Blazing Bodices E-Book

Robert Jeschonek

• Herausgeber: Pie Press
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

Hardcore adventurer Sir Algernon Hogshead takes down badass steampunks in Victorian London. But the case of a lifetime might just ruin his winning streak and his life. When his wife starts keeping mysterious secrets and bad company, Sir Hogshead craves a peek behind the velvet curtain. But he can't possibly break through the world of women...or can he? Sparks fly when this manliest man crosses the line and takes on the undercover assignment he never imagined. Will a dress and corset enable a pulp action hero to blow the lid off a female threat without blowing his cover? Or will the terrible truth behind his wife's betrayal mean a horrifying ordeal for the man behind the disguise? Sometimes, the most awful surprises can lurk behind the most ridiculous outfits. Welcome to the latest shocker from Robert Jeschonek, a master of twisted steampunk from the outer reaches of the imagination. Don't miss the uncut version of this mind-bending and darkly funny story, which mixes action and comedy, mystery and slapstick, supernatural danger and steampunk cross-dressing.

Leseprobe

Blazing Bodices

A STEAMPUNK TALE

ROBERT JESCHONEK

Contents

Also by Robert Jeschonek

Blazing Bodices

About the Author

Special Preview: Heaven Bent

BLAZING BODICES

Copyright © 2023 by Robert Jeschonek

http://bobscribe.com/

Cover Art Copyright © 2023 by Ben Baldwin

www.benbaldwin.co.uk

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Blastoff Books

An Imprint of Pie Press

411 Chancellor Street

Johnstown, Pennsylvania 15904

www.piepresspublishing.com

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Also by Robert Jeschonek

100th Power Book 1

100th Power Book 2

100th Power Book 3

Blastoff!

Cosmic Conflicts

Gray Lady Rising (with Annie Reed)

In a Green Dress, Surrounded by Exploding Clowns and Other Stories

In the Empire of Underpants and Other Stories

Battlenaut Crucible

Scifi Motherlode

Sticks and Stones: A Trek Novel

Blazing Bodices

When the woman who was not a woman burst into our evening, we were just setting up some balls for the breaking.

Shortly after Miss Patel had finished her story of the Emerald Guardians, I and several members of the Wanderers' Club retired to the billiards room.  After all the idle chit chat, we felt the need for action. After all, we call ourselves Wanderers, not Gossipers, do we not?

Just as Mr. Asteroth-Phipps was drawing back his stick to break the first rack of balls, the heavy oak door of the billiard room flew open.  As the door slammed home against the oak paneling of the wall, the five of us in the room looked toward the noise all at once.

My first impression was of a statuesque woman standing in the doorway, two or three inches taller than six feet.  A black overcoat encompassed the upper reaches of her frame, occluding many details of her figure. The rest were hidden by the vast bell of the royal blue skirt of her dress, fanned out over its frame of whalebone hoops.

Her blonde hair, instead of being worn up and properly pinned, lay in a tangled fall upon her shoulders and back.  Her hair looked wild, as did her eyes; her long, oval face was glossy with sweat.

A statuesque woman in distress; this was my first impression.  Had she been accosted on the street and sought shelter in our club?  Was she the victim of a medical emergency, in need of urgent care?

Whatever her business, it didn't take long for us to offer our assistance.  The five of us moved forward more or less at the same time. I would expect no less from such a gathering of men of action.

"Madame."  I spoke first, bowing my head briefly as I stepped toward her.  "I am Captain Buckingham Thrice of Her Majesty's Royal Marines, Occult Brigade.  These good fellows and I stand ready to assist in any way possible. How may we be of service?"

It was then, just before she spoke, that I realized the truth of the situation.  Raising my head, I suddenly got a closer look at the woman. My steps had carried me to to within ten feet of her, enabling me to make out more details of her appearance.

At which point, my heart skipped a beat.  I stopped walking toward her and gaped, unable to look away.

Because there on her cheeks and chin and throat was the unmistakable roughness of stubble.

My colleagues stopped approaching her at the same moment, also gaping at her unexpected appearance.  Was she some kind of bearded woman, then, straight from a carnival midway?

Not if her voice was any indication.

"Thank God, thank God!"  Her voice was deeper than I'd expected, deeper than the voice of a typical woman.  "I'm finally safe!" It sounded deep enough to be something not at all womanly, in fact.

At that moment, the biggest surprise of all kicked in, leaving me reeling.  For it was then that I realized this was not a woman at all, and not just a man, either.

This was someone I knew.

The words tumbled from my lips before I could stop them.  "Algernon?  Is it you?"  Even as I spoke, I wished I could call back what I'd said.  I thought it sounded utterly insane.

