Steamy Cogs

by Jessica Ripley

  Lenora hurried over to knock at the door, but there was no answer.

  “Where’s the captain?” James yelled over to the crewman.

  “He’s in there. But he’s with the doctor, prolly don’t want no company.”

  James turned the knob and threw the door open. Pepe jumped and barked in excitement, leaving only a small puddle, which no one commented on. They leaped through the opening. Lenora pointed at the captain with a flourish.

  “Aha, it was you in my cabin. Mask or no, I know what I did to you.”

  As everyone turned to look at her she realized that the captain was holding a shotgun pointed at the doctor. James was staring at Lenora and spared no glance for the other men in the room.

  “Just what was he doing in your cabin, mi’lady? What did you do to him, and why was he masked?”

  “What, oh for heaven’s sake, James. He tried to tie me up and violate me.”

  “He tried to harm you?” James’ voice was low and gravelly, promising someone a world of pain.

  “Good grief, James. He didn’t succeed, I broke his nose and he fled on the instant.”

  “I was not trying to rape the old church bell, I was trying to kill her. And I did not flee.” He had the gun turned on both of them now, but neither noticed.

  “That’s not much of an improvement, my dear. You should have told me.”

  “Forgive me, James but when was the right time to tell you? While we were trying to stop the gunpowder from exploding? Or while the burners set fire to the hull supports? And then we came straight here.”

  Lenora had her hands planted on her hips and traces of her gypsy past were starting to thicken her voice.

  “Excuse me!” The captain roared, regaining everyone’s attention. He pointed the shotgun at Lenora and nodded toward James. “You. Close the door.”

  Lenora crossed her arms, refusing. But glancing out of the room, James saw that a couple of crewmen had heard the captain’s shouts and were staring toward the door. So he put his hands in the air and deliberately walked to the door where he was in full view, before closing and locking it.

  “I always knew you had sense, Mr. Patrick. Though why you’d side with this….”

  “Careful, I do own the fleet. I am already certain you’ll never work again.” Lenora’s hands were back on her hips. She nodded with a jerk of her chin as the captain stared at her in confusion.

  “I have a gun, madam. Do be silent or I’ll shoot. And shut that stupid mutt up!”

  As the captain was distracted by Lenora’s antics and Pepe’s ceaseless barking, the doctor had been quietly moving out of the barrel’s range. As soon as he was sure the captain couldn’t shoot him, the doctor jumped at him.

  He was not a fighter and the leap was ill timed. As the captain turned quickly to intercept the doctor, Lenora threw the hammer she’d picked up in the basement. It hit the captain on the cheek, and bounced off of his shoulder. He howled and turned to her, forgetting the doctor. That allowed for the doctor to punch him.

  It was luck, not skill, that the punch hit the captain’s nose. He shrieked, dropping the shotgun to grab his twice-broken nose, which again poured blood onto his white jacket.

  Lenora leaped to grab the gun and instantly pointed it, quite expertly, at the captain. James opened the door to call in the crew, who were standing about looking puzzled.

  “Get off yer arses and take the cap’n to the brig, ya lazy bastards! He killed ol’ Timothy.” James nodded to the first mate. “Beggin’ yer pardon, sir.”

  The first mate looked a bit bewildered, but stepped into the room. Seeing the bedraggled, bleeding captain and the odd Contessa pointing a gun at him, he looked at James.

  “Shouldn’t we call the ship’s doctor? And should she be pointing that at the captain?”

  “I am the doctor, and I am refusing to treat this madman again. He tried to shoot me and he killed Timothy” The doctor brushed at the blood on his uniform top, sniffing.

  “I order you to arrest these people, for plotting to take over the ship and for killing a crewman. Especially her!” The captain pointed at Lenora, who simply cocked the gun. This had the effect of making everyone quiet down instantly.

  “That’s enough of that, gentleman,” she was once again La Contessa. “I am Mrs. Hector Williams, La Contessa Sarducchi, the owner of this steamship line. I assure you that I have the authority to place this terrible man under arrest.”

