SCENE FIVE The main ward, Baltimore State Asylum same day
An hour and a half later thick, grey plumes of smoke filled the hallway outside the Administrator's office. When the alarm was sounded throughout the complex, Jim's cousin, Jemison Singer hurried to help his new colleague, Miguel de Cervantes escape the choking fumes. Artemus Gordon easily lifted and carried Torry, and together this odd quartet made their way down to the main ward, while guards and attendants rushed upstairs.
"But, 'temus-Poppa," Pocket Torry grinned as they reached the lower level. "Whyn't we go down on th' leleevater?"
"Well because lots of other folks were using it to go upstairs, Pocket." Artie answered, wondering at the gift he seemed to be developing for telling the "brothers' apart these days. "And we wanted to get… Miguel away from all that smoke in a hurry. It makes him cough, and that's not what we want. We want Miguel to … to breathe and go on breathing."
"Well, I'm gratified to hear you say so, Artemus." Miguel chuckled. "Thank you. Now, Pocket, come sit with me, while all those big folks scurry around trying to find out where all that smoke came from. I think it was starting to get your cough going again, too, wasn't it? Jemison, did you bring the hard candy with you today that I'd mentioned? They seem to help Torry's throat and even his breathing when he doesn't chew them too quickly. And besides, I like sour candies, too."
"They're right here, Doctor." Jemmy said, holding out a brown paper sack full of hard candy to Miguel and handing one piece to Torry. "Now, Little Cousin, will you take just one at a time? And try to hold it in your mouth a while, instead of crunching it the way you did the last time, please?" The Raleigh native asked.
"Otay, Jemmee-dokker." Pocket giggled, plopping the candy into his mouth and plunking down next to Miguel. "Wees just like thems middle parts too many t' be waitin' on "em, figger."
"Figure you do, Little." Jemmy laughed in turn. "Artemus, is something the matter? You're being pretty quiet."
"No, no, nothing really, Jemison. And I thought you were going to start calling me Artie. Anyway, I suppose I've just got a suspicious nature, is all. I'm sitting here wondering what was making all that smoke. Didn't it seem like a lot to you? And from what little I saw before we ran down here, there was a lot of paper ash in it? Someone must have been burning a whole lot of paper, it seems to me. And the only large amounts of paper in this complex are or rather, were, the records in the Administrator's office!" Artie sighed. 'so I have to call this fire rather suspicious. The place is about to be auctioned for back taxes and the records all of a sudden go up in smoke? And on top of that, the pair of idiots who were claiming to be fully in charge here have both now somehow vanished? How can that be? Grown men don't just vanish, present company, naturally excluded!"
"Naturally, Mr. Gordon." Miguel giggled. "However, since I feel you may be most concerned with the records by which the Torry's were illegally committed here, let me reassure you. I took the opportunity, some weeks back, to filch those very documents from the Administrator's office and replace them with similar but even more fraudulent copies. I haven't had such a good reason to go back to my old sleight of hand, trompe d'oeuil techniques in a long while, so it was rather amusing."
"And those documents, where are they now, Miguel?" Jemmy asked, thinking Artie wouldn't. "Not upstairs in your study where any of the bad guys here could walk in and retrieve them?"
"No, no!" Miguel grinned. "You're quite right that would have been an exercise in futility at best! No, the whole lot of them went to Richmond, to my dearest Lady-wife there, in the last packet Jacques was kind enough to take her. As a matter of fact, Jacques has gone down to see Antoinette so often, it's a very good thing indeed, as it turns out, that I've not a single jealous bone in my body."
Artemus bit back a grin and was working hard, the next moment, not to laugh out loud at his declaration "Not one, not even one jealous bone, Doctor?" The older agent finally managed to ask.
"Wazz jelluss bohn, 'temus-Poppa? Wazz jelluss bohn, Mee-gel?" Pocket demanded. "Wazz izz?"
"Well, Torry," Jemmy began, as both Miguel and Artie worked not to laugh at the child's latest vocabulary question. "If our friends don't mind my answering for them, it means that Miguel doesn't mind if Antoinette is friends with our friend Jacques or other fellows. And some grown fellows do mind that sort of thing, when they're married, sometimes. It just depends."
"Oh otay. Wees ken figger dat. Dat's what us'ns newes' friens Danny an' Seanny-Ori, an' us'ns friens Trav an' Rand dey say it dat way." Pocket nodded sagely. "Us'ns Mee-gel does be us'ns prettiest ever was Ani's veryiest own bestest fella, so them gots Micah Little an them gots marree den. So Mee-gel does be Ani's 'mo" trey share marree Mee-gel tol' us'ns dat! Wee did be see her pichur Mee-gel keeps all of times, kinda same, kinda no th' same as us'ns guddes' Ol'est Torry keeps us'ns guddes' prettiest, bestest, angel- momma's pichur… all of times, too… Kinda same, kinda no th' same… Yes, Mee-gel? So Mee-gel no wants us'ns Ani t' have novver fella… Yes, Mee-gel?"
