Cultwick: The Wretched Dead

by J. Stone

  “Oh, I’ve faced worse numbers,” Vincent said

  “Maybe, but drunk?” Everett asked. “You can barely stand straight.”

  “Don’t go out there, Vincent,” Cassie pleaded. “I shouldn’t have got you involved. I can take of this myself. We’ll figure something else out. We’ll turn ourselves in if we have to.”

  “I’ll die before I let that happen,” he replied.

  “I know!” she yelled back. “That’s why I’m saying don’t go. They’ll kill you and take us anyway.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Vincent said.

  “Those men mean to kill you, Vincent!” she shouted.

  “But they won’t,” he replied. “I won’t let you down again.”

  Cassie sat down at a stool at the bar and held her hand over her mouth. Felix put a hand on her shoulder, and he nodded to Vincent in silent thanks. With no one standing in his way, Vincent pushed forward and walked out through the swinging, double doors of the Arcadia. Outside, the streets were completely cleared except for the sheriff, his deputy, Mitch, and another man that Vincent didn’t recognize.

  “Sheriff,” Vincent said. “Lovely night out. Don’t suppose you’re here for a drink?”

  “‘Fraid not, Rourke,” Kane replied. “You know why we’re here.”

  “Well, I suppose I can guess,” he said. “Though it does make me wonder.”

  “What’s that?” the sheriff indulged.

  “You’re here awfully quick,” Vincent replied. “And you had quite the haul of gold in that safe of yours. You’re not by any chance in Graham’s pocket are you?”

  “Are you going to come with us, or does this have to turn bad,” Kane asked, ignoring the question.

  “Well, now, I do have a bit of difficulty acknowledging your authority,” Vincent explained. “So, I might have a bit of an issue with you restraining me.”

  “You’re going to make us pull on you?” he asked.

  “If you are, I sure hope you have good aim,” Vincent replied. “There’s an entire bar full of people behind me. Wouldn’t want a stray bullet to hit one of those innocent bystanders.”

  “Anyone that spends too much time in the Arcadia can’t be too innocent,” Kane suggested. “But if you want to do this right, I reckon I’ll let you come out in the street.”

  “Appreciated,” Vincent said with a tip of his hat.

  Kane and his two men backed up and went to the left side of the street, while Vincent staggered forward and to the right. They faced off against each other, and much of the buildings and walkways were lined with people eager to see a gunfight.

  “Does this suit you, Rourke?” Kane asked.

  “Oh, it’ll do, I suppose,” he replied.

  “You don’t really plan to walk away from this, now do you?” the sheriff asked. “There’s three of us, and just one of you. Even if you do take one of us down, the others’ll finish the job.”

  “Yeah, probably so,” Vincent said. “But trust me; I’ll make sure the one I take down is you.”

  Kane eyed him for a moment before replying, “I’m not sure you could even pull that thing, the way you staggered out here. You’re not really going to make me shoot a drunk man, are you?”

  “I may be drunk, but I know fear when I see it,” Vincent said. “You’ve got the numbers on me, sure, not to mention the sobriety, but damn, if you haven’t been looking for me to give up without a fight, since you showed up here.”

  “Just seems a waste to have to kill you, is all,” Kane explained. “Don’t read too much into it.”

  “So you’re sweet on me then?” Vincent asked.

  “That’s enough,” the sheriff said.

  Kane reached for the pistol at his side, but before he could raise it, a shot fired from the side of the street, and he fell limply to the ground. The deputies at his side were befuddled by the sudden shot, but they instinctively pulled their own guns and aimed at Vincent. One of the bullets they fired penetrated his shooting arm, and the bounty hunter was knocked back, forcing him to take a knee. Another shot rang out from the side of the street, killing the unnamed deputy. Mitch and Vincent then both looked over toward the Arcadia, where Cassie was reloading his rifle.

  Mitch raised his pistol toward her, but Vincent regained his composure, uncomfortably drew his pistol with his left hand, and fired several shots. One of the bullets must have gotten lucky, because Mitch fell before he could fire off a shot at Cassie or the patrons of the Arcadia.

