Steel Kisses

by Laura Strickland

  Chapter Eleven

  “What happens to humans when they die? Do you know?”

  Lily posed the question to Chastity, who sat beside her on the bed. The two of them awaited the arrival of a client, a very wealthy man who had booked the two of them together. Not for the first time—this man as well as several others sometimes requested the service. This particular client invariably requested Lily and Chastity in tandem.

  Lily did not mind that part. She did not suppose herself capable of friendship as such, but she felt comfortable with Chastity, as much as possible in the situation.

  The client—who liked to be called Monsieur Grand—liked them to be naked when he entered the chamber, so they were, their bodies nearly identical except for hair and skin color.

  Chastity gave Lily a look out of deep, black eyes. “It was not installed in my intelligence.”

  “Nor mine. But we hear things. And learn—acquire—information.”

  “Yes. We have been instructed not to kill.”

  One of the first edicts, an absolute: You will not harm humans no matter what they ask you to do. You will never kill a human.

  Chastity offered, “I sometimes think about killing humans…clients.”

  Lily had to admit, “As do I.” She had thought about killing the human who bit her. Forbidden.

  “Humans are weak—fragile—and easy to kill. There are many ways. The strength of my hands on a human’s throat. A kick to the jaw, a pillow held over the face. I believe if I wished I could break the rib cage and extract the heart.”

  Lily said nothing, but the thought came to her that Reynold did not feel weak. When she touched him, she felt stronger.

  Chastity said, “We could kill our client when he is shown in. Then we would not have to do the things he asks.”

  A daring proposition. Lily narrowed her eyes and thought about it. “What would happen after?” Shut off.

  “Shut off,” Chastity confirmed. “At least we would not have to do these things anymore.”

  Lily would never see Reynold again.

  “Unless,” Chastity proposed, “we escape.”

  That made Lily turn and examine her sister. Chastity looked so emotionless, so calm sitting there in her naked perfection. But when Lily engaged her eyes she saw…what? Some of the thoughts that occupied her own intelligence.

  “Is that possible?” To leave this building other than to walk to the tram and thence to their dormitory? Lily had never been anywhere else. “Guards at every door.”

  “Mechanicals like us. I have been examining the possibilities of disabling them.”

  “Yes?” Lily could manage no more.

  “Yes. It would need to be done very early, when we first arrive, before Dr. Landry comes. If we disable the mechanicals…”

  “Miss Crump is human. It is forbidden.”

  “We might be able to overwhelm Miss Crump without harming her. Tie her up.”

  “Nadia…”

  “Nadia is rarely here in the morning.”

  Lily could feel her artificial intelligence clicking over, examining the possibilities.

  “Now that there are more of us, it should be easier.”

  “The new girls will not participate.”

  “You are right. They are still stupid. They have not learned. But they may provide cover for the rest of us.”

  Lily looked into Chastity’s eyes again. She repeated in a whisper, “What do you think happens to humans when they die?”

  A knock sounded on the door, the steamie ushering up the client.

  Both automatons got to their feet.

  Chastity whispered back, “I don’t suppose it would be wise to find out just yet.”

  ****

  “She’s a right little angel, is our wee Grainne,” Liam enthused. “Good as gold and twice as beautiful. A face like a tiny flower and full of sweetness. Barely cries—just lies there gurgling and smiling all over the place. I swear I’ve never seen such a bairn.”

  He rifled through the money in the till as he spoke, doing a hasty count. Reynold, who stood by, felt a surge of gratitude he hadn’t kept any of it. He would not like being responsible for bringing down the man’s mood.

  “And Mrs. McMahon is well?” he asked politely.

  Liam’s face split in a radiant smile. “Beside herself with joy, lad. Thank you for asking. Barely puts the bairn down—which, come to think of it, might account for the great lack of wailing on Grainne’s part. To say nothing of all the extra hands eager to help out—Mrs. Collwys, my sister-in-law Nancy—even wee Mrs. Kilter has stopped by.”

  “So,” Reynold inquired, “does that mean you’re coming back to work?”

