“What does he say?” Catherine asked.
Wilfred cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Shall I summarize, or read it word for word?” He paused. “It is a bit… intemperate.”
“I’ll spare you,” Jake said, walking over and taking the telegram from Wilfred’s hands. He read it over, and shook his head. “Oh, this is classic,” he said, barely containing a laugh.
“Come on—share it with the rest of us!” Rick urged.
Jake sighed. “You asked for it. Here it is: ‘Deal with Thwaites fell through. Stop. Is this your fault? Stop. Your office says paperwork is late because of plumbers. Stop. I knew it was a mistake to put you in charge.’”
“Stop!” Nicki begged. “Please—stop!” She was laughing so hard that tears ran down her cheeks. Catherine hid her laughter behind her needlepoint.
“Perhaps we shouldn’t tell Henry about the new project,” George said, wiping a tear from his eye as he chuckled.
Jake frowned. “Project?”
George nodded. “Andreas Thalberg was most impressed with the three of you. He wants to send you out to bring back a very delicate acquisition…”
“Fabulous!” Nicki said, clapping her hands. “I can have my trunk packed in an hour.”
“Here we go again,” Rick said with an exaggerated sigh, downing the last of his scotch.
“Tell Cullan to get the Allegheny Princess ready,” Jake said. “We’re good to go.”
DROGO VELES LEANED against the railing of the steamship. The Atlantic Ocean stretched to the horizon, dark and ominous in the moonlight. Far away from New Pittsburgh, but not yet far enough.
Idiots. All of them, idiots. Getting a ticket to England at the last moment had not been difficult, especially not with his large number of useful acquaintances, most of whom owed the dark witch some type of personal debt. He moved quickly enough that he was well on his way before the Department of Supernatural Investigations could have the government looking for him.
A private airship took him to New York, and an ocean liner seemed the most discreet way to leave the country. After that, a false name and a falsified passport did the rest. The ship’s captain had once asked Veles’s help in destroying a rival’s business. Veles had supplied the magic necessary, and the captain found himself forever entangled. He was one of many who discovered, too late, that money is the least costly way to pay for what one wants.
A man in a sailor’s coat walked up to the railing near Veles, leaned against it and casually rolled a cigarette. He took a deep draw and released it, with an air of satisfaction. “Message sent,” he said.
“Good,” Veles said, casually handling over a folded bill, easily a week’s salary. “I may have a few more messages before we reach port.”
“Fine by me.”
“Was there a response?” Veles asked.
The sailor nodded. His manner told Veles the man was no stranger to deals done under the table. “Nightshade. Stop. Fell minus two. Stop. Passage arranged. Stop.”
Veles met the man’s gaze. “Not a word to anyone,” he said, extending a flicker of magic to assure his will would be done. “Cross your heart and hope to die.”
The sailor gave him a wary look, as if on some level he realized he had just been placed under a geas. “Sure, guv. Whatever you say.” With that, he sauntered away, and Veles leaned against the rail once more, sure that the man would have no memory of their encounter, and a deep aversion to ever speaking of him to anyone.
The telegram had been most informative, for one who knew the code. Mandrake Club, ten p.m. the first part said. The Mandrake was one of London’s many prestigious members-only clubs, though one regarded by most people to be mere fiction. Veles knew for a fact that the club was very real, and its membership of powerful practitioners made sure its existence and whereabouts remained quiet.
‘Passage arranged’ was clear enough, though only Veles and his patron knew where. An ambitious Hungarian noble had beseeched Veles to help him with some thorny business dealings. The man had been very happy to find his invitation suddenly accepted, even on short notice.
Far enough away that New Pittsburgh might as well not exist, Veles thought. Close enough to Krakow for me to see if Marcin left anything else of value behind.
He was sanguine about the loss of Vesta Nine. Just business, he thought with a shrug. Something that imbecile Thwaites never grasped. Though perhaps, as things turned out, I should thank him for taking the fall on this with our buyers. Not to mention that this will drive the price of tourmaquartz sky high on the black market.