  “What’d’ya know...” Vincent muttered to himself. “Guess she can protect herself after all.”

  Chapter 25. Ryn and the Investigator

  Though she wasn’t sure it was an extremely good idea, Erynn had left Tern back at the junkyard with April, so he could finish recharging. She cobbled together a few repairs for the damage he suffered at the hands of the assassin and the mercenary and then hooked him up to a generator. She decided that there wasn’t enough time to wait for him to finish his charge sequence and that if she wanted to find Pearl, she would have to hurry.

  All she had to go on was the name, Konstantine Deckland, and she was reluctant to call on Fiona for help again. Letting Fiona’s madness into her own mind was unsettling at best. Instead, she decided to rely on something a bit more tangible and hopefully far safer. While she was working as a chromesmith, Erynn had been hired by a private inspector, Ichabod Dagon, to create a mechanical owl. During the brief time she had met with him, she had come to suspect that his belief system didn’t coincide or in any way overlap with that of the empire. Her hope was that, despite her title as a heretic, he would be willing to assist her in her endeavor to find Pearl’s abductor.

  Erynn recalled where she had delivered the flying automaton to several months prior and made her way there. Having to navigate the city streets, she donned the respirator and spectacles yet again in order to avoid detection. Hidden amongst a series of strange and sickly sweet smelling shops and obfuscated amidst a peculiar city layout existed the investigator’s place of business.

  Hanging from a poorly designed and somewhat slanted brick building was a sign in shambles that stated, ‘The Dagon Eye: Private Inspector.’ Underneath that sign was another reading, ‘No Cheating Spouses.’

  Erynn turned the brass knob of the green door and entered the inspector’s office. Inside, she was greeted with a dank and musty smell, as though some vile liquid had leaked and no one bothered to clean it. The room was quite dark, and she took a minute to allow her eyes to adjust. Aside from a musty, old sofa and matching recliner and a reception desk with wilted flowers, the front room was empty, but she could hear a conversation happening in the back room. Erynn followed the sounds, until she entered a larger room that reminded her of Rowland’s old lab space.

  There were several tables with variously covered liquids inside beakers, series of bookshelves lining the walls, strangely lit candles hanging from wall-mounted candelabra, and half-built chromesmithing constructs. Mounted on one wall was a giant, wall clock set to the wrong time and not ticking. At the back of the room was a window with a telescope peering out through the glass, and an old card catalog with several of the drawers slid out sat beside it.

  Strapped to a metal table at the center of the room was a wet, dark gray, giant squid-like creature that had far more tendrils and tentacles than it should have. Dozens of blinking eyes littered its body, and a mouth hidden beneath the myriad of tentacles was a beak clapping shut and squawking. Ichabod and another woman were attempting to further restrain it using leather straps that hung off the side of the table.

  “Ah, Erynn!” he exclaimed. “Excellent! Come give us a hand!”

  Ichabod was several years her senior and a bit taller as well. He wore a grey fedora over his medium-length brown hair, peeking out from under its brim. Thick, black, square-framed spectacles adorned his face, but attached to one of the lenses was a large magnifying scope that made that eye look much bigger than the other. The sleeves of his soaked, white, button-up shirt were r
olled up along his arms, and his black tie was slipped neatly under the gray vest over his shirt; while the shirt itself was tucked into his damp, grey pants.

  Instinctively, she joined them at the table and held the beast down. With her help, Ichabod was able to go around the edge of the table and throw the straps over the creature and toward his young, female assistant. The assistant latched them closed on her side, and with the beast restrained, Ichabod walked around to their side of the table.

  “Very appreciative of your help,” he said, restraining the last strap at the beasts head.

  “No problem,” she replied. “It’s almost like being back home.”

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “Your adoptive father was a transcriber. Brilliant from what I’ve heard. Somebody like him certainly had a hand in creating this loathly monstrosity. We fished this thing out of the reservoir. The little guy will certainly change how you see your drinking water, eh?”

  “What are you going to do with it?” Erynn asked.

