Bodacious Creed and the Jade Lake: The Adventures of Bodacious Creed, #2

By Jonathan Fesmire

James "Bodacious" Creed stopped a killer and helped bring peace to Santa Cruz, a coastal California city on the edge of the American frontier. Now, the undead lawman, resurrected with steam-based technology, takes on dangerous criminal cases as a private investigator.

One night while riding by the wharf, Creed hears a gunshot. He and his coyote companion, Coconino, rush to the scene. In a forest clearing, he finds two dead men and a dying woman. Mechanical parts ring her neck and wrist, and as she whispers of her travails, the former Chinese slave dies in his arms.

Someone in San Francisco is using illegal machinery to alter and control women like her. To hunt down the perpetrator, Creed travels to the City by the Bay. His journey takes him into the depths of Chinatown, reveals a secret society, and puts old and new friends in danger.

How can Creed learn the truth before more women are changed, manipulated, or killed?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jonathan Fesmire
• Release date: Aug 7, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201550943

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Lucy Morgan felt certain that her father didn’t want to take her to the factory so late. But, Miles, a hefty man, scratched his beard when she asked and gave her a shrug. As he had told her plenty of times, the owner of Morgan’s Mechanicals and Morgan’s Automatons appreciated his daughter’s interest in his companies, as well as the burgeoning technology.

The hooves of their horses went from clomping on the dirt road to clicking on the basalt road that led to an enormous, two-story building. The front wall, two hundred yards wide, loomed in front of them. Lucy figured her father knew the exact dimensions. He made a point of knowing things like that. He credited his success with his desire for such exactitude.

They approached a long hitching post with a dozen water troughs. Oaks lined the space between the post and the wall to provide shade for the horses during the day when the men who worked for Morgan hitched their steeds.

Two huge doors like one might find on a barn loomed to their right, with an ordinary-sized door to the side. They dismounted, Miles grunting as he climbed down. Lucy swung a leg over and dropped easily to the grass. Both hitched their horses. The night smelled of earth and leaves.

Lucy adjusted her pants—much better to ride in than a dress—and strode to the door.

I can’t believe you talked me into this. Miles chuckled and pulled a key ring from his pocket, the chain attached to his belt jingling. Lucy, do you mind shining a light my way?

She opened her saddlebag, removed a long metal cylinder, and pushed a lever on its side. Light shined from one end of the mechanical torch. Though bright, her father didn’t complain as she pointed the beam at his hand. The Colt and key ring on his hip flashed under the light.

Miles found the right key in a moment, unlocked the door, and pulled it open. The things I do for you.

If you’d just brought the specifications home, you could have shown me there, Dad. Lucy walked in behind him and pointed the mechanical torch toward the flight of stairs leading to her father’s office. His desk here at the Morgan’s Automatons factory had a low wall and overlooked the factory. This was just one of his offices. His primary office occupied a large section of the second floor in another building.

The factory floor filled most of the building to their right. Lucy knew this area well, as Miles had been taking her to work with him for about four years now, since 1873. Shortly after Lucy turned fourteen, Miles hired a genius inventor named Anna Lynn Boyd. Anna lived with them for several years, fine-tuning the use of the luminiferous ether and designing the first brain circuits for automatons.

Lucy bit her lower lip as she thought about Anna. They’d become good friends, but Lucy still harbored a crush on the woman.

Even in the darkness, Lucy pictured the factory in her mind’s eye. Auto sapient arms and legs hung in racks from floor to ceiling. An ascender helped the workers retrieve the high-up items safely. Two assembly lines ran parallel to the front wall, facing neat stacks of wooden boxes. Another tall row of crates sat between Miles and Lucy and the rest of the factory floor.

There should have been silence, but whispers came from within the building. A light winked out between the crates.

Miles put the keys in his pocket and took his first step toward that overhead office. It appeared to Lucy that he hadn’t noticed the whispers. Like many older people, Miles suffered from diminished hearing. She grabbed his hand, then passed him the mechanical torch. She stepped to where the stacks of wooden crates reached her chest level, bent forward, and tried to look between them. Silence returned, and she spotted no lights.

