It is 1896.
In an alternative history where Babbage’s difference engines have become
commonplace, Captain Charles Maddox, wrongly convicted of a murder and newly
arrested for treason, is rescued from execution by a covert agency called the
Map Room.
Maddox is
given the choice of taking his chances with the authorities or joining the Map
Room as an agent and helping them uncover a possible conspiracy surrounding the
1888 Ripper murders. Seeing little choice, Maddox accepts the offer and joins
the team of fellow agents Church and Green. With help from the Map Room team,
Maddox (now Agent Sterling) and Church investigate the Ripper murders and
uncover a closely guarded conspiracy deep within the British Government.
Success depends on the two of them quickly forging a successful partnership as
agents and following the trail wherever, and to whomever, it leads.
An espionage thriller set in an alternative late 19th-century London.
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Audio Book published with WF Howes and narrated by Gordon Griffin
‘Gentlemen. Before
we proceed, I must ask you both whether you are willing to resolve this dispute
by any other means?’
The fog that clung to the concrete surface of the platform was given a pale glow by the first light of an early dawn; Burns, my second, could barely be seen where he stood, scarf wrapped across his face, in the shadow of a black iron pillar some way beyond me, a little further than the distance I would have to walk. It said much about the length of my absence from London society that the only support I could command in such a venture was the man known about the club as ‘Secondary’ Burns, a man who had, to my knowledge, offered his services as duelling assistant to eight of our fellow members, each and every one of whom had subsequently been unsuccessful in their aim.
No wordplay intended.
‘Very well. On the count of one, you will each take a step in the direction you are facing. At each subsequent count, you should take an additional step until the count of ten is reached. At that time each of you will turn and fire a single shot at his opponent. If as a result either of you has been mortally wounded, or if honour is otherwise deemed to have been satisfied, the exchange is complete. If, however, these conditions are not met, you will reload and continue to fire until that is the case. Do either of you not understand these instructions?’
Somewhere between where Burns was standing and where my final pace would take me there was an empty cigarette packet on the ground, but from where I was I couldn’t tell the brand and, for some reason, this suddenly seemed oddly vexing. The station official waited a sensible amount of time for either second to voice a concern or query. Both remained resolutely silent. The official nodded to the doctor who stood off to one side and, after one last enquiring glance to each party, continued.
The trouble was that the few brands available prior to my departure had, since I had been away, been joined by a proliferation of new cigarette brands which, in an attempt to win favour with the short-sighted purchaser, had based their design on those of the established manufacturers. Somewhere on one of Waterloo’s other, functioning platforms, an early service from Paris hissed to a halt, whistling its arrival cheerily. I imagined newspapers being folded, cases grasped, coats donned, hats carefully seated on heads.
‘THREE.’
The industrialisation of London seemed to have grown apace, with smaller engines appearing to be more commonplace than they were when I left for America. The military had of course retained the monopoly on the more complicated engines, the specifications of which were still secret. However, partial declassification of the technology involved had led to many smaller companies being able to compete beyond their natural reach and had instigated a commercial revolution. At least that was what it had said in the in-flight magazine that I had glanced at on the way over from Canada. From what I had seen of London so far it seemed mainly to mean: more smoke.
‘FOUR.’
The name was Victoria… Or perhaps victory. Either would make an obvious title for a patriotic brand of tobacco. It made me think of one of the first patrols I had undertaken in my posting; my section had come across a little village, barely more than a collection of shacks and lean-tos and almost certainly inhabited by the French speakers who populated that area of the Canadian Provinces.
‘FIVE.’
Given what we’d been told about local sentiments I had been astounded to discover an almost life-sized picture of Her Majesty adorning the largest hut. I mentioned this symbol of heartening patriotism to my sergeant, a veteran of the region who responded to my question with a short laugh. ‘Bless you sir,’ he said ‘that’s the name of the gin they make round here.’
‘SIX.’
Some weeks afterwards I was informed by a fellow officer that I had acquired the nickname ‘Ginny’ Maddox. It was the last time that I had hazarded an opinion about the locals in earshot of my sergeant.
Something buzzed sharply past me and I was puzzling over its source when the sound of a shot echoed through the platform. Pausing in my stride I cautiously put a hand to my shoulder, and it was only when I saw it covered in a bright smear of blood that I realised what had happened. I was about to turn when another sound distracted me. I looked ahead and saw Burns collapse, gasping, to his knees. I turned to the official who had begun proceedings.
‘If you will continue counting, sir.’
‘But… I mean… I—’
‘Continue the count, if you please.’
‘SEVEN,’ the official continued, more uncertainly than before.
Tim Standish
Hannah Couzens Photography
Tim Standish grew up in England, Scotland, and Egypt. Following a degree in Psychology, his career has included teaching English in Spain, working as a researcher on an early computer games project, and working with groups and individuals on business planning, teamworking, and personal development.
He has travelled extensively throughout his life and has always valued
the importance of a good book to get through long flights and long waits in
airports. With a personal preference for historical and science fiction as well
as the occasional thriller, he had an idea for a book that would blend all
three and The Sterling Directive was created.
When not working or writing, Tim enjoys long walks under big skies and
is never one to pass up a jaunt across a field in search of an obscure historic
site. He has recently discovered the more-exciting-than-you-would-think world
of overly-complicated board games.
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