Authors: K.A. Merikan
July 5th, 1893
'The Three Shovels' was located in a narrow, dark street in the area of St. Gile’s cathedral. After the Undead Plague had hit Europe six years ago, an enormous number of people fled to the cities from the countryside, overcrowding them and making places like the Old Nichol area a hell on earth. Due to lack of work, malnutrition and lack of hygiene, people were dying in dark alleys of the neighborhood every day. Those who survived were forced to live in permanent darkness, as the area of cheap tenement housing was blocked from daylight by giant constructions of steel and brick. Due to lack of space, the platforms were built over and on top of the existing ones to support newer buildings for middle and upper class immigrants from the countryside. It was horrid to walk those streets, as full of dirty children in rags and their tired mothers, as they were of cheap harlots and drunkards. It was virtually impossible to imagine how those poor creatures managed to survive in the sparse light of gas lamps, which not only posed a fire hazard, but also filled the space with choking smoke. Fortunately, thanks to charity, at least a good percentage of the poor had cheap, simple gas masks.
Someone like James Hurst would not normally be found in this part of town. He was well dressed, but still had enough sensibility to not show off his wealth. Cautiousness was a matter of great importance in poorer areas, especially when someone looked like they had money. Even if he wasn’t assaulted, many times a prostitute or beggar would approach him. Because of that, James tried to move fast, like a man who knows where he’s going, even though he had already gotten lost several times this evening. It took him over two hours to find The Three Shovels, but he didn’t dare to ask for a guide or a carriage, as he didn’t want to attract attention. He was looking for a man named Ira Russell. A few days ago he had overheard his servants’ conversation about a man who would go on search missions outside of the city walls. If offered enough for his services, he helped the wealthy to retrieve their possessions or still living relatives from the countryside! As an ex-sailor, he was experienced in dealing with the most unusual situations.
James lost hope of getting back any of his old belongings after the Plague had hit, but the amazing stories he had heard from the servants, made him start believing that it was indeed possible. As an aristocrat, he still managed to live with his wife and child in quite a wealthy part of town, but what his family didn’t know, was that their resources were diminishing with every month. The lands that had earned them their large income until six years ago, had been consumed by the undead and thus, were now completely unproductive. He knew if he didn’t find a way to retrieve some of the valuables stuck in his deserted mansion in Kent, he may be forced to let some of the staff go. Word of that would get out fast and their friends would see that they had become penniless. He dreaded even the thought of it and this man, Ira Russell, could be the one to save him.
A simple metal sign depicting three shovels hung from the side of a wooden hut that seemed to be slowly bending towards the other side of the street. When James finally saw it, he felt as if salvation was near. Swallowing, he ignored a red-haired harlot, whose tired face was spotted with two large sores at the sides of her mouth, clearly visible in the light from the freehouse and pushed at the door. When entering, he had to bend down to get through its low frame. Immediately, his nostrils filled with the smell of smoke, sweat and liquor. It was hot and muggy inside. To his unease, all eyes in the low, dirty room seemed to momentarily fix on the newcomer. The people here were seedy types: their smoke-blackened, wrinkly faces told stories he did not want to hear. Out of nowhere, a bony hand appeared clasping his arm. He turned his head in shock, his hand momentarily reaching for his saber. Fortunately, it turned out to be a young woman, whose fiery red hair was combed high above her forehead. From the look of her, he noted, she must have been a prostitute. A big bosomed one at that.
“Hi there, handsome,” the woman breathed, winking at him in a suggestive manner. “Looking for someone?” she asked, showing off her almost complete set of teeth, which she probably considered an asset.
James swallowed and took half a step back. “I am, actually,” he said quietly. “Do you know of a man called Ira Russell?” He figured that getting straight to the point was the way forward.
The woman pouted, her hand leaving his arm. “I know him all right,” she said, stepping back and eyeing him with curiosity. “He will not care for ya though, he just got back to London”.
“Let him be the judge of that.” James pouted and took off his gas mask. Without any warning, the woman leapt forward, reaching past James, and slapped somebody behind him.
“Oh fuck off, Daryl! He come for Ira!” she shouted at a teenage boy, who furrowed his eyebrows while standing suspiciously close to James. Silent for a moment, he spat on the floor, and moved to one of the busy tables.
