Effectuators: Book 4 - "Sweet Albion"

By Paul Kidd

Britannia besieged!

1870: As war ravages the continent, Britain herself comes under a darker threat. The sinister Lord Bimmington moves at last, using anarchy and terror to destabilise the nation. Acting in concert with the Severed Lord, he aims to overthrow the British government and establish a horrifying new regime.

Armed with a few buckets of ectoplasm, a very strange dog and an excellent dress sense, the EFFECTUATORS must face down the ultimate evil and save Queen, country and humanity itself from disaster.

It’s time to face evil in the ultimate showdown, and knock the blighters for six!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Kidd
• Release date: Apr 4, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311922281

Book preview

Effectuators!

Book 4 –

Sweet Albion!

Being in the main the adventures of Miss Brilliana Stetham, Paranormal Investigator, and Resolver of all Problems Supernatural – her companions, trials and adventures.

A novel by Paul Kidd

© Copyright 2013 Paul Kidd

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Dedication:

For Brin. My angel!

With many thanks to my volunteer editors: Ian Malcolm, Brin McLaughlin and Tamara Carmichael. You are Great Sages and Equals of Heaven!

Effectuators!

Book 4 – Sweet Albion!

© Copyright 2013 Paul Kidd

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This is a work of fiction. All events and characters portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is coincidental.

All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book in part or in whole in any form.

Mystic and occult thought, 1870:

FRANCE:

1855-1868. Eliphas Levi publishes volumes outlining his own personally created magic system. Amongst his original creations are the goat-headed image of ‘Baphomet’, the use of different orientations of pentagrams to represent good or evil, and the incorporation of Tarot symbolism into a system of magic.

TIBET:

1868-1870. The Spiritualist Helena Blavatsky travels the orient, seeking out the mystic knowledge of the East. Through study and introspection she develops a belief in a unifying spiritual energy that binds us and surrounds us all...

She also decides to believe in the lost continent of Lemuria – a place supposedly once occupied by a race of 7ft tall egg laying hermaphrodites. Helena goes on to create the theory of the pure ‘Aryan’ super race – a human pure genotype unsullied by bestial cross-matings with inferior beings.

UNITED KINGDOM:

The English Rosucrucian Society is founded in 1870, nurturing the mystic philosophies. The society’s first Grand Patron is the celebrated writer Baron Edward Bulwer-Lytton (who coined the famous opening line It was a dark and stormy night.). Author, playwright and advocate of the ‘Hollow Earth’ theory, he is also a believer in the existence of Vril, a mystic energy distilled from life force (for which the product ‘Bovril" was later named.)

USA:

William H. Mumler, the world’s first ‘Spirit Photographer’, gains fame. He uses double exposures to create fake ‘ghost images’ inside his photographs. Rushing to make a deadline for an exhibition, he decides to photograph people on the New York streets to use as his ‘ghosts’. He is revealed as an utter fraud when these ‘dead spirits’ suddenly see themselves in his photographs in the exhibition.

Part One:

The Salzburg Angels.

Bavarian-Austrian border, Summer 1870 : Travel broadens the mind…

1

It was a dark and stormy night…

Brilliana Stetham, late of Maple Street in London, read from the opening page of the novel before her. Just a tad disappointed with the prose, she turned the page this way and that, then arched her alabaster brow.

‘It was a dark and stormy night?’ Surely not! Purple – too purple entirely. Perhaps it would have been better had he simply opened with a conversation?

Annie-Lou Franknel, an American expatriate with a wealth of freckles and practical good sense, had been pouring cans of methylene into the fuel tank of a steam car. She paused in her work, setting down one of Brilliana’s sturdy fuel cans. It was a what?

A dark and stormy night! Brilliana scowled at the page before her in great dissatisfaction. The novel – ‘Paul Clifford’ – was decorated with a stamp revealing that Brill had stolen it from the British Library. It was a dark and stormy night; the rain fell in torrents — except at occasional intervals, when it was checked by a violent gust of wind which swept up the streets (for it is in London that our scene lies), rattling along the housetops, and fiercely agitating the scanty flame of the lamps that struggled against the darkness… Brilliana set the book aside. Lord above! The man’s sentences run on longer than Judge Jeffreys’!

The hills of southern Bavaria glittered with morning dew all about them. Mountains rose upon mountains just across the Austrian border, with white caps all agleam. The Bavarian road ran onwards, past a little border post striped like a candy cane - on, on towards the Austrian customs huts. It was a quiet road, used mostly by farmers and the occasional hedgehog. The huts, manned by bored customs men and rather sleepy militia, were bastions of the Germanic love of paperwork – a love in no way matched by organisation, or indeed any filing system that could be comprehended by mortal man. And so, with a search for passport stamps now stretching into its fifteenth minute, Brilliana and Annie-Lou took time to set the steam car to rights before its morning run.

Brilliana perched like a vulture upon the prow of her steam car, enjoying the dappled morning sun. She was a long, slim creature with pure white skin, jet black hair, and a fox’s flashing green eyes. She was entirely sheathed in immaculate black satins – satins that could scarcely contain her great and often voluble passion for life. She clapped her top hat firmly upon her head, and made yet another exclamation of delight as she read deeper on into her novel.

Good lord! He’s still waffling on! This may be some sort of record!

What on earth are you reading? Annie set the heavy fuel cans aside. Were you planning on helping me with this?

Oh yes yes yes yes yes! I shall be there in a trice! Brilliana set the novel aside, well pleased. Well I must say, this is all excellent. Prime – quite prime!

Do tell. Annie placed a funnel into Brilliana’s hands. And why are we so pleased that a novel is so bad?

Because the novel is ‘Paul Clifford’! Written by that twit, Lord Edward Bulwer-Lytton!

Brilliana delivered her thunderbolt and awaited amazement, consternation and accolade. Instead, Annie merely pushed back her slouch hat and screwed up her freckles.

Bulwer-who?

Bulwer-Lytton! One of Britain’s guiding lights of literature – for reasons that still remain just a wee bit unclear…

Brilliana clambered up over the seats of the steam car, checked that the firebox had been extinguished, then settled a funnel into the fuel tank. Annie passed up a can of fuel.

So why do we care about authors all of a sudden?

Ah – because this one impacts somewhat upon our troubles!

