Bodacious Creed: a Steampunk Zombie Western (The Adventures of Bodacious Creed Book 1) Read online

  BODACIOUS CREED

  A Steampunk Zombie Western

  JONATHAN FESMIRE

  Copyright © 2017 Jonathan Fesmire

  Cover art Copyright © 2017 Joshua J. Stewart

  All rights reserved.

  1st Kindle Edition

  DEDICATION

  Of all the wonderful people who helped me in various ways with this novel, one stands out, far ahead of the rest. My uncle, John, offered great encouragement from the start, and read draft after draft, commenting and fact checking. This would have been a more difficult endeavor without his commitment to helping me on his own time.

  Uncle John Perry, this book is dedicated to you.

  ALSO BY JONATHAN FESMIRE

  Fantasy Novels:

  Children of Rhatlan

  Tamshi’s Imp

  YA Fantasy:

  Amber in the Over World

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thanks to all the Kickstarter backers, who helped to make this book what it is! That includes Paul Fisher, Stephen Landry, Mike Joubert, Jennifer and Stephen Holm, Jennity, Stacia Schwartz, James E. von Hegner, Alex Willis, Doni Hogan, Tim Knight, Daniel Turner, D, A.P., Charley, Chris Luckwald, Gretchen Howell, Peter Okeafor, Wyng’d Lyon Creations, Professor Raven, Kenneth J. Weir, Walter Bryan, James E. Oliver, John Evans, Ishtar Dawe, Steven Savile, MelasLithos, Elizabeth Leggett, Scott and Michelle Rudell, Cliff Winnig, William Gunderson, Mary Corrington, Jason Burns, Steven Mentzel, Loni Martin, John Perry, Nate Lieby, Ruth and Roland Fesmire, and Rob Cantrell.

  CHAPTER ONE

  Anna Lynn Boyd served drinks with one of her doves, Karla Hotchkiss, and kept an eye on the saloon. She grabbed a cloth from under the bar and wiped down the walnut surface that captured the blurry reflections of her patrons. Cowboys, hostlers, ranchers, and factory workers gulped ale and whiskey and downed their meals. Today's specials included shark, tuna, seasoned beef steaks, rye bread, fresh corn, and red potatoes.

  With the supper rush well underway, The House of Amber Doves, Anna's bordello and restaurant, had come alive with its usual evening activity. The exquisitely carved clock on the wall opposite the bar read six twenty in the evening. On this first day of July, eighteen seventy-six, the sun would still be out for another hour or so. A cool breeze turned the hot day pleasant as it blew through the double doors, carrying with it the salty tang of the ocean.

  Anna went to the far end of the bar, where her companion, Jonathan Johns, sat reading a book and working his way through an omelet stuffed with ground beef and onions and drinking a beer. Just twenty minutes prior, Jonny had downed a sugared coffee. Anna's twenty-year-old lover kept strange hours, which suited her fine. She did, too. It meant they could work together downstairs or make love in her bed as they pleased.

  She took a moment to look over the short blond hair and long features she loved. He resembled an angel out of an El Greco painting. What's more, Jonny had proven a better lover than any of the men she'd entertained in her years as a dove. More important to her though, he was smart, damned brilliant, actually.

  The book lay flat beside his plate, so Anna tipped it upward to read the spine. The day before, Jonny had gone through the newspaper in ten minutes. He had started this novel in the morning and had nearly finished it.

  Jonny pushed the book back down and turned the page.

  Anna leaned close to Jonny's ear and whispered, “Mary Shelley, is it? Research?”

  Jonny winked at her then continued reading. Anna ran her fingers through his hair, over his left ear, and felt the bumpy, curving metal form, less than an inch long.

  Her invention had saved his life, but Jonny could no longer speak. He could nod and shake his head, so they enjoyed simple communication. He helped with schematics in the basement. With his skills, he could have been working directly for Morgan's Automatons, but he preferred partnering with Anna. Yet speaking and writing remained beyond him.

  Anna went back to the center of the bar and took a moment to assess the room. Karla might need help with the customers, or a table might deserve a visit from the parlor's madam.

