Golem: A Jericho Sims tale (The Adventures of Jericho Sims Book 1)

by T. Mike McCurley

  Golem

  A Jericho Sims tale

  Copyright 2015 by T. Mike McCurley

  E-Book Published by T. Mike McCurley

  Cover art by arani_creative

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your enjoyment only, then please return to your favorite retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Contents

  Golem

  About the Author

  Also available from T. Mike McCurley

  For Kae and D'Lynn.

  GOLEM

  For two days, Jericho had been riding with the arrow in his back. The fiery pain had become a constant, and he knew that if he didn't find someplace soon where someone could patch him up, he was going to die. He blinked once and the sun vanished. He marveled at the change before realizing he had passed out yet again and night had fallen. Taking a shallow, shuddering breath, he scanned the horizon. Scrub brush and trees, mostly, all vaguely illuminated by a watery waxing moon, but in the east he saw a building with lighted windows.

  "Gideon," he mumbled to the horse, his own voice sounding miles away. "Go."

  Whether it was his word or the tapping of his boot heel, Gideon picked up speed, stepping into a quick trot as Jericho fought to stay awake in the saddle.

  The building turned out to be a large two-story home, with light visible even through the gauzy curtains that concealed every window. Gideon marched up to the front of the house, stopping as he neared a hitching post beside the porch steps. Jericho tossed the reins across the top of the post. As well-trained as Gideon was, he would stay where he was even if it took until the next morning for them to be discovered.

  Jericho struggled to lift his leg over the front of the saddle, succeeding in tangling his boot on the lasso that hung there. Fighting to free it, he lost his balance and fell from the saddle, slamming face-first into the hard-packed earth. Darkness beckoned and he felt himself falling into a long tunnel of shadow. For a change, it didn't feel like a bad place to be, and he let the darkness envelop him.

  When his eyes opened again, he saw daylight, though it was muted and diffused into a softer glow than he would expect. He forced himself not to squint in the face of the light, rolling his eyes to take in his surroundings. He could see the frame of a window surrounding the sunlight. That triggered the realization that he was on his left side in a soft bed, with a quilt covering him up to his shoulders. He rolled onto his back, wincing as the action reminded him that he was carrying some brave's arrow.

  "No. I'm on my back," he muttered. "It's out now."

  Things around him had a swimming, dreamlike quality, and he found that if he thought too hard or looked too long at anything in particular, everything in his vision began to shimmer and twist. He flipped back the quilt and swiveled his legs over the edge of the bed. When he sat up, reality became a twisting, spiraling thing. His surroundings seemed to take on a life of their own, moving and changing shapes. He felt his gorge rise as he tried to stand and so he opted instead to remain seated on the bed as the world around him danced. His eyes began to quiver in their sockets. When he looked down at the bandages wrapped around his chest, he seemed to be doing so from a great distance. He held up his hands and as he tried to make sense of the serpentine wiggling things that were his fingers, he felt the darkness sweep over him once again.

  "Hello there, young man," he heard as light passed across his eyes again. He blinked several times and the form that had been no more than a blur swam into view.

  The man looked to be in his late fifties, with a monk's ring of greying hair that had once been brown. His eyebrows had begun to fade as well, and the friendly smile came with a series of wrinkles.

  "Welcome back to the land of the living," the man said, holding a thin glass vial of a bright blue liquid. He held it out toward Jericho. "Drink this. It will take the edge off the effects you're feeling."

  Expecting the worst, Jericho nonetheless tipped up the vial and swallowed whatever it was the man had handed him. Surprisingly, it tasted faintly of apples. Within a few seconds, he noticed that things around him no longer seemed quite so animated. He was still hesitant to sit up. The man chuckled.

  "It can take some time to acclimate to it. You'll find that things are a little more proximate to normalcy."

  Jericho licked at his lips, savoring the hint of flavor as well as the moisture.

  "Mister, any chance you can tell me where I'm at and how long I've been here?"

  "Certainly. You are in my home, where you have been since your unexpected arrival last night."

  "Last night?"

  "Yes. I do apologize that I could do so little for the pain you are in, but your wound has been dealt with."

  "You a doctor?" Jericho asked, eyes widening as a chill twisted his guts.

  "No," the man said, flapping a hand as if the question was meaningless. "I provide alternatives to the surgeons and their entrenched 'cut and sew' mentality. I am Professor Foster Musgrave, sir, Master Alchemist and the creator of Musgrave's Elixirs of Life, those selfsame elixirs that have saved your life today."

  Jericho sat in silence for a moment following the boastful declaration. His jaw worked but no words came.

  "As I said, it can take a moment to acclimate."

  Jericho lifted a hand and poked at the bandages on his chest. Taking a chance, he swung his legs once more off the bed and sat up, ignoring the fact that he wore no shirt. He smiled as best he could, though there was still a hot ache in his upper back.

  "At least you ain't no sawbones. My horse?"

  "Has been stabled with my own, brushed down and given a double ration of feed. Before you ask, your shirt has been patched and folded," he added, pointing to a table across the room. The shirt was there, along with his boots and his gun belt.

