Honey Beaumont: Being a hero is hard

By Sara Bushway

In a land destroyed by war, at a time that mirrored the excitements and dangers of the Old West, at a place where both magic and machine collide... a hero will rise from the darkest depths to the glory of freedom and honour.

This hero is Honey Beaumont.

The Adventurer's Guild stands for justice and serves the common

• Language: English
• Publisher: 5310 Publishing
• Release date: Jun 22, 2021
• ISBN: 9781777151850

Sara Bushway

Sara Bushway's debut fiction novel is "Honey Beaumont: A Hero is Hard," a dystopian fantasy full of magic, machines, and adventure in the old west. Being a hero is harder than Honey could have ever imagined, but at least he has his friends by his side to help him save the day.Sara's first poem was published in the anthology "A Celebration of Young Poets" when she was sixteen. Since then, she has written many more poems and several contest-winning short stories, some of which have been published in a collection called "Things As They Seem." Sara has also been published in the scholarly gaming journal, The Journal of Gaming and Virtual Worlds. With the release of her debut fantasy novel by 5310 Publishing, Sara looks forward to producing her next two novels in progress while working on getting her Master of Clinical Psychology and working as a Behavioral Health Specialist.

Book preview

Prologue

You never notice how warm your blood is until it’s on the outside. I know I never did. I could still feel the lighting traveling through my chest, cooking my heart as I lay dying. Thick, congealed blood stuck like syrup. The bolt had almost caused and cauterized the wound in a single second. It was the first time I had ever been shot with magic. The good news was I got my shot off before he took me down. I imagined the imbued marble flying out of my revolver at the wizard who had shot me. I imagined the ball breaking against his chest and the spell going off, freezing him in place in painful silence. I had taken my time and aimed for his heart in hopes of a critical hit. Sadly, I never got to see the ending result.

The next thing I knew, I could feel Dane carrying me. Then I could hear Andy and Torq crying out for help. Medics of the People weren't common in poor towns, and you could only get lucky with healers at the Adventurer's outpost so many times. I wondered if it was the end for me. After all, I'd had a good life. Sold into servitude, bought to be a house pet, taught to be a functioning citizen, and then killed in the line of duty bearing the badge of The Adventurer's Guild, never mind the fact that I died while aiding the so-called rebels who only wanted freedom. Who could blame them? It was all I had ever wanted once I understood how little of it I had experienced.

Then I saw her face—my beautiful Loretta. Everything I had done, including leaving, had been for her. We grew up together, working in the same house. In a microcosm full of women, she was special. Not only was she born with the gift of healing magic. She was smart, funny, and willing to stand up to the master of the house, no matter how terrible he was.

And then I wondered. Had it been real? Had any of it since my master tortured me even been real? The buy-out? The escape? The Nobodies? The adventures? The magic?

Then I saw her hands glowing with healing magic. Suddenly, I felt warmer on the inside than the outside. I felt like a light had replaced something dark that had been taken from me and replaced with something new. I felt alive. At that moment, I knew where I was and what was to come next: My revenge.

Chapter One

Honey carefully pinched the pale-yellow material in between index finger and thumb and pushed the needle through. A pleat had gotten pulled in all the ruckus the night before. Honey shifted his legs underneath him as he worked beneath the dress.

Just a few more stitches and I’ll be done.

Take your time, Loretta replied. She sounded sincere but distracted, which Honey attributed to her still putting on her make-up for the day.

As Honey was tying the knot in the last stitch, he pushed the needle through once more to secure it and nicked his thumb in the process. He hissed and brought it to his lips to lick the blood away but was stopped. Loretta had lifted her skirt and grabbed hold of his wrist in the blink of an eye. The green of her eyes shimmered, framed by her fiery red curls as she smiled at him.

Let’s have a look, she whispered. Honey hoped she was doing a better job of appraising the wound than he had. He couldn’t stop looking at her, his girl.

It doesn't look too bad, she continued. She brought his hand to her lips and kissed his injured thumb. Then she put both hands around his and closed her eyes. Her warm, soft hands became cool leaves wrapping his callused fingers, and the pale yellow of shy morning light encompassed their hands together. She opened her eyes and appraised his thumb again where the wound had once been. Not too bad at all.

Honey beamed up at her, basking in the natural glow he always felt around her even when she wasn’t using her magical gifts, but the moment was short-lived.

He heard the French doors slam into the walls behind them. Loretta threw her skirts over him again and turned to face her vanity mirror. Honey quickly packed his needles and thread away in his make-shift sewing kit as he imagined her feigning interest in her eyeliner and rouge in the mirror, not that she needed much of either.