To my absolute surprise and horror, the person in the doorway did not laugh at me.  Did not scowl at the offense or look down in humiliation.

Instead, one black-gloved hand flew upward, took hold of the gleaming fall of blonde hair, and tugged.  The entirety of those golden locks came away all at once, revealing a scalp studded with silvery stubble.

The scalp of a man in woman's clothing.

"Can we waste no further time on ridiculous guessing games?"  He souded incensed as he heaved the blonde wig to the floor.  "We have a most dire business to conduct!"

"Sir Hogshead?"  Doctor Yarrow sounded positively apoplectic.  "Sir Algernon Hogshead?  One of the charter members of our very own Wanderers' Club?"

Mr. Asteroth-Phipps sounded a good deal more amused.  "Have you come from a masquerade ball of some sort? Or is this simply a typical night out for you, sir?"

Sir Hogshead plowed forward.  Even under the white powder makeup on his face, I could see he was flushed as a stewed tomato as he shoved past me.  "Enough japery!  We are in danger, each and every one of us!"

Asteroth-Phipps chuckled.  "Is there a shortage of rouge at hand, good sir?"

Hogshead grabbed a bottle of whisky from the sideboard and spun, wielding the bottle like a weapon at Ravensthorpe.  "The very fabric of our civilization is at stake!"

"And would that fabric happen to be crinoline?" said Mr. Asteroth-Phipps.

Hogshead uncapped the whisky, gulped an amount that could in no way be considered womanly, and wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his jacket.  "Laugh if you like," he snarled. "But I've come here to tell you that no less than our very manhood is in extraordinary peril."

"Do tell," Asteroth-Phipps said with a smirk, and then Hogshead began his tale.

* * *

This whole awful business began innocently enough.  I, Algernon Hogshead, arrived home early one afternoon to surprise my wife.  I had just concluded a most propitious deal for my import/export company, one that would keep the British Isles well-stocked with exquisite foreign-made musical dentures for years to come, all at a tremendous profit to myself.  I imagined I might celebrate the occasion with my beloved Bess.

Imagine my surprise when Bess was nowhere to be found.  Our London home was empty as a beggar's bowl--children in school, Bess absent, even the servants gone from the premises.  The female servants, that is.

Eternal optimist that I am, I expected not the worst, but the best.  Surely, Bess had gone to the market. After all, she was known for joining the household staff in their shopping on occasion to get some fresh air and supervise purchases.  It was her own little adventure, she liked to say. I might travel the world with my Wanderers' Club chums, but she could tell just as many cock and bull stories about her own trips down the market with the staff.

Disappointed at the lack of someone with whom to celebrate, I retired to my study and poured a snifter full of brandy.  Undoing my tie and collar, I relaxed in my favorite high-backed chair by the fireplace and sipped the brandy, resolving to wait for my wife's return.

One hour passed.  I watched its slow progress on the face of the antique clock on the mantle.  My first brandy gave way to a second and then a third.

Just as the second hour gave way to a third with no sign of my wife.  Wherever she was, whatever she was doing, it was taking longer than a simple trip to the market.

Yet still I entertained no suspicious thoughts.  Even when the third hour melted into the fourth, my only concerns were for Bess's well-being.  I began to wonder if something terrible had happened to her, if she'd been injured or fallen ill in the course of her errands.

Just as I was preparing to leave the house in search of Bess, I heard the sound of the front door opening and closing.  Then, the sound of her shoes clacking on the hardwood floor. Immediately, I ran out of the study and down the hall, heart pounding with anticipation.

When I hurtled around the corner at the end of the hall and saw her standing in the entryway, I was overwhelmed by a feeling of intense relief.  She was not dead, and she did not appear to be injured.

But she did appear to be surprised.  Greatly.

Gasping when she saw me, Bess flung her left hand to the base of her throat and stumbled back two steps.  "Al-Algie?" She sounded stunned. "What are you d-doing here so soon?"

"Came home to celebrate a deal, my dear."  I took a step toward her, frowning with concern as I looked her over.  "Are you all right? Have you hurt yourself or some such?"

Bess shook her head once, then nodded.  Her perfectly creamy complexion shaded crimson as she blushed.  "It's why I'm late getting home, actually. I was visiting Lorna Farnesworth, and I suddenly came down with the vapors."  She fanned herself, making the auburn strands of hair around her face dance in the little breeze. "It took me ages to get my sea legs back, I'm afraid."

Such an eminently reasonable explanation.  I believed her on the spot, no questions asked.  "You're feeling better now, though?"

She patted her hair with one hand, keeping the left hand clasped at the base of her throat.  "Still a bit shaky, truth be told. Best if I have a little lie-down, I should think."