Boots for the Gentleman

Copyright

Published by

Dreamspinner Press

382 NE 191st Street #88329

Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Boots for the Gentleman

Copyright © 2011 by Eon de Beaumont and Augusta Li

Cover Art by Anne Cain    [email protected]

Cover Design by Mara McKennen

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the Publisher, except where permitted by law. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press, 382 NE 191st Street #88329, Miami, FL 33179-3899, USA

http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/

ISBN: 978-1-61372-093-6

Printed in the United States of America

First Edition

August 2011

eBook edition available

eBook ISBN: 978-1-61372-094-3

Dedication

This book is lovingly dedicated to the most important and inspirational person in my life, my dad, Ralph Paul. Thanks for teaching me to never give up and to always keep fighting, no matter what the odds.

Also for my cats, Merlin and Morgan, who keep me company faithfully while I work.

Gus

To Terry Gilliam for introducing me to the steampunk genre before I even knew it had a name. Thank you, sir.

Eon

Chapter one

T
HE
perfect summer evening practically insisted that a ball be thrown. Lord and Lady Merriwether found themselves unable to argue with the merry weather and organized the event. It looked like a lovely party. The many sets of doors stood open, allowing guests to float from the ballroom to the terrace overlooking the gardens. Soft music played inside, and bouquets of roses and topiaries decorated the entire space. Floral perfume and savory cooking smells rose into the night. Black-clad waiters moved among the gentlemen in top hats and fine suits and the ladies in dazzling gowns, offering champagne and hors d’oeuvres from silver trays. Polished silverware twinkled in the candlelight. Guests drifted like weather balloons, buoyant with good spirits, oblivious to strife, laughing and clinking their glasses together in the carefree manner of only the very wealthy. They greeted one another, conversed lightly, and even engaged in subtle flirtation.

Unfortunately for Querrilous Knotte, perched thirty feet above on a stone windowsill, his escape route lay at the other end of said terrace. Hours earlier, when he’d scaled the wall and made his way to the attic, only a few servants had moved within Merriwether Manor. It had taken him almost forever to secure the item his client had requested among the hundreds of trunks and crates, and, admittedly, he’d spent some time locating a few choice trinkets for himself. Holding the window frame for support, he leaned forward and swore.

There must have been a hundred people. A few times, one of the merrymakers strayed dangerously close to Querry’s grapple. The forked end still stuck in the limestone next to his toe, and he could only hope none of the partygoers would notice something that resembled a complex metal crossbow hanging from the wall.

He looked back over his shoulder, into the musty dark. His stomach rumbled loudly, as if to remind him why he needed to succeed. He wound the little gear over his temple, changing the lens of his oversized goggles. Though Anglican law outlawed enchantment, one could still procure magical items, like the ensorceled glass, if one knew where to look. Blackness became grainy gray-greens as the disks clicked into place. Beyond the wardrobes, disembodied dresses, and hatboxes piled up like classical columns, Querry saw a small door, doubtfully locked. Maybe he could sneak back through the house. Likely, most everyone would be distracted by the party. He hated the idea, though. Among the city’s twisting alleyways and across its rooftops, he could lose a pursuer. Inside, he could become trapped. There was nothing for it but to run. He preferred to take his chances in the open air.

Pivoting on the ledge, Querry gripped the stone and pushed with the ball of his foot. No one shouted; no one noticed his body drop down. His right hand let go of the thin rectangle of stone and groped for the rope. He pulled it to him and pinched it between his knees. Next came the scary second of releasing the ledge, swinging over, and hoping his hook held his weight. It did, and Querry inched down a few feet. A couple dozen people still milled about the terrace. Dressed for work as he was, in a reinforced leather waistcoat with four buckles up the front, matching knee-high boots and elbow-length gloves, his clunky mechanical goggles and a secondhand sea admiral’s coat with long tails and rows of brass buttons, not even the nice-looking and charismatic young thief would be able to explain away his presence, not even if he stripped down to nothing but his trousers, white shirt, and striped cravat. These people would know he didn’t belong.
There was something about the aristocracy
, Querry’d always thought.
They could smell their own
. He would never insinuate himself into their world; he might as well have been a different species.

Of course, there was also the presence of Querry’s twin clockwork pistols, their holsters hanging from a belt, and his rapier, dangling from a thinner strip of leather. And there was the large canvas sack tied to a third belt.

Slowly Querry descended, until when the opportunity arose, he could make a safe drop and sprint for the rose trellis. From this proximity, he could hear the conversations of the partygoers. He rolled his eyes as they jabbered on and on about the latest fashions, new devices that would make their already-pampered lives even easier, and which slightly richer and more important people they counted among their friends. Men discussed hunting and the stock market while women talked of gloves and hats. On and on they prattled about the foreigners and their filthy customs, corrupting decent society. This was the latest fashionable topic. “Shouldn’t they be driven out or at least sequestered to their own part of town?”

