Machina Mortis: Steampunk'd Tales of Terror

by Derwin, Theresa

  The creature was destroyed. The mystery of Jack the Ripper would never be solved and nor would the mystery of Victory Morgan.

  Deflated, bereft, once I had dealt with my officers and the paperwork, I returned to my chambers. And there, on my writing bureau, I found a note from her.

  “Dear Bestwick,

  So Sorry, but it had to be done. I couldn’t tell you or you would never have helped me. We were always meant to die Mary and I. Always, so the history books say. At least my history books say so. But you did something good tonight, Bestwick. You might not think so, but if things go well, then you helped me destroy that demon. I couldn’t do this on my own. It had to be you. Though there will be more, of that I’m certain.

  And damn, it was good to know you.

  Yours truly,

  Victory Morgan”

  I crumpled the note and sat down at my bureau, heart heavy at the loss of a my friend.

  The Three Blind Men

  By A J Sikes

  Barnaby Fellows, Reggie Welks, and Phinias Gardner. The Three Blind Men. Folks talk about them all the time because any story about those three is worth hearing once, worth telling twice, and worth hearing again. There was the time Phinias had to make three deliveries in the same day while Barnaby and Reggie sat around sipping a jug they nabbed. Then there was the time that Barnaby almost got to ride in one of the city’s airships but in the end they wouldn’t let him on because he smelled so bad. Barnaby took it well because there wasn’t much else he could do. Life is hard in Chicago now, and has been since Black Tuesday hit every working stiff where it hurts the most. Those men who didn’t have work to begin with got hit even harder. The Three Blind Men had work, but it wasn’t the kind that paid.

  See, the Three Blind Men were also Bicycle Men. They rode their hydrogen bikes behind the aether veil delivering messages for the gods who watch over this city. One of the city’s guardians, like Clovis or Tall John, would stop by their camps and give a nod to one or sometimes all of them. Then they’d ride a path behind the curtain, as they liked to call it, delivering messages for Chicago’s pantheon. When they didn’t have messages to deliver, they just camped out by the rail yard or sometimes along the riverside. They’d sleep under yesterday’s news at night and shuffle down the main stem during the day, asking for handouts from those who had them to give.

  Among their many exploits was the time they all got the nod to go pick up messages and were so drunk they got things cross ways. Barnaby’s message to Virtue ended up going to Celebrity, which caused more than a mild ruckus. Poor dumb Phinias couldn’t tell Hubris that Reggie had taken his message by mistake – Phinias was dumb as in he couldn’t talk, but most folks think he was the smartest of the bunch – and Reggie, well, giving Necessity a message intended for Hubris was a little like sticking your head in the lion’s mouth right before you started tickling it with a jackhammer. See, those boys didn’t just get drunk. They got blind drunk. But that isn’t why we call them the Three Blind Men. We call them the Three Blind Men because they never saw trouble coming no matter who warned them or how often.

  ***

  Barnaby twitched his backside on the old milk crate and sniffed the steam rising out of the old coffee can. Reggie and Phinias – Barnaby liked to call them his sons, and they didn’t object – huddled under a sheet of canvas they’d purloined from the nearby rail yard that morning. The line man had run them off and even sicced his ironwork hound on them. Phinias got away without any burns because he’s the fastest runner. Reggie caught a little singe from the dog’s breath on the seat of his pants. But they got away with the canvas and now they would be a little warmer than the night before.

  Reggie poked his head out and asked about the stew. “Hey, Barn. You been stirring that gun boat for a while now. Chow coming up?”

  “Reg, I told you it would be ready soon, didn’t I? One thing that will never happen is my sons going hungry. You and your brother just sit tight and stay warm under there. We’ll eat,” he said and went back to stirring the murky broth.

  “We oughta find a way into that fair they got up at the lake, Barn. S’posed to be all manner of edibles and fine substances. Bound to be some leavings for the taking.”

  “Now, son, that would be a trick, wouldn’t it? You think the rail man’s iron dog is bad, wait’ll you see the bone polishers they got in that fair. No, son, I think we’re gonna keep working the shops along the main stem here. This ain’t Hungry Town. It’s Chicago.”

