Steamy Punk (closed)

[Otto26]

Carolina Bonnechance watched her brother's gambling partners with narrowed eyes nearly the color of coal. Her arms were folded across her breasts, which were violently and seriously subdued by the finest high-rise corset she had been able to afford. While most women wore such a painful device to emphasize their shape, Carolina had chosen this one to suppress- it flattened her breasts and streamlined her hips, and coupled with a loose men's dress shirt and a conductor's cap pulled low over her brow, she could nearly pass. Granted, she'd be just about the prettiest boy you'd ever seen, but it was a good enough guise from a distance, and up close and personal, Carolina could shut any undaunted traps.

Hopping off the stool she perched on, Carolina moved up behind her brother. Her feet were clad in elastic-edged flats, allowing her the freedom and balance to move with a naturally rolling, feline walk. "You know, you're losing to these pigs, and while it isn't necessarily your fault, allowing it to continue is going to make you look stupid." Had this comment not been delivered sotto voce, in deliciously lilting Shanghainese, it would have inflamed more tempers than the one it was aimed at. Even if one of these lugnuts spoke Mandarin, they wouldn't have a prayer of deciphering the more fluid speech patterns, the elaborate sentence construction... Mama may have fallen on harder times here in America than she'd hoped for, but her education and breeding were, in her own country, impeccable- and she'd instilled the same in both children.

For his part, George took it well. He laughed, and flipped a bit of hair out of his eyes before responding in kind. "You use the future tense like I'm not already way out of my league, Caro. I know I'm being cheated, but damned if I know how. Ready to bail me out?"

'Caro' was always ready to bail her brother out. He was the moon in her sky, the sun on her horizon, and she loved his stubborn egg-headedness with a fierce and true passion. Her very first fight had begun defending him, though he was two years her senior, and she could think of few better ways to take her last stand than in defense of her precious genius.

Bumping between George and the man next to him, Carolina steepled the fingertips of both hands on the gaming table and leaned down slightly. Her gaze hooked the dealers, and her flawless English was delivered in a firm, go-ahead-and-try-me voice. "Sorry, gentlemen, George is cashing out." Fishing the debt owed from the bills in her pocket, she placed them in front of the dealer without once releasing his gaze.

She could feel the tempers rise, the seats shift. Disjointed grumbles began almost instantly, and Carolina could not suppress the smile they brought to her lips. "Stand up, George, and get your coat. We're leaving." Though she knew George had to get home in one whole and unharmed piece, Carolina would have gladly welcomed a bit of a scrap- there was something almost sexually satisfying about the wide-eyed moment wherein a man realized he'd tangled with the wrong "boy". Besides, George kept a rather large gun in his coat, and Carolina knew that he could hold it rather convincingly- the fact that he couldn't bear to pull the trigger, even in practice, was a secret.

 

[Otto26]

Eustace knew there had to be a third man but he was damned if he could identify the bugger. The whore was obvious and, by the look of her eyes, didn't particularly care that he knew. Her attire left little to the imagination but he was certain she had at least two weapons concealed on her person. He'd no doubt in his mind that she'd use them if he took his eyes off her for too long. Use them and enjoy the doing.

The second was slowly losing at cards. Eustace had wondered about that one, even before the 'whore' had gotten too close to him. He might have quietly cursed himself for letting a woman past his guard, but he knew it was wasted effort. He was what he was and nothing short of a minor miracle was going to change that. He enjoyed women the way a drunkard enjoyed drink and, similarly, one day that habit was going to kill him.

But, perhaps, not tonight. His ears caught the sound and his eyes quickly confirmed what they were telling him. He still didn't know who the third member of the team was, but he'd have to trust to the Lord and providence that he'd be able to spot him, or her, on the fly. When opportunity presented itself...

He lifted his glass and dropped it. As the killer's eyes involuntarily followed the glass for a fraction of a second he stepped smartly away from her. He had that fraction of a second lead and, he hoped, the advantage of mobility. Long experience allowed him to navigate the press without noticeably plowing his way. As he approached the table he called out, "I say! You there! Don't pay those men a penny. They've been cheating you horribly all evening."

He raised his walking stick and pointed accusingly at the non-descript man to the right of the man in the bowler. "That one has been cold stacking the deck. I recognize him from Mobile." His words, as he intended, carried and the table quickly became the center of attention. The assassin at the table frowned and Eustace smiled at him, enjoying what might very well be the last moments of his life.

 

[laceandcogs]

Carolina never liked to look away from a good staredown, and so the distraction Eustace posed was not wholly welcome. While she could appreciate someone else in the spotlight, no amount of money was more important than getting George home safely.

One delicate hand alighted on her brother's shoulder, and she whispered to him, again in their shared, exotic language. "You stand up now, and get ready to draw. We're going to see if we can't let this ass take over the crowd's interest."

Without a second glance at Eustace, Carolina released the money, letting the bills fall softly to the tabletop in front of the dealer. Her voice, firm but quiet, switched into the harder, more definite syllables of English fluidly. "If you think we didn't notice we were being cheated, you're only half as bright as the bison dealing off the bottom of the deck here. We choose to cut our losses and consider the money spent a donation to charity- St. John's Home for the Poorly Educated and Sexually Ill-Equipped."

Though the mood of the crowd was fast trickling away from amusement, Carolina had no intention of recouping their cash, or waiting around for an argument. With George at her side, she squared her fine, straight shoulders, her arms loosely at her sides, prepared for a fight. She turned to look at Eustace, if only to memorize his face- he could be a worse trickster than the rest of them, and he merited watching.

Her eyes danced over his figure from crown to toe, moving quickly through her standard mental inventory for appearances. It aided her fantastic memory, though she herself would never have fit in its neat categories and check-boxes. Carolina's eyes, so intelligent and hungry, were completely off the grid all on their own- wide and almond-shaped, they were two different colors. The left was a dark honey-brown, nearly identical to George's, but the right was a distinctive pale green, the color of her father's. It was one of the very few physical similarities Carolina had to her father, being otherwise nearly the twin of her mother- a delicate-featured beauty of obvious Chinese heritage, capable of breaking at least as many hearts as legs.

