Steampunk Tales, Volume 1

by Ren Cummins

  Eventually, the sounds of laughter and the tantalizing smells of freshly-cooked dinner made their way to him, luring him from his thoughts and back downstairs to be among his new friends.

  The Morrow Stone

  Chronicles of Aesirium: Book Two

  Chapter 1: An Unscheduled Appointment

  Cousins grabbed the small rise that lined the rooftop for balance, waiting for the nausea to pass. “You know, in spite of the warning,” he said, taking a deep breath to calm his stomach, “that certainly was no amusement whatsoever.”

  Ian nodded. “My Elsewhere spell does take a certain degree of stamina,” he confessed. “It will pass shortly, however.”

  The young man agreed, and sure enough in a few moments the feeling of vertigo left him. “You do that a great deal?”

  “Only when speed is of the essence,” came the reply. “Which building is Favo’s?”

  “The tall one,” Cousins pointed. One building over from where they had arrived stood a towering edifice, four full stories tall with an additional structure built on the rooftop. To the casual observer, it would have appeared to be simply a taller building than the rest. But Cousins knew better.

  At regular intervals on all the floors, there were narrow slits with angled openings – allowing defensive units to have a full view of the adjoining areas plus the street below, while offering limited opportunity for potential attacks. The overtly visible presence of security was limited – but just obvious enough to deter the casual thief.

  The occasional glint of sunlight was additionally reflected off embedded stones within the brickwork, suggesting magically reinforced protection. He mentioned this to Ian, who confirmed it with a nod. “I can hear additional magical signatures coming from within the building as well,” he said. “Favo is a man not only with great secrets, but with strong connections.”

  “That’s true.” Cousins looked around them, frowning again. “So what’s our plan?”

  Ian shrugged. “For now, the plan is to observe Favo, and attempt to discern his motives. Clearly he sought something held in Goya’s shop, and most likely it is the Morrow Stone you delivered. But as to his motive or purpose, we have yet to determine.”

  “We’re not going to determine anything from over here,” Cousins grumbled. “He’s too well defended.”

  “You have a suggestion?”

  “Not really,” the young man confessed. “A few fairly reckless ideas, but nothing worth mentioning. Regardless, I do think we should get off this rooftop – we’re too obvious up here.”

  “I was just going to mention that myself,” came a familiar female voice behind them. It was Molla, in a more casual outfit than the night before. She had a long jacket with long fur trim, and knee high brown leather boots with well-worn buckles. But the mask was gone, replaced by a pair of goggles worn high up on her head. Instead of the single holster she’d had last night, she had a twin holster rig, slung low across her hips. Both of the guns were drawn, one pointing at each of them.

  For a fleeting moment, Cousins thought it might still be all right. She was one person, there were two of them; the numbers were still in their favor. But one by one, a half-dozen additional guards appeared around them from behind various points of concealment. He shook his head. If they’d been surprised by something mystical or magical, that would’ve at least been understandable, but they simply got out-maneuvered.

  Molla and the guards escorted the two of them down the stairs in the center of the building and paraded them through the streets. The area around Favo’s building wasn’t too congested, but what few people were there moved quickly at the sight of Favo’s guards, followed up by Molla herself. A few recognized Cousins, but not the tall gentleman who walked beside him. Regardless, they knew trouble when they saw it and they rarely kept looking at it when it was seen.

  As they approached Favo’s building, Cousins noticed a few people sitting around the area and engaged in apparently idle tasks – one woman folded the same piece of laundry multiple times; a man nearer the main entrance seemed to be taking forever to dislodge a pebble from his shoe – Cousins hid his smirk. Favo must be paranoid, he thought, to have undercover individuals outside his own building just for the purpose of, what, he wondered?

  The main doorway was recessed into the main wall – there were two guards posted there, one at each side of the door, and nodded as Molla walked to the front of the procession. Two of the guards behind them peeled off in different directions, presumably to patrol the area, and the two at the head of the line opened the doors, allowing Molla to pass inside.

