Chapter Twenty-seven
The middle of the circle of places where we had found Dodge, however, turned out to be a pile of rubble. Zambo, Mowgli, Kera, Sue, and I made a bitter, hopeless search of the very recently demolished building but could not even find an underground chamber left intact. No one even bothered to utter that eternal phrase, “He dodges us again.”
“How does the warehouse fit into this pattern?” Kera asked as we met up, filthy, exhausted, with only about two hours left before the concert.
“The warehouse?” Mowgli repeated.
“The warehouse where -- where Twist expected to find Polidori’s workshop,” she explained.
Zambo accosted a street vendor and obtained a small, cheap map of London. Kera and I had to squint in the setting sun and gaslight but finally were able to point out the warehouse.
“It has no relationship,” Zambo insisted. “This was a place to hunt Twist’s professor, not Dodge.”
“But Dodge was there,” Mowgli reasoned. “At least, Twist thought he was…”
“Look at this,” I exclaimed. “See here, the circle leads us to this center, but if we draw a line from that center to the warehouse, and then treat it as an arrow and extend it outward, what is this structure here, right next to the ‘Otel d’Raison?”
We scrambled to consult the tiny gazetteer but gave up trying to read it and ran back to the Bronze Cascade to find Doctor Mac and his Spectaculars. We had to remove a few bouncing children from his knees so that he could spread the map out and tell us, with a chuckle, “It’s the Mechanicals School for the Gifted, the one you’ve been researching all week. What have you all gotten so dirty doing, anyway? Don’t you know Phoebe’s concert is in an hour?”
In three-quarters of an hour we headed to our places. Each member of the Alexander Legacy was to sit in spots designated to give us an uninterrupted view of a section of the concert hall. I tugged at my rebellious cravat and vainly tried to stop my hair from dripping into my collar as I slid toward my seat.
“Florrie!” Trevor cried, trotting down from the green room and wringing my hand. “You remember Mater, of course. Mater, this is Prince Florizel.”
I bent over the hand of the fragile, hollow-eyed woman muffled in satin and jewels. How she had altered from the plump, sweet creature who had greeted me when Trevor gave me refuge in the embassy. She seemed anything but glad to be dragged over to see me.
“Trevor, can we not take our seats? The duchess is waiting,” she complained. I had, at Madame Phoebe’s insistence, resumed my façade of the prince of inexhaustible wealth. Madame Newsome’s eyes focused with some difficulty on the jeweled trim of my sleeve. Her expression changed as she let her eyes travel up the burgundy velvet to the gold and diamond-ornamented sash, heavy with jeweled seals, crossing my breast, supporting my supposedly ceremonial sword. Finally her eyes ended up on my face and she tried a ghastly failure of a smile.
“What a handsome young man you are. What did you say his name was, Trevor dear?”
“Mother, it’s my friend Florrie, Prince of Bohemia, don’t’cha know?”
“Your highness,” the pathetic little creature intoned, trying her best to curtsy to me and forcing Trevor to catch her before she toppled to the carpet. He shot me a strained look and led her away to join the aforementioned duchess.
The lights dimmed and Madame Phoebe came onstage. She wore an exquisite green satin gown trimmed with golden lace and spangled with bursts of amber crystal beads. Over her Grecian curls spread a matching parasol. Her luminous beauty drew applause the moment she appeared from behind the curtain.
“I am pleased to see a full house tonight,” she said, showing a poise she could not possibly have felt. “Pleased for the sake of our friend Trevor Newsome. Hopefully we have done some good for his campaign, and that he will do more good for England if he obtains this office.”
More applause followed this short speech but it hushed abruptly when the orchestra struck a chord and she began to sing. It was one of the songs Trevor had said his mother wished to hear, “Oh, a Tree by a River,” a Gilbert and Sullivan song from The Mikado. I heard a burst of choked weeping and refrained from staring at Madame Newsome.
