Terra Mechanica: A Steampunk Anthology (19 page)

“I say . . .” the major said, his eyebrows meeting his hairline. “Why the devil did she do something like that? Didn't she understand we were here to free her and put an end to her enslavement to these dogs?”

The corporal next to him shrugged. “Who can understand heathens, sir? Perhaps a fear of freedom drove her to it.”

“Bloody hell.” He removed his helmet and scratched his sweating head. “If the heat of this blasted desert isn't enough, the locals are all two eggs short of a hen house. I can't wait to return to civilization and leave this nightmare behind.”

He replaced the pith helmet on his head and turned to go, but something caught his eye over by the body of the slave girl. He walked over, careful to avoid the distasteful blood on the ground, knelt, and picked up a round, shiny object on a chain. A golden pocket watch.

“Jolly good find!” he exclaimed, noting with pleasure that the watch was still ticking away. His mustache lifted with his smile as he pocketed the watch. He stood up, and almost as an afterthought, raised his helmet in salute to the young girl. “Thank you, my dear. You don't mind if I keep this little trinket, do you?”

He called out to his men. “Let's bury these heathens and be about our business. Time for a drink, lads!” His men cheered in response as they began gathering up the unknown dead to bury them outside in the dunes. They didn't know where these desert raiders had come from, but the sands had brought them here and to the sands they would return. Better that than be picked clean by vultures.

The major and his men rode back into their garrison. There was still a tense feeling in the air, for although the honorable Queen's own armored tank division was keeping them out of the port, the enemy and their accursed machines were still marching out in the desert. But for the soldiers returning from doing their duty, even the city air was preferable to the choking heat and unknown dangers of the desert.

On that particular fine evening, Major Henry Telbin, of that very same unit of soldiers who had distinguished themselves against the ruffians hiding within the dark caves, had decided that a celebration was in order. He went to the officer's mess for a drink of fine brandy and, perhaps, a game of hazard. He might even win an extra month’s pay, should Lady Luck continue to swish her petticoats at him, as she had with the pocket watch he had found.

His thoughts turned back to the events of the day. Returning back alive from a desert patrol was a cause for celebration.

The war had touched the lives of many a soldier and innocent. The major had come to this foreign soil waving a flag with promises of peace and civilization. The only promise he had kept was the one a bottle of brandy fulfilled for him nightly. The mornings brought a headache, followed by the harsh burning glare of the desert sun and bloody skirmishes that ended the lives of his fellow men.

He lit a cigarette, his mind wandering to the woman he had seen die only hours ago. During his many years on the battlefront, he had witnessed strange acts both cruel and kind. This was the first time he had watched a woman take her life for a man, especially when she was a slave and the man her master. Her expression had continued to haunt him.

Love
. It hit him in that moment and he recognized what the look on her face had been. Heathen or not, she had loved the man.

He snorted. Such sentiment was beneath a civilized person. Duty and hard work were the only constants.

“I say . . .” he murmured, catching the eye of the rather fetching redhead at the gaming table. Perhaps Lady Luck would be very generous indeed.

He smiled at her confidently and she returned a coy one of her own. It would have been far better for him to note the faces of the dejected men around her than to be taken in solely by the flash of white throat, the small hands that gripped the cards, or the neckline that plunged so daringly, yet still retained that last bit of maddening modesty.

“What game would you have, sir?” she asked, shuffling the cards.

“A game of Hazard, if you please, my lady.” he said, winking at her and sitting down. He surveyed the dice she brought forth with a small smile of satisfaction. Already his luck looked to be in good order and he would be a richer man by the end of the evening.

“If this continues, you'll even have the shirt off my back!” Major Telbin exclaimed. Within a few rounds he had lost most of the money he had brought and even his gold cufflinks, a gift from his wife back home.

She turned to him and smiled suggestively, the lady’s eyes filled with a mischievous secret. “I would have thought that to be a worthy end to the evening, major.”

The major felt the heat rise up his neck and elsewhere. “Well then, hand me them dice, my girl.”

Her smiled widened as she dealt, sliding the dice to him. “All in? Or do you prefer a casual encounter at the precipice?”

“My word . . .” he said, the heat fully on his face. “All in, please.”

She frowned slightly, as she pushed her winnings into the center and noted his own dwindling pile. “Oh dear, you seem to be a bit short.”

“Oh,” he sighed. This was not going well. He checked his new watch for the time. He ran his thumb over the gold surface. The woman's face tugged at his mind. The prickling feeling that he had forgotten something important refused to fade. Perhaps he should count his losses and call it a night. It grieved him that his luck had blown away like sand in the desert.

She glanced at his watch. “That would more than cover the remainder.”

He blinked and touched his new prize. “My girl, this watch would cover quite a bit more than what you are offering. I think not.”

