Carnal Passions Presents
Noble Metals
A Mittenpunk Novella
By
L. A. Witt
This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Carnal Passions
A Division of Champagne Books
www.carnalpassions.com
Copyright 2011 by Lori Witt
ISBN 9781926996752
January 2012
Cover Art by Amanda Kelsey
Produced in Canada
Carnal Passions
#35069-4604 37 ST SW
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Canada
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Smashwords Edition
Dedication
To Misa and the one who unknowingly inspired Mittenpunk.
One
The dark-haired stranger walked into the saloon, and every whore’s head turned, including mine.
It wasn’t that newcomers were unusual. I myself had come to town much the same way this fellow probably had. Like thousands of other stampeders, my brothers and I had charged to Seattle after someone sniffed out some gold in the Klondike. We were among the first to arrive in the swampy logging town sitting in a strip of mud between a lake and Puget Sound, ready to sail and hike north to stake our claims. Had our provision money not wound up in the pocket of a gambler and the purses of a dozen whores, I’d have been up to Canada’s Yukon Territory digging my fortune in the Klondike gold fields and back again by now.
But here I was, standing behind a bar with a glass and a rag in my hand, staring like a fool at the man who’d just wandered in from out of the rain.
Strangers were nothing new in this town, but this one was different. He carried himself like he was already on his way back from Dawson with a pocket full of gold. Even as he brushed off the sleeves of his heavy overcoat and held his hat outside the door to shake out the rain, he had a dignified air about him that didn’t usually find its way into Ernest’s saloon and Beatrice’s brothel.
Apparently satisfied his coat and hat were dry enough, he came all the way in through the door, carrying what appeared to be a heavy pack on his shoulders and a locked wooden box in his hand.
He didn’t have the same hunger in his eyes as the other stampeders. Oh, there was something in his eyes, like some fiery combination of determination and outright stubbornness, but he lacked the palpable gold fever so many men in this town had these days. Maybe he was an outfitter, come to stake his claim in Seattle’s market for provisions and lodging instead of digging in the gold-lined tundra. Or if he was truly ambitious, he might have come to elbow his way into the joke of a local government.
All I knew was, he wasn’t like the other men who came through here. I could just… feel it.
As he approached the bar, he strolled. I couldn’t decide if he looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, or if he was damned certain the rest of the world would be wise to get out of his way. In spite of the fact that my bed had been empty the last three nights, I couldn’t help shrinking back into the shadows and hoping he would—wouldn’t!—notice me. Whatever it was that made him so different from every man in this bar and card room, I wasn’t sure I could survive being alone with it. But my God, I’d have given anything to try…
Looking around the room, which was stuffy and warm compared to the bitterly cold rain outside, he shrugged off his pack, then his coat, revealing a finely embroidered waistcoat that had clearly been tailored to flawlessly fit his narrow waist. Aside from perhaps a day’s travel’s worth of a shadow on his jaw, he was clean-shaven, and his dark hair was only slightly tousled from his hat, which he set on the bar. He peeled off his leather gloves and laid them beside his hat.
Ernest, the bald, burly owner of the saloon, wasn’t so easily intimidated by finery and dignity. “What’ll it be?”
“Your best cognac, please.”
Oh, dear lord, he had a voice like the cognac he wanted.
Ernest laughed. “What city d’you think you’re in, son?” He gestured at the rows of uniform bottles on the wall. “Whiskey or brandy are the best you’re going to find here.”
The newcomer scowled, then made a dismissive yet so elegant gesture. “Whiskey will do fine. A double, please.”
Ernest beckoned to me. “Robert, get out here and pour the man a drink.”
“Yes, sir,” I murmured. I stepped up to the bar, and the newcomer met my eyes. We both jumped, staring at each other in something like disbelief. I couldn’t read his eyes any more than I understood my own reaction. He was hardly the first attractive man to come along. No one had ever made the floor shift beneath my feet with a glance, though.
Clearing his throat, he shifted his attention to Ernest while I poured his drink.
“I’m also looking for a room,” he said. “I’ll be gone tomorrow, headed north, so—”
Ernest sniffed. “You and every man in this town. Ain’t you heard the ground up there’s running out of gold? Every stampeder who’s come back through the last two months have been empty-handed.” We’d all heard the tales and rumors from those who’d been there. Some said it would all be picked clean by spring, and those who left now to struggle up that hellish pass into the Yukon would soon be weeping into frozen, barren soil for their trouble.
