Mechanised Souls I

I

                   There must have been about eight guards in and around Donovan’s mansion. He was not a well liked man in these times of council bickering and to the overall antipathy he answered with more people watching over his estate in Somerset. The danger wasn’t as imminent as seeing a person above him giving a deadly blow but Mr. Donovan was the cautious sort of individual. He liked to think that was the main reason he managed to turn 50 this year.
                   
                The residence was placed upon a hilltop at quite the stretch from the neighboring town. For him to feel completely safe there was a need for a small army as his domain stretched far beyond and around the living quarters. But an army was expensive and in these trying times even the small garrison he managed to hire weighted heavily on the overall financial balance. They were good men though, handpicked by his personal aid in all matters but the family ones, Mr. Garret Langley, a somewhat shady character that stuck by Sir Donovan for more than 20 years now. Aware of the obvious holes in his slightly paranoid defensive plan, the owner ordered the build of a surrounding stone wall a while back that was to be placed close to the house itself, giving the manor a castle look. The walls were lit by torches as he couldn’t afford paying for so much electricity being used. Even so, the guards had an easier time watching over it, unlike the ludicrous option of patrolling Donovan’s domain searching for something they wouldn’t probably find anyway. Sometimes he felt trapped in a prison built by himself, trapped along with his family and his servants in between these walls so luxuriously covered on the inside but at the same time cold and restrictive. Sir Bailey, as Garret formally liked to call him, ended up loving to get out of there whenever he had the chance, be it an awful council meeting, a visit to a friend or a family outing, Donovan felt an almost childish enthusiasm beforehand. There was one thing he couldn’t do anymore though, riding his horse near the forest that borders his estate. Garret had to insist for several weeks, explaining to his employer that no guard can save him from a well aimed rifle shot, until Donovan gave in to his right hand’s flawless logic. He sure missed it though. It gave him a sense of freedom, such a precious feeling that he was experiencing less and less of. That last drop turned him into a bitter old man before his time, bitterness that even his wife wasn’t able to stand anymore.
                   
                Although it looked like he was staring aimlessly, bothered by some deep thought, Donovan was able to catch glimpses of the maid cleaning out some silverware from the dinning room. As he stood there in his favorite armchair, with his shirt unbuttoned, unshaved and with greasy hair, a slight feeling of envy was taking over.
                   Look at her…not a care in the world, all she has to do all day is clean this, wash that…there aren’t even little children in the house anymore to be pampered. I wonder what goes through her mind when she gets up in the morning. What worries can she have, but…I suppose that’s the reason I pay her and it isn’t the other way around, that’s why I’m the nobleman and she is the maid…the nobleman…
                   
                  Sir Bailey unconsciously made a fist of his left hand, breaking the glass of wine he was holding. Shards of glass made their way into the skin and now small drops of blood were mixing with the spilt red wine. As he was tilting his head backwards, in a way that suggested imploring some sort of gods, the maid could only mutter a whisper. Not a minute passed and she returned with a piece of cloth to clean up the mess. Her presence ended up infuriating Donovan, who didn’t even bother to open his mouth and sent her away by waving his right hand in that specific manner. The poor woman obliged and walked away with haste, probably back to the kitchen. Now that he thought about it better, his household didn’t resemble a prison at all, it was an outright tomb, and he was buried there with all his belongings and his old but not yet mummified servants. A smirk made its way on his face as he was realizing the irony of it all. While trying to escape from death he was just embracing it more and more as days passed.
                   
                  "I’ll send the carriage for Doc Roberts."
                   
                  As Sir Bailey turned there was Garret giving him a look that was expressing a sort of compassion, but it could as well of been pity. He used to hate Langley’s way of sneaking up on him and he was sure he was doing it on purpose just for the kicks of it.
                   
                "That’s alright, I’ll just have Liz take a look at it and pay the doctor a visit in the morning. It’s not like she has anything else to do."
                   
                "Indeed sire but may I just say Mrs. Elizabeth is not a medic, and you are still bleeding."
                   
                  "I’ll live until tomorrow, it is kind of late anyway, wouldn’t want to bother the good ole doc for this trifle, which brings me to the question, how come you are still up and about?"
                   
                  "Just checking on the guards that will watch over tonight."
                   
