the process of retrieving something from inside his tunic. Slowly I stepped backwards away from them. They still didn’t move. I tried to focus my hearing but there was still silence, no sound of their breathing or even a heartbeat.

What was going on?

I approached the Shades who were both dressed in long, black tunics with loose-fitting black trousers and military style boots. The faces of both men were obscured by a thick black cloth and their tunics had hoods which covered their heads. I stood right in front of the man who’d struck me and waited for my breathing to slow and my heart rate to settle, then I punched him in the face as hard as I possibly could. It was like punching a rock. He didn’t move a muscle and I feared I’d broken my hand as the pain in my knuckles and wrist was so intense.

I staggered backwards and leant against one of the cabinets clasping my hand against my chest. Suddenly it became very hard to breathe, I clawed at the mask that was now suffocating me. In front of me the scene came back to life and the man I’d punched fell sideways into one of the other cabinets, knocking it over.

The second Shade pulled a metallic sphere from his inside pocket and rolled it across the floor. When it came to a halt it exploded in a ball of blinding white light. The glare faded to reveal another figure standing in the room. He was far taller than the others and wore a long black overcoat with a large hood that cast a deep shadow over his face. He appeared to also be wearing a mask over his mouth and nose and a pair of black goggles covering glowing red eyes.

Before I knew what was happening he was in front of me with his hand around my throat, squeezing, crushing my windpipe.

“We need him alive,” whispered one of the Shades.

The man with the piercing red eyes glanced across to where Cecelia was being restrained by the other man.

“I’m not sure that we do,” he replied as he tightened his grip around my throat, lifting me off of the floor.

He looked back at me, his red eyes boring straight into my soul, and as I began to pass out he threw me across the room. Crashing through one of the cabinets, I slammed into the wall surrounded by broken wood. He stepped towards me and raised his foot above my head. I heard Cecelia call my name, I glanced across as she slid a second mask across the floor to me. I looked up just as a massive black boot came down on my throat...

Everything went black.

Dark.

Silent.

Cold.

Then voices, muffled voices. Familiar, muffled voices.

I began to feel carpet, soft against my fingertips.

Carpet?

There was no carpet in the study. Where was I?

I felt a hand on my back and I opened my eyes to see Harriet kneeling beside me.

I was back in the Library.

I closed my eyes.