Brilliana, an enthusiast for volatile chemicals, poured methylene into the tank with a delicate hand. The Times newspaper – as forwarded to us by our Prussian friends – assures me that Britain can now boast its very own Rosicrucian society. A league dedicated to disseminating their particular thoughts upon the occult, the hidden mysteries and life eternal.

Oh! Annie was relatively unconcerned. They sound like crackpots.

Absolutely! Mad as stoats, the lot of them! Brilliana tossed an empty fuel tin aside, where it crashed onto the grass like a bomb. But I did have my concerns! Rumour had it that they had an eminent figure as their titular head – as their spokesman. The font of their publicity! He might have encouraged a veritable flood of would-be demon summoners to make a nuisance of themselves inside pantry cupboards or on the public highways. Brilliana patted her stolen copy of Bulwer-Lytton’s book. But thankfully, we are saved!

Annie hauled another can of alcohol from the car’s gleaming black trailer. People will avoid the Rosicrucians just because of a book?

Partly! But I’m thinking they might mostly end up bewildered by the rest of the silly blighter’s agenda! Brilliana poured methylene with a deft hand, never once wasting a drop. I say – I am so glad we haven’t had to switch to whale oil for fuel. Damned smoky stuff, your burning whale! Not quite the thing…!

Brill – the Bulwer-Lytton thing?

Oh yes! As I said, I was worried about there being some savage truths behind their group – worried about them gaining legitimacy and power! But no! For they have chosen Bulwer-Lytton as their spokesman! The font of their publicity! Brilliana capped shut the fuel tank and patted it upon the flank. So this spokesman, this leading light has seen fit to amaze the world with his theories. And here they are! Brilliana waved the much creased newspaper, which showed signs of having served as a wrapping for German sausages. Apparently Bulwer-Lytton vehemently believes that vast empires brim-full of ancient magic exist inside the hollow core of the earth! A master race lurks below, waiting to reclaim the surface. The man is adamant about it! Brilliana looked at the newspaper with great fondness. I must say – it speaks well for Britain when even a lip-strumming, rip-roaring, full-blown barking loony can find decent employment! Sterling stuff!

Annie carefully re-stowed the empty fuel cans. Isn’t he a member of parliament?

Absolutely! Parliament – a fine place! Keep all your fiddler crabs in one basket. Stops them gadding about the streets and causing consternation. Brilliana briskly polished some of the brass on the magnificent engine, then lit the firebox with a great long Lucifer. But yes – with someone so clearly fractured in charge, I doubt the Rosicrucians will present much of a public danger. I am keen to make certain that no more evil cults arise….

Evil cults were not to be taken lightly. A most sinister brotherhood had recently been operating secretly in Prussia, dedicated to controlling the Prussian royal family through a process of otherworldly possession. Thwarting the conspiracy had taken the Effectuators a great many weeks, a hundredweight of dynamite, several boxes of Winchester rifle ammunition, and half a pint of triple refined curare. It had also involved plunging into the midst of battles between the army of the German Confederation and the Imperial French: perhaps a tad more excitement than one’s friends would recommend…

Still – it made for an interesting life!

Having dealt with the evil cult that had lurked at the heart of the Prussian court, The Effectuators had moved to the southeast, up, up into the highlands of Bavaria. There was a single task left to them before they could return to England – surely a simple task! Surely a swift one. They merely had to cross the Austrian border on forged passports, locate the lost tomb of the sorcerer Paracelsus, conduct a relatively modest tomb robbery, and make off with a lost volume of forbidden lore.

What could possibly go wrong?

The great expedition, however, had stalled before it had begun. Austrian border guards were proving damnably argumentative. The fact that they had been at war with Prussia a scant few years ago probably had a great deal to do with it. The problem, it seemed, was actually the steam car itself. There were regulations for the admission of steam railway locomotives, and for carriages, coaches and wagons – but an entry fee was charged to road transport on a basis of the number of horses used to draw the vehicle. The steam car, that horseless wonder of the age, was an entirely new experience to the Austrian border guards. A debate was raging as to whether to charge one Kreuzer – the same as a barrow, five Kreuzers – the cost of a coach, or one hundred Kreuzer - the fee charged for a fully laden locomotive with coaches, flatcars, brake van and flags. Guy, afire with French logic, had sallied forth to debate the process with the guards. The debate, it seemed, was in no danger of finishing any time soon. Brilliana gazed upon the guards with a considering eye, then stirred herself into action.

Brilliana stretched herself, fetched just a little something from her thoroughly learned valise, and leapt to the ground. She summoned up her dog Fang, that most useful beast, and sauntered merrily up towards the border post.

The Bavarian guards – bored and rather embarrassed by their colleagues – gave a nod towards Brilliana as she passed them by. Fang – a black and white border collie - trotted brightly at her side, his tail high and red tongue flagging in the breeze. He sensed mischief in the air, and was quite determined to miss none of it. He kept his eyes fixed upon Brilliana’s face, knowing her to be the chief source of entertainment in his world.

Brilliana swept gloriously up amongst the Austrian customs men, and inclined her head in a genial bow. She spoke in her wonderfully classical German – scholastic, with just a hint of Thirty Years War…

Gentlemen! How splendid to see you all so busy. How are your deliberations going?

Ah! Ah, my dear Frau Standforth! Not well. Not well at all… The senior man – a creature composed mostly of moustache and dirty spectacles – peered up at Brilliana from across his steel rims. We are consulting precedents! I am certain that this can all be resolved through precedents. Surely that is the way!

Yes – well, why risk wearing out the faculties? Brilliana looked politely over towards Guy DuMotier, who was rather splendidly arrayed in the faked finery of a captain of the Mexican republican navy. My dear deCamarone, you seem piqued! I do hope it is not the altitude? Nothing so dizzying to a nautical man as the alpine air.

Guy, that patient man, raised his brow. He sensed something brewing in Brilliana’s manner, but had not yet managed to put a finger upon it. It is not the altitude, dear Mrs Standforth. And never fear, we are quite close to resolving our difficulties!

Ah, splendid! Brilliana leaned upon her fox-skull-headed cane. So we’re all ready to move on, then?

Almost. Guy waved a hand, trying to make all troubles simply waft away. Yes – I believe we have a decision at last!

A second customs man, backed by a third and fourth, came gravely from their black and yellow hut. Between them they bore ledgers, and a heavy air of responsibility. They looked to their chief and slowly shook their collective heads.