                  " All in order?"
                   
                  "Yes sire."
                   
                  Garret faked a smile just before bidding good night and disappeared as sudden as he appeared. Donovan couldn’t help but wonder just what kind of man is this Garret. All these years that passed didn’t really help him understand. He considered himself to be a good judge of character. It kind of came with his job, with politics. When everybody around tries to sell you lies covered in sugar coating, developing a knack for these things becomes inevitable, you end up seeing through the lies and the charming personalities and Donovan didn’t like what he saw most of the time. Behind the nicely painted doors there was usually nothing worthy to look at. One of his fears was not to end up like them, just a puppet with a grin on his face, he liked to think he wasn’t. What he was certain of though is that Garret was not like them, his aid was not like anyone he ever met, and that puzzled him.
                   
                   A small blood puddle caught shape at Donovan’s feet as he was still sitting there numb. The dinning room was connected with the kitchen on one side and with the manor’s entryway on the other. He started hearing the hard wooden floor creaking under light steps close to the main entrance. He was surprised of the speed of his movement as he got up from the armchair. While trying not to make too much noise, he treaded lightly, heading for the source of the sound. As he got closer to the massive arched doors made of oak, he saw a silhouette turn the corner up the stairs. Struck with curiosity, which apparently defeated fear, Donovan walked faster trying to catch up.  After climbing the staircase, with his heart pounding, he realized there was no one there anymore, but instead of feeling relieved, it just made him more aware. He thought of shouting but immediately changed his mind, turned around and walked away. There was no time for desperation, at least not yet, he said to himself. The little shards of glass stuck in his left hand were making their presence felt so, Sir Donovan hurried to the master bedroom with the hope that his wife might be able to pluck some of them out. As he opened the door, he saw her already sleeping. Donovan couldn’t help but smile. He decided not to bother her and without changing his clothes, slipped in next to her quietly.

♦

                   Garret was standing in what seemed to be the manor’s improvised keep from which he had a clear view at the freshly installed portcullis. If it were up to him, he would of demolished that imposing wall first thing in the morning. Mr. Langley was against its build from the very beginning as he couldn’t possibly see it as an efficient method of protection against the types of danger his employer might need to face. All that he saw in that wall was a hideous and outdated form of defense that not only blocked his view to the main road leading to the household but also raised attention towards the Bailey’s and attention was the last thing they needed. It wasn’t the first time Donovan ignored his saying in a matter of such importance though. As soon as he received the first in a long line of threats his employer insisted to be accompanied by two guards whenever making a trip into the nearby town. The effort that Garret mustered in trying to explain the downsides of such tactics proved in vain and what he feared the most happened. The Bailey’s were the talk of the borough and now everyone that cared to find out knew that the noble family felt vulnerable for some reason.
                   
                It was a cold night and Garret had to adjust his toper from time to time because of the strong wind that blew in and around the keep, causing some of the torches to extinguish. The sentry standing atop the portcullis turned to him and pointed out there is someone at the gate. The man most definitely came on foot. A flimsy hooded cloak was covering his body. As Garret got closer, he told the guard to stay put and proceeded to walk calmly towards the visitor.
                   
                "Who are you and what brings you here at these late hours in the night?"
                   
                "I see you still haven’t made room for pleasantries in your speech old dog. You show no appreciation whatsoever, and here I am walking through this awful weather like a lunatic just to give you this message."
                   
                The visitor let loose a toothless grin while pulling an envelope from his robe and handing it to Langley through the grates. As Garret was reading the letter the man waited quietly for a response. Although trying not to pose as a threat, he could smell the tension of the guards from a mile away and he was sure they were all looking straight at him.
                   
                "Very well, tell Dampier I’ll be on my way."
                   
                "What?...You’re not gonna invite me in for a cup of tea? I’m awfully sore you know, and thirsty! Oh alright, alright, I’ll go tell your puppeteer you’ll be arriving shortly eh."
                   
                The visitor didn’t wait for Garret’s reply and left. After taking a couple of steps he turned around and waved at the sentry atop the portcullis. Soon enough he was nowhere to be seen.
                   
