City of Shadows: Part One: A Post-Steampunk Lovecraft Adventure: From the World of the Atomic Sea (A Steampunk Series)

by Jack Conner

  Before he departed the Divinity, he gestured to Stevrin, who slouched over, curious. “Walk me out,” Reynalt said. Stevrin fell in beside him as they made their way through the halls. “You said you knew all about it,” Dr. Reynalt said, eyebrows lifting.

  For a moment, Stevrin didn’t get it, but then he remembered. “Oh, about the Johnstalker? Yeah, I know who it is.” He flicked his gaze to the black satchels. The halls were full of sound now, the Sisters talking excitedly, but still he kept his voice low. “What about her?”

  Dr. Reynalt studied him sidelong. “Just how much did she tell you?”

  Stevrin shrugged. “Everything. I guess.” Suddenly he grinned. “I probably know more than you.”

  Dr. Reynalt returned the smile, but it was a knowing one, and faintly patronizing. “I highly doubt that. Nevertheless, perhaps we can compare notes one of these days. Have you thought about my offer at all?”

  Stevrin scratched his temple. “Yeah.”

  “And?” The doc looked at him expectantly.

  Stevrin forced himself not to shrug. “Still thinking,” he said. Hastily, he added, “I wanted to ask you. Do you really think all the quakes, disappearances, the yellow mists—they’re really all related? I mean, I’ve been think’ on it, and I just can’t make it out.”

  Dr. Reynalt leaned back, sucking in a deep breath. “Now that is an excellent question, and one that I’ve been pondering over myself much of late. However, from what my agents have told me, well, the timing is just too perfect for it to be otherwise.”

  “What’ve your agents told you?”

  Now it was the doctor’s turn to shrug. Looking about him, he leaned over and whispered, “There have just been bits and pieces, mind you, but, believe it or not ... well, do you really want to know?”

  He was obviously dragging it out, making it as dramatic as possible. Stevrin arched his eyebrows, waiting.

  “Well,” said the doctor, “I had only received hints before, as in that letter you delivered from Mr. LeBon. A later report confirms it. You see, as horrific as it sounds, I have uncovered some sort of alliance between, and this is most remarkable, the Guild of Alchemists ...” (here he paused for effect) “... and the Order of Yreg-ngad.”

  Stevrin stared at him. He yawned. “Fascinating.”

  Shortly they emerged onto the grounds of the Temple. A gentle breeze blew, bearing winter with it. Stevrin tasted a certain tang on the air. Snow. If not today, soon. To the south, a fire licked the black sky. It was the Warren burning, it had to be. It was too far away to hear fire alarms, but they must be there, in the distance.

  Dr. Reynalt saw the lights, too, and he sort of slumped. His eyes grew sad. Then he straightened, cleared his throat, and said, “I will start again.” Wind hissed. His voice grew firmer. “I will have satisfaction. The bastards will rue the day they dared go against me.”

  “Why do you think they did—go against you, I mean?”

  “They fear me. They fear my agents.”

  “But why now?”

  Dr. Reynalt frowned. Nodded. “They’re related, aren’t they?”

  “The Guild had somethin’ to do with what happened to Madam. ‘The ‘chemists confirmed it’, that’s what Boss Sorris said before he died. The Guildsmen put him up to this, or egged him on anyway. They moved against us and you at the same time. Has to be connected.”

  “Interesting. I can understand why they would move against me – the Guild has long considered me a threat—but the Divinity? It makes no sense.”

  Stevrin remembered what the patchwork man had said. “It makes sense,” he said. In a small voice, he added, “It was ... it was me.”

  Dr. Reynalt looked at him strangely. “What do you mean by that?”

  Stevrin spat. “Bastards had pictures of me. I guess they took ‘em while they were watchin’ you. They must have gotten curious, followed me, figured out who sent me. Then they saw me trailin’ the Ministers, an’ knew the Sisters put me up to it, and they knew the Sisters and you were workin’ together ...”

  “Trailing the Ministers?”

  “Never mind.” Dejectedly, he repeated, “It was me. It’s all my fuckin’ fault.”