Sir. We regret that our search of the ledgers has been fruitless. There are no regulations as to vehicles without horses, or steam vehicles that do not move upon rails. The leader of the trio patted the ledgers as though they were the books of doom. The vehicle is not covered by the list of customs instruction 1848, nor in the 1867 appendices.

I feared as much. The moustachioed customs officer polished his spectacles with a greasy cloth, adding a whole new layer of grime to the glass. Yes – yes, I believe we shall have to consult with the regional administrator on the matter.

Ah. Brilliana thoughtfully looked at the one small dirt road that wound off into the alps of Austria. By telegraph, I presume?

Yes! Yes, by telegraph! We are not savages here, after all! The customs man turned to muse over the nearby fields. We can borrow the Hochstedter’s bridle horse when he returns from visiting the old mill. Then we shall sent young Otto here off to the village with a message for the telegraph station.

Guy looked somewhat alarmed. And how long will this take?

Oh – a journey of twenty miles. The customs man held up as finger in triumph. A full two miles shorter than it was last year! They have repaired the bridge at last! That is true convenience.

Absolutely! Brilliana seemed quite overjoyed. Well – two miles less? Whomever would have thought? But still, the route should not be taken too lightly.

Indeed not.

Sterling stuff! Spying a stove inside the customs hut, Brill immediately brightened. Yes – why don’t you gentlemen discuss the journey, and I shall make you all some coffee?

Guy immediately leapt forward. No no! No need for coffee!

Oh, but surely there is! Brilliana, as sweet as flowering hemlock, made a great innocent Cheshire-cat grin. My special coffee!

No – I am sure the gentlemen do not need coffee. Guy tried to steer Brill away from the hut, fearing that the Austrian customs men were all about to be drugged into a stupor and stacked like cordwood. Let us do nothing hasty.

Oh, nothing hasty about it. All quite premeditated!

No coffee. Guy steered Brill away from the hut. Not one drop.

Oh well then – there’s nothing else for it. Brilliana planted herself before the customs men. Gentlemen, perhaps we have lost sight of the sheer simplicity of the situation. Perhaps this is all merely a hippogriff. A chimera.

A hippogriff?

Yes – a mythical beast that leaves the most prodigious droppings on church steeples. Never mind, never mind… Brilliana waved one immaculately lace-gloved hand. I feel that it might be fairest if we simply pay the full one hundred Kreuzer for passage. Pay you the maximum possible fee! And then the very wisest heads at the very highest level can debate the entire matter without any sense of hurry or rush. No true wisdom ever came from haste! And if a lower rate is then decided upon, well – they can simply reimburse us by note at a later date.

This seems most reasonable. The chief customs man, unable to focus upon Brilliana’s face, squinted through his cloudy spectacles. And you would pay one hundred Kreuzer, here and now?

Oh absolutely! Brilliana opened up a booklet of bank cheques. And since they would reimburse us by note, I suppose it is best that we pay by note, so that all bank details are therefore all locked down and recorded.

Well – under normal circumstances, it must be coin in hand… The custom’s man pondered. But if they are to reimburse you by note…

Yes! Logical – perfectly logical. We must make certain all papers are signed, sealed and made out in full! Brilliana signed the cheque with a flourish. And there we are. Problem solved! She waved towards the car. Annie! All’s well! Pray, let us crank the valves and make ready!

Valves hissed and the boiler steamed. Fang leapt up to his accustomed place beside the driver’s seat, looking eagerly at the road ahead. Brilliana made a last inspection of the vehicle, trailer and tires, then removed her immaculate top hat, replacing it with a piratical black satin scarf. As Guy and Annie-Lou took their seats, Brilliana threw open her valves, engaged gears, and the gorgeous black steam car moved smoothly out of the Bavarian border post and out into sunny Austria.

As the car steamed merrily past the Austrian border guards, Brilliana gave the men a wave. The senior man stood to give her an immaculate salute – slightly marred by his inability to see more than a foot past his nose. Brilliana waved again, opened up her throttles, and high-tailed it off and away down the road before anything else could happen.

Thank goodness. Brilliana kept one hand on the tiller, while with the other she stroked her dog. We must remember to just slip the border in the dark on the way back. I cannot abide paperwork!

Legitimate paperwork, in any event. Annie clambered forward to sit atop the car behind Brilliana. What on earth did you hand to those poor men?

A bank draft!

What – from our bank?

Oh Annie… Brilliana looked back at Annie-Lou across her glasses. No, hardly! None of them could read a stick of English! I wrote it out on the back of another official form.

What official form was that?

It was the borrowing slip out of the back of Paul Clifford. Brill seemed most pleased. With any luck, the Austrian police will go to London and arrest Bulwer-Lytton.

They passed over a rise and off into a forest, where little roads diverged and divided. Guy kept looking back towards the border, holding Annie’s hand.

Perhaps we ought to muddy our trail? What if they decide to change their minds about the bank draft?

First let them get a good look at us heading east towards Vienna. Then we shall make a few radical changes of direction. A few back-ways and byways, and then north to Salzburg. Cream cakes, tomb robbery and beer – what larks!

Annie fixed Brilliana with a considering eye. Brilliana Stetham, you are the most incorrigible creature ever spawned on planet earth!

Oh Annie! Brilliana looked at her, deeply moved – thoroughly pleased. One always hopes – but it is still wonderful to hear it!

The uplands of Austria were a glorious thing to behold. Tall mountains capped in white were surrounded by green meadows filled with flowers. Deer bounded nobly off the country roads: the valleys were dotted with picturesque villages and farms. The country had none of the odd military presence found everywhere in Prussia. It was a place simply filled with light. Annie, Guy and Brilliana – flatlanders all – were astonished, quite astonished at the vistas. Austria really was quite the thing!

The landscape quite threw itself into excesses of romance. They moved along roads that curled and meandered down between great rolling hills. The steam car rolled past little forests clustered about still, cool lakes. A castle stood upon a hill, brilliant beneath a sheath of climbing roses. It was all quite magical.

Warm summer sun filtered through the trees. Luncheon was taken beneath great wide shady trees beside an inn – crusty bread rolls hot from a baker’s shelves, spiced cheese, plum dumplings and a flask of wine. As they ate, young farmhands came wandering from the fields to sit with their bare feet in the stream. Girls from the inn brought them bread and ham, and stayed coyly just out of reach.

