Rhett Steamrun
~Tales
of Ithiria~
Written
by: April Wahlin
Edited
by: Talese Shertzer
~
The
night air was filled with fog so thick one could hardly see a hand in
front of their face, let alone a gang of boys lurking across an
alleyway. This particular passage was especially dim—one of the few
in the Industrial Domain still lit with gas lamps instead of electric
lights.
Everett
waited patiently for their target to reach the flickering street lamp
on the corner. That's when he would give Glasser the signal.
Everett
often spent his nights scouting wealthy areas for the boys to pick
pock in. It was their way of life. But lately it had become tiresome.
It wasn’t that Everett had suddenly developed a moral outlook on
stealing. The rich horded their wealth and could afford to lose a few
coins—especially in the Industrial Domain. Industrialites
spent ridiculous amounts on trinkets and baubles designed to assist
with tedious tasks like brushing teeth and knotting gold-embossed bow
ties. Everett heard there was now a machine designed to tie shoes!
Citizens of the Industrial Domain had actually grown too lazy to bend
over their own stuffed bellies. What was this bloody world coming to?
Everett
never felt bad for stealing, not when it was between a new necklace
for an air-headed Industrialite or a meal for him. But he had never
relished the taste of harming others. However, theft kept him fed,
healthy, and even funded his experiments.
As
Everett checked the pocket-watch in his waistcoat, he felt twitchy.
He always felt that way before something bad happened. Tonight, he
had an idea of where that bad wind may be blowing.
Glasser.
Normally, he and his brethren kept a low profile when
thieving. They only targeted those who looked like they could afford
it. No more than a couple targets a week, and never in the
same spot. Ignoring these rules was exactly how people got caught,
and Glasser was growing dangerously close to that line.
Glasser
had been pushing high-end hits in the same wealthy areas. The others
said nothing because of the payout. The upstart had even roughed up
the last couple of targets, leaving them with black eyes, even a
broken arm in one case. There had been a small blurb about it in the
back of the local paper, Industrial Highlights. They weren’t
exactly making headlines, but they were garnering attention, which
was both foolish and dangerous.
Ever
since hitting puberty, Glasser had been reckless. Their patriarch,
Varlet, had warned them about the powerful effects of hormones. He'd
said that the onset of manhood was a delicate time in which it was
the most important—and the most difficult—to keep a level head.
Glasser was not adjusting well to this transition. Then again
the boy rarely listened. Everett was only sixteen, but he heeded his
lessons and learned fast, faster than the other boys. And definitely
faster than Glasser.
The
flash of an emerald necklace caught his eye, pulling him back to the
here and now. Their target had reached the softly hissing lamp-post.
This was the signal point. Everett pulled a flint lighter from his
vest and flicked it once as she turned onto the side street. Almost
instantly, his four companions, headed by Glasser, hurried into the
alley after her.
Everett waited a moment, making sure the street was
deserted, and followed the boys into the sideway. He could faintly
hear the woman struggling as he approached.
“We
got it,” one of the boys called as they rushed past with the
necklace. “Best hurry back to the Boiler Room, it's getting late.”
“What
about Glasser and Hodge?” Everett asked.
“They
said they’d meet us. Don't worry about them, we got
the jewels,” the other boy insisted as they hurried off into the
fog.
Everett
moved to follow when he heard muffled screaming from the passage
behind him. Were Hodge and Glasser still holding the girl?
Cautiously, Everett stepped back against the heavily shadowed wall
and crept forward. When his eyes finally adjusted to the dim
alleyway, he spotted three figures in the mist. Something was wrong.
“Hurry
up then,” Hodge whined at Glasser impatiently. “How many more
valuables could she possibly have?”
“Quite
a few,” Glasser called in a dark tone. “Why don't you run along.
She won't put up a fight. Will you, dearie.”
“You
never leave a brother without back up. Rule number one,” Hodge
insisted.
“Just
go!”
“If
you get into trouble, Varlet'll take it out on me.”
“Do
it! And if I find you've told anyone, I'll have your head on a pike.”
Without
another word Hodge ran off, passing Everett without so much as a
blink of an eye. Silently, Everett approached Glasser and the target.
When he finally reached them, anger rose in his cheeks. It was now
clear exactly which valuables Glasser was after—the
degenerate was fussing with the lady's skirts. Everett could put up
with the attitude, even the violent tantrums, but this was the last
straw. Someone had to teach Glasser a lesson.
Everett
unhitched a leather case at the side of his belt and gently turned a
small crank, initiating the chain reaction. He only every used the
defense mechanism in emergencies, but Glasser was spry. Who knew what
he would do when confronted. A gentle humming—taut with unseen
energy—coursed through the line that ran up his back, over his left
shoulder, and down to his hand.
His
steps were careful as he approached the struggling pair; one wrong
move and the blade Glasser had at the girl's throat might slip.
Everett
knew he would get the drop. Glasser was too busy fussing with her
knickers and from the look of things, he had gotten tangled in her
petticoats. Everett was suddenly glad it was fashionable for
Industrialite women to wear so many flouncy layers.
In
an instant, he snatched Glasser's dagger and placed a hand to the
heathen's neck. The bright electric current dropped Glasser to the
ground before he could utter a word.
“Run,”
Everett told the girl. Without a word, she gathered herself and
hurried down the way, wailing for the police once she reached the
open street.
Glasser
lay on the cobblestones struggling to regain the use of his muscles.
Everett would have to adjust the power next time, the scoundrel was
already coming around.
“What'd
you do that for?” he muttered, his words fuzzy as his lips proved
uncooperative.
“You
went too far this time, Mate.”
Everett
dragged Glasser to the nearest gas lamp, removed a thick wire from
his belt, and bound him to the post.
“Let
me free and I'll let you continue breathing,” Glasser hissed.
“I
don't think so. You've broken too many rules. You're a danger.”
“Your
stupid tricks won't keep me here long.”
“Long
enough. That wire is tested up to three hundred pounds. You aren’t
even a buck fifty.”
“I'll
tell the Varlet. You don't turn on a brother.”
“You
aren’t my brother. Too long you've gotten your way and now it's
time to pay the piper. Maybe some time in lock-up will teach you how
to behave. Good luck ratting me out from a jail cell.”
“Jail?”
Sirens sounded and hurried footsteps echoed down the alley next to
them. “Let me go!” Glasser panicked. “I'll pay you anything. I
have a stash under the loose boards beneath my mattress. You can have
half!”
“Not
this time. Give the boys in stripes my regards.”
“You're
no better than me, Steamrun! You're no better!” Glasser's yells
faded as Everett hurried out the side road, down a few narrow
passageways, and finally out to the docks. Everett knew his moral
compass didn't exactly point north, but he couldn't stomach the abuse
of innocents, no matter how spoiled and petulant they may be.
~
Everett
sat at the air dock, his satchel close at his side. Glasser had a lot
more stashed under his bed than he'd thought possible. The boy must
have been cheating Varlet for years. It would be more than
enough for a new start. He would have to change his name though.
Glasser wouldn’t stay in jail forever and Everett knew enough of
the boy to know he was not the forgiving type.
A
sister at the orphanage he'd been raised in used to call him 'Rhett.'
Perhaps it was time for Everett's story to end and Rhett's story to
begin.
The End
