by E. C. Jarvis
THE MACHINE
BLOOD AND DESTINY SERIES
BOOK ONE
E.C. JARVIS
Copyright © E.C. Jarvis 2016
All Rights Reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced
in any form, including photocopying, recording,
or other electronic or mechanical methods – except
in the case of brief quotations embodied
in articles or reviews – without written
permission by the author.
Second edition
www.ecjarvis.com
For Dave and Bonnie.
Thanks also to those who helped with their invaluable opinions along the road:
Dan C. Boutwell
Addison Smith
L. Byus (Cicero Grade Editing)
Rich
Ian Jordan
Bear
Anton Almgren
Kat Hutson
This is a work of adult Steampunk Fantasy. Possible triggers are present within the book including but not limited to sex, murder, torture, and violence.
TABLE OF CONTENTS
TABLE OF CONTENTS
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
CHAPTER THIRTY
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
CHAPTER THIRTY TWO
CHAPTER THIRTY THREE
EPILOGUE
COMING SOON
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
PROLOGUE
Cid reached up to scratch his head. He grunted when the attempt was thwarted by the strap of his goggles and the thick leather glove on his hand. It had escaped his mind that he was wearing either. He looked at his hand for a moment, debating whether the itch was irritating enough to warrant taking off the glove and removing his goggles. He opted to use the spanner in his left hand to get it instead.
“Fucking pointless,” he muttered to himself and then threw the spanner back into his toolbox, knocking off the blueprints that sat on top. The box jostled and the lid slammed shut.
The Machine stood in front of him, dominating the room. Its outer shell, constructed from brass and silver, had two great domes that reached up to the ceiling of the control room. It was finished. The steam turbine had been tested and the cooling systems were in place, the condensers and pumps ready to work and every wire connected. The only thing missing was the fuel—the Anthonium.
Cid chewed on his nail; he didn’t stop when the leather of his glove came between his teeth instead of his fingernail. Absentmindedly, he chewed on the glove instead.
“How long has he been gone?” Cid called to one of the workers nearby. The short and rotund man looked up at the clock on the wall and then glanced back.
“Umm, an hour?” the man said with a shrug before scuttling off to get on with his work.
“Awfully useful, you are,” Cid grumbled. He headed to the Machine and fiddled with the controls inside a hatch, muttering to himself.
The door to the room on the level above opened and Cid turned to look up at the balcony. The Professor entered, his long blond hair flowing with each stride. Cid had expected his employer to bring the Anthonium in so they could test the Machine tonight. Instead, the Professor had brought a girl with him. Her own mop of blond curls bobbed as they walked together into the room.
Cid scrunched up his face. He tried to remind himself that this was the Professor’s project. His pride and joy, his design, built with his money, and if he wanted to show it off for the sake of some skirt, that was his choice. Still, it didn’t stop Cid from feeling irked by the situation. Not that he would dare allude to that fact.
“What does it do?” Cid heard the young woman ask.
“It’s a small-scale fission reactor, used to generate power through a sustained chain reaction. The heat generated from the reaction with the core element is passed through a fluid, which releases steam. The steam powers a set of turbines which pass a charge to a generator.”
Cid sunk his forehead into his hand as he listened to the Professor attempt to explain the most complex machine in the entire world to someone who clearly had no concept of it. It was like listening to a physics Professor explain the workings of the universe to a monkey.
“It will do wonders for our world, Larissa,” the Professor continued. “This will give us incredible power, make our furnaces obsolete, and block out the winter. With this, we’ll be masters of our enemies. I need only one more element to make it work.”
Cid just about managed to stop himself from bursting into fits of hysterical laughter when he heard the Professor promising all kinds of love and affection to the poor, startled creature in exchange for the one thing Cid needed—and perhaps a few more things the Professor desired.
Before Cid realized it, the girl had agreed. Now, she handed over her necklace, complete with the Anthonium they’d been so desperate to find. Cid watched with one eye between his fingers as the Professor scooped her into an embrace and dropped the necklace over the balcony.
Cid caught it. He uncurled the fingers of his glove. It was a much smaller sample than he had planned for, but it didn’t matter. It was enough. He ripped the chain of the necklace from the stone, discarded it, and turned to the Machine.
One side panel was open; a small housing sat ready for the Anthonium. He inserted the stone into the clips and stood back. In his haste he forgot to shut the panel. Sweat dripped from his brow. His heart thumped inside his chest as he took to the controls and prodded the buttons.
The Machine clicked and whirred into life. The initial readouts were good. The generator was operational. The cooling towers came online. From one second to the next, the entire thing had come alive, and most importantly of all...
“By the Gods!” Cid yelled. “It’s working, Professor. It’s bloody working.”