  The bone polishers Barnaby was talking about were Mr. Tesla’s new contraptions, a whole new kind of automatic man that ran off of radio power. The mayor’s office had agreed to use the Wardenclyffe Men as a sort of crew to help run the Century of Progress fair that was setting up to open in a few months. They’d be watching the gates, patrolling the grounds, and operating all the carny shows and features of the fair. Flatfoot coppers would be there, too, but mostly they’d be in the airships and hydrogen cars showing off the city’s bank account. Of course, without Mr. Tesla’s contributions the city wouldn’t have no bank account to speak of, so the Wardenclyffe fellas would be there in much greater number than the city police.

  Barnaby thought about how quickly the city had agreed to use Mr. Tesla’s automatic men and couldn’t help but think there was something not quite right about the idea. But, that was for the city people to figure out. As long as he and his sons were fed and kept warm, there wasn’t much he had to worry about. He stirred their dinner quietly and thought about what story he would tell his sons before they all settled down to sleep.

  An early evening breeze blew through the rail yard just then. It pushed a smoky scent over to the camp and carried a smell of fresh grass and faraway places. It was spiced with a dusky peat. Reggie was covering his head again but stopped and sniffed at the air.

  “S’at, Barn? You smell that? S’like that combination stew we got from the Spanish lady.”

  Reggie felt Phinias’ elbow in his ribs. His brother was gesturing over towards the rail yard and grunting excitedly. Phinias didn’t talk because he was just about as gone as you can get and still be alive. War does things to people. Barnaby and Reggie figured the Great War turned Phinias into a mute. Drinking himself dead and falling into the Chicago River in the middle of winter turned him into a Bicycle Man.

  Reggie sighted along his brother’s shaking finger and saw someone moving by the boxcars. The figure was small, like a kid, but moved like a man. His steps were sure and careful. A kid in the rail yard woulda walked sloppy on account of the fear of getting caught. Not knowing when the line man’s gonna show up makes each step a risk. That’s why Reggie always took the lead when they went into the rail yard. He knew they might get caught. He just didn’t pay attention to that knowledge. Instead, he watched where he was putting his feet, just like the figure they were looking at now.

  “Hey, Barn. See that? Look at that over there. Looks like a kid out in the rail yard.”

  “Don’t concern yourself with wayward children, son. We’ll have this stew served up soon.” Barnaby didn’t like seeing things that shouldn’t be. It made him uncomfortable, so he was always quick to focus attention where it belonged: on the finer things in life, like chow or a good yarn about bygone days. Reggie wasn’t the sort to just let things go though.

  “Don’t think it’s no child, Barn. Look at him walk. He knows where he’s going. Watching his feet. Not looking around for the line man. Not like Phinias does, huh?” Reggie dug an elbow into his brother’s ribs, and Phinias jerked away, pulling the canvas off Reggie’s back. They tussled for it in the dirt until Barnaby admonished them.

  “Boys. I’ve told you once, I’ve told a thousand times. I won’t have my sons scrapping in the dirt like some common bums.” With that he cuffed each of them behind the ear and encouraged them to cease their hostilities. Like all good fathers, Barnaby wanted his sons to grow up proud and strong, able to defend themselves. He just didn’t want them practicing on each other.

  Regg
ie and Phinias brushed the earth and iron dust off their dungarees, shook hands – Phinias giving a curt nod to his brother – and sat back down under the canvas. Barnaby pulled his worn out tophat tight around his ears and went back to stirring the stew. He was about to serve it up when Reggie called his attention to the figure in the rail yard again.

  “Look, Barn. Look. He’s still there. Standing there now. Looking at us. What’s he want, Barn? We ain’t got enough chow for a fourth portion. Can’t give him our chow, Barn.” Reggie always talked fast. He’d learned it was the best way to keep somebody else from saying something he didn’t want to hear. Barnaby kept his eyes on the stew and said “Reg, whoever it is we don’t know him. So he won’t be joining us for dinner. Now hand me your bowl so I can dish you up some of this delicacy I have painstakingly prepared.”