  Dr. Reynalt hesitated, then put a hand on Stevrin’s shoulder. “It’s not your fault, boy. Never forget that. I don’t know what the Guild or the Order is up to, or how it relates to the strangeness lately—what did you call it? ah yes, the Fuckery, how colorful—but I know it does, and I mean to find out how. It seems we have to now, doesn’t it?”

  Stevrin nodded. “It’s us or them. Well, if it’s war they want, it’s war they’ll fuckin’ get.”

  “That’s my boy.”

  Dr. Reynalt patted him on the back and started to stride off into the night.

  “Wait!” Stevrin said. “How will I get in touch with you?”

  Dr. Reynalt kept walking, but he turned to look once over his shoulder and winked. “Oh, it’s I who will get in touch with you. I do owe you a finger, after all.” With that, he and his minions vanished into the night. The smell of smoke drifted on the air.

  * * *

  The Aunts took Stevrin into their counsel, at least a little. They made him repeat his account of the investigation, and when they talked it over they allowed him to listen in. They spoke in a parlor on the fourth floor, where the more influential Sisters were wont to gather. It was a very smelly room. Bowls of milk and raw fish sat in the corner, which was always swarming with cats. To mask the smell of fish and cat the Aunts generally burned several stalks of incense, or left out potpourri, or simply squirted perfume into the air—or all three together. Plus there were the scents of wine, cigarette smoke and various foodstuffs. Trying to distinguish one smell from another kept Stevrin occupied as the Aunts debated among themselves.

  He knew that the Divinity had always been a hotbed of intrigue and power-games among the Sisters, as each vied for Agatha’s favor, or the favor of the johns, or the Sisterhood itself. There were many cliques and factions, and just thinking about it all gave him a headache. There were about twenty Aunts, and they represented many but not all of the various cliques. Now they spoke of the future of the Divinity and what would happen if Agatha did not return. Stevrin sensed that most genuinely wanted her to do so, but there were a few who seemed to crave power for themselves.

  He found it interesting that all the Aunts knew about his investigation. Of course, he’d had to recruit so many boys of the Roost that he supposed even Agatha would have been unable to keep it a secret. Still, he’d been under the impression that he was working covertly for the Order of Sygra, not the whole damned Sisterhood.

  “So you truly think the attack on Madam and the assault on Dr. Reynalt were connected?” asked Bella. She was a striking woman of perhaps forty, with coiffed black hair and painted red lips. Despite her age, she had kept her figure and was a favorite among certain elite johns. Stevrin had heard that her province lay in whips and leather harnesses and such.

  He sat in an expensive chair in the middle of the room. He’d finished his report and had been smoking and listening to the Aunts debate. This was the first question they’d asked him in some minutes, and he tensed as their eyes all returned to him.

  “Yes,” he said. “I do.”

  “And you think the Guild was behind both attacks?” Bella’s eyes fixed on him like she was some bird of prey and he was a mouse. He wondered if she looked at her johns like that. Probably so.

  “I’d bet on it,” he said.

  “And how do you draw such a conclusion?” This was Miriam. An older woman, with silver hair and avid blue eyes, she might have been one of Agatha’s original crew of prostitutes, and yet she remained acute and vivacious. Stevrin knew she had mainly retired from active duty, but she still lived at the Divinity—a testament to Agatha’s retirement plan for the Sisters. But not only did Miriam live here, she made sure her voice was heard, as well.

  Stevrin flicked his cigarette ash into the ashtray he held in his other hand. The stu
mp of his right middle finger throbbed with the movement. He’d bought some pills from Drew, but they weren’t enough. Gritting his teeth, he said, “Easy. The Guild knew we were watching ‘em. They watched us back, figured out who we were. They didn’t appreciate bein’ watched, so they egged Boss Sorris on to confront Madam.”

  “You think they wanted her killed?”

  “I don’t think they’d mind. They knew sending Boss Sorris over here’d spark some fireworks. Anyway it would turn up the heat on us, and that’s what they wanted. Make us sweat and worry about our own problems, not theirs.”

  “You seem awfully convinced of that.”

  “I am.”

  Miriam nodded, apparently satisfied.