Vesta Nine’s collapse—and the sudden interest by the U.S. government in its investors—sent a shock wave through the rogues’ gallery of arms dealers and petty despots who had sought tourmaquartz for their own purposes. The clients awaiting tourmaquartz shipments from the mine’s most recent production were likely to be ruined financially and investigated to boot. Veles smiled coldly. No real harm done there—to me. They were dangerous dabblers. I’ve almost done the world a service by destroying their fortunes.
A newspaper headline in New York read: ‘New Pittsburgh Society Son Defrauds Investors’. A deliciously unflattering photograph of Richard Thwaites accompanied the article, which was likely spoonfed to editors from the Department’s lackeys. Drivel about the mine being a fraud and rumors of a silver vein gone dry. Enough to satisfy the rabble, and cover the Oligarchy’s patrician asses. Still, Veles took a measure of cold amusement at Thwaites’s fall from grace. Dear Richard was so very certain that he was cheating me out of my fair share by having his name on all the documents, Veles thought with a satisfied sigh. His kind never realize their role until too late. That makes them remarkably useful.
Before he left New Pittsburgh, Veles had arranged transportation for Francis Tumblety and Adolph Brunrichter to Canada, their silence purchased with a generous stipend and sealed with magic. A bit more work, and their creations will sell to the highest bidders. Veles thought. A worthwhile investment, and easy enough to dispose of if they become difficult.
His assets had always been safely stored in banks across the Continent under a variety of assumed names, usually in gold and diamonds—easy to liquidate, hard to trace. He had wired all but a pittance of his holdings in New Pittsburgh to London at the first hint that DSI was interested in Vesta Nine, and the money had been moved through a series of shell accounts since then, enough to confound government accountants should they come looking.
Several safety deposit boxes spread among the best banks in Europe held something more valuable: tourmaquartz. Veles had skimmed his portion of the mine’s production off the top and moved it out of the country early. Thwaites had been none the wiser, too busy spending his portion to support his opulent mode of living. That’s the problem when you’re so busy flaunting your wealth that you don’t have time to watch the books, Veles thought.
A few matters, however, remained unsettled and the thought of that soured Veles’s mood. Andreas and Renate Thalberg were old enemies and a known quantity. They had co-existed thus far by agreeing to leave each other alone unless forced into confrontation. He could abide their continued survival. The Logonje were beyond Veles’s ability to destroy, but he had been working around them for so long that he accepted their interference as a force of nature. Jake Desmet and Rick Brand, on the other hand, had caused entirely too much trouble. They were bad for business, and likely to pop up again, unwanted and at the worst possible time. They needed to be eliminated.
There was time, Veles knew, to figure out the particulars of where, when and how. He had already tried a straightforward curse, only to have his magic turned aside by Andreas’s protections. But there were other, equally dangerous ways to solve the problem.
Andreas warded for the obvious: death spells, magical attack. Veles thought. Here’s one that puts the odds in my favor, one even Andreas can’t repel. It was an old curse, and a powerful one, known to many cultures for its subtle, deadly potency. Jake Desmet and Rick Brand, Veles said
, summoning his power and forming his curse. May you live in interesting times.
PITTSBURGH, PENNSYLVANIA IS a real place, but we have embellished, a bit, around the edges. We grew up in small towns a few hours north of Pittsburgh, went to college near the city, and lived in a suburb of Pittsburgh for ten years. Two of our children were born in Pittsburgh, and we worked for Pittsburgh-based companies. We visit the area frequently, since we still have close family living nearby. It’s one of our favorite cities, and we always enjoy a visit to the ‘Burgh’.
In the late 1800s, Pittsburgh really was the nation’s industrial epicenter, quite deserving of a steampunk legacy, since steam powered the factories of legendary industrialists like Andrew Carnegie and Henry Clay Frick. In the Gilded Age, Pittsburgh was also home to more than its share of Robber Barons, men whose inventiveness shaped our modern world and whose rapacity and desire to live large were breathtaking, even by today’s standards. And in case you wondered, history reports that Nikola Tesla and George Westinghouse did work together for a time… what if they had taken their partnership further? Thereon hangs a tale.
New Pittsburgh is a fictional construct. While many of the places mentioned in Iron and Blood (and some of the historical figures) are real, we’ve also invented people, places and things and taken liberties with key events to create a raw-around-the-edges Gilded Age true to the city’s frontier heritage. Historians may notice that we’ve fudged a few details here and there. Please forgive us in the name of entertainment.