  Reggie thrust his can out from under the canvas but kept his eyes on the strange man in the rail yard. He had brown skin and was standing at the edge of the yard, watching them intently. Reggie had seen plenty of down on their luck fellas, but he had seen no man like this before. He wore a white shirt and pants that looked so thin it was a wonder how the man wasn’t shivering like mad. Reggie’s own fingers had started to stiffen in the cold when he pushed his can out to Barnaby. This little man was standing in the middle of the open space between the trains and the camp, wearing nothing but pajamas, and he wasn’t moving a muscle.

  Phinias joined Reggie in looking at the little man and they both dropped their chow as he shrank down to his hands and knees and turned into a spotted jungle cat. Phinias gave a loud grunt and frantically threw off the canvas, running to hide behind Barnaby. He left his brother naked against the cold in his dungarees and work shirt, but Reggie didn’t seem to care. He just stared at the cat as it paced and watched them. Barnaby nearly spilled the rest of their dinner as he jumped up from where he’d been crouching by the fire. He started advancing on the animal holding an old length of wood in one hand. He stopped when he was about five paces from the cat and shouted for it to go away. The animal simply looked at him, licked its paw and then trotted off into the rail yard and out of sight.

  The three of them looked at each other and then took turns shaking off the memory of what they’d just seen. None of them mentioned it as they ate what could be salvaged of their dinner. Reggie finally said something as they were lying down to sleep.

  “Barn, that little fella. He turned into a jungle cat, didn’t he?”

  “Reggie, son, we’ve had a nice meal after a long day. Bundle up under that canvas you and your brother confiscated, and I’ll tell you the story of how Larson Combs became a Bicycle Man. You know he was the only one of us didn’t try to kill himself by drowning.” Reggie and Phinias let themselves be lulled to sleep by Barnaby’s slow measured voice.

  It had to be the small hours, because Phinias was nearly frozen stiff from the cold when he woke to see the little man from the rail yard standing over them. He was back to wearing his white shirt and pants, and Phinias noticed he had a red sash around his waist and a lot of necklaces hanging off of him. All manner of beads and trinkets dangled on strings that hung down inside his shirt. When Phinias met the man’s gaze, he saw a look of fear that told him something was really wrong. The nostrils of his wide, flat nose flared out under his deep brown eyes. Suddenly, the man started yelling. Phinias could hear just fine, but what the man was saying, Phinias never knew. It was a punchy language, stopping and starting here and there like a telegraph almost, Phinias thought.

  The man started yelling even louder and was pointing over to the railyard now. Barnaby and Reggie woke up at this point. Seeing his son being threatened by this clearly foreign individual sent Barnaby into a sort of rage. He grabbed up that piece of wood and made to chase the little man away. But the fella turned into a jungle cat again and ran off into the warehouses opposite the rail yard.

  “We’re moving camp, boys.”

  The three of them stayed awake until the next morning and Barnaby made good on his promise. They packed the canvas, what little firewood they had, and the cooking utensils – the coffee can and a length of pipe Barnaby said he cleaned with boiling water. Reggie never asked why the pipe looked clean before it went into the water and Phinias just pretended he didn’t see Barnaby rubbing it with a corner of his shirt and some spit each time he made dinner.

  As they were packing, Reggie looked up at a passing airship. “Sure wish we could ride in one of them silver pigs someday, you know, Barn? Be nice, flying up there.”

  “That it would, Reg. That it would. You know, I might tell you the story tonight of how Larson Combs rode in the radio man’s airship one day. He told the radio man all about the Bicycle Men and what we do.”

  “Really, Barn? What’d the radio man say? Did he believe him?”

  “Well, son, you’ll just have to wait until I’m telling you the story later tonight. Let’s go now. I think we’re all packed up.”

  As they turned to leave the rail yard behind them, a piercing hiss cut through the air from the direction of the trains. Then a shriek of terror and cries of agony came amidst the sound of raining blows. Heavy slaps like the sound of a club against a wet sack of potatoes carried over to the Bicycle Men. A violent scream of horror rang out and then cut short. What followed sounded like the smashing of too ripe fruit mixed with the splintering of wood. The three men stood rooted to the ground by the ruins of their camp. Phinias shivered from the cold and looked towards the trains for a sign of movement. Reggie shivered from fright and looked to Barnaby for direction.