It seemed she may have a chance to indulge in both pastimes tonight. Raising those memorable, mesmerizing eyes to Eustace's, she quirked one fine, dark brow- it was obvious to her fighter's mind that at least one man at the table, as well as the red-cheeked whore hovering at the edge of the gathering crowd, held an unsavory interest in this man. "Still, your altruistic interest in the livelihood of our purse is admirable. Why don't you join us for a drink in a more reputable establishment?"

For reasons she could not quite place, Carolina was offering Eustace a better smokescreen. As earnest as the invitation was, it was also going to expire quickly. Pulling George along, Carolina moved to the exit. Letting herself brush quite closely past Eustace, she nodded crisply, underlining the urgency of the moment. If he followed, he followed. If he didn't... well, she'd probably never know what happened next.

 

[Otto26]

The boy's declaration sapped the energy from Eustace's smile but it didn't waver in the slightest. When one was smiling, one must keep smiling he had learned. The frown on the face of the assassin began to fade however. If there wasn't to be a substantial disturbance then this minor disturbance would be forgotten in minutes. No one would remember the faces of some gamblers accused of cheating; there would hardly be an anonymous man on the river were that the case.

He considered taking the offensive. A short thrust to the nose or eyes with the cane, a kick to the table... And a brawl with at least one killer in the crowd. Not the best course of action, and one that would have consequences. But the great thing to remember about consequences was: you had to be alive for them to matter.

The look the boy gave him stopped his calculations. The eyes were remarkable, yes, but there was something else... 'A girl,' he thought with mild surprise. It was hardly uncommon for girls to disguise themselves as boys. Though, to be brutally fair, it only mildly improved their chances of not being attacked, or even assaulted. This was New Orleans, after all. It was a little surprising to discover one in an establishment such as this. That, and her lovely face and, 'Oh, yes,' the ready stance were more than enough to pique his interest.

"Still, your altruistic interest in the livelihood of our purse is admirable. Why don't you join us for a drink in a more reputable establisment?"

Again, his smile never moved. But now he was puzzled. It made no sense that they, she, should make such an offer. It smacked of altruism, a trait that Eustace viewed with extreme suspicion at the best of times. But whatever the motivation for the offer, it *was* a lifeline. The assassin at the table darted his eyes back to the pair and his vanishing frown returned with a vengance. Eustace could almost hear the man wondering what was happening. He would draw the paranoid conclusion, that they were with Eustace. He would be re-evaluating the odds, wondering if anyone else in the crowd was an unknown ally. He would be doubting his judgement.

Eustace seized the moment. "I can think of nothing I would enjoy more," he lied. "I'll join you outside in a moment."

He turned his back on the table and stepped to the edge of the crowd. Taking the 'whore's' hand in his he raised it to his lips and brushed it lightly. "It was a thrilling conversation, madame, and your offer was most compelling. I find myself unwilling to pay your price at this time, however. Au revoir."

Her hate warmed him like a good drink and his smile re-gained that joy it had lacked moments before. The crowd made room for him as they returned to their own endeavors and he stepped out of the swirl of the tavern and into the swirl of the street.

"Well, that was interesting," he commented as his hand dug a coin out his vest pocket and flipped it to one of the assembled torch-bearers huddled outside the door. That worthy stood and ignited the portable gaslight he carried. Eustace smiled broadly at his benefactors. "And were, friends, shall we have that drink?"

 

[laceandcogs]

Carolina was busily discussing exactly that with George, their whispered words spoken from the sides of their mouths as they both watched Eustace. "We can't take him anywhere near home, Caro. Your tireless desire to bathe and feed every pathetic mongrel is going to get you bitten someday."

Had George delivered that proclamation in English, it would have been deeply, and understandably, insulting. Since it was slickly whispered instead in Shanghainese, Carolina let it go with a single curse too coarse for translation. Switching to English, she inclined a half-bow. "We were thinking of the Majestic Arms Hotel."

The sound from George as Carolina named the very inn they lived at needed no Rosetta stone to come across. He turned on his heel and began stalking away from the two, as a grin of pure mischief found a delightfully permanent home on his sister's full lips. "It seems George intends to go ahead and find us a table." Falling into step, Carolina kept her hands free and at her sides- she wasn't at all sure they were going to be let go easily.

"Since I've made the introductions for my unacceptably rude brother, of whom our dearest mother would be deeply and irrevocably ashamed right now, might I inquire after your name?" Those eyes were once again on Eustace, the gaslight dancing merrily in their depths.

This close, it was almost laughable to think this lithe, exotic beauty attempted to pass as a boy. There was nothing masculine in the broad arches of her cheekbones, or in the perfect slender straightness of her nose. Her lips, bitten-pink and expressive, spoke only of delightful, dark, womanly promise, her clear porcelain-white skin achingly soft to the touch. If she was really a boy, then Eustace was a duck. Still, Carolina had deliberately not offered her own name, giving him no way, really, to broach the topic...at least not delicately.

 

[Otto26]

The whispered exchange between the two was lost on Eustace. Though he'd spent some time in China, the languages had never stuck with him. Oh, he could swear like a sailor in three dialects but he couldn't tell you what the dialects were or even, in some cases, exactly what the words meant. In any event it was clear the male of the pair was opposed to his presence whilst the female...

Eustace chuckled deeply, a sort of guttural growling that came from deep in his belly. Clearly, the female of the pair was in charge. That was interesting. 'No,' he chided himself, 'be honest. It's not interesting, it's exciting.' No stranger to lies, Eustace held fast to a rule about lying to himself. Simply put, he didn't. It was foolish and inexcusably stupid to do so. No, the confidence and vibrant nature of the woman exited his... he bit off the mental lie before it could be thought and substituted the true word: lust.

The lamp-bearer looked confused as to who to follow and then visible relief crept across his face as Eustace and Carolina began walking. Things had been both better and worse for the negros of New Orleans since it had been captured. Those that had been free to begin with now found themselves competing with newly poor whites for the few jobs there were. Unless they were French speakers, they tended to lose out. And with the coming war with France the French speakers were finding that their privileged position was but a memory of better times. Those negros that had been slaves were now free, but it was freedom to starve to death in the main. And now that the war was ended the city had been largely turned over to civilian administrators. 'Carpet-bagger' was rapidly becoming the most vile insult in the vulgar lexicon of the South. The boy was clearly happy to have even a simple job such as this.

"...might I enquire after your name?" she finished.