Doors open in five! What’s the hold-up?

Beaumont, Honey thought as a sigh escaped his lips.

Mr. Beaumont’s gruff voice was enough to rake the sweetest tune from a songbird’s ears, but today it was worse. The opium dried his throat something harsh and made him sound like he had been gargling nails, which only made his anger and confusion more terrifying.

Sorry, Master Beaumont. Some of our dresses needed mending, Loretta chirped. It was those damn hooligans from last night, tugging and pulling on our dresses like we were common street flesh.

Well, alright then, Beaumont replied, I-- He stopped mid-sentence and stepped toward the vanity. Honey could see Loretta tensing as she shifted her stance, the musculature of her legs becoming more defined beneath her fishnet stockings as his footsteps came closer. There was a long pause, and then she asked, Something the matter, sir?

Another pause, too long for Honey’s comfort, and then she gasped, her dress swaying as though she was trying to pull away from something.

Honey announced, That ought to hold until we can get you a proper tailor to fix it!

He pushed his way out from under her skirts, fiddling with his sewing kit. Beaumont stared dumbly, still holding Loretta’s wrist.

Her curls fell over her cheeks as she appraised her skirt.

Thank you, sweetie, she managed. You’re a life-saver."

Honey! Beaumont yelled. He was a tall, domineering man. His skin was dark and leathery, dry and scarred from years of fighting off drunken johns who didn’t respect his House. His hair was a matted mess concealed by a dark brown cowboy hat. He released his grip on the girl, sending her nearly tumbling to the floor, and stepped toward Honey, his heavy cowboy boots thumped against the old floorboards. What have I told you? You can’t be in the girls’ dressing room! It’s for the girls!

Honey’s deep, blue eyes widened. The black leather of his chaps squeaked as he leaned away and placed the sewing kit on a small table nearby. He smoothed his soft-leather vest, un-fastened to show off his muscle-toned chest.

I’m sorry, sir, he said meekly as he plucked a black cowboy hat with a small braid of brown leather strips around the crown from the table. It’s just…A woman ought not be on her knees, not before a shift, and…It doesn’t sit right if you try to pleat it while it’s not being worn.

He ran his fingers through his short golden hair with his free hand and glanced around uncomfortably.

You know, this wouldn’t be a problem if we had our own tailor to keep up our wardrobe and make us new dresses. Or, maybe a bouncer to keep johns from acting like idiots in the House, Loretta snipped, packing her make-up away in the little boxes she kept on the vanity.

That’s money we don’t have, Beaumont growled, unless you’re offering to pay them out of your purse. Goodness knows you can’t pay a tailor with your flesh, not the male ones anyway. A man who can sew is a man who can blow.

Honey opened his mouth to refute Beaumont's claims about tailors’ sexual preferences but was silenced by Loretta’s pleading gaze.

Honey. Out, Beaumont demanded. Honey put his hat on and rushed out of the room. He passed the first two doors on the left and then stepped around the corner into the next hall. It was a fair distance, but he could still hear them arguing.

He’s not like that, Loretta said. He’s sweet and kind, and he knows how to--

He knows how to shake it on stage and please clients in his room. That’s his job.

There was a long, uncomfortable silence.

Get dressed, and get ready to work, Beaumont snapped.

The doors slammed shut. Honey marched down the hall at a brisk pace. He heard Beaumont's boots thumping behind him at his usual lumbering pace until he turned at the next hall. He wasn't sure what Beaumont had wanted from Loretta, but he was glad he had been there to stop it. She was a sweet girl - his girl- and she deserved to be protected from Beaumont's evil clutches. Honey had resigned himself to the fact that he couldn't protect them all, but he could save her, and someday he would.

Honey sighed as he entered his room and grabbed the pile of outfits off of his bed. He stuffed his room key into the band of his hat and closed his door on his way down to the lounge area where he would be performing. As he rounded the corner of the first-floor hall and opened the door to the backstage area, he couldn't help but smile. A plated sandwich and a tall glass of milk sat on a small table near his dressing area.

Betty, he whispered to himself as he hung the clothes on a nearby rack.

He enjoyed his cucumber and melon sandwich and sipped at his milk as he organized his outfits and props into different crates in the staging area. The lull between sets as he changed clothes and flipped the record over in the record-player was a buzzkill, both for Honey and the clients, so anything that could shorten those weird silences was worth doing ahead of time. He learned this early in his career when a group of clients decided that brawling was a good use of the time between sets. All of the lounge furniture had been broken into splinters. The bottles behind the bar had all been smashed, leaving glass and liquor all over the floor to be cleaned after a long night. It was awful, but this time, he was ready.

