The Madame of Gravestone

Table of Contents

Title Page

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Author Bio

The Madame of Gravestone

The Corset Chronicles

Misty Burke

Published: 2011

ISBN:
978-1-936950-21-8

Published by Summerhouse Publishing. Copyright, Misty Burke. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. This book contains material protected under International and Federal Copyright Laws and Treaties. Any unauthorized reprint or use of this material is prohibited. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without express written permission from the author.

Summerhouse Publishing

http://summerhousepublishing.com

Email

[email protected]

Editor

Marisa Chenery

Cover Artist

Celia Kyle

This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

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Chapter One

The Kansas City Convention Center was bursting with activity. The Steampunk Ball had been publicized all over the Midwest and tonight was considered the big event. “I can’t believe I’m getting paid to attend this freak show.” Tripp handed his invitation to the costumed employee at the door.

“Just take your famous pictures.” The short, stubby man next to him didn’t bother with his invite. He flashed a press pass instead. “Professor Greggor may be totally off his rocker, but the magazine wants an exclusive.”

They walked into a large room filled with people in goggles and bad Victorian costumes. A large zeppelin hung from the ceiling and train tracks were painted on the floor. A distorted Wild West show took place on one stage while some sort of gadgetry contest took place on another.

Tripp adjusted his digital camera lens and tried to take a shot of a woman with a mechanical parrot on her shoulder when something was shoved into his lower back. “Mister, I wouldn’t use that in here if I were you. I might get trigger happy.”

Turning around, Tripp came face-to-face with an older man wearing safari gear and a monocle. The object he had thought was the barrel of a gun was really a long brass telescope. “Are you the famous Professor Greggor?”

“One and the same.” The professor nodded at his high-tech camera equipment. “Are you the photographer from Scientific Inquiries Magazine?”

“Yes, he’s one of our best.” Tripp’s overanxious colleague appeared out of nowhere. “And I’m Bill Batson, the reporter. It’s nice to meet you.”

“Well, I’m thrilled to finally receive some real attention from the scientific community. Most people think I’m a bit of a quack that throws a great party.” He waved the telescope around in grand gesture. “But what I tried to say to your photographer,” he turned back to Tripp and pointed at the digital around his neck, “is I’d rather he used something more fitting with the Steampunk Ball.”

“The name’s Tripp Monroe, and what do you have in mind?”

“I’ve got a Brownie in my personal collection. Would you like to give it a try?”

Bill Batson took a quick note and jumped into the conversation for the second time. “Is your private collection here tonight?”

“Of course.” The professor motioned for both men to follow him. “It’s on display in one of the side rooms.”

Tripp watched as Bill hurried alongside the old man and asked incessant silly questions. A working box camera might be interesting to see, he thought, as he set a more comfortable pace.
And to use it for the magazine photos would be a story in itself
.

The three men entered one of the conference center’s meeting rooms. A piece of fake parchment paper hung on the door, announcing that this was an invitation only area. “Gentlemen, what you see in the ballroom is loosely based on my findings. What you see in here, these are replicas of the real thing.”

The room was cluttered with antique items that had been modified with extra gadgets and springs. A large hand drawn map was draped over a table in the center. “And is this the parallel universe you visited?” Bill was already scribbling in his notepad before the professor replied.

“That is Westland.” Professor Greggor smiled with pride. “It’s all very interesting. You see, in their timeline, the civil war ended without a winner. Money, loss of lives, deterioration of the land, it all amounted to a stalemate. The North ended up walking away. The South became a crippled country in its own right. And the West, they took the opportunity to pull away from both sides and form a monarchy.” He handed Tripp the box camera and pointed to the map. “Take a picture, son. The place is real. I was there.”

Tripp cleaned off the double lens and turned the lever on the side. He listened as the professor continued explaining the relevance of Westland’s alternate history.
This guy is certifiable
.

While taking off the plate in the back and studying the inner workings of the antique camera, he cleared his throat in frustration over the ongoing fictional interview. “Sorry.” Tripp raised the Brownie and tried taking his first shot of the map. “I have a pretty good understanding of how this camera works. Problem is I don’t understand how—”

Bill gave him a withering look. “You aren’t paid to understand.”

“That’s true.” Tripp tucked the antique camera under one arm and picked up a cowboy hat that had some sort of device wrapped around its brim. “But I am paid to take pictures for Scientific Inquiries, and I’m pretty sure their readers are going to want to know how the professor jumped into a parallel universe. It is a science exploratory magazine last time I checked.”