“Your father took me to see the Mikado when we were courting!” She blurted out, heedless of the fact that the operetta had not even been written that long ago.
Madame Phoebe sang an astonishing variety of music. Though a Mezzo-soprano, her range was wide and her delivery flawless. Most of all she sang with such feeling, such heart, folk songs, opera, hymns. Applause kept breaking out, even in this stodgy British crowd. The closing song was the famous birdcall tune based upon Doctor Mac’s poem. Ovation after ovation swelled the crowd and she was forced to return three times for encores.
I had looked around the hall numerous times but saw no sign of trouble. Several of the people associated with Polidori’s school sat listening with no appearance of malevolence, smiling and clapping with the best of us. At last Madame Phoebe disappeared from the stage for the last time, Trevor having presented her with a massive bouquet of roses and giving her his arm to escort her offstage.
The lights came up and each of the legacy members moved quickly out of our seats, scanning, watching, seeing nothing at all to excite alarm. But our growing sense of relief was shattered when Trevor burst back onstage crying out, “Help! Somebody! Miss Moore’s been kidnapped!”
All of us gained the stage near the same time. I shook Trevor, who had gone to pieces and blubbered helplessly.
“Who took her, Trevor? And where did they go?”
“The hotel manager!” he whimpered. “He dragged her out to some fellow with goggles and they jumped into one of those bubble-things. Up they shot like a comet!”
I hurtled out a back door and found observation bubbles hovering outside, and a blank area where one had already departed. Word of Madame Phoebe’s abduction had spread and people were crowding around, clamoring, “Where can he take her? The thing will just come back down!”
Mr. Langham stood off to the side as if he had been waiting for me. I slammed him up against the building. “How dare you?” I snarled. Kera joined me, her sword already swinging.
“You should hurry,” Langham said calmly. “Although Doctor Twist is reasonably well-prepared for him, we may have been a trifle overconfident.”
“This was a plan?” I cried. “Madame Phoebe was bait? Why should I trust you?”
“Doctor Twist assumes Dodge has some sort of airship of his own ready to pick him off the roof,” Langham replied. “Remember that you were the one who said that by choosing the location, we can control the encounter. Technically, this was your plan.” He motioned me toward a bubble.
I dove into the impossible conveyance and catapulted heavenward, seeing that Kera followed in another one before I had to shut my eyes against the sickness that churned in my gut. I opened them when I felt a bob that signaled the final approach to the roof.
As I tumbled out into the clockwork garden an airship swam out of the clouds and approached the roof of the Bronze Cascade. It was twice the size of Twist’s. Twin black leathery gas bags supported a nightmare steel gondola shaped like some demonic beast. Red lights glowed from its windows and flames spat from positioning jets all around.
Staggering to my feet, I spotted Dodge dragging Madame Phoebe toward the edge of the roof. She turned and stared at me. Dodge had covered her mouth with his foul hand. I could not get my legs to work properly after that giddying flight but I made myself move forward, noting that Dodge moved with less ease than I did, greatly hampered by his captive’s struggles. Just knowing that there was some kind of plan did not encourage me.
Suddenly something thrust itself clear of a cluster of bronze trees. I gaped at a stag with horns eight feet above the ground, magnificently lifelike in its movements. It presented its horns to Dodge and he backpedaled. The stag pushed him away from his intended rendezvous point. Dodge tried to go around it but it pursued him.
That was when he and I both realized it was no mere statue pinned to a base. The stag could walk. Now I understood what Twist, Sararati and Tod had been so feverishly trying to accomplish.
The enemy airship came into range at that moment and guns began to fire. Bullets sprayed into the bronze trees and struck the great stag. Finally the thing stumbled and fell, legs working spasmodically. Dodge’s laughter shrilled and he headed again for the roof’s edge, kicking the damaged stag. The flying machine was heavy and maneuvered slowly. It had to continue on past the hotel and turn its great bulk before it could get into position to fire on us again.