She placed her petite hand onto his. The contact of skin was electrifying to him. “What if I were to add in another incentive?”

“What could you possibly offer?” he asked, mystified and a bit perturbed.

She leaned in and placed her chin on her free hand. “Me. Tonight.”

“I—my word! Just what are you suggesting?”

“Anything. Whatever you want. For one night.”

The major hesitated. He felt like the little doxy was playing him. He glanced around and noticed his fellow officers leaning in with interest, wondering what he would choose. They watched their superior officer with judging curiosity and he knew that his honor was on the line. Well, he would be hanged if she would make a fool out of him! Besides, the chance that she was serious was too good to pass up.

“Agreed,” he said, leaning back as he appreciated her fine physique.

She smiled and picked up the dice. She shook them slowly around in her hands before kissing them. “Your call, sir.”

“Five and eight, miss,” he said confidently, though he dreaded the outcome.

“A two and a six,” she mused, eying the rolled dice with theatric disappointment. “I fear I shall be alone in a cold bed this night.”

He gave her a sour look as he stood. “Well played, miss. You win the lot.” Then he sulked away with thoughts of nursing a half empty bottle of brandy in his quarters. At least one mistress waited his embrace and would nurse his damaged pride.

Ada stood on the deck, letting the salty sea air fill her lungs. She loved the ocean. It reminded her of years spent with her little brother roaming the docks, back when times were not about survival, only the innocence of children. Innocence and memories lost to the fading passages of time. Now, she was forced to use her brain and body as a means to survive.

But all of that would soon be over when she crossed the ocean and reached the New World, a place of opportunity. It was the last safe harbor in a world that war had left in wake of disaster, where the skies were not darkened by coal smoke but instead filled with righteous steam. There, a woman would not be measured by how low her bodice was cut or how quick she thought on her feet. It would be the paradise that she and her brother spoke of for so long, yet would never get to see together.

She opened her new pocket watch, smiling at what she knew would be the first of many good things to come. It read twelve thirty-two.
Time for lunch
.

Ada stepped away from the bow and returned down a flight of steps to the dining deck where a number of tables and a small cafe had been set up for the first-class guests. One day, she would be able to make use of her God-given talents in a land of opportunities, but for now, she had to be the survivor. A young man with an open seat could always be tempted into providing a small meal.

She almost tripped over two young boys who shot out in front of her, laughing as they chased one another between the tables. She could tell from their clothes that they were immigrants. Their smiles filled her heart with a quiet, sad joy as she remembered chasing her own brother during their games. How she hated the war and what it had cost her. There was nothing left to tie her to the past. Yet, she couldn't help smiling as she watched the children.

One of the boys, with freckles and light-colored, sandy hair, came to a stop before a tabled loaded with toast, tarts, fruits, and tea.
Oh no
. But it was already too late. The boy reached out for one of the fruits, but his hand was caught by the man sitting there. “Here now! What are you about, you little thief?” He stood up and grabbed the boy by the collar of his shirt.

“Oi! Leave my brother alone. He didn't do nothing!” The other boy tried to pull his brother free, but accidentally knocked a pot of scalding tea onto the man’s chest. He promptly shrieked in pain and struck the child across the side of the face. The boy went down with a loud cry.

Ada hurried over and grabbed a cloth napkin, dabbing gently at the man’s stained shirt, getting in the way of any further onslaught on the boy. “Dear sir, are you all right?”

“Madam, how could I be all right! These stowaways assaulted me, a gentleman only trying to enjoy his breakfast in peace.”

“Oh sir, I witness the whole thing,” Ada exclaimed, fawning over him and continuing to dab at the stain. He didn’t notice when she slipped his wallet out of his vest and into the napkin. “I don’t think they meant harm, though, but I assure you they will be properly disciplined!”

He glanced from her to the boys, his rage lessening. “Are these ragamuffins yours, lady?”

She battered her eyelashes at him, although she wanted nothing more than to press her foot to his sternum and send him over the side. “Just look at them, kind sir. Does it look like such street urchins would be mine?”

It was true. Ada’s winnings from the night at the officer's club had allowed her to buy the ticket, and a bit extra for some finer clothes. They say clothes make the man, but for a lady it opened doors. He grunted and smoothed his stained coat. “No, I suppose not. Still, they should be thrown back in baggage along with the other cargo.”

She gritted her teeth while trying to keep a demure smile on her face. “Oh, I agree. I will make sure to tell the captain myself about how wrongly you have been treated.”

He eyed her with interest, perhaps thinking he could get some special treatment out of the incident. “Oh no, I would not trouble such a lady as yourself.”

“Oh please, it is only just that I do so after seeing a fine gentleman treated in such a manner.” Ada grabbed the boys’ arms. “I shall take these back to where they belong.”