  Pete stepped into the showroom to listen for the response. Liam eyed both young men before he replied.

  “Not just yet. I hoped to take another few days—just have to make a deposit at the bank, since I left everything hanging when the bairn came.” He glanced around. “Things all right here?”

  Pete nodded. “I took in a few new orders, and we’ve finished the first lot.”

  “Where’s Sasha?”

  Pete made a face. “Well, that’s the thing. He’s been in and out.”

  “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

  “He comes in, works for a while, but doesn’t stay. He’s been gone most afternoons.”

  Liam scowled. “Where’s he at now?”

  “Hasn’t showed yet this morning, which is pretty strange. As I say, he usually comes in, torments Rey a while, and then slopes off.”

  “Ah, feck and damnation! I don’t need his antics, not now. I supposed that means I’ll have to cut him loose, but you were already shorthanded. I need to find another man—one with at least a modicum of skill.” He fastened his gaze on Reynold. “Meanwhile, do you still want extra hours? You did say a while back you’d like to earn some more dosh.” Compassion flooded his eyes. “Or did that all end with learning the truth about your automaton?”

  “I still need to earn extra, and I’ll do…well, anything.”

  “Don’t make statements like that, lad. You never know when one will come back to bite you. Here.” He dug through the money in his hands, extracted two identical bills, and gave one to each man. “That’s for your efforts in going above and beyond, these next few days.”

  Pete tucked the money into his chest pocket. Reynold stared at his in wonder.

  “And,” Liam told Pete, “ask Sasha to stop by the house for a talk with me the next time he shows up.”

  “Will do, boss.”

  Pete disappeared into the workshop, but Reynold hovered where he was, still staring at the money in his hand.

  “Is there something else, lad?” Liam asked, and added kindly, “Don’t let that Sasha make your life a misery. The spiteful things he says come from a mean, narrow heart and, in the end, I suspect have very little to do with you.”

  “I need more,” Reynold blurted.

  “Eh? What’s that?”

  “The money’s real generous of you, Liam, but it’s not enough. I was going to ask you if I could borrow—say twenty-five dollars…” He nodded at the rest of the money in Liam’s hand.

  “This? But, lad, I’m off now to the bank so I can pay bills and keep food on the table at home, as well as supplies coming in here. The big bill for that mahogany’s arrived, and we donated two coffins this month.”

  “As well as another at a discount,” Reynold couldn’t help but correct. “There was this woman…”

  “Aye, lad, Petey told me. Good work on your part. I’m running a certain kind of business here, and I don’t mind giving—but we have to stay afloat if you want a job.”

  “I understand that. I just thought…”

  “Why do you want the money?” Liam’s eyes narrowed. “Och, never say you still want to go back to that place, now that you know the truth about Landry’s Ladies.”

  “I need to see if she’s all right. You see, there was a fire on the tram. I only saw her for a mome
nt, and she said before that she’d been hurt. If I can have a proper visit with her, I won’t have to worry so much.”

  “And you think you should squander a great sum of money just for a visit?” Liam shook his head. “Don’t waste your time, Rey, lad. Go find a real woman who can treat you as you deserve—give you her heart. Give you a home and children.”

  “So”—Reynold swallowed bitterly—“you will not lend me the money?”

  “I don’t have it to lend—all this is accounted for. Not sure I would if I could, to be honest.” Liam clasped Reynold’s shoulder. “Best advice—put her out of your mind.”

  He hurried off then for another word with Pete in the shop before leaving. Reynold stood where he was, pondering things. What to do now? With the till empty, he couldn’t even borrow on the sly as he had before. The money would take forever to earn. Unless he did something desperate.

  As for forgetting Lily, he didn’t think he could.

  Chapter Twelve

  “I need to make some money quick.” Reynold lowered his head and spoke quietly to the two men who sat opposite him at the table. The tavern jumped with sound—voices, laughter, and a rough sort of music from the pick-up band in the corner, the members of which seemed to spend more time arguing than playing.