  Past the stairs stood Lucky and Dixie, two security automatons. Several more of Anna's girls leaned on the second-floor banister, gazing down at the patrons, waving, and blowing kisses. At the back of the stage, Hattie, a buxom blonde dove in a fancy blue dress, played the piano.

  Meanwhile, singer Nate Lieby, his wild ginger hair and beard giving him the look of a fiery god, and his musical group, Whiskey Zombie Collective, tuned up violin, bass, banjo, guitar, and mandolin. The group frequently performed at Amber Doves and some customers came in just to hear them play.

  Lorraine Silver strode into the saloon through the front doors to chat up a man at the bar. Her sharp voice cut through the chatter, piano, and shuffling cards. Anna had learned to tolerate that voice but sometimes thought Lorraine should talk through a pillow to tone it down.

  “Howdy Lonzo,” Lorraine said, leaning against the bar, her hands on the big man's leg. “I think you're going to be a very busy man soon.”

  Lonzo Rivera smiled devilishly. “That right? That an invitation?” The deputy always had brothel coins for Lorraine.

  “Well yes, but not just that. Somebody just checked into the federal marshal office. Someone who means business wherever he goes.”

  At “federal marshal,” Anna, who had been pulling down new whiskey bottle, froze. She watched them in the mirror past her own reflection.

  “You don't mean James Creed?” Lonzo asked.

  “James 'Bodacious' Creed,” Lorraine said, emphasizing the adjective.

  “I do wish people wouldn't call him that. The man's done a lot of good, no doubt about it, but it makes you think of, I don't know, some sort of immortality. Like he's so brave nothing can touch him.”

  “Don't be jealous now, love.” Lorraine ran the back of her fingers down Lonzo's arm.

  As Karla turned, Anna shoved the whiskey bottle at her. “Well damn, Anna, what's got under your dress?”

  Anna walked around the bar and took Lorraine's hand. “Lonzo, I need to borrow my girl here for a minute.”

  “Be my guest, Miss Anna. Lorraine, you come back to me after.”

  Anna led the young woman past noisy tables to the stairs. The steelies, their polished hickory and steel bodies mostly still, watched as Anna walked past. Their rudimentary brains considered her safety their top priority.

  At the foot of the stairs, Anna stood with her left boot on the first step.

  “What is it, Miss Boyd?” Lorraine asked.

  “How do you know James Creed is in town?” Might this be Anna's chance to finally confront him? Highly self-educated, Anna felt no need for, nor faith in, prayer. Still, she held her palms together at her lips as though asking Jesus himself if this could be true.

  Lorraine's voice rose, even sharper. “I just saw him! The man is legendary and handsome. I mean, in pictures, sure, but in real life? Oh Lord.”

  “You follow him in the papers?” Anna asked.

  “I follow everything. It was him.”

  “Right, of course,” Anna answered. “Well, you better go back to Lonzo. You have fun with him.”

  “Always do!” With a peppy smile and a flip of her hair, Lorraine went back to the bar.

  Anna rushed out the front doors and turned left for Smullen's Stables and Livery, right across Soquel Avenue from The House of Amber Doves.

  Anna’s parlor was the tallest building along the street after the renovations late the year before,
right after she had bought the business from the former madam, Margarita Fullerton. Few knew the truth of how Anna had acquired the capital to buy the establishment and renovate it outright. Most people believed she had come into a big inheritance, and that’s how she wanted it. She couldn’t risk a backlash against the two companies she invented for, Morgan's Mechanicals and Morgan's Automatons. If the world knew that a former prostitute had ushered in a new technological age, what might it mean for her family of doves?

  At Ott Smullen’s stables, she waved to one of the horse tenders feeding a brown and white spotted mare. He nodded back, a signal that meant, “I see you. Go ahead and take your ride.”

  Anna strode down the row of horses, hay crunching under her boots, and reached her stallion, Espiritu, a black Saddlebred with white streaks along its back, almost like rib bones, and white patches on its face that gave the impression of a skull. Espiritu could look downright spooky at night.

