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

by Jack Conner

  After breakfast, Stevrin drew Jack and Harry aside and said, “The mission’s still on.”

  “What? But you said ...”

  “I know, I know. Here’s what happened.” Briefly he told them the story. They nodded their heads and sort of grinned.

  “Good,” said Jack, “then it’s not over. The Guild can still get what it’s got comin’.”

  “And the Order.”

  “Them too.”

  “They’re who we’re gonna look at next.”

  “But they’re all off by themselves on their compound,” Harry protested. “How can we get close to ‘em? And that fuckin’ graveyard.” Now it was his turn to shudder.

  “I know, I know,” Stevrin said, “but that’s the way it has to be. At least it’s on the same side of town this time.”

  “That ain’t a selling point, Stev.”

  “But you’re with me, right? You’ll help me with the Order?”

  Harry and Jack glanced at each other skeptically, but at least they nodded. “Yeah, we’re with you, I guess,” Jack said. “Just don’t let’s get killed, all right?”

  Stevrin didn’t smile. “We won’t. And remember, this is a secret operation, so don’t tell anybody else. Except Nimfang. He’s sneaky. He can come along, too.”

  “I’ll tell him the good news,” Jack said, his voice hinting that he didn’t consider it such.

  “We might need Hastings, too,” Stevrin said. “If things get rough.”

  Harry shook his head. “He just turned eighteen.”

  “Shit.” Eighteen meant Hastings had hit the Wall. Either he had to take a job at the Divinity, or he had to make preparations to leave.

  “He’s joined the Right Hand,” Jack said. “He’s been talkin’ about it for ages, y’know.”

  “Yeah.” Stevrin swore. “Well, it probably won’t matter. If we need muscle, we’re probably screwed already.”

  After talking with them, Stevrin met up with Melias. She was in the library attending a class in mathematics given by one of the Sisters, and Stevrin had to wait for it to end before she would come off with him. “What’re you studyin’ for?” he asked her when she did.

  “You mean what does a whore have to learn numbers for?” She peered at him bleakly.

  “Ain’t what I said.”

  “It’s what you meant.”

  “Well, what of it?”

  She sighed. They were on one of the terraces overlooking the ample temple grounds. The sky was blue and the sun cast down a gentle light through the surprisingly thin haze of pollution. It was a nice day, all in all, even sort of warm; Stevrin still wore his jacket, but he didn’t button it. Rose vines climbed the ornate pillars and trellises of the terrace from troughs of soil on the floor, and Stevrin wished it was summer so he could see the blooms. If nothing else, it would have been a more romantic place to meet privately with Melias.

  “I don’t always want to whore,” she said, sitting down on the swinging bench.

  “No?”

  “No. And I don’t always want to live at a whorehouse, like some of those old Aunts.” She patted the seat next to her. Eagerly, he sat down. She smelled delicious. Not lavender today, but honeysuckle, with just a trace of cinnamon. Stevrin could make out the shape of her breasts through her top, high and very round, pressing against the fabric so that he could almost see the pattern of her bra. “Someday I’d like to use my savings to buy a shop, and then I’m going to need to know numbers.”

  “Numbers, huh? What kind of shop?”

  “Clothes. Women’s clothes. I know just how I want it. I was raised poor, and if it weren’t for Agatha I’d have to dress poor, too. It makes me sick that poor women have to look poor—in shabby, colorless clothes that don’t even fit. Why should only rich women be able to look good? To feel good? I think it stinks. I want to sell normal women clothes they can feel good wearing, and that aren’t too expensive.”

  Stevrin didn’t know if this were possible, but he nodded gamely. “Sounds great. I’d shop there. If, you know, I was a woman.” He coughed. His hands fumbled, and he wanted to light a cigarette, just for something to do, but then he remembered she didn’t smoke and might prefer to breathe clean air.

  She must have seen his fumbling hands, for she gently took his right hand in hers and studied it. “You should let Merrick take a look at that,” she said, sounding sad.

  “I’m fine,” he lied. In any case, the house doctor was mainly used to checking on diseased nooks and crannies and likely wouldn’t be much help.