“Surely you don’t think that’s all I’ve got, Jack.” Oliver Twist, skeletal and almost translucent in the fitful moonlight, appeared in front of Jack Dawkins and Madame Phoebe. “Let her go before I show you how this can end, rather than how you might live through it.”
Dodge immediately let Madame Phoebe fall to the ground. She scrambled up and joined me. The parasol became a crossbow like the one she had at the funeral home, and she swiftly loaded the bolts.
“You need Christ, Jack,” Oliver Twist said. “Haven’t you seen His power thinning your ranks? How many willing slaves have you got left?”
Dodge sniggered. “I’ll just get more. Ollie, Ollie, we could have been partners. Why’d you have to be such a good little boy?”
“I’m not good,” Twist said steadily. “God is good, and I’ve let Him have the keeping of me. Can’t you do the same?”
The enemy airship hove around into position again, almost ready to fire. Tod appeared from the opposite side of the roof, Twist’s bronze airship so much lighter and more maneuverable than the hulking demon dirigible. He strafed the gas bags with guns I had not known Twist’s ship possessed. The huge ship yawed and veered away.
Dodge laughed giddily. “Surely you don’t think that’s all I’ve got!”
“Look out, Twist! Stealth gliders!” I cried out. Flickers of movement signaled at least a dozen sky pirates buzzing toward the roof from the black airship. An ear-splitting trumpeting and crashing in the bronze trees revealed the presence of a clockwork African elephant. Something sprayed from its trunk, a cloying, slick substance. Some of the fliers immediately became not only clearly visible, but weighted down, the gears and rotors fouled, causing them to crash to the rooftop.
“Crude oil,” smirked Oliver. The sky pirates’ airship attempted to come in lower while Tod swept around to try to engage the glider pilots who were still spinning overhead, unharmed by the crude oil spray. That was when I heard cannon fire and looked down to see the giant catfish bobbing on the Thames, taking aim at the demon airship.
Zambo burst out of the lift and Kera dropped to the roof from another observation bubble. We all scattered to engage the glider pirates but Twist called out, “Where did Jack go?” Dawkins had disappeared somewhere in the garden menagerie. I got my man with my sabre as I saw Mowgli step from the lift, and with him Bagheera. The black leopard gave a growl that became a shriek and dove into the bronze foliage. An oil-soaked glider pirate jumped me and we rolled in a slimy heap until I got a hand on my pistol and dispatched him.
My friend the bronze ram, now come fully to life, as it seemed to me, drove a howling glider pirate right over the edge of the roof as he tried to shoot Mowgli. The great bison lowered its horns and tossed another pirate into the air. He rolled and fired wildly at Zambo but fell with Kera’s daggers in his chest.
We zig-zagged through the maze of bronze trees, shrubs, and stalking animals, still encountering more pirates but finding them less and less of a challenge as they met members of Twist’s menagerie. I saw the little inventor, flushed with running.
“Where is Jack?” he cried. I shrugged. A pirate with a gun in each hand had brought them to bear on us. We both ducked as Kera’s sword dispatched him and nearly got us as well.
A roar and shockwave signaled the demise of the demon airship. We saw a gout of flame shoot skyward and the demon airship sank downward as Sue’s catfish and Tod both found their mark, as he and Dodd insisted later, at exactly the same time.
The roar was just dying out when we heard a scream. All of us rushed toward the sound, knowing it to be Jack Dawkins’ voice. Mowgli met us in the center of the garden behind the statue of a crouching bronze leopard.
“Didn’t get a chance to get that one walking,” Oliver Twist sighed.
Bagheera sauntered around from the front the bronze cat, carrying in his mouth a pair of bronze goggles. One of the lenses had fractured and a bright blue eyeball rolled out onto the rooftop. We went around behind the statue and saw Jack Dawkins lying in a pool of blood in the shadow of the bronze leopard, which snapped its jaws and lowered its head within inches of the prone form.