The stranger offered a tight-lipped smile. “I’m not concerned about that.”
Ernest regarded him curiously, but then looked at me. “How about that drink?”
I finished pouring the double whiskey, and slid it across the bar to the stranger. He met my eyes briefly, and his taut expression warmed to something a little friendlier. Then, once he’d again made the world list beneath my feet, he turned back to Ernest.
“So, a room?” he said.
“You’ll have to speak to Beatrice.” Ernest gestured across the barroom to where his wife, the brothel’s madam, sipped tea and peered at everyone. “She’s in charge of who occupies the rooms.”
The stranger glanced over his shoulder. Facing Ernest again, he said, “I don’t suppose there are beds available without company?”
Ernest shook his head. “Not in this hotel.”
“Very well.” The stranger nodded and raised his glass. “I’ll finish my drink and be on my way, then.”
Ernest walked away, but I may as well have been knee deep in mud. Just about the time I’d convinced myself I could and should leave this man alone with his drink, he looked at me. We held each other’s gazes for a moment, but this time, when he pulled his away, something flickered across his expression, like I’d had the same effect on him as he’d had on me.
Heavy boots tromped across the planks just outside the door, and out of habit, I looked up. The stranger did as well, and when three men appeared—just as well-dressed as, but perhaps a little less dignified than, the newcomer—he turned back toward the bar, swearing under his breath.
The other three talked amongst themselves, their voices low and their eyes darting toward the man drinking in front of me. As they took seats at the other end of the bar and flagged Ernest down for drinks, my patron casually turned just enough to keep his back to them.
His eyes flicked up and met mine. Lowering his voice, he said, “Any accommodations you can recommend?” He held my gaze as he took a long swallow of the drink I’d poured.
I cleared my throat. “I wouldn’t know. I’m staying—” I glanced up at the ceiling “—here.”
His eyebrows rose. The glass clinked on the polished bar. “Is that right?”
I nodded.
“Even with… company?”
I swallowed. “I don’t always have company.”
“Don’t you?” His lips slowly pulled into a grin. “Business isn’t booming these days?”
“Not always,” I said. “Better for the ladies than it is for me.”
“I see.” He sipped his drink again, then watched his long fingers cradle the glass a couple inches above the bar. “And how much do you charge?”
I gulped. Oh, dear lord, yes. “For the bed? Or the company?”
He looked at me through his lashes. “Either or.”
“Five dollars for the bed.” I almost choked on the words. “An extra three if I’m not in it.”
His expression turned to one of amusement, his broad smile crinkling the corners of his eyes. “It’s more expensive to sleep alone, is it?”
I gave a casual shrug in spite of my pounding heart. “If you sleep alone, I have to go find a place for myself.”
“Point taken.” His gaze darted toward the men who still eyed him from the other end of the bar. Then he drained his drink and slid the glass back toward me. “In that case…” He reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a few bills and coins. He counted out an amount, then put it beside the glass. A little louder this time, he said, “Fifteen cents for the drink, eight dollars for the bed. Unaccompanied, if you please.”
My heart sank, and I tried not to show my disappointment or take it as an insult he’d declined my services. Men who were interested in me were few and far between compared to those who came for the girls, so I shouldn’t have gotten my hopes up to begin with.
I collected the money and nodded toward Beatrice. “I’ll let her know you’ll be staying with us tonight.”
He just smiled. “Thank you.”
Once Beatrice had taken her cut and given me the rest of what the newcomer had paid, I offered to carry his pack and box, but he declined, hoisting the former onto his shoulder and clutching the handle on top of the latter in his hand.
I led him out of the bar area toward the stairs. The three well-dressed men noticed, all of them. A dingy mirror above the staircase revealed their frowns and stares as we crossed the card room. From the way they fidgeted and scowled, I was sure they might follow us, but they didn’t rise from their barstools, instead leaving the good-looking stranger to follow me up to the room from which he’d be evicting me this evening.
As soon as we were out of their sight, I wondered if I imagined the relieved breath the stranger released, and a knot tightened in my stomach.
Upstairs, amorous sounds came from Catherine’s room, and I was sure I heard Gladys’s voice in there too. Good. If they were working together tonight, as they often did, maybe I could talk Beatrice into letting me occupy Gladys’s room for a few hours.
Great. I had extra money without having to work for it, but with a man like this spending the night in my bed, there was no place I’d rather sleep.
