'The Auxiliary' (Tales from the Aether Part Two)

[Prunesquallor]

(Note: To hear this story read by mistercactus, a trained Shakespearean actor, please tune into our Malifaux podcast: The Aethervox).

***

Morgan Galbraith knew she was being followed. She could feel the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. If she listened carefully she thought she could pick out soft footfalls that stopped when she stopped, started up again when she started.

The meeting of the Miners and Steamfitters Union Women’s Auxiliary had run very late. It was well past midnight and the streets were nearly empty. Earlier that evening, in the bright warmth of the Union Hall, Morgan had tabled a motion to create a militia, a fighting force that could protect the picket lines during a strike and provide sergeants-at-arms and security personnel for the ever-more-risky Union meetings. Just the week before, several Guild spies had been caught trying to infiltrate a meeting of the Ways-and-Means Committee. The ensuing brawl had brought the Guard down on them and three Union members were now behind bars for assaulting an officer of the guard and disturbing the peace.

As an unofficial arm of the Union, the Women’s Auxiliary could engage in resistance and subversion activities without further jeopardizing the Union’s already-tenuous legal status.

Morgan’s proposal had been controversial and caused fierce debate. There had been those in the hall who had argued that women would not be able to hold their own against men in combat, that men were bigger and stronger and that they would simply be laughed at if they tried to fight. Morgan had replied by drawing her wide-mouthed pistol and shooting one of the chains that held the meeting hall’s huge iron chandelier. There was no risk of it dropping, but the great hunk of metal and flame had slewed impressively to one side and began to swing back and forth, eliciting gasps and a few screams from the women assembled below.

Morgan held the smoking gun in her upraised fist and spoke in a voice that was almost a shout: “My sisters, is rock not harder than flesh? Is metal not stronger than bone? Is the force exerted by pressurized steam not more powerful than the force exerted by even the strongest muscles? And yet our Union brothers use the fruits of technology to break rock, to bend metal and to harness the power of steam. We too can use the fruits of technology to pierce flesh, to break bone, to tear muscle. Believe me ladies, with the right training and equipment a woman can be as powerful and dangerous as any man.”

A great cheer went up in the hall and it took several minutes to restore order. There was broad support for the idea amongst the rank-and-file, but there were many dissenting voices, women who thought the Auxiliary should limit itself to baking pies and organizing social events. The Chair adjourned the meeting before a vote could be called. The matter would have to be debated at the next meeting. The seed had been planted, but Morgan still had a lot of work to do. Plans would need to be laid, a budget would have to be drawn up. She had no patience for stalkers that night.

Morgan ducked into Cheapside Alley, knowing it was a cul-de-sac. When she reached the high wall at the alley’s far end she whirled about, her pistol in her hand. Whoever was following her would have to confront her now.

“Show yourself,” she called. “Show your face or I’ll shoot you right now.”

A woman’s form appeared at the mouth of the alley, silhouetted against the lights of Penderlite Street. Her face was hidden in shadow. “Miss. Galbraith,” called the woman. Her voice was low, a gravelly growl that was full of menace, with a heavy accent. “I heard your speech tonight at Union Hall. I was impressed. You are clearly a woman of great courage and spirit.”

Morgan relaxed a little, but did not lower her gun. Perhaps her stalker was nothing more than one of her Union sisters come to offer her support, but it was also possible she was a Guild agent come to intimidate her, or worse.

The woman moved slowly up the alley, towards Morgan. She walked with an unnatural gait; it was almost like a limp, but there was something in it that hinted at great agility and speed. She continued to speak as she advanced: “If I were a member of your organization I would offer you my support. Unfortunately, circumstances make that impossible. However, I may be able to do something even more beneficial for your cause.”

The woman stepped into a pool of weak light that escaped from one of the small windows that opened onto Cheapside Alley. She wore a long cloak, buttoned at the throat, and heavy fur gloves. The woman’s face remained swathed in unnatural shadow: “You see, I believe the Guild has made a serious error in judgement. They hope to nip your militia in the bud...”

Morgan cocked her pistol and pointed it at the woman’s head, but as she steadied her aim she realized what was strange about the woman. It wasn’t shadow that obscured her face, but a thick coat of dark gray fur. And the woman wasn’t wearing gloves.

The light from the window glinted off inch-long claws.

The woman continued to advance, seemingly oblivious to the gun pointed at her, “...but I believe that your death will turn you into a martyr and only serve to galvanize the movement you began tonight.”

Before Morgan could fire the woman whipped aside her cloak and sprang. It happened in the space of a heartbeat, but Morgan saw it unfold with a hideous slowness. As the woman sprang, she transformed, her body warping and twisting into a grotesque and unnatural form, her face elongating and narrowing, her lips drawing back into a snarl, revealing a set of vicious canine teeth flecked with spittle and blood. Morgan stood frozen, unable to think, let alone move, as those terrible jaws flew at her throat.

***

It rained that night and Olga Chadzka stood under a drainpipe for ten whole minutes, letting the freezing water run through her fur. Morgan Galbraith’s blood drained into the gutter by her feet.

Soaking and shivering, Olga pulled her cloak around her shoulders and ran back to her caravan, quick and silent as a shadow. She felt invigorated. She could taste Morgan’s blood on her tongue. It had been so long since she had killed. Mr. Magpie did not allow it, except on contract.

Tomorrow, the Guild would discover Morgan’s body. The autopsy would reveal wounds consistent with those inflicted by a large dog. Nobody would believe it.

The Miner’s and Steamfitter’s Union Women’s Auxiliary would call an emergency meeting and vote overwhelmingly to support the formation of a militia. “Vengeance for Morgan,” would become the rallying cry.

And Olga would perform in the big top in Creepstone Cemetery with dried blood under her fingernails.

[Doctor Amos]

A happy ending. Hurray.

[Absolution Black]

Hooray indeed!! I loved it. And its good to see the Writing room becoming popular again!