  She had no time to saddle her steed, not if she hoped to make it to the federal marshal outpost while Creed might still be there, so Anna slipped on its bit and bridle, hefted herself up, her dress bunching between her legs, grabbed the reins, and guided Espiritu out of the stable, past the other neighing horses and the smells of manure and oats.

  “He’s here,” she whispered. The books he would read to her as a child. The secret code she’d invented and taught him. The hugs and laughter in front of their home's hearth back in Virginia, while her mother called them to dinner for chicken soup and homemade rolls. If only her mother could be there too, could return to life again just for a few days.

  Still, U.S. Marshal James Creed had come to Santa Cruz, California, against all probability. After years of hoping, Anna could finally see her father.

  CHAPTER TWO

  At the federal marshal outpost on Center Street, a tightly made building with a redwood-log exterior, Anna slid off Espiritu's back. The sun edged toward the low cliffs overlooking the Monterey Bay and already a slight violet glow graced the sky to the west.

  She hitched Espiritu to the post, fluffed her red dress, and pushed stray strands of hair over her ears. Anna walked up the stairs and in through the heavy redwood door, not bothering to knock.

  The large front room had a bulky desk and a table with chairs, and two paintings, one of the White House, another of the Grand Canyon. A young man in a slate blue marshal’s outfit sat behind the desk, looking over paperwork. Nicola Tesla's most popular invention, the marvelous light bulb, shined from a lamp on the left of the desk. The office smelled of toast and coffee.

  No steelies, though. The government was proving slow to adopt the new technology, something Miles Morgan wanted to change. An automaton couldn’t replace a man but could provide excellent protection. Red tape and a lack of trust held progress back.

  Anna recognized the deputy marshal as an occasional visitor of Amber Doves, though she had never learned his name. As he put down his mug, his smile toward her hinted at more than friendliness.

  “Miss Boyd, what a pleasure.”

  As madam of the best bordello in Santa Cruz, Anna’s name held weight. Would that help with the U.S. Marshals? Time had come to find out. Anna cleared her throat. “I understand that Marshal James Creed has come to town.”

  The door to the right opened and out stepped Bennett Nelsen. A marshal in his late thirties with a head of wavy brown hair, Nelsen had helped apprehend a criminal once at The House of Amber Doves. He whispered to the younger man. Anna tried to make it out, but Nelsen spoke too softly.

  He patted the deputy marshal on the back and returned to his office. Though he ignored Anna entirely, he left his door open.

  “I'm sorry, Miss Boyd,” said the younger man. “I can't divulge U.S. Marshal business to a civilian.”

  Anna adjusted the shoulders of her dress to hide her annoyance. “Is that how you’re going to play it, Nelsen? You think I want to seduce James Creed? You’re an idiot. You…” She stopped herself from saying, “…and your wife.”

  Heidi Nelsen, a very devout Christian woman, thought herself high above the prostitutes' social station. Never mind that Anna's girls had few options when it came to employment. Never mind that they made more money than most of the men in Santa Cruz. Heidi flaunted her self-righteous attitude and disdain for Anna the few times they had spoken at city events. Once, Heidi and a few of her churchgoing friends had come to Anna’s saloon to preach to her patrons. Hearing this, Anna had stormed from her bedroom down the hallway and shouted for them to leave.

  “It’s policy, Miss Boyd,” came Nelsen’s voice. “If you have a crime to report, you’re welcome to do that. We have no information for you.”

  Anna addressed the deputy marshal. “Thank you, young man.” She went outside and let the door slam behind her.

  Twilight bathed Center Street in grey-brown. A hundred yards down, a man used a pole to switch on a streetlamp, then walked to the next. Anna looked back into the window of the U.S. Marshal Post to make sure no one watched her and leaned her head against Espiritu’s side while patting its back.