Mowgli retrieved the goggles from Bagheera. “It was still the clockwork leopard that struck him,” he reported. “See the blood on its jowls? He must have run into it when he fled from Bagheera, but my old friend is no man-eater.” He stroked the leopard and the creature rubbed against him and purred.
“Jack,” Oliver Twist said, kneeling beside the Artful Dodger. He turned his head slowly, the horrible old injury to his face fading into shadow and the good eye fixed on Doctor Twist.
“He said to me, ‘Just one last dodge’,” Jack Dawkins said harshly. “But I think he just set me up for this. Ollie, it wasn’t me.” He gripped Oliver’s arm. “It wasn’t me. I only wanted to be Lord Mayor of London-Town, but he ... He’s the one wants to be king of the world. It wasn’t me at the warehouse -- It was him. Forgive me.”
“Jack please,” Oliver begged. “Christ can forgive you. You can have peace.”
Jack Dawkins did not answer. Doctor Campbell appeared at the opening of the lift. “Who’s hurt?” he called out.
“Over here,” Oliver called out. “Please hurry!”
I knelt and put my fingers against Jack Dawkins’ throat. I did not tell Doctor Campbell that there was no need to hurry.
Election day saw Trevor easily win his hard-fought seat in Parliament. It also saw his mother collapse and slip into a coma, passing away before the final returns of her son’s triumph could be gathered in. Ambassador Newsome had managed to return home and they stood arm in arm in the mob of well-wishers wearing black armbands and trying to smile and wave.
I stood near the edge of the crowd around Trevor late that night, smiling at his smile, thinking how much I hoped his look of honesty and sincerity was genuine. Kera stood beside me, snuggled beneath my arm, and whispered, “Can it really be over?”
The Legacy Company members were scattered about. We could wave at Madame Phoebe and Mr. Campbell. Doctor Mac and his Rose had sailed for home. Zambo and Edward had, with the help of repentant members of Dodge’s operation, found and cleaned out many nests of slaves. The back of the London operation was thoroughly broken.
“I told you it were a dodge from the beginning.” Spring-heeled Jack appeared beside us, shaking his head. “You didn’t get it, did you?”
We turned and he tossed his head toward the fireworks shooting off in the middle of the Thames. I looked at the Otel d’Raison silhouetted by the brilliantly colored glare. But I realized that wasn’t what the towering man’s head had pointed us toward. Next to the magnificent monument to man’s achievement stood a far less pretentious building, the Mechanicals School for the Gifted.
“We -- we forgot about it,” I gasped. “So the real enemy is someone in there?” I had also forgotten Jack Dawkins’ words in the rooftop garden.
“‘It wasn’t me ...’“ I repeated softly. “‘He’s the one wants to be king of the world’.”
“Princey, you’ll spend your whole life, you and little vessel here, findin’ real enemies. That’s what you do. But yeah, there was somebody pullin’ Dodge’s strings. You cut off the snake’s head here in London, right enough, maybe all England. But evil, it just moves to a new address.”
“Do you know yet whom we should seek, and where we should seek him?”
&nb
sp; “Switzerland,” Spring-heeled Jack muttered. “That’s where Polidori meant to move his school, anyway. He just had to move it faster.”
Madame Phoebe and her husband drifted our way, seeing the way the conversation was going. “Perhaps we can have the weddings there,” she suggested as Oliver Twist and Tatiana found us. “Switzerland is beautiful this time of year.”
“We could just make it a double wedding,” Kera smiled, tucking her arm into Tatiana’s.
“Is Polidori the one we seek?” I still much preferred talk of crime-fighting to wedding plans. Those iron bands Madame Phoebe referred to were beginning to loosen a little, though.
Spring-heeled Jack looked up as another burst of red filled the night sky. “Not sure. Want some help goin’ after whoever it is?”
“Have you ever been to Switzerland?” Madame Phoebe asked him.