The Professor turned, smiling down at Cid until the girl grabbed him, resuming the kiss. Some odd noises came from the direction of the door on the level above; several thumps that didn’t sound like knocking. Without warning, the entire doorway exploded inwards with a deafening boom. Chunks of wall and wood shattered. The aftershock from the blast sent the Professor and the girl tumbling over the balcony. Cid turned, grabbed the blueprint on his toolbox, and rushed for cover behind one of the tall cabinets, his heart thumping against his ribs.
The sound of gunshots echoed around the room, followed by a hiss. Cid shut his eyes tight and waited. It had all been a waste, a complete and utter waste of time and effort. A final, massive explosion rocked the entire building to the core. Something smacked into the side of his head and blackness surrounded him.
He awoke scrunched in a ball behind the cabinet. The acrid smell of smoke assaulted his senses. As he tried to breathe, his lungs protested the lack of clean air. Cid crawled out into hazy darkness. What remained of the Machi
ne still burned, billowing smoke and ash into the room. The roar of the fire blocked any other sounds. Bodies charred nearby in the flames.
Through the smoke he saw the young woman sprawled out on her back, the movement of her shallow breathing just visible; the Professor was gone. Cid crawled toward her, dragging himself along and keeping as low to the ground as he could. As he drew close to the fire, he realized he still clutched the blueprints—the only copy. He passed one final glance up at the Machine, tossed the blueprint into the flames, and reached out to grab the girl. She seemed to be the only thing left to save.
CHAPTER ONE
A flush raced across Larissa’s face as an entirely improper thought entered her mind. She stifled a grin and turned away from the ledger of credit accounts, placing her hand on her necklace to fiddle with the stone.
Beyond the window and the ferocious blizzard, she could still see the outline of the Hub rising over all of Sallarium City, two of the great towers obstinate in their visibility. The city administration building had stood in place for hundreds of years; it would take far more than snow to blot it out of view. Imagining the freezing air outside didn’t help to lower the temperature in her cheeks. A wry grin spread across her lips once more as her mind conjured more inappropriate imagery.
She forcibly shook her head and stretched her back for a moment, smoothing her hands down the lines of her purple corset, wriggling to adjust the garment’s position on her hips. The tightness of the corset hadn’t been too bad at the beginning of the day, but as the afternoon drew on her ribs started to ache. No doubt Mother would have told her she needed more meat on her bones. But Mother was dead and gone, and friends were few and far between. Except for her elderly boss, Mr. Greyfort, and she could hardly discuss the discomfort of such impractical attire with him.
Heat returned to Larissa’s face yet again; the issue of her corset could be resolved if a certain person were to come in and rip the thing open. She imagined Greyfort’s stunned expression at seeing her spread across the cashier’s desk with reckless abandon.
Larissa sighed and looked back to the ledger, scrunching her nose up at the odd column marked SC. Greyfort still hadn’t explained those income entries to her, yet. They’d had no patrons today. It was a wonder they bothered opening the shop at all in this weather. So the shop was empty, save for the racks of clothing that stretched up to the rafters. Some were filled with suits for gentlemen, brushed leather jackets, waistcoats, cloaks, and hats. Interspersed racks were filled with ladies’ shirts, skirts, hand-crafted corsets, and every type of footwear for which the finest denizens of the city could think to ask.
The fireplace in the corner cracked and whistled as the coals warmed the shop. The consoling heat lulled her imagination to far-off places and secret desires. She pondered romantic gestures by a good-looking gentleman.
“Well, come on...”
Mr. Greyfort had appeared from the back room, shaking his head in disapproval. Larissa hastily scribbled out the last nonsensical ledger entry and looked up at him, blinking.
“What’s his name?” Greyfort continued.
“I...who?” Larissa dropped the quill back into the inkpot.
“The boy who’s on your mind.”
“Boy?” She picked at her necklace again, fiddling with the stone.
“Good gracious, girl! You’ve been smiling like a Cheshire Cat all day, counting down the minutes, and I’m sure your cheeks are actually glowing. It can only mean one thing. So, what’s his name?”
Larissa’s mouth dropped open at the realization that her fantasies were so easy to read.
“Mr Greyfort, I-I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She turned back to her paperwork, dropping the stone of her necklace beneath the top of her corset, and retrieved the quill.
“Fine, don’t tell me about it. Though mark my words—” Mr. Greyfort was cut off as the trill sound of the shop bell rang out for the first time all day.
A tall figure entered, dressed in a dark red robe, the hood obscuring his face. The customer immediately turned to push the door closed and gave the briefest nod to the window. Sparks burst from the fireplace and the heat inside the shop intensified in an instant. Larissa watched with interest as the man pulled his hood down, revealing his short, spiky blond hair. Greyfort wrung his hands together as he approached the man.
“Good afternoon, sir. Welcome to Greyfort’s Clothing Emporium. Please let me know if I can be of any assistance.”
The customer waved Greyfort aside and took slow, measured steps between the racks of clothes, idly thumbing the material as he passed.