"Eustace Browne, lady. It's perhaps best to think of me as a gentleman of fortune. Or misfortune as is sometimes the case. I don't wish to abuse your charity any further than I already have, but I'd very much like to know your name as well."

His real name rolled off his lips without a thought. He might have blamed that on wondering who had paid for his death. Certainly the French had no cause to love him of late. The Spanish, likewise, would be happy to hear of his demise. There was always the possibility his father had decided he could no longer bear Eustace's existence. The Austrians? But no, he hadn't done them any ill in years and even Swabians could let minor, mostly minor, grudges die.

In any event, it would have been easy to blame these thoughts on the obviously unwise decision to use his real name but, again, it would have been a lie. He didn't want to be a sham hiding behind an assumed identity. No, right now he very much wanted to be himself.

 

[laceandcogs]

Damn it, he'd called her "lady". Carolina had hoped that her sham could continue comfortably, even if only a while longer. Of course, the pretty flush that lit her cheeks upon being called out dispelled any hope of that- no boy blushed like that.

"You're terribly observant, Mr. Browne. You must tell me what, precisely, spoiled my disguise, as I will be certain to correct it. My name is Carolina, Carolina Bonnechance." Shoving her hands deep into her pockets, Carolina looked out straight ahead- they were close to the hotel now, George having already arrived and banged through the door into the noisy lounge. She was torn between the impulse to hurry after her brother and the desire to remain civil to Eustace. Fortunately, a sudden, soaking splitting of the sky made the decision easy. As the rain began to soak her shirt and hat, she hurried along to the door of the lounge.

Though it offered nature's miracle a moment's more opportunity to soak through her shirt, she paused to pay the lamp-bearer. In the glow of that lamp, any red-blooded male would be free to notice how the quite damp linen began to cling to the delicate shoulders, the fine, straight back... and the rather advanced black-brocade corset beneath the shirt. After a second's thought, Carolina swiped the hat off her head and settled it onto the brow of the young torch-bearer. "You're going to need this tonight."

As though the charity meant nothing, Carolina turned and swept into the warm, well-lit lounge, the sounds of bawdy laughter and piano music embracing her. Without her hat, the cause of pretending boyhood was fully lost. Sleek, shining raven-black hair tumbled over her shoulders in a perfectly straight bob, sparse bangs falling over her fine, broad forehead. She caught sight of George at their habitual table, and crossed over to him, knowing Eustace would not be far behind.

"Caro, you're an impetuous and puckish little beast and I rue the day our mother brought you squalling and scheming into this world. You've brought a stranger to our very door, you've probably even told him your name, and you are absolutely soaked through the skin and oh, sweet suffering Mary you are going to catch a cold!" As with so many of George's chastening tirades, this one dissolved into brotherly concern. He shrugged out of his coat, a fashionable mourning-jacket cut, and wrapped it tightly around his little sister.

Carolina weathered George's outburst, and only by vast experience with such lectures was she able to suppress her smile and offer appropriately downcast eyes. "I'm sorry, Georgie. He's just so interesting, and I do so love interesting people! You can go up to bed if you want, I won't be long. Just one little bitsy drink."

Fortunately for the dignity of both parties, this conversation had once again been conducted in their private tongue. With a moue of complete disapproval, George nodded, and proceeded to button his jacket over Carolina's soaked shirt. "I will do just that, but only if you keep this buttoned. Interesting men take interest in half-soaked ladies and their terribly color-coordinated underpinnings. I swear, Carolina, if I thought I could survive ten minutes without you I'd marry you off to some staid old Canadian just so I didn't have to worry after your virtue all the time."

Oh, sweet George. Worrying after her virtue... well, the ship hadn't entirely sailed, but it had definitely left dock and made a few circuits around the harbor. With the most innocent smile at her disposal, Carolina nodded and slid into her chair, letting George order her a hot rum. He offered just one cold, threatening glare Eustace's way before excusing himself and heading up to their rooms.

With her hands clasped around the mug and George safely out of earshot, Carolina gestured Eustace over to the table. "Please do excuse the rudeness of my brother. He's quite tired and wishes to take his leave early."

 

[Otto26]

The corset was a pleasant surprise that called to mind the anticipation he felt when came to a new place. There was the promise of good things to come and the uncertainty of what they would be and the excitement that accompanied discovery. His eyes unrepentantly drank in the sight of her and a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He waited a moment before entering the lounge behind her. As he had expected, not a single eye in the place was doing anything but following Carolina's progress. He scanned the room for obvious threats and then again, more slowly, for those that might not be evident upon first notice. He saw nothing but, then, he hadn't seen the assassination team in the tavern either. Not until he'd looked into the whore's eyes.

He made a show of taking off his hat and brushing some of the moisture from it. No, still nothing. The show was hardly necessary; most of the people in the room were still staring at Carolina. Smiling broadly, Eustace crossed the room to where Carolina was standing. Standing impatiently. Her brother was taking the time to button his jacket upon her, as though that would stop, or even slow, Eustace.

And the effort had revealed the weapon the man had concealed beneath the coat. It was an impressively large pistol but it was carried in a way that would make it difficult to draw in a hurry. That was interesting and suggested several things. Most of them probably incorrect, but interesting none the less.

He returned the glare with a smile that threatened to become open laughter. Did the child think he'd never been glared at by a male relative? It wasn't even a particularly menacing glare. Too much threat and far too little promise. No, the man wasn't a killer. And Eustace was.

"Please do excuse the rudeness of my brother. He's quite tired and wishes to take his leave early."

Eustace watched to see if anyone else was watching George's departure before he carefully took his seat and transfered his attentions back to Carolina. Her eyes were more than somewhat mesmerizing, 'The sheer life in them,' he thought admiringly.

"No offense to your brother, but I quite prefer to have you to myself," he replied. The walking stick rested against his thigh and the floor, the hat upon the table. His eyes, they rested upon Carolina. He hoped the coat was keeping her warm because it was doing nothing in the cause of preventing him from admiring her. Indeed, the chest of the coat, cut for a man rather than a woman, had bunched and gave the illusion of a bosom to her appearance. Coupled with the black hair, the delicate, lovely face and those magnificent eyes... He laughed.

"Do excuse my rudeness, Miss Bonnechance, but your transformation from boy to woman is not at all aided by your brother's coat. In future, perhaps you should consider some facial disfigurement to prevent observers from tarrying overlong in considering that delicate face. Some gelatin glue to give your eyelid an unappealing droop, perhaps. Or some cotton in your cheeks to broaden your face and add some weight. Though I rather think you'll be fighting for a lost cause," he finished with total honesty.