  "Well, mister, it looks like I owe you quite a debt."

  "Not at all," Musgrave said, flapping his hand once again. "Dress yourself and come downstairs, mister...?"

  "Sims. Jericho Sims."

  "Very well, Mister Sims. Please come and join us for breakfast."

  Musgrave stood and walked from the room with a rapid pace. Jericho stood from the bed, taking a moment to accustom himself to the feeling of once again standing. His head swirled a little, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been only minutes before. Whatever it was that the man had given him, it had worked.

  Five minutes later, a more appropriately dressed Jericho Sims worked his way down a wide set of stairs and into a sprawling living area. Leather chairs dominated the room, and there were four low tables that were covered in stacks of books and papers, but his attention was drawn to the next room, a dining room where Musgrave sat at a table with a thin brunette woman. Platters of food topped that table, and Jericho felt his stomach twist and rumble as the scents hit his nose.

  "Welcome, Mister Sims," Musgrave greeted as the gunfighter stepped into the room. He gestured toward the brunette. "My daughter Ashley."

  "Ma'am," Jericho said, bowing his head a few degrees to her.

  She stood and curtsied before retaking her seat.

  Jericho scraped out a chair and sat with them at the table, filling his plate with food as they pushed one platter after another at him.

  "So tell us, Mister Sims -" Ashley began. He cut her off with a
gently raised hand.

  "Please, miss. Just call me Jericho. Mister Sims was a lifetime ago."

  She smiled. "Why thank you. You may call me Ashley. So how is it you came to be penetrated by the arrow?" she asked, using a linen napkin to pat at her lips.

  "You might call it a gift," he said. "Couple days back, a rather angry Indian decided I needed it more than he did, so he gave it to me. He just saw fit to deliver it with a little more force than I expected."

  She laughed, a gentle, pleasant sound, and Musgrave did likewise, although his was more of a honk.

  "Well, it is a good thing you stumbled across us, then, Jericho," she said. "Among his other many talents, Father is a healer of men."

  "I noticed," Jericho said. He raised and flexed his arm. There was still pain, but the limb functioned as it should. "He does his work in mighty short time, too."

  "It took longer to remove the arrow than anything else," Musgrave said with a shrug. "My elixirs and unguents are second to none in this territory."

  "You mentioned that," Jericho said. "I ain't sure what you mean, though. I always thought that those things were limited to the peddlers who rolled around selling overpriced liquor and oil out of gaudy-painted wagons."

  Musgrave laughed aloud. "I have surely been mistaken for those types through the years," he said. "The difference, however, is that my cures work. Come with me. Let me show you."

  Jericho stood and, followed closely by Ashley, trailed after the Professor. They exited the main portion of the house, stepping through a covered hallway and out onto a stone-paved walk. A hundred yards later, they entered the strangest building Jericho had ever seen. It was the size of a small single-story barn. The walls were lined with shelves, upon which sat rows and racks of glass beakers, bottles, and flasks. Each contained different substances. Some were bubbling, others fizzed and popped. Numerous tables filled with glassware covered most of the floor, and atop any of them small fires burned beneath flasks. The steam generated within them coiled along spiraling tubes of glass to coalesce inside separate containers. The room was such a mix of scents that he could not pinpoint a single one, and the entirety of the place left him feeling in awe of what he was seeing. In one corner, lightning climbed slowly up between two tall rods of metal. As it reached the top, it began again from the bottom. The crackling, hissing sounds it made echoed in the room.

  "Welcome to my laboratory, Mister Sims," Musgrave said, gesturing widely about the massive room.

  "It's impressive," Jericho said. "I honestly don't recognize what I'm seeing here, but it's mighty impressive."

  "I feared that it might prove too technical for you, but surely you understand that not all things exist in a singular state, yes? Elements combine to produce other compounds. Like the gunpowder in your revolver. It is a combination of chemicals that when heated by the spark from the cap, ignite into a fast-burning flame. When that flame is contained, as in your pistol, then the force of it directs the bullet along its path. The things here in the laboratory are similar. I combine a series of elements and chemicals to produce the product I seek."

  "So it's sorta like cookin'?"

  "Exactly! You must have the necessary ingredients to form the meal." He pointed to a small metal box. "This, for example, contains a new and stabilized form of nitroglycerine I have created. All of the power, and more, without the difficulties commonly associated with the mundane explosive. This explodes when a cap is applied or when shot, but not before. No more fear of premature detonation during transport or emplacement!"

  "I'm just an old soldier, Professor. This is all above my pay grade, as we used to say."

  "A soldier, you say?" Musgrave crowed, immediately losing interest in the doughy gray explosive as he jumped to another topic. "I simply must show you my newest project!"

  He led Jericho though the laboratory and into the attached room. A wave of moist heat met them as the door opened. Musgrave fairly danced across the floor, leading Jericho's gaze to the center of the room, where stood an eight-foot tall suit of armor. Together with Musgrave, he made a slow circuit of the thing, looking at it from front and back.

