Table of Contents
About the Author
Books by the Author
Dedication
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
Epilogue
1
2
About the Author
Books by the Author
Dedication
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
Epilogue
In the beginning, Golden worked the standard corporate rat race, completing college with a chemical engineering degree before starting a small photography company on the side.
Since then, the FuriousFotog brand has grown into an internationally recognized brand, has published in both domestic and international magazines, on websites, and trade/e-book book covers (even appearing on some himself). Having been in the industry since 2012, Golden has interfaced and networked with countless other authors, clients, and photographers to license and create over four-hundred romance book cover images, diversifying into other commercial work as well.
He published his debut novel, Homeward Bound (The Journeyman Series, Book One) in June 2016, completing the six-book paranormal adventure romance series in January 2017. Since then he has ventured into other genres, including contemporary, fantasy, and erotica.
Website
Facebook (Photography)
Facebook (Author)
Newsletter
THE JOURNEYMAN SERIES:
Homeward Bound (Journeyman Series One)
Seal of Solomon (Journeyman Series Two)
Made to Suffer (Journeyman Series Three)
The Devil’s Highway (Journeyman Series Four)
Then Hell Followed (Journeyman Series Five)
Running on Empty (Journeyman Series Six)
SWOLE (EROTIC SHORT STORIES):
Swole: Chest Day
THE STEAM TYCOON SERIES:
The Steam Tycoon
FUTURE NOVELS:
The Secret Life of Cooper Bennett
Secrets of Lagos (Steam Tycoon 2)
A City of Soil (Steam Tycoon 3)
Angelus Rising (Steam Tycoon 4)
He is the Tide
Skyline Memories
After the Ride
Dawn Rises (A Song of Ages Verse 1)
Dusk Falls (A Song of Ages Verse 2)
Strive: Conquest of Stars
Strive: By Way of Starlight
Strive: A Time of Dread
FUTURE NOVELLAS & SHORT STORIES:
Swole 2, 3, 4, 5
Manifest
Stories of the Order – Shadowmen
Stories of the Order – No Strings Attached
Stories of the Order – Mosely
The Steam Tycoon
Published and written by: Golden Czermak
1st Edition
Cover Model: Franggy Yanez
Cover design by FuriousFotog
Edited by Kellie Montgomery
Formatted by Cassy Roop (Pink Ink Designs)
CONTENT NOTICE:
This book contains adult themes, violence, strong language, sexual situations, and nudity. Recommended for mature readers only.
This is a work of fiction.
Names, characters, places, and events portrayed in this book are products of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All Rights Reserved.
In accordance with the United States Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission from the copyright holder. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted works. Support the author and purchase only authorized copies.
Copyright © 2017 by Golden Czermak.
Water is everywhere.
It floats above us in the clouds, falls upon us as rain, surrounds us in the Great Ocean, and flows within our very skin. Therefore, it is no surprise that when we can harness water, in all forms for our own purposes, that it has the power to reshape the world.
{Maximillian Winthrope}
Founder, Winthrope Limited
Thank you to my dozen gears:
Eric, Franggy, Jake, Ryan, BT, Joey, Jonny, Bryan, Connor, Reggie, Kellie, and Cassy.
Without you, this process would have been impossible.
RAIN CRASHED AGAINST the arched windows of an office, secluded at the top of a lofty tower. The thoroughfares of the city of Diablo wove a web of cobblestone below, devoid of people and clopping hooves, yet overflowing with runoff from the torrent that had overcome the city’s intricate water harvesting system. Similarly, the sprawling stone buildings stretching from horizon to horizon, festooned with swirls of wrought iron, were dark with sleep this time of night.
Back inside the dim workplace, the rhythmic beat of a grandfather clock and the subtle whir of unseen mechanisms merged with the soft tapping of leather soled shoes. As the sounds peaked, a segment of rich wood paneling popped out from the otherwise solid wall, the hinged section swinging open to reveal a hidden passageway. From the darkness, shadows spawned by the warm light of a scrolled copper candelabra prowled across a burgundy rug and extravagant furnishings. A figure then entered the room, slithering toward a ball and claw desk set before lavish draperies.
Placing the candles in the middle of the desktop and a briefcase on the floor, the figure made its way around to the drawers. The soft light fell on the weathered face of a gentleman, tall and trim. His well-fitted finery included a top hat, evening coat, and an embroidered ascot which he loosened around his neck. Grasping the closest brass handle, he yanked a drawer open and the candlelight flickered in his brown eyes, narrowed with purpose.
