Iron Quill - Identity Crisis; Another Opening, Another Show

[admiralvorkraft]

Another Opening, Another Show

Words: 1750

Ingredients: All (some are kind of a stretch...)

Questions, comments and critiques are all more than welcome.

 

Call me Miss Direction. I’m seduction in sequins and as out of place on the docks as an exorcist at the Golden Star, but when you get on the Southern Belle’s bad side you start picking up the black-mark jobs like this is one. Jobs nobody wants to touch.

 

That’s no reason not to walk like I own the place.

 

I ignore the catcallers that stagger out of the bars, and count off the quays as I pass. In two hours this whole area will be hungover, the whirring of mechanical limbs and the swearing of half-dead workers will break the mist-bound silence. But now? Now the docks are still alive, dangerous and noisy. Now even I can move unseen.

 

Quay thirteen, lucky me. The warehouse is around here somewhere. My eyes dart across the grim facades, prefabricated Earthside, planted by the earliest human colonists, painted on numbers fading into an endless wash of gray…

 

I’m used to picking out individual marks in an audience of unlit faces, and still I missed the men before it was almost too late. There are three of them, burly and not as drunk as they should be. Their movements are heavy with a stupid, cruel purpose.

 

“Hey little lady, looking for something?” The littlest one says, I peg him as their leader by virtue of his ability to string three words together.

The other two look like grunters.

 

“Just out for a stroll,” I say.

 

“Took a wrong turn did ya? Lucky you run into us, eh? Me an’ the boys’ll have ya back on the road in no time.”

 

“I’m sure your ‘boys’ have better things to do with their evening. I’d hate to make y’all go out of your way on my account.” Dammit, when Cass says "y’all" men melt, when I say it…

 

The leader laughs. Your loss. I miss the next few words he says, but his boys are closing around me. I know what they want, and I know how disappointed they’ll be when they find out what I’ve actually got between my legs - not that I mean to let them get that far.

 

“Wait,” I laugh a little, flirtatious, that’s the ticket, “I’ve got something better.” I reach back to let my hair down, “I keep it hidden…” I pluck my hairpin free and toss my head, even in the dim light I can feel their eyes drawn into the waves - I’ve always been proud of my hair.

 

While they’re all watching the show I shake my wrist and a soulstone falls into my palm. It’s a sliver of a thing, really, but it glows just the same. I let the hairpin swing between my fingers and tuck up against the back of my hand, out of sight. “See?” I show him the stone. My left hand is twirling a lock of hair.

 

That surprises him, “Ned, get it,” he says, and the slab of meat on my right comes closer, reaches his hand out…

 

My hairpin bites his wrist an his yelp of surprise becomes a snore before he hits the ground. I spin, hair flying, the other brute hasn’t caught up with events and I throw the pin, it lodges in his neck and he joins his friend on the ground.

 

The leader is staring at me.

 

“You were right about one thing,” I say, “I’m looking for something. Show me warehouse J-13.”

 

“W- why would you be looking for that?”

 

“Personal reasons.” But now I think we might be here for the same thing… I see his eyes flick to the right, Thank you.

 

I clutch the soulstone in my fist. I feel the heat seeping into my hand. I can’t do much, but I can do this. I start to sing, wordlessly and low. He’s floating towards me, feet barely touching the ground, his eyes roll back in his head. I plant a kiss on his forehead and step around him, he blows softly in the breeze as I slip around the corner. He’ll wake up with a hell of a hangover.

 

The door is already open a crack, and I can hear voices inside, a bang of falling boxes and someone cursing through gritted teeth. I hear a match struck and smell kerosene. I lean against the door and glimpse a sliver of the inside.

 

“...told you we need a light, there’s too much crap on the ground.”

 

“Okay, but keep it low and make it quick.”

 

“Not even a thank you?”

 

“No, just do the… I’m going to sit. I might have broken my toe.”

 

Two voices. One male, one female. They’ve known each other a while…

 

“Are you going to be okay?”

 

“We’ll get one of the oxen outside to carry the goods. What are you, my mother?”

 

“Someone has to be.”

 

The female voice is injured, the male voice is worried. The “oxen” are out of commission.

 

“Just keep looking.”

 

I slip through the door like I’m checking my props after the house has opened. Only instead of Cass yelling at me again I’m willing to bet

these guys have guns.

 

I follow the shadows around the edges of the warehouse. The woman is sitting on an open crate with a long rifle across her lap, while the man shuffles around stacks of wooden crates. “Iron, iron, iron… What’s this? Ah, more thrice-damned iron. Are you sure there’s something here?”

 

“Boss wouldn’t have sent me with if it was a bust.”

 

“Do I need to remind you who our boss is?”

 

“He may be the Guild’s least competent Sergeant, but he’s got a sixth sense when it comes to organized crime. And a seventh when it

comes to almost getting me killed. Keep looking.”

 

The rifle’s a problem. Not that I fancy my chances against even the one man if it comes to a straight-up fight. He has thrown aside his long coat, rolled up his sleeves, and I can make out the muscles in his arms from here as he pries the top off yet another crate.

 

“Remind me again why we’re in here, and the muscle is out there?” He says.

 

“Because there isn’t enough scrip in the city to weigh down tongues that stupid,” She answers, "I’m sorry I busted my toe."

 

“Not sorry enough to help.” I learned to throw my voice back Earthside, and copy other people’s voices, the journey through the Breach has made me better at both.

 

“What did you say?” The woman says.

 

“Nothing,” the man replies.

 

“Uh-huh, here I am covering your ass and you’re going to sass me because you don’t want to open some boxes?”

