Lifemaker: A Steampunk Dystopian Fantasy (The Great Iron War, Book 2)

by Dean F. Wilson

  For several nights he met her coming from the command room, and told her how he trembled, and begged her to walk him home. She slapped him on the shoulder, and told him he was not funny, and insisted she had better things to do, and tried to find another route away from him–but in time she walked with him the iron roads and steel laneways of the ship, the oil lamps their moonlight.

  “You don’t seem that happy here,” Jacob noticed. He had meant to say it many times, but he thought it might be due to the lack of sunlight, or the stress of work, or perhaps even his company.

  “If you think you’re trapped here,” Taberah replied, “then you have no idea.”

  “Aren’t these all friends?”

  “Some of them, yes.”

  * * *

  On one of their nightly walks, they took a longer route—the scenic route, some might have called it, were it not for the fact that it brought them down several decks, close to the sealed-off ironworks, where the gaslights grew dimmer, and the people grew more dour-faced, and dour of mood. These bleak areas, in some ways the slums of the ship, were not the safest territory to traverse, and all kinds of clowns were out, with not a smile among them.

  The ringleader of that iron circus, Ana Alakovi, made sure to block Taberah and Jacob. She did not need to do much, for she was tall and broad, muscled to the teeth. She looked as though she had built herself, bit by bit, banging everything into shape, riveting it all together, soldering it all in place. She made sure to show her bulky arms through a tank top, and if she was not already tall enough, her multi-coloured hair towered above her in an almost perfect rectangle. She also had bolts and cogs in her ears and nose, and probably also her tongue. Maybe there was no part of her that had not been at one point or other hammered or pierced or clamped.

  “If it isn’t the devil herself,” Alakovi said. She looked down her nose at Taberah and folded her arms, which made the muscles bulge even more.

  “Who’s that?” Jacob whispered to Taberah. He wished he had not.

  “You don’t be talkin’ about me as if I’m not in the room,” Alakovi boomed. “If you’re with her, you’re likely just as bad as her.”

  “Maybe worse,” Jacob tried, again wishing he had not spoken at all. It seemed that Whistler was not the only one with a loose tongue.

  “A perfect match then,” Alakovi hissed. “The devil found another devil. You’s can rot in Hell together.”

  “If this is Hell,” Jacob said, “you’ll be rotting here with us.”

  “Oh, I’ll knock you back to before the Harvest, boy!” Alakovi growled, and she had to be held back by many of the other women. It took half a dozen to stop her advancing a single pace. She turned her attention back to Taberah when she could not get her fists on Jacob.

  “Sorry, miss,” Jacob said, “but I really don’t know who you are.”

  “You don’t know who I am?” she bawled, bashing her fists against her chest. “I’m the Copper Matron, is who I am. These are my sisters, sisters of blood and sisters of spirit, and together we’re the Copper Vixens. And that wench o’ yours—yeah, we all know your type—used to be one o’ us.”

  She turned again to Taberah. “Should’ve known you’d be no good, you and your amulets ‘stead of a good ol’ pair o’ pliers. You worked your magic on us once before, but no more! We’re wise to you now, girl. We got the knowledge o’ you. You’ve got some nerve comin’ back here after what you did!”

  “What did you do?” Jacob whispered to Taberah.

  He should have known that Alakovi would respond instead. “She went and stabbed Rommond in the back, is what she did. And she’s probably still got the knife!”

  “I didn’t stab him in the back,” Taberah protested, and while her defence was strong, in the face of Alakovi’s volcanic temper, it seemed weak.

  “What do you call an attempted coup then?”

  “We wanted different things for the Resistance.”

  “No. You wanted the same thing: control. Only Rommond had it and you didn’t. And he earned it. You tried to steal it like the backstabbin’ thief you are.”

  “Let’s go,” Taberah said to Jacob, turning away from the battle.

  “Oh, you want to leave now, do you? You don’t get your way, so you bolt and run. Just like you did the first time. Just like you’ll always do. You ain’t got no stayin’ power, no stamina, girl. And you damn well got no loyalty. No wonder so few went with you.”