  Cousins raised his arm to scratch an itch on his shoulder, eliciting a harsh rebuke from one of the guards. He held his hands back in front of him, apologizing. The guards pushed him from the back, driving him into the building. As the doors closed, the man in the courtyard slipped his boot onto his foot and walked casually away; a stack of laundry, abandoned, lingered in the late morning breeze.

  * * * * *

  The main floor followed a fairly uninteresting layout, Cousins thought. From a purely aesthetic perspective, it lacked artistry and décor; even in terms of basic human comforts, it was sorely lacking. He noted several regular square holes in the floor, however, and saw many solid oak panels with iron cross pieces leaning against nearby walls. He smiled. Favo was paranoid, he realized. The main floor was designed thus in order to provide a strong main floor defensive area; even should opposing forces manage to get past the impressively reinforced doors, they would face opponents on all quarters who could lay out defensive barriers at whatever interval or arrangement they liked. Cousins had to admit that although he didn’t like Favo, he was starting to be impressed by him.

  They took a partially-concealed stairway to the next floor, which was decorated more in line with his previous expectations. The main room consisted of a large central waiting area with mildly comfortable-looking chairs and a series of evenly spaced tables. Molla pointed to two of the chairs and told them to sit. Were a passerby not aware of the contingent of armed guards, they would never have known by Ian or Cousins’ countenances that they were anything but honored guests, judging solely by their casual expressions.

  Cousins even asked for water or tea, earning him a vicious look from Molla.

  “Just stay here, Favo wants to speak to you.” She turned and stepped through a pair of double doors at the opposite end of the room, and the four guards took positions around the room.

  They could hear raised voices from the other side of the doors – most notably Molla’s – and Ian glanced towards Cousins, the corner of his lips lifting in a smile so quick Cousins wasn’t entirely certain he’d seen it. A moment later, the doors burst back open and there was Molla, her cheeks flushed with anger.

  “Get in here,” she snapped.

  Again – only seeming to increase her frustration – the two stood casually and walked to the doors as if they had nothing more pressing on their minds. Molla nearly slammed the doors shut on Cousins as he stepped through.

  Favo leaned against the edge of a large wooden desk and gestured towards two tall-backed leather covered chairs.

  “Please, gentlemen, make yourselves comfortable. I hope you didn’t have to wait long.” He didn’t have the appearance of a man whose name intimidated much of the city. He was slender, well dressed and with very fine shoes, Cousins noticed.

  Ian nodded graciously. “No, your assistant made us feel quite at home. And it was really far too hot outside at any rate.”

  His polite disposition earned a tolerant smile from their host.

  As they sat, Favo turned his attention to Cousins. “Well, my boy, you’ve been very busy, haven’t you? Making a name for yourself, and without accepting my repeated offers of employment.” He clucked his tongue. “Were I a lesser man, I might take umbrage at such effrontery.” His charming smile belied the subtlety of his intentions.

  Cousins matched him charm for charm. “Alas, such gentlemanly entrepreneurial and mutual
respect is so rare,” he said, letting his mouth savor the gliding intonations. “And yet,” he added, “so valuable in its own right. Surely, you are a man of inestimable wealth.”

  “I do have the pair of coins to add music to my step, so to speak,” Favo replied. His attention turned to Ian. “You, however, I do not know. You seem…familiar, but I cannot place you.” He stood, pacing slowly and for dramatic effect. “Molla, surely you can place this man?”

  She stepped around in front of them, staring intently at Ian’s face. Glowering, she confessed, “No. He does look familiar, but I don’t know from where.”

  Cousins’ façade slipped. What were they playing at? They’d just seen him the night before in the shop, and yet here, the next day, they seemed genuinely confused as to who he was.

  “It would appear I have one of those faces,” Ian shrugged.

  Favo circled the desk and sat in the large chair opposite his two guests. “Then perhaps you can explain why you were watching my building today?”

