The Strange Fate of Capricious Jones

by Roman, Robert C.

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  The Strange Fate of Capricious Jones

  Copyright © 2010 by Robert C. Roman

  ISBN: 978-1-936394-24-1

  Cover art by Dara England

  All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.

  Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC

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  The Strange Fate

  of Capricious Jones

  ~OR~

  Genesis of an Iron Angel

  Book One of the Iron Angel Series

  by Robert C. Roman

  DEDICATION

  To all my beta readers, who help me turn my mad scribblings into something coherent. To Dana and Dusty, to Jon the gourmand, Rob the screenwriter and

  PJ the writer, to each and every one who has ever loaned me their eyes.

  Always, now and forever, to Alice the Ur-Goth.

  The Strange Fate of Capricious Jones

  Capricious Fate Jones soared. The wind rushing past her face lifted her spirits and lifted her body ever higher into the air. Below her the countryside stretched for miles, every stream and hill brought close by the lenses in her goggles. To the west, the horizon curved away over the Atlantic. In the distance, a huge cargo airship bound for the States was at the edge of visibility. Banking to the left, she could just make out the Pyrenees. Leather creaked quietly. The sound of strained leather was barely audible over the roar of her Engines, the quieter rush of wind muffled further by the woolen insulation in her helmet.

  Cap frowned; the leather gear connecting her to her wings was supple, not prone to creaking. Some of the leather in her flight cap was hard, but it wasn’t under stress. All of her leather, hard or soft, was properly oiled and cared for. The only hard leather under stress was in her wings, fashioned of cloth and leather and thin wood. Thinking on them, she smiled. Orville had been such a gentleman, providing her with the proper conformation for the wings. It was a pity he was so much younger than Cap; she might otherwise have dallied with him rather than David.

  The rush of a sudden updraft washed away her melancholy. Soaring high in the sky, she was free as she never had been on the ground. In the sky, no one cared that she had been born a slave. Floating on the winds, no one cared that under the thick insulating linen she wore bloomers instead of breeches. Driven by her Engines and lofted by her wings, no one cared that she had not only borne a child out of wedlock, but done the unthinkable and acknowledged her openly.

  Thoughts of Kay made Cap realize how long she had been up. The gauge on her right epaulet showed her tanks half full of a secret mixture of distilled naphtha and jellied alcohol. On this, her first flight, she had no intention of letting them drop lower. Her wings were too short for her to glide safely to the ground, and her parachute was as experimental as her Engines. She gave one last longing glance at the snow-capped Alps. With a wistful sigh, Capricious leaned to her right to bank back towards David’s manor.

  Halfway back around, Pyrenees once more in sight, she heard the distinctive sound of stressed leather snapping free. Her wings began unraveling, and she knew without doubt that she was going to die before she saw little Kay again.

  ***

  After exiting the mechanical carriage that had dropped her on the road outside Abrams manor, Leigh made her way through what once had been a lush, green lawn. She had vague memories of that lawn, but the grass was gone now, replaced by a vast mustering point pounded flat by the Mechanical Men of the American Expeditionary Force. They stood in orderly rows, guns ported in sheathes across their backs, various melee weapons clamped to their bodies. The image of military power should have made her feel safe.

  As Leigh walked, she passed through alternating sun and shade; most Mechanicals in the camp were taller and broader than a man. Just before she reached the manor house proper, she paused under a huge Command Mechanical, the only one in this camp. Looking up from beneath it, she admired the way the articulation for each of the four legs had been armored to prevent sappers from flinging explosives into the joints. A single charge could kill off the entire crew if a sapper got lucky. If the officers commanding them were killed, the Mechanicals became unstable. They might go on fighting everyone, including each other, until only one remained, or they might just stop moving.

  At least, that’s what her trainers told her.

  Finally, Leigh stood a bare half dozen paces before the doors of the converted château that served the American Expeditionary Force as a headquarters. Enlisted bustled past her on both sides, their annoyance thinly concealed, their tongues stilled by the officer’s tabs on her epaulets. Those same tabs drew quick salutes, held until the rankers passed her. A few, thinking her engrossed in the orders she held clutched in her hands, stared surreptitiously at her in passing. With the massive losses of the last few years, Lady Officers in the States had become commonplace, but the Expeditionary Force hadn’t received many yet.

  A few did more than glance, and she felt her skin begin to heat. Not for the first time she cursed whatever fate had overindulged when blessing her with feminine attributes. Self-consciously, she adjusted the thick leather belts that stretched across her midsection. On a man or a less well-developed woman, they would be arrayed across the chest and waist, allowing easy access to sidearm, supplies, and tools. For Leigh, they formed an ersatz bit of corsetry, adding more support to the patently inadequate undergarments supplied by the Women’s Army Corp. The leather in place, she smoothed the rough linen of her uniform dress, marveling at the feel of it. On the one hand, it was the first new dress she’d ever owned. On the other, it was an ugly thing, all rough olive fabric made for durability rather than fashion.