The prostitute sighed, pushing at James’ back and shoving him through the crowded room. The aristocrat wasn’t sure how he felt about being manhandled... by a woman, but decided to put up with it until he would be granted a meeting with this mysterious Ira everyone in the Three Shovels seemed to know. The woman led him through the freehouse until they reached another room, which was smaller but equally as filthy and unwelcoming as the main one.
“Ya see the man in the corner?” she asked, nodding towards a small, rather private table, situated by an open window. “That Ira,” she stated and then swiftly deserted James, presumably returning to her nightly duties.
On a wooden chair behind the table, sat a large man who, judging from the absent look in his eyes, was daydreaming. He was a handsome, broad shouldered fellow; still young but mature. His well-formed head was practically bald, with only a slight shadow of dark hair growing back, which was also present on his cheeks. The face was firmly built: with a squarish jaw, pronounced brow line and a large, Roman nose between big, darkly framed eyes. His broad lips pouted around a pipe’s mouthpiece in an almost caressing manner. Hanging from his neck were expensive goggles made of copper, proving the lucrativeness of Ira Russell’s trade. What stood out the most though, were his arms, uncovered by a thin sleeveless top. There were colorful patterns starting at the wrist and covering his hands all the way up to the collarbones. After a brief moment, James realized that it was no fancy undershirt, but a design deliberately created on his skin.
He found himself staring for too long, but quickly remembered what he was here for then walked up to Ira and extended his arm to shake hands with him. “Good evening, Sir!” he said enthusiastically, “My name is James Hurst and I have come a long way to meet you!” He considered it a good idea to portray his effort, assuming that it would be taken into account.
Ira's dark eyes slowly and tiredly met his. “Hurst? Doesn’t ring the bell,” he said, straightening his back and breathing out the sweet smelling pipe smoke.
For a prolonged moment, James awkwardly held his hand over the table, but as Ira didn’t attempt to meet his greeting, he drew it back, deciding it was best to pretend he hadn’t been offended. “That is because you do not know me, sir. But I... know you!” He smiled and looked Ira in the eyes.
“Oh yeah?” was all the man answered, staring at him with bored, half-lidded eyes.
“Yes,” James decided to sit on a chair by Ira’s table, though he felt a bit uneasy in the presence of this man. “I have heard you accept even the most dangerous missions!” he said, assuming that flattery should prove to be a good tactic.
Ira sighed, flexing the muscles in his arms, which made the snake-like shapes on his skin seem to move. “Depends how well they pay,” he finally said, eyeing the aristocrat calmly.
“Well the one I have come to propose pays extremely well!” James promised with enthusiasm leaning in closer to the man.
Ira’s eyes quickly scanned his body before focusing on the eyes. “Well...?” he demanded.
“I am the owner of a countryside mansion in Kent...” James started, looking at Ira and trying to guess what he might be thinking.
“I know what you want me for,” the treasure hunter interrupted him, “I just wanna know if it pays off. Just returned from Morocco, you see,” he breathed, running his fingers over his bald head.
“Oh it will!” said James, immediately. “My father had a whole case of jewels stored. I am willing to pay quite a substantial fee, or share some of the gems; whichever is best for you, sir. Though I also need to get some important documents from my office in the property. I have the blueprints, so it shouldn’t be that hard...” He took out a scroll from a deep inner pocket of his coat and placed it on the table.
“How much is ‘substantial’ to you?” asked Ira, paying no attention to the document in front of him and instead eyeing the aristocrat. The pipe smoke danced around him lazily.
James looked at Ira once again, trying to assess how much would be enough for a man like that. The tattoos on Ira’s forearms kept distracting him from the task at hand. There were snakes, tangled wood and a weird male face, encircled with fur and topped with high, fox-like ears. On the whole, the design definitely looked oriental. “Two hundred pounds” he said in the end.
Ira looked at him flatly for a longish time and when it occurred to James that he might now refuse him, the man shrugged.
“Seems fair”, he sighed, rubbing his temple and tracing the aristocrat’s form with a lazy gaze. “I guess you got yourself a deal...” Having said that, he straightened his back and held out a large hand towards the other man. James could now vividly see the dark hair on its back.