As I led him down the hall, dusty amber bulbs dimmed and brightened along the crown molding like they were connected to my pounding heart instead of the wires and such that drew our electricity from the city’s hydroelectric plant. I told myself this man simply unsettled me. When finely dressed men casually pursued other finely dressed men into barrooms, there was reason to be concerned. Perhaps he was a criminal. More than a few thieves and crooks had swindled their way through Seattle to Alaska and up the deadly Chilkoot trail, sneaking across the border into the Yukon to escape their criminal charges or wreak havoc on the miners in Dawson City. The red-coated North-West Mounted Police didn’t always get their man.
But that wasn’t why my hands shook as I drew my room key out of my pocket. His presence made me nervous for the same reason his rejection pressed down on my shoulders: with a look, he’d made my spine tingle like most men couldn’t with a touch. That unsettled and unnerved me, but I wanted more.
This wasn’t like me at all. I wasn’t supposed to want a john like this, especially when he didn’t reciprocate. When he paid not to reciprocate.
I keyed open the door to my room, and gestured for him to go ahead. His pack was slung over his shoulder again, obscuring any chance I had of deciding how well-tailored his trousers were, which was probably a good thing. I didn’t need to torment myself any more than necessary. As it was, regardless of where I slept tonight or with whom, I had no doubt this man would be on my mind until dawn.
I walked past him and lit the kerosene lamp. “There’s an electric light in here. I’m not fond of it, since it blinks and dims all the time, but you’re welcome to it.”
“The kerosene is fine,” he said in that cognac-smooth voice.
I pulled open a bureau drawer to find a few things to take with me wherever I’d be sleeping tonight. Over my shoulder, I said, “I’ll leave the key here on the bureau. Beatrice asks that you’re out by quarter past nine in the morning, and—”
The door clicked shut. I turned around.
From across the tiny room, in the faintly flickering light, our eyes met.
Almost whispering, the stranger said, “Am I safe in assuming that paying your surcharge doesn’t preclude a night’s company?”
I swallowed hard. “I… what?”
“Merely keeping up appearances, my lad.” He set the wooden box on the floor, then eased his pack off his shoulders. After he’d draped his jacket over them, he took a step toward me. “There are loose lips in this town that can be heard all the way to Chicago, so three dollars is a small price to pay for a little discretion, don’t you think?” The three faces downstairs flashed through my mind, but vanished when his long fingers went to the first button on his waistcoat. “I assure you, I have every intention of using the services I paid extra not to use.” One eyebrow rose, as did the corner of his mouth. “Assuming that’s all right with you?”
I cleared my throat. “Um, of course. Certainly.” I couldn’t even figure out what to do next until, in a smooth mesmerizing motion, he pushed the first button through its keeper. As he unfastened the next one, I realized I needed to do the same, and reached for the first button of my white shirt. I dropped my gaze to avoid eye contact with him, and that was a mistake because my eyes flicked to just below his waistcoat. My mouth watered. With the way his erection strained the front of his trousers, I’d have given him back every penny and then some if he’d only fuck me.
My work was usually passionless, my body going through the motions like the provision-laden spidery brass mechs that marched through the streets outside on their way to Dawson City. Something about this man made me want this, though. Made me want to enjoy him.
Piece by piece, he removed all his high class silk and wool, and with each finely tailored layer, he stripped away my ability to think about anything except pleasing him any way he’d have me. He was the most beautiful thing that had come through Seattle in the last year, with shoulders cut from marble and a smooth chest and stomach above narrow hips. Sparse, dark hair fanned out from the middle of his chest, simply begging my fingers to run through it, and a thin strip below his navel guided my eyes below his belt a moment before his hands began unfastening his trousers.
My own hands were unusually clumsy. What’s wrong with you, Robert? No john had ever had this kind of effect on me, rendering me so stupidly useless I had only managed to remove my shirt and boots by the time he was completely, gloriously naked.
He didn’t mind, though. Stroking his cock slowly, he whispered, “Get on your knees.”
An all too familiar feeling of dread constricted my throat. There were few things that could make me gag more than orally pleasuring some of the unwashed men who spent all their money on brothels and not a penny on baths.
I swallowed hard and knelt in front of him. He’d paid for this. I wouldn’t deny him. His hand left his cock and rested in my hair as I dutifully took him between my lips. To my surprise, he smelled lightly of soap—he’d been to Smith’s for a bath, I could tell by the scent—and a spine-tingling masculine muskiness. His skin was vaguely salty, and he was almost too thick for my jaw to accommodate. I shivered and took him as deep as I could.
