Dominion Rising Bonus Swag

by Gwynn White

  The guard motioned for me to come aboard.

  The pretty whore took my arm and attempted to lead me toward a secluded area at the rear of the ship.

  I shook my head and motioned for her to follow me to the front. The girl smiled sweetly, but I saw her dark eyes take in that they were preparing for departure, that the lamps aboard were being extinguished, and that the ship was not yet at capacity.

  I scanned the deck of the ship. Spying a coil of rope tethered to the deck, I settled onto a bench beside it. Leaning back, I casually eyed the platform outside the Mechanica. There, Rabbit was busy trying to panhandle passersby. The Mechanica was pulling up anchor, the balloon holding her aloft and turning orange as it filled with heat and light. The Rose Red made her own preparations for departure.

  “So, what’s your name,” the girl asked. She hooked one leg over mine.

  “I hardly think it matters,” I replied. “What about you?”

  “I hardly think it matters,” she replied as she played with the top button of my shirt.

  The Mechanica lifted out of port.

  I looked back at Rabbit who meandered to the end of the platform and leaned against the rail of the empty dock.

  The crew on the Rose Red called to one another, and a moment later, the ship lifted out of port. The massive propeller at the back of the ship turned quickly while the gears below deck ground and clattered. The airship followed the Mechanica.

  The girl eyed the pirate ship in the distance then smirked at me.

  The Rose Red drew up behind the pirate ship quickly. I watched as the prow turned, coming up alongside the port of the other ship.

  Suddenly, a massive pop sounded from the airship towers. A shot of light streamed toward the Mechanica. The light whistled as it sped across the sky. When it was within close range of the ship, it exploded, a shower of red and orange fireworks. The patrons on the Rose Red, most of them already drunk, or drunk on their impending debauchery, clapped and cheered at the display. I eyed the Mechanica. The crew aboard that ship had a distinctly different reaction. The captain left the wheelstand and was looking back at the tower through his spyglass, an angry expression on his face.

  I reached out and touched the lovely tart’s cheek. “It does matter. What’s your name?” I asked her.

  “Mei,” she said, and this time, a real smile lit up her face.

  “Mei. I’m Jack,” I said then leaned into her ear, “but they call me Knave,” I whispered then rose.

  A whistle and a flash of light shot across the sky once more, moving quickly in the direction of the pirate ship.

  Grabbing the rope tied to the deck, I wrapped it around my hands then climbed onto the rail of the Rose Red.

  Mei stood, crossed her arms, and eyed me skeptically.

  Behind me, another firework—more a fireball—exploded close to the side of the Mechanica. The airship pirates started yelling, and the entire crew rushed to the starboard side of the ship.

  “Be a doll and pull up the rope after me,” I told Mei.

  She arched an eyebrow, a bemused expression on her face. “I take it you’re about to do something knavish?”

  “Never,” I replied with a wink. “Nice to meet you, Mei,” I said, and then I jumped.

  Holding on tight, I swung toward the Mechanica. The crew of the ship had all rushed to the starboard side to determine if their ship was on fire. Distracted by the fireworks, they had not noticed the second airship swing close to them only to drop its payload—that would be me—on deck on the port side.

  I landed on board the Mechanica with a soft thud. At once, I headed toward the stack of boxes the crew had loaded. The box I was looking for was easy to find. It was the only one painted red.

  A series of fireworks popped into the air from the end of the platform. Shimmering gold, silver, red, and purple illuminated the sky. I hoped Rabbit had the sense to run now that his job was done or I’d have to spend the rest of the night trying to liberate him from the Bow Street Runners.

  I pulled the tarp off the stack of boxes and grabbed the red box. Hiding in the shadows, I worked quickly. I pulled my lockpick kit out of my pocket and quickly worked the lock. Alice was right. I needed more practice. Unlocking the bloody thing took longer than it should have.

  The crew, assured their ship was not on fire and that they were not under attack, that someone was merely making pranks, got back to work.

  The lock clicked.

  I opened the box. Silver and bronze glimmered in the dim light of the balloon. Nestled on a bed of straw within was a clockwork heart. I pulled off my jacket, tossed it aside, then closed the lid on the red box and shoved it in my pack.

  “Oi, who is that there? What the hell are you doing?” one of the pirates called from the ropes above.

  Not good.

  Moving quickly, I slung my pack back on.

  “Captain! Stowaway! Thief!” the henchman who’d spotted me yelled.

  Suddenly, a dozen angry pirates moved toward me. Adjusting my pack, I jumped up onto the rail of the ship.

  Captain Pace, the notorious commander of the Mechanica, rounded the side of the airship, his pistol drawn.

  “And just where do you think you’re going?” the captain growled as he trained his gun on me.

  “Down,” I replied, tipping my top hat to him. And then I jumped off the ship.

  A split second later, I heard a gunshot.

  Too close.

  My heart was beating hard as I began to freefall. The breeze caught my hat which fluttered off into oblivion. Dammit. I liked that hat. The ground was coming up fast. A crow flew by, squawking loudly at my unexpected appearance. Reaching up to my shoulder, I pulled the ripcord on the parachute.