Brilliana had a great many interesting qualities: a slight tendency towards kleptomania, a delight in some rather ghoulish topics, and a very, very faint streak of prolixity. But these were balanced by other things. Amongst these was a vulpine delicacy regarding matters of the heart. With lunch finished, Brilliana developed a deep interest in the history of the local ruins. She took the dog, her transmogrified goggles and a camera, then went sauntering off to poke about the remnants of a broken old tower. This very tactfully left Guy and Annie alone and with time on their hands – time they spent walking arm in arm along the stream.

The lovers meandered for half an hour, quite lost to the world. They returned to find the steam car watered and refuelled, and Brilliana sprawled upon a picnic rug consulting a map and compass. Fang sat beside her mumbling a goat shank and enjoying life. The dog looked up eagerly as Guy and Annie walked towards him through the grass. He came bounding over, goat parts and all, gambolling happily about their feet.

Guy – all uniformed finery discarded – felt wonderfully at ease. He sat with Annie upon the tartan picnic rug, offering Brilliana a strange insect casing he had found beside the lake.

My dear Brill! How went the ruins?

No negative charge. No lurking beasties! But I managed a damned fine brass rubbing. Brilliana instantly fixed upon the insect casing. Oooh! Odonata - a dragonfly nymph. How very fortunate!

Ah - I thought you might know. Guy positively beamed. So this is the empty case – the discarded childhood shell?

Quite so! Brilliana inspected the delicate insect casing through her quizzing glass. There is something remarkably amiable about a dragonfly. Did you know that Austria alone has some seventy seven species recorded and identified? Quite remarkable. Brilliana turned the casing over in her hand. Now this species grows to be a most astonishing pink-magenta hue! Red eyes, and devilishly handsome red veined wings.

Guy was quite astonished. You can tell all of that from merely viewing the discarded skin?

No dear – but there is one upon your hat…

Annie, Fang and Brilliana regarded the insect, while Guy stood stock still, rather absurdly trying to look up at his own forehead. What does it want? What should I do?

Well if it is trying to have you for dinner, I fear it might be sadly overestimating its capabilities. Brilliana took up her camera. It actually rather suits you. Now do hold still!

She took a photograph, bidding her subject to cease fiddling. As she carefully took a second photograph – well side-lit for more definition – Annie perused the map of Austria.

So – how much further to Salzburg?

Ah – well we have about fifty miles to go, I should think. The official map is occasionally a wondrous work of fiction. Brilliana set down her camera and watched as the dragonfly – absurdly pink and carefree – took off about its affairs. I was thinking that we could time our arrival in Salzburg for the evening, quietly put the car into stables, and then have a full day tomorrow to make a most utterly discrete survey of Salzburg town.

Guy examined his lucky cap, making quite sure it was devoid of visiting insects, then looked off across the lake towards the hidden east.

So the Brotherhood of Paracelsus still operate in Vienna? Interesting.

Yes. Brilliana placed her camera and her tools back into her valise. Though they may have drifted somewhat off-piste after all these centuries. One never quite knows.

Guy settled his cap back upon his head. Surely they will be potential allies?

Yes, although I shall not break my heart if we managed to miss making acquaintance. Brilliana took a last, delighted look over the lake. Dragonflies, castles, and mountains reflected in the alpine lakes. Nigh perfection! I wonder if they have a lake monster here?

No one has seen fit to mention it. Guy lifted the dog up onto the car so that Annie could shake out the picnic rug. Shall we travel onwards?

Oh, do let’s shall! Brilliana looked over her glasses towards the steam car’s boiler. I think we’re almost at the boil. Let us take on some cider for the journey, and let it be well chilled.

Oh, let it be wine! And perhaps a little cheese. Surely Austria can boast a soft cheese? Guy headed towards the little country inn. They are not entirely uncivilised?

Guy set his cap to its jauntiest angle and sauntered off upon his mission. Annie lovingly watched her man go, and shook her head. How did we ever pass him off as Mexican?

Oh - through innate female genius and élan. The usual thing. Brilliana clambered up into her seat. Fang, dear? Do please be a good creature for once and place the goat hoof upon the paper provided. There’s a good boy. She looked out across the landscape. But yes! One does not feel quite so filled with paranoia here. A far, far different kettle of fish to Prussia. No secret police, no soldiers swarming the hillsides…

No evil cults. No battles...

Exactly! Not a one! Brilliana relaxed back on her seat. We seem to have clear sailing at last.

Long may it reign. Annie settled her slouch hat, making sure that her transmogrified goggles were safely in place abut the crown. She sat back to look over the lake, the stream, the distant castle – the distant blue shapes of mountains looking like an image in a dream.

Thank you, Brilliana.

For what?

For battles. For balls. For quiet lakes and ruins full of roses. Annie turned, her green eyes fond and wise. I can even thank you for the monsters.

They sat together for a while, looking out across the lake. The absurd pink dragonfly came back, swooping and diving above the grass. Far, far off across the valley, there came the sound of merry laughter.

Guy returned with his prize – white wine, and a cheese that, while not soft, was certainly somewhat malleable. He clambered aboard, took Annie’s hand and kissed her, looking quite content with the world.

Austria! Clear sailing at last?

We were just saying exactly that! Brilliana looked back to make certain that the trailer was in place, and her passengers all aboard. Right! Salzburg, Paracelsus and glory!

Off they rolled – off along the lake shore and then out into a world of fields and great tall forests. The dragonfly made a caracole to bid them a farewell.

On – to Salzburg, Paracelsus and glory…

The Austrian alps, those remarkable objects, led the way north – on, on past high hills capped with pine forest, past little towns with white churches and ancient bridges. The steam car cruised smoothly and swiftly along through the afternoon, finally meeting a beautiful blue-green river. Barges drifted along the stream, dray horses slowly pulling south-bound traffic on against the current. Farm wagons trundled their way along the roads. Carriages carrying gentlemen and ladies all watched in astonishment as the steam car passed them merrily by. Brilliana gave a joyous salute to a bishop in an open phaeton as he drove by: the man was in company with a young curate who quite stood up in his seat to watch Brilliana pass.