  “Uh, you know, I’m not really sure,” he replied. “It’s apparently been causing a premature expiry in some of the workers there, so now that I’ve got my killer, I guess I’ll turn it in... Though I’d be remiss if I didn’t do a cursory inspection first.” He smiled, slapping a hand on the wet creature. “Amazing what biosynthesis is capable of.”

  She suddenly began to worry that she may have made a mistake about coming to him, and it must have shown on her face.

  “Don’t worry, though,” he said. “I don’t put any stock in their religious orisons that comes with it. What can I do for you?”

  “How did you even know it was me?” she asked, lowering her disguise.

  “I’m a... private inspector...” he explained with a confused expression on his face. “It’s kinda what I do.”

  “And here I thought the respirator and spectacles hid my identity pretty well,” she said.

  “Mmm, yes,” he replied. “They probably do, but I recognized your periapt... your necklace,” he clarified when she stared blankly at him. “You don’t see many like it.”

  Ichabod’s assistant came and joined him at his side nodding to Erynn politely.

  “Ah, yes,” he said. “This is my new assistant, Neko Kipling. Neko, this is Erynn Clover.”

  The woman was quite young and very attractive. She had strawberry blonde hair tied into pigtails at either side of her head that bounced upward before falling back down and landing on her shoulders. She wore a shoulder-less, long sleeve, grey shirt underneath a pair of very tight, black suspender-shorts, all of which were wet from restraining the aquatic beast. Extending out of a pair of vibrant, blue shoes and ending just below her shorts, she wore a pair of grey and black striped socks.

  “Nice to meet you, Neko,” Erynn said.

  “The heretic?” Neko asked, looking genuinely surprised.

  “She’s not a heretic, Neko,” Ichabod corrected her. “She simply chose not to die. That seems the logical choice, frankly. For now, however, I am more curious as to why she is in my home. I need to clean myself. Please, show her into my office.”

  Ichabod walked to the back of the room and entered another adjoining area, closing the door behind him. Neko turned back to Erynn and said, “Ms. Clover. Please follow me.”

  “You can call me Ryn,” she replied.

  “Very well, Ryn,” Neko said.

  Neko showed Erynn into the office, as Ichabod had instructed, and there, they waited for the investigator to join them. More bookshelves that went very nearly to the ceiling lined the walls, and a large wooden desk that was cluttered with ancient-looking tomes and scattered papers sat at the center of the room. One particular bookshelf wasn’t lined with books, but rather jars of viscous liquid with strange objects floating in them. She was sure inside one was a brain, while another looked like the mutated pincer of a crab. Also seated on the desk was a spherical globe of the world’s discovered landmasses and oceans, a lamp clamped to the tabletop, and a magnifying glass. Two wooden chairs were situated in front of the chair and a tall-backed chair that was made of a glossy dark wood and upholstered with green fabric was situated behind the desk.

  “What is it you do for Ichabod?” Erynn asked, taking a seat.

  “There’s really a normal day around here, but I generally just assist Ichabod with whatever he’s investigating,” she said, propping herself on the desk and putting her feet in the other chair. “Plus, he’s started training me with all his obscure knowledge.”

  “Training to be an investigator yourself?” Erynn inquired.

  Neko tilted her head slightly and smiled, as she answered, “I don’t know, maybe. I wanted to help Ichabod, and this seemed to be the best way to do that.”

  “Help him?” she asked.

  “Well, he saved my life,” Neko answered. “I thought I should do something to thank him. It’s certainly interesting work, I’ll say that.”

  Before Erynn could inquire further, Ichabod entered the office area wearing a black overcoat on top of his shirt and vest. The extra lens on his spectacles had been removed, and he had cleaned his hands and face and looked much more presentable, as he sat in the tall chair behind the desk.

  “So, Erynn,” he began. “What is it I can do for you?”

  “I need you to find someone,” she replied.

  “Mmm, and who is that?” Ichabod asked.

  “Konstantine Deckland,” Erynn said. “His boss had him hire a mercenary to abduct a friend of mine.”

  “Deckland... Deckland...” he repeated to himself.

  “Does that name mean something to you?” she inquired.

  “Nope, I’ve never heard of the man,” he answered flatly. “Is there anything else you know about him?”