                Above the town of Glastonbury the strong wind was rounding up thick rain clouds much as a herding dog musters sheep. The settlement was asleep, with only tall electric arc lamps watching over the deserted cobbled streets. Every once in a while the footsteps of a militiaman on patrol broke the silence. On the southern outskirts of the town travelers could rent rooms at the Blunderboar Inn. That’s where Garret was heading, rushing his horse to avoid the incoming rain. Inside, Richard Dampier was waiting for him, sipping slowly from a mug of ale. Although the wrinkles on his face gave in his old age, the strong bare forearms indicated that his physical strength hasn’t really diminished with the passing of time. On the back of his hands he had tattoos representing in great detail the head of a wolf.  The shirt he was wearing, which might have been white once, was covered by a simple grey vest. His stout appearance was one of a retired sailor or a dock worker but the eyes held warmth in them, the warmth of a wise old man. As he set foot in the Inn, Garret’s coat was soaking wet. Without ordering anything he took a seat across from Richard.
                   
                "A fine night to stay indoors and catch some sleep. My apologies for calling you here at such late hours but I have to leave town tomorrow morning. First…tell me, how is my favorite student doing?"
                   
                "It’s good to see you too Richie, now stop trying to make me feel younger than I am."
                   
                Garret laughed and his eyes lit up. He didn’t see the old man in a long time and he was actually eager to seek his advice as he spent the last months trying to figure out things on his own.
                   
                "Lad, the ruckus we’ve been facing lately didn’t allow us to handle your Sir Bailey proper but I had faith in your abilities. Tell me…how is your sire doing?"
                   
                "Not too good I’d say, he’s like a gunpowder barrel ready to blow up. This pressure is taking its toll on him and I have to double my effort to try to keep him calm."
                   
                "Is he still bent on supporting our cause?"
                   
                "Yes, admirably so. He sees no turning back now, and that can only help us. I can’t say the same about his followers though. A small number of them already turned against him in the council. "
                   
                "We need to assure him of his safety. In my short stay here I spotted three men that checked in a day before me. They don’t seem to be from around here and asked some of the patrons about the Bailey’s. It looks like you’re finally gonna get your hands dirty Garret. It’s been a while. They’re nothing more than cutthroats, so make sure you create a spectacle about it. Your sire has to see the strength of his garrison and maybe then he’ll come to better senses. Convince him to come into town tomorrow, I’ll make sure to be of help with these thugs in spilling out some information. And grab two of your best men. As I see things, they won’t hesitate to attack him in the streets."
                   
                "Sir Bailey DID mention about a visit to his doctor in the morning…"
                   
                "Perfect! Everything is fitting in quite nicely. By the way, that old sewer rat, Ash is still in Glastonbury. I told him to stick around when I saw the thugs in the Inn. He’ll be following you tomorrow in case you need his help and will report to me afterwards. Although I’m quite sure I’ll read about it in the paper."
                   
                "I should just barge into their rooms and kill them right now…"
                   
                "No Garret! It’s of great importance for your sire to see that he’s well guarded. Also with him there, no one will have doubts about the purpose of the whole thing. Let’s give his enemies something to think about while putting out a good show for the local newspaper."
                   
                Mr. Langley was a bit embarrassed for doubting his mentor and as he pondered more about the plan he could see that Richard was right. Of course it added a certain amount of pressure on his shoulders as he had to make sure everything goes well with this little catch but luckily it was going to happen soon enough.
                   
                "With that out of the way, tell me Richie, what other news you bring me? "
                   
                "Unfortunately no good news lad. The Priest has nightmares almost every night and in the daytime he acts like a madman. He said that Mother speaks to him in his sleep but for now refuses to tell us what She’s saying. And as if that wasn’t enough to worry about, I lost one of my best scouts somewhere in Yorkshire. He simply disappeared."
                   
                "What was he after?"
                   
                "He was tracking Neville, that young inventor. He built a new laboratory close to Sheffield but no one was able to spot the damn thing. That’s where I’m heading next. Don’t you worry about that though, you have to put on a play tomorrow."
                   
                Richard smiled. Garret Langley was indeed his favorite student and sometimes he wished to have him handle more important things than chaperoning a political figure. Garret’s expertise in the ways of war was needed on the front lines as the tension grew with each day passing but Donovan Bailey was a bet they didn’t want to loose just yet.