As they drew nearer to Salzburg, the army finally made itself known: alpine riflemen in light blue, all ambling along with long walking staves in hand. An entire battalion was on the move, marching wearily homewards after manoeuvres. The men waved and laughed as the steam car rolled by, greeting it as the great wonder of the age. The officers on horseback were accompanied by hounds: Fang barked in excitement, tail a-wag, and was absolutely the envy of his kin.

Blue shadows of evening spread out across the land. Here and there, little lights were kindled in houses by the river banks. Brilliana stopped the car and lit the head lamps, setting them merrily ablaze. Traffic upon the roads thinned out as the good people of Austria headed for their homes. The car passed through a great, dark avenue of trees, and suddenly emerged out into a great, wide valley. Not two miles beyond them, the city of Salzburg spread out around the riverbank, glittering like a heap of jewels.

It was a place of bright tiled rooves and tall pastel houses – rococo churches, white and square, with copper turrets green with verdigris. With its colours, its parks and a fairytale castle on the hill above, the city was absurdly pretty. Brilliana drew the car to a halt, standing up in her seat to look over the gorgeous view. Annie-Lou and Guy jumped down from the car and looked out across the valley, off, off towards the castle with its crystal windows all aglow with the setting sun.

Brill flattened out a civic map of Salzburg, and drew forth her binoculars from her useful valise. She stood with Fang beside her and scanned the city, checking details against the map. Annie-Lou and Guy joined her, looking off towards the river with its houses and its lights.

Salzburg.

Salzburg indeed! Brilliana spied out the land with enormous care. Birthplace of Mozart, for which we owe some little thanks. And birthplace of the acoustic scientist Christian Doppler, discoverer of the Doppler effect – for which we owe even more thanks.

Guy raised a quizzical brow.

More thanks?

Well now we can tell whether Mozart is coming or going. Brilliana consulted with her map. This map is really not quite the thing. I swear it is missing that entire suburb down there by the river.

Guy drew his telescope from the pocket of his coat and looked towards the town. I trust it at least marks the site of St Sebastian’s?

It does. Brilliana pointed off the far side of the river, where Salzburg’s streets climbed up towards the castle. There does seem to be rather a plethora of churches, doesn’t there? It might be the building with the little turrety-thing back behind all of those houses… She pondered the view. It seems to be in the right sort of place.

Annie-Lou had also been searching the scene – although with a rather different set of hierarchies. She pointed off towards the riverbanks at the centre of the town. Aha! There! Right there!

Brilliana blinked in confusion. What? What do you see?

A hotel with a restaurant! Annie folded up her own binoculars. Feed me, or I’ll butter the steam car and eat it whole. Annie climbed back aboard the car. It looks perfect. A coach house and a beer garden. We can head in and call it quits for the night.

Ah! Or - or…! Brilliana suddenly caressed an exciting thought. Or, we race into the city right now, rattle up Paracelsus’ grave, grab the book – and we’re off and away with no one the wiser!

Annie fixed Brilliana with a considering eye. And where would we sleep?

Oh, we’re sure to find somewhere out in the wilds. We could cross the border in the dark – play it all by ear…

Annie headed for the picnic basket. Right! I’m fetching the butter.

Guy, that font of good sense, patted Brilliana on the arm.

Perhaps the original plan? A reconnaissance by daylight, fact gathering. Caution…?

Brilliana clambered back up onto the car. Oh very well. So much for Gallic impetuosity! We shall seek out lodgings and a dinner. She settled Fang into his place beside her. Ah well – if we did not quell the brute beast within, there would be no learning!

It had been a long day, and the car seats had pressed rather unmercifully against the derrieres of passengers and crew. A hot meal and bed were decidedly on the cards – and after all, Paracelsus was hardly about to change his place of address.

They drove on towards the city, while the evening light turned the valley a gorgeous, muted blue.

He did not have Brilliana’s force of will.

It was a stinging thought. Standing alone at the centre of the slaughter, Lord Bimmington clenched his fists, stung by his own inadequacy. He had the vision for greatness, he had the lust and the intelligence, but time and time again he had failed. Things had quivered at the very edge of absolute success – and then the entire effort had collapsed into empty shards.

Stonehenge was littered with the refuse of previous experiments. Time and time again, the gate had been forced open. And every time it had opened, no contact had been made.

Failure.

Had Brilliana Stetham been here, something could have been done. The rift could have been explored - the way could have been forced open. Everything could have been accomplished at a single stroke. But instead, there was blood: blood, terror and sacrifices, all needed to build negative charge. All of it costing much needed fortunes in money. Money to procure victims, money to provide security, and money to eliminate loose ends.

Blood.

The stench of it clung to the ancient stones. Blood slicked the grass, and dripped slowly from the crackling, dried old weeds. Stonehenge was black with carnage. The bodies of the victims – homeless and poor, women and children – had been shoved into a ghastly, tangled ring within the sarsen stones. But they had merely been tools towards a great, majestic end: mere dross, street leavings that would never be missed.

Lord Bimmington stood in the last embers of the dusk, transmogrified goggles in place across his eyes. In the light of a single lantern, he read the words from a burned and bloodstained tome. The willpower of underlings seethed and shimmered. The rift between worlds began to form, sheeting ice cold, dark blue light out into the night.

Cold air crackled. The grass froze. His flesh stiff, his breath frosting the air about him, Bimmington stared towards the pulsing, terrible light. He put the grimoire aside and stepped towards the rift, searching for the slightest sign of life.

Nothing stirred. No beings came forth. The stark, cold light shimmered and rippled. The ring of blood and death froze slowly in the chill – rivulets crackling horribly as they solidified.

Lord Bimmington took another step towards the rift. He felt the icy radiance from within prickling at his skin.

I call! I call to the Severed Lord!

This was the place prescribed – the gate, the place, the time. Two of Bimmington’s men came forward, holding a dazed, terrified naked girl between them. The girl glistened with ectoplasm. She was dazed with laudanum – terrified almost into insanity. Bimmington stood behind the sacrifice and called out again into the cold blue light.

I call to the walker between the worlds! The foretold lord, slayer of kings! I call you forth! Bimmington moved closer to the rift. Let your mind speak to us! Come forth!

No movement came. No slight stir in the rift. The cold and the silence remained as before. The vast, unlit spaces of Salisbury plain lay still and empty in the moonless dark.