  “I’m so sorry, Stevrin. I can’t believe something so awful happened to you. It must be very painful.” When he didn’t answer, she said, “And to a former pickpocket, too. Someone that really values their hands. Those bastards. We’ll get them, Stevrin. We will.”

  She had laid his hand almost absently in her lap. He could feel the warmth of her thigh through the thin fabric she wore. She wore a conservative white dress today, trying to look demure for her class, but the fabric was thin enough. “Yeah,” he choked.

  Turning her head, she looked sideways at him. She looked so pretty, with her bouncy auburn hair and those gorgeous hazel eyes. They were so big he could see his reflection.

  Suddenly she leaned over and kissed him, right on the lips. The suddenness of it shocked him, and for a moment he almost drew back. But then he leaned into it. Her lips were soft and warm, and he pressed against them. He could feel her breathing into his mouth. His member stirred. Stiffened. It probed against his pants, straining to find room. His left hand rose and cupped one of her breasts. She moaned into his mouth. “Yes,” she said.

  “Huh,” he rasped.

  She took his good hand and rose from the bench, drawing him with her. He hunched over, self-conscious. “Come with me,” she said, giggling.

  He stumbled after her as she led up through the halls. “Yes,” he said. “Oh, yes. I’ve got money. I’ve got enough I think—”

  She wheeled on him, color rising in her cheeks. “What did you say?”

  “I, uh—”

  She looked stricken, and he realized he’d made a mistake. For a moment he thought she might change her mind, and he cursed himself. Then she sort of softened. Half smiling, she said, “I’m not doing this for money.”

  He swallowed.

  She retook his hand and led him on. True to her word, she didn’t take him to the wings the johns were serviced in, but the wing where the Sisters lived. As one of the stars of the Divinity, she had her own room. It was small, but lushly appointed, and everything was frilly and pink or white. A gray-and-white cat lay curled on her pillow, and she shooed it away with a laugh. Then she shoved Stevrin down onto the narrow bed. The springs squeaked under him. Grinning, he looked up at her. This was the day he’d dreamed about forever.

  Still standing, Melias began stripping off her clothes. He watched in awe as her white dress fell away, revealing smooth white skin, a flat belly and womanly curves. She wore only a white brassier and panties.

  Frantically he tore away his shoes and threw them to the floor. Next he wriggled out of his pants and underwear. Melias giggled at the sight of his hard-on jutting up comically, waving about even as he shucked off his pants and shirt. He still wore his socks, but he was in too much of a hurry to take them off.

  “Come on!” he pleaded.

  She smiled like a cat with a secret, which was probably just about every cat. Slowly, tauntingly, she strutted toward the side of the bed. She still wore her brassier. With infuriating leisureliness, she reached up behind her and unsnapped her bra. He gasped as it fell away, and her breasts bounced free. He’d seen them before, but only from afar, and never with as much license to ogle as now. They were large, large enough for him to bury his head between them but not any larger, and perfectly round. Her nipples were red, with wide areola. The nipples didn’t stand at attention like they should have, he thought. He wondered if she was truly aroused or just doing this out of pity. The question was forgotten a moment later
, however, as she turned, slowly bent over, giving him a full view of her backside, and, very, very slowly, pulled down her panties.

  He stared, hypnotized, at her perfectly firm round cheeks, the tight pinprick right between them, and the pink vertical slit below that—right in front of him. He felt a terrible throbbing between his legs. Oh, no, he thought. Hastily he forced himself to close his eyes and think of something else, anything else. Gradually the impending eruption slipped away.

  When he opened his eyes, she had turned back around to face him. Her nipples were hard now. Maybe his own arousal had stimulated her. Then he was reaching around her waist as she leaned over him. He kissed her breasts, and she saddled him.

  “Yes,” he gasped. “Oh, yes.”

  Her puss was shaved into a neat line of tufted hair. Teasingly, she rubbed it against his member. He thrust against her, but she playfully eluded him. Dew already beaded the tip of his pole.

  He caressed her breasts, then cursed. His right hand still hurt too much to use it much. He still had his left hand, though. He cupped and fondled her breasts with it as he felt her womanhood slip over the tip of his cock and then gently descend his shaft. She was wet and tight, tighter than he would have thought. He gasped. She squeezed him, and he gasped again.