  “But why?” The first mate scratched his head. “He’s a fine, reliable captain. No problems with his leadership at all.”

  “No problems?” Lenora sounded shocked. “You mean aside from murdering Timothy in the radio room, trying to kill me, and James. And deliberately not bringing any ice this trip for the burners. We were minutes from catching fire. Only my dear James’ quick thinking prevented it.”

  “He…what?” The first mate sounded more than confused than ever. He sounded concussed, as if her words were battering rams.

  “Don’t forget the explosion, m’love.” James sounded amused.

  “Silly me. He was smuggling enough gunpowder onto the ship to blow up half of Lower Canada!”

  “I wasn’t blowing up the ship you fools, I was going to blow up….” The captain stopped speaking, but it was enough to show his first mate who was in the wrong. And he motioned for the men gawking in the doorway to grab the captain’s arms.

  The captain sputtered in rage, but the cocked shotgun kept him under control. As the four crewmen left to escort him to the brig, Lenora relaxed her grip on the gun.

  “When do we arrive at Quebec? We simply must get ice as soon as possible.” She looked down at her beloved dog, skittering about under people’s feet and yipping steadily in excitement. “Oh, do shut up, Pepe.”

  “Better part o’ two days. We’re rightly in trouble.” As James laid his warm hand on Lenora’s shoulder and reached to take the shotgun from her, Sarah tapped at the door and leaned in.

  “Well, I’ve got the busboy and the cook’s helper taking ice from the kitchen’s cold-room to the burners. I had to drag that stupid Frenchmen down to the hold to show him the scorch marks before he’d let go of any ice!” She straightened her skirt and glanced around the room. Although she noted the blood, the shotgun and the overturned chair, all she said was “We’re having a seafood luncheon and ice cream is being served in the dining lounge now.”

  James and Lenora stood on the grass of the airfield, watching the Quebec workers race to the ship with bins of ice. James slid an arm about her waist and she relaxed into his embrace.

  “I need a private airship, I’m too old for this.”

  “Old, my dear? Why, you’re a spring lamb,” James smiled, pulling one of her tight curls from their pin. “And you have the curly fleece to prove it.”

  “Oh, you.” She laughed, playfully pushing him away. “Two more days to reach Ottawa, I’m cabling ahead.”

  Sarah approached, looking upset.

  “I’m done. I’ve had it with this job. I’m off to find a better position.”

  Lenora thought of this sweet girl, so eager to please, it was only a matter of time before she ran afoul with another cad.

  “How would you like a job as my full time lady’s maid? I pay better than the airship line, but I won’t promise that it’ll be any calmer. I am often surrounded by trouble.”

  Sarah’s eyes lit up like a sunrise.

  “Honestly, ma’am. That would be wondrous. Private service to a real lady and the occasional bit of excitement to keep the blood flowing!”

  It would be more often than occasional, but Lenora let that pass.

  What about you, James? Fancy being the captain of a small crew?”

  “With you, m’love?” He grinned, teeth white against his tan. “Why I’d sail yer ship into the gates of Hell if it meant being by your side.”

  “James, language, please.” But she laughed and allowed him to kiss her.

  About the Author

  Laurie is a writ
er/film-maker living in the Ottawa area. She is an amateur herbalist, genealogist and painter. She also has a diploma in Accounting, specializing in artists and writers.

  Growing up on army bases around the world, she learned early to use her imagination and dark humour to keep herself entertained. These days she lives in her imagination, writing dark fantasy, crossover mysteries, and cookbooks. Joining her in her century old farmhouse are her long-suffering husband, who never knows whether she’s talking about book characters or real people; a 23lb white behemoth, who thinks he’s a cat named Yeti; and a 4lb black cat called Jules Verne, who bosses Yeti around. You can find her sharing her enthusiasm and knowledge at book festivals and conventions in the Ottawa area.

  lauriestewart-author.com

  Clockwork Journey

  Jessica Ripley

  1

  Carleigh Walker’s ears were screaming. It was the first thing that registered in her mind. She couldn’t think of anything but the buzzing and high-pitched squealing in her ears and the throbbing beat in her head.