  It appeared to be made of beaten steel, copper, and brass, with crude weld marks and only a passing effort to keep it looking humanoid. The arms were overly bulky and atop the right hand was a protrusion of metal tubes. The left hand was tipped with long, jagged claws. Shorter claws were visible on the ends of both feet. On the back of the armor was what appeared to be a large metal backpack. Vent pipes rose from the top of it and thin streams of steam issued forth from them. The helmet was a boxy thing, with a visor of smoked crystal and a mesh covering for mouth and nose.

  "All right, you got me," Jericho said. "What is it?"

  "My golem," Musgrave said, thrusting his chest out and smoothing back a lock of hair behind his right ear.

  "Gesundheit," Jericho replied automatically.

  "It is a legend, Mister Sims. The Golem was created by Jewish priests to defend their village, or some such. Theirs, of course, was made through mysticism, and mine is the product of rare scientific procedures and modern technological advances."

  "Looks like you've made improvements on the old kind of armor," he said.

  "Much more than that! The golem is no mere suit of armor, Mister Sims. It is an amalgamation of technology and life. It is the culmination of my life's work, and it will end the waste of men on a battlefield. Think, Mister Sims! How many of your brethren would have been safe at home during that awful war if only creatures such as my golem waged the battles? How many of our brave lads would still be seeing the next sunrise?"

  "That thing's gonna be some kind of soldier?"

  "Absolutely! His right arm contains his armament, if you will pardon what is, I must admit, a terrible pun. A revolving pistol, much like a Gatling gun, but with more easily manufactured ammunition, makes up the series of barrels you see around the periphery. In the center is a larger tube from which it launches these."

  He held up a twelve inch long tube, thicker than a hemp rope, with fins and a conical nose.

  "That a rocket of some kind? Seen 'em in a few batteries, but never that small."

  "It is indeed! Capable of short flight and tipped with a detonator for the charge of my enhanced nitroglycerine. The golem will carry three of these and with them can punch a hole through the armor of an ironclad ship."

  "That's nice, Professor, but how's it gonna know where to go or what to do?"

  "Within that shell of steel rests the thinking mind of a human being, capable of acting as needed, but protected beyond the dreams of today's military. His body moves using steam power and gears, with a power source derived from the legendary Philosopher's Stone itself."

  "That thing's got a brain?" Jericho asked, looking with sudden horror at the visor. Behind it, he imagined eyes tracking his moves.

  "Of course! It must be directed in some manner, am I correct?"

  "Where did you find -"

  "My methods are not at issue here," Musgrave cut in, his tone going suddenly sharp. "Results are what matters. Science functions best when petty concerns are left behind."

  "Petty concerns? Mister, you took a human brain from somewhere. That ain't petty."

  "Rest assured, Jericho, no one has been harmed here," Ashley said, her voice pitched low in an attempt to soothe. "The brain was taken from a man who no longer needed it."

  "Y'all ain't listening here. You took a human brain and dropped it into a machine. I remember seeing an awful lot of books out there in the other room. Surely mixed in among all of them was one where someone told you this here is one hell of a bad idea."

  "I had thought as a soldier you would be the one to understand the worth of this idea," Musgrave said. His lip curled up to expose his teeth.

  "Oh, the worth I get. I ain't arguing the whole worthy cause thing. Just saying y'all seem to be going about this in a damned creepy way. Putting brains in your golems, for a start. How is that gonna save anyone? Once everybody want
s one, where you gonna get all the brains?"

  "There will always be a source," Ashley said, cutting off the angry response from her father. "We do not discuss our methods with anyone not of the scientific community, however."

  Jericho nodded and reached up as if to tip a hat that he was not currently wearing. "With all due respect to you and yours, miss, there's always gonna be someone that will put your invention to uses you didn't have in mind when you created it. What happens when some ne'er-do-well gets hold of a golem and tells it to rob a bank, or kill a Marshal, or burn down an orphanage, or so on and so forth?"

  "This is why it is imperative that the golem have a brain," she countered. "It must be able to think for itself, to make the necessary decisions."

  "Well, then, begging your pardon, but it's gonna make a poor soldier. Soldiers don't get to decide what course of action to take."

  "Are you insinuating that the men who are in the Army right now have no brains?" Musgrave asked with a smirk.

  "Well, you ain't met some of my previous commanders or you wouldn't ask that," Jericho responded. His attempt at humor fell flat in the piercing gazes of the two scientists. No one spoke for a moment, the only sounds being the constant hiss of the steam engine and the distant crackle of the lightning generator.

  "No one asked me what I thought," declared a new voice, this one deep and sonorous, with an underlying hissing sound. The hairs on Jericho's neck prickled and rose as he slowly turned his gaze back toward the towering form of the golem.

  "You can talk," Jericho said. "Why am I not surprised?"

  "Of course," Musgrave said, his smile returning as he gestured toward the neck. "It can see, hear, and speak just like a human. The steam engine can vent through a speech chamber that works in a manner similar to a larynx, thereby allowing him to form words. It is working much better than anticipated, however."

  He grabbed a bound book from a nearby podium and began to scratch notes into it with a pencil. Ashley stepped over to stand beside the golem, looking up at the head and smiling. She turned her gaze on Jericho, and he could see the smugness in the expression.