I’d never experienced such a thing myself—I always gave, never received—but I must have been doing it right. Men rarely complained anyway, and this man’s growls and groans of approval made my own trousers almost too tight to bear. Delirious sounds spilled from his lips, and I gave him all the enthusiasm I gave every man who’d been in this room, except it wasn’t false with him. I’d only known a man’s touch when there was money exchanged, and I’d never wanted a man like I wanted this one. The money didn’t matter. I wanted him to be satisfied with what I did because I wanted to please him, not because he’d paid me.
This had never happened before. I couldn’t question it, though. I was simply too aroused, and too occupied with giving him the sum total of everything I’d learned in the last year, every way I’d learned to make a man cry out for more.
“Wait, stop,” he said in a hoarse whisper. I rocked back on my heels, and when I looked up at him, he nodded toward my bed. “Turn around.”
I jumped to my feet and unfastened my trousers. This man obviously wasn’t new to this, because he knew exactly what purpose the opaque white bottle beside my bed served. He reached for it and poured some of the slippery, clear liquid into his palm as I stripped off the rest of my clothes.
At his command, I got on my knees on the bed, and my nameless john knelt behind me. He pressed a cool, slicked finger against my entrance, and I closed my eyes as that finger slipped into me. These days, I didn’t require much help to relax enough for a man to fuck me, but he took his time anyway, easing me open with one finger, two, a third. Even after I’d relaxed, he didn’t stop. Much as I wanted to beg for his cock, I bit my tongue. He’d paid for his pleasure, not mine. And besides, his fingers—slippery and gentle—created a degree of pleasure I’d never experienced before. My breath kept catching in my throat as his fingers moved in and out slowly. Sometimes he’d part them to stretch my entrance, other times they simply moved. In and out, in and out, until I was a breath away from abandoning all professionalism and begging him to fuck me.
He withdrew his fingers completely, and I moaned in both protest and anticipation of what was next. As he reached for the white bottle again, I shivered, sucking in a sharp hiss of breath through gritted teeth.
The bottle clinked on the bedside table, and the mattress shifted behind me.
I closed my eyes as he pressed himself against me. Even after he’d fingered me until my vision blurred, he was in no hurry to force himself inside me. He slid the head of his cock into me, then withdrew, and I whimpered softly at the absence of him. A second later, he pressed in again, and this time he pushed deeper, and I leaned back to take even more of him. To take all of him. I was used to at least some painful friction while my body accepted a hurried man, and more often than not, by the time I’d just started to enjoy it, he’d be done. Not him, though. I had never taken a man’s cock after being so deliciously prepared for it, and every stroke was pure ecstasy.
I couldn’t stop myself from rocking back in time with his thrusts, silently begging him for more. Some patrons didn’t like that, refusing to relinquish even the most miniscule amounts of control, but he simply moaned and fucked me even harder.
Then he shifted, leaning over me and resting his hands on the mattress beside mine. He kissed the side of my neck, and I pulled in a ragged breath, which I promptly lost when he thrust deep and hard into me.
His chin was coarse against the back of my shoulder, unlike the soft warmth of his lips and breath. “Tell me your name.”
Surely he’d heard it downstairs, but what he asked for, he received. I found enough air to whisper, “Robert.”
“Robert,” he growled, and my name had never sounded so perfectly filthy. “Mmm, I love what you’re doing, Robert.”
I shivered, and tried to remember what it was I was doing. Fortunately, my body kept moving of its own accord, meeting him thrust for thrust until tears stung my eyes. Moaning, I let my head fall forward, so lost in lust I was only vaguely aware this was for his pleasure, not mine. I couldn’t help myself, though. Not when he slid so easily in and out of me, and breathed on me, and promised with every stroke an orgasm to end all orgasms.
I wavered on the brink between holding back and letting go, and every time his cock met that perfect eye-watering spot, my resolve diminished a little more, a little more, a little more.
Shifting my weight onto one trembling arm, I reached down and closed my fingers around my painfully hard cock. I gasped, tensed, and a second later, he too gasped. With a low, guttural growl, he thrust even harder. Hot tears ran down my cheeks as he drove me to a level of ecstasy I’d never known, and my eyes rolled back as I spent into my palm.