  She hadn’t seen her father since she was six. If she could wait eighteen years, she could wait another day or two. In fact, she had an upcoming dinner with the mayor. Perhaps he could influence the marshals, and allow Anna a meeting with the famous Bodacious Creed.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Anna lay in bed beside Jonny, holding an extra pillow to her breasts, eyes shut but mind awake. She would see Creed, wouldn’t she? Would the mayor agree to help?

  After eleven, she stepped into their private bathroom and arranged her curly black hair to not look a fright. The air smelled like them both, faintly of Jonny’s sweat, more strongly of Anna’s rosy perfume. She slipped on a lilac robe to cover her undergarments. The late-night customers wouldn’t mind the madam dressed this way. Some might find it sexy, in fact, get ideas into their heads, and pay her girls for time upstairs.

  In the saloon kitchen, Anna opened the electric icebox and poured a glass a quarter full of milk from a bottle. At the bar, she filled it past the halfway mark with whiskey. She stirred it lazily with a spoon, hoping the drink would put her to sleep. Glass in hand, she returned to her room.

  She switched a lever near the door and the bulb above her bed warmed to life, shining across the quilt, feather pillows, and Jonny's face. He never seemed to snore, and always slept well. She held out the glass in a toast. “Makes one of us, lover.”

  Anna hung her robe, kicked off her slippers, and relaxed on her bed against the headboard. The drink both stung and soothed. After the last sip, she placed it on her night stand and lay down, hand on Jonny’s hip.

  Fire flared around Anna, then turned to darkness. She looked around, unsure where she was, until the dream faded enough for her to grasp reality. Fire had killed her mother. Anna had been reading, not an eighth of a mile from their cabin, among the rosemary pines, when her Uncle had come running into the woods and swept her up.

  “There’s been an accident. Your aunt and I will keep you safe,” he had said, his heart pounding, the sweat on his cheek brushing against her face as he carried her.

  Damn Creed! He had brought on these thoughts. Seeing him, though, might help her put them in the past. Anna fell back asleep.

  Shortly after six in the morning, she awoke. Her head felt heavy and a sense of bliss filled her when she closed her eyes. However, sleep refused to return. Her left arm lay across Jonny’s side of the bed. A shame, as a good half hour of sex might have brightened her mood. He would be in the laboratory, on a walk, or eating breakfast at the bar.

  She thought to unlock the trapdoor and look down stairs but decided not to bother. Her mind still felt too full for research. Instead, she bathed, donned a short dress and bustier that pushed up her breasts, and went to the bar. Best to be out there to support the doves.

  A rich rancher approached Hattie Kean at the piano around noon. He stood against the wall staring at her like a boy watching his first crush. Minutes later she le
d him upstairs. That ended the music for the time being but was great for Hattie, who earned more in bed than she did in tips for her music. Hattie played well enough to be a concert pianist, but Santa Cruz rarely had need of such.

  Anna couldn’t change that, but she did make sure her girls kept most of the money they made, much more than they had under Margarita Fullerton. Anna got her cut, but it all went to maintaining the parlor. She kept none for herself. Her secret profession as an inventor had made her rich and continued to bring in capital.

  Around three in the afternoon, the heavy smell of burned bacon came from the bar accompanied by light smoke. Anna started back to see what had happened when Marjory Smullen, the apprentice cook, rushed out the front door with the smoking pan. Anna dashed after her. Outside, Marjory tossed the bacon into the dirt, scooped water into the pan from a horse trough, first causing the flames to lick higher, and poured it over the smoking meat.

  “I'm sorry, Miss Boyd!”

  Marjory set down the pan and leaned over with hands on knees, panting. Light-brown locks hung from her temples, having escaped the bun at the back of her head. “I'm so stupid. I can't believe I let that happen.”

  A few younger men, and even Lorraine, stood at the door chuckling. Anna turned to them. “What's wrong with you all? Never seen a girl toss a pan of bacon before? Go on in. Have your drinks and your fun.”

  As Lorraine’s cheeks turned pink, she took the arms of two of the boys and urged them back inside.

  “Sit down,” Anna told Marjory, as she herself sat on the third stair. Still breathing heavily, Marjory sat next to her. “What are you, sixteen now?”