  There was a chorus of uhm-hmms from the Vixens behind and around her, many of whom mimicked her pose, folding their arms and raising their eyebrows. Many of them had more muscles than Jacob did, and they looked like they knew how to fix anything. That’ll come in handy, Jacob thought. I know how to break things.

  Jacob was surprised to see Taberah taking so much abuse from this woman without fighting back. Instead, she seemed to be fighting back her own responses, and perhaps that was wise, because the Copper Vixens did not look like they would hold back the Matron forever.

  “I tried to work something out,” Taberah said. “I tried to get Rommond to listen to my ideas, but they didn’t figure in his master plan, and he’s not really a man of change. We went our separate ways, and I think the Resistance is stronger for it.”

  “Yeah right,” Alakovi said. “Your Order would’ve never existed were it not for Rommond. He listened to you all the time. Sure didn’t he listen to you more than he listened to rest o’ us? That’s why your betrayal stings so bad. You were the scorpion we trusted.”

  “I don’t have to listen to this,” Taberah said, as she walked away.

  “You know who I pity?” Alakovi roared at her. “The boy.”

  Taberah turned to charge at her, but Jacob held her back. Taberah might have had the fire, but Alakovi had the muscle. “You’re not the only matron around here,” Taberah screamed at her. It took a dozen of the Vixens to hold the Copper Matron back. They were like two bulls, and none of them would give in.

  “Let her loose, boy,” Alakovi said. “The scorpion’s power is in surprise. Oh, I’m not surprised any more. I’ll squash her like the bug she is!”

  Jacob hauled Taberah away, and the Vixens kept Alakovi pegged to the spot. The Copper Matron shouted after them, pummelling them with her words.

  “And you can tell your girls, Taberah—all of ‘em—that I better not see ‘em near the Vixens or I’ll make sure they need a copper plate to replace their skulls!”

  In time Jacob managed to pull Taberah out of sight and earshot of the Copper Vixens, which helped to calm her down. They sat on the steps leading up to the next deck, and Taberah held her head and stared at the ground.

  “I can’t blame her,” she said.

  “I can.”

  “The thing that I don’t get though, is why Rommond doesn’t feel as betrayed.”

  “Maybe you’re just part of his master plan.”

  Taberah humphed. “More like the other way ‘round. The Copper Matron is right about a lot of things. The Order wouldn’t have existed if it weren’t for Rommond and his toys. We’d have never gotten the Glass for the amulets.”

  “You mean that mystical crystal stuff?”

  “Yeah. I discovered it, but Rommond helped me get it from the mines. The Glassfinder Project. Our first big win against the Regime.”

  “And let’s not forget,” Jacob said, “that it got me a job.”

  “Well, you can thank Rommond for that as well,” Taberah replied. “That’s one thing Rommond and I always had in common. We always look for the bigger picture. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t hate me for trying to take control.”

  “Only because he won.”

  “I’m not so sure he did.”

  “It doesn’t exactly look like you won either,” Jacob noted.

  “No,” she said with a sigh. “I think we both lost.”

  “Well, that’s all in the past now, right?”

  “Kind of. It doesn’t help that the Copper Matron doesn’t forgive. She has this whole sorority, w
ith oaths and codes of conduct. Once you’re out, you’re out for good.”

  “I guess I didn’t make a good first impression then.”

  “Showing up with me was all it took.”

  “Then it was worth it.”

  “Thanks,” Taberah said.

  “For what?”

  “For holding me back.”

  “Hey, I’ll hold you any day,” he said with a wink.

  She smiled. “I didn’t exactly feel like getting beaten up today.”

  “Can’t be good for the baby.”

  “The Copper Matron doesn’t know about that, or she wouldn’t hit me.”

  “I’m just glad I didn’t challenge her to an arm wrestle,” Jacob said.

  “And me?” Taberah asked.

  “I wouldn’t challenge a woman with child.”

  “Afraid you’d lose?”

  “Yeah,” Jacob said. “There’s a strong little boy in there after all.”

  “Or a stronger girl.”

  Jacob nodded. “If the Copper Vixens are what girls are like on board the Lifemaker, then she’ll do just fine.”

