Syndicatus Evolutio Read online

  Shadow Phoenix

  Episode II: Syndicatus Evolutio

  MJ Moores

  Shadow Phoenix Volume 1, Episode 2: Syndicatus Evolutio

  Copyright © Melissa J. Moores, 2019

  Published by Infinite Pathways Press 2019

  P.O. Box 4, Caledon Village, ON Canada L7K 3L3

  eISBN 978-1-988044-14-9

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.

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  TABLE of CONTENTS

  Title Page

  Copyright

  Blurb

  Author’s Note

  Chapter 1 ~ Twenty Questions

  Chapter 2 ~ You’ll Light Fire to My What?

  Chapter 3 ~ The Mad Hatter

  Chapter 4 ~ Whose Rules are We Breaking?

  Chapter 5 ~ Hurry Up and Wait

  Chapter 6 ~ Clear Skies with a Chance of Falling Bodies

  Chapter 7 ~ In the News

  Books

  Shadow Phoenix Volume 1

  Episode II

  Syndicatus Evolutio

  A police constable stalking Bennett’s front door sends off a zillion warnings in Louisa’s head. What she discovers inside churns her guts, and now she has to deal with an Inspector who sees her only as a nuisance.

  Louisa knows there’s more going on than either gentleman is willing to reveal. She must don her alter-ego to eke out the truth. But can she save Bennett’s cloud-seeding experiment before his rival dominates the skies?

  A New Steampunk Serial

  This is the second installment of eight short-story-length episodes that link together to form a complete novel or volume. As Charles Dickens once wrote in batches of chapters for the local paper, this story will be revealed similarly via electronic episodes.

  Each “short read” is intended to have both a general conclusion to the immediate story line, and a through-story that links to a larger, over-arching, plot.

  It is my hope that readers who prefer shorter pieces, or who only have a limited time to read, will feel satisfied with each separate episode while looking forward to the next installment.

  Happy reading.

  Sincerely,

  MJ Moores

  SHADOW PHOENIX

  Vol. 1

  EPISODE II

  Syndicatus Evolutio

  Twenty Questions

  L ouisa slowed her steps as she rounded the street corner and Master Bennett’s house came into view. Not even the gray, overcast morning could disguise the bobby hovering near the servants’ entrance. His tall hat and painted bat set him apart from anything considered normal in this neighborhood.

  Is Master Bennett all right? Has there been another accident? Her heartbeat quickened along with her pace.

  The bobby put his hands on his hips, expanding his real estate—less like a peafowl, more like a cock.

  “State yer business, Miss.,” he drawled in an East Anglian accent.

  Must be new to London. He’ll lose that lilt soon enough.

  “I work as Master Bennett’s assistant, sir. May I ask what’s happened? May I go in?”

  “Not at liberty ta say.” He pulled a list from his breast pocket. “Name?”

  “Louisa Wicker.”

  “Go on in, then.” He stepped aside and allowed her to pass down the short flight to the servants’ entrance.

  Louisa gave a soft knock and opened the door. She hung her cloak on a peg and hurried past the cellar up to the kitchen. Isabel and Marion worked on the day’s bread, eyes set to their task. Bennett’s neighbors were happy to share Marion’s time and wages. Now that their youngest son had left for university, they didn’t need her full-time but didn’t want to lose her, either. Louisa didn’t mind being replaced so soon.

  But something didn’t feel right … it was too quiet.

  “Isabel, what’s going on? Why are the police here? Has something happened?” Louisa asked, maneuvering through the kitchen.

  A dark form moved beyond the doorway to the hall. Half a man’s broad shoulders, neat uniform, and sturdy top hat materialized. The ventilation ports on the upper sides of the stovepipe gave it a mechanical Frankenstein’s monster look.

  “Can’t rightly say. You’d best just go to work,” Isabel said, kneading dough.

  “Yes, of course. I’ll see you at tea.” Louisa hadn’t worked in the Bennett home long but knew enough to discern code when it came her way. Isabel’s use of “rightly” meant she’d been forbidden from gossiping, and telling Louisa to “go to work” insinuated she’d learn more upstairs in the workshop.

  She hurried down the hall and into the main foyer, but a formidable figure guarded the bottom of the stairs: Missus Courtright, the head housekeeper and matron of the household. She glared at Louisa above her sausage-like crossed arms. Louisa had no doubt about the strength of those meaty batons—they’d sent her sprawling a few times since she’d started as a general servant. While Louisa was far from being the woman’s equal, now that she worked directly for the master, Courtright’s reach was limited.

  Louisa didn’t bother to ask her what happened. Courtright’s glare told her she’d been requested to leave the hubbub of the workroom. Louisa curtsied, attempting to show respect for the woman and her position, but still walked past her and up the stairs. Clearly, Master Bennett wasn’t in any immediate danger or the entire household would be frantic. Yet, something serious had brought the police to the door.

  At the top of the stairs another bobby stepped from the interior of the workshop to block her way.