What are you doing, Lucy?

She turned to shush her father, but he wasn’t looking at her. Instead, he stepped to the door and slammed up the fist-sized light lever.

Fear flooded her nerves, and she rushed toward him. There’s someone in the factory! she whispered harshly.

She gripped her father’s left arm, turned, and crawled back along the row of boxes. Nobody could enter the factory without authorization. Who knew what they might take? What they might sabotage?

She peeked around and saw the light of a mechanical torch bouncing toward her.

From behind, her father cocked his gun. His voice, barely audible, whispered, Lucy, we have to get out!

Of course. Nothing was more valuable than life, not the inventions here, not the steely parts. The company kept secrets that, were they to become known, might cause unknown damage, something to do with Bodacious Creed and his resurrection. Might someone find those here, or did the company keep them locked away elsewhere? Though Miles allowed Lucy to look at many of the company’s designs, he kept some things even from her.

Lucy! came his harsh whisper.

The light switched off. Lucy sprang up and dashed toward Miles.

Two shots were fired, with the second whisking past Lucy’s head. Miles opened the door and moonlight led her outside. Father and daughter stepped out, and Miles lifted his gun, his right hand shaking.

Get out of there! Get out now! came a voice from the other end of the factory.

Lucy fumbled with the mechanical torch. She switched it on and aimed it toward the far side of the building. The light barely reached, but she saw three human forms, two rushing out of the far door. The Morgans had missed it on their approach, but the thieves were rushing for a cart ten yards from their position.

Miles stood breathing hard, a heavyset, deceptively muscular man. Lucy sensed his power now, and the waver left his hand when he pointed the pistol at the outlaws.

He fired four of the six bullets in the gun. Lucy winced at the loud reports but kept the light trained on the figures.

The strangers had reached the cart. Moments later, a voice shouted Yah! and the horses galloped off, pulling a cart that bounced on the basalt and, in moments, vanished from view.

Miles turned and embraced his daughter.

Lucy stood, stunned. She felt his heart pounding like a bass drum in his barrel chest. Dad, they’re getting away!

Right. Miles put away his gun and locked the door. He unhitched the horses while Lucy continued to stare into the distance.

Lucy, come on. To the other side. We’re locking that door, too, and we need to report this to the marshals. I recognized that voice. Their lookout works for me.

Oh, Lucy said. Dad, I just wanted to learn how the steely cooking skills work.

Well, now you get to see how the law works.

Minutes later, they headed down Cabrillo Highway toward the center of Santa Cruz.

CHAPTER ONE

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James Creed gripped the baseball, slick with his coyote’s drool, and held it back, ready to throw it. Coconino, the coyote in question, dashed across the clearing. He yipped and turned, bounding one way and then the other in anticipation of his master tossing the hard leather ball once more. This clearing contained Creed’s two-story home and the small stable he built for Johann, his horse. Early evening sunlight shined through the redwoods and pines. On the porch stood an auto sapient called Ludwig, its human-like but steel and hickory frame glinting with hints of that descending light.

Creed tossed the ball hard but not with even half of his strength. Coconino followed the brown leather visually, dashed to one side, and leaped, catching it between his jaws. He landed with his natural front paw and his metal one hitting the ground in tandem.

The coyote ran to Creed, but a moment before Coconino could drop the ball at his master’s feet, the man turned his head. Hoofbeats pounded in the woods to the south—crunching leaves and cracking twigs. Coconino gazed up at him, tongue hanging half out, and gave another yip, so Creed knelt and patted his fur. His fingers brushed the metal lump at the base of the coyote’s skull.

Creed had a similar machine attached to the right side of his head near his temple. It pressed against his alabaster skin. His inch-thick head unit covered an area of his skull the size of a pocket flap. It gave him both keen hearing and kept his brain alive.

The coyote went quiet, aside from his panting. Perhaps he sensed his master’s heightened nerves.

