REBELLION

ONE

Revenge.

It was a simple word with a simple meaning that everyone understood. People wanted when they were crossed. People feared it when it came looking for them. It could pull a man in any direction, make him do the unthinkable, push his boundaries into places he never thought he would stoop. He would be blind to the natural laws of the world until he got what he needed, driven by rage, pain like lumps of coal burning to pump the machinery, spewing block smog into the pure mist. It would poison ever vein and artery, turn his heart black, and infect everyone around him like a plague.

And that sat just fine with me. I was looking for revenge, there was no doubt about it. Isadora Fairchild, the article writer whom I shared a bond, albeit fleeting, torn from my grasp before I had a chance to fully explore it, a second chance at love ripped from my arms. My comrades… my friends… were banished awaiting the trial for a crime of which they were innocent. Bourke was sent to the prison barges, a place he had been at a previous point in his life, a place he loathed to return. Shire, no doubt, was awake after I saved her, and imprisoned at RiverBend prison. Both of those places held criminals, real criminals, the worst our society bred. And both were almost impossible to break someone out of.

And me? After being arrested by the Chief Magistrate Tom Mooney, I was on my way to Briarwood Holding Cells to await my execution. But I knew I was never going to arrive, not if Superintendent Cathy’s plan worked. And I sincerely hoped it would. Because I was either going to be hanged at Briarwood or drowned in the river. And neither of those options sounded very good to me. Not with so much work to do, not with so much revenge to achieve.

Felix Vandemark and Arabella Lockridge were going to pay for their crimes. I would get them in a room and make them tell me where the Professor is, who their conspirators are, and what their evil twisted plans are. I was without my warrant card and my title and given full permission to exact whatever punishment I deemed necessary to bring the conspiracy to its knees.

The city, nay, the nation, was on the brink of total collapse, and the Raven held it by its throat, threatening to choke it into oblivion. But I wasn’t about to let that happen. But the one thing I would find out is that the only thing that is more blinding than revenge, is love.

But it was time to strip away the mystery and expose the Raven for what it truly was—not a lone specter, but three people playing the role. Felix Vandemark, Arabella Lockridge, and Professor Pyke had conspired together, masterminding their sinister plans. Back in Grace, Pyke had downplayed his involvement, presenting himself as nothing more than a helper. But it had all been a carefully crafted illusion to conceal the truth—he was one of the puppet masters pulling the strings.

It was what I thought about as I jostled in the back of the carriage towards my impending doom. Through a small tear in the hood, I took in the man sitting across from me, Elias Hardwick, sitting still with a straight back, the buttons on his grey coat polished and remarkably unscathed given how warn the coat was.

“How long have you known the Chief Magistrate?” I asked. I thought idle chitchat would help pass the time until we reached our destination.

“Keep ya mouth shut!” he yelled, driving his truncheon into my stomach. “If ya know what’s good for ya!”

As I bent over in pain, he leaned over.

“Since I joined a constable,” he whispered. “My father was a sergeant, and my father’s father. Either I had lineage or Mooney took sympathy on me. Found me in a gutter, he did, dragged me onto my feet and carried me to the barracks.”

“Seems he has a habit of finding lost souls and bringing them back form the dead,” I wheezed between breaths. “Maybe make the impact a little less impactful, next time, Sergeant.”

“Aye, Finch. Just trying to make it look authentic.”

“I’m trying not to die.”

He gave me a playful pat.

Through a small tear in the hood, I observed our route thought the bars. We rumbled down Gallows way (how fitting), wheels thudding over uneven stones. The morning sun hung pale and distant. Steam hissed through street vents, rising in ghostly plumes.

It made me think of the Professor, out there somewhere, protected, doing god knows what, preparing for god knows when. But he couldn’t be protected forever. In that moment, I thought I caught a glimpse of Fairchild, her wild locks under a wide brimmed hat, but alas on a second glance it was a poor facsimile.

The pair of Clydesdales clattered over tram tracks with a metallic ring as we turned onto Harrowgate Viaduct, the mist thickening. The rusted framework groaned faintly, the iron latticework glinting.

At it’s peak, the horses suddenly froze, forcing the carriage to come to a complete and sudden stop. The battered their hooves into the boards. Then all at once they violently reared up, causing the carriage to bend and lurch, rocked from one pair of wheels to the other. One horse bucked violently, slamming into the other, and the world pitched sideways. The reins snapped and Carthy fell from his driver’s perch and hitting the cobblestones harshly.