 

[laceandcogs]

Carolina laughed, a pure and throaty sound of amusement. She settled back in her chair, folding one leg beneath her in one of those ridiculous contortions that only the very young and deliciously agile can occupy. "Your honesty, Mr. Browne, is so very refreshing. I know my guise can't last long, but you may be surprised at the number of people who prefer to believe that they've just met a very, very pretty little boy rather than ask an indelicate question."

She took a long sip of her hot rum, the liquor and the warmth adding a healthy pink flush to her cheeks. True, many eyes in the room were on Carolina- she didn't always dress as a boy, but she was always pleasing to the eye... even now, in a borrowed, too-big coat and damply-clinging bangs, she was a picture of mischief.

"I shall take your advice to heart, Mr. Browne, but I don't dress as a boy all that frequently. George is a bit of a gambler- he's a brilliant mathematician, and when he's not being cheated he wins a great deal of money. However, when he is being cheated... well... brilliant mathematicians are not always sterling in a fight. He needs me." The thought of usefulness, even if it was of an unsavory, violent sort, cheered Carolina immensely.

Leaning forward as though she was about to be imparted a great secret, Carolina attempted to suppress the curious, cheeky grin stealing at her lips. "Now you know what we were doing in that rathole. What about you, Mr. Browne? Aimlessly carousing, gambling, or looking for trouble?"

Something about the bold, unapologetic way Eustace looked at her was thrilling. He did nothing to disguise his lust, and that was thrillingly new to Carolina. Losing the fight for control over her cherry-blossom lips, she grinned at him, awaiting a story.

 

[Otto26]

'A mathematician,' Eustace mused. 'How very fortuitous. Suspiciously so? Perhaps.' His eyes re-examined Carolina in light of this new information. He wanted her and had already decided to have her, whatever the circumstances. But her brother could prove very useful to his plans and that made her an asset to be protected. Could he use her to control him? Very probably. Controlling her, however... His grin widened. That would be a delicate balancing act. A challenge.

"..or looking for trouble?"

He laughed with genuine enthusiasm. "Looking for trouble? My dear Miss Bonnechance, I have successfully navigated the foolish waters of my youth and emerged in the deep stream of maturity. I do not go looking for trouble. Which is not," he added, staring directly into her dark eyes, "to say that I don't delight in it when fortune places it in my path." He paused for a moment to make sure she understood him and was pleased at how quickly that understanding came. Even more delightful was her reaction: entirely unfettered by concern. He fancied he saw the hint of a flush upon her cheeks and found himself wondering how a flush would look upon her chest, creeping down from her lovely throat to her breasts.

He wanted to tell her the unvarnished truth, that he'd ventured out in search of sexual gratification. He wanted to see the look in her eyes, to observe the way her body would react to the statement. But that would have to wait until later.

"No, I was searching for a man I had been informed would be there, or someplace similar, this evening," he lied. "A former professor from Harvard. A mathematician as it happens. Tell me, exactly how good a mathematician is your brother? Any skill with the mechanical arts?"

 

[laceandcogs]

Extolling George's virtues was one of Carolina's chief talents. Perking up like a little rooster, she offered Eustace a wide, proud smile. "George is a genius. He's smarter than any of those lily-handed chickens at Harvard! We could have sent him, but it was expensive and he didn't want Mama to work, and then who would be around to make sure I didn't get into trouble?"

Though Carolina's smile was still earnestly stapled to her face, she knew it was more likely that George would need -her- around to keep out of trouble- or, at least, resolve the trouble he got into. When he'd recited his exams to move on to college, the schoolteacher had beamed proudly and remarked how impressive it was that "even a slant-eyed Oriental" could shine so brightly under his tutelage. George had turned purple. Papa had roared. Mama had only smiled that tiny little crisp smile that suggested she was plotting the imminent reorganization of your internals. Carolina had decked the man, taken his own defensive backhand like a champion, and then bit the offending hand half through to bone.

Mama was mostly angry that Carolina had stained her collar with the man's blood. Between the bite, the desertion of his prize student, and the eerie voices and knocks that began coursing through his house late evenings (courtesy, of course, of one of George's inventions), the teacher didn't last another month in town.

"And yes, he's very mechanical. When he was eight, he made Mama a washing-agitator by reclaiming the steam from the heater. He fixed my bike once after I... well, he fixed it, and made it have three different cog-bits, so I could really fly down hills. And he's stellar at pranks! If you need to make a man think his house is haunted, or make his phonograph play backwards till he thinks he's gone crazy, George is your man."

Blushing, Carolina realized that she'd been leaning forward, her slender, elongated fingers gesturing emphatically as she sang the praises of Saint George.

 

[Otto26]

The fingers of one hand slowly drummed the table as Eustace made up his mind. But only for a moment; he was accustomed to making rapid decisions, usually out of necessity. Leaning forward himself he looked into Carolina's dark eyes.

"I have need of such a man, Miss Bonnechance. I am researching a business venture and could make use of his talents. The venture is not without it's hazards, but I believe the rewards are more than commensurate. If it is successful. If it is not, then I will undertake to compensate you and your brother for your labors. Of course," he nodded slightly in the direction of the door and the pounding rain outside, "you will have to brave the elements again this evening in order to visit my quarters. Frankly, I doubt you'd credit my story without physical evidence before you."

He smiled hungrily at her.

"What say you?"

 

[laceandcogs]

Carolina was no stranger to snap decisions herself. However, hers were of the fight or flight variety, and almost inevitably she chose fight. So many of her contests began with a misplaced word, a snicker, a gesture she could have- probably would have, definitely should have- ignored. An overlong stare, a whispered word and its accompanying guffaws, and the ballet of blood and spat teeth was begun.

The decision to walk out into the pouring rain with a stranger, while her brother slept, unavailable for even the limited sort of backup he could provide? That was a whole different sort of snap decision. So she lingered, just a moment, those fantastic mismatched eyes narrowing in consideration. Carolina took a long savoring sip of her hot rum, cleared her throat, and called to the barman.

"Seamus? Come over here a moment?"