  “We gonna go now, Barn? You heard that. Something not right in the rail yard, Barn.”

  “We’re gonna go, Reg,” he said, looking at Phinias who was staring hard at the trains like a dog on point. “Phinias, c’mon, son. We’re leaving. Nothing over there is any concern of ours.”

  Phinias reluctantly turned away from his vigil and mounted his hydrogen bike. Pulling his goggles down he cast one final glance at the rail yard and caught his breath short when he saw the monster slinking into an open boxcar. It was a rat. That’s all he could think. It had to be a rat because that’s what it turned into when it got inside the boxcar. He gave a grunt at Barnaby and Reggie and motioned towards the boxcar when they turned to look at him. But Barnaby wasn’t for hanging around.

  “C’mon now, son, we have to leave. You heard me, now, I know you did. That’s the end of this. We’re moving camp down to the riverside.”

  Phinias thought that he might communicate what he’d seen to warn Barnaby and his brother, so he started mimicking the way the monster walked before it crawled up into the boxcar as quick as a snake. He hunched over in his seat so his hands hung down below his knees, and he jutted out his lower jaw and gnashed his teeth. Barnaby looked sad for him, and started shaking his head. Reggie had started to laugh but cut himself short when he saw Barnaby’s crestfallen look.

  “Oh, Phinias. I know I haven’t always done right by you, but you can’t be going all the way gone now, son. We’ve still got a few good years left in us, don’t we?”

  Phinias stopped aping the monster and just pointed at the boxcar with determination. He jabbed his finger towards the rail yard and mimed the monster’s face again. Seeing no change in Barnaby’s face, Phinias surrendered with his hands in his lap. He put his derby on over the rag he wrapped around his head, and then he started wheeling his bike away from the camp. Reggie was already a few lengths ahead. Barnaby rolled his bike over to meet Phinias and put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Let’s go, son. Let’s go find our resting place.”

  Barnaby always said that about their camps, that they would be their resting place. Phinias had never liked it, but gave no sign of his objection owing to his economic approach to communication. Under normal circumstances, it wouldn’t upset him to think about their camp as where he might finally meet his end. So many Bicycle Men had died in their camps, Phinias expected it every night as he went to sleep. But this time was different. If it
weren’t for Barnaby’s hand on his shoulder, which felt like a choke hold, Phinias would have stayed put until they’d gone to investigate the rail yard and confirm that what he’d seen was, in fact, just a rat. As it was, he swallowed hard and felt the knot of fear eating at his insides, wearing a hole in his gut worse than any of Barnaby’s cooking ever had.

  They made the riverside later that night and pitched camp under a bridge. They parked their bikes and laid out their gear a ways away from another group of messengers who had set up digs by Chicago’s sewer. The Bicycle Men all called it that because they had all tried to kill themselves by drowning in it, which led to them being called up for service by the gods in the first place. So they had two reasons to hate the river. First, it hadn’t done the job it was supposed to do. Second, it landed them a job not one of them would have wished for even when he was still alive. Barnaby advised his sons to keep their eyes on their own business while they set up camp. The Bicycle Men may have been a sort of corps, but there was nothing resembling camaraderie or brotherhood among them. Unless you were in with a bunch of guys, there was little point in talking to them. Much less eyeing them.

  After another meal of sour broth and gamey meat, Barnaby, Reggie, and Phinias bundled up beneath the canvas and slept. A few hours into the night, Phinias woke up and saw the little man in the white shirt and pants standing down at the riverside. He leaned down to take a drink and changed into a jungle cat again. Phinias watched the cat drink from the river and then pad away up the hill to the street. He went back to sleep and did his best not to dream about the rat monster. Neither he nor Barnaby nor Reggie heard the hissing or the grunts from the camp down the way. There weren’t any screams to hear because the Bicycle Men in that camp were all asleep when the monster tore their throats open.