Sanctuary

By Cody J. Sherer

The seemingly flawless fortress town of Sanctuary holds dark secrets. While embarking on an endeavor to learn as much as he can about his father, Sean stumbles upon the trace of one of those secrets. His investigation into the matter only leads him further along his path to uncovering the real truth of Sanctuary.

Enter the Steampunk world of Sanctuary and embark on an adventure that has action, suspense, and a dash of romance!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Cody J. Sherer
• Release date: Nov 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781519983381

Cody J. Sherer

Born and raised in Southern California, Cody J. Sherer was always fascinated with Science Fiction, Fantasy, and other similar genres of movies, books, and shows. He began his writing career at the age of 20, though he did not publish his book until a few years later. His journey from reader to writer started when a friend had the idea of writing a non-fiction book of short stories together. At the time, the then Accounting major thought that writing sounded enjoyable. They began writing the book and writing stuck with Cody. Now, he mostly writes Sci-Fi and Fantasy, but also tends to dabble in Mystery and Detective genres as well. You can find his books on various major book selling websites. Cody is currently working on more books that are scheduled to be released out in the coming months and years. You can also find Cody on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/Codyjsherer

Book preview

Sanctuary

By Cody J. Sherer

This is a work of fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

––––––––

Sanctuary

Copyright ©2014 by Cody J. Sherer

All Rights Reserved.

Tales of Canai Series

Book 1: The Wizard’s Council

Book 2: The Tomes of Magic

Book 3: Fall of a Guardian

Other Works

Legends of Canai Short Story Compilation

Chronicles of George Jackson

Book 1: Pioneers of the Stars

Contents

A Day in Sanctuary

A Plot Within a Plot

Mayor Matthew’s Journal for Aspiring Hunters

The Count of Rastovic Manor

Kidnapped

A Tangle with Camille

Setting the Trap

A Matter of Ancestry

A Dance with Mortimer

The Fall of Sanctuary

Epilogue

Author Bio

A Day in Sanctuary

May 3rd, year 123 of the Sanctuary(formerly known as the castle).

The walls held strong through the night. My requests for night expeditions have been denied, again. Three more deaths last night. It seems to be a weekly ritual now, though the number various on occasion. Never more than five, never less than two. As usual, victims drained of blood and decapitated. I suggested that the decapitation could be a way of covering up some important piece of evidence, but the Chief Inspector disagrees. Still no leads on the culprit. On a personal note, Maggie is three months along today. We look forward to little Ben’s arrival or little Stephie, as Maggie insists. Colin is still missing. He disappears a lot, but not usually for more than a few days. I’ll file a report if he isn’t back by the fifth.

May 5th, year 123 of the Sanctuary.

Colin is still missing, filed a report with the Chief Inspector. Another attack occurred last night, if it can be called as such. The marks on the wall make my stomach turn. Hard to believe that something could do that to the wall. We’ve run a few tests, but we can’t seem to extract anything useful. Chief Inspector assigned me a new task for the 10th, I’m to follow a man named Flinn. He is a suspected thief and the department has been trying to gather evidence on him. Rumor has it that he frequents the lower city. In all likelihood, he lives down there. Which, of course, means he has an important connection here in the middle city, perhaps even a contact in the upper city. I am to be paired together with an inspector from each of the other levels to try to bring a halt to all of it. Chief suspects drug smuggling might be involved somehow.

Present day: year 153 of the Sanctuary.

Sean put down the journal. Property of inspector Lewin, please return to 5th Haversham street, the front read. A public records search showed that the inspector didn’t last too much longer after the 10th of May. Sean had yet to reach his entries for those days, but he suspected they might hold the key to Lewin’s disappearance. Perhaps I should pay his old home a visit. He stuffed the journal under one of the cushions of his couch when he heard the knock on the door. There was no telling what the inspectors would do if they found a journal that belonged to one of their own. Sean wasn’t about to risk them taking it away. He walked to the door and straightened his appearance before opening it.

Sean Dalton? The man asked.

Yes, transcriber and part-time consultant, he replied.