  There was a ruffle of silk as the material ejected from my pack. The wind caught the parachute, and the fabric slowed my fall.

  Gripping the steering lines that controlled the parachute, I studied the ground. I was just above Hyde Park. I scanned the park grounds until I saw the glow of blue light. Tugging the cords, I directed myself in the direction of the light. I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the man at the Daedelus Company who’d showed me how to use the parachute. I might have been good at a lot of things, but falling wasn’t one of them.

  Overhead, I heard shouting as the crew of the Mechanica turned the airship in my direction while also dropping altitude. I needed to be quick. Once I was finally on the ground, I detached the hooks behind me and raced toward the blue light.

  I could hear the purr of an engine, and a moment later, the shadowed shape of the open-cover motor vehicle came into view. Pulling on a calm face, I opened the door and slipped into the vehicle.

  The countess turned and smiled at me. “Well?” she asked as she extinguished the blue lantern she’d been holding.

  I handed the box to her. “Just another day’s work.”

  She dropped the lantern to the ground outside the vehicle then took the box. Opening the lid, she stared at the contents a moment, closed the lid, then handed it back to me. “Be a dear and hold that,” she said then put the vehicle into drive. Looking up, she frowned at the Mechanica.

  “Bloody airship pirates. Fancy a pint?” she asked as she drove across the manicured park lawn, then pulled the vehicle back onto the road.

  I grinned at the countess. “What are we drinking to?”

  “The Mechanica, of course.”

  “The Mechanica? No. How about to hard hearts?”

  The countess laughed. “I can drink to that. Let’s go pick up Rabbit.”

  I nodded then looked up at the sky. In the distance, I saw the glowing orange of the balloon on the Rose Red. To hard hearts indeed.

  THE END

  * * *

  Learn more about the Steampunk Fairy Tales series at MelanieKarsak.com

  The Maze

  Tony Bertauski

  INTERVIEW

  Cassidy sits at a gray table, hands on her lap. A man enters the room with a thick manila folder under his arm. />
  There is an uncomfortable pause.

  “Am I under arrest?” she asks.

  “What do you think?”

  Another long pause.

  He drops the folder on the table and drags a chair on two legs to sit. He thumbs through the contents while humming. A minute goes by. Then two.

  “Can I get some water?” she asks.

  The man doesn’t look up from the photos. Another man enters the room, this one wearing a loose tie. He slides a coffee mug with tepid water in front of her. She holds the cup with both hands like it’s warm. Water splashes her cheek.

  “Nervous?” the man asks.

  “I don’t talk to agents very often.”

  “Often?”

  “Is this part of the interview?”

  A smile jabs his cheek. His eyes walk over her face, pausing on her forehead. Cassidy puts the mug down and then, nervously, habitually, pushes her hair back, fingertips pausing on the notch of missing cartilage.

  “What happened to your ear?” he says.

  “Is that why I’m here?”

  “I’m curious.”

  “A dog bit me when I was three.”

  “Must’ve been traumatic.”

  “It was.”

  “Will that story hold up to your memory dump?”

  “I’ve got nothing to hide.”

  He begins nodding, eyes narrowing, and goes back to the folder, flipping meaningless pages meant to intimidate her. She’d already submitted to a dump, gave them memories that would match her statement. She wasn’t lying.

  As far as they could tell.

  “You have a lot of money,” he says.

  “Inheritance.”

  “Lucky you.”

  “Aunt Maggie had been living in Cuba all these years and no one knew. Died of throat cancer. Not so lucky for her.”

  That memory would show up in the dump, too. And so would an Aunt Maggie and an offshore account bequeathed to Cassidy. It was authentic.

  As far as they could tell.

  “Why are you protecting them?” he says.

  “Who?”

  “They destroy minds, Cassidy. Families. And for what… money? This isn’t a game. It’s an epidemic. So why are you protecting them?”

  She takes a sip of water and wipes her mouth. He’s waiting for an answer, an explanation. The uncomfortable silence stretches out.

  “Do you know Gregory Mallory?” she says.

  “Let’s talk about your father.”

  “He was once asked why he climbs Mount Everest.”

  “Your father?”

  “Gregory Mallory,” Cassidy says. “Know what he said? He said he climbs it because it’s there.”

  The man’s eyes grow lazy. He closes the folder, but not before sliding a page toward her. An intricate symbol is centered on the paper.

  “What does your father know about this?”

  Cassidy leans forward. “My father is dead.”

  WORLD 25

  Their heads popped like melons.

  Whoever designed these things should go back to school. They were simplistic, almost cartoonish—a real disconnect between them and this world. This was the most detailed environment I’d ever immersed in. It was indistinguishable from reality. If it weren’t for these shark-nosed goons, I’m not sure I could tell the difference.

  Will I know when I’m out?

  A sour whiff of brains watered my eyes. My arms were sprayed up to the elbows with bloody gray shit. A line of deformed bodies decorated the rooftop. I dialed back my olfactory.

  Almost done.

  The neighboring skyscraper was dark and piercing. A glass-enclosed pyramid glowed blue on top. A massive beast stood in front of it, its skin soaking up the light. It appeared more like an absence of space than a solid form. Its chest heaved in anticipation of my arrival, a red-hot coal glowing just below the neck.