  A junior officer strode from the building, his purpose obvious in every step, his bearing military and correct. His hair was cropped too close to tell his natural color, showing him to be a recent graduate of one of the academies. His shoulders bore the single gold bar of a junior lieutenant and the mailed fist of Mechanical command.

  The lieutenant’s eyes met hers, and he nodded with perfunctory respect. It was the greeting of a proper gentleman to a lady of unknown provenance but proper bearing. Silently, she thanked him for that small favor. A moment later, she saw his gaze drop away from her face, drawn like lodestone to a magnet. Leigh watched as he realized how disrespectful he was being and snapped his gaze back to hers. He realized she could tell he’d been staring and looked away, abashed. Then, as if against his will, his gaze crept back toward her.

  The fact that he’d stopped walking entirely was a sign of his distraction. He thought of himself as a gentleman; when he realized he’d begun staring again, he locked his gaze on her eyes. Then his gaze wandered again. He had begun to show the look of disbelief so familiar to Leigh. Her dusky skin didn’t blush easily, but once it s
tarted, it was impossible to stop. She felt the warmth in the swell of her breast, knowing that within seconds it would crest her collar and rush across her face.

  Desperate to distract him, she rustled the orders in her hands. Desperate for her distraction, the young would-be gentleman snapped his attention to the orders. Recognizing them instantly for what they were, he glanced at the tabs on her shoulders that mirrored his own, save hers bore the twin turreted castle of an Engineer.

  “Ma’am? Are you lost?”

  His voice matched the rest of him. Strong, confident, with just the faintest hint of affected ennui to give the impression that no matter what crisis lurked, he had seen worse. Her plight hadn’t moved him; he realized she had caught him staring, and was trying to find an excuse for his rudeness. Were she one of the Ladies she’d so often wished to be, his thin ruse would never have worked. Leigh, however, had no such claim to gentle heritage.

  “No, Sir, I am not. I have been ordered to report directly to General March at noon today.”

  His condescending chuckle sped the blush across her face. Between the blush, the heat of the day, and the constriction of her belts, she was rapidly becoming lightheaded.

  “Miss, your promptness does you credit. It’s only half-past eleven. However, you’re quite obviously inexperienced with how these things work. When you’re ordered to report to the commander, you report to the headquarters, not the commander’s office.”

  “Oh? Really? I’m so thankful you were here to correct me, Sir. Could I perhaps impose upon you for directions, then?”

  The look of barely suppressed consternation on his face was worth the additional time spent in his company, Leigh decided.

  “Lieutenant Sebastian Cole at your service, Miss?”

  “Lieutenant Leigh Abrams, Sir. You do, I suspect, have me by date of rank. That’s how these things are done, am I right?”

  Yes, his consternation might be her only compensation for the stares today, so she would enjoy it while it lasted.

  ***

  At the sound of leather snapping, Cap reacted without thinking. She squeezed a friction grip with one hand, locking the Engines’ throttle in place, fixing her rudder on a straight course. With the other hand, she reached out for her crystal device; the rescue crews would need to be called up, and quickly. She reached both hands down to her chest as her port wing fragmented in the force of her flight. She was being pulled counterclockwise, the remains of the wing beginning to hammer at her back and legs. She would have bruises tomorrow, that much was certain.

  Cap gripped the handle for her port severing charges with both hands. The charge would drive a heavy blade through the wing mount, leaving her only the starboard wing. She would be able to bring herself in on one wing once the buffeting stopped. Landing would be difficult, but she could always try for a water landing. She grinned, thinking of the effect her figure always had on David. She certainly had the built-in flotation devices for extended swimming. Taking a deep breath, she leaned to starboard and yanked on the stiff handle with both hands.

  An explosion rocked her right side. The starboard severing charges hammered her sideways, ripped her starboard wing from its moorings, and drove the severing blade into her side. Pain ripped through her, and blood soaked the silk of her blouse instantly.

  Moving with the false clarity of one in shock, she reached around with her left hand. The blade was mostly free now. It hadn’t severed any arteries, but it had flayed a great deal of her back. The blood loss ought to stop, but not before it knocked her out. Unconsciousness was a death sentence.

  Her crystal device chimed. Relieved, she reached for it, a cry for help on her lips.

  “Momma? Are you there, momma? Hello, momma?”

  Kay’s voice shocked her from her fugue. In the moment she heard it, everything became clear. This hadn’t been an accident. David had sabotaged her. To ensure her death, he had brought Kay into the crystal room; he knew Capricious would never subject her daughter to hearing her mother dying this way. With a superhuman effort, Cap steadied her voice and swallowed her cry for help unspoken.

  “Hallo, baby. Momma’s a little busy right now. Are you being good for the Padre?”

  “Not a baby!”