Spring-heeled Jack guffawed, a golden explosion of fireworks lighting up his face. “I ain’t never been out of London.”
Madame Phoebe reached for the man’s huge hand and smiled. “Welcome to the Alexander Legacy Company, Spring-heeled Jack.”
Afterword
A note about the characters in this story:
When I watched the movie The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen movie I had great expectations (pun intended), since it included some of my favorite literary characters. I was disappointed, however, because I didn’t feel the characters bore much resemblance to the originals. So I resolved to create my own league of classic fictional characters and try to be more true to the spirit, if not always the letter, of these beloved imaginary heroes and heroines.
I started with certain criteria: One, they had to have “lived” in or near the Victorian era, since that was my chosen setting. Most of my favorites live in 1800s anyway. Two, they had to be people of strong, good moral character. Three, I wanted some racial and cultural diversity. Four, I needed to be able to use at least some of the original characters’ “true” book story as a jumping-off point for my story. Here are the results of my efforts:
Phoebe (spelled Phebe in the books) Moore-Campbell is a character from two of Louisa May Alcott’s books, Eight Cousins and Rose in Bloom. These are two of my favorite Alcott stories. Phoebe is an orphaned servant who comes to live at the Campbell home and becomes Rose’s friend, an accomplished singer, and eventually wife to Rose’s eldest cousin, Archie, over family objections. Phoebe is the leader of the Alexander Legacy, formed in honor of Rose and Archie’s Uncle Alec, who became joint guardian to the two girls. Archie, Rose and her husband Mac also make appearances in this tale.
For those who might complain that Alcott has little in the way of mystery, action or excitement, she did write a few “thrillers,” such as “Behind the Mask” and “Pauline’s Pride and Punishment,” so I am not, I hope, too far afield with my take on Phoebe’s future.
Prince Florizel of Bohemia is from Robert Louis Stevenson’s trilogy of short stories known as “The New Arabian Nights,” or just “The Suicide Club.” He is described as wearing disguises and mingling among people in troubled circumstances to courageously fight those who take advantage of desperate people. I had to improvise on the details of Florizel’s leaving Bohemia.
Oliver Twist is from Charles Dickens’ novel of the same name. His history as a victim of the British welfare system, Fagin’s pickpocketing apprentice, and his persecution by his stepbrother “Monks” created for me a jumping-off point for his growing up to be a wealthy crusader against injustice in my tale. The Steampunk inventor career is, of course, my addition. I acknowledge that it is likely Oliver would have taken on his family name once restored to his heritage, but for the purposes of my story, both to make him identifiable to readers and able to freely pursue his eccentric and dangerous career without disgracing his family, I have kept his workhouse-era name.
Mowgli and Bagheera come from Rudyard Kipling’s Jungle Books. According to Kipling’s tale Mowgli was raised by wolves but a wolf companion is fairly common in adventure stories. I though Bagheera, the black leopard born in captivity who escaped from a palace in Oodeypore and “bought” the toddler Mowgli’s place in the wolfpack to save him from Shere Khan the tiger, would be a more interesting sidekick. I will give some attention to the ability of Mowgli to “talk” to and understand Bagheera beyond Kipling’s brief statement that most of animal language consists of sounds above and below the human hearing range.
Kipling’s perspective on God and man’s place in the world are the least Christian of any of the authors I grew up reading, so I have taken the liberty of adding to Mowgli’s tracking ability, fearlessness, and hatred of greed his conversion to Christianity through the ministry of Archie and Phoebe as they travel in evangelistic and revival meetings throughout the world.
Zambo is a character from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle’s The Lost World. He is a black who admittedly gets little ink in the story and is treated with Doyle’s usual stereotypical way of handling non-whites. He is courageous, gigantic in size and strength, and extremely loyal. Though he does not enter the plateau world with the white men, there is enough about his character for me to build on the information given.