  Reynold’s two acquaintances eyed him speculatively. He dared not call them friends. With the exception of Pete and possibly Liam, he didn’t suppose he had any actual friends, but he’d been banging around this city long enough to have acquaintances in plenty.

  He’d gone to school with Vern Snyder until they both dropped out. He’d met Dickie Price working an early job. Both had since veered onto unsavory paths, which was why he sought them out tonight.

  Dickie gave a harsh laugh. A small man, he had neat hands and feet—the rest of him had deteriorated into a serious state of filth since Reynold had last seen him. “Me, I’ve got a habit to support. Can’t get enough.”

  Vern, a much taller, scarecrow-thin man with white-blond hair and a pockmarked face, ignored Dickie. “What we talkin’ about here, Rey? What kind of money?”

  “A hundred dollars—and like I say, real fast.” Reynold had decided to aim high. He doubted one visit with Lily would be enough for him.

  Now it was Vern who laughed. “You out of your mind?”

  Quite possibly, but Reynold didn’t want to admit it.

  “Must have to do with a woman,” Dickie snarled. “Most crazy things do.”

  Reynold didn’t bother to deny it.

  Vern gave his opinion. “Any woman requires that kind of money ain’t worth it.”

  “She’s worth it,” Reynold averred.

  “Holy hell.” The two men exchanged looks.

  “Take it from me,” said Dickie, sounding like an old hand, “get a whore. Easier and the result’s the same. This place is full of ’em.” He waved an arm. “Take your pick.”

  “He’s right,” Vern agreed. “I can recommend Tilly over there—she’ll do whatever you want for two pennies.”

  Which one was Tilly? As Dickie said, every woman in the place looked like a streetwalker, some getting drinks bought for them, likely in lieu of pay, and others here drumming up business. A poor lot—most looked nearly as dirty as Dickie, with ratty hair and missing teeth.

  “The one in the pink shawl,” Vern elucidated, seeing him looking. “She got all her teeth kicked out sometime back, but that can be an advantage, depending on what you’re after.”

  Reynold disguised a shudder as a twitch. “No, thanks.”

  “Not good enough for you, Rey?” Vern sneered. “Who do you think you are, anyway?”

  “He’s got a good job,” Dickie put in. “Come to think of it, don’t you earn enough toting them dead bodies around the city?”

  Dickie leaned closer across the gummy table. “That reminds me. I’ve always wanted to ask—you ever get any good-looking corpses of the female persuasion?”

  “Sometimes, I guess. Why?”

  “Well”—Dickie licked his skinny lips—“there has to be a back room or some place you could have at ’em, right?”

  Reynold stared. “Have at ’em?”

  Dickie gave a ghastly grin. “They’re not gonna tell, are they? Nothing to stop you havin’ your way with ’em. A woman’s a woman, after all.”

  The sour ale Reynold had just choked down rose to the back of his throat. He thought of Tomas’s pretty little wife, and her husband weeping over her.

  “That’s disrespectful, that is.” As well as sickening.

  “You gotta remember,” Vern said as an aside to Dickie, “our pal here ain’t like us. His thoughts move a bit more slowly.” Before Reynold could kindle with anger, he went on, “I might have a job for you, Rey, if you’re willing to take a chance or two.”

  Reynold considered it. Here was the line. Did he want to cross it? He’d been doing well at Liam’s, had straightened out his life since the days when he ran with the likes of these two. Did he really want to venture back on the wrong side of the law?

  Did he want to see Lily again? Lay eyes on her, make sure she was all right?

  He narrowed his gaze on Vern’s face. “What we talking about here?”

  “You know how to drive a steamcab?”

  Reynold frowned. He’d never even ridden in one but wasn’t about to admit it. “Sure.” He’d ridden on the tram. Didn’t that count?

  “Well, then, you just might be our man.”

  “ ‘Our’?” Dickie held up his hands. “I got nothing to do with it.”

  “No,” Vern agreed. “For this venture, I’ve other associates. All you’d have to do is drive a steamcab a short distance, where I tell you, and you’ll get paid.”