The dull roar of talking and eating died down and the lights dimmed, leaving only a faint view of Honey's shadow on the backdrop of the stage. Then the music started. He strolled up the catwalk with his slightly effeminate sway and poised himself in front of the chrome pole at the end. Before long, he didn't hear the music anymore. He was feeling the guitar riffs streaking across his skin like warm water and the drums beating through his veins like his own pulse. He wasn't a whore performing on stage anymore. He was a dolphin, dancing through the warm waters of the pink-sand beaches to the south. He was calm and beautiful and free.

*****

After a long bath to scrub off the sweat and glitter from his night on the stage, Honey changed into some comfortable sleeping clothes and made his way to bed. He stopped dead in his tracks as he gazed upon Loretta, cross-legged atop his covers, wearing only a sheer sleeping gown and a pair of socks. She smiled up at him and held out a small cake in her hands with a tiny lit candle atop it.

Happy Birthday! She whispered with a wide grin. Honey dried his hair and tossed his damp towel into a nearby basket.

It’s my birthday?

Yeah. I looked it up in your paperwork. Beaumont might count our ages by the new year, but today is your actual birthday. You’re sixteen! Honey smiled and sat on the bed next to the girl. She turned and held the cake out to him. Make a wish, Honey!

He stared into the flame for a moment, unsure of what he would wish for, even if he thought it would come true, and blew the candle out in one quick puff.

Loretta picked the little candle out of the cake and set it on his side table.

What did you wish for? She asked.

Honey thought for a moment about how he hadn’t wished for anything. He hadn’t wished for freedom or to have a mysterious benefactor who would leave him so much money that he wouldn’t have to work. He hadn’t even wished for his feet to stop hurting. It just felt odd to ask some unknown force of the universe to change his life.

I can’t tell you, he lied, then it wouldn’t come true.

She nodded and looked at the little cake in her hands. She had done a good job of making the most delicious-looking pint-sized version of a cinnamon-wrap cake either of them had ever seen. Loretta had never baked a cake in her life, but with Betty’s help, she had made something truly great for the only boy who hadn’t treated her like anything other than a proper lady. Honey beamed at his gift.

You’re going to help me eat this, right? He giggled as he pinched a piece of the cake off the side. There is way too much here for me.

She smiled. Well, why don't you get started while I read you this amazing story I found? I had a paperboy come in today between deliveries and offered a little something extra if he would leave me one.

Loretta reached behind her and produced a folded newspaper. A big smile spread across Honey's face while she unfolded it. She refolded the paper so the national news was neatly put before her and began to read about a group of adventurers who had stopped a crime-ring of highway robbers in the New Texan territory. New Texas was like the old West of the Southern Canadian Provinces, except it didn't extend very far West. It actually comprised most of the lands along the coast, including most of what was once Louisiana, Florida, and some of Georgia. Loretta had once read some of the political pages to Honey, which stated that the Governor of New Texas was trying to annex the New Mexican and Arizonan territories into its own. Still, Canada Proper was not receptive to the deal.

I wonder how they do it? Honey said, tearing another piece of the cinnamon bun off and popping it into his mouth. I wonder how you get to become an adventurer. Traveling around the world and helping the people? That sounds like a great way to use your talents, you know?

I believe you have to join a guild, she replied. After all, we can't just have people going around inflicting justice on whoever they cross. I had a client once who was planning on joining the Adventurer's Guild after he finished sowing his wild oats. Honey cocked an eyebrow at her, and she leaned in. I was one of those wild oats.

The two laughed and talked until morning. Honey still didn't have a birthday wish at the end of it all, but he still had his dream of being free.

Chapter Two

Honey’s first day as a sixteen-year-old started very much as most other days had. He dressed himself, helped the ladies get ready, and made his way down to the main hall. The clientele was decent, mostly usuals returning for a fix. Two of his usuals, the voyeur and the sadist, seemed to have made friends in the main hall while they waited for him to be available and made his hour worth more than twice his usual rate. That was one thing he liked about his clients with unusual tastes; he could charge a lot more for his time, and they were happy to pay it. There was a lull in the day after the lunch-rush passed. That’s when she came in.

She was a handsome woman in a fine silk dress. Her long, dark hair had been pulled into a tight braid that draped down her back and met the sash wrapped around her waist. Her pale skin made her pupils disappear into her dark brown irises. Honey stared from his position near the doorway to the lounge. She is gorgeous, he thought as she floated through the room like a leaf in the wind. I wonder why someone like her would be here. She could have any man she wants.