“Thank you, sir!” James smiled momentarily and grabbed his palm. At the very moment they touched, he felt his heart skipping a beat. He reasoned that must have been because a man like Ira could be frightening to some degree. “Could you please tell me more about your qualifications? I would be happy to hear about that from you, not from gossip.” He swallowed, feeling his hand being clenched in a strong grip of rough, manual work-calloused fingers. Dark eyes seemed to bore straight into his brain, making him feel uneasy.
“Qualifications?” Ira asked in a low voice. “You want me to show ya a Certified Scavenger diploma?” he asked with a dead serious expression.
James slowly slipped his hand out of the man's grip, but kept looking into his eyes. “No... I thought maybe... I don’t really know if there is any way to measure these things,” he said in all honesty.
“Now, how do you measure the skill of a hooker if not by what they say ‘bout her, eh?” Ira said, finishing his tobacco. “Same here,” he explained.
James’ lips parted as he stared at Ira, dumbstruck. In the end, he managed a nervous smile. “I suppose I will have to go with that then, kind sir.”
“Drop that,” said the other man, who seemed strangely out of place in this freehouse. “I’m no sir.”
James murmured something beneath his breath and hurried to roll out the blueprint of the house on the table.
*
July 6th, 1893
It was early morning when James arrived at Paddington station, which wasn’t as busy as in the evenings. The massive glass ceiling had an orange tint because of the sunrise. The western side of the building was closed off, as a giant construction was underway. Everything was being increasingly modernized with all the new steam technology available.
James was on the platform with his closest family. His wife, Katherine was a sweet young woman, with a heart shaped face, big eyes and pouty mouth. Dressed in a copper-colored day gown and matching hat, she walked beside her husband, followed by their 3-year old son, Henry, who observed the lively train station from the height of his nanny’s arms. Five years after the Plague hit, London was still filled with a large number of homeless people. Something no one knew how to handle. Katherine took a stronger hold of James’ arm as they passed some of the beggars who slept on the floor in the main hall of the station. With the other arm, she carefully lifted the hem of her dress to avoid it touching an old, obviously drunk man.
“I never expected this place to become this shabby!” she breathed, looking at James with a worried expression. “I cannot imagine how the countryside must be! Are you sure you will be all right, darling?” she insisted.
“I will have to be strong and manage,” he said, seeing Ira in the distant crowd. “Mr. Russell is very experienced in these matters.”
“But James... are you sure he is not going to take advantage of your lack of experience? Did you get some references from his previous employers?” Katherine asked naively. “From what you have said, he does not strike me as a genuine character...”
“You need to have faith in us, Katherine,” her husband said, gently touching her arm.
“Which one is he?” the woman asked, nervously scanning the crowd.
“That tall man there,” he pointed with his head, not wanting to cause too much muddle. Ira stood with his back to them, in a pair of dark green breeches; strong, thick-soled boots that covered his calves up to the knee; and a yellow shirt with rolled up sleeves. On his back, there was a big rucksack and by his side stood a massive brown leather suitcase, complete with a lock.
Katherine paled slightly. “Oh, I don’t know, darling... he looks so... ruthless,” she said quietly.
“One has to be out there, in the country.” James smiled in the direction of his new companion, who had spotted him as well. Without changing his facial expression in the slightest, he nodded and turned to them, exposing the fact that his shirt was only buttoned up halfway.
“Good morning!” James greeted him cheerfully, letting go of his female companion. “My wife, Katherine, and my son, Henry.” He thought that showing them off to this man might be a good idea. If he intended to kill him, James’ family might move his conscience.
Ira eyed the aristocrat’s companions calmly, then nodded slightly at the lady. “How d’you do?” he said, taking off a cap he had on for a split second before putting it back on. “Beautiful morning, eh?”
The woman looked at him, dumbstruck. James knew people did not usually talk to her this way. From the tension around her jaw, he could see that his wife was fighting the urge to confront Ira about his impertinence.
“What an original accent you have, Mister Russell”, she said instead, smiling with her mouth only. “Is it from the north?”
Ira shot a quick look at James, then looked at Katherine again. “From ‘ere and there.”