Wiping his hands on a cotton towel, the barman came to their table. He wasn't a large man, short and wide, constructed of wide legs and thick arms and steel-corded muscle. Carolina, with the charm and sparkle of a deep South debutante, introduced the men. "Mr. Eustace Brown, this is Mr. Seamus Garran, proprietor of the Majestic Arms. Seamus, Mr. Brown is a businessman, and George and I are considering throwing in with him."

Carolina folded her arms and leaned forward, her delicate little face all mischief and wit. "Seamus, I need you to look very hard at Mr. Brown now, and I need you to remember just precisely what he looks like. Mr. Brown and I are about to take a trip, but I'll be back by dawn. If I'm not, Seamus, I want you to help George find Mr. Brown, and I want you to help George turn his guts into harpstrings. Would you oblige me, Seamus?"

The barman said not a word, not even a how-do-you-do after the introductions. Without hesitation, he looked Eustace full in the face, mud-brown eyes sparked with the cold, vicious light of reptilian cunning. It was a quick glance, but a deep one, and from the silent nod the man offered before turning away, Carolina could be comfortably certain that Eustace had been noticed, remembered, and prematurely suspected. Eustace's certainty in the same fact may well be less comfortable, but that was hardly Carolina's object.

With a deep nod of thanks, Carolina ran her hands through her loosened, glossy hair, straightened her borrowed coat, and stood. "Ready when you are, Eustace."

 

[Otto26]

Eustace smiled politely at the man. He should have been insulted that Carolina considered this publican a threat sufficient to alter his plans. But he wasn't. Excessive pride was something that had long ago been beaten out of him. Or, rather, had been savagely altered. His pride now lay in being unknown and unregarded. The things he had done would have gained him a certain amount of fame, or infamy, if anyone had bothered to put them together. But he had done those things, by design, in the least flamboyant ways he could conceive of. As a result, he was a non-entity in the eyes of the world. His pleasure in being underestimated lent a genuine warmth to his smile.

Too, he did enjoy intelligent women. He'd met adventurous women before, but most would not have had the intelligence to obtain some insurance or would have been prevented by their pride from doing so. Miss Bonnechance continued to rise rapidly in his esteem.

Eustace stood. "By all means, Carolina, let us proceed." If she had decided they were on a first name basis, then he would be the last person to object. He placed her arm in his and proceeded to the door. As they approached it, he placed his hat upon her head; the deluge, if anything, had only increased. And anyone lying in wait with a weapon would see only back-lit shadow figures emerging from the door. But gallantry had been foremost in his mind.

"The Hotel d'Albergac," he told the first lamp-bearer to appear. "You'll stay behind the lady and I, of course."

The rain fell in a steady monotone roar that had already swept the streets clean of anyone with anyplace better to be. Which wasn't to say the streets were empty. There were any number of people who had tasks at hand or simply lacked someplace out of the rain. The city was safer and better administered since the occupation, but the end of the war had brought a flood of former servicemen and the attendant tumult that always engendered.

"I feel I should inform you that your Irish insurance really wouldn't dissuade me if I had any desire to do you injury," he commented. "Since I have no such desire the point really is moot. I mention this, not as a correction of any sort, but as an assurance and a warning. I don't want you to be alarmed at this."

He pushed her rapidly into a narrow alleyway between two brick buildings. The lamp-bearer, losing sight of them, hurried on ahead, following the street towards their announced destination. Eustace knew that no one following them would have been able to see anything beyond the light of the lamp. He hoped they would follow the lamp-bearer. If there was anyone, which he doubted. Then again, he'd not expected the killer whore in the tavern either.

He hustled the woman to the end of the alley and through into the next street.

"This way," he said curtly and led the way down the street at a brisk pace. A few minutes walk brought them to a neighborhood of townhouses. Eustace paused as he sought for the correct one and then walked up the steps to pound at the door. It was opened by a negress with a candle who, after seeing his face, reluctantly opened the door. Eustace stepped through and brought Carolina in with him.

"Bring towels and hot water to my room," he instructed the woman in French. "As always, I am not here," he said as he shepherded Carolina up the stairs and down a short hallway to a room and closed the door.

The room bore far more of a resemblance to a study than a bedroom. And that is what it had been before Eustace bought the property. It's conversion was recent and owed it's inception to politics. The Francophone population of New Orleans had weathered the war years well enough. But as the United States mobilized for war against the French Empire in Mexico they were increasingly hearing the baying of hounds. Rumors of taxes and confiscations swirled through the streets of the city. It had been simple to invest his money in real-estate in such an atmosphere. The Francophones were only too glad to sell their properties to an American who would continue to let them live in them for a small rent and the promise that they could buy the properties back in the future. And it had given Eustace access to rooms with far greater security. Such as this windowless former study.

He began stripping off his wet clothing.

"Hot water and towels are on there way," he announced on the slim chance that Miss Bonnechance did not speak French. "There are robes in that closet. I intend to avail myself of them."

 

[laceandcogs]

Carolina -did- speak French. It's just that right now, she didn't feel like speaking anything. From the moment Eustace had swept her into the alley, she had felt a steadily rising heat in her blood, and a matching bright flush to her cheeks. It certainly looked pretty...if one's gaze didn't make it all the way to her eyes.

Those gorgeous globes of green and blue looked -furious-. Her anger at being outsmarted and strongarmed was nearly blinding, and the only thing worse was the fact that she was still interested in this man and his surprises! Delicate hands in white-knuckled fists at her sides, Carolina glowered at Eustace, who seemed completely unaware- or unimpressed. It was difficult to decide which of the two options would most inflame her temper.

How fortunate for Eustace that Carolina had learned a very important lesson regarding her anger- if she did not master it, it would quickly master her. A slow exhalation of breath and a deliberately bored expression later, Carolina began to unbutton her shirt, each fury-quick snap of her fingers exposing another inch of perfect porcelain skin, followed by sleek, richly brocaded black satin. The jaw-dropping beauty of her fiercely subdued curves became evident quickly as Carolina shed the remains of her soaked and clinging clothes, leaving her in that frustratingly high-lined corset and a pair of white cotton bloomers, twisted and tucked to lie taut to her coltish thighs.

Carolina kicked off her flats, a well-practiced flip of her toes sending them sailing easily into one hand. With studied casualness and a much more genuine lack of modesty, she strutted to the wardrobe Eustace had indicated and took her time selecting a robe.