  “I don’t buy it,” said Suzanne. She was young and pretty, a platinum blonde, and she wore a long black velvet glove on her one hand and a white, frilly dress that hugged her hourglass body. She was infected, and one of her arms had gone boneless, her fingers fusing together, creating a rudimentary tentacle. “The Guild’s not our enemy.”

  “They’re not yours,” Georgia snickered. “Half your clients are Under-Ministers.”

  There was some laughter. Suzanne pouted.

  Bella took a sip of her whiskey and said, “Suzanne has a point, though. It’s not the one she intended, but she does have one. The truth is that we can’t afford to have the Guild as an enemy—and I don’t mean money.”

  There was some murmuring in agreement at this. Stevrin felt himself start to sweat.

  “What precisely are you saying?” said Miriam archly. Stevrin began to wonder if she might be a member of the Order of Sygra.

  “I’m saying,” Bella replied, “that if the Guild was trying to send us a message tonight, then perhaps we should heed it. We saw what they can do indirectly, through Boss Sorris, and we saw what they can do directly, with the Warren. Do we really want to antagonize them enough so that they move directly against us like they did the Doctor?”

  More muttering. Many of the girls seemed to agree. Miriam stared at Bella coldly. Bella noticed it and returned her stare, just as coldly. Stevrin felt the tension on the air.

  He cleared his throat. “Listen,” he said. “Listen! The Guild’s gotta be stopped, damn it.”

  “Don’t curse at us, young man,” said Brienne with her pince-nez glasses.

  Stevrin ignored her. At least he had their attention. “They’re eating children, for fuck’s sake. Them and the Order of Yreg-ngad. And all the Fuckery, the quakes and such, it’s all related. The quakes are gettin’ worse, the yellow mists too, and there’s more disappearances than ever. Some serious shit’s goin’ down, and who knows what it’s buildin’ to? We need to stop it before it gets there.”

  There was a little murmuring at this, but then Bella, eyeing him levelly, said, “And why is it our business to stop it? We run a whorehouse, not a police station. Though, I admit, I have used a baton a time or two on a client.” Some laughter greeted this. She had the audience on her side.

  “We just have to,” he said. It was a lame argument, and he knew it.

  Miriam eyed him sympathetically, but many of the other girls spoke out in favor of Bella. In the end Bella said, “I’m sorry, but the consensus indicates we drop this ridiculous investigation. Whatever the Guild and the Order is up to, it’s their affair, not ours, and we certainly don’t want to go the way of the Warren.”

  The majority of the Aunts agreed, loudly and repeatedly. Stevrin slumped in his seat.

  “If that’s settled,” Bella said, “I think we should excuse Master Stevrin and move on to the next topic, the running of the Divinity ...”

  Stevrin crushed out his cigarette and skulked from the room. The mission was off. The Fuckery would continue. Shit. He tried to flex his maimed hand, but the pain made him gasp. For a moment, he could do nothing, not even walk. His vision blurred. He leaned against the wall and took deep breaths. “Fuck,” he said. Sasha and Balard had died for nothing. No, he thought. He would continue. Even if he had to run away, he would continue with the mission.

  He pushed himself off from the wall. Just as he was about to descend the stairs, a hand clapped on his shoulder. Surprised, he spun about.

  Bella. She touched her ring finger to her thumb and extended the remaining fingers, then laid her hand against her abdomen just above her navel, the sign of the Order of Sygra.

  “You?” he said, shocked. “I mean, I figured if it was anybody it was Miriam ...”

  She smiled. “She’s much too fastidious to root around in innards, I’m afraid.”

  He felt his jaw hanging open. Closed it. “But why ... ? You were against continuing the investigation!”

  She pressed her lips together grimly. “And I was right to be so. Publicly we must project a conciliatory image toward the Guild. We truly cannot afford for them to launch an attack against us. We don’t have a secret refuge like Dr. Reynalt has. Do you know how much it costs to maintain and furnish this temple so that it looks and feels like a palace, as well as feed two hundred whores, sixty security guards and a hundred orphans? Well, it’s a fucking lot. The money’s gone before the john stops spurting.”

  “What are you telling me?”

  “I’m telling you that you have the full support of the Daughters of Sygra to continue your investigation, Stevrin. But from here on out, you must be more circumspect.”

  “Circumspect. Right.”