Someone approached on horseback. Only a few people seemed likely. That gait, that rhythm—it sounded like Espiritu, Anna’s steed.

It’s time, Creed said to the coyote. He picked up the ball and strode toward the house.

Do you need help? asked Ludwig in its mechanical approximation of a human voice.

Creed nodded, then remembered that the automaton only responded to his voice commands. Get Coconino some water.

James Creed, once a U.S. Marshal, and then a vigilante, and now a private investigator, strode into the house. He passed through the small parlor, down the hallway, past the living room, and ascended the stairs.

This house once belonged to Margarita Fullerton, the former madam of The House of Amber Doves, turned recluse and then turned zombie, who died the year before. Fullerton willed the property to Anna, Creed’s daughter, who then gave it to Creed.

He entered Fullerton’s former bedroom (his now), dropped the ball at the foot of the bed, and flung open the wardrobe.

Next to two dusters, shirts, ties, and pants hung his Austin Equalizers and his ammunition belts. He put his head and right arm through one of the ammo belts so it hung off his left shoulder and to his right side, then strapped on his gun belt.

Beside the bed sat a nightstand with a book, a lamp that used a Tesla bulb instead of camphene, and Creed’s silver-plated steel mask. He strapped this to his face. It had been a gift from Anna, who sensed his discomfort with his appearance after his resurrection. His skin had gone ghostly, his metal eyes appeared sunken, and he felt especially conscious of the bullet scar across his left cheek. Now, he wore the mask because it brought out respect in others. It covered his face from the bridge of his nose to his chin and had five vertical slits at his mouth. He buckled one set of straps over his ears and the other under, reached for his guns to make sure they hung right, and headed downstairs.

Coconino barked and raced toward him from the kitchen, muzzle dripping, and the two stepped out the front door in perfect synchronization.

Anna entered the yard, Espiritu, her black horse with its skeletal white markings, trotting quickly toward him.

Did you get it working? Creed called to her as he jogged toward the stable.

Jonny did. Just in time. Anna usually wore pants if she needed to ride fast, but she wore a red dress with deep blue frills along the hem and lace-up black boots. She had the skirt bunched up between her legs so she wouldn’t have to ride sidesaddle. She rode to the stable and Creed followed.

Anna unstrapped her saddlebag and pulled out a thick bundle of wrapped leather. She tossed it to him.

Creed opened the bundle. He was familiar with the device, as he had seen this one in the week since the theft at Morgan’s Automatons. It was a long, thick belt made to fit around a horse’s neck. The year before, he used a similar one to track a criminal. On the back was a circular machine, the face resembling a clock. This one didn’t tell time. It told direction and distance. With no time to check or interpret it, he simply strapped it to Johann’s neck.

His steed faced him at the stable door. As Creed slid the belt over the horse’s head, Johann snorted as though to say, This again? Fine. Do it.

Creed buckled it at the base of Johann’s neck just tightly enough that it wouldn’t shift, but not so tight that his companion would have trouble breathing. As he tucked it through the loop, he caught the scent of horse droppings. Maybe that’s what Johann really thought about the tracker.

The steely is on the wharf, Anna said.

Creed let Johann out the gate and mounted. He glanced around for the coyote. Just ten feet away, Coconino wagged his entire backside in excitement.

What would it be doing...? Creed snapped his fingers. A train is leaving soon.

In about twenty minutes.

Creed frowned, wondering if he would arrive in time. Yeah, he would, regardless of what the world threw at him. It won’t take me fifteen minutes. Love you, Anna. Yah!

He whipped Johann’s reins and galloped toward the woods to the south of the clearing.

Love you, too! came Anna’s shout as he, the horse, and the coyote left her behind.

Shape Description automatically generated with medium confidence

After the robbery at Morgan’s Automatons on the night of May 19, when one thief nearly shot Lucy Morgan, local marshal Walton Bateman put out a warrant for the arrest of Fredric Castro. Today was June 1, thirteen days since the robbery. Miles Morgan possessed an elephantine memory and remembered the names, hobbies, faces, and voices of all his workers. Castro worked on the assembly line until that very day. On the 21, Marshal Bateman, along with Deputy Lonzo Rivera, caught him returning to his home, no doubt to pick up some personal items before going on the run.

