Red Dog Conspiracy: A Noir Future Steampunk Crime Family Saga

Dirty snow lay beside the road on the way to the Kerr residence. Mist drifted through the trees, even though the sun stood at high noon, a pale ball behind the clouds.

The Spadros quadrant was the southeast of the city. The Hart quadrant, where Mr. Kerr lived, was the northwest. So we rode through Spadros quadrant, across the bridge to Market Center, then over the bridge to Hart. Thorny hedges, wrought iron, and patrolling guards kept the reality of the Pot and slums from view.

The Kerr twins and I grew up together. I felt glad to see both of them again, for very different reasons. But they reminded me of my home and all I had lost. “I have never been to Mr. Kerr’s home. Is it far?”

Tony said, “Just in the fair part of Hart … not too far.”

“How fortunate for Mr. Kerr that he was moved to the Hart lands.” Why Hart, when Mr. Kerr lived the majority of his life in the Spadros portion of the Pot? No one entered a Family’s area from their Pot without paying a steep price. It was unheard of for one Family to take another’s Pot rag. Was this the insult which caused Roy Spadros to hate Charles Hart so? That seemed excessive even for Roy. But I did wonder what great boon Mr. Kerr gave the Harts in exchange for such a release.

“Mr. Kerr has done well,” Tony said. “An old man shouldn’t have to languish in the Pot, especially one with such a distinguished heritage.”

I stared at Tony. Did he mock the Kerrs? He seemed sincere.

Anthony Spadros: so different from his father at times, and at other times, very like. He could be ruthless, and also kind; vicious, yet also gentle. I often didn’t understand Tony, or why he did what he did. Even his words the night before didn’t fully explain his actions.

“Why did you marry me?”

Tony took my hand in his and kissed it. “Because I love you.”

His answer, while on the surface, fine, bordered on madness. No one in Tony’s position married for love.

Why did Roy Spadros agree to it, nay, encourage it? I was no grand lady; I was a nobody — worse, a Pot rag, an untouchable, raised in a brothel, trained as a whore.

Most people in the Pot grew up in a brothel. And yes, Ma taught me the work. But she never let me do any, even when men asked for me. At the time, it made me unhappy, because I felt different than the other girls. She said the Masked Man wouldn’t like it.

Who was the Masked Man? Some whispered he was a quadrant money-man. I never learned his identity until much later, but even as a small girl I knew he was important.

I remembered the way I saw him as a child. Capable, larger than life, his dark cloak and clean scent billowed into the room ahead of him. His brown leather mask showed light skin around warm blue eyes. The way the Masked Man moved said don’t test me, and no one ever did.

When I was young, I hoped the Masked Man was my daddy. He treated me kindly, and took an interest in me. I liked when he came to see us.

The whole situation puzzled me. I didn’t understand why he hid his face, why he visited, why he took such interest in me. Yet many years later, here I sat, married to the second most powerful man in Bridges, riding in a carriage fit for a queen, pulled by the finest carriage-horses in the land. Perhaps this was what the Masked Man intended.

I felt Tony watching me. If anything, he was attentive. “You don’t mind going out on a holiday?”

“Not at all. It gives the staff a day of rest.”

He let go of my hand and turned to the window. “You are too kind to them, Jacqui … you think too much of them. You must be careful, or they will take advantage. They are your servants, not your friends.”

“Look, she fancy,” Poignee said as I passed.

I felt appalled. “What did you say?”

“Don’t put on them airs. You damn lucky but you a Pot rag, same as us.”

Treysa and Ottilie snickered.

“I understand.” I did understand. It didn’t stop me from treating them as people. I don’t think Tony saw them that way.

“I’m sure you’re glad to see your playmates again after all these years,” he said. “I was allowed very few.”

I stared at him, mouth open, and grasped his hand. I had forgotten about his older brother, the true Spadros heir, poisoned when Tony was two. No one spoke of the child, and I had never even learned his name.

“Ten was the only one my father allowed near me.” Tony smiled, as if thinking of pleasant times long ago.