  5 – A GAME OF WITS

  The submarine descended into a deeper and darker part of the ocean, and perhaps there were fishes there, but Jacob and Whistler could no longer see them. In any case, Jacob had grown bored of that game, so he resumed his other pastime of wandering about the decks, looking for something to do, or someone to bother.

  Soasa kept out of his way, or perhaps he kept out of hers, and Taberah locked herself away with Alson, discussing the journey ahead. It seemed to Jacob that she was trying to learn how to steer the ship, and that it was more than just mere curiosity. Perhaps she did not trust Alson’s abilities, though she seemed capable enough, or maybe Taberah would just rather be in charge. It was also possible that she was simply avoiding Jacob, a scenario which Jacob frequently thought, and frequently discarded.

  He entertained the idea of popping by the Copper Vixens and offering his best estimation of the secret handshake. He dismissed the thought when he considered the not-so-secret black eye he would likely walk away with.

  He bumped into Doctor Mudro, who had just come from Whistler’s quarters. The doctor had an unusual gait, as if he was trying to hide a limp; his sleight of hand might have been good, but the same could not be said for his sleight of foot. He hobbled down the corridor to Jacob, puffing on his pipe, which was tightly packed with the pain-killing leaf. The smoke trailed behind him like breadcrumbs.

  “Should you be smoking in here?” Jacob asked. “Low oxygen and all.”

  “It’s perfectly safe,” Mudro muttered through his pipe.

  “Is it for your leg?” Jacob asked.

  “It’s for my mind,” the doctor replied. “Clears the head.”

  “Funny, that. Smoke seems to dull everything else.”

  “You could call it magic,” the doctor said, drawing out the words as if they were a special incantation. Perhaps to one who smoked the leaf, they were.

  Mudro might have limped, but he had a hurried pace, as if he was always rushing from one patient to another. Jacob found that he was almost skipping to keep up. He fancied the pair made a humorous sight.

  “How did you get into it?” Jacob asked as they went.

  “Hmm?”

  “The magic tricks and all.”

  “Tricks is such a crude word,” the doctor grumbled. “What you do getting those amulets into Blackout is a trick.”

  “More like sweat and hard work.” And a whole lot of skill, he thought.

  “Magic is not about illusion,” Mudro explained, stopping suddenly to wave his hand before Jacob’s face; Jacob could not help but follow it. “It’s about showing you a different world.”

  I’m sure the leaf does enough of that, Jacob thought.

  The doctor started off again, half-limping, half-galloping. Jacob wondered if he was intending to disappear.

  “So how did you get into it?” Jacob asked again. “It’s an interesting pastime.”

  Mudro halted once more, and Jacob almost passed him by. The wave of the doctor’s hand was more aggressive now. “I was a magician before I was a doctor. Medicine is my pastime.”

  How reassuring, Jacob thought. I wonder if you put that on your resume.

  “How about a magic show?” Jacob proposed. It certainly beat sitting around waiting for something to happen. Though finding a rabbit within the tightly-sealed walls of the Lifemaker might have been more a miracle.

  “Another time,” the doctor replied. “I’ll be handling a different deck of cards tonight.”

  “Oh?”

  “Poker at the general’s quarters.”

  “Maybe I’ll join you.”

  Mudro raised an index finger to Jacob’s face, as if he were about to cast a spell. “You mean,” he said, with a showman’s smile, “maybe I’ll smuggle you in.”

  Jacob grinned. “Well, you can always learn a new trick.”

  * * *

  They arrived at the general’s dimly-lit quarters, where a group of men huddled around the small square table to worship the sacred god of gambling. Rommond was not amused when Jacob emerged from behind Mudro, like the disappearing man who has been made reappear. Rommond would have preferred that the magic act ended at the first half.

  “Deal me in,” Jacob said, grabbing one of the empty chairs and sitting down in a lounging manner, as if these were his quarters.

  “This is a crew’s game,” Rommond replied.

  “The doctor’s not part of your crew,” Jacob pointed out. “He’s one of Taberah’s people.”

  “He was one of mine first,” the general said coolly.