“You tell it like it is. I like that.” The professor walked over to Tripp and motioned for his digital camera. “How about I take a picture of you with the box camera? Let the readers see what you’re going to use.”

“All right.” Tripp knew the old man was dodging his question. “After you explain your little vacation to—”

“I’ll ask the questions …” Bill tried to break in, but only managed to make things worse.

“Yes, but my name’s going on this article too and I care about my reputation as a serious photographer. I don’t do pictures from wonderland.” Tripp offered the professor an apologetic smile. “No offense.”

“None taken.” The elderly man in the safari suit nodded in firm decision. “The answer to your question is simple. I don’t know. It could have been a fluke, an accident, or wormhole in the fabric of time. But I can tell you the best science begins with a phenomenon that can’t yet be explained. Don’t you agree?”

The reporter coughed and fiddled with his notebook.

Tripp stared at both of them, then took off his dress coat and put the cowboy hat on his head. “Let’s take that picture.”

The professor looked visibly relaxed. He held up the digital, but lowered it just as quickly. “Take off that tie. Let’s replace it with a gambler’s string and maybe give you a gun holster.”

About five minutes later, Tripp stood in front of a mirror decked from head to toe in steampunked western gear. “I look like a …” He stopped short and just let it go. “This is a great costume, professor.”

“Here is the last bit for authenticity.” The old man dropped a coin in his hand. “That came back with me.”

Tripp rolled the silver piece between his fingers and studied the intricate engraving.
Either there is something to this guy’s madness or he’s dished out a lot of money to make it look like it
. Tripp held the box camera in one hand and the coin in the other. “I’m ready. Take the shot, professor.”

The digital flash was brighter than it should’ve been. Tripp stumbled backward and lost his footing. He fell in eerie slow motion. The room faded in a whirl of darkness. And instead of Tripp hitting the floor, he landed hard on a dirt road that smelled of horse manure.

The clicking of a gun made him turn toward his left. A woman in burlesque attire had a long barreled pistol pointed at his face. “State your business, or a hot piece of lead is going to split your head in two.”

Chapter Two

“Madame.” A young girl walked up to the poker table with mugs of brew. “A snitch was found out on the main drag. He’s being held in prison.”

A woman with flowing red hair looked up from her cards. “He should’ve been tied to a tree at sundown. We don’t take prisoners up with us, especially males. Beatrice knows better.”

The girl nervously handed out the drinks to the women at the table. “Sheriff Bea says he just dropped out of the sky … after the town lifted.”

Everyone threw their cards in the pot at the news. Their leader pushed back her chair and stood. “That’s impossible.” She pulled up her corset, buttoned her outing jacket and fluffed her long skirt. “I’ll just have to go see for myself.”

One of her gambling companions pushed a lace fan across the table. “Be careful, Madame.”

Emma picked up the delicate object. “The snitch is in Gravestone. He’s the one needing to be careful.” She opened the fan and made her way out of the saloon.

The night sky and summer heat met her at the doorway. Emma heard the hiss of steam power from above as she lifted her skirt. Her military boots might be used to the mud, but there was no need to soil her outfit as well. She smiled in self-assurance as she crossed the one and only street in her flying town.

Sheriff Bea met her under the awning of the prison. “Madame. I swear to you, I wasn’t drinkin’. He fell right out of the clouds—”

Emma barely raised a hand to stop the flow of words. “I’ll interview the prisoner, Beatrice. Go on. I believe they’re waiting for you down in the theatre.”

The Gravestone prison had only one cell. And Emma got her first look at the snitch as soon as she walked through the swinging doors. He was propped up against the back wall with a cowboy hat down over his eyes. “Are we done with the elaborate prank now?” he growled from his corner.

Emma unlocked the cell and stepped into the retched smelling cubicle. “You better look at me when you talk to me … or I’ll leave you in here to rot.” She watched him flex his muscles and she couldn’t help but notice his very masculine build. This was not the king’s ordinary snitch.

“That’s just great.” The prisoner tore off his hat and tossed it across the small space. “I’ve had about enough of this. Am I a sideshow at the ball, or is this the professor’s idea of fun?”

She knelt beside him and tapped her fan against her cheek. “When you jumped out of the airship, did you hit your head?”