♦

                   Elisabeth got out of bed early. She had been waking up with terrible migraines for almost a week now and it didn’t look like the medicine she was taking was doing her any good. Her husband was still sound asleep. She was astonished as to how he could rest with that blooded hand of his and eventually assumed that exhaustion caught up with her beloved. As she headed towards the kitchen, to discuss the day’s menu with the family cook, she saw Garret talking with two of the guards in the lounge. They all stopped at once as soon as they noticed her and bided good morning. They’re preoccupied about something…thought Liz but decided not to inquire further. No one ever told her anything about the pressing matters that troubled her husband, not even Donovan himself.  In a way, she felt treated like a child and it bothered her but on the other hand she was thankful she didn’t have more things to worry about, ignorance is bliss after all. Along with the cook, she decided to go with courses from the French couisine. The Bailey’s hired Pascal from the region of Bretagne since one day Donovan decided he wanted a non-English speaking chef. *He can’t poison me if he doesn’t know what the bloody hell people are saying around him.* was the reason given to Liz. She had nothing against hiring Pascal as it gave her a chance to practice her French daily and converse with someone a tad more exotic than a pure Englishman. The newly acquired cook was also a rather young fellow that gave in almost instantly to Elizabeth’s charms. Putting aside her obvious high standing, Donovan’s wife was still an attractive woman, nearly 15 years younger than her other half. In the back of her mind she blamed her husband’s apathy for her wrong doings.
                   
                Cynthia, the Bailey’s sole progeny was to join them for lunch, along with the future Duke of Lancaster, Warren Grisham the Third. After Cynthia became Warren’s consort she left her parents’ household to move in with his family, leaving the Bailey manor devoid of her liveliness. Liz was always looking forward to her daughters’ seldom visits and prepared them as an outright reception. Donovan’s latest political disputes and the family’s lack of money prevented her from attending most of the social events thrown by members of high society, adding to her overall boredom and pushing her to find cheaper ways of entertainment. The future duke was considered a great catch for Cynthia. His father was a wealthy landlord and one of the few bankers that came from the gentry’s ranks. The Grisham’s however did not approve of Donovan’s political views and the relation between the two families grew colder and colder as Donovan began to share his views in the United Council in a more fervent manner. The current state of affairs was, in Elizabeth’s opinion another fault of her pigheaded husband as his inability to compromise deprived the Bailey’s of any form of help at the hands of their new relatives. When thinking about it Liz was being overrun by a great feeling of anger and hate towards her other half not once culminating with homicidal thoughts. Today however, she was in a good state of mind, the migraine disappearing as soon as she spoke with Pascal.
                   
                As Liz passed through the lounge again she noticed Garret was still there chatting with the two guardsmen. Just like earlier this morning they all stopped talking and greeted her once again. What could be so important to make them sneak around my back so much? I am after all a Bailey, this is insolence! Chattering behind my back in MY own house… I should just step forward and ask them what seems to be the problem. But what she would of called *respect* for Mr. Langley stopped her from doing so. That respect was actually a fear of that weird man that was her husband’s shadow for as long as she could remember. His devotion to Donovan was beyond her comprehension and as with things one doesn’t understand, it scared her even more than that icy inhumane look he sometimes gave to people. Elizabeth tried to forget about Garret, about her husband and all the problems surrounding her in an attempt to keep her good mood.

♦

                   "Go into my chambers and search the drawers in the cabinet on the right. There are a couple of revolvers there and get rid of this uniform, you’ll be coming along as civilians. You are to keep a distance from myself and Sir Bailey as soon as we all dismount but always be on the lookout, hopefully we’ll know more about what we’re getting in to as soon as we reach Glastonbury."
                   
                "How many sir?"
                   
                "Three men, as I understand they are simple thugs, nothing that should pose a problem for lads with such training and experience as yourselves."
                   
                "Sir, why not just let us two ride to town and try to find these taffers? We’ll make short work of them and Sir Bailey wont have anything to worry about."
                   
                "Don’t question me! We will do it the hard way and that’s that! Now go and grab the guns."
                   
                The guard’s confusion was to be expected but Garret chose to make use of his authority instead of wasting his breath with a long detailed explanation. He was uneasy and had a bad feeling but decided to go along with this charade placing his trust in Dampier’s instincts.
                   
