Everland(5)
To get my sister back, I will have to return to Everland.
The eight-legged Steam Crawler roars as it maneuvers around the rubble of what was formerly the Victoria Memorial. Its steel and chrome gears shriek to a stop in front of Buckingham Palace, one of the few buildings untouched by the bombs and currently my central command station. While it is nothing like Lohr Castle, the only home I’ve ever known, the palace has served me well for nearly a year.
Sliding the passenger door up, I step from the vehicle and am engulfed in a haze of warm steam bursting from the vehicle’s boiler. The brisk wind of a looming storm whips through my hair, obscuring the vision in my only functioning eye.
Threatening clouds blanket the darkened, early morning sky. Although the gloom has left the spirits of my men restless, I feel charged with anticipation, knowing our days left in Everland are numbered. There is very little reason left to stay. Everland is nothing but rubble.
In the distance, my zeppelin, the Jolly Roger, is being loaded with supplies by dozens of Marauders. The wicked grin of the skull carved into the stern of the ship calls to me, beckoning me to take her away from this ruined city. Metallic gears serving as eyes glitter, reflecting the torches lit within the royal gardens. Propellers spin, and the whir of the zeppelin’s engines serenades the desolate remains of London. Its hum is a symphony to my ears, a tune that vibrates throughout my soul, renewing my resolve.
I am grateful to be granted not only the finest of Queen Katherina’s fleet, but given her personal ship as well. It was a token of her appreciation for my service, she told me. A “gift.” It is the only offering my mother has ever given to me, mute evidence that she wasn’t as evil as I had believed when she took my eye. Perhaps her gift is a gesture of her remorse, but a confession would never cross her lips.
My second-in-command, Bartholomew Smeeth, stumbles behind me droning on and on about something insignificant and extraordinarily annoying. I despise it when he mumbles. He is only a temporary pawn in the grand design. For now, I tolerate him, pretending that I was the fortunate one to have found him trembling in his ridiculous Royal Guard costume beneath the ornate dining room table in Buckingham Palace, sparing his life as he pledged his allegiance to me. A man swayed so easily is a liability. His time as a Marauder will soon be coming to an end.
As we climb the steps to the palace, one of the soldiers coughs within his helmet. I stop and stare, but he’s unwilling to meet my gaze. Like all the Marauders, he, too, will eventually succumb to the Horologia virus, his fingers and lungs ravaged by the disease. A virus that took on a life of its own the day the first bombs dropped, destroying Europe’s largest biological weapons lab. The beginning of the countdown to the end. Within a month, two-thirds of my soldiers were dead. Only the youngest survived, leaving the inexperienced to finish this war. Although no one is older than eighteen, they fight on with fierce determination until it is their turn to meet their maker, a fate none of us will escape.
Unless I have something to say about it.
We pass the masked soldiers guarding the entrance and stop at the gilded front doors of Buckingham Palace.
“The ship’s almost full, Captain. She should be ready to travel soon. The sooner we get out of Everland, the better,” Smeeth says.
“Agreed. Prepare them for departure,” I say, storming through the entrance, leaving Smeeth in my wake. The lock gives an audible snap, sealing the palace doors behind me. I push the glass door of the inner chamber and step into the main room.
Gazing out the window, I watch the boilers hiss and columns of mist rise above the army of Steam Crawlers and zeppelins as they prepare for our departure. I reach for my copper-adorned eye patch, the socket as empty as my heart became the day I lost it. My fingers skim the three scars, scratching an itch that never seems to be satisfied. The ridges spark the childhood memory of my mother peering into her mirror, her once-unblemished and smooth skin mocking her as new lines of aging marked the corners of her eyes. Even as the years continued, I thought she was more beautiful with every one that passed.
The reflection next to hers was that of a young boy. It was my thirteenth birthday. After celebrating with the help, my instructors and only friends, I had brought her a gift since she was unable to join the festivities. Cupped in my small hands, I offered her a shiny green apple from the Forbidden Garden. Unbeknownst to me, a lethal substance lay within its peel. It was the last time I recognized the boy who reflected back at me. It was the last time my right eye ever saw her gold, bladelike fingernails that I once admired as they glittered in the sunlight. I never stepped foot into the orchard again.
Happy birthday to me.
I continue farther into the palace, until I reach a steel door. The tumblers click as I turn the key in the lock. When I enter the lab, a fine mist bathes me, washing away any outside contamination. The white walls, floor tiles, and countertops appear orange under the lantern light in the sterile room. Cabinets line the walls, their glass doors revealing bottles of medicine and other medical supplies. A single hospital bed sits against the wall. The stainless steel sink reflects the twinkle of lamp fire.
The Professor doesn’t flinch as I step inside the room. She doesn’t startle like she did during the early days of her imprisonment. Instead, she simply refuses to acknowledge my presence and studies her notes in a spiral binder, her auburn hair pulled back from her face. I often wonder if she’s become comfortable with my company, or if she’s so engrossed in her studies that she doesn’t hear me enter. Either way, I can’t help but find myself staring at her, infuriated by her lack of interest in my presence.