“Ten?”

“Ten Hogan … Sawbuck.”

I stared at him until I remembered the imposing fellow at the ball, Tony’s “right hand man.” In truth, I saw the man very seldom. “Oh, yes, of course.”

“Everyone called him Sawbuck … we had another cousin Ten, and everyone confused them. He’s my mother’s sister’s son.” He paused, then laughed. “I suppose no one ever told you!”

“I knew you were related, of course, but not in what way.” Sawbuck looked nothing like Molly; I wondered what his parents were like.

“From the first time Ten learned about my brother, oh, I was two or three so he must have been eight, or perhaps nine … when he heard of it, he said he would watch over me, that he would never let anyone hurt me. He has kept his word.” Tony leaned his arm on the window’s edge, and leaned his face on his hand. “It’s still strange that he calls me ‘sir,’ even now, but my father would have nothing else.” He stared out of the window.

How odd the situation must feel. “It sounds lonely.”

Tony smiled, and shook his head. “It's of no consequence.” He squeezed my hand. “We're safe, and so shall our children be. I'll make sure of that.”

I leaned back, glad for my morning tea, as dangerous as it might be if anyone learned of it. I would never bring children to a world where they might become targets for an assassin.

* * *

Hart quadrant’s streets and sidewalks were made of closely laid red brick, with curbs painted white. Joseph and Josephine Kerr greeted our carriage. Josephine wore a pale blue morning dress and a gray shawl. Joe wore a gray blazer and vest, with navy blue pinstriped pants.

I think.

I couldn’t tear myself away from his eyes.

But then Joe shook Tony’s hand, and I remembered others were present.

Joe cleared his throat, color rising in his cheeks. “Would you like a tour? Our home isn’t grand as yours, but it’s sufficient.”

The Kerr’s row house sat on the corner, made of brown stone. It had white molding around the archway and polished wrought-iron railings. Wood paneling and tile graced the front hall. The housekeeper, a middle-aged lady, met us at the door: Marja, my kitchen maid Ottilie’s mother. She nodded her head to me.

Joe asked, “Is Mr. Kerr ready for visitors?”

“Aye,” the woman said, “he’s in the parlor. I’ve set a fire for you. Luncheon will be ready in a bit.”

“Thank you, Marja.” Josie turned to me and Tony. “Grampa is a bit gruff, but he means well.”

Tony and I smiled at each other, used to Roy and his rages.

I had never met the Kerrs’ grandfather. He took the twins in after I went to Spadros Manor that final time: they called it “finishing.” This was training on how to live where people wore clean clothes, took baths, and ate with something other than their fingers, when they ate at all.

I found my finishing painful and confusing. I can’t imagine what it was like for them, having never set foot outside the Pot until then.

From Joe’s description, I expected Polansky Kerr IV to be a gray, frail man wearing a robe and slippers. I felt pleasantly surprised to meet a ruddy, well-groomed gentleman. Mr. Kerr kissed my hand and chatted with us without so much as a cane to lean on. “My grandchildren speak of you often, Mrs. Spadros, so I feel as if I know you already.”

I wondered where the gruffness Josie spoke of was. But then even Roy seldom raged in front of company when first met. I smiled at Mr. Kerr. “I hope to make actual acquaintance.”

Marja came in. “Luncheon is served, sir.”

“Come,” Joe said, “we don’t have a chef as you must, but Marja’s cooking is quite good.”

Mr. Kerr took my arm, Tony took Josie’s, and we went into the dining room.

Joe was right; the food was quite good, the meal and wine, light and flavorful. But Joe spoke truth on another matter. The china, while antique, was mismatched and chipped. The house was small, old, and in need of a decorator’s touch. Some of the silverware had been bent and imperfectly straightened. The table cloth was threadbare in spots. Not grand as ours, but sufficient.

Tony took a drink of wine, leaning back in his chair and spoke to the twins. “Congratulations on attending the Grand Ball.” He turned to Mr. Kerr. “You must be very proud.”