  “That’s all I’ve got,” Erynn said. “It took a lot of effort to get even that. Think you can help?”

  “I’m in a bit of a lull right now, professionally speaking,” he replied. “I believe I have the time to spare.”

  “One other thing,” she continued. “I don’t really have a way of paying.”

  “I see,” he said. “Then you will pay with your services. Reco was damaged in one of my investigations. If you fix him, I’ll find your man.”

  “Reco?” she asked.

  “Ah, yes,” he replied. “The automaton you constructed for me. I named him Reco, short for reconnaissance.”

  “Sure, I can agree to that,” Erynn said. “Hopefully you have some tools lying around. I don’t have much with me.”

  “Neko, could you please fetch Reco and the black bag in the backroom?” Ichabod asked.

  She nodded to the investigator and left the office to retrieve the automaton.

  “Who was it that this Deckland individual took?” he asked.

  “Her name is Pearl Hicks,” Erynn answered. “I met her, while I was in Dust Grove.”

  “She’s important to you then?” Ichabod inquired.

  “Very,” she replied. “I won’t allow anything to happen to her.”

  Ichabod nodded and explained, “I have a few places I can start looking. You can work here in my office, while Neko and I go out for a bit.”

  As he made the suggestion, Neko returned with a large black bag as well as the owl that Erynn had built some time ago. The young woman sat the items down on Ichabod’s desk and wiped the grease that had rubbed onto her hands off on her shorts. Ichabod nodded again to Erynn and then departed the room with Neko following along behind him.

  Erynn opened up the bag to find a collection of various chromesmithing tools and leftover parts. Many of the pieces were broken, overused, or otherwise in a state of disrepair. The owl itself was nearly in shambles as well, and given the tools and parts at her disposal, repairing Reco could prove to be quite the challenge. Reco was comprised of a dark, black metal framework with glossy chrome parts interposed. His head was capable of rotating completely on his body, allowing him to easily look in any direction, and his eyes were a bright blue color when he was powered on. His wi
ngs were tightly stored at his side, and his talons were permanently clutched in the position they had been in when he was damaged.

  Reco looked to have taken a shot by a bullet that was still lodged inside his core. She set to removing it and putting the owl back together. Several hours later, Erynn found herself charging Reco’s power source and reconfiguring his operating parameters. Once his charge had reached its maximum power, she toggled his on-off switch to the on state and watched his eyes flicker with light. The owl automaton slowly jerked its head to either side with a spastic jolt, as it readjusted itself.

  Aware that Reco had audio recognition and interpretation software in his operating program, Erynn asked, “How are you feeling?”

  Reco looked around the room, levitated himself above the desk, and rotated in midair. The owl then blinked several times, set himself back on the table, making a whirring noise, while a narrow piece of paper began pouring out of his chest and rolling under itself. Once it had finished printing, Erynn grabbed the paper and tore it out, holding it up to read.

  Diagnostic Details:

  Input - Receiving

  Vision - Operable

  Flight - Operable

  Motion - Operable

  Output - Printing

  While she was reading the printed-paper, Erynn heard a door open at the front of the shop and left the office to investigate. Neko and Ichabod joined her in the back room, and he looked remarkably pleased with himself.

  “I did a bit of digging,” the investigator began. “Konstantine Deckland - Born thirty-seven years ago in Breywood. Showing an affinity for hunting and killing, the Reclamation Bureau recruited him and brought him into both the Church of Biosynthesis and the Operative Training Program. After his baptism and graduation from the program, Operative Deckland was shipped overseas to join in the conquest of Ankalara. Reports are vague regarding what exactly they had him working on, but estimates suggest assassination of local rebel leaders.”

  “Like they did anything else over there,” Neko commented.

  “After the war, Deckland began working directly with Owen Sloan, the Director of the Reclamation Bureau,” he continued. “Director Sloan is heavily involved in the aristocratic domain, so I sought out a contact with knowledge of the happenings therein, and he confirmed that Operative Deckland is still working directly with Director Sloan. Whatever this man, Deckland, is up to, Sloan is orchestrating it.”