Just as my vision began to clear and his strokes became uncomfortably intense, he groaned, forced himself all the way inside me, and shuddered. He was buried to the hilt, not an inch of my backside absent the heat of his flesh, and every twitch and tremor resonated through me.
Panting, he kissed the back of my neck. “You’re worth easily twice what you charge, Robert.”
“I don’t know.” I licked my lips. “I think I should be paying you.” I’d never been so satisfied in my life, and how strange that such satisfaction came from a patron who’d paid for the right to do as he pleased to my body all night. A patron who’d paid extra so no one would know all the things he chose to do to me. And I wouldn’t say a word to anyone unless it was to him, and those words would be “please, please, do it all again.”
And before long, he did do it all again.
Two
The next morning, I watched from my bed as he buckled his belt over his trousers. My body ached from making sure he got his money’s worth last night, and truth be told, I was still certain I should have been paying him.
“I never did catch your name,” I said, just to make conversation. I so loved the sound of his voice.
He sat on the edge of the bed and leaned down to pull on his boots. “John.”
I laughed. “You and every man who comes through this room.”
That gave him pause, and he chuckled. “My mother must have known what kind of man I’d be one day.” He glanced at me. “Didn’t think to use a false name, though. I’ll have to remember that next time.”
Next time. Jealousy flared in my chest, but I quickly doused it by reminding myself he was no different than any man who’d paid me for an evening’s company. And I was no different to him than I was to any of them. A patron, a whore, a night’s business, the money to buy the day’s bread. Nothing more.
“Well,” I said. “I doubt anyone in this town would think twice anyway. Men bed in the same rooms and tents all the time for lack of vacancy elsewhere.”
“They don’t generally bed down together in brothels, though,” he said dryly.
“Generally, no.”
“No matter.” He pulled the cuff of his trousers over his laced boot. “But I do appreciate the discretion.”
Remembering the men who’d come into the bar last night, I gave a quiet sound of acknowledgement. As he reached for his other boot, I said, “You’re setting out this morning, then?”
He nodded. “Well, once I find a man or two who can accompany me, and of course some equipment to haul all this gear.” Clicking his tongue, he shook his head. “Ridiculous, this requiring a damned year’s worth of provisions for each man just to get into Canada. Any man worth making such a journey could easily survive on half that.”
I cocked my head. “You’re traveling alone?” I’d assumed he’d come to town with a group, as most men did, and had simply broken away for a night’s leisure. Which meant those men were pursuing him and only him. Curiosity almost got the best of me, but I bit my tongue.
John glanced back at me, then returned his attention to lacing up his boot. “At the moment, yes, I’m traveling alone, but I hear there’s dozens of men down by the outfitters on the pier who’d join any party led by a man who’ll pay them.”
Before I could think twice, the words fell off my tongue: “Whatever you’ll pay them, I’ll do it for half.”
John looked up and blinked. “I beg your pardon?”
I swallowed. I didn’t quite believe I’d blurted it out that way, but from his startled expression, apparently I had. Regardless of the men who’d taken an interest in him, or the fact that he was a stranger, he had two things I needed enough to take risks that would be deemed foolish by most men: the means to get to Dawson City, and a vacancy for a team member.
“Half,” I said in spite of my dry mouth. “I’ll help you haul your gear for half of what you’d pay them.”
He laughed. “Might be a bit cold and grueling for someone of your profession, don’t you think?”
I glared at him. “I’m only a whore because it keeps me fed. I came to Seattle for the same reason you did.”
John shook his head and reached down to finish lacing his boot. “Oh, I doubt that very much.”
“Why?” I growled. “Don’t think I want to find gold just like the next man?”
“No, no, not that.” He gave a quiet chuckle. “But I assure you, we’re not going up there for the same reasons.” He sat up and looked at me. “Why aren’t you on your way to Dawson City already?”
I scowled. “Because my brothers and I lost the money for our provisions. Didn’t even have enough to go back to Montana.”
“And you think you’ll make that money in Dawson City?” He eyed me. “Plenty of men come back poorer than they left, you know.”
“I know.” I rested my forearms on top of my bent knees, letting my hands dangle between them. “From working in this place, I have more than enough now to go home. What I want is to go to Dawson City, but I can’t handle that much gear myself, and I can’t afford a mech, never mind someone to operate it.”
He pursed his lips, but said nothing.