  “Go gently,” he rasped. “Can’t ... take ... much more.”

  She smiled, and slid down him slowly. He ran his right hand through her hair. Her right nipple pressed into his mouth.

  “Yes,” she said, getting into it now.

  She slid all the way down him, completely enfolded him. His cock bulged, and he felt himself trembling.

  “No,” he groaned, desperately. “No.”

  He spurted inside her, shuddering violently. He kept going and going. She stared down at him, her expression inscrutable. Panting, he flopped back onto the bed and tried to get his breath. The room seemed to swim about him.

  With a sigh, she slipped off of him. His juices ran out of her onto his belly. Lightly she kissed his temple.

  “No,” he said, “I can do better. Really. You’ll see. Wait!”

  She had gone to the basin in the corner of the room and turned on the water. She only smiled at him as she drew silk partition before it, giving herself privacy as she washed.

  “I’m still hard,” he said. “I can go again.”

  She sort of laughed. “I’m sure you could.”. There was something patronizing in her voice, but nothing mean. Maybe disappointment.

  “Really,” he said.

  The sound of water continued unabated. He wiped the fluid off his stomach with a towel she threw his way. At last the water shut off. Soon she strolled out from behind the partition and began putting her clothes back on, piece by piece. His erection had subsided by that point, but at the sight of her naked body in motion, it started to ascend again.

  “See,” he said, desperately. “I can do it again. Please. I want to show you I can do it better.”

  She smiled wistfully and kissed him on the cheek. Not on the lips, as one lover would kiss another, but the cheek. He felt like a child.

  “I have to go to another class,” she said. “I’ll see you later. Before I go, is there anything I can do for you or your boys regarding your mission?”

  He groaned, disgusted with himself. “No,” he said. “There’s nothing you can do.”

  She nodded, blew him a kiss for luck, and left the room, with him still naked and stiff and lying on her bed. He looked at his hard-on, then at the pink, frilly room. “Well, shit,” he said.

  Chapter 11

  Night had fallen thick and black by the time the trolley let Stevrin and his companions off. A chill breeze blew in off the ocean, which was nearby, and Stevrin shivered and rubbed his hands. It had been warm in the trolley.

  “Shit,” said Harry, teeth chattering.

  “Yeah,” said Jack. “Can’t this wait till the weather gets better?”

  Stevrin didn’t like it either, but he was trying to appear leader-like despite his recent humiliation, so he just said, “Come on” and started walking along the sidewalk. Harry, Jack, Nimfang and Vallie fell into step beside him.

  A couple of fire engines roared by, sirens wailing, and their breeze stirred Stevrin’s hair. “Must be another quake,” he said.

  “Hope it was a small one,” Harry sighed.

  Stevrin lit up a cigarette, and Nimfang bummed one off of him. As far as Stevrin knew, Nimfang had never had to purchase a cigarette himself in his entire life.

  “I’ll take one, too,” Vallie said.

  Reluctantly, Stevrin obliged. Of course, as soon as he did, Harry and Jack wanted one too. Everyone had conveniently left their packs at home.

  “Thanks,” Vallie said, as he lit one for her.

  “Sure,” he said. He didn’t want to, but she’d asked. In fact, he hadn’t even wanted her along. Apparently she’d overheard Jack invite Nimfang, and she’d demanded to come too or tell the whole Divinity about it. Stevrin didn’t think she actually would have, but the threat worked anyway. At least it ensured she was willing. She wasn’t in her on-duty clothes, fortunately. She wore corduroy pants and a blue sweater beneath a jacket, not much different from everyone else.

  The shabby retail and office centers to either side began to give way to shabby tenements, huge crumbling buildings with gaping craters in them from Octunggen bombs and half-collapsed walls here and there. Stevrin could literally see into some people’s living rooms, see them all huddled up under thick blankets while someone stirred a pot of stew. At least they had families. He wondered what it would be like to sit around with your family, hunched and freezing. Looking at his friends to either side of him, he supposed this was as close as he’d ever get. Their mouths seemed to steam in the cold air, especially with the smoke rising from their cigarettes. They looked like four little dragons marching along. Four little cold, shivering dragons.