  She sighed. “No one must know. Not even the other Sisters. Only you, the Daughters, and your most trusted friends.”

  He suddenly felt a great weight lift off him. “Alright, then.”

  She looked at him critically. “So what’s the next step?”

  He twisted his mouth. “First I’ll bring our boys back from

  City Square. I’ll leave a couple if I can, but the rest’ll have to come back. After that, I mean to take down the child-eaters, what else?” Her face was solemn. “The Order of Yreg-ngad ... You’ve heard what they did to the previous residents of this temple? Well, that’s them playing nice. You had best proceed with the utmost caution.”

  “I will.”

  “I mean it, Stevrin. Rumors of strange disappearances and bloody sacrifices have been linked to them forever. You know what they worship?”

  “Does anyone?”

  She didn’t blink. “They don’t give out many details of their beliefs, but to people they’re trying to recruit they claim to worship some awful god that lives beneath the very streets of this city. For what it’s worth, the high priestess of my order believes them.”

  He thought of the thing in the Ivies and did not argue. “But it’s not that that’s causing the Fuckery. At least that’s what Agatha thought.”

  She looked serious. “Then find out what is.”

  “That’s the plan.”

  She turned back to face the doors of the parlor. “Listen, I have to go back and put in my bid for temporary madam before the others wonder what’s taking so long. Let us know what you need through Melias. And good luck.” Grimly, she added, “You’ll need it.”

  * * *

  Stevrin dreamed dark and weird. Perhaps it was because of the pain pills he’d bought off Drew, perhaps not. He saw the Warren burning, and watched as Danny stumbled out of it, his angel-wings on fire. Danny tumbled to the ground, dead, and as he tumbled he fell apart, his arms detaching from shoulders, his legs severed from waist, and head rolling, bouncing, to the pavement. Stevrin stared down at it, but it was not Danny’s head anymore, it was Agatha’s, and she was still alive. “Don’t just stand there gawking,” she said. “Go on and do something.”

  Panting, he woke with a start and sat up in bed. The pills had worn off, and his hand hurt like Magnar’s ass. Stevrin felt dismayed, staring at it. The hand was red, and the tissue around the amputation looked swollen and enflamed. The wound itself looked nasty, all raw and scorched from the cigar. At least Stevrin didn’t see any puss, or smell anything nasty. He didn’t think it was rotten or infected. That was somethin
g. Still, he swayed drunkenly as he clambered down from his bunk.

  “The pain’s makin’ me sick,” he told Drew, who had just gotten off duty. He shared Danny’s old schedule. “I need more pills.”

  “You have the cash, Stev, I have the cure.”

  “Yeah yeah.” Stevrin forked over the necessary bits. He broke one of the pills in half and ate it, chewing on it without water. The bitter taste distracted him from the throbs of fire. The rest of the pills he shoved into a pocket.

  Most of the boys had returned from

  City Square by that time, though at least half still slept. Stevrin breakfasted with a few of them, including Jack and Harry. “Is it true we’re the Whoresons now?” asked Cret.

  “No, we’re really fucking not,” said Jack.

  “No way,” Harry agreed.

  “Absolutely,” Stevrin said, smiling. He felt much better now that the painkillers were kicking in.

  Harry and Jack rolled their eyes.

  “Still can’t believe about Madam,” Harry said, stabbing at his eggs and cabbage. “I mean, that’s really doglicked.”

  “An’ if she does come back she’s gonna be a godsdamned deader,” Jack said.

  “Thought you liked Returners,” Stevrin said.

  Jack shuddered, perhaps thinking about the things they had seen fighting each other at the Charnel House and comparing them to Agatha. He didn’t reply.

  “Is it true we’re off the job?” asked Mevil.

  “Yeah,” said Cret. “That’s what the Aunts decided, right? Everyone was still buzzing about it when we got in last night.”

  Stevrin hesitated, then said, “Yeah, that’s right. Job’s off.”

  “Well, that sucks diseased monkey cock,” said Harry. “Six more people disappeared yesterday. And there was a quake leveled a boarding house.”

  “What the hell did Sasha and Balard die for?” Jack agreed.

  Stevrin looked at both of them squarely. “Let’s talk about it later.”