Naturally he would hate and fight against slavers so this is the future career I have given him. Readers may protest that even his name is at best a stereotype echoing “Little Black Sambo,” at worst a racial slur, but it is the name Doyle gave him. From the 1600s forward the racial cross between African slaves and Amerindians was referred to as a ‘zambaggoa’, ‘zambo’, and ‘sambo’. Though Doyle does not describe him as a racial mix or a freed slave I have taken the liberty of adding those details to his character. His crusade to fight human trafficking is a natural career path for him and a timely quest for this book and our times as well.
Sluefoot Sue is a character thought to have married the southwestern folklore hero Pecos Bill. Edward O’Reilly wrote about both in the early 20th century. Pecos Bill is a larger than life hero for the southwest like Paul Bunyan in the logging communities. Some say O’Reilly made up the stories and call them “fakelore.” One consistent theme of Bill and Sue’s relationship was that Bill loved Sue best of all the women he encountered, and from that I can create a tribute to marriage and fidelity that does justice to what is good and noble in the American West. These outrageous “tall tales” made me think of a possible basis in what passes for “fact” in Victorian Steampunk lore, so I have, I hope, by taking considerable liberties with the widely varying and sometimes grotesque accounts of Pecos Bill and Sluefoot Sue’s doings, created a satisfying addition (and needed female) to the Alexander Legacy Company.
Fun See Tokiyo is another character from the Alcott books mentioned above. He was depicted in the first book as speaking little English and traveling with his uncle from China to trade with Archie’s father’s shipping company. In the second book he appears briefly and we are told he will marry one of Rose’s friends, Annabelle Bliss. I have expanded his shipping knowledge and career as an adult and explored some of the possibilities of this unlikely marriage to a shallow, vain American girl and the changes both might undergo growing together.
Edward Ferrars has been called “Jane Austin’s worst hero,” appearing in the novel Sense and Sensibility. He is, however, a model of constancy, a man of his word, and a minister who wanted to “keep sheep and preach short sermons.” I have cast him as a mature man, fast-bound to his hard-won Elinor Dashwood, chaplain of the company, and deeply respected, knowledgeable, and influential in the English church and education system.
My principle villain is also a well-known literary character, but his identity is a secret which comprises most of the mystery of the book. He still retains, I hope, an homage to the intentions of the original author who actually created him. When the reader learns who he is, I hope he/she will find the choice ironic and satisfying. A good deal of the inspiration for the “villain behind the villain” in this book comes from Professor Moriarty in the Sherlock Holmes stories and will be more developed as the se
ries progresses.
A “deleted scene” where Mac Campbell and Rose discuss the biographical studies Phoebe gave them, a copy of which Florizel also received.
“‘Doctor Oliver Twist’? Isn’t that the young man we met with Prince Florizel?”
“Yes,” Mac replied, “the one who might frighten people away.”
“I can’t imagine him frightening anybody. He seemed so sweet and harmless.”
“Perhaps he’s a mad scientist, since he does carry the title of ‘Doctor.’ Orphaned at birth, thrown into the British workhouse system, apprenticed out to a coffin-maker, escaped to London, unwittingly received training as a pickpocket from a fence named Fagin--”
“How does someone not know he’s being taught to rob people?”
“I don’t get that, either. At any rate, this says Twist was actually the victim of a plot by a half-brother he never met. This lovely sibling knew of Twist’s real family but worked hard to keep him from finding them. The half-brother knew Twist could lay claim to a sizeable inheritance conditional upon Twist keeping an unspotted character. His loving brother Monks paid off the workhouse matron, the parish beadle, the coffin-maker, and a London fence, to try to destroy proofs of the boy’s identity, his reputation and any hope of being re-united with his true family.”
“The poor boy! Did Monks succeed in this terrible plan?”