  Cap reached into her gear belt and withdrew a small vial of powder. It was intended for use in case she broke a limb on landing. It would kill her pain without making her clumsy. Her hope was that the crystal device would muffle her voice too much for Kay to hear the detachment that came with it.

  “Of course you’re not, Kay, but you’ll always be Momma’s baby girl. Now, are you being good for the Padre?”

  “Yes, Momma.”

  “Excellent. Put your father on.”

  The signal cut out for a moment, and Cap gripped the starboard severing blade with her left hand and pulled sharply. By the time David’s voice sounded in her ear, she was holding the heavy, six-inch long blade in blood-slicked hands. Her head cleared by the restorative, she was slicing up the remains of the port wing when she heard his voice.

  “Capri? Are you well? Are your Engines functioning properly?”

  “Yes, David.”

  “Are you having any problems?”

  “Nothing worth mentioning. Be sure to stay near the crystal device, I may need you later.”

  “Of course, Capri.”

  The gloating in his voice was too much to bear. She broke the connection and kept cutting at the remains of the port side wing.

  ***

  Leigh looked about the room, doing her best to ignore the tongue-lashing going on a few feet from her. The room was filled with simple wooden desks and cheap typewriters. The office equipment went poorly with the faded paper on the walls. The paper, once pink, had faded to a dull coral. Once textured with ornate scrollwork, it had been worn down by years and traffic. Now, only the stenciled ceiling border remained to show the room’s original purpose. Letters and numbers danced with animals and flowers to keep the child that had once lived in the room quiet and happy.

  An explosive snort drew her attention back to the fuming colonel. Sebastian’s face was still, accepting the brunt of the diatribe being leveled at him by the senior officer in the quartermaster’s office.

  “When the orders are to report to the command, you come here. When the orders are specifically to report to the commander’s office, you go there. You know how to read, I assume?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Thank all the blessed saints. This last week I’ve had no less than three of you would-be cavalry commanders come through without even that to your credit. You did read the orders the young lady spoke of?”

  “No, Sir!”

  “Then I suggest you do so. Here.”

  The fiercely mustachioed visage of the quartermaster turned, and in an instant was smiling paternally at Leigh. She covered her embarrassment with a smile and curtsey, the stiff linen of her uniform dress rough against her fingers as she did so. At his frown, she remembered herself and saluted, feeling her blush burning fiercely on her cheeks.

  “So, Miss…?”

  “Abrams, Sir.”

  “Funny, that. The building you are in is actually the manor of an older gentleman by that name.”

  “I’m aware, Sir.”

  “Any relation?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  The quartermaster’s eyes inquired, but Leigh was embarrassed enough by the situation. Leigh had always been easily molded, and her Army training had instilled Duty in her. That sense of Duty compelled her to avoid any familial patronage. She simply could not bring herself to trade on her family name.

  The quartermaster was still looking, age giving him the fortitude or disinterest to keep his eyes level, but beyond her fierce blush Leigh held firm. When the rustle of folding paper indicated that Cole had at long last completed reading her orders, the aging colonel shrugged and returned his attention to the unlucky lieutenant.

  “Now, do you see the difference, young man?”

  “Yes,
Sir!”

  “Now, you will escort this young lady to the commander’s office, after which you will guide her to wherever she needs to go.”

  “But, Sir…”

  The lieutenant realized what he had just said, and for a moment frustration warred with confusion on his face. His hand darted into his jacket, emerging immediately with a folded set of orders similar to Leigh’s own.

  “I have been ordered to the front, effective immediately.”

  “And you want to go, do you?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Well, then, you can consider this a punishment detail if you wish, but you’re going to be this woman’s shadow until she is settled in at this base. Understand?”

  “Yes, Sir!”

  “Well then, get going. Miss Abrams, it has been a pleasure making your acquaintance.”

  The walk through the château was filled with an angry silence from her guide. His only change was a wistful glance to the northeast when the muffled roar of a volley sounded from the nearby artillery park. As the pair left the efficient bustle of the quartermaster’s offices and entered the open central hall of the château, Leigh tried to make a peace offering.

  “I do apologize for this, Lieutenant. Had I thought it would do your posting a mischief, I would have found my own way.”

  “So you’d paint me a cad as well as a coward?”

  She opened her mouth, a sharp retort on her lips, but his upraised hand stilled her tongue. With a curt wave of the same hand, he directed her gaze to a large pair of folding double doors. The scrollwork decorating them was intricate yet faded. There was a line scraped across them just below waist height. Leigh cocked her head, inquiring, but Sebastian had turned away from her to rap upon the door.

  A muffled voice bade them enter, and Sebastian pulled at the right hand door. As it slid open on tracks and hinges oiled to noiselessness, Leigh tensed. A voice from within the room was stirring nearly forgotten memories. Much as she remembered, David Abrams’ voice was strong, commanding. In its depths, however, there was something new; a frailty that hadn’t been there before. When she finally saw him, she understood why.