I took a breath. “Listen, I’m desperate. I don’t want to go back to Montana. The stampede will only last so much longer, and then this place will be back to the logging town it was when I got here. And I’ve seen what happens to loggers. I’ll risk freezing off my fingers and toes to get to Dawson City for a fool’s chance at riches before you’ll find me working in a logging camp.”
He looked around my room, then raised an eyebrow. “This is preferable to logging?” Before I could reply, he shrugged and nodded. “I suppose it is, isn’t it?”
“It is. And I won’t be able to make a living in here once this stampede ends.” I cursed the desperation in my voice and in my situation. “That could be in a month, six months, a year. Who knows? But if I have any chance of finding any gold, I can’t wait much longer.”
“You may already be too late,” John said. “The barkeep said himself the gold fields are dwindling.”
I shrugged. “I’ll take my chances. I didn’t come here, lose my shirt, and whore myself for a year just to turn around and go home.”
John’s brow furrowed. “And you said you came here from Montana?”
I nodded. “Been here a year.”
“How many years in Montana?”
“Twenty-one. Lived there all my life.”
“So you know what harsh winters are like,” he said more to himself than to me.
“Probably better than most of the men you’ll find down on the pier.”
His eyes lost focus for a long moment. Then he took a deep breath. “All right. I’ll hire you on.”
Relief swept over me. I’d propositioned a few prospectors, but most who were willing to pay for my services weren’t men I wanted to travel with. I could endure a night in this room, knowing Beatrice and Ernest were a cry for help away. Alone in a tent somewhere in the godforsaken snowy wilderness with one of those brutes? Absolutely not.
John, though, had already proven he had a gentle hand. If he decided that continuing my usual services was part of the deal, I was willing. More than willing.
“As far as wages,” he said, pulling on his waistcoat. “Half what the men on the pier would require, as you said. I’ll split the cost of a mech, which will carry enough provisions for both of us. Can you afford a ticket to Ketchikan?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“Your own provisions?”
“And then some.”
“Good.”
“What about gold?” I asked. “Every man keeps what he finds?”
John gestured dismissively. “Keep whatever you find. I’m not looking for gold.”
“You’re… not?”
“No. I’m looking for platinum.”
“In a gold field?”
“Yes.” He pulled a brass stopwatch from his breast pocket. “And it’s nearly nine, so we shouldn’t wait.” He paused. “One thing, though.”
“Yes?”
As he stood, he nodded toward the bed as if to indicate everything we’d done. “No one is to know about this.”
“You think you’re the first man on that trail who’s bedded me for a fee?”
“Absolutely not,” he said. “But I don’t want word of it getting back home that I stayed here for anything other than a bed.”
“Wife?”
“Employer.” He watched his fingers buttoning his waistcoat. “I don’t need them to know what kind of ‘immoral conduct’ I engage in.”
I nodded. That was no surprise. The men who paid me nearly always demanded total secrecy and discretion. Even Ernest and Beatrice forbade me from speaking outside the saloon about what I did here. The only reason they let me stay here at all was that I fucked my way to a decent income for them. They turned a blind eye to my “immoral conduct” as long as the money kept flowing and the customers stayed happy.
And if it meant a ticket out of this town and up to the gold fields in the Klondike, I would gladly keep John’s secret.
~ * ~
Crowds and congestion down by the waterfront gave the appearance of utter chaos, but as we slowly made our way through the outfitters and, once we had our provisions, to the pier, that appearance was deceiving. There was order amidst all the shouting and shuffling, and the men working the pier were surprisingly efficient. People moved from outfitter to outfitter, piling provisions on flatbed carts. Once they had everything, then they acquired a mech, a spidery brass machine that would carry the ton or more of gear over the rugged terrain.
When I’d first arrived last year, mechs were issued first, and the result was such disorder, more mechs wound up crashing into each other or buildings before they made it anywhere near the boat to Ketchikan. Ever since mechs became the last item a team acquired before boarding the boat, there’d been considerably fewer problems. It was even better after the mech manufacturers took over warehouses directly across the street from the pier, so a team needed only to buy their machine, load it, and move it across to the ship instead of six blocks down the street.
At one of the two warehouses, John went in to inspect the mech while I waited outside with our provisions. He left his pack outside with me, but kept that locked box with him. I was curious about its contents, I had to admit. I was curious about a lot of things relating to this stranger, but I supposed I’d learn more about him in time. We’d have plenty of idle time between here and Ketchikan if stories from other men were to be believed.