Ten men stood at the rim of the stones. They were Bimmington’s operatives – men skilled with guns and blade. Some taken from the ranks of his intelligence operatives, and others carefully gleaned from gaols. But behind them, there stood other men – ambitious men who could help Bimmington’s plans take form. These men looked from one to another. They were all steeped now in blood. The stillness of the rift – the third rift they had opened here – unsettled and unnerved them.

None spoke. They looked to Bimmington.

The two men who held the sacrifice stood at the threshold of the rift. One man turned towards Bimmington, looking for instructions. The girl suddenly staggered and half fell, and the guard swung back to jerk her to her feet.

The guard at the girl’s other side had gone.

The remaining man gaped, then turned to speak. He had opened his mouth, when suddenly something flashed from the rift. The man vanished – somehow seized and jerked into the horrifying light. An instant later, the naked girl was gone, leaving nothing but a faint quiver in the rift.

The guards at the sarsen stones froze in shock. A man cried out. The entire rift suddenly shivered, with a great gust of icy cold suddenly searing out across the stones. Bimmington staggered backwards, holding his hat to his head, blood starting from his skin as the cold sliced across him like razorblades.

Something small came flying from the rift: a small globe, silver white and smoking. It landed on the frozen blood, striking the ground without bouncing, as though immeasurable heavy, but almost instantly, it started to fulminate and burn.

The rift seemed to fade – the light turning dull.

Bimmington stared at the globe. The surface seemed to ripple, then suddenly it swam with depths and wrenching, hypnotic images. Moving slowly forward, Lord Bimmington kept the globe fixed in his eyes – seeing colours that were not colours – spaces that had no place in a universe of space and time.

He approached the rift. Behind him, an older man stirred: Benton Albermarle, the money man – full of grey hair and caution. He started forward, calling out in fear.

Bimmington! Take care!

Lord Bimmington moved forward.

This was no to time for fear. No time for failure. Greatness came only to those with the courage to seize it in their grasp. Bimmington ignored the rift – ignored the empty footprints in the frozen blood. He walked forward, knelt down and reached towards the sphere.

It glimmered. Bimmington gently caressed the surface.

It was neither cold nor hot. Smooth – almost without texture. The colours quivered and responded to his touch. The sphere seemed to softly pulse with a life all of its own.

He took it into his hands.

The sphere sat in his ungloved palm – heavy – heavy as a sphere of lead. But unlike lead, the thing seemed to quiver and flow beneath the surface, slowly taking on the cadence of Bimmington’s own pulse. He gazed down into the swirling surface – fascinated, utterly fascinated – and rose up to his feet.

Strength.

Suddenly Bimmington felt stronger. Tall – filled with energy. Thoughts suddenly moved inside him with crisp, cold speed. A presence flashed through him flickering up out of the sphere: a door suddenly opening into another mind. The sphere turned dull.

The door slammed shut as swiftly as it had opened – and yet the strength remained. Bimmington breathed steadily – deeply – his mind suddenly clear. His doubts had vanished. He felt only cold, pure purpose. Inspiration flowed once more through his veins.

Yes.

Bimmington whirled, pushing his goggles back from his eyes.

Albermarle! What were yesterday’s reports from France?

Albermarle edged forward, his eyes still fearfully upon the rift. The French emperor is sealed shut within the fortress of Sedan. The French army is in ruins. We expect surrender to the German Confederation.

The Second Empire will fall. Bimmington strode away from the corpses and the blood – walking away from Stonehenge. Britain has supported a corrupt, decayed regime. Now, we will soon have a republic arise across the channel. The old ways of Europe are coming to an end.

The other men – the guards, the hirelings and the hopefuls all hastened to cluster about Bimmington as he walked briskly towards the line of coaches by the road. Albermarle fell in step beside him, looking anxiously into Bimmington’s face.

The French government will fall. But what does it mean for us? How does it profit us?

Change is the progenitor of opportunity, my dear Albermarle! Bimmington’s voice was its old self at last – full of energy and merriment. It would seem that fate is favouring us. If we have the will, the wit to act, then the future is ours at last!

Bimmington ignored the carnage at the stone ring behind him. He waved a hand behind him at the dark. Clean this! And then we must sequester ourselves awhile. I will want somewhere private. We must vanish, Albermarle. We must vanish. When she looks, we must be invisible.

She, sir?

She.

Bimmington paused at his coach. He looked off towards the east.

For now – to Salisbury. Her looked to one of his hired men – a slim, brooding creature with a face scarred by fire. Let there be a woman. Slim. Dark haired. Green eyed. See to it.

Yes my lord.

Bimmington swung up into his coach. Albermarle and his companions moved close.

My lord! What of the stones? The rift? Albermarle looked about, aghast. Are we to abandon this, then – after all that has been done?

We have what we came for, my friend. Bimmington tossed the sphere in his hand and caught it like a toy, gripping it in delight.

It is done.

2

Salzburg’s ‘Altmark’ hotel stood at the banks of the cool green river, surrounded by apartments, restaurants and cafes. It provided an exceedingly good dinner – a soup with Moorish little dumplings, wiener schnitzels, and an excellent apricot torte. It also provided a breakfast of fluffy golden rolls, boiled eggs, warmed ham and thin slices of chicken. But what it entirely failed to have in any way, shape or form was tea. Neither was tea to be had at the café next door, the restaurant two doors further down, nor in the little store across the way. Nothing – not one pot, one leaf was to be had. Tea, it seemed, was a substance quite unknown to the world of the alps. Brilliana was most put out.

So much for Austria’s claims to civilisation.

The scent of coffee, that damnable substance, was everywhere as the Effectuators took to the morning streets. Brilliana grumbled effusively – watched by the dog, who looked up at her in hope of adventures, mess and fun. With her top hat gleaming in the morning sun, Brilliana led the way off and along the river banks, then up the busy streets and into Salzburg’s heart.

Salzburg was a city of cheerful buildings that towered many floors above the streets. The building facades were wonderfully ornate – no blank faced brickwork here! All were painted in pastel colours – yellows, blues, pinks and greens all glittering in the sun. Cobbled streets were a-swarm with pedestrians who hunted through the shops. The men tended to wear rather comically bell-topped hats, and the women were extremely given to layers, frills and bows. Indeed, many looked rather more like wedding cakes than was quite right. Brilliana, in her slim, sleek and rather alarmingly callipygian dress proved to be quite the centre of attention – more so than Annie with her American cavalry hat and trousers. With valise in one hand and cane in the other, Brill walked along the shops, peering in at a delightful assortment of wares. Inevitably, there was a coffee shop – a place filled with huge sacks of dark brown beans. Brilliana recoiled from the smell, fanning at her face, and joined the dog in beating a hasty exit to the bakery next door.