"Yes, Pocket. That was…" Miguel started to answer, when a commotion broke out across the main ward. Suddenly, as the doctor and the two agents watched, a dozen or more guards boiled into the room as if charging enemy forces. And they were, in a sense, because more than twice that number of ragged, unkempt, and furious inmates were standing and quarreling with a much smaller, very nervous, knot of attendants. Miguel was getting nervous himself, worried for the child's safety, and well aware of how loud, angry voices frightened the Torrys.
But then the doctor took another sharp look at the main group of "inmates' causing the ruckus, a dozen young men in total, and he relaxed. He'd been introduced to each of these 'scarecrows' when they came to his infirmary upstairs, as new admissions. Six of these amazingly brave inmates towered over the guards, and for that matter, most of the men in the ward, so they were easily recognizable even in this actually maddened throng. And the other half dozen made up in their muscular builds and lung power what they might lack in height. These were the young agents currently assigned to help Artemus and his partners keep the Torrys safe: Ori Hoynes, Terry Hawks, Rand Alexander, Travis Madsen, Chris McIntire, Mairtin Macquillan, Micah and Thad Kuenle, Rob Harper, Mickey Spencer, Sean Phillipsen, and Tierney Roberts.
"Looks to me as though the cavalry's coming a bit late to the party." Artemus muttered, hiding a grin behind one strong hand. "In fact, I'm kinda surprised that Ori, Danny, Terry and Mairtin don't have the whole place under their thumbs at this point."
"They probably would if that'd been the idea." Jemmy replied just as quietly. "They could've taken the whole complex over by now with Harper and Rand, Mickey and Micah and the rest helping out! In fact, if I hadn't seen how many new guards have shown up here the past few days, I'd have bet money we could slip Torry and Miguel on out the door while the rest of the fellows keep "em busy in here! And maybe, just maybe we should go on ahead and try that, right now, Artie. Artemus, what's the matter? What's wrong now?"
Artie was staring at the rifles some of the guards carried, and now he pointed them out. 'they've got some odd kind of device covering the end of the barrel. If I didn't know better, I'd say they were a kind of grenade. But there's too great a risk of the whole blasted thing just exploding if you tried using a rifle to send off a grenade. So I don't know what those objects stuck into the ends of some of those rifles could be. And that doesn't make me very happy at all. Also, we can't just take Jim out of here. We've tried that before, when the bastards running the place had fewer guards. It's even more dangerous now, for reason of the increase in guards you noted yourself. One or more of them could easily panic and get someone in here killed."
"Added to that." Miguel went on, very quietly, while Pocket played with some of his tin soldiers. "Is the fact that whenever we've mentioned taking the Torrys out of this place, we've run smack up against the post-hypnotic compulsions they were given. They were told not to leave here without permission from their Poppa. And that;s something our mutual enemies clearly know we have no means of acquiring."
"Because my cousin Stephen isn't with us any longer." Singer frowned, keeping his voice down as well. "Yes, of course. The danged cowards thought of everything, didn't they? Those surely are strange looking devices on some of those rifles. They look as if they were meant to hold … liquid or mebbee pellets or … Ah G-d! Do you think they've got some kind of miniature loads of canister in them?"
Miguel started coughing again, before he could answer and so did Artie. Pocket Torry was coughing harshly too, by the time Miguel reached him to try holding a handkerchief over the child's mouth. "No, not pellets, not… any…sort of missiles… Gas!" The small doctor exclaimed. "Get Pocket away … Get the children… away!"
Jemmy Singer hurried to his cousin, fighting the hacking cough rising in his own lungs now. Miguel was right; bright white fumes were spewing from more than half the guard's rifles now, filling the ward with a painfully harsh, stinging compound. "Pocket, Pocket, little …Cousin, we need … to get you… closer … close to the wind… windows…C'mon ….y"all c'mon now" Jemmy gasped, as he tried to pull Pocket/Jim to his feet.
"Cain't!" Pocket cried, coughing harder, pulling away from his cousin. "Cain't Jemmee! Mee-gel's goin a… asleepin'! An' temus .. Poppa … too! Cain't go wifout us'ns guddes' … friens… Cain't! Help temus-Poppa, nows Jemmee! … Help… Mee-gel t' go! Cain't … Won' go wifout … mees guddes' friens…"
Looking around, the young doctor groaned, Pocket was right. Half the men in the ward, including his colleagues, were suffering from the gas now. Jemmy reached for the added training in chemical mixtures Artie had been giving him free and gratis while they watched out for the Torrys together. Whatever this gas was, it not only burned in his lungs, but harshly effected his nose, throat and eyes! Miguel had collapsed, and Pocket desperately clung to his small friend. Jemmy felt his own knees buckling, and turned to look for his agent-mentor.