You’re wanted down at the upper city courthouse. They’ve got a witness whose testimony needs to be copied down in writing.

Thank you, I will get my things and leave at once.

The man nodded before heading off. His light blue uniform and strange cap identified him as one of the messengers that worked for the inspectors. Sean watched him disappear around a corner before closing his door. He gathered up his papers and packed them into the carrying case for his notepad. Being among the minority that knew how to read and write posed a great benefit for Sean. The majority of those who could read and write belonged to the upper echelon of society, most of whom looked down upon such an occupation. This worked to his advantage, as his competition for transcribers was much smaller than if more people knew reading and writing.

Sean locked his door behind him before pressing onward into the throng of bystanders. The middle city was the most traversed portion of Sanctuary. Many of the stronghold’s shops were located on the middle level. The government buildings were equally split between the middle and top sections of the city. Sean’s assignments often required him to make his way up to the top level. He was among a privileged few middle city dwellers that was granted use of the lift for traveling up a level. His job came with two perks: he could use the lift without anyone questioning him and he was allowed to inspect various crime scenes for the sake of transcribing anything the inspectors had failed to file in their initial reports. More often than not, there was little or nothing to add to the reports. That rarely bothered him though, as he often got to see parts of the upper or lower city that he normally would not have been able to.

The gears on either side of the lift came to a halt as the door slid open. Sean showed his badge and the guards waved him through. He straightened his coat and hat as he entered the lift. Other than the inspectors with their standard uniforms, most of the people that used the lift wore much fancier clothes than he. He ignored the stares as he watched the middle city disappear out of sight. The warmth of the sun flooded the lift. Sean smiled as he took a deep breath. Every time he entered the upper city, he wished that he could find a way to find a place to live on the top level. The air was clean, the sun was warm, streets were clean, and the whole place was less crowded. Many of the things that the upper echelon of citizens took for granted were seen as those who were less fortunate. The same applied to the lower city in comparison to the middle city. Sean had visited the lower city on multiple occasions and often wondered how the defenders kept the riots to a minimum.

Mr. Dalton, a man called out as soon as the doors slid open.

Here, sir, Sean replied.

Punctual, I like that. Come along now, we have something of a surprise for you.

A surprise? For me?

Yes, you’ve been our top transcriber for three years running. We like to reward that kind of hard work.

Thank you, sir. I am most honored.

The man smiled as they turned toward the path to the courthouse. Though Sean did not recognize the man, he could tell that he was dealing someone of import. Everyone on the streets knew to step aside when the saw his companion. It was not often that anyone shorter than Sean was shown that level of respect. Sean himself stood just over five and a half feet tall. Both his parents had vastly different sayings on the matter. His mother would often tell him that, it is the height of one’s compassion that matters, my dear, not the height of a man. This, of course, led to his father saying, courage and confidence matter more than stature, rank, or power. The three C’s, compassion, courage, confidence. His thoughts were interrupted as the courthouse doors swung open. He reached into his pocket for his badge, but they waved him through before he could produce it.

Ah, Sean, good to see you old boy. How’s your mother holding up these days? Alfred, one of the judges, asked.

Last I heard, she is well, Judge Alfred. Thank you for asking. She is on one of the famous sky tours. There was a contest that required the entrant to submit poetry and I entered in one of my poems on her behalf, Sean answered.

Good sport, I’ve always wanted to take one of those dirigible tours. Your father, may God rest his soul, and I talked about it a lot during our years together as inspectors. If these chaps ever let me take off more than a day at a time, I’ll find one of those dirigible tour companies and book a trip.

I’m sure that Sean has pressing matters to attend to, judge Alfred. You know as well as I do that he is far too polite to inform anyone of that, Judge Reinhart said.

Quite right. Don’t work yourself too hard, Mr. Dalton.