Up, up the hill and away from the riverbanks. Past pretty little pony carts bringing milk in from the farms. There were dressmakers selling Austrian lace and Italian embroidery, and milliners stuffed with the most absurd creations mortal eyes ever had beheld. Watchmakers, clock makers and a manufacturer of music boxes – indeed, with a gypsy violinist at a café on the street, and a quartet playing beside a fountain just nearby, the main street was too musical entirely. Brill refused an offer to test an accordion maker’s wares, deftly dodged past a hand barrow filled with sugar rolls, and made her way to a street fountain from whence she and Fang could spy out the lie of the land.

Annie-Lou and Guy emerged from the pedestrian throng – though Guy had weakened to the extent of purchasing Annie-Lou a sprig of alpine flowers. Brilliana consulted with her map, turned it this way and that, then pointed off along a road that agreed with her map – at least on a point or two. She scowled at the map, then passed it along to Guy in the hope that a nautical opinion might clarify the mysteries.

I ask you, Guy! Is this not the work of a fantasist? The silly blighter has even put in an extra bridge or two!

The document is certainly decorative. Guy looked towards the apex of the city hill. Let us head to the crest. There surely cannot be a graveyard down here on the slopes. Most graveyards are placed upon flat, level earth.

Oh yes. Annie pushed back her hat. ‘Why is that?"

Perhaps because no one wants their relatives shooting off downhill in their coffins after heavy rains. Toboggans ain’t in it! Brill passed Fang a length of sausage. Right! We shall trust in Guy’s eminent good sense. Let’s see where this hillside finally ends.

They moved onward up the slope, on past yet more shops – past places ranged with pianofortes, with harps and violins: Salzburg took its Mozart connection most seriously indeed.

The steep sloping city levelled out at last. The street divided, then divided yet again. The buildings all around became far more residential – tall and quiet, interspersed here and there with bookshops or gardens. Finally on level ground, Brilliana cast about and saw a great tall white wall at one side of a nearby square. The far side of the square was a single monolithic building – a thing with many arches, porticos and balconies, well shaded by tall trees.

An old man sat on a bench beneath the trees. He was a spindle-shanked creature, long of beard and large of nose, with hair that seemed somewhat undecided as to which direction it should grow. The old man watched all of the comings and goings in the street with a knowing air – nodding to some, and pointedly ignoring others. When a window opened in an apartment up above, the old man took out an immense great watch. He checked the time as a maid began airing the rooms above, and shook his head in disapproval at her tardiness.

Seeing the old man, Brilliana clopped her cane against the cobblestones. Ah, here’s our man! A long term resident. The very thing for providing directions!

Guy looked dubiously at the cantankerous old man. Are you sure? He seems somewhat… preoccupied?

Oh, quite sure! Brilliana waved a hand. The voice of wisdom! Of experience! What could be more appropriate?

Cruising prettily over the square, Brilliana addressed herself to the old gentleman with her scholastic German and a courtly bow.

Good day, dear gentleman. Can you perhaps help me find my way? I am looking for Saint Sebastian’s church?

The old gentleman leaned upon his walking stick and looked up at Brilliana in great seriousness, as though pondering some very deep facts indeed. He looked to the skies, then off to the flower boxes, as though seeking confirmation, and nodded sagely.

Young lady, it is not yet autumn.

As far as coherent answers went, this seemed to be a slight nonsequiteur. Seeing from the volume of his reply that the gentleman was a littler deaf, Brilliana cleared her throat, and tried once more.

Excellent. Thank you very much, sir. Now – do you know the way to Saint Sebastian’s church?

Not for a few weeks, young lady. But perhaps it will give you time to amend your ways! The old man thumped his cane against the ground. You should enter into good habits now, before they endanger your digestion in later years.

My digestion?

Digestion! The very root of good health! From poor digestion stems most other ills, young lady. Gout and the bone ache, costive pallor or agitation. Froward behaviour. The old man jutted his cane towards Brilliana. Only after two in the afternoon, young miss! That should be the rule! Never let them sway you with their sales patter and their bright, shiny displays!

Sales patter? Brill was more than just a tad lost. What sales patter?

Fruit sellers – and bakers! T’is the bakers I blame the most! With their tarts and their tortes and their shiny shiny glazes!

Guy came forward, hoping that perhaps a different approach might yield results. Excellent advice, sir. But do tell me – what churches are there nearby?

You as well? And a Frenchman, it seems? The old man shook his head in sorrow for the wickedness of the world. Cherries are extremely acidic on the digestion. I cannot recommend cherries to a young lady before mid day, and then only in moderation. He scowled. But stone fruit season is not until autumn! You are sadly addled, I find! Fresh cherries are not to be had.

Brilliana felt a headache coming on. The problem was apparently one of pronunciation and interpretation: the old gentleman was clearly deaf!

No no, sir. Kirche, not kirsche. Church – not cherries! Brilliana tried to keep her face calm, while raising her voice. We need to find Saint Sebastian’s church!

The old man examined. Brilliana. You are very pale, young lady. Are you ill?

No sir – I am in the best of health.

Ah! Then you are an undertaker? A mourner? The man shook his head. No business for you there! Burials are all handled by old Goslar and his crew.

No no… Brilliana tried to form her words with care. The local dialect of German was damnably torturous. We are scholars, sir. Here to pay our respects.

To the Mozarts? The old man looked Brilliana quietly up and down – his eye oddly sharp and aware. You do not seem a musician.

Nonetheless, to Saint Sebastian’s we must go. Brilliana changed tack, spying other aged local residents emerging from the large building behind the old man. Never mind. We are sorry to have bothered you, dear sir. Perhaps these people over here know more about the area?

Saint Sebastian’s, is it? The old man actually rose to his feet – quite unwilling to allow visitors to have commerce with his competition. You should have said so more clearly! You do not speak clear German. Where are you from? Somewhere barbarous, no doubt? England, where that madman Wellington came from. He could never understand plain German either. The old man – somewhat bent – jutted his stick off towards a street. Saint Sebastian’s church is there – across the square. Past the baker with his damned cherry tarts – avoid them at all costs until after two in the afternoon.