  Three and counting. Probably a fourth inside. What the devil is going on? She frowned, then cleared her visage before making eye contact. She didn’t need to give the wrong impression.

  “This area is closed. Move away,” the burly man said.

  “I am Master Bennett’s assistant. This is my workroom. What is going on?” Louisa tried not to sound impertinent, but her nerves were getting the best of her—that and the attitude her mother had tried to beat out of her.

  “No one is to ent—”

  “Louisa? Is that you?” Bennett called out. “Excuse me.” He shifted the constable aside with a firm grip on the man’s elbow.

  A gruff voice called from the workroom, “What is it, Bennett?”

  The master glanced over his shoulder. “It’s my assistant. She might be of some help.”

  “Bring her in. I need to question her, anyway.”

  Louisa slipped through the tight space the large constable afforded her as Bennett compelled her to follow him.

  Dear God, the room.

  Vials, cylinders, metal ingredient tins—all of it—smashed, trashed, or emptied and strewn about. Not a stitch of paper sat on Bennett’s desk or journal of notes on the workbench. Louisa blanched and clutched at her neck. Bennett looked at her and took a step forward, stopping only when her face flushed. She swallowed air to keep her composure.

  “As you can see, we’ve not only been vandalized but burgled. I called Inspector Hersh here first thing.”

  “But … your notes. The formula. Is that what they were after?”

  “It appears so,” Inspector Hersh cut in. He took out a small notebook and a pencil. “What ti
me did you leave work last night, Miss. Wicker?”

  “Oh, um, around midnight. Master Bennett and I were finalizing notes for the trial run. I had some ideas I wanted to run by him this morning, so I stayed late to write them out after he retired.”

  “Can anyone verify when you left?”

  “Missus Courtright, for certain.” The woman kept a tight ship and knew who was where in the house at all times, even if you didn’t see her.

  “Who do you think might have done this?” the Inspector asked.

  “Do you think the Master was targeted?”

  “Not necessarily, but we need to follow every lead.”

  “Well, certainly Master Bennett would have mentioned his rival—Gerald Sterling. And I suppose anyone who might profit from the drought.”

  “How’s that now?” the inspector asked and glanced from Louisa to Bennett and back again.

  “It’s my research, my patent. We’re trying to find a way to make it rain,” Bennett said.

  The inspector scribbled a few notes. “I’ll make some quiet inquiries, but I’ll not be accusing one of the forefathers of modern invention of a crime unless I’m certain he’s committed it.”

  Ire at Hersh’s comment jolted to fear. Louisa’s stomach churned. “Master Bennett,” she turned to him, her eyes wild with dozens of her own questions. “Are the patents safe? I mean, they took your notes. Mine are just fanciful notions, but yours are the foundation for your work. For everything.”

  Bennett placed a hand on Louisa’s shoulder. “It should be fine. Anything undocumented I keep in my bedside table. What was in this room was nothing more than the working prototype of the ideas already attributed to my name.”

  “If it’s a matter of public record, why would someone do this?” she asked.

  Bennett shrugged his shoulders.

  Something niggled at the back of Louisa’s mind—something important.

  “Miss, do you notice anything missing? Other than Mr. Bennett’s papers?”

  Louisa took a moment to steady herself and carefully moved about the room. A sharp, peppery-metallic scent lingered in the air in certain areas, not at all like the burnt powder that usually clung to the space. She couldn’t tell if anything else was missing, but …

  “Do you smell that?” she asked.

  “Smell what?” The inspector glanced up at her in the midst of her circuit.

  She sniffed. “Was there a fire?” Louisa looked down at the ironwood table and the oak floorboards. The usual black marks marred their surface from hundreds of explosions in the lab, not to mention those from last week’s scare.

  “Mr. Bennett didn’t think so. You do?”

  The last thing Louisa wanted was to go against anything Bennett had said. “I—I don’t know. It’s just that our experiments have a more, oh, I don’t know, electric aroma. I’m getting hints of metallic pepper—it’s heavier.” She stopped talking. Both men looked at her as if she were dotty. Louisa waved it off. “Never mind.” But as she shoved her misgivings aside, she caught sight of a rectangular scorch mark that always reminded her of a tome. Bennett had said it was the outline of his first notebook.

  But they’ve taken all of his notes—including the last book. Not the one with new ideas and applications but the one he currently mulls in.

  “If they took everything, that means they must have the location of your storage facility,” she said to Bennett.

  “Gads! You’re right. If a rival did this, they’d want to know where we were stocking-piling the dispersal spheres for the test run. Inspector—” Bennett turned to the policeman and took a few steps toward the man—“I need to check on my storage unit. It might be compromised.”

  Hersh nodded, put his notes in the inside pocket of his long coat, and headed for the door. “I’ll hail a ride. The Steamies come through these parts regularly, don’t they?”

  “Next block over, more so,” Bennett said, following him.

  “We’re done here.” Hersh passed a note to the big guy by the door. “Get Davis and Nichols. Look into these leads while I go with Bennett. We’ll meet back at the station.”