Our co-authorship grew out of working closely on many books together over the years, brainstorming plot elements, passing revisions back and forth, collaborating on ideas to get past writers’ block. That grew from looking for typos and continuity issues into full collaboration, and although the steampunk series is the first to bear both our names, it’s the fact that we work together full time on the books that has made it possible to write three series, bring out monthly ebook short stories and contribute to anthologies. We are thrilled to find that a life partnership has developed into a creative partnership as well.
You might want to check out the rest of our epic and urban fantasy books, the Deadly Curiosities series, The Chronicles of the Necromancer series, the Fallen Kings Cycle, and the Ascendant Kingdoms Saga. We also bring out a new short story every month on Kindle/Kobo/Nook in the Jonmarc Vahanian Adventures and the Deadly Curiosities Adventures and coming in 2015, the Storm and Fury Adventures (featuring more from Mitch and Jacob, the Sturm und Drang boys as their boss calls them).
If you’ve enjoyed Iron and Blood, look for the short stories featuring the further adventures of Mitch and Jacob featured in several Steampunk anthologies including Dreams of Steel 5, The Weird Wild West and Clockwork Universe: Steampunk vs. Aliens. You can find details on our website, at www.JakeDesmet.com. Please also find us on Twitter @GailZMartin and @LNMartinAuthor, on Facebook.com/WinterKingdoms, Goodreads.com/GailZMartin, and we post free excerpts of our books on Wattpad.com/GailZMartin.
Thank you for reading!
SO MANY PEOPLE take part in making a book a reality. Thank you to Ben Smith, Jon Oliver, David Moore, Lydia Gittins and all the other wonderful people at Solaris Books. Thanks especially to our agent, Ethan Ellenberg, for believing in and championing this concept early on. Also, thanks to our wonderful cover artist, Michael Komarck, whose art may look familiar to readers from the first three books of the Chronicles of the Necromancer series. Many thanks as well to all our writer and convention friends for their support and camaraderie. We also owe thanks to the bloggers, book reviewers, genre websites, booksellers, and convention runners who make it possible for us to get our work into the hands of readers. And of course, we owe a debt of gratitude to our readers, because your continued enthusiasm for these stories makes it possible for us to spin more tales. Thank you.
Welcome to Trifles & Folly, a store with a dark secret. Proprietor Cassidy Kincaide continues a family tradition begun in 1670 – acquiring and neutralizing dangerous supernatural items. It’s the perfect job for Cassidy, whose psychic gift lets her touch an object and know its history. Together with her business partner Sorren, a 500-year-old vampire and former jewel thief, Cassidy makes it her business to get infernal objects off the market.
When a trip to a haunted hotel unearths a statue steeped in malevolent power, and a string of murders draws a trail to the abandoned old Navy yard, Cassidy and Sorren discover a diabolical plot to unleash a supernatural onslaught on their city.
It’s time for Kincaide and her team to get rid of these Deadly Curiosities before the bodies start piling up.
‘Great characters, awesome magic, huge thrill ride!’
John Hartness, author of The Black Knight Chronicles
www.solarisbooks.com
ONE GIRL AGAINST AN EMPIRE
Eveline Duchen is a thief and con-artist, surviving day by day on the streets of London, where the glittering spires of progress rise on the straining backs of the poor and disenfranchised. Where the Folk, the otherworldly children of fairy tales and legends, have all but withdrawn from the smoke of the furnaces and the clamour of iron.
Caught in an act of deception by the implacable Mr Holmforth, Evvie is offered a stark choice: transportation to the colonies, or an education – and utter commitment to Her Majesty’s Service – at Miss Cairngrim’s harsh school for female spies.
But on the decadent streets of Shanghai, where the corruption of the Empire is laid bare, Holmforth is about to make a devil’s bargain, and Eveline’s choices could change the future of two worlds...
‘Tremendous, pacy fun - perky heroines, mysterious men, vivid settings, dastardly plots and a steam powered dragon. What more could a girl want?’
Francis Knight, author of Fade to Black
www.solarisbooks.com
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