The pair of horses bolted over the bridge, their hooves clattering., their departure leaving the carriage teetering on two wheels towards the railing, the murky black depths welcoming them below.

I pushed my hooded face to the rear bars. “Help! Please!”

Pedestrians at the end of the viaduct watched from their vantage points. Whispering, pointing, yet remaining a safe distance from the terrible event that was about to unfold. Drivers pulled their carriages to a stop, causing a terrible jam in the morning traffic. It was in that moment that I once again saw Isadora’s face, the profile from behind an upturned jacket lapel.

As death approached, I was seeing love everywhere.

Hardwick was at the bars, gloved hands gripping them tightly. “Someone!” he shouted. “Anyone!”

Without warning, gravity took hold, pulling the carriage down and both Hardwick and myself yelled the whole way, and certainly not because it was rehearsed in that fashion. It collided heavily with the short barrier, sending me sideways, hitting my head against a wooden beam. Shouts and screams as the carriage immediately pitched over the edge to a certain doom.

I floated weightless within the upturned cabin, as did Hardwick, who still held the window bars with all his might. As it tumbled through the air, the banks of the river quickly ascending through the forward and rear barred window. I pulled myself into a ball just as the carriage struck the surface. I crashed into the door, the force cracking some wood, with Hardwick landing heavily and with a groan close to me.

Water instantly gushed in through the door bars as I agonizingly steadied myself. The knock had winded me and my bearings were turned inside out. As per the plan, I kicked down on the door, expecting the barrier to pop off it’s hinges, but I suppose none of us thought the door might be on the bottom, the force of the water dispelling any forice I stamped on the door. As we briskly sank, the gushing water made any attempt to force the door impossible.

“Hardwick,” I grunted, sloshing in the water. “Where are you?”

To my right, Hardwick lay face up, water almost covered his face, he wasn’t moving. I raced over and propped him up, but it would be for nothing if I couldn’t get the door opened. As soon as enough water had entered the carriage, it would sink like a stone thirty feet and we would find out forever home among old dock pilings and forgotten wrecks and would be quickly forgotten having vanished beneath the icy black.

With blood pouring from a deep cut on my head, blood dripped down my face. I yanked out my extendable baton out, snapped it down. “Hardwick,” I said as I attempted to wedge it between door and carriage. “Now would be a wonderful time for you to wake up.”

He groaned. Not even the near icy death was enough to rouse him. If I had my electric tool I would render the same treatment I gave Shire. But alas I didn’t and I had to choose either to rouse the man for him to help me escape, or try to escape under my own steam. With water levels rising fast, tt was a decision that came with immediate action, and any course for uncertainty would lead wo nothing but demise.

My heart banged in my chest, my breath quickening as the icy water rose. The door gave way a crack, allowing the baton to push through. I put a foot on the wall—which happened to be the ceiling roof— and levered. The wood creaked. Time was running out. Once the water rose too high, I wouldn’t be able to make any purchase or leverage and we were doomed. Once more, twice more. How iwi shed for some explosive powder and a spark.

Seconds counted as we sank, faster and faster. Up to my waist, luckily, Hardwick floated on his back. He wouldn’t be floating with water in his lungs. Suddenly water flooded in through the other barred windows like a gushing waterfall, and the carriage sank. I took a deep breath as it quickly dipped below the surface. I kept working my baton to leverage open the door. One. Two. Expending effort I didn’t have. The human inalienable reaction to preserve life at all costs. With one final heave the hinge gave way. I reached up, grabbed Hardwick by the collar, and pulled him through the water, using hand holds to move further down, given our exit was below us, I pushed him out and he slowly rose. As I followed him out, my boot got stuck, snagged on something unseen in the gap between the carriage and the door. My visibility zero, I tried to turn and work it through, but the deeper I sank.

Whatever daylight was above me, I was sinking to places the daylight didn’t reach. Somewhere in the distance I could see a form, Hardwick floating. My lungs burnt, worse than saving Shire, where the surface was a mere head above mine and taking a life-saving breath was easy.

The further I sank, my chest hurt, I wanted to breath in. I held myself together. But seconds felt like an eternity, and an eternity is where I would live in the bottom of the river. I squeezed my eyes shut. Head felt like it was going to explode. Lungs about to give way.

Suddenly something unseen grabbed my arm and pulled. Suddenly, my foot came free out of my boot. I was suddenly pulled up, but I couldn’t hold it. It was just too much. I’m sorry, Bourke. I’m sorry, Shire. I’m sorry, Tom. I’m sorry I couldn’t make it.

And all at once, I gasped, and water flooded my lungs.

And I died.