  Ian glanced at Cousins, then looked back towards Favo. “We came to ask if you found what you were looking for last night.”

  Favo rolled his eyes dramatically. “You already know I did not. Not that it matters; I’m considering dropping the matter entirely.”

  Cousins and Ian ignored the obvious lie. Ian smiled. “Do you understand the nature of the item you have been paid to acquire, Favo?”

  Turning towards Cousins, Favo shook his head. “Another ‘cousin’ of yours, then? Come all this way to attempt to sneak some information from me?”

  He looked back at Ian. “I take care to ask few questions, beyond whether my clients are willing to pay what I want,” he answered. Favo opened one of the drawers at the desk, pulled out a small bag, and shook it twice. He shrugged, and tossed it to Cousins. “That should pay off the old witch,” he said. “And if you must know, I would have paid twice what they offered you if you had brought the item to me first.”

  Cousins nodded. “I’m certain you would have. But I can’t reacquire my reputation for even that kind of money,” he said.

  Favo scoffed. “Ah, the peasant’s honorable refuge. You would do well to reconsider your tolerance for those of us who don’t stand up to your measure of ethics, Cousins. At some point, you may find yourself on the wrong side of a debt. Or worse.”

  Cousins stood up, placing the bag of coins in one of his many inner pockets. “That is some very intelligent advice, Favo. We’re done for today, then?”

  Ian sat a moment longer, then stood as well. Cousins noted a brief flash in Favo’s eyes as they began to exit, but he filed it away to ask Ian later. Ian placed a hand on Cousins’ shoulder and they moved towards the door. Molla stood between it and them until Favo waved her aside.

  “You should come talk to me later, Cousins,” he said. “You know I’ll always have work for you. My door is always open.”

  Scowling, Molla stepped away and allowed them to leave. Two of the guards escorted them downstairs and out the front doors. They stood at the doorway until Ian and Cousins had walked out of sight.

  A block away, Ian held out his hand.

  “What?” Cousins asked.

  Ian did not answer, merely pointed to the pocket where Cousins had placed the bag of coins and held out his hand again. Cousins released an exasperated sigh and handed it over.

  “I was going to give it to her,” he said.

  Ian shook his head and dropped the bag into a bucket sitting beneath a water pump as they passed. The water in the bucket instantly began to boil, emitting a foul and acrid smoke.

  Ian held Cousins by the arm and continued walking with him. “The bag contained a few tricks in it,” he said. “I’m not certain exactly what the spells were, but it was quite discordant.”

  Cousins spat. “I should’ve guessed he would try something suitably clever.” He paused for a moment, but Ian pulled him along. “This visit was a complete waste of time, then. You know, we should just go back there and…”

  “Not today, my young warrior,” Ian interrupted. “We achieved all we needed: we let Favo see us, and we saw the inside of his building. He now knows we are not to be trifled with, and I was able to reinforce a certain spell I’ve had to cast on him several times over the past few years. On another topic, however, you should know that we are being followed.”

  Cousins sighed. He wasn’t yet convinced the trip hadn’t been a total loss. But being trailed in the open on the streets? That might at least provide some much-needed entertainment. Or, potentially, information.

  Chapter 2: The Perspective of Time

  Oldtown-Against-the-Wall had never been intended as a permanent settlement. Even in its infancy, the citizenry of Aesirium had placed purely organic housing which utilized the most rudimentary of steam-pressured hydraulic energy models. It was widely assumed that they had done so as a stinging reminder of all that which had been left behind in the great exile. These buildings, which had been initially constructed further to the north of the present populace, had not lasted far beyond the first harsh winter, but, fearing the wilds beyond, the exiled practitioners of the arts had borrowed what technologies they had learned to build additional, stronger edifices which now comprised the bulk of the inhabited region on the west side of the Wall. In the center of it all they constructed a great clock tower, one of the tallest structures in the whole of Oldtown. At the base of it was a single access door, above which was a bronze placard that read simply “There Will Always Be Time For Joy”. Rom had never been sure if that was an invitation or a recrimination. Either way, she loved the tower.