At least it was a pleasant day so far. The sun was shining, glittering on the roads that had been left slick and muddy from yesterday’s rain. The air smelled of sea salt, mud, rain, and horses, not to mention smoke and exhaust from all the boats and ships moving in and out of the harbor. Perhaps the air wasn’t perfumed with wine and roses, but it was better than the chemicals of my father’s tanning shop. Considering that was my only other option right now besides whoring myself night after night, I’d gladly take a few hours of breathing the pier-side salt and smoke.
Amongst the blur of faces and horses, movement caught my eye, and I turned. My spine crackled with nervous energy: the three men from the bar.
They stood on the other side of the street, their heads inclined and torsos twisted toward each other in a conspiratorial manner. One glanced at me, and did a double take. The other two looked my way, and the one on the left said something behind his hand. His companions both nodded slowly, in eerie unison, their eyes never shifting away from mine.
Stomach twisting into knots, I dropped my gaze and turned my back to them. I drummed my fingers on the handle of the cart and silently begged John to hurry up.
“No one is to know about this,” he’d said within the walls of my room. “I don’t need them to know what kind of ‘immoral conduct’ I engage in.”
Did that have something to do with them? I hadn’t made the connection just then, when my heart was still pounding with excitement because I’d finally secured an opportunity to get to the Yukon, but now I wondered. Just what kind of employer did he mean?
Either way, he had my promise of discretion because he was the one who could get me out of this place. Hopefully whatever he was involved in wouldn’t get me killed. Well, any more than this journey could get me killed; I’d heard the stories of men dying on the trail, the pass, and the river, well before they made it anywhere near Dawson City. I supposed traveling with a stranger who could be anything from a madman to a murderer was no more dangerous than going to the Yukon in the first place.
And it was either that or stay here and bed men for money until another came along who was willing to take me with him, so I’d take my chances.
The door swung open behind me, and John stepped out, the box in one hand and some papers in the other. “All right, everything is secure.” He nodded at the cart. “Let’s get that inside so they can load the mech. Then we—” He stopped abruptly, and I didn’t have to follow the trajectory of his gaze to know what had caught his eye. His leather glove creaked softly as he tightened his grasp on the box’s handle. Swearing under his breath, he gestured sharply inside. “Let’s go.”
I swallowed the questions that tried to come to the tip of my tongue, and instead concentrated on helping him steer the cart into the outfitter’s building.
~ * ~
John talked like a lonely man. I wondered how long it had been since he’d engaged in any kind of comfortable, social conversation with someone willing to listen. Most people didn’t say much to me these days unless it was where to put my mouth or cock, so I was perfectly content to just let him talk.
We’d been on the boat for a few hours now, and had settled into our quarters. We shared a cramped room with another team, this one comprised of four men. John was loathe to leave the tiny quarters for very long, and he refused to go anywhere without that locked box at his side, which only served to rouse my curiosity about its contents.
He kept his profession mum and didn’t speak about the box or the men who had him glancing over his shoulder every time he stepped out of the room. Instead, he regaled me with stories of life in Chicago. Since Seattle was the closest I’d ever been to a real city, I hung on his every word like a fascinated child as he told me about factories, riverboats, and buildings as far as the eye could see with cranes towering over them to erect even more buildings. There were more automobiles than horses there now, and machines that made mechs look like useless, primitive toys.
When we weren’t talking, John either wrote in a tattered, leather-bound journal or buried his nose in a book. Most other stampeders would accuse him of being a fool for adding a handful of books to his already heavy pack, but the extra weight was well worth it. By halfway through the first day, I offered to carry a few of them in my own pack to even out the burden, as long as I could read them myself. That seemed to surprise him, and I tried not to take offense. He only knew me as a whore, so probably assumed I was simple-minded and illiterate. Maybe before we left, I should have shown him the drawer beside my bed, which was stuffed full of the likes of Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Never mind the copy of The Time Machine, which I’d read so many times I nearly had it memorized. John would have been doubly stunned if he knew I’d borrowed those books from Sarah, a well-read woman who rented the bed across the hall from mine.
Holing up in the room and sitting on our racks was fine most of the time, but occasionally, the seas got rough enough to make my stomach twist.
“First time at sea?” John asked with a sympathetic if slightly amused grimace.
I nodded, clenching my teeth and swallowing hard as I set my book aside.
“Go outside,” John said. “Stay out on the decks and get some fresh air.” Then his brow furrowed with concern. “Can you make it out there on your own? I can give you a hand if—”
“No, I’m fine,” I said with a dismissive gesture. My eyes darted toward the box beside his foot. “Stay here; I’ll go myself.”
