Frankenstein's Legions (39 page)

All in all, the Lazaran incursion had been drama enough for one day, and compared to that Frankenstein’s friendly face was normality itself. Especially given the horrible eventfulness of their day-to-day duties. They even overlooked his hangers-on and Ada’s exclamation.

Julius waved a cheery greeting.

‘Everything is well?’ he enquired, as though it was his responsibility to find out.

Various affirmatives from around the building suggested it was, more or less.

‘Just thought I’d check.’

Blithe confidence and high acting carried Julius through again. Several of the more cultured staff went so far as to thank him for his concern.

Others had other concerns. Foxglove’s gaze took in the gallows, the dynamos and the suspended breeding racks—and found that actually, no, he couldn’t take them in. And, apart from the sights, there was the smell. The place was scrubbed and sterile but it still stank. The place stank of sex and electricity.

‘I have to go,’ said Foxglove, gorge rising.

‘We all have to go,’ agreed Frankenstein, speaking low. ‘As I said, our being here will be reported and not forgiven. But be so good as to give us a few more moments.’

‘I’ll try,’ said Foxglove, and endeavoured to see no more.

‘Stiff upper lip!’ Lady Lovelace exhorted her servant: which was extreme compassion by her standards. ‘Pull yourself together man!’ had been her first framed response.

Sadly for Foxglove’s resolve, at that moment one of the naked pregnant ladies saw fit to shift in her harness and loll her head in his direction. Inadvertently, he found himself face to face with her.

It was hardly a meeting of minds, not least because one of the minds had gone—and Foxglove even felt his slipping away. He was eye to eye with eyes that beheld nothing and lips the opposite of stiff.

On the contrary, she moaned and drooled. She must have been a pretty girl once, perhaps a maid drawn from the Palace staff, with notions of her own about how motherhood would be. Now she had no thoughts at all, not even about being naked and cocooned mid-air in row after row of many like her.

‘No!  Enough!’ said Foxglove, and being a decent soul might have done something drastic at that point to rectify the great wrong before him.

Happily however, by then it was ‘enough’ in another sense. Enough time for the slow fuse Julius had lit as his last act before leaving his rooms, to reach its destination. Time for Julius’ ‘collection’ to be unveiled to the world.

They could hardly ignore it. Home-made ‘Hellburner’ bombs were the weapon of choice for guerrilla movements worldwide when they wished for ‘a spectacular.’  Julius had familiarity with their effects in more than one continent, back when he was a mercenary (and thus should have known better…).

A few people had remarked on the in-preparation project, but it was by no means unknown for single men to have a beer barrel in their rooms (though rarely, it must be said, one so huge). Curious cleaners and Julius’ few visitors were told it contained blood for his experiments, or that—being Swiss—he was a heavy beer drinker. Either way, they didn’t enquire further.

Such squeamishness or national stereotyping meant he could go on with his painstaking accumulation, spending many an empty Versailles evening stealing the necessary powder flasks, bushels of nails and pots of tar. As it grew he gained faith that one way or another his hobby would serve as his default way out of Versailles.

Before escape-plans acquired a point and purpose, he’d envisaged being beside it when it went off, smiling sweetly in the faces of the soldiers come to arrest him. From him to the hissing fuse they’d look, and then back again, saucer-eyed and chasm-mouthed; too late to do anything but whisper ‘oh no…’

Oh yes!  A bang and a whimper: that would have worked. As might these revised plans, when all he wanted was to distract people whilst he resigned from Imperial service.

Quite aside from the explosive blast, Frankenstein felt a warm glow knowing casualties were thereby minimised. His rooms were far from the hub and only unlucky passers-by were at risk. This was a material issue. Knowing the staff as he did, it was clear many (most?) were candidates for Hell via his Hellburner. Better they should live longer and maybe repent. This way struck him as by far the kinder option. It was nice when things worked so neatly.

