Bodacious Creed and the Jade Lake by Jonathan Fesmire
From Chapter Two //
Creed wanted to ride and think. He did this sometimes when upset, nostalgic, or too restless to sleep. Tesla bulbs in the streetlamps shone enough light that he saw color, but not much more. Johann moved at a trot, hooves clopping on the hardpacked earth. Here and there, Coconino sniffed the ground and yipped at his master. Creed would then offer a kind word or comment as if Coconino had shared a profound bit of wisdom.
Away from the lamplight, darkness covered the streets, and aside from a saloon near the end of Pacific Avenue where rowdy ranch hands and cowboys were finishing their drinks and shuffling out to ride home, all was quiet. The fading scents of a dozen meals drifted down. Jonny and Anna had improved his head unit last September, and that fully brought back his senses of smell and taste.
Lately, when not on an investigation, he felt self-conscious around crowds. Rebirth had changed him significantly. He was the same person inside, but outside, he was pale as a corpse. He never knew how people were going to look at him.
At the clock tower, Creed turned around. He found himself back at the Santa Cruz Municipal Wharf. Light from the waning half-moon and the faint lamplight along the pier shimmered on the bay and the foamy crests of the waves. Dozens of seagulls slept on the beach like little cream puffs, their heads tucked under their wings.
What Clem Balcom said about Anna…
Yes, his daughter had done what society required of her to survive. As a prostitute, Anna was working in secret on her first discovery, a way to tap into the luminiferous ether.
She would have been destitute if not for former madam Margarita Fullerton, who hired the inexperienced seventeen-year-old to work at The House of Amber Doves. She went through a dark time to get to the light.
What if Creed had searched for her, finding her years ago, living unhappily with Emilio and Loretta Boyd, the uncle and aunt who kidnapped her away from him? He could have taken her back, raised her, encouraged her to pursue her scientific bliss, and even helped her get into a college. Sure, few women made their way into higher learning institutions, but with Anna’s brilliant mind, there were countless possibilities.
Creed turned right again and whipped the reins, encouraging Johann into a faster trot away from the boardwalk and along Cliff Drive, so named for the cliff face over the beach. Several mansions, among them Miles Morgan’s, overlooked the ocean from this vantage point. Scattered cypress trees stood proudly at the edge of the bluff.
A mile from the wharf, Creed heard shouts and a woman screaming.
He kicked at Johann’s flank and the horse broke into a gallop. The lampposts here lit the road better than those in town, likely thanks to the rich families living along Cliff Street. With his keen hearing, Creed could gauge distance well. The sounds came from about a mile and a half southwest. A minute later, another scream rang out, this one male, then a gunshot.
Horses whinnied. Three broke from a stand on the right side of the road. The horses, valuable as they may be, did not concern him. He feared for the people.
Johann galloped on until they arrived at the stand of cypress. Before his steed slowed, Creed dismounted, leaping from its back to land in the brush at the roadside. Coconino rushed past him, then Creed broke into the woods.
Through the dim lamplight, Creed spotted three figures, two men and a woman. One man lay among the leaves, his neck twisted so badly, he appeared to be a giant, abused wooden doll. The other reclined against a tree, head forward, arms splayed to the side. To Creed, they appeared still, not even breathing.
The woman, however, lay on her back, both hands on her solar plexus, with dark liquid spilling out, breathing hard. Though he saw in shades of gray in low light, Creed recognized blood from a gunshot wound. Her breaths came out heavy, but she was at least alive.
Creed went first to the man lying in the leaves and felt for his pulse. Nothing. He did the same for the other. Both appeared dead. He noted one was white, maybe of German ancestry, the other Chinese. Both wore cowboy apparel, including bandannas. One still wore his bowler hat, and a Stetson lay several feet away.
He knelt beside the woman. “I’m here. I can help.”
“No help. Nothing can help,” she intoned in a heavy accent. Her dark hair spilled around her heart-shaped face and framed her eyes. Another Chinese person. He pulled her hands away while she said, “Are you Bodacious Creed?”
“That’s what they call me.” Behind his mask, he cringed at her wound. Could he get her to Anna in time? He didn’t think so. The bullet might have lodged in her spine, and moving her could kill her. If Anna or Jonny were here with the proper tools, they might stand a chance of stabilizing this woman.
A curious silver bracelet ringed her wrist. As Creed looked at her wound, she reached up and touched a similar necklace.
“I’m dying,” she said. “But, I got away.”
Creed lifted her as much as he dared, putting her torso in his lap and cradling her. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Thank you.” A tear spilled from one eye, then the other. “I was a slave for too long. No more.”
“What did you escape from?”
“Cow yard. You understand?”
Creed nodded. He knew about cow yards. His work as a marshal had taken him mostly around San Francisco, into unincorporated areas, while the police handled law enforcement in the city. He never dealt with parlors, brothels, bordellos, or cow yards.
Of all of the houses of ill repute, the cow yards were the worst, unadorned buildings comparable to farms where Chinese prostitutes worked. American slavery should have ended a decade prior. Not so in San Francisco. Shipments of girls as young as ten sailed in from China, and pimps and madams forced them into sexual services.
“Then her. She did this to me.”
Creed furrowed his brow. “Who did what?”
“I…”
“It’s all right,” Creed said, but her eyes closed. She breathed a sigh, then didn’t breathe at all. “Young lady?”
Beside him, Coconino whined. Creed’s gut clenched, and he leaned his head forward. His hat tumbled off his head as his forehead touched hers. This could have been Anna, or Maybelle, or any of the women in Anna’s employ. This woman…forced into sexual congress with strangers. He regarded her face, now at peace. Grief filled him. Even with mechanical eyes, his tears flowed.
Bodacious Creed and the Jade Lake will be released on August 7. You can preorder it at https://www.amazon.com/Bodacious-Creed-Jade-Lake-Adventures-ebook/dp/B099Z5B9S4.
JONATHAN FESMIRE lives in Anaheim, California, with his son. Though Jonathan started out writing fantasy, he has moved completely to steampunk, enchanted with its aesthetics, possibilities, and implications. He’s a fan of the stories, the art, and the gadgets, and enjoys interacting with the community. You can visit his website at www.jonathanfesmire.com.
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