Mr. Kerr smiled. “Why, thank you. I’m much indebted to Mr. Charles Hart for his generous invitation.” He paused. “I hope it’s a sign of greater things to come.” He became animated, moving his arms as he spoke. “My grandfather told me many times of when he was a boy, how beautiful the city used to be, how Benjamin Kerr raised the dome and sunk the pilings, lo these 500 years ago. The gardens, the bridges of gold, the buildings … a magnificent creation it was then.” His lined face became that of a man transfixed with the wonder of his vision. “One day the Kerr family is going to —”

Josie spoke brightly. “Would anyone like another glass?”

That was interesting. I raised my empty cup.

Mr. Kerr chuckled, untroubled by Josie’s interruption. “You were right, Joe, she’s had four already and not a sign of it on her.”

Joe leaned back in his chair. “And I’d wager she had quite a bit more before she arrived.”

Tony’s face darkened. “What are you insinuating…?”

Joe leaned forward, a brief look of panic on his face. “Nothing at all, I assure you! Please forgive me. I am truly sorry to have given offense.”

Tony relaxed. “Her taste for strong drink has been commented on in the past, and not in a good way. I would have no stain on her honor.”

Well, that was kind of him. I was sure I would hear about it on the way home, though.

Josephine laughed. “One time when we were small, a truck full of vodka tipped, and we stole several of the bottles….”

A loud screeching noise a few blocks away, then the shriek of grating metal and a crash of breaking glass. Us Lowballs hid, glancing around in case a rival gang got past the watchers and High Cards. A minute later, Joe dashed up laughing, brown hair dark with sweat, carrying a crate of liquor bottles filled with clear liquid. Josie followed behind, lugging her own crate.

“Full proof it was, and most of us couldn’t drink more than a swallow. It burned so! But Jacqui drank half a bottle straight down, before the police came and we had to run. She didn’t so much as stumble the rest of the night, and she couldn’t have been more than nine!”

I was thirsty. I loved the warmth in my chest as I drank. I felt more alive.

Tony turned to me, mouth open, and I grinned at him. “I liked the taste. In any case, Josie exaggerates. I was twelve, and already large for my age.”

I could hardly forget the night Air died.

Tony took my hand. “I have worried that she had some ailment or sorrow to cause her to drink so.”

I felt bitter; he didn’t understand anything. Trying not to snort in amusement, I put my hand on his and smiled.

Joe did not smile. “How admirable. And how happy you look. We must take a stroll among the roses. It’s been so unseasonably warm that some are still in bloom. The snow dusted on them looks quite charming.”

“Oh, yes!” Josie said. “Grampa, will you stroll with us?”

“Of course.”

I took Tony’s arm as we strolled in the small garden, bounded by a wall of brown stone topped with wrought iron. The sky was overcast and no snow fell; whatever snow might have been on the roses had melted. The roses were pretty, if wilted from the chill.

Strolling in the Kerr’s garden seemed fine enough, but I couldn’t avoid Joe’s comment.

Was I happy?

I had no reason not to be. My husband was not harsh, or brutal, or even unkind. As far as I could tell — not that I cared one way or the other — he was even faithful. I had every comfort imaginable and time for diversion of my choosing, such as the people I helped as an investigator.

Most of the cases were petty: navigating the maze of bureaucracy at Market Center, following a man suspected of infidelity. Helping those in the Pot and the slums around it helped me feel less disloyal for leaving them to shiver in the cold while I slept in luxury.

But every move I made, even to drink a glass of wine, shouted my strangeness in this world. And to be so near to Joe again was utterly intoxicating.

He and Josie chatted arm in arm, and I felt a sharp twinge of jealousy, yearning to feel Joe’s touch on me again. I recalled the last time we kissed, the way he smelled, the promises he made, the way he touched my body …

We completed our circuit and approached the back stair. I stumbled on the rough walkway, but Tony caught me.

“Your face is flushed,” Joe said. “Are you warm enough?”

I felt embarrassed. “Quite.”

“Perhaps we should go inside,” Tony said.