  Louisa started to follow, but Bennett turned to face her at the top of the stairs. “Lou, can you look after the workshop? Jot down what you remember of our calculations, and I’ll do the same. We can’t afford to lose our test spot overmorrow.”

  “Yes, certainly, Master Bennett. Good luck!”

  He managed a half-smile before worry darkened his features again, then caught up to Hersh at the front door. Bennett was right: they couldn’t afford to lose their spot. Sterling had to be in on the theft—the destruction. But Hersh needed proof.

  She strode back into the workshop, hands on hips, and narrowed her eyes at the scene.

  No one is perfect, her mother used to say—more so in defense of her own actions than anything else, but Louisa always knew she was right. And if no one was perfect, the vandals and thieves must have left something of themselves behind.

  Louisa began with the only lead she had … the strange burnt smell.

  She tracked it to four separate areas of the room: Bennett’s desk, workbench, fireplace, and the open storage shelving. On closer inspection, a new scorch mark laced an area no larger than her hand. A distinctive flame-lick or serpent pattern differed from the sharp, spiky electric strikes the dispersal spheres made. Louisa was intimately familiar with all the flame marks in this room from cleaning up after the accident. Four times someone had tried to set fire to the workshop and four times they’d failed.

  With her eyes only inches away from the surface of the workbench she spotted a curved slit running counter to the natural grain of the wood. It sliced right through the foreign scorch mark, leaving an irregular gouge. Louisa grabbed a pair of magnifying goggles and examined the entire work surface. At the end of the table, several deep cuts penetrated the wood, as if something sharp had been thrown at it repeatedly. She checked the desk and the storage shelves but found nothing more.

  Louisa’s mind churned and mulled as she considered the evidence before her.

  At least two criminals.

  One likes fire.

  The other likes knives.

  “Rakefire,” she cursed. “It’s no coincidence this is happening now.” It might not be Sterling, but it was someone who wanted Bennett to fail … and Louisa’d be damned if she let that happen.

  You’ll Light Fire to My What?

  T he shadows enveloped Louisa as she flitted from back alley to fence to shrub, avoiding lamplight, moonlight, and general notice. Bennett had kept her late as they reviewed their collective notes from memory and re-calculated three times the stats for the launch in two days. Even though he and Inspector Hersh found the storage unit intact and all the test supplies in good order, Louisa didn’t let the news lull her into believing they’d stay that way.

  By the time she got home, changed into Shadow Phoenix’s attire (torn black lace dress with leather bodice, lace arm gloves, liberated driving coat and goggles, feather headband, and utility belt) the sun had long set, leaving an opening for mischief in the night. Louisa may not have found any clues to the whereabouts of the thieves, but she was certain they’d be back to finish the job.

  She slipped around the last corner to the warehouse district and came face-to-face with a pair of Belgians. They snorted, blasting her face with hot horse breath and nickered while stomping their feet.

  Note to self: look around dark corners more carefully at night. Louisa took a couple steps back. A dull glow caught her eye as it bobbed beyond the windows of the warehouse.

  Louisa shifted back into the shadows, clinging to the walls of the building. She glanced over at the pair of workhorses attached to a small wagon containing two barrels. The lightning sphere insignia Bennett had branded onto the wood stood out in the moonlight.

  “Blast it all!” she cursed under her breath. They’re already here. And she hadn’t seen a single night patrolman for the last twenty minutes. Louisa took a deep
breath. Okay, think. Assess the situation. Right.

  The side door of the warehouse stood propped open with a large rock. No one had exited since she’d arrived, and the only light moved away from the door, not toward it. Two barrels here meant two left in there. A wheel squeaked somewhere beyond the door and a muffled argument ensued.

  “I told you to fix the damn thing.” Female.

  “I did. Needs more oil is all. Back off.” Male.

  “Hurry up already.”

  “Watch it or I’ll set your coccyx alight.”

  “You leave my ass out of this and keep that damn flame to yourself.”

  Two voices; two thieves. Just like in the alley with Tater Face and High Tower. She shrugged off the coincidence. There might be more.

  Louisa considered where a bobby might patrol around these parts. Her best bet was to let trained professionals handle things. One false move and everything could blow up—literally.

  A small, dwarven-shaped fellow trundled out carrying a cask, swaying as he went. His complete opposite, a thin blade of a woman in a close-fitting red tunic with leather toggles and leggings sauntered out after him and jumped into the back of the wagon. The moon lit a rich medium-brown face and eyes that reflected the lunar cycle at its midpoint. Louisa had seen Chinese importers at the docks but they looked much different. And she wasn’t from South Asia either.

  Louisa’s mother had taught her how to spot the differences in cultures. So far, the information had only helped her insomuch as how to serve them. The lithe woman helping lift the barrel into the wagon might be a Filipino immigrant. Her mother oft spoke of their flawless skin and natural beauty.

  But this woman bore a scar through her eyebrow that buried itself into the severe hairline above. A permanent snarl transformed her full lips from an object of envy to one of warning. Her every movement flowed like liquid, a lethal dance woven into her muscles, a part of her.