“Looks as if he would have if it hadn’t been for a prostitute named Nancy. She at first helped kidnap the boy back after he was briefly rescued from the fence. She later repented and went to the man, Brownlow, who had taken Twist in, with evidence that proved not only who Twist really was, but that he hadn’t become a thief as Monks planned. Twist was still eligible to receive his inheritance, and he has put it into scientific research, having built a facility he calls Nancy House.”
“Oh, how terribly sad. Nancy was murdered by the housebreaker Bill Sykes when he discovered how she had exposed the whole operation run by this man Fagin.”
“What an odd history. Still doesn’t explain how he frightens people. We may have to fall back on the mad scientist position. Now, here’s the one I want to read about. Mowgli, native of somewhere in India, Raised by wolves, also called Nathoo, possibly the son of a woman called Messua. Father not identified by name. Forest ranger under a British officer named Gisborne, accompanied by Bagheera, a black leopard of Oodeypore.”
“That is the man who gave you back your stick and watch and sang birdcalls with Phoebe.”
“Did you see how broad his shoulders are? He is all muscle and spring, that fellow. He’s also the one who saved us tonight.”
“I thought so. Then that noise we heard from the other bedroom and the children’s talk of the ‘great black kitty’--”
“Bagheera. Well, on with the papers. I believe we may skip over Mrs. Phoebe Moore-Campbell, though it is useful to note that she does not list her ‘talent’ as singing.”
“Yes! It says here she is able to mix freely among all levels of society, both as a celebrity and as a housemaid. Why would Phoebe go back to housemaiding?”
“As Archie said to me, I expect she’ll explain if she has a mind to. Zambo is the next name on the list. Italian nobility, perhaps?”
“Mac, for all the time you spend with your nose in a book, you ought to know better. Zambo is a trade name for a black or mixed-race slave in the Caribbean or South America. This gentleman was freed by a hunter named Lord John Roxton, known as “The flail of the Lord” for his battles against the slave trade. Zambo traveled with the party of this hunter, which included a newspaper reporter and two scientists seeking a place where dinosaurs had been found living in South America.”
“I remember reading the news articles about that! Those idiot scientists had to admit the plateau was real and the dinosaurs were there. But they dismissed the possibility of man and dinosaur living at the same time because they would never acknowledge that God created them within a day of each other. Said some kind of catastrophe millions of years ago upthrust the plateau where the ‘Lost World’ was and kept it ‘primitive,’ complete with ‘missing link’ ape men!’”
“Mac, you’ll wake the children.” Both of them froze as they heard a deep, eerie rumble similar to the sound that had sent Mowgli darting out of the sitting room earlier.
“Or something bigger and less forgiving,” Mac said in a contrite whisper.
“Zambo was unable to go into the lost plateau world with the others because of the actions of some slavers his friend the hunter had thwarted. They had infiltrated the party and were seeking revenge. Zambo dealt with the saboteurs, who thought they had cut off the explorers’ only means of escape from the plateau. He waited faithfully for his companions to return. Roxton found diamonds on the plateau and freely gave a share to his faithful servant. Zambo was therefore was able to devote himself to the work his hunter benefactor started. He now travels in the cause of ending human trafficking all over the world.”
“Next comes a fellow American, someone called S -- Er -- does that say what I think it does?” Mac squinted and adjusted his thick, gold-rimmed glasses.
“Slue-Foot Sue? Um... perhaps she is a real cowgirl, Mac. I would like to meet one.”
“This says she is the wife of a western folk hero named Pecos Bill. She and her husband were prospectors, ranchers and Texas Rangers, as well as working for the Pinkerton Detective Agency.”
“Mrs.-- err -- Sue is known for her exemplary riding, tracking and mechanical skills.”
“I am certain Phoebe’s crimefighters need a good cowgirl-mechanic. I just keep telling myself, ‘Phoebe will explain.’ Hey, Rosie, here’s Fun See!”
“Oh. Mac, that’s not his real name, you know.”