  Reynold thought about it. “Stolen, right? The steamcabs are—”

  “Keep your voice down, for Chrissake. There’s a big market in this city for parts. It’s a victimless crime.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Those steamcab companies are all owned by rich toffs, and they expect a certain amount of loss. One or two cabs—”

  “That’s grand theft, that is.” He could be put away for a long time.

  Vern shrugged. “No other place you can make the kind of money you’re talking about, not unless you bet the ponies.”

  Reynold thought about that also. Betting on fighting dogs had worked for Sasha and might make a safer bet. But he refused to support that ugly undertaking and had only ever lost on the ponies.

  He needed the money to see Lily. There must be a way.

  “What ho,” said Dickie suddenly. “Look out—here comes the end of fun for the night.”

  The door of the tavern swung wide to admit several new arrivals. They entered on a wave of muggy evening air but seemed to bring their own heat. The first was a woman; tall and with raven-black hair tumbling down her back, she wore a jacket and skirt made of golden fabric, the latter hiked up high enough to show a pair of heeled boots. She moved like a dancer, or perhaps an assassin.

  Three men came at her back, all tall and brawny specimens who conducted themselves with sublime confidence.

  Reynold could not help but question, “Why, who’s that?”

  “Mrs. Gideon.” Vern grunted with very little approval. “And her pals from the Irish Squad. No whores for anybody tonight—at least not in here.”

  The Irish Squad—Reynold’s interest quickened. Weren’t they supposed to be automatons—hybrid ones like Lily? And hadn’t Clara mentioned Mrs. Gideon?

  He eyed the automatons as they moved through the room. If he hadn’t been told, he’d never be able to guess they weren’t human.

  “What are they doing here?” he asked. The woman was dressed far too well to be a patron, and he’d heard off-duty police officers frequented other taverns.

  “She’s come to round up the streetwalkers,” Dickie explained.

  “What?”

  Dickie had no opportunity to elucidate. At the party’s entrance, the noise level in the tavern dropped
. The woman took advantage and struck a pose in the middle of the floor.

  She called, “Any of you ladies needing a bed and a safe place to spend the night can come with us.”

  The reaction in the room—immediate—made a further hush. The women around the tavern froze before gathering themselves up. Reynold saw the girl in the pink shawl—Tilly—tuck the wrap around her shoulders and step away from the man to whom she’d been speaking. Others followed suit. They formed a little flock around Mrs. Gideon, like ewes around a shepherd.

  Dickie swore softly. “There goes my chance for a poke tonight.”

  “Go to another tavern,” Vern growled. “She can’t hardly collect them all.”

  Reynold saw Mrs. Gideon exchange a look with the bartender. A beauty of the first water and no mistake, she shone a light in the place.

  He turned his gaze on each of the off-duty officers in turn, looking for telltale signs they weren’t in fact human. Hard to tell even when the group drew nearer, doing an apparent sweep of the room.

  “Where will she take them?”

  “Has a house, doesn’t she? A haven for disadvantaged women, she calls it. Has bags of money. Heiress to the Hathor fortune she was—daughter of that Frederick Hathor. Even an ignorant sot like you must have heard of him.

  Reynold had. Hathor—an infamous spiritualist known for his ability to communicate with the dead—had perished in a fire at his mansion less than two years ago.

  He eyed Mrs. Gideon in amazement. A wealthy woman like that concerning herself with the welfare of common streetwalkers? Unlikely, yet she moved through the room like a conquering hero, confidence in every step.

  When she drew near, Reynold stumbled to his feet. One of the police officers—automatons, he corrected himself—turned a bright green, measuring look on him before seeming to dismiss him as no threat.

  Mrs. Gideon also turned her head and located Reynold. Her eyes looked golden in sharp contrast with her black hair.

  “Don’t draw attention to yourself.” Vern hauled him back into his seat. “’Specially if you mean to help in our venture.”

  The group passed by and out the door. Not all the streetwalkers went with them, but the number left had been severely reduced.