James was relieved to see the train approach their platform, because it meant they did not have to continue this awkward conversation. “That’s our train! Darling, most of all, do not worry!” he said. “We will be back soon and everything will be back to as it should be.” He kissed her hand and took a step back.
The nanny took his son’s hand in hers and made a waving move with it. “Tell your father ‘bye-bye’”, she said gently, hugging the blond boy, who'd fixed his huge eyes on James and mimicked the move on his own.
“Bye-bye papa!”
Katherine covered her mouth nervously, keeping her eyes moving between James and the man he hired. “Be careful, darling!”
“I will be, my love. Take care of mommy, Henry,” he laughed softly, before making his way towards the train. “Follow me, please,” he said to Ira, who immediately started walking next to him, without the proper distance.
“Nice young catch, I must say!” he whistled appreciatively.
James almost instantly moved away by a few inches, a bit intimidated by the closeness. “Yes... but I wouldn’t speak of her in such a manner. We have a deep respect for each other.”
“Charming,” was Ira’s only comment as they entered the VIP lounge. Someone like James could not afford being seen in a lower class train compartment. The room was spacious, but thanks to warm colors, seemed quite cozy, with a mahogany bar to the left and oriental carpet underneath the sitting places. Apart from them and the uniformed crew, there was only a middle-aged lady with three children in the room.
“So...” started James, sitting in an armchair and looking up at Ira. “The trip should only take until next morning.”
“Mind if I get us something from the bar?” said Ira, after he dropped his rucksack on the chair next to James’.
“Not at all!” James actually thought he could use a good brandy to continue any conversation with this threatening sailor. For some reason, his presence made him jumpy.
Ira shifted his weight to one side, casually gripping his thick belt.
“You want anything?” he asked, looking at the elegant bar. Its back shelves were lavishly carved to look a bit like a clockwork mechanism, which was in fact present on one of the walls. The three children watched with fascination as all the small mechanical bits worked in perfect harmony to put the large station clock in motion.
“Brandy,” said James, biting his lip. “I have not been on a train since the Plague began...”
“Well, you ‘aven’t missed much,” laughed Ira. “It’s fuckin' awful,” he added, strolling over to the bar. The lady to James’ side looked at the aristocrat with anger, apparently thinking it was his responsibility to deal with Ira’s choice of words. James decided to pretend he didn’t hear anything and let his gaze follow his companion instead. In a standing position and without the rucksack, Ira’s undoubtedly masculine shape was especially well pronounced.
“It’s because of all those gates on the way, isn’t it?” James asked.
The man turned around slightly to look at him. “Huh?”
“That it takes so long...” James continued. “Kent is not that far away, yet, we have to wait in front of many gates, to pass security checks. Eh... traveling used to be so much easier,” he sighed.
“True.” Ira nodded, licking his lower lip. “Wouldn’t ‘ad taken more than half a day before the Plague,” he said before turning to the bartender.
James slowly looked down Ira’s back and held back a sigh. He needed to loosen his tie.
*
July 7th, 1893
James was surprised at how well he slept, taking what they were supposed to be doing today into account. When they got off the train, the sun was still only rising with a warm, orange glow. Being the only people on the remote station was already quite unnerving. There were rarely any questions asked. These deserted places gave passengers a chance to leave the train wherever they wanted. But no one took responsibility if they chose to climb over the tall, strong walls surrounding the railway tracks. Most of the time, getting off at a station like this, would mean waiting for a train that came from a different part of the country.
“So after looking at the blueprints...” started James, “What do you think is the best course of action?”
Ira stretched with a groan and eyed the small, red-brick station building. Thankfully, the train stopped at any deserted station a passenger declared. This one was located five miles from James’ mansion.
“We gear up,” the man answered, opening his large rucksack and starting to take out small packets wrapped in rough fabric.
James swallowed, unpacking his own weapons, to show Ira everything they had on hand. “I have a saber, five different knives, and... that’s all I think,” he finished quite flatly.
“You’ll take a gun”, the other man said, unwrapping a pistol and handing it to him unceremoniously. It looked solid and quite expensive, with ivory elements on the handle. “You do know ‘ow to use one, yes?” he asked, taking out a longer package, which turned out to contain a compact crossbow.