He pursed his lips, but then nodded and leaned back against the bulkhead. “If you’re gone too long, I’ll come after you to make sure you haven’t gone overboard.”
I laughed. “Thanks.”
John was right. The fresh air helped tremendously. Though the afternoon was cool, it wasn’t unpleasantly so. I folded my arms and rested them on the railing, closing my eyes and letting the crisp, salty air rush across my face and through my hair.
Alternately gazing out at the coast’s lush, green scenery and just closing my eyes and enjoying the breeze, I didn’t know how long I stood out there. An hour, maybe? Perhaps a little more? Much as I enjoyed John’s company and losing myself in a book, the lack of nausea was addictive. I wasn’t quite ready to go back down below decks to challenge my stomach again.
Something rustled beside me. I suspected John had come up to make sure I hadn’t gone overboard, and I turned my head, but startled.
It wasn’t John.
I stiffened. The dark-eyed man peered down his nose at me, just as he’d looked at me from down the bar last night and across the street this morning.
“You’re traveling with Dr. Fauth, no?” he said.
Doctor? I swallowed. “I… the man I’m traveling with, I don’t actually know his last name.”
He scowled. “You don’t know who he is?”
Something cold twisted in my gut. “Is there something I should know about him?”
“Well, it isn’t wise to travel with a total stranger, now is it?” His tone dripped with condescension. “After all, you should be able to trust your team, shouldn’t you?”
I gritted my teeth. “I trust him well enough.”
“Good, good.” His lips pulled into a grin that made my stomach creep up my throat. “Someone in your… profession should be cautious of the company he keeps.” Before I could respond, he said, “Has he shown you how to work the device yet?”
I blinked. “The what?”
“The device.” He raised an eyebrow. “Surely he’s shown you how it works?”
“No, he hasn’t. I don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
The man laughed dryly. “I would think you’d have been curious. What man clings to a box like a child holding onto a prized toy unless it’s something important?”
I thought of the way John held onto that locked box. What was in that thing? “I haven’t asked him. I don’t know what it is.”
The man scowled again and released a sharp breath. “Well. Good day to you, then.” With that, he turned on his heel and stalked off. I watched him go. I couldn’t decide if his comment about someone in my profession minding the company he kept was just a benign comment or a thinly-veiled threat.
The nausea was back, but it had nothing to do with the ship’s gentle motion this time. Being outside may have helped with the seasickness, but I suddenly felt out in the open. Exposed and vulnerable like a deer in wolf-infested woods.
My shaking knees didn’t help me walk when the deck below my feet kept listing, but in spite of being so unbalanced, I hurried below decks. I followed the passageway back to where John and I were staying, and threw open the door to our room. As soon as I was safely in the room, I shut the door and leaned against it.
“Robert?” John sat up on his rack. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “I need to know, John. Those men who were in the bar last night, are—”
“Did they bother you?” He tossed his book aside and leaped to his feet. “What did they say?”
“It was just one of them.” I folded my arms across my chest, not sure if I was nervous or irritated. “He asked me about you. And some ‘device’. Who I was, what business I had with you.”
“And what did you tell them?” he asked with such franticness, I half-expected him to grab on and shake me by the shoulders. There was an accusatory edge to his voice that made me grit my teeth.
Narrowing my eyes, I said, “I didn’t tell them you were traveling with your own personal whore, if that’s what concerns you, though he’s obviously well aware of how I make my living.”
Lips parted, John blinked and took a half step back. “I… no, no, that… that wasn’t my concern.”
“Well, that’s all I know about you,” I snapped. “So what else could I have told them?”
He dropped his gaze and exhaled. “I apologize, Robert. That… I didn’t mean to imply anything like that.”
I softened my tone. “Who are these men, John? I’d like to know before we get out on the open trail if I have reason to be concerned.”
John swallowed hard. “I… suppose I should have been more honest with you before we left.”
Oh, God. “About?”
He gestured toward the rack where he’d been reading a moment ago. I sat down, and he lowered his body beside me. With his heel, he nudged the box a little farther under the rack, as if to make sure it was still securely in place. Then he rested his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together.
Whispering so softly I could barely hear him over the boat’s engines and men’s voices outside, he said, “I’m a scientist for a university in Chicago, and the device I’m carrying? There is another scientist who desperately wants to get his hands on it.”