He pushed himself up off of the wooden flooring, and in one fluid motion, pinned her against the bars. “Listen, lady. I’m done. I came here to take pictures, not play around. You either let me out of here or I’m calling the police.”

Emma had to admit she enjoyed the confrontation. His strong arms on either side of her face, while his large toned body cornered her within her own jail. But, there was a time and a place to make love to the enemy. Now was not the time or the place. “So you admit to being a snitch for the king? The old bastard wants pictures of my town, does he?” She placed one hand on his chest and looked into his molten brown eyes. “There will be no police tonight, mister, only justice.” The other hand slid a tiny lever on her dainty fan. A small needle pricked into his side. “Pleasant dreams.”

She watched as he collapsed to the floor. “We’ll have to tie him to a tree tomorrow.” Emma shook her head and gave him another once over.
Shame really. He looks like a feisty one
.

Stepping over his body, she went back out onto the street. “
Someone
must have seen something.” She reached down and detached a device from her garter belt. “Time to go find out.” The Madame of Gravestone punched in a few numbers and waited for a rope ladder to descend from one of the four zeppelins above.

The huge balloon-like airships lifted her town into the sky every night. It was for protection, strategy and to assist the suffering people of Westland. Each day they would set down in a new place and deal with the problems they found there. She knew of no other way.

Reaching the control room of the zeppelin fliers, Emma called for a private meeting with her main captain. The two women went into a room set up for battle planning. “Grace. I need to know, what has shown up on the radar tonight?”

The captain paled. “Nothing, Madame. It’s been clear and uneventful.”

“We have a guest in the town. A male snitch fell onto our platform and I need to know how.” Emma unbuttoned her outing jacket and dropped it into a nearby chair. The formfitting coat was a silly addition to her attire, the tight corset more than did the job. She ran her fingers through her wayward curls and tried not to think of the prisoner in terms of sex. “Just get me a full report by landing.”

* * *

Tripp awoke with another headache. That deranged sex kitten did something to him. He was sure of it. Walking over to the corner, he grabbed his borrowed hat, vaguely remembering the sheriff calling her “Madame”.
Am I being held hostage in a make believe whorehouse?
He toyed with his hat as he thought about the way she came sashaying in. She was controlled, in power and damn near the hottest woman he had ever seen. “Why do the good ones always turn out to be crazy?”

His hand moved over the thin metal piping that snaked around the brim of the hat. There was an odd groove on one side—something like a button. He pressed and the tube broke. Pieces fell to his feet. An odd looking key now rested on the tip of one of his boots.

When he picked it up for a closer inspection, he realized it was some sort of a skeleton key. Large and lean with a variety of teeth that could be maneuvered around, Tripp was almost certain it would unlock just about anything. And his jail cell was the first thing he planned on trying.

Within minutes, he was a free man. Tripp wasted no time going over to the sheriff’s desk and reacquiring his gun holster and two pistols. “Beginning to wonder if these are the real thing,” he mumbled to himself as he strapped everything back in place. He took one look at the professor’s Brownie and decided the old man could come and get his own damn box camera. All he wanted to do was escape this elaborate role-playing game and turn in his resignation to the magazine. First, he would need to find his way out of the Kansas City Convention Center.

Tripp carefully went out the front door and into the heat.
How the hell did they pull this off?
The town in front of him could have come out of any old western. The replication was amazing. He listened as noises came from the saloon across the street. Two women argued on the front steps.

“We need those plans to sabotage the king’s clockwork army. There’s just no other way.”

“I don’t like it, that’s all I’m sayin’.”

Tripp almost got caught up in the drama unfolding before him, but made himself snap out of it.
Escape, that’s what I need to be worrying about. Maybe there’s a way out behind the buildings
. He ducked down the small alley between the jailhouse and whatever was next door.

A dead-end brought him to a complete halt. A tall metal gate seemed to go behind the town itself. His only choices were left or right. So, Tripp walked what turned out to be a long enclosed rectangle that encompassed the town. “This is insane,” he growled, reaching the point where he had initially began. “I’ll just have to climb over it.”

With a fair amount of ingenuity, he managed to toss one leg over, then the other. Unfortunately, he dropped to a ledge merely a few feet wide. “Oh my god.” He held onto the metal fencing as best he could. “We’re in the air. This whole damn town is flying over …” Tripp looked down and saw rolling hills and farmland in the moonlight. “Westland.”

There was only one thing to do now. He waited for a tall haystack, tried to judge the distance as best he could…and jumped.