 

[Otto26]

There were whores Paris who would pay dearly to have half the self-confidence Carolina displayed, Eustace thought. This was not the delusional confidence of innocence, complete unawareness of the effect of the female form. Neither was it the practiced self-confidence of the seasoned prostitute, beyond caring about self-pride. No, this was a woman who knew what effect she could have on men and was comfortable wearing that knowledge like a fine cloak. Her unmentionables clung to her skin like a caress and the high corset... How tantalizingly sophisticated! He actually found it an effort not to stare. But he managed. There was time for that later. When that lovely body was released from it's prison and allowed to glory in it's freedom. Yes, he'd stare long and hard then. But first...

He finished stripping off his own clothing, leaving his own unmentionables on, and took a cloak from the closet, brushing by Carolina in the doing. He pulled the silk garment on and tied it shut. His body, he knew, was in excellent physical condition courtesy of daily yoga and a lifestyle that was adventurous when need be and athletic when possible. But unlike Carolina's porcelain perfection, his flesh was more than a little marred. The scars were numerous and the large burn scar on one side of his abdomen was frankly unpleasant to contemplate. He thought the tribal markings on his left shoulder were rather dashing, but some women found the black markings off-putting.

He crossed the room to a large steamer chest, knelt next to it and slipped a cover aside. Inserting his whole hand into the lock, he made the appropriate combination of gestures and then rotated his arm ninety degrees. The lock released and the lid of the chest seemed to jump slightly. He removed his hand from the lock and opened the chest. The counter had not advanced since last he'd opened the chest so he pulled the switch beneath it to safe the final security device. This done, he removed the top drawer and it's minor wealth of pneumatic air weapons. From within the lower layers he removed a bundle the size of two large, flat hands. He set this on the floor and then replaced the top layer of the trunk, pulling the top down but not closing it.

Rising to his feet he took the bundle to the table and set it down to pull the cover away. The device within was not entirely impressive upon first glance. It was bronze and dull and covered with strange markings and... that was all. Yet, upon closer examination, it became apparent that this was an old, old object. The markings were worn as might be steps by the passage of people climbing them. And the device was intricate. So intricate that one might not notice the hair-thin gaps between the markings, as if they were intended to move up and down. An observer might even conclude that the gaps would not be visible if the device was not so worn.

"I discovered this," he began, but a polite knocking at the door interrupted him. The negress was at the door with a large washbasin. Within were towels and a pitcher of water. Eustace thanked her and took the items from her. He closed the door to her curious eyes. Having taken care to block the view with his body, he was certain she'd seen nothing. Turning, he walked over to where Carolina stood next to the table and gently pushed her back into the chair. He took a knee and set the wash basin in front of her. Emptying it of towels and pitcher he slid a hand behind her ankle and ran it up her smooth flesh to just below her knee, lifting it and placing it into the bowl. He repeated this action with her other leg, his eyes upon hers the entire time. Checking the temperature of the water he then poured in enough to cover her feet.

"What do you think of it?" he asked quietly as he stood. The device had fascinated him when he'd first had a chance to study it. Entirely self-contained it seemed to do absolutely nothing, but the small catches at the back of it had hinted that it was meant to be attached to something. Eustace suspected it was a key, but he didn't know what the key was for. Or where the lock might be. He thought he knew how to find out, though. Visiting the chapter-house of the Order of St. Eligius, the 'mechanical monks' was why he was here. He'd heard of their library and their association with the Accademia dei Lincei.

 

[laceandcogs]

The same self-confidence that let her strut comfortably half-naked allowed Carolina to indulge Eustace in his urge to direct her. She let herself be pressed into the chair, and allowed her legs to be stroked and moved- well, that she enjoyed as well, but only because she was so cold, and the water so lovely! Carolina was certain, after all, that mysterious scarred Eustace was a fair match- but not a superior.

So she allowed herself to be pampered, her eyes narrowing slightly as she considered the heavy, intricate object. Those long fingertips stroked each mark absently, tracing the lines and etchings as the gears of her mind clicked along. These little swoops here, and the broad-based slashes...they put her in mind of something...

Frustrated by the elusive thought, Carolina leaned forward over the device, her hair brushing over her shoulder and curling across her cheek. She switched it away with an aggravated flick of her head, and though it fell almost instantly back into place, she chose to press on. "I think it's beautiful. And heavy. These... these lines remind me of something, but I can't for the life of me decide what. George should see this, Eustace."

The look she levelled at him from beneath the raven fringe of her bangs was deliciously conspiratorial. Somehow, it felt like she was seeking permission to share the device, allowing Eustace to hold this secret between them if he so chose. Had Carolina realized what she was doing, she would have found her typical brash, in-charge personality and painted it over this new indecision. It was unthought of to hide something from George- well, something useful, anyway- and simply insane to think she'd take orders from a man.

 

[Otto26]

"That is the general idea," he agreed, moving to sit in the chair opposite her. "I've a good deal of experience in enterprises of this sort and I've found them, without exception, to be fraught with danger. Your brother may be a stout lad, but he's no killer. I don't particularly need him to be killer, but I need him alive. Which is, I believe, where you come in."

He met her gaze and drove all thoughts of compassion, curiosity, admiration, and respect aside. He let the full force of his abominable lusts write themselves across his every feature, let blatant, arrogant contempt radiate from his posture and expression.

"But I am halfway convinced you're just another slant-eyed, bun gwai gei who talks big and can't make good on her boasts when the violence begins," he reached across and contemptuously slapped her. The term literally meant 'half ghost chicken', but in the vulgar patois of the Chinese ports it was a particularly vile way of saying 'half-breed whore'. Eustace knew the latter meaning and hoped it, along with the slap, was enough to provoke her. She might not know the meaning, of course, but Eustace doubted that. Emigrants from China were almost always from the coastal regions. And while Cantonese was the main language of trade, there was also Mandarin and any one of dozens of local variants on the two languages. But Eustace had found that profanity tended to be the common language of sailors; they could insult people wherever they went. And you had sailors in every coastal region he'd ever visited.

 

[laceandcogs]

Carolina accepted the slap almost... lazily. A half-smile seized her lips, though those beautiful eyes lit with truly savage bloodlust. She raised one hand with exaggerated slowness, carefully stroking the reddened flesh of her cheek. As if to investigate her fingers for blood, she tilted her head back and surveyed her fingertips.

