Death and the Barbary Coast by T.E. MacArthur

Author:T.E. MacArthur
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: adventure, steampunk, wild west, barbary coast, alt history, volcano lady
Publisher: T.E. MacArthur

December 1883

The Point Lobos Toll Road

San Francisco, California

A storm was gathering a few miles off shore, holding back until it had the strength to overwhelm the warm air above the land and push into the California landscape, pounding against the Sierras. Between rare gaps in the clouds, shafts of white and gray light poured down onto the unpaved road.

At a lower elevation to the south stretched the newest roads through the sand dunes to Ocean Beach and Golden Gate Park. From his perch higher up the hill, Turner could stop and take in a great deal of his surroundings. It was temporarily comforting for a man who usually wondered what awaited him behind every boulder. The trees on the high cliff and hills were stooped over from the constant wind and frequent tempests, creating an feeling of being in a tunnel.

A horse drawn buggy thundered by on the north-side speed track, headed back to the city. From the amount of mud and sand caked on the vehicle, it was clear that the young man driving it had been racing down at the beach. Certainly the young woman clinging to his arm and shrieking with glee at the dangerous speed at which they were travelling thought much of the situation.

He’d been warned by the hotel clerk that the Cliff House was for common folk and riff-raff, and the occasional meeting of business men who required “special privacy.” It had been a high class restaurant and place to be seen, but the building had slowly become a meeting place for undesirables and newly moneyed persons, who did not know yet that they could now afford better manners. The higher class customer had been driven away. Seemed to Turner that this was not such a bad place for him, but in his finest imitation of Lettie’s accent, he had explained he was only interested in the view. And he was. He wanted to see why the men from the Asian Pacific and Southern company risked their business reputations by going there for meetings.

Turner had been invited to one of those meetings. He had declined politely. He was only pretending to be a railroad engineer, and had no intention of being questioned on points he could never answer.

The old toll booth was empty. It seemed that the company which built the road and charged for passage could not maintain such demands on the public wallet when newer, cleaner roads had been built parallel to it. The booth reminded him of an abandoned shack, ready to welcome every ghost that wandered up from shipwrecks on the coast. The blowing wind created a low groan as it pushed its way through the rotting boards and trembling, shattered windows.

Turner kept walking, sweeping his cane as if nothing in the world was bothering him and he’d come to take his evening constitutional. Twice, he had to press his hat onto his head as the wild wind tried to snatch it away.

Ahead of him, he could see that trees were not abundant.

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