Artie was trying his best to stand up, despite the pungent compound's disastrous effects. The ward looked more like a battleground than even the lousy excuse for an asylum it was! The guards wore some sort of mask over their faces, and even so Artemus could see the eyes of the guard closest to him now were tearing as badly as his own. "Bad … enough they've got … to resort to… this… But now… They …They've stolen … my … tearing-gas… form…" The former actor protested unhappily, falling to his knees as a very tall, very long limbed, icy eyed figure approached him.
"No, no, Mr. Gordon." Gideon Boudin answered, from behind the mask he wore to keep the fumes from choking him as well. 'the invention is entirely yours, we assure you. We're only borrowing it for the time being. And we're truly quite, quite grateful to you, for helping to prevent a needless effusion of blood here today. You may feel free to use it again whenever you've … if you ever recover the ability, that is."
Artie was still fighting the gas, and looking beside him, he could see that both his colleagues were having the same struggle. Then he looked up again, and despite the painful watering of his eyes, Artie saw a tall, expensively dressed extraordinarily long legged man peering down at him, like a bug on a microscope's plate. And there was something else about this fellow. Artemus was sure he should recognize him… but how or from where, the former actor had no idea, and no real recollection.
" What's with this "We this and we that'… are you claiming some … kind of … bizarre … kind of … roy…royalty?" Artie asked.
"We are, as we always have been the purest of Southron-born aristocrats, Mr. Gordon, we assure you. And with your invaluable aid and that of our dearest Torry, we shall in short order take on the Imperial Title the True-born Ruler of this Magnificent Confederate Continental Empire Has Always been Entitled to claim! When that Glorious Day of Southron Resurgence and Revival finally dawns, we shall be delighted, indeed we shall require that you addreSsus in the entirely appropriate manner." Boudin answered, grinning.
"You may, of course, start practicing now: We are, as we were always meant to be; Our Imperial Highness, Our Majesty, President, Premier and Prime Minister Gideon Alexander Remiel, First Emperor of the Second Confederacy of the Americas. And we do mean all the Americas, Mr. Gordon. It is clearly Our Destiny to Magnanimously Conquer and Reign over the Empire the French, the British and the Conquistadores merely dreamt of, stretching from Hudson's Bay in the far north down to Cape Horn and from the West Indies to the Pacific!
That has always been our Great Work and our magnificent plan, Mr. Gordon. And there's no reason at all you shouldn't know that now. You will in all likelihood recover just enough from this interesting compound of yours to report our intentions to your so-called superiors in General Washington's City. And we are entirely pleased that you should do so. They have every right to know who has taken over the reigns of power from them. But for now, we think it best you cease struggling against the effects of your own discovery. And being of a compassionate nature as befits all truly royal persons, we have come to your aid in that regard, as a very small token of our thanks for your many services to us and our Glorious Reign."
Someone Artie couldn't see very well, due to the problem with his eyes pouring out tears, now jabbed a syringe into his arm. Just barely able to turn, he saw three more someones doing the same thing to Jemmy, Miguel and Jim! "You… you're leaving out Tierra del Fuego, the Galapagos Islands, Antarctica, Alaska, and the North Pole. Why is that?" Artie asked, fighting what he felt sure was some sort of narcotic. "Don't you like cold weather? Or is it the turtles you despise, because they live longer than you can ever hope to…"
"WE ARE INVIOLABLE! WE ARE INVULNERABLE! WE ARE IMMORTAL, YOU PRATTLING FOOL! AND MAGNAMIMOUSLY WE've TWICE NOW ALLOWED YOU TO SERVE OUR EMPIRE DESPITE YOUR WRETCHED, CONTEMPTUOUS NATURE AND YOUR OWN HIGHLY QUESTIONABLE LINEAGE AS WELL!" Boudin shouted.
"Oh, if I only had a wooden nickel for every time I've heard that before now, I could rebuild an entire redwood forest!" Artie chuckled. But the narcotic wasn't helping him breathe too well, and it was definitely beginning to cloud his judgment and his senses. The stranger somehow seemed to grow taller by the instant, or at least his long legs seemed to get even longer. "And I wouldn't serve you dinner if you were the King of the World! But you're not. You're just a King Spider, which is a contradiction in terms, to say the least. Anyway, I'm gonna take a nap now, I guess. So I'll just say good morning, your Arachnid Majesty, sire." The former actor laughed and passed out.
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