"I assure you, Mr. Brown, when it comes to whorishness, I know no half-measures." Her voice was soft, slow, but the pronunciation had become dangerously perfect. If this was the calm before the storm, the storm was certain to be fearsome. Still, she had barely moved- and despite her half-dressed state, there was no visible tension to her muscles, no tightening of her fists or quickening of her breath.

Though the rage in her eyes had not cooled even a little, Carolina showed no sign of returning the offense. Her eyes returned to the device, ignoring him as you might a child who acted out to get your attention. In that slow purr, she spoke again.

"I can also assure you, Mr. Brown, that that slap was your first and last error, stumbled upon unwittingly in the course of developing a profitable and professional working relationship. Should you ever find cause to repeat such a regrettable and, thus far, forgivable mistake, you will regret it."

 

[Otto26]

Infuriating and fascinating woman! It was good to know she could control her temper. It wasn't something Eustace had suspected or expected and it would be invaluable in the coming days. Not that he knew with any true degree of certainty what the coming days held, but experience suggested that a capacity for self-control in the face of adversity was always useful. But it wasn't the information Eustace needed. He sighed quietly and relaxed his mien. The feigned contempt vanished, replaced by the growing admiration he felt. The lust, however, remained.

"That was far from my first mistake and I assure you it will not be my last. Nor will it be my greatest. While I do apologize for the rather boorish manner I used in attempting to gain the information I wanted, I make no apology for the attempt. And while what I learned was useful and interesting, it wasn't the the information I need. So."

He stood, untying the robe and letting it fall to the ground.

"I am going to rape you, Carolina. I assure you it's simply..." he paused, unable to bring himself to lie to the woman about something so personal, so intimate. No, he respected her too much to give her a lie on this subject. "While it is a matter of gathering intelligence, I must admit that I will take a great deal of personal pleasure in the doing. You're really a remarkably desirable woman. So. Defend yourself if you will or submit if you prefer and then we'll discuss how our partnership of the device shall proceed."

He placed his hands lightly against the edge of the table and pushed it back against her, putting enough weight into it to drive her back and off balance her, to tip her to the ground on her back.

 

[laceandcogs]

The really offensive thing about this, Carolina thought, is his damned predictability. With a light, short exhalation of breath, she shoved the table back against Eustace, banking on the fact that he would hardly have expected a change in his momentum. As the table caught her would-be rapist and erstwhile business partner in the stomach with a very satisfying "umph", Carolina permitted just the flicker of a grin to cross her lips.

Of course, no energy was to be wasted. Standing in a smooth, leaping motion, she continued to push the table until Eustace's feet couldn't keep up with the thrust, sending him to the floor. A single lithe hook of her foot flipped the furnishing onto its face- and atop her now-pinned opponent.

Both feet planted lightly but firmly as Carolina added her own weight to that of the table, with enough of a jump behind the move to drive a little breath from Eustace. Crouching, she looked down into his face with a light, friendly grin.

Which made the followup all the more suprising. Carolina punched him in the mouth, a blow designed to graze and preserve important things like lips and teeth while knocking a good dose of sense into its recipient. With that same little smile, Carolina gripped Eustace's jaw between her fingertips, pincering the flesh and bone so that he was forced to look into her eyes as she spoke in a maddeningly level tone.

"You want to fight, you tell me, jackass. Don't go around calling me names and threatening to rape me. It's unnecessary, theatrical, and frankly, unattractive. I can let you up now, and we can spar like a couple of adults, or you can remain on your self-destructive quest to imperil my chastity. Up to you, sweetcheeks."

 

[Otto26]

Eustace braced, twisted slightly, and then pushed, lifting the table and propelling himself out from under it. Carolina rode the table with barely a shift of her weight, landing balanced and poised. His hand found the discarded robe and tossed it quickly at her face as he rose behind it. Her sidestep was anticipated, but the kick was not. It missed him, of course. It was aimed at where his midsection would have been if he had stayed upright and would have been very discomfiting. He had gone low, however, throwing himself against her leg and bringing her to the ground. The leg that had flashed out in the vicious kick came back as a heel strike that sent a spike of pain through his back and her hands moved quickly and violently, attempting to punch, claw, slap, or rake as the opportunity presented itself.

In a way she emerged victorious; it was simply beyond him to subdue her without resorting to techniques that would have left visible marks. That simply wouldn't do. If nothing else, her brother would be moved to protect her and he'd get damn all assistance with the device. He might be willing to risk that, but it was also clear he'd have to batter her senseless if he wished to make good on his promise. He thought that entirely possible, but saw no point in it. Where was the joy in copulating with some semi-conscious lump of meat? The idea was entirely off-putting. Revolting even.

That emotion fed into his frustration and lent a slightly vindictive flavor to his last actions as he levered himself atop her with a skill born of twenty years experience and the natural masculine advantage of strength and mass and pinned her arms. "Spar?" he very nearly spat at her. "If I want to know if you've any skill I have only to look. But skill is like that enormous pistol your brother carries. You have to be able to use it. When lives are at stake and the clean lines have become a blur of pain, anger, and fear. That's what I needed to know," he growled, meeting her angry eyes without flinching for a long moment before rolling away and rising fluidly to his feet.

"Dress if you wish," he said and retrieved the device from where it had fallen. Wrapping it, he returned it to the chest and withdrew a rolled sheet of paper and another box.

"We'll go show your brother this sketch of the device and, come dawn, pay a visit on the Lynxes and the mechanical monks."

 

[laceandcogs]

Carolina collected herself from the ground with a movement that could have easily been called a dance. Her limbs rose and twisted in concerted grace, and the smirk that captivated those delicious lips seemed now to have become permanent.

"In the schools of Meihuaquan, we learn that there are no lines, Eustace. When you perceive no boundary, you experience no blurring. Every thought flows into every word, every word merges into every action." Indeed, as she spoke, Carolina stepped into her clothing, buttoning her shirt over that intoxicating corset, tucking it into her pants.

One delicate hand twisted her hair into a messy, coiled bun, the other working the pin in with that seemingly careless precision possessed by all women. Carolina walked to Eustace's side, her rolling feline walk combined with her bare feet to make her movements nearly silent. It was obvious, though, that she could have moved with complete silence, had she chosen.