  “If we’re the Whoresons, what does that make me?” asked Vallie suddenly, coming to walk beside him.

  “What else?” said Harry. “You’re the Whore in Whoresons.”

  “Which we are emphatically not,” Jack added.

  “Right.”

  “Don’t call me a whore,” Vallie said, punching Harry on the shoulder.

  “It’s what you are,” he whined.

  “Look, I’ve only been doing it for a few weeks. Before that I was just like you.”

  “What, a retard?” snickered Jack.

  “Fuck you,” said Harry.

  “Good one,” said Stevrin, and Nimfang grinned.

  “Anyway,” Vallie went on brightly. “I was thinking that maybe we could change the name to Whorespawn, or Whorepersons, or Children of Dubious Birth.”

  Jack moaned. “Don’t encourage him,” he said.

  Stevrin chuckled. “We’re the fuckin’ Whoresons, and that’s that. Vallie, you can be our first and only Whoredaughter.”

  She beamed. “Okay.”

  Ahead on the right rose the dark hills Stevrin had dreaded to see.

  Closer and closer.

  “There they are,” Harry breathed. “Shit.”

  Stevrin sucked on his cigarette, trying to appear confident. The Dead Hills. Great. He and everyone else he knew studiously avoided this area. No one in their right mind wanted to be close to the Order of Yreg-ngad if they could help it. Fortunately this was a dismal and poorly populated area, and so it offered little reason to venture into it. The Order made their home on a sprawling, wall-enclosed property that spread over fifty acres. The hills inside the wall rose huge and brooding, and crumbling tombstones covered them like boils. The grass on the hills had died long ago, and the trees twisted, gnarled and skeletal. A chill wind blew, and Stevrin and the others shuddered as they neared the wall of irregularly-placed stones that enclosed the cemetery grounds.

  They reached the grand gateway. Staring at the heavy, wrought-iron affair, Stevrin saw countless gargoyles and sinister eyes staring at him not just from the gate itself but from th
e two small towers it hung between.

  “Well, we can’t go in this way,” he said.

  “Didn’t plan to,” Jack informed him.

  “Then what?” said Vallie. “Over the wall?”

  Stevrin glanced up. The wall rose nearly twenty feet high. Standing next to it one could see no hint of the hills on the other side. At least it helped to block the wind. “No,” he said, “we’ll have to keep looking.”

  They’d finished their cigarettes by then. Shivering, hands in pockets, they made their way along. Skeletal woods bordered the cemetery on three sides, blocking it from the view of the tenements and houses beyond. Stevrin supposed that was a blessing. On the other hand, it isolated the property, made it even more forbidding and remote.

  They reached a culvert in the wall. A rusty grill covered it, but Stevrin had brought his thieves’ tools and quickly had it off. Groaning, he and Jack hefted it away and set it down.

  “Are you sure this is the best way?” Vallie said, staring into the darkness of the tunnel.

  “What are you,” Harry said disdainfully, “afraid of the dark?”

  She stuck out her jaw. “Am not.”

  “Come on,” Stevrin said. Ducking, he waded into the tunnel. A shallow stream ran through it, and the plonking noises of his feet in the water echoed loudly off the tight stone walls. He was reminded of how quiet it had been outside and forced himself to go slower. The others followed. It smelled dank in here. The frigid water bit at his ankles.

  At last he reached the far side, began to bring out his tools to remove the inner grill.

  Just as he did, he heard a noise. Rustling. The snap of a twig.

  “Shit,” he hissed, and gestured for the others to stop.

  Crouching in the darkness, the water numbing his feet, his teeth chattering, he waited. The sounds grew louder, closer. He smelled the distinctive odor of chemicals and herbs.

  Homunculi.

  “Shit,” he whispered.

  A line of shadowy figures splashed through the stream before the culvert. He heard Vallie let out a short gasp. Thankfully the splash of water kept the homunculi from hearing it. The homuncs marched on, perhaps half a dozen of them, and at last they were gone. Stevrin let out a breath and turned to the others. Their faces lay in darkness, but he could still catch the gleam off their wide eyes.