Thank you sir! Thank you! Brilliana heaved a weary sigh. May the good lord place a flower upon your head.

Brill turned and regarded the high white wall at the far side of the square – apparently the barrier surrounding Saint Sebastian’s churchyard. An archway nearby was clearly the entrance. Feeling weary and somewhat agitated, Brilliana turned, collected the dog, and gathered her friends over near the baker’s store.

Brilliana dourly polished her spectacles.

I am almost certain that man was being deliberately obstructive. Surely they can understand classical German when they hear it spoken? Brilliana looked at the baker’s shop. I am tempted to order a dozen cherry tarts just to spite the creature.

Annie looked upon Brilliana with a considering eye. You’re a damned crotchety creature when you haven’t had your tea.

Fie on them all. Addled alpine creatures with coffee flowing in their veins. Brilliana leaned upon her cane, inspecting the archway in the nearby wall. In any case – we have found the place at last.

Yes. Guy examined the huge building at the far side of the square. I take it the building at the other side of the square is a retirement home or aged persons’ hospital?

Probably convenient for the undertakers. Lacking tea in her system, Brilliana was disinclined to be charitable. Long may they profit. Ah well, come along! Let us take a look at this churchyard and see what may be seen.

A rather modest arch led through the whitewashed wall. The Effectuators walked up to the iron gates and peered carefully within, sensible to the peace and quiet just beyond.

The archway led straight onto a covered gallery – a broad, cool place that ringed a rambling garden cemetery. At the far side of the garden there stood a great slab-sided building – apparently Saint Sebastian’s church. It reared straight and blocky as a barn, pricking at the sky with an absurd little black iron steeple.

The garden was filled – quite filled with tombs, iron grave markets, tombstones and marble angels. It was divided into two tiers, high and low, with occasional outbreaks of hedges, trees and flowering shrubs. There were memorial plaques set into the colonnade walls, and yet more here and there upon the paths. The gardens held something in the range of five hundred tombs and graves – and there could be yet more inside the church itself. Many were marked merely with ornate crosses and statues, quite devoid of names and identification. Brilliana edged inwards through the archway, somewhat crestfallen, and stood gazing off across the graves.

Ah… She carefully polished her spectacles, then placed them back upon her nose. Cleaning her glasses had in no way diminished the number of tombs. Yes – perhaps there is a plan? A central directory. An address book of sorts?

Guy looked to the church itself. We can consult with the priest. Surely they are no stranger to visitors?

They might be, if that old blighter keeps chasing people off. Brilliana hitched up her skirts. Very well – there’s nothing for it! We shall just have to make some very guarded, very innocent inquiries…

Annie and Fang, meanwhile, had been admiring the artistry of a great marble plaque set into the wall a dozen yards from the arch. Annie stood back and looked it up and down.

Brill – is your German language skill really up to dealing with these locals?

Oh – there seem to be some damned weird idiosyncrasies in the local dialect. A little like gargling marbles. Brill shook her head. But we must persevere it seems. No doubt we shall manage. Clarity of pronunciation – that will surely see us through. Or perhaps written communication might bear fruit? Surely their written German must be essentially the same…?

Yes. Well, that’s a plan. Annie was quite aglow. Or we could entrust the search to someone of amazing intelligence and ability. Just trust that their natural talent will save the day. Annie polished off the bas relief at her side. I wonder where I should start…?

The bas relief – a thing of horrible sixteenth century glory, was marked quite clearly in florid script. Annie revealed it with a flourish of her hand.

"Phillipi Theophrasti Paracelsi

Qui lantam Orbis Famam

Ex Auto Chimico Adeptus est,

Effigies et Ossa."

Annie leaned against the wall. Will this do?

Why Annie-Lou Franknel! To the devil with you! Brilliana swept over and examined the monument, reading the Latin aloud. He earned world fame from chemicals, and obtained figures and skeletons… She looked up at the plaque in amazement. Why this is him!

Annie basked in congratulations, feeling quite remarkably clever. Brill bent to examine the large marble slab that had been set into the floor before the monument. It lay flush with the other stones – three feet wide and eight feet long. Far larger than a grave cap, it was quite clearly the capstone of a crypt or proper tomb. Brilliana was quite indecently pleased.

Yes! Got you, you bombastic blighter! We have you at last! Brill pulled down her goggles. Yes… Yes, not too heavy. We shall soon have that off you.

Guy moved to try and hide Brilliana casually from view. He cleared his throat with far more energy that subtlety.

Brill! Brilliana was examining the flagstones with her goggles down. Brill! We have a guest.

Yes – no real trace of charge. No positive sparking. Brill tapped at the ground with her heavily charged sword. What was that?

A priest! Guy moved forward to greet an incoming priest – a tall, slender man quite vanishing beneath a great curl-sided hat. Guy switched to his heavily accented German. Good day to you sir! Good day!

The priest – a man outfitted with a long and sheep-like face – came gliding busily along the colonnade. He craned to look at Brilliana, who knelt beside the monument on the cold flagstones. My dear lady? Can I help you? Did you fall?

No no! All’s well! Brilliana sheathed her sword behind her back. Annie gave her a helpful heave to bring Brill to her feet. No no, my dear sir. It was simply a moment of quiet prayer. A reverent act. A reflection upon a great mind and a glorious life.

Ah! You are an enthusiast for Herr Doctor von Hohenheim, I find? The priest looked his guests over with an easy eye. Are you from a medical family, dear lady? Apothecaries? Doctors?

Scientists! Brilliana dusted off her immaculate black skirts. I am a great admirer of von Hohenheim’s work in the sciences – chemistry, do you see? So this is something of a pilgrimage.

Indeed I see. A pilgrimage from... England? The priest offer a limp and pallid hand. Baumen, dear lady. Augustus Baumen, Pastor of the parish of Saint Sebastian.

A votre service, Herr Pastor! Brilliana gave a delicate curtsey. Standforth. Mrs Standforth. And my companions…

From France? The accent – surely it is from France? The priest extended a hand to Guy. Monsieur…?

Guy hesitated, a little caught by having to switch identities. Lafayette! Guy du Lafayette.

Ah! And you are a chemist as well, dear sir?

We are currently merely swept along in the tide of Mrs Standforth’s erudition. Guy took Annie by the hand. "May