Her eyes sought his, that half-smile softened slightly. "I enjoy a good fight, Eustace. I enjoy it...greatly." Lust flashed for a moment, low and hot in the mismatched orbs. "My anger and desire flow and mingle, as, apparently, do yours. I only hope that we both shall be able to master these tides."

Leaning in low and close, lover's-close, Carolina caressed the edge of the instrument. Her fingers moved in a sleek, light touch, delicate and spidery and rawly sexual with the motion. "At least until after we've met up with George."

Invitation. It hung in the air, promising, heavy. With a grin not unlike the Cheshire Cat's, Carolina stood and spun on her toes, flipping her shoes onto the floor four feet apart. With a twist and flip, she executed two perfect cartwheels, the apex of each bringing her foot into a shoe. A completely unnecessary backflip finished the little show, and she brushed her hands on her hips as she bee-lined for the door.

"Come along, Mr. Brown. We have so much to do!"

 

[Otto26]

Eustace took the time he needed to carefully close the chest. In many ways the chest defined 'home' for him. Relatively small, certainly in comparison to an actual house, containing things of value to him, and well defended. He had several in various places about the world. Some he would likely never see again, others, like this one, would aid him in presenting a strong front to the cold world. He realized his hand was resting lightly on the lid and chuckled.

He turned and walked to the door, joining Carolina there. A part of him disapproved of her antics, her youthful energy and lack of seasoning. One simply didn't invest un-neccessary energy in such flamboyancies. You saw the heart of the matter and moved to seize it or force it into a position in which it could be seized. And you saved your energy for the unpredictable which was, oddly enough, predictable in it's constancy. Something always went wrong and then you'd need that energy to survive it.

Still... there *was* such a thing as style. And if he was old enough to be sour about youth and enthusiasm, he was still young enough, and man enough, to take pleasure in it. She would miss something or fail to act quickly enough or decisively enough or respond to the wrong matter in the wrong order. And what of it? He'd done just so in the past and was sure to do so in the future. She'd the energy and the potential to survive most messes.

Besides, it was impossible for him to remain annoyed for long in any case, and certainly not when faced with such an interesting woman. He took her arm as they exited the room, brushing past the negress who audibly gaped at the mess behind them.

"The drawings are rather crude, Carolina, and that's by design more than lack of skill. While I believe you may be familiar with the Order of St. Elegius, you are unlikely to have heard much of the Academy. The Lynxes came into existence shortly after the Black Plague ravaged Asia and Europe. Official records, of course, show they were founded in the Renaissance and, curiously, disbanded shortly thereafter. Whatever the official records show, the Lynxes continued to exist. There are mentions of them, perhaps allusions would be a better term, in countless documents. Officially they were and are the Vatican's advisors on technical matters. Unofficially?

On that matter there is a great deal of speculation and very little in the way of evidence. One thing that is known for certain, the Lynxes gather information on everything having to do with the sciences."

The rain had diminished to the point that it was nothing more than a heavy fog, nevertheless, Eustace tucked the rolled document under his coat as they descended the steps into the street.

"Everything," he emphasized. "No scientific theory or paper is too mundane or too outrageous to escape their attention. As the Jesuits are to matters of politics and civil affairs, the Lynxes are to matters of science. In this regard they are able aided by the Mechanical Monks. The Order of St. Elegius you and your brother will have no doubt heard a great deal about, even dealt with on many occasions. The servants of the patron saint of the mechanical arts are as numerous as the desert sands in any place where the mechanical arts are studied. Good men for the most part. A trifle misogynistic, perhaps. But they have their sources in every mechanics and engineers guild or trade association in the world."

The streets were well and truly soaked and the mud seemed particularly bad in the darkness. He walked slowly, conscious of the fact that she could probably make better time unencumbered by him.

"Another thing known about the Lynxes is their fondness for archaeology and found devices. Were we to march in and present the device itself, I feel certain that neither it nor we should ever leave. Likewise, were we to present them with detailed drawings of the device. Certainly they would wonder where we were able to obtain such detail. But crude drawings? I suspect they will wish to know more and seek to employ us as their stalking horse. Properly supervised by one of their number. The man will be presented as assistance, of course, but he will be their spy.

One of our tasks will be to gain as much actual assistance as we can from the man whilst giving them the least amount of information in return. Your specific task, in this regard, will be to shepherd your brother. He will need to examine the device, but he musn't let the spy see it, nor should he impart too much information. It may be best to lie to him, at the beginning, and let him think we only have the drawings."

He left off at this point to give her time to consider. The Majestic Arms drew into sight and he ushered her into the light of the lobby whilst his eyes were busy scanning the shadows on the street for any signs of watchers. He found none which, frankly, did little to settle his suspicions.

 

[laceandcogs]

Carolina had much to consider after listening to Eustace's explanation. It wasn't the monks that were going to be a problem- playing dumb was one of Carolina's many strengths, especially if she was already dolled up in a typical female getup. It seemed as though that may be in order, and the idea made her nose wrinkle with distaste. Her drag wasn't good enough to pass muster, and in a situation where they were expected to look as innocent as possible, parading along in her usuals would be counterproductive.

It was enough to twist her pretty little lips into a frown, one that only deepened as she began to understand that lying to George was inescapable. It wasn't that he was naive, just...honest. Too honest. And stuffed fat and lazy on the milk of human kindness. George expected that everyone would behave with decorum and decency, and never failed to be stunned by his own disappointment. If he knew the truth, he would tell it, especially to a fellow egghead...and it seemed that the Lynxes may be dangerous eggheads at that.

Besides, she had frequently told George...versions of the truth. For example, that gentleman -was- helping her with her coat. He was just helping her take it off, which, to be fair, was exactly the help she had requested. Or when he asked her if she had been good last night, and she had said "Yes, and I had fun, too", with her most innocent little-sister smile. The second clause had been entirely true- it always was. The first clause meant not "good" as in "chaste", but "good" as in "at what I was doing".

As she separated herself from the cloud of these thoughts, Carolina found herself once again in the main room of the Majestic Arms, still with Eustace. Her return prompted a nod and a grunt from the barman, which, for him, was positively effusive.

"Give me five minutes before you come up. Room 6." Carolina pressed a key into Eustace's hand and made her way up the stairs. Many pairs of male eyes in the room followed the ascent appreciatively for as long as possible...but none quite so lingering as Seamus'.