The outlaw gave the marshals no additional information—not why he took part in the theft or the identity of his cohorts.

Morgan had gone to Anna Lynn Boyd. Publicly the young madam of The House of Amber Doves, she was secretly a top inventor for his companies. He revealed to her the contents of the two missing crates. One contained an entire auto sapient steely— one that could be tracked—but the tracker was in the same crate as the automaton. Anna would have to modify another to scan a spectrum of signals to locate it, and that might take weeks. She and her partner had worked on those modifications in her laboratory beneath the brothel.

Creed had strapped that very tracker to Johann’s neck. He had no time to stop and read the dials, but if Anna said he would find the steely on the wharf, that’s where it would be.

Coconino ran at a brisk pace beside Johann. After befriending Coconino, Creed discovered coyotes run as swiftly as horses gallop. Experience, and a bit of library research, proved this so. Even his one mechanical leg didn’t slow the canine down. Raleigh Gilmore, the engineer-turned-criminal who operated on Coconino, had been a skilled machinist. Anna and Jonny also tinkered with all of the coyote’s mechanical parts, which lessened any pain the animal felt because of its implants.

They rushed through the woods, the steed and the coyote so used to the location of each tree that they traveled at nearly top pace and even faster once they left the tree line.

At the end of Center Street, they clopped onto the first boards of the wharf. Now, Creed examined the readout. Yes, the steely was nearby.

Unfortunately, Morgan couldn’t describe Castro’s remaining accomplices. He and Lucy had been too far away, though one outlaw appeared to be wearing a dress, so Creed needed to find a man and woman. Not much help.

Creed proceeded toward the train station halfway along the wharf. Beyond it was a restaurant, a fishmonger’s shop, and an area where local anglers made their daily catches. The sun skimmed the horizon, and with his clear nighttime vision provided by his mechanical eyes, Creed saw the fishermen in shades of gray, poles attached to the railings, buckets of fish beside them.

A queue to enter the train car stretched back toward the fishermen. Local workers, mostly young Chinese men who lived in Railroad Flats, loaded luggage from horse-drawn buggies into the cargo area. A hint of steam rose from the smokestack, and the scents of coal and seaweed tinged the air.

The passenger doors were closed, and the ticket inspector hadn’t started letting travelers board. Good. This wasn’t a cargo train, so if the thieves meant to send the goods north, they would travel on the same train as the package. So, the burglars meant to get out of town, and possibly go as far as San Francisco, this train’s last destination.

Creed rode Johann along the line at a slow gait. It didn’t surprise him that many watched him nervously. He had become a local hero to most, though some blamed him for not taking part in the Battle at Iron Nelly’s where so many deputies had given their lives to flush out the Syndicate. And, he wished he could have helped, but others needed his protection and would have died for certain.

A small child waved at him and clapped his hands, and Creed gave the boy a nod. A few men and women tipped their hats.

Creed suppressed a sigh. Several couples stood together in the queue, any of whom might have been his suspects, none more suspicious than the next.

Another approach, then. He moved to the end of the line to where the shipping handlers were loading boxes and luggage. The steely was seventy feet away and one train car down, where two Chinese men slid a hefty wooden box on board. They finished pushing it inside, then turned to their wooden cart. Panting, one turned his gaze to Creed and frowned.

Creed dismounted Johann, landing on the boards of the wharf with a thump. Coconino padded around the horse.

Please stand aside, Creed said. There are stolen goods on the train.

We stole nothing! the man with the scowl said.

Creed frowned behind his silver mask. I’m not accusing you. I-

His keen hearing caught a soft gasp somewhere in the line. He waited a moment before looking back.

Watch where you’re going! someone shouted. People shifted in line as though to let someone through, and, soon enough, a man broke from the group and strode back along the pier.

Creed