                At the top of the staircase there was Donovan, with the same bandage on his wounded hand from last night looking as unkempt as a bum. He greeted Garret with a slight nod and proceeded to descend while keeping his good hand on the banister.
                   
                "Sire we have to get you to a doctor as soon as possible, your hand is swollen."
                   
                "Yes, yes it is ain’t it? But I want to leave that old hearse at home and ride on Pride into the city!"
                   
                Donovan had the expression of a 5 year old spoiled brat gathering his eyebrows into a frown and keeping his mouth straight. He was sure Garret will disapprove and so he tried to look as determined as possible.
                   
                "Absolutely sire, I think you might enjoy the fresh air, it’s also a bit sunny outside. What if we leave the horses outside Glastonbury, they have stables there, and take a walk to Doc Roberts house?"
                   
                "That sounds wonderful old friend! I haven’t been on a walk in the town plaza in ages! I’ll go get dressed, think I’ll need the maid’s help today."
                   
                The joy of getting out into the world immediately reminded Sir Bailey just how confined he was most of the time and so that brief moment of happiness was replaced with a quiet sadness. Garret learned to foresee his employer’s seemingly sudden mood changes and knew that Donovan will feel better as soon as he gets on his horse.
                   
                Pride was trotting ahead of the escort, enjoying the outing as much as its master did. Still unshaved but with one of his newest black tailcoats on his back, Sir Bailey was bursting with confidence.  At first he worried about controlling the horse with only one good hand for such a long trip ahead but his equestrian skills weren’t at all lost. As they reached Glastonbury, just like established before, all dismounted and left the animals in the care of a young stable boy. The narrow streets were teaming with people, most of them walking towards the town plaza. It was a Sunday and as every Sunday, Glastonbury was hosting a fair. The large fountain placed in the middle of the plaza was surrounded by small wooden tables on which sellers were exposing their goods. Small time inventors were describing their newly assembled mechanical gadgets along with the rest of the merchants there that sold anything from silk to metal and wooden figurines. The commotion unsettled Garret as the group got closer to the improvised market. Out of nowhere a beggar grabbed Garret’s sleeve with two of his fingers and pulled.
                   
                "Care to spare a coin for a poor decrepit old man?"
                   
                Langley was about to push him out of the way but immediately recognized Ash’s toothless grin.
                   
                "Two are in front of that elm tree to your left, the big bloke with a moustache and the one next to him. Saw them?" Garret gazed around then nodded his head.
                 
                " The third bloke is pretending to buy a pocket watch close to the fountain, he’s chatting with the seller, the large balding taffer. I followed them from the Inn. The one with a moustache is the only one with a firearm, the rest are carrying knives. I’ll be right behind you. Good luck ye old dog!"
                   
                Ash blended in with the crowd behind Sir Bailey and made himself seemingly scarce. At a sign the two guardsmen approached Garret. After he pointed out the locations of the attackers, the two prepared themselves to draw their weapon when needed.
                   
                "What is it? Something wrong? "
                   
                Donovan couldn’t help but notice the commotion of his escort.
                   
                "We hope it’s nothing Sire, I’m just having a gut feeling."
                   
                "You and your hunches! Enjoy this sunny day old friend and stop worrying for once."
                   
                I’m just hopping you’ll still be able to enjoy life itself after this is over. Mr. Langley knew that the main attacker will have to get as close as the others to have a good shot at the councilman. There were just too many townsfolk for him to open fire from a distance and actually hit Donovan. He had the other two watch each of the thugs closely as he kept the one with the firearm in his sight. As the group got closer to the fountain, the three assailants came forward making their way through the crowd. Their rough way of pushing people aside eventually created an empty space around them, much to Garret’s relief as he didn’t want to hurt any innocent bystanders.
                   
                "Pocket watches…hmm, I could use a new pocket watch…"
                   
                Sir Bailey’s observation was interrupted by a groan coming from his right side. As he turned around he could see a well built man with a moustache, a gun in his hand and a knife stuck deep in his chest. Not two feet from him there was his trusted advisor pointing his LeMat revolver at the man’s face and shooting. More shots were heard as the remaining assailants were gunned down by his guardsmen. Loud screams were followed by a stampede as people were trying to get away from the incident.