  It’s about time.

  One last fight then it was adios World 25. I was going to miss this body; it was massive without sacrificing speed and agility, the skin smooth, hairless and asphalt black. And it didn’t sweat.

  Before this, my favorite body was gray and lanky; it could leap thirty feet and cling to a brick wall. How many worlds ago was that? Twenty? It was hard to keep track. The deeper I plunged, the fuzzier memories got. I couldn’t remember if my reality skin was Caucasian or African-American.

  It sure as hell wasn’t gray.

  I wiped brain pus off my forearms, the stink coating my sinuses. I didn’t want to shut my olfactory entirely off. Every sense was vital. I stepped to the roof’s edge. A deep breath gurgled through a sharp hole in my chest. I’d survive long enough for one last fight. I dialed the pain back to a dull ache.

  Below, the streets were clogged with traffic and long streaking lines of white and red lights. I spat over the edge.

  A brass plate was on the ledge.

  When a farthing of time is paid,

  And a half-moon lights the way,

  See your face,

  With your eyes,

  Only then you escape the Maze.

  A clue. Finally, a goddamn clue.

  The programmers put this one where I wouldn’t miss it. A black cord was attached just below it, its weight swaying between the skyscrapers. It was the only way across.

  The only way out of World 25.

  Billboards danced near the street, something that resembled Broadway. Product advertisements I’d never heard of. Maybe those were real shows down there, real products for the viewers to see.

  Cass flashed at street level, the face of a mirrored-eyed cat-thing with a mysterious notch taken from its right ear. Distorted reflections of traffic raced through Cass the cat’s mirrored eyes. I was forced to endure a musical of scaly-skinned contortionists in order to retrieve the exit key.

  Another billboard caught my attention.

  Find Yourself.

  In the Maze.

  At times, I forgot what the struggle was all about, why I was searching for a keyhole into the next world and the world after that. There was a memory wipe before I started all of this, but that didn’t explain why it was getting harder to remember each world I left. Or who I was before I started.

  The game was quicksand. And I was deep.

  When a farthing of time is paid,

  And a half-moon lights the way.

  A farthing was a quarter, so a quarter of time. This was World 25, so every twenty-five worlds? The half-moon was bright, but half-moon was misleading. A half-moon was technically just a quarter moon alight. So if some idiot didn’t know what a farthing was, maybe he’d get the half-moon hint.

  Or not.

  See your face,

  With your eyes,

  Only then you escape the Maze.

  Programmers shouldn’t write poetry. This was a billion-dollar enterprise and they couldn’t subcontract a professional? How else was I going to see my face, with my fucking nose?

  So the solution was seeing my face with my eyes. Since I’d seen a reflection of my face already, it wasn’t that simple.

  Nothing is.

  I stepped onto the black cable, the soft soles of my boots allowing me to feel the braided steel. Hands out, I began the walk. If I fell, it was thirty stories. I’d crush a car and respawn to start over.

  Dying in the Maze wasn’t new.

  Halfway across, my stomach dropped. The descent was a damn good illusion. My gut tightened, legs jellied. The glass pyramid brightened. The hulking monster swelled with anticipation, the coal on its chest hot. I was almost there when the birds arrived.

  [Stop.]

  Traffic froze.

  Horns stopped blaring; billboards no longer danced. The flapping of leather wings halted. The stop command nicked credits from my account. Unable to advance in the frozen moment, I looked up to see tattered wings and red eyes. A little sideshow before the finish.

  [Inventory.]

  A translucent directory appeared in space. I spun through it, found the weapons
cache and studied what was left. Unless those glowing eyes were laser-embedded, in which case those bastards would cut me in half before I hit the pavement, a smart clusterbomb would do the trick. Hopefully I could turn off tactile senses before that.

  I grabbed the clusterbomb.

  [Continue.]

  * * *

  Broken leg. Shattered shoulder.

  Black scales littered the rooftop. The boss was a massive slab of meat. The coal was still glowing below its neck. For a moment, I thought it was respawning, in which case I was fucked. It wasn’t a coal, more like a tattoo.

  This is new.

  Nothing like this had happened in the previous worlds. Not that I could remember. But with the memory wipe, it could’ve happened and I just didn’t remember?

  But I’ve seen that before.

  I called up my inventory and dialed through the categories. A hilt rested all alone, the grip wrapped in gold tape. Instead of a blade, the exit key was latched into the guard. I took it from the display and flipped the hilt upside down. The raised lines of a matching tattoo were on the pommel.

  It’s a stamp.

  I inserted it into the glowing tattoo. The hilt grew hot. Warmth ran into my arm. My coffers were topped off and health restored. The massive beast vanished. I got up with renewed vigor, dialing up my senses.

  The iron tang of death still in the air.

  The pyramidal exit house was transparent. I stared at my reflection one last time, my pupils narrow slits, my scalp bald and shiny and streaked with gray goo. I saw my face with my eyes and nothing. So I stepped inside the pyramid. The roar of a distant crowd echoed. My followers. My investors.