“Dammit! Where is it?” he hissed, rifling through a messy collection of papers, loose gears, and machine parts. “I know that you’re in here. Why are these things never –”
Suddenly, a distant thud rose above the sound of rain-struck glass; it came from the hallway. The man halted, his heart beating faster with each flash of lighting that brightened the room and roll of thunder that came with the returning darkness. Crouching, he peered across the desk toward the office entrance. Reaching for a holster on his b
elt, he freed a pistol embellished with gold accents and waited, poised with a finger beside the trigger. A distressing minute passed that could very well have been an hour for the stress it bore, but no further noises came nor did anyone enter the room.
“Pull yourself together, Maximillian. You’re a Winthrope for goodness sake,” he muttered, wiping away some stray sweat with his forearm and brushing his gray beard before resuming his search.
The first drawer fruitless, he moved on to the next. It contained even more parts and a small amber spyglass; not what he was looking for as evidenced by his stern frown. This should have been the easiest of his tasks that night.
Frustration mounting, he opened the last drawer and rummaged through it, letting out a relieved sigh.
“For crying out loud, at last! There you are!” he said, beaming at a stack of creamy parchment.
Their edges were rough, as if torn out of a book. They were schematics for an elaborate device, though with the world full of over-the-top renderings of everything from great machines to the smallest article of clothing, it would be easy to overlook the pages. Despite this, the look in Max’s eyes indicated the sketches were more than just fanciful machinations.
Snatching the documents, he shoved them into his briefcase before dashing toward the passageway. In the rush, some of the pages fell and scattered across the floor.
“Just my luck!” Max groaned, bending over again in his not-so-forgiving trousers to pick up the pieces. He murmured under his breath as each sheet was hastily collected, but before he could get the last sheets secured, the thick wooden door to the office jostled, then opened.
“Dammit,” he cursed.
Max was left with little choice. Although he wanted to flee, he couldn’t risk leaving even a single sheet behind. Forced to stand his ground, Max rose and quicker than the lightning outside, was aiming his pistol.
“Stop right there!” he commanded, trembling, as a silhouette staggered in.
The person responded, muffled by thunder.
“Speak up!” Max ordered. “And step forward slowly so I can see you in the light. You can tell Alastair that I will not succumb to all of his saber-rattling.”
“What?” asked a groggy voice. “Alistair? Father, what’s going on?”
Max lowered the weapon, but only slightly.
“Father?” the voice repeated.
“Jesse, is that you?” Max asked, holstering the gun. “Are you alone?”
“Yes sir,” the sixteen-year-old boy replied, rubbing his eyes before stretching in his smooth pajamas. “On both counts.”
“What are you doing out of bed, son?”
“Well, you’re much noisier than you think,” Jesse replied promptly. Letting out a yawn, his white smile shone in the darkness.
Max chuckled, grabbing the briefcase before striding toward him with reserved anxiety.
“My dear boy,” he said softly, setting down the case and placing both hands on his son’s shoulders. “You should be in bed at this hour getting rest, lest you want to look as frightful as me at this age.”
They both smiled and Max used the opportunity to double-check the dark hallway. He saw nothing of concern. Returning his attention to Jesse, Max saw himself reflected in his son’s eyes.
Nearing sixty-years-old, Maximillian Winthrope had only started to realize over the last five years that he had spent far too much time building a successful company – Winthrope Limited – out in the parched wilds of the west and far too little time building a strong relationship with his only remaining family: Jesse.
Not that the business and wealth amassed from it didn’t afford them indulgences many in the world could only dream of, but having fathered Jesse late in life, such a thing should have dawned on Max much sooner. Especially after the death of his wife and Jesse’s mother Mary during a monocycle1 accident while the two of them were on a date. Jesse had just turned three-years-old, so perhaps that is why he turned his back on family for a time – the pain of love too great to bear while his inventions and profit margins were emotionless, affording him the luxury of ignorance.
Of course, now that he was aware of what actually manifested true happiness in life, not a day went by that Max did not wish to turn back the clock, even if it meant giving up his fortune. He had even contemplated sinking it into development of a fanciful time-traveling machine, but decided that task would be better suited for smarter men than him. No matter how much he wanted to remedy things, the past would be immutable. The future, though, was always waiting to be born and that was where change could be made. He was now set on finding ways to make sure Jesse’s future would be bright.
Max sniffled then cleared his throat.