 

The man straightens up, turns around, he’s ready for a fight. I tune them out.

 

The crates are all labeled, with shipping dates and destinations, the seal of a Guild certified inspector, and the point of origination - a town called Promise. I remember the letter that came with my marching orders. Signed with the single letter B it said that the crates I want would have been stamped by one Samantha E. Algers, Engineer First Class.

 

I pick my way through stacks of crates; peering, searching. I find the crate in a pile of smaller boxes. I know it’s the one before I read the seal. It takes great care to make something look careless when it’s not, and I’ve been in the business long enough to know when someone is trying to play me.

 

I nudge the box, it feels loose in the stack, like someone has arranged the whole thing for an easy snatch-and-grab. I give it a tug and find that it’s heavier than I expected, no matter, if I can just work a board loose...

 

I get to work with one of the throwing knives Cass sent with me like they were some kind of worthwhile weapon. After a few minutes I’ve separated two of the slats and then all I have to do is lean. There’s a crack, and I realize that the others have stopped arguing.

 

I freeze, listen.

 

“Is there someone there?” The man calls.

 

“What do you think they’re going to say if they are?” The woman says.

 

“Point,” the man says, then louder, “Alright, I’m coming back there. Have your hands where I can see them.”

 

I can almost hear the woman rolling her eyes. The first bullet blows the corner off a crate to my left. I’m pretty sure that I’m safe behind the pile of iron-filled boxes, but now I’m in a hurry. I twist the knife and lean again and the slat breaks free. I excavate with the knife, pulling out bundles of straw and clots of sawdust until I can see something glowing there in the depths.

 

I say a prayer to the goddess of thieves and ne’er-do-wells as I plunge my hand in and pluck out one, two, three soulstones. They are heavy and almost perfectly round, a far cry from the sliver I’ve stashed back in my sleeve.

 

I can hear boots coming around the stack of crates. I have my proof, it’s time to go. I stand up and the second bullet cuts way too close to my face. Rifle-woman is on the move.

 

There’s an odd sort of calm that comes over me. The calm of my partner losing their lines in front of a hostile crowd, the calm of my fingers going numb as I try to work the lock in the water tank without the right skeleton key. I’ve been a lot of things since I crossed through the breach, things I never meant to be; a revolutionary, a spy, a killer. But in this moment everything is clear, I know who I am.

 

I’m an escape artist.

 

Everything in the world is a lock and a chain, a wall is no different than a straight jacket escape. The stones start glowing brighter. The wall behind me is mostly just empty space so long as I arrange the molecules just right. It’s no different than the tumblers in a lock, not really.

 

The man’s face is wonderful to see as he watches me slip through the cement and stone wall. I give him a bow.

 

Somebody is going to be mad to learn that soulstones are being smuggled through Malifaux city and down river without cutting us in on it. There will be killing of poor tormented souls. But right now? I’m whistling, high off the performance.

 

“Curtain’s up, away we go…”

 

[tinfoil]

Nicely done! I particularly like this part:

 

There’s an odd sort of calm that comes over me. The calm of my partner losing their lines in front of a hostile crowd, the calm of my fingers going numb as I try to work the lock in the water tank without the right skeleton key. I’ve been a lot of things since I crossed through the breach, things I never meant to be; a revolutionary, a spy, a killer. But in this moment everything is clear, I know who I am.

 

I’m an escape artist.

 

Everything in the world is a lock and a chain, a wall is no different than a straight jacket escape. The stones start glowing brighter. The wall behind me is mostly just empty space so long as I arrange the molecules just right. It’s no different than the tumblers in a lock, not really.

 

[Bogo]

Agreed.  I couldn't help but smile, thinking of "The Men Who Stare at Goats."  If only General Hopgood had a soulstone.

[admiralvorkraft]

I'm glad you guys liked it!

 

I had a lot of fun with the writing.

[Haunter]

Another top notch showing.  You've got a real knack for narrative voice that makes everything pop (at least for me).  My enjoyment of your linked stories is well documented, and seems almost redundant to mention, but I will anyway - yay for continuity!

 

I loved the line Their movements are heavy with a stupid, cruel purpose.  Lovely words.

 

There was a line that pinged my ambiguity detector: . I know what they want, and I know how disappointed they’ll be when they find out what I’ve actually got between my legs - not that I mean to let them get that far.   Is she trans?  a cross dresser?  Packing knives in uncomfortable places?    

 

I found her references to 'Cass' felt casual for someone in a position of authority over her (particularly one who seems annoyed with her).  Felt informal.  Was it meant to be familiar or passive-aggressive/defiant like calling your dad by his first name when you're a surly 14 year old?

 

The one bit that seemed jarring was the riflewoman opening fire.  One line the guy's going to check things out, and the next she's pinging shots dangerously close to our heroine's head.  I reread it, thinking I may have missed a line of transition.

 

Conversely, immediately preceding that was one of my favorite exchanges:

“Is there someone there?” The man calls.

 

“What do you think they’re going to say if they are?” The woman says.

 

“Point,” the man says, 

 

That made me smile.  Shades of Joss Whedon dialogue.

 

I really liked the revelation of her powers too.  Everything is a lock and key.  Nice.

 

A fun read and another great protagonist!

[admiralvorkraft]

The "Cass" usage was definitely supposed to be kind of passive-aggressive.

 

And Miss Direction was meant to be a bit ambiguous. I think she's a drag queen, she's definitely a counterpoint to a character I hope to introduce in the next story. But we'll see, you may not get to meet her for a while depending on the ingredients and where I decide to go next...