“But don’t those girls from Xiana just make the best scullery maids?”

“My native staff absolutely refuses to work with them. It’s too bad, really; they’re quite cheap.”

“We are truly blessed to live in such an era of peace and prosperity.”

The thief scoffed at that remark before he remembered to be quiet. Querry’s muscles started to tremble. He had a great deal more strength in his slender body than one might think to look at him, but he was only human, and he’d been clinging to the rope for probably an hour. If he succumbed to fatigue and fell, it would go badly indeed.

Didn’t they have anything better to do than just stand around, picking at their food and throwing away more than he ate in a week? His shoulders and biceps really hurt, and a cramp threatened his left hamstring.

“Damn,” he whispered. This silly job had sounded so easy. Maybe he’d been overconfident. He’d put less time into planning his excursion than he normally did. He’d been hoping for some quick money, and maybe he’d been too hasty. All he knew was that he couldn’t hold on much longer. He didn’t even know if he had enough stamina left to climb back to the attic window and hide until the party dispersed.

“Oh, look,” said a woman. “It’s Lord Thimbleroy. I think he’s going to speak.”

The rest of the guests looked in the direction she pointed, before trotting off like summoned dogs.

Wasting no time, Querry let go of the rope. Limestone met the thick soles of his boots. He straightened, took a small knife from a pocket on his vest, and cut free his firing mechanism from the grappling rope. He quickly pulled a release lever and folded the slender steel arms back. As he ran, he shoved it down the back of his snug black pants. He lunged for the terrace wall, vaulted over, and almost missed the rose-covered lattice. He climbed fast, ignoring the few thorns that scraped his face. His thick leather gear protected the rest of his body. He’d be damned if they’d take him in for this. If he was to be caught, it would be for something glamorous, something big. Just as his feet touched grass, Querry heard a man yelling down.

“I say! You there—”

Querry ran through the labyrinthine array of hedges, statues, and fountains until he reached the garden gate. He heard more men yelling to one another, doors opening and servants entering the darkened grounds with lanterns. Querry hid himself behind a sculpted shrub until the small team had checked around the gate. He struggled not to give himself away by panting until they’d wandered back toward the house. As soon as he thought it safe, he pushed against the iron gate, cleaving in half the large, sculpted M. It opened with a pained creak, drawing the attention of those fumbling about the grounds. The golden bubbles of their lamps moved closer, converging on the thief. With a strong oath, Querry bolted across the lane toward the back of the nearest mansion. As he ran he pulled his grapple free, extended the arms, and situated a hooked bolt. Once he made it within range, he fired and quickly climbed to the little roof over the servant’s entrance.

Wasting no time, Querry freed his hook, positioned it, and shot it again. It caught about six feet above the ivy-covered balcony of the next house. Querry pushed off with his feet and swung through the thick night air, soaring over the lawn that divided the two homes. Despite the danger, he absolutely adored the feeling: free, almost like flying. He nearly laughed out loud. His feet met the carved stone as lightly as a cat’s, and Querry took aim at the next residence. Gliding quietly through the dark, he soon put half a mile between himself and his pursuers. Finally he felt safe enough to descend to the ground.

He tried to look casual as he strolled onto the cobblestone streets. Still, he couldn’t stay long in this part of town. It belonged to the wealthy. His presence wouldn’t be tolerated (though a young woman passing by in a gilded carriage drawn by a jerky clockwork unicorn seemed to approve), and while the police might not arrest him just for breathing the same air as the privileged, they’d give him a good enough beating to send him back where he belonged. Hopefully they wouldn’t check his pockets.

Luckily for Querry, the streets were relatively empty.
Probably some sort of holiday
, he thought. The rich got so many more holidays. A few coaches, both horse-drawn and steam-powered, passed him without incident as he made his way from the rich, residential district toward the expensive shops and eateries that lay a little ways to the south. He pushed his goggles down around his neck and walked with his eyes to the ground. The midnight-blue seamen’s coat mostly hid his weaponry as he crossed Leopold’s Folly Square. Halcyon’s wealthy loved the massive clock tower that stood at its center, rising higher into the smoggy sky than the spire of any cathedral, or even the royal palace. At the top, an amazing clockwork menagerie of mythical creatures stood frozen. Something had gone wrong with the clock a century ago, and no one but the mad genius who’d built it held the knowledge to repair it, so the dozens of jeweled and gilded gryphons, mermaids, nymphs, and dragons, which could move as if alive when working, stood idle. Even now, Querry saw pulleys, scaffolding, and hot air balloons around the apex, as Lord Thimbleroy invested huge sums to repair the clock “as a point of patriotism and city pride.” Every year some noble or another dedicated another statue, adding it to the ring surrounding the tower. A veritable army of bronze heroes and goddesses flanked the entire square.