  She forced herself to breathe after having the wind knocked out of her. She was flat on her back, covered in pieces of wood, metal, and cogs that were the trademark of her clockwork contraptions. She took in a shaky shallow breath and summoned the strength to shove the rubble off of her and push herself up from the ground into a sitting position, choking on the dust in the air as she did so.

  What happened? She tried to remember where she was. She saw her screwdriver next to her and her work belt a bit farther off. She was on a job.

  In a flash the memories of that morning came back. Mayor Evelyn Reed’s steam-powered roadrunner bot delivering a message at the shop, asking Carleigh to come to Reed’s office. She needed Carleigh to look at her desk, a custom steam and clockwork piece that Carleigh built to Reed’s exact specifications a few years earlier. It was complete with secret compartments, security sections, and even a tea-brewer. The mayor had called on Carleigh because, in her words, “the ticking of the inner workings sounded muffled,” and the main compartment had failed to open for her on the first try that morning.

  “A normal person would just bang on it a bit or shake it, but I know you’d never let me hear the end of it if you learned I was abusing your work like that.” Mayor Reed had told her when she got to the office.

  “Pains me to hear even a suggestion of abuse towards her,” Carleigh had said. She’d brushed her fingers over the control panel as one would a dear pet before going to work, checking first for jams before opening the control panel to study the internal mechanics.

  That was when the explosion happened. It shouldn't have exploded. I don't build things that have the capacity for combustion. They are cogs, belts, and sometimes a little steam, nothing incendiary.

  She concentrated on getting to her feet, with the help of a sofa that looked sturdy enough to put her weight on. She took inventory of herself and her surroundings. No blood, no lingering fire, just a room littered with metal, wood, and leather—pieces of the now-destroyed desk.

  Mayor Reed. She looked around frantically, until her eyes locked on a mass of grey-blonde curls covered in dust.

  She rushed through the wreckage to get to the mayor and knelt down to gently shake her shoulder.

  “Are you okay?” Carleigh asked, making out a slight groan.

  “What in the bloody hell happened?” The woman asked in her tough but raspy voice. She lifted her head and reached out for Carleigh’s arm, struggling to get to her feet. “What exploded?”

  “I believe it was your desk, ma’am.” Carleigh said as they both surveyed the room. “But it seems the worst is over. Are you okay?”

  “I feel fine, but I would like to know how exactly this happened?”

  The question had already crossed Carleigh’s mind, and the only answer possible had already come to her. It frightened her enough that she didn’t want to admit it, but it was the only reason the desk would have exploded. She paused before saying it out loud, as though not wanting to believe it was true.

  “Mayor Reed, someone tried to kill you.”

  Before the mayor could reply, the door flew open and one of her personal officers entered, holding a gun out in front of him, and pointed at Carleigh.

  “Put your hands up,” he yelled at Carleigh.

  “Excuse me?” She asked, looking towards Mayor Reed for help while carefully putting up her hands.

  “Back away from the mayor.”

  “It wasn't me, I can explain.”

  “Oh come off it Adams, had she wanted to harm me she certainly wouldn't have stayed around afterward, or at least I’d have been smart enough not to hang around with her after.” The mayor wagged her finger towards him and his gun. “Put that thing away right now.”

  “Not until I get a good explanation of what did happen here.” His eyes were hardened and serious, and his hand only flicked away from Carleigh momentarily to land on the mayor while he responded to her.

  “Can I at least put my arms down?” Carleigh asked.

  “Fine,” he said, holstering his gun in one smooth motion without taking his eyes away from her. He then pulled out a notepad and writing tool. “Put them down and tell me everything.”

  Carleigh did her best, recounting to him everything she remembered. The mayor added in any extra details, such as how she found her office with everything seemingly in order that morning.

  “Had Mayor Reed gone in and tried to fix it herself, or messed around trying to open it, surely she would have been in the direct impact zone and wouldn’t be still walking around like she is now.” Carleigh’s words caught in her throat.