The signs looked good. Distraction abounded. Certainly, indifference and carrying on as before was no longer an option for anyone in Versailles. The whole Palace and surrounding countryside got to hear of Julius’ ingenuity. In fact, it suddenly become priority one for all and no one could speak about anything else. Even Napoleon was shaken from his daydreams of world-domination, and the Old Guard stirred up like an ants’ nest.

Only line of sight deprived those on the roof garden seeing a portion of the Palace pulse outward and then shroud itself in clouds of flame-shot black. However, given the sensational sound effects they could well visualise it. That and the floor heaving beneath their feet and a soon arriving shockwave breaking windows all about.

Frankenstein regained his balance and then his composure.

‘You see?’ he said to Foxglove, with a smile. ‘I told you you need wait only a few more moments...’

He said it softly, lest outsiders should hear and connect him to events, but needn’t have worried. Most were shocked into purely private thoughts and all were deafened. They looked from one to the other for guidance but found none.

Which is generally when the self-motivated can seize the moment and success. Frankenstein seized away.

Foxglove was temporarily hard of hearing like the rest but he got all the visual clues. The minute Frankenstein and Ada stepped doorwards he nipped in front of them and cleared the way. At last: a honest role he could play!

As the gunpowder furore died down a human one replaced it. Clamour rose from the unaffected portions of the Palace and lamentations from the devastated part.

It was perfect cover. Frankenstein issued urgent but contradictory orders to anyone en route inclined to stick their nose in. Foxglove’s intimidating presence did the rest. Within a trice they’d crossed the roof garden to the stairs and made all haste to be away.

Nevertheless, before she left, Ada lingered long enough to take a book and baby.

*  *  *

‘A bomb?’ said the Vatican priest, shocked—and surprised he could still be shocked. ‘A bomb set where innocent folk might be?  How could you?’

Well, speaking of ‘could,’ Julius could have quibbled whether anyone in the Versailles set-up might be termed ‘innocent’—but that was a bit too Ada-ish a stance for him. Instead, he pretended to misunderstand.

‘How? he ‘answered.’  ‘It is comparatively simple. My father first showed me how, and I arranged several in the course of my subsequent career. For instance, during the Fifth Basque War, we infiltrated a barracks in Bilbao and… well I digress, but suffice it to say the “Hellburner” is the poor man’s artillery battery. Insurgent movements all over the world use them. The knack is, you see, to layer powder in a container—brandy barrels are good—together with inflammables and shrapnel.’

Guilty conscience was scrambling his mind again, hugging the inconsequential, and spewing out words like one of the new-fangled crank-driven machine guns.

‘It takes time and patience but there is little actual complexity. Procuring sufficient slow-fuse was the only difficult thing, but as for combustibles, no problem!  You would not be aware, father, but the armoury at Versailles was as free with its favours as a…’

Fortunately, ‘Father’ interrupted there.

‘I do not need details of such devilry,’ he said, with a firmness that would have stopped a train. ‘They are no use to me—nor to you, man. Consider what you’re here for!  And why.’

‘Sorry,’ said Julius—which covered all aspects.

The priest bit his tongue. After so many enormities paraded before him what signified this further bit of moral deadness?  It could be included in the total without specific comment.

‘What then?’ he prompted, in vain hope the torrent of horrors had abated.

‘Well,’ said Julius, ‘‘midst the screaming confusion, the fires, the walking wounded and so on, we were able to simply stroll out. Quite remarkable!  We feigned injury or shock or an air of command as the situation dictated, and the perimeter troops left us through. A mile or so on brought us to an inn where we hailed a cab.’

The audacity of it all, the sweet living from minute to minute, was a pleasant recollection. Julius smiled but fortunately the priest did not see.

‘Which was afterwards, of course,’ he added, once the sunlit inner image dimmed. ‘After Lady Lovelace had taken the child, I mean. Though I’m pretty sure I’ve already mentioned that. Don’t you remember?  You were rather outraged, actually. Also, I said about the book laying beside the breeding program equipment. Technically speaking, I suppose stealing is always a sin so I’d better confess to liberating—well, stealing—the book too...’