James nodded slowly and only now started really feeling the seriousness of what they were about to do. “I have used a gun before, though I am no master,” he said honestly.
“Figured” said Ira, unfolding the weapon. It was large and nicely decorated with copper elements. “That’s fine. It’s my job to take care of your arse out there.” The man unbuckled his belt and pushed the trousers down his legs, revealing thick, muscled thighs.
James opened his mouth a bit, trying not to stare. “That sounds very reasonable, but... what are you doing?” he asked, looking at the gun in his own hands.
Ira’s eyes shot up at him. “We need to change.”
“Into what? I thought a riding outfit would be quite suitable. It’s comfortable, makes running easy, the shoes are also sensible.” As if to make a point, he stretched his arms to the sides and upwards. His elegant jacket had rich burgundy embellishments on a thick, dark brown fabric. Cream colored trousers were tightly fitted and tucked into riding shoes, which reached almost to the knee.
“That might be good for Ascot I think,” Ira said, trying not to laugh and took off his shirt, remaining in just a pair of shorts that did not leave much to imagination. Now, James could see that the tattoos went from the man’s wrist and reached up to above his pecs. The rest of his hairy torso and hard belly were unmarked, except for an occasional scar. “But it’s easy to grab. Got somethin' for ya.”
“You do?” James’ whole body stiffened, and he clasped his hands behind his back, while observing Ira discretely. Only now he started realizing that he never had actually met a man of Ira’s class, who wouldn’t be subservient to him. He could recall going to see the blacksmith with his brother, years ago, only to stare at the man's muscular arms. But the blacksmith never actually talked to him. He remembered him being slightly dirty, sweaty and dressed in a protective apron made of leather... which was exactly the same fabric he just saw in Ira’s hands. The black trousers were tightly fitting, which made the man look practically obscene. James couldn’t help himself and smiled slightly, feeling strange goosebumps. Even Ira’s moves spoke of his confidence. Soon, the former sailor donned a tight fitting leather jacket and handed a similar set to his companion.
“Hope it’s the right size, but betta’ too tight than too slacky, right?” He winked.
James nodded, with an even wider smile, as if they weren’t about to embark on a zombie-killing spree. He put the jacket on over the one he was already wearing, for extra protection, but the trousers were impossible to put on, so he had to stay with the ones he brought himself. He did feel a bit relieved though, when Ira complimented his choice of shoes.
“Where did you learn all this?” James asked, putting on a pair of leather gloves.
Ira strapped on a leather harness that held crossbow bolts, a thick rope, some knives and other supplies. “Oh... when I was in the military service, I guess.” He shrugged. “Then I just did whatever was practical.”
“What’s in that suitcase?” asked James, pointing to the massive sturdy, leather bag, that Ira brought with him.
“The Firefly,” he answered. “For emergencies.”
“Oh! I’ve heard of them, but I have never actually seen one!” said James with excitement. “You see my father was in the army too. This kind of thing was only experimental back in the day.” He didn't know how it worked exactly, but he knew it was called: “The Firefly Steampower Air Mobility Unit”, shortened to: “The Firefly.” It was basically a backpack with a steam engine that allowed the wearer to fly for a short period of time.
“It’s expensive” Ira said, not without pride, looking at him with clear, brown eyes. He looked at their supplies once again, and then stretched. “I need to examine the situation out there. Get ready in the meantime, yes?”
“Alone?!” James asked, stunned. “I’ll come and help!” he offered instantly. “I may not be a sailor, but I am skilled!”
Ira looked at him pensively. “How do you know I was a sailor?” he asked, smiling.
“I... did some research...” James said clearing his throat. “And those tattoos of sea creatures on your arms...”
“Oh... that ain't no sea creatures. That's a fox fightin' snakes,” the man explained, finishing his preparations and looking into the bright sky. It was almost completely blue, except for a few thin, wispy clouds.
“Ah... I thought they were some kind of sea serpents...” James stretched out his arm a bit, as if he wanted to touch Ira, but held it back in the end. “Are you sure you want me to wait here?”
“Yeah, will be safer like that” he insisted and walked into the station building without another word.
James sighed and put on a simple leather mask, unsure of how it would all work out. Though the equipment made him feel safer, it didn’t make running easier. Or breathing for that matter.