  Mudro pretended he had not heard a thing. He hid himself in the smoke of the leaf.

  It was not yet time to offer his hand, so Jacob offered a grin. “Consider me a new recruit then.”

  “New recruits usually clean the boilers,” Lieutenant Tradam said. He sat on the general’s right. An empty chair was on his left.

  “And clean out the crew when playing cards,” Jacob responded.

  Rommond eyed him carefully. Jacob was hoping a not-so-subtle challenge would work. He got the distinct impression that Rommond knew this, but he also got the impression that it was working.

  “No one plays for free,” the general said. “It’s one coil buy-in.”

  “You don’t dabble,” Jacob said, and he flicked a coil onto the table. “I’ve got a few to spare.” He rattled his pocket, which he thought might rattle Rommond’s wits. The general stared back nonchalantly.

  “You might find, Jacob,” Rommond said, “that money is less useful beneath the sea.”

  He began dealing the cards around the table, pausing ever so slightly as his hands passed by the empty chair. Jacob was focused more on the cards themselves, and on the good hand he had been dealt.

  “Fold,” a younger man of about twenty, sitting to the left of the empty chair said. He slapped his cards down on the table in defeat.

  “It’s the first round,” Rommond said. “Don’t give up so easily.”

  “I’ve got nothing,” the lad protested.

  “It’s better to have the bad hand at the beginning than at the end,” the general said, and his voice became suddenly more severe. “I don’t expect any of my men to surrender in the first battle ... or the last.”

  The young man took back up his cards. There was silence in the room, punctuated by Mudro’s periodic puffs.

  “So, where’s the ladies?” Jacob asked.

  “Most are having a meeting.”

  “Copper Vixens?”

  Rommond nodded.

  “So does that make this our fraternity?” Jacob wondered.

  “In a way.”

  “What’s the password then?”

  Rommond smiled. “Only members know.”

  “Join the club,” Tradam said, passing a bottle of whiskey to Jacob. “Get some neck oil down you.”

  They continued to play, dropping cards and
raising bets. By the second round, Jacob had already thrown in three coils. For an average worker, if they were not working for the Regime for free, that was three months’ wages.

  “This is daylight robbery,” Jacob said. “Do you not use halves and quarters?”

  “Why have half when you can have the whole coil?” Rommond replied.

  “This is one of his tactics,” Mudro said, waving his hand over his cards, as if changing their suits and numbers. “He gets us up here on the pretence of a game, and he empties our pockets to further aid the war effort. Sleight of hand if ever I saw it.”

  Rommond smirked and tilted his hat to the doctor.

  Jacob noticed that Rommond straightened up the deck between every play, even if it was only mildly skewed. Jacob took some delight in slapping his cards down in as haphazard a fashion as he could manage. Rommond pretended it did not bother him, but it clearly did.

  “I guess you like to keep the deck as straight as your uniform,” Jacob said.

  “A messy uniform shows a messy mind,” Rommond replied. “Show the enemy none of your mind, or better yet, show them what you want them to see.”

  “So you’re a bluffing man.”

  “Best way to play,” the doctor interjected. Jacob hoped he was not bluffing when he told people they were healed. He found himself thinking about Whistler, sitting alone with his scars. He tried to redirect his focus to his cards.

  Despite years of gambling experience, more often than not to pay off debts rather than to play for fun, Jacob found that neither luck nor skill were on his side. Rommond played every hand with a straight face, and he was almost impossible to read. It was no surprise that he ended up winning most of the rounds.

  “So the sharks are not just outside,” Jacob observed, as he watched, with a hint of horror, his hard-earned coils leaving his side of the table.

  “If I am a shark,” Rommond said, biting the edge of one of the coils, as if to show his jaws, “then what does that make you?”

  The other players cheered at this remark, and Mudro banged his fists on the table, as if drumming up a beat to a showdown.

  “A little fish, I guess,” Jacob said. “With a lot of coils.” He placed down another stack of the currency, face down, where the Iron Emperor’s iron gaze could not be seen. It always seemed like that hallowed leader was watching everything. In a way, he was.