Larissa felt a lump catch in her throat; through the window and a flurry of snow, on the opposite side of the street, she spotted a figure looking at the shop. The olive-skinned man wore a thin, white doctor’s overcoat, and despite the cold and snow the sleeves of the coat were rolled up to his elbows.
“Perhaps a wealthy patron who lets his man do his shopping for him?” Greyfort whispered as he appeared at her shoulder; he too had spotted the mysterious figure outside.
“Perhaps,” she said.
Larissa turned her attention back to the man in the robe as he met her eyes with his pale green stare. A shiver coursed through her when she managed to place his attire. He was a Priest; a Cleric, someone who should be tucked inside a Dolanite Citadel praying to the Gods, not out shopping for clothing.
She felt a pressure forming across her throat, as though a set of fingertips were digging into her skin. Her eyes widened as she grasped at her neck, relieved to find nothing there but the necklace.
Without warning, the man pulled his hood back over his head and marched to the door. Once he had left, the fire died down again, though a strange tingling sensation ran over Larissa’s skin.
“What an odd pair,” Greyfort muttered. “I suppose we won’t require a new account to be opened today.” He tapped his finger on the ledger in front of Larissa, a clear indication that she should get back to work.
Long minutes passed and the ledger became filled with neat black ink. Larissa found herself so wrapped up in her musings about the mysterious visitor that she didn’t notice the cool air rushing in again and the shop bell ringing a second time.
“Ah, Professor!” Greyfort exclaimed, his tone jumping a full octave.
Larissa froze, the quill hovering over the parchment as drops of ink fell from the nib, bleeding across the page. The door slammed behind the Professor, shutting out the biting cold.
“Greyfort,” the Professor acknowledged in his aristocratic dialect, pushing flecks of snow off the shoulders of his black cloak. “I was passing this way and thought I would stop to inquire after my waistcoat.”
Larissa watched through the corner of her eye as he removed his top hat, revealing white-blond hair that trickled down just past his shoulders.
“Oh,” Greyfort said, absentmindedly wringing his hands. “No, it hasn’t arrived. The roads have been closed due to snow and the trains have stopped, causing delays to our shipments. I do apologize.”
“Ah, yes, it’s having an effect everywhere.” The Professor paced the shop. As he reached the cash point, he glanced at Larissa, and she suddenly felt compelled to look up at him. Their eyes locked. “Good day to you, Miss Markus,” he added. Then he nodded briefly, placing his top hat on the counter and hanging his walking cane on the edge.
“Perhaps, Professor, you’d enjoy a new cloak?” Greyfort sauntered over, turning his salesman’s voice on for the richest man in the city.
“No, thank you. I’m not in need of a cloak.” The Professor didn’t drop his gaze from Larissa’s eyes as he spoke, eyes which flashed with fire as a wicked grin crossed his mouth.
“I do believe you are unlikely to receive many more patrons today, Greyfort. You may be snowed in within the hour. You wouldn’t let Miss Markus get trapped here with you for the weekend, would you?”
“Uhh...” Greyfort mumbled something under his breath.
The Professor turn
ed to face him. “I shall pay you her wage for the hour if that is your chief concern.”
Larissa watched on wordlessly, fiddling with her necklace again as the Professor handed Greyfort a palm full of gold. She was sure it came to a far larger sum than was necessary. Greyfort's eyes widened at the offering and he accepted it with a nod.
“Miss Markus.” The Professor turned once again, stretching his hand out to her. “I’m heading to the Hub. I shall escort you there if you wish. I’m sure the cabs are still running to take you home.”
Larissa flashed a brief look to Greyfort, who nodded to her, before wrapping her own cloak around her shoulders and taking the Professor’s hand. In one wordless motion he scooped up his hat and cane and led her out into the snowstorm.
Outside, the street was coated in thick snow. The dull light in the gas streetlamps fought against the rapidly darkening streets, and only a handful of people struggled against the flurry. The Professor wrapped his arm around Larissa’s shoulders as they trudged towards the center of the city.
The Hub was an enormous, domed administrative building that housed numerous government offices and a few private businesses, though only those wealthy enough to afford the rent. The tall central dome stuck out toward the sky, built on the orders of Emperor Fastidus hundreds of years ago during the Golden Age of the Empire. Four great, external towers connected to the dome through a maze of covered moving walkways. The vast number of rooms and offices were joined by these impermanent passages, which could be reconnected when required through a series of mechanical switches and levers controlled from the top floor. That was the Professor’s realm. Through fortunate birth, respectable schooling, and feats of political posturing, he had managed to work his way quite literally to the top.
They reached the imposing brass doorway, which swung open as they rushed through past a team of men who swept away the flurries of snow. The inside was as hot as a steam room, thanks to a series of vents that allowed the heat from the massive furnace below to penetrate above.