‘Yes, tell me about the book,’ said the priest—and soon wished he hadn’t.

Chapter 4: TOP-SECRET TERMINOLGY

‘Classification ‘TOP SECRET,’ Copy 3 of 7.

Not to be removed from its appointed place.

PROJECT POSTERITY

Being a manual for senior staff and approved underlings attending his Imperial Majesty in the high matter of perpetuating his line.

NOTE AND AIDE MEMOIR!

Inconceivable as it may seem, the noble nature and vital patriotic import of Project Posterity is not universally perceived or shared. Vile reactionary elements even within our beloved nation, let alone the serried ranks of the enemy ranged against us, may be relied upon to condemn, perhaps even seek to thwart, this great undertaking and cause.

Therefore it is imperative that our work be shrouded in the deepest reticence, that the severest punishments be attached to any betrayal of the slightest whisper of our methods, our purpose and etc. etc.

Accordingly, caution in use of language shall be employed, even amongst ourselves. The following substitute terms have been approved for invariable everyday use in order to achieve the necessary habit of dissimulation.

His Imperial Majesty =
The Farmer

The Palace complex =
The Farm

The breeding area =
The sty

Brood-wives (potential) =
Fields

Brood-wives (serviced) =
Ploughed fields

Brood-wives (impregnated) =
Sewn fields

Brood-wives (pregnant) =
Growing crop
(followed by a numeric, 1-9, to indicate the month of gestation)

Offspring (live) =
Harvest

Offspring (stillborn) =
Spoilt crop

Offspring (non viable) =
Chaff

Offspring (live + 1 day) =
Sheaves

Offspring (live + 1 week) =
Harvest

All offspring shall additionally be designated as ‘M’ (male), ‘F’ (female) or ‘N’ (indeterminate).

BE WARNED!

A number of former colleagues have perished in imaginative ways for breathing word of what should not be spoken of. And be aware that their last breath spoke of their agonies, and further believe that their death was neither quick nor easy!  The traitors’ remains now rest unmarked, unhallowed, in the turds of the Lazarans to whom their carcasses were fed! The People’s Republic and the still more glorious Empire which shall follow will not remember them!

Yet though the penalties for transgression be terrible, so also are the rewards for virtue glittering. Friends! Frenchmen!  We batter at the door barring the way into a life higher than human! We speak of ascension into eternal earthly glory!  When successful we shall have seized the powers of creation from the withered hands of god!’

*  *  *

‘…Section 7. THE PROCREATIVE PROCESS

‘…after confirmation from the Cleanliness Inspection Supervisor that a sterile environment exists.

‘Then, if he is graciously willing, His Imperial Highness shall be assisted to ascend the scaffold and don the padded noose. The presiding scientist will have previously obtained consensus from both the designated hangmen (in separate interview) regarding the length of suspension and depth of drop before the lever is thrown. Should consensus not be readily reached the serving shall be suspended and third and fourth opinions obtained.

‘In the event of concurrence the hangmen shall jointly throw the lever. To protect the Imperial dignity at this point all present but they, the presiding scientist and the help-maids waiting below shall avert their eyes from the spectacle, on pain of death.

‘The presiding scientist shall then proceed with all speed to below the gallows and supervise the serving. He will en route give the command for the firing of the dynamos and on arrival administer to His Imperial Majesty the galvanic enema.

‘Prior and during the suspension said help-maids shall ensure that the recipient field be positioned in its harness at the right distance and height to receive his Highness when the spontaneous erection and emission of seed consequent upon hanging occurs.

‘The captain of said help-maids shall also ensure by her efforts the proper mounting and full penetration of the field and manually assist same and also secure emission if required. She shall likewise at the appropriate moment give the command for the bearing-up team to take His Imperial Majesty’s weight. In conjunction with the captain of the help-maids the presiding scientist will at the same time bring in the medical team to revive and treat His Majesty.