She smiled at him and engaged a group of girls posing near the stair banister. Honey made his way around the edge of the room, straining to listen in to their conversation while still holding himself in a gentlemanly manner. The girls giggled and chattered, but he couldn’t seem to pick out any keywords he could use to interject himself. He gasped as she spun on her heels to face him.

I wondered if you would make your way over to me. Her voice was deep and melodic like the lowest string of a master-crafted violin. She was strong and confident. Even her mahogany lipstick seemed pale beneath her deep, piercing eyes. He took a moment to regain his confidence before flashing a brilliant smile.

Well, I’m not usually one to give chase. I just couldn’t help but notice--

Her playful smile turned to a look of both scandal and intrigue.

Notice what?

Honey stepped toward her, placing his hands on her hips as he looked over the pattern of deep burgundy and cream swirled all over her bodice and skirt. The dusty rose sash around her waist did little to detract from her unwavering stare.

He started again, I just couldn’t help but notice that you are far too beautiful for this dress. It does not do you justice.

He had used this line many times before, but this was one of the few times he had actually meant it. It was almost a sure-fire lure if he ever needed one. Either the woman would be naive enough to believe him, or she would be smart enough to know that it was a nice way of propositioning her without using one of the more colloquial lines like, Wanna ride?

This is Honey, Loretta said as she stepped toward the two. I’m sure you’ve probably heard of him around town. He’s quite popular.

Second-floor, one of the other girls interjected.

The woman looked him up and down. My name is Anastasia, she said smoothly, and my husband is out of town. I could really use some company.

Honey nodded to her and slid his hand to the small of her back, guiding her up the stairs. He shot a quick smile over his shoulder to Loretta, who replied with a playful wink. Though he probably could have landed this one on his own, it was nice to have friends to help things along. It was good for the client because, more often than not, they weren't aware of the different specialties or what was even available, and it was good for them because they could divvy up clients based on what they liked to do best.

He led his client up to his room and earned his keep. When his work was done, he took note of the time and shifted to the edge of the bed. She reached over and touched his arm. There’s still time left. Her voice was little more than a whisper.

Honey glanced at the time dial again and crawled back into bed. I suppose. What would you like, m’lady?

M’lady? She laughed. What a sweet little knight you are. Come. Cuddle me.

She moved the covers and held her arms open. He scooted over to her soft, warm body and wrapped his arms around her, resting his head on her breast. She embraced him and lightly tousled his hair. Oh, Honey. How did you ever end up in a place like this?

He thought for a moment, deciding that truth was too dark to share with someone so privileged. It’s a long story, he chuckled, that is probably best left untold.

She sighed in defeat and seemingly decided it was best not to press the matter. Well, can you tell me anything about yourself?

He blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I’m sixteen. He stated plainly. Yesterday was my sixteenth birthday.

Anastasia’s eyes brightened. Well, happy belated birthday to you! What did you do for your birthday?

He shrugged. I didn’t really know that it was my birthday until late last night. I worked in the lounge most of the night, and my friend brought me a cinnamon cake to my room to share. It was delicious.

Anastasia nodded with understanding as she eyed the room, void of any decorations except a wardrobe and a few self-care products. They lay in silence for several minutes until her hour was up. Honey started to pull away again, and again, she resisted. Do you have to go?

I do. Honey sighed and pulled his arm from her grip. He crossed the room and started to wash up as he continued, Beaumont would have my hide if I didn’t sell anymore tonight.

What if I paid you?

Honey paused for a moment. Truthfully, he was a little tired from their bout, but he couldn’t let on that he was even capable of being too exhausted to go on. In most cases, even his short break between clients to wash was enough to rejuvenate him. It didn’t matter now, though. He was expected to perform. He turned and smiled. Another hour? Wow. You have quite the appetite.

She returned his enthusiasm with a smile of her own. Actually, I had something else in mind.

She rolled onto her side and rifled through her rumpled dress. A coin purse jingled in her hand as she rolled onto her back and peered inside. A stack of gold coins clinked on the nightstand. Honey’s eyes widened as he walked over and inspected the stack.

That’s, uh…that’s more hours than I have left tonight, he commented, trying not to seem too impressed by her offer.

I know, she chirped, but the rest is for you. Happy Birthday, Honey.

She motioned for him to return and opened her arms as he approached the bed. Honey got under the covers and snuggled himself against her. She reached in the little purse again and produced a strip of green linen paper.

Do you know what this is? she asked. Honey shook his head. She smiled. This is the currency of the old world. She turned it over and rubbed the corner between her thumb and forefinger. This fancy green paper was used to pay for things before the takeover.

Honey reached over and touched the one-dollar bill. How can paper be worth more than gold?