Mr. Kerr said, “Would you like to visit my library?”

Books lined the walls to the ceiling, with a movable ladder to fetch the upper ones. The furniture was leather, or mahogany with brass handles on the drawers. The pieces looked worn, as did the reddish-brown carpeting. A well-worn mahogany and ivory-colored chess set stood on a small table in the corner, along with two chairs.

Mr. Kerr had come into some money, but long ago.

While Mr. Kerr showed off his books, Josie and I sat in the window seat, and she showed me her drawings, which she kept in a portfolio. “This portrait of your father is exceptional.”

Josie smiled. “Thank you.”

“Is your father well?”

Josie shrugged. “I assume he’s drunk as usual.”

Ely Kerr suffered serious bouts of melancholy. They say this worsened after his lover Josephine died giving birth to their twins.

A dim alley, the smell of alcohol, sitting next to a weeping blond man. “He hates me, Jacqui. My daddy hates me.”

I felt surprised at the memory. How old was I? “Josie, may I ask a personal question?”

“Why, Jacqui, you may always ask, whatever you wish.”

I glanced around and lowered my voice. “You are young and beautiful, and your grandfather is well. Why are you unmarried? Could he not arrange something to your liking?”

Josie shook her head. “He has forbidden me to marry. I am being trained to take over his affairs, should he fall ill or pass on.” She gazed out of the window. “It’s of no consequence; I’m too busy with my own affairs as it is. Another man’s household would just get in the way.” She giggled. “A fine spinster I sound.”

Why her? Joe could take over Mr. Kerr’s business. “You’re the prettiest spinster I’ve ever seen. Are you happy?”

She put her hands in her lap. “Completely. I have useful work, my family around me, and a bright future. I couldn’t be happier!”

Moved by her joy, I grabbed her hands and kissed them, as I did when we were young. “I’m so grateful. I’ve worried about you. It’s good to see you happy and well.”

She smiled, blushing, and pulled her hands gently away, which made me feel she put a distance between us. “It’s gratifying to hear you say so. I’m glad you never forgot me. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too.” I would have spoken of how lonely the years had been, the hurt of hearing of her but never from her. But those words no longer seemed appropriate.

Joe, who sat across the room with his leg up on the arm of the overstuffed chair smoking a cigar, rose. “Would you like to see the rest of the house?”

So we toured the house, which was much like what we had seen already. And soon we were on our way outside.

We made our goodbyes and got in our carriage. As the carriage pulled away, I noticed a man across the street wearing brown. He moved out of view before I saw his face. Had he been watching us?

I leaned back and closed my eyes, feeling light-headed and weary, glad to be going home.

The visit seemed different than I thought. Joe was charming, but distant; he hadn’t once smiled during our entire visit. Josie was a talented woman with her own life. And Mr. Kerr was a mystery. The noise of the horses and carriage cut the melancholy ache I felt.

“Did you enjoy your afternoon?”

I felt startled. “What? Oh, yes, it was lovely. It was good to see my friends after so many years. And their grandfather is an excellent host.”

“Yes, he was. I’m surprised at the poor way he’s spoken of. I don’t understand it.” Tony stared out of the window.

Bitterness rose within me. “I understand very well. People hate those who dare to rise from their ‘place’ and show they’re as good as those born to wealth and power. Every slight shown to me the last six years has proved that well.”

“Jacqui …” Tony said, as if saddened by my tone. “There is a long history of hate for the Kerr family. That I do understand.”

People blamed the Kerrs for allowing the violence which destroyed much of the city, especially the areas which now formed the Pot, which they say used to be beautiful. The Kerr name became a byword, a proverb of what to avoid.

Yet his grandchildren attended a Grand Ball. Even after being sponsored into the quadrant by the Harts, for Mr. Kerr to climb from the slums to his current place in Bridges society was a monumental achievement. I wondered how he did it.

“Pity they petitioned Hart rather than Spadros,” Tony said. “It would be grand if they lived closer.”

To see Joe every day, to run into him at the shops?

It would be torture.