Cibola's Promise by Erin Lausten

Author:Erin Lausten
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: steampunk, alternate history, wild west, wierd west
Publisher: Erin Lausten

***

The room smelled of the musty sweet tang of opium. Haunted dreams swirled in the dark interior of Zhao Jin's den of sin. Mordecai hooked his cane over his forearm and removed his hat, nodding to the small gentleman that greeted him at the entrance. “Please tell your master that Mordecai MacHurdyGurdy has come to call.”

The wizened man swiveled on his heels, the floors creaking beneath his shuffling feet. A long ponytail tied tight at the base of his neck and conical hat a testament to his origin. Mordecai withheld a sneer and looked to his surroundings.

Zhao Jin had brought his homeland with him. Each detail in the room had a flavor of the orient and reeked of foreign mysticism. A soft tinkle of laughter filtered from the room to his left. The ladies would be disgustingly young and malnourished. But men still came to savor their dragon-chasing smoke and pliant, willing bodies.

A scuff of slippered feet heralded the old man's return and Mordecai followed him down a corridor. The red-painted walls threatened to consume him, the long running carpet far too much like a serpent's tongue.

They stopped at an ornately carved door, its heavy wood dulling the sound of the man's curt knock. A deep voice called from within and the door opened to a dark and cavernous room.

Mordecai stepped across the threshold and listened as the door thudded to a close behind him. A single lantern cast ominous shadows over the heavy damask curtains and overly upholstered furniture. The glint of gold and jade flickered in the light of the single flame.

“Mordecai Kovacs, it has been some time, has it not?”

Mordecai lifted his upper lip at the sound of his Hungarian name. It had been ages since he'd thought of it, longer since he'd heard it uttered. “Indeed, it has, Zhao Jin. Tell me, do you ever tire of living in your own piece of hell?”

“Ah, hell or heaven, it depends on the man. Have you found religion since we last met? I would not have expected it, the men of the cloth are so much better at the con than you. The competition would be far too fierce.”

A plump feline lazed in one of the overstuffed chairs and Mordecai prodded at it with the end of his cane. The animal gave a sharp hiss and then shot off the chair into the shadows of a dark corner. Mordecai sat, his body perched on the very edge of the seat. Everything he touched felt contaminated.

“I have come for my jewel.”

Silence filled the room as the two men took each other's measure. Mordecai waited. His hands still as they clutched the thin wooden cane, his gaze hooded as he stared at his adversary. Zhao Jin leaned back in his chair, the monstrous desk forming a chasm between the two men. The Chinaman had aged significantly through the years, his hair grey and cheekbones sunken. The attempt to hide his weakening health under ostentatious wealth was glaringly ineffective. Mordecai took great pleasure in seeing his rival unwell beneath the trappings of success.

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