Read Online The Steampunk Trilogy by Paul di Filippo - Free Book Online
Authors: Paul di Filippo
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cry.
Cowperthwait could think of nothing to say or do except to mutter a useless apology and leave.
Finding the privy, he relieved his bladder. What a farce life was, he thought as he piddled. Missing queens, newts on the throne, Sapphic saviors. . . .
Ruefully buttoning his fly, Cowperthwait returned to the main salon.
The current piece of music was just ending. Cowperthwait was startled to see McGroaty standing next to the piano. A borrowed fiddle was tucked under his chin.
“Ladies and gents, pick up yer feet. Yer about to be ennertained by some authentic Virginny foot-stompin’ reels. Hit it, Wolfgang!”
McGroaty immediately began an enthusiastic sawing, the pianist managed to master the beat, and the floor was soon filled with energetically twirling couples. Cowperthwait found himself engaged by a red-haired whore and spun about. Reluctant at first, he found the lively music to be just the tonic his tired blood needed, after the dismaying revelation upstairs, and he was soon performing more spiritedly than anyone. Within minutes the dancers had stepped back to form a circle at the center of which Cowperthwait and his enthusiastic partner performed.
Cowperthwait’s head was spinning. He couldn’t remember when he had felt so wonderful. Damn all his troubles! By God, he’d give everyone a show! He hoped Otto was watching. Picking up his partner by the waist he began a particularly acrobatic maneuver. At that moment, two things happened simultaneously. From the spectators a disdainful voice said, “What an ignorant and savage display—” At the same instant, Cowperthwait lost his footing and launched his partner out of his sweat-slick hands and through the air.
After Cowperthwait had picked himself up off the floor and dusted himself off, he thought to look for the red-haired girl.
Her fall had been inadvertently cushioned by the body of Lord Chuting-Payne, who in so doing had lost his nose. The dead tissue and gaping holes in the center of face were revealed before the whole room. Strong men fainted and woman screamed.
Chuting-Payne calmly accepted his nose back from Gunputty and stuck it back on his face. Unfortunately, it was upside down.
“Dawn tomorrow at my estate, Cowperthwait. Your choice of weapons.”
Watching the misassembled nobleman haughtily depart, Cowperthwait wondered briefly if he could convince Chuting-Payne to agree to flying sword-canes at fifty paces.
6
TREACHERY AT CARKING FARDELS
I N THE FLICKERING light of a candle, Cowperthwait peered into the looking-glass atop the chiffonier in the hallway and nervously adjusted his cravat. It wouldn’t do to meet his predictable death looking less than a fashionable gentleman. He wouldn’t give Chuting-Payne the satisfaction of standing over his corpse and uttering some cutting remark about the failings of his haberdasher.
A door creaked. In the mirror, Cowperthwait saw McGroaty appear behind him, carrying a package wrapped in oiled cloth. He turned.
“It done took me some time to find where I laid it up, but here it is.”
“Here what is?”
“The key to you blowin’ that dirty skunk offen the face of the earth.” McGroaty began to tenderly unwrap the object within the greasy rags. Soon lay revealed an enormous weapon, a product of the Colt Arms Manufactory in Connecticut. The gun had a barrel as long as loaf of French bread, with a bore of commensurate diameter. The chamber appeared designed to hold projectiles the size of Cowperthwait’s fingers.
The naturalist attempted to pick up the pistol. He found himself unable to heft it one-handed, and perforce had to grasp the giant’s weapon with both. He made as if to draw a bead on the stuffed orangutang at the hall’s end. His arms shook with the effort of supporting the pistol’s weight, and the gun barrel wavered through an arc of several inches.
McGroaty was smiling earnestly at Cowperthwait’s target practice. (Those teeth of his not missing were
Cowperthwait could think of nothing to say or do except to mutter a useless apology and leave.
Finding the privy, he relieved his bladder. What a farce life was, he thought as he piddled. Missing queens, newts on the throne, Sapphic saviors. . . .
Ruefully buttoning his fly, Cowperthwait returned to the main salon.
The current piece of music was just ending. Cowperthwait was startled to see McGroaty standing next to the piano. A borrowed fiddle was tucked under his chin.
“Ladies and gents, pick up yer feet. Yer about to be ennertained by some authentic Virginny foot-stompin’ reels. Hit it, Wolfgang!”
McGroaty immediately began an enthusiastic sawing, the pianist managed to master the beat, and the floor was soon filled with energetically twirling couples. Cowperthwait found himself engaged by a red-haired whore and spun about. Reluctant at first, he found the lively music to be just the tonic his tired blood needed, after the dismaying revelation upstairs, and he was soon performing more spiritedly than anyone. Within minutes the dancers had stepped back to form a circle at the center of which Cowperthwait and his enthusiastic partner performed.
Cowperthwait’s head was spinning. He couldn’t remember when he had felt so wonderful. Damn all his troubles! By God, he’d give everyone a show! He hoped Otto was watching. Picking up his partner by the waist he began a particularly acrobatic maneuver. At that moment, two things happened simultaneously. From the spectators a disdainful voice said, “What an ignorant and savage display—” At the same instant, Cowperthwait lost his footing and launched his partner out of his sweat-slick hands and through the air.
After Cowperthwait had picked himself up off the floor and dusted himself off, he thought to look for the red-haired girl.
Her fall had been inadvertently cushioned by the body of Lord Chuting-Payne, who in so doing had lost his nose. The dead tissue and gaping holes in the center of face were revealed before the whole room. Strong men fainted and woman screamed.
Chuting-Payne calmly accepted his nose back from Gunputty and stuck it back on his face. Unfortunately, it was upside down.
“Dawn tomorrow at my estate, Cowperthwait. Your choice of weapons.”
Watching the misassembled nobleman haughtily depart, Cowperthwait wondered briefly if he could convince Chuting-Payne to agree to flying sword-canes at fifty paces.
6
TREACHERY AT CARKING FARDELS
I N THE FLICKERING light of a candle, Cowperthwait peered into the looking-glass atop the chiffonier in the hallway and nervously adjusted his cravat. It wouldn’t do to meet his predictable death looking less than a fashionable gentleman. He wouldn’t give Chuting-Payne the satisfaction of standing over his corpse and uttering some cutting remark about the failings of his haberdasher.
A door creaked. In the mirror, Cowperthwait saw McGroaty appear behind him, carrying a package wrapped in oiled cloth. He turned.
“It done took me some time to find where I laid it up, but here it is.”
“Here what is?”
“The key to you blowin’ that dirty skunk offen the face of the earth.” McGroaty began to tenderly unwrap the object within the greasy rags. Soon lay revealed an enormous weapon, a product of the Colt Arms Manufactory in Connecticut. The gun had a barrel as long as loaf of French bread, with a bore of commensurate diameter. The chamber appeared designed to hold projectiles the size of Cowperthwait’s fingers.
The naturalist attempted to pick up the pistol. He found himself unable to heft it one-handed, and perforce had to grasp the giant’s weapon with both. He made as if to draw a bead on the stuffed orangutang at the hall’s end. His arms shook with the effort of supporting the pistol’s weight, and the gun barrel wavered through an arc of several inches.
McGroaty was smiling earnestly at Cowperthwait’s target practice. (Those teeth of his not missing were
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