  Mayor Reed shook her head and placed her hand on her heart. “Dead. I’d be dead if I hadn’t thought to call her first. Whoever set the bomb in the desk didn't think I would call anyone to come check on it.”

  PO Adams was writing down everything they said. “So the reason you are both alive is because you poked around the side, rather than opening the front, like Mayor Reed might have, had she been so inclined?”

  “Yes, that’s my belief, Adam, was it?”

  “Thorne. Thorne Adams.” He finally looked up from his notebook and made his way around the room to make notes on the state of it all. “Sorry about the gun,” he added.

  “It’s okay. It’s your job. I get it.”

  “If you ladies don't have anything else to add, I'm going to go distribute this report to the others so we can look into this. We’ll also be beefing up your security. I’d also ask that next time you have a device acting up, come to us first.” He tipped his hat to them and left.

  “He’s…rigid.” Carleigh said.

  “Aren't they all?” Mayor Reed rolled her eyes and made her way over to her bar cabinet. “He’s cute though, don’t you think?” She said with a wink.

  “Couldn't say I noticed,” Carleigh tried to cover for the fact that she did notice Thorne Adams was tall, with the kind of serious look on his face that made his structured cheekbones even more striking. She thought he must have an awful hard time as a Personal Officer—PO—because part of the job duty was blending in for undercover work, and there was no way someone with looks like his would ever go unnoticed.

  “Single too.”

  “That's nice.”

  “Care for a drink? We both just faced down death, I think we deserve one.” Mayor Reed pulled down a set of glasses and a bottle of rum from a cabinet in the far corner that was unscathed by the bomb.

  “Thanks, but no. I have to take care of some things.”

  “Please tell me you’ll follow up on this.” She took a swig right from the bottle, forgoing the glasses. She moved a large piece of wood debris with the toe of her shoe. “POs are good, but they have no jurisdiction in the Under State, and you and I both know that’s where this”—she waved her hand across the room to indicate the mess—“originated from. The POs are too straight-laced to have the right kind of connections.”

  She was well aware that Carleigh came from
the kind of people who knew how to skirt the rules when they needed to. The mayor herself came from the same kind of people.

  “Of course I'm going to look into it,” Carleigh said. “Someone went after you, almost killed me, and took out one of the best works I've ever made. You know I won't rest until I find them.”

  “That's my girl. The sooner you figure this out the better. Then, you can help me figure out what to do about a new desk.”

  Carleigh had to go by her shop to change into something a bit more rugged, to pick up some of her tools that might be helpful for her Under State journey, and to send some messages.

  “Roger, I need you to run by the farm and the airstrip.”

  At the sound of its name her messenger, clockwork bird whirled awake, his head spinning on his long neck. It perked up and sauntered over to her. She jotted down a quick note and programmed the bird to bring it by her parent’s place and to each of her brothers so they would know she was safe.

  Her normal work clothes consisted of her white camisole undershirt and leather corset, goggles, leather tool belt and boots, and layers of flowy skirts that allowed her to move easily and comfortably. She needed to swap out the undershirt, and went for one darker, to help her blend in better. She also swapped out the skirt for some sturdy pants, ones that wouldn’t be ruined if she ended up crawling through filth. The boots, tool belt, goggles, and corset all stayed, and she added some leather fingerless gloves as well. She normally used them when she was working on big machinery, and figured any extra protection now would be good.

  Next, she grabbed her leather carrier bag and threw in whatever she thought might be useful. “Too bad I don’t have any weapons,” she muttered. “That’s what happens when you keep away from all that. Don’t want anyone in town thinking I could make them some. But tools can work in a pinch if I have to get scrappy.”

  A whistle responded to her. She looked down to see Sweetums, her distraction and alarm clockwork. He walked on four extremely long spider-like legs, and his small, round body was made up of just one eye. He kept watch over the shop at night, but she hadn’t programed him with any offensive tricks that would be helpful to her in this situation. His job was to watch, bounce out to surprise intruders, and then set off the alarm messenger birds.