Sean nodded to him before turning back to the other man. They moved through the corridor down to the inspector’s side of the courthouse. The gray walls that matched the inspector uniforms reminded him of the various times that his father’s colleagues had paid a visit to their family home. Inspector Dalton had been one of the few inspectors that believed passion could be used as a tool. The majority of the inspectors saw it as an obstacle to cold, hard logic. Sean opened the door to the interrogation room. He made his way over to the small table in the corner and sat down. Two inspectors entered the room and took their seats at the interrogation table in the center of the room. Another man entered the room with a large box. He placed it in front of Sean and encouraged him to open it. Sean nodded and opened the box. He pulled out a fairly heavy contraption with buttons that each had a different letter or number on them.

What is this? He asked.

They call it a typewriter. You don’t actually have to use it today, we aren’t sure how steep the learning curve will be. However, we have been assured that it will make your work, here and at home, much easier. We will provide you with the necessary ink and paper, the man replied.

I am quite thankful. I look forward to making use of this, typewriter. I don’t think it is a good idea that I use it today. Your advice is most sound.

Of course, we are thankful for your service in the courthouse and at the various crime scenes. Our inspectors rarely miss important details, but having a safety net is always a good thing. Not to mention the few times when we were able to determine that the crime scene had been tampered with after our inspectors initial report. This is our way of thanking you. You can easily compile any notes you’ve taken into a coherent report. That having been said, we are still here for a reason. We need you to write down everything this man says, word for word, as well as the question. It is of the utmost importance. Normally, I would be fine with some paraphrasing to make the exchange easier to understand, but not today. Are we clear?

Crystal, Sean said as he pulled his notepad out of his case.

The door swung open and a man in a black fedora and black trenchcoat entered the room. By Sean’s estimate, he was taller than six feet in height and had to weigh more than two-hundred pounds. His massive frame nearly filled the entire doorway. He removed his hat and tossed it onto the table before walking over and taking a seat. His short brown hair and equally short beard showed no signs of graying. Though he was clean-cut and his clothes were impeccable, there was something feral about the man. He removed his black gloves and placed them on the table next to his hat. The two inspectors looked at one another before looking back at Sean and nodding. He dipped his pen in the quill and took a deep breath.

Count James, you have been brought here under the charge of conspiracy against the High Parliament. Do you have anything to say about this charge? One of the inspectors, a man named Geoffrey, asked.

My good inspector, the word conspiracy. How do you define it in this situation? The Count asked.

We have it on good authority that you were plotting the downfall of one of our Judges.

Ah, yes. The so-called honorable Judge Mortimer. I do believe that my campaign to unseat the Judge is entirely, shall we say on the up and up?

You admit to seeking his downfall?

Well now, let’s not be hasty. Downfall, it can be such a complex word. Are we speaking of his downfall as it deals with his reputation? I would argue he is at fault for that. What with his corruption and all. Perhaps we are speaking of the downfall of the man himself? I would not like to see the man dead. In fact, I do not wish death upon anyone. Maybe, just maybe, we are speaking of the downfall of his position as a Judge? In this case, yes, I do seek his downfall as a Judge. The man is corrupt, arrogant, and apathetic. Our people deserve better. The Count glanced over at Sean.

I see, so your claim is that your only goal is to see him retire from his position as Judge?

That is the best way of putting things, I would argue.

What would you say if I told you that some of your colleagues seek a more permanent solution to the Judge?

Does the High Parliament claim to be above reproach in who they consort with? I should think not. Even our transcriber here must have dealings with unsavory individuals. We cannot be expected to solely judge a man’s worth based on a portion of his colleagues. Now, if there are no further questions? The Count began putting his gloves back on.

At this point in time, we have no further questions, Geoffrey replied.

However, we may, in the future, need to call you back in. I’m sure you understand, Sean added, staring the man directly in the eyes.

Quite, James answered.

He stood and placed his hat back on his head. As he moved toward the door, Sean spotted a revolver at his side. The Count quickly pulled his trenchcoat closed before stepping through the door. Sean quickly began writing a short description of the man consisting of height, estimated weight, hair color, eye color, demeanor, and any other important aspects he felt necessary to include. Geoffrey slammed his hand on the table before standing up. He grabbed hold of his chair and began to throw it against the wall before catching himself and placing back down