“I must make an unforeseen trip to the east,” he continued, every faint noise like pins to his nerves. “I’ll return soon, perhaps a few days at most, after I deliver the contents of this case to a dependable associate in Barro. I trust that they can keep this information safe, until I can figure out the next steps to take… away from prying eyes.”
Jesse perked up, the words energizing his blood. His inquisitive mind was spinning; he loved the idea of traveling.
Prying eyes? he thought. Associates? More surly men no doubt, heads nodding all the while brandishing knives behind their backs, wanting nothing but a slice of Father’s fortune. But Barro! Now there is a positive thing. How great would it be to see the world outside the walls of this city at last?
“Barro?” Jesse asked aloud. “Isn’t that the one of the Quad Cities? It’s out in the Mudlands, right?”
“Indeed,” his father answered across a slight smile. “To the east and then far south once you reach Blackstone Pass.”
“Can I go with you?” Jesse asked eagerly, wriggling in his father’s grip like the lid on a boiling pot.
“Sadly no, my child. Not this time,” he replied, dipping his eyes to the floor. His son’s disappointment was waiting for him when he looked back up. “But, I promise you when I get back we’ll head not only to Barro, but also Lagos. You would enjoy that, right?”
Jesse thought about it for a second then nodded.
“Alas, certain matters must be tended to first,” Max said as he rubbed one of Jesse’s shoulders lovingly. “None more important than safeguarding your future.”
Jesse furrowed his brow, unsure what his father meant, but he was enthusiastic about seeing the famed Northern and Southern territories. Even though he hated waiting, Jesse knew that he was blessed to even have the chance to do so. That alone set him apart from most his age in the elite class of society; most nothing more than spoiled brats when the thin veneer of fakery was stripped away.
Despite his age, Jesse understood that most of the residents of Diablo were destitute and would never see life beyond the boroughs they were born in. There was a part of him that wanted to see that situation change. He had no idea how that would be brought about – it was more of a gut desire – but he knew there was something out there to bring the populace more freedom and, in turn, happiness. Given his privileged circumstances that could be made a reality, but not for some time and certainly not without a lot of effort to tear down the sturdy walls that had risen between the classes.
“When we do go to Barro,” his father continued, “I shall arrange a meeting with Prefect DuBois. She is a lot like your mother was: strong-willed and able to stand for what she believes is right, despite what others might think or try to sway.”
Jesse’s bewilderment shifted into a grin when he heard that; it was like his father read his mind. His thoughts drifted into short-lived memories, passing by more emotionally than visually. He couldn’t remember very much about his mother, but what he could recall was wonderful and made him feel the same.
Wrapped up in thought, Jesse missed what his father had continued talking about, only picking up what sounded like the word ‘wanderer,’ but he wasn’t certain. He opened his mouth to ask to clarification, but his father held up a hand to silence him.
“So
meone is coming,” Max said cautiously, his face becoming pale as he ushered Jesse behind him. “Stay there. I can make out movement.”
“Why are you so anxious?” Jesse asked. “We’ve never had to be so concerned here in the tower before.”
“Circumstances and people change,” Max replied, his stance getting rigid. “Another lesson I wish I would have taken the time to teach you.”
Jesse peeked around his father’s body and spotted a man hurrying down the hall, becoming increasingly visible with each step. He was wearing a bowler hat and beneath it, half of his face gave off a cold glow.
Max’s body relaxed at the sight, the color returning to this skin.
“Ah, Logan,” he called.
Jesse noticed the strain in his father’s voice growing with each passing tick of the clock.
Logan Evans stood before them, a sturdy middle-aged man. The faint orange light highlighted a bad scar across the left side of his square face while the right was covered by a mask comprised of metal bands and small gear-shaped bolts, secured by a thick leather strap. His attire was formal but less reserved than Winthrope’s. He was their faithful manservant, loyal to their House for the past twenty years.
“Milord,” Logan said with a gravelly voice, “his forces have breached the tower and are on the ground floor.”
“What of our security measures?” Max asked, knowing the answer.
“They’ve been disabled, sir.”
“As we knew they would be,” Max replied. “Then I presume you saw to the lifts?”
Logan nodded, answering with a smirk, “Also disabled, sir.”
“Good; that should buy me some time to get to the hangar,” Max said, stepping to the side as he pushed Jesse forward into Logan’s strong grip. “Logan, please make sure he returns to his chambers and stays there. They would not dare harm him to avoid the outrage.”
“Are you so sure about that Milord?”
“No, I am not,” Max replied, “but please, see it done.”
“Yes sir,” Logan replied, his mask glinting keenly. “I will. Come on little master, we have to go.”
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