Well, the paper used to represent gold, she clarified. Sometimes the paper money couldn't back up the gold in the federal reserve, but it still had value because people thought it was valuable. That's all it takes. She explained how the war leading to the Canadian Union Deal had destroyed much of the land the United States had used to grow essential crops like cotton, food, and even trees. There had even been weapons created to sully the land to prevent growth and poison whatever could survive in it. The green paper had been made of cotton and linen, something that could not easily be made once the dust had settled. When the United States of America became the Southern Canadian Provinces, their first order was to stop the production of paper money and begin using coinage made from precious metals instead.

Honey was amused and entertained by Anastasia's story. So, how many coins is that paper worth?

Back when this was used, just one. Now, it's worth a lot more. It's rare and collectible. I received it as a when gift when I married. Now I carry it for good luck. She placed it on the table beside her and rolled over onto her side.

They lay in bed and talked of her travels and adventures, though her husband seemed far from her mind through it all. She had been an herbalist on the Eastern coast of the continent and had gone around the world in search of rare plants and medicines.

Wow, Honey beamed, it sounds like you've circled the world over and over.

She laughed heartily and nestled into his hair.

Well, not that many times, but I did see a lot of the world in my travels. Then I married, and now I am a kept woman. I don't travel anymore.

But your husband does?

Yes. She sighed. He is an officer in the military.

Oh.

Honey decided it was best to leave the subject of her husband alone. The look on her face when she spoke of him said it all. She was in pain, but the pain faded from her eyes as she squeezed him against her body and asked, Why don’t you leave? Would you leave if you could?

Honey scrunched his nose as he considered her words. He stammered,

Well, yeah…I mean, no…If I could-.. Maybe. Yeah, I think I would.

So, why don’t you?

I can’t. A short silence blanketed the two. He continued. Whores…don’t fare well on the outside…not on their own.

She smiled once more. If you could do anything-anything in the world- what would you do with your night with me?

He was sure that she expected some strange sexual fantasy or an admission of passion toward something unconventional, but the truth was quite mundane.

I suppose that...If I could do anything at all, I would like you to tell me more things about what’s out there.

She laughed, I mean it. I want to hear about people and places that I will never see. I would like to know the world. Someday I would like to be a part of it...Maybe after Beaumont dies.

It seemed there was no way she could even begin to summarize the entire world and its inhabitants, but then she reached into her purse once more and retrieved the remaining item within, a small book. She gracefully thumbed the cover over with her open hand to reveal the first page.

This is a book of poetry written by different authors from around the world. She explained. Honey shifted as he gazed up at the little book and admired the dexterity with which she held it. She had done this before.

She began reading to him aloud from the page:

My love, my cat

My furry friend

I cuddle thee

Without an end

I beckon thee

I call forthright

How do you keep your socks so white?

Honey chuckled, I don’t think I understand what it means, but I like it.

It’s not to be understood. It’s to be enjoyed and to make you think. What do you think it means?

I think it is a crazy person. Who asks for laundering advice from their cat and writes a poem about it? Do you think the cat replied?

Anastasia laughed as she turned the page with her thumb again. She continued reading from the book as she held Honey close until the clock struck midnight. He helped her into her dress and escorted her down the stairs.

I had a wonderful time with you, Honeeeey... She held that final syllable, waiting for the rest.

Beaumont.

Anastasia’s brow furrowed.

He bought me outright from the state, so he was required to provide a last name for my papers.

I see. She beamed at him as he walked in pace with her to the door.

Well, I had a wonderful night. I hope to see you again sometime, and I hope you liked your gift.

Thank you, ma’am. He said it with a pleasant smile and a bow, but a quick glance past him revealed the reason why. Beaumont’s stiff form glowered down at them from over the ledge of the second floor. She smiled again. Goodnight, Honey Beaumont.

Goodnight, ma’am. Honey closed the door behind her and slid the locks in place. His hands lingered on the cold brass for a moment before he turned around. Beaumont’s crossed arms sent a shiver down his spine. He started up the stairs, hoping Beaumont would disappear down the hall, as he usually did during normal business hours, but the dark man was still there when he reached the top.

Have a good night, Honey?

Honey nodded, Yes, sir.

She, uh…kept you quite a spell, didn’t she? Seemed to take quite a shine to you.

Yes. She paid for the whole night. Honey nodded again. I may have a new regular.

Beaumont nodded and smiled, but the smile seemed tainted somehow; a nasty, crooked smile. Well, that's good, boy. You're a good sell to them, bored old housewives.

Honey shrugged with disinterest. Money is money, he said, and you always get yours.

Beaumont nodded again, this time with an air of pride. "Very good, boy. Very good. Now, go wash that old lady stink off. You gotta be