“I know that’s not his real name. But he always let us call him that, and it got to be a habit. Never could get my tongue around the genuine article. Anyway, it says he’s an expert on all things trade and commerce, especially as it relates to Chinese and other Asian ships. That makes sense.”
“Dear old Fun See. I still cannot believe he and Annabel Bliss are married, and how happy they are.”
“Annabel has changed a lot. Of course, so has Fun. You remember how you liked him better than his uncle at first because he was still ‘all Chinese?’ It’s amazing how well he’s kept that image, in spite of being so savvy about everything. He’s mastered a dozen languages, and Miss Annabel now resembles a China doll instead of -- what was it you said about that other stuck-up thing they sent to entertain you before we boys came to your rescue?”
“Oh, you mean Ariadne Blish! I said she looked so much like a wax doll I wanted to pinch her and see if she would squeak! Annabelle was never that unbearable.”
“The two of them dress and act the perfect dynasty couple but they don’t miss a thing that goes on about them. Fun’s done a load of customs work, and knows everything about every ship that sails in and out of China and the whole British Empire. Annabelle helps him every step of the way.”
“Here is an Edward Ferrars. English. Son of a gentleman’s family, disinherited by his mother for wanting to marry beneath himself, got a living – that’s like a pastorate, I guess -- a small church in the English countryside.”
“Married a Miss Elinor Dashwood. Apparently she was not the aforementioned lady beneath himself, although, on the other hand, there does not seem to have been any great fortune involved. I’m so glad I picked a rich wife.”
Rose made a face and threw her little scented pillow, a gift from Uncle Alec, which she still kept and carried everywhere with her. “How does this quiet couple fit in with these people?”
“It says here that he is very involved in and knowledgeable about church, government, and the education system. I’m not sure how that fits in with Phoebe’s mission, but I have no doubt that will be made clear to us tomorrow. And now, Madam Campbell, since the foundation representatives must hear this proposal at such an early hour tomorrow – “ he glanced at the watch on the bedside table and
grimaced “ -- or should I say today, I suggest we retire.”
“Not just yet.” Rose put her arms around her husband’s neck and gave him a kiss.
“Oh, well, if you insist.”
Note to the Reader
A Sneak preview of the next book in the series ...
Book Two of the Alexander Legacy Series, The Pinocchio Factor, takes up the story from the point of view of Oliver Twist, as the first one did from Prince Florizel of Bohemia’s perspective. It also goes back a little in time from the ending point of the previous book. Join our Company members atop the Bronze Cascade Hotel. The time is shortly after the end of the battle in the Clockwork Menagerie Garden.
Praise for The ‘Pinocchio Factor [Reviews have been edited for length]
From Brad Francis, Author of The Magi Chronicles and The Savvy Demon’s Guide to Godly Living. Check out his blog, where this wonderful endorsement can be read in full: https://christfictionandvideogames.blogspot.com/
“I love great stories. In The ‘Pinocchio Factor, Sophronia Belle Lyon gives us a great story. I heartily recommend it. I realize I may be setting the bar of expectations unreasonably high, but if you sit down with this book, sit back and let it entertain and tell its tale, I can’t imagine you being disappointed.”
From LeAnna Shields, author of The Alestrion Chronicles: Slaves Redeemed and the upcoming steampunk book The Clockwork Golem. Her website is www.griffinpilot.com and her blog is christianpen.tumblr.com
“Sophronia you’ve done it again. … Keeps you guessing with a wonderful message of hope woven throughout. Loved getting to know the awkward Oliver a little bit better. Keep it up.”
From Cynthia P. Willow, author of Hell’s Christmas and The Karini and Lamek Chronicles. https://www.cynthiapwillow.com/under-the-willow-tree.html
“I love that most ... have a past that some religious folks would shun. ... Orphans, misfits, thieves, and other criminals are accepted, forgiven, and shown mercy and grace ... Sophronia’s writing ... shows the world what kind of God He truly is.”