  The clock tower was only a short hop from Goya’s apothecary shop, and when Ian wasn’t taking her to train at night or when there wasn’t anything to do around the shop during the day, she liked to come up here and watch the city go about its affairs. The wind snuck through the many openings of the four-faced clock, blowing Rom’s naturally white hair about her face. She swept it back from her eyes, tucking it behind her ears. She had yet to find a comfortable way to keep her hair back, in a way which kept it from getting in her mouth but offered some minor concealment from the twin purple gems embedded in the center of her forehead. Leaning out onto the slight railing that surrounded the belfry, Rom looked out to enjoy her favorite views of Oldtown.

  To the north, she could see the sweeping elegance of the colleges, with their spires, turrets and domed rotundas. Large living plumes of steam rose from various caps across the university landscape, hinting at the unimaginable variety of studies being explored therein. Rom’s oldest and closest friend Kari was there – the youngest of the steamsmiths, and already (if word on the streets was to be believed) amazing fellow apprentices and professors alike with her innate comprehension of the intricacies of science. Kari would blush and stammer when Cousins would share the chatter with them over dinner, but Rom could only nudge her friend and nod encouragingly.

  To the west lay the agricultural fields, tended to each day by the wearied but enduring people of Oldtown. Where possible, they employed what Art knowledges remained available to them, but generations of tending to the fields for their sustenance and survival had caused much of their acquired knowledge to be reserved for a mere fraction of their population. Of all the casualties resulting from their exile, widespread training in the mystical Arts was perhaps the most telling; it had left the deepest and persistent scar upon their people. But in spite of it, they had prospered; the market that lay between the clock tower and the fields was an impressive display of the many wares and goods cultivated, created, manufactured and designed by the various guilds and organizations within Oldtown. And the people who wandered through the bazaar wore generous smiles on their faces; the sort that came from an honest appreciation for work well done.

  Beyond the fields lay the untamed wilds; overgrown trees and assorted greenery reaching out to the base of the purplish mountains that lay far off against the horizon. That’s where I died, Rom thought with a crooked smile. Out in the wild
s, trying to be on time to a meeting with Cousins. It all seemed so strange now, so different and hard to define. In the orphanage that had raised her and Kari, Rom had been taught by the Matrons about the old gods – powerful and celestial beings referred to as the Shepherds – who watched over and protected all life on Aerthos. But the people of Oldtown, having mostly abandoned the old practices of worshiping the Shepherds, or Sheharid Is’iin as they were spoken of in the old language, now referred to them by the more derogatory term of Reaper. They were a ghost story, a tale to frighten children into staying in their beds at night. Surely they were not real beings, or so the townspeople believed. Rom had believed that, as well, once upon a time.

  Off to the south from her present position lay the Oldtown community structures – the parliamentary and council chambers, the jail and medical facilities, and, further beyond that, the sprawl. Ian and Cousins had made Kari and Rom promise not to travel into the sprawl. For starters, it was where the majority of Oldtown’s criminal segments lived, including the infamous Favo Carr and his associate Molla.

  “Infamous,” Rom chuckled. “He wishes.”

  “What’s that, Rom?” came the familiar voice from above her.

  Rom shook her head. “Nothing, Mully, just thinking out loud.”

  A small catlike creature hopped down, thin leather wings extending from his back to slow his fall. There were regular cats here in Oldtown, but Mulligan was a feranzanthum – complete with wings and a pair of nearly-orange horns extending from above his ears and pointing back towards his tail. Eventually, they would grow to curl around his head and point forward from beneath his jaw. But for now, they provided a nice color balance from the otherwise monochromatic tones of his grey fur, black ears and face, and white paws. A pair of brightly golden eyes rounded out his color palette to distinguish him from the non-flying, non-horned varieties of felines. Oh, and he also could speak; a talent he often bragged he could do better than Rom, in fact.