Arcanum - Of Steamwork and Magic Ch. 17

My own hands worked on the buttons of my clothes. Revealing my chest caused the glinting fire in her eyes to glow to full life -- almost against her will, Leslie licked her lips. She breathed in softly and whispered. "Oh my..."

I grinned at her. "The scars are quite real, I assure you," I said.

"I-I...thought you were a doctor..." she said. "O-Of technology."

I rolled my shoulders, sending my undershirt to the floor with a soft sound of rustling cloth. Stepping forward, I felt the light of the rainy day play along my skin, the gray cast of the sunlight adding to the darkness of my skin, highlighting the lighter furrow of bullet and sword and claw. My hands went to my leggings, and those skimmed down as I crawled onto the bed atop the quivering Leslie. My lips caught hers and my tongue plundered into her mouth. Leslie pressed both palms to my chest as her eyes closed and her legs spread ever so slightly. Her fingers caressed along the lines of my muscle and found the hardened ridge of scar tissue. She found where a bandit had shot me, where a Molochean assassin had slashed me, where a were-rat's arrow had punctured me. Where Virginia had healed me, again and again and again.

Her fingers paused at my belly as I broke the kiss, leaving her gasping. Panting. Her eyes were hooded. "Oh, Ray..." She breathed. "I...gods, you are beautiful."

I caressed her, putting my weight upon my knees. My member pressed to her belly and she let out a quiet squeak, her eyes widening as she looked down. I caught her chin with my fingers, pushing her head back so that I might capture her lips with mine again. She did not kiss back this time -- she seemed too shocked, too amazed to do anything but lay there. Then, slowly, tentatively, her tongue flicked against mine as her body pressed more fully, more eagerly to mine. She clung to my back, as if I were a life vest in a tossing storm.

The kiss broke and she panted heavily, her smallish breasts rising and falling as she looked at me, her eyes hooded. "Am I a bad person for wanting this? S-So soon?"

I kissed her forehead, gently. "Shh..." My lips kissed her cheek, lightly grazing her skin with the faint points of my tusks. My mustache tickled her, and I saw and felt her squirm with the contact. My lips found her ear and I murmured into her. "You are allowed to feel things other than sorrow, Leslie. Now. Let us forget about curses and prophecies..."

"Prophecies?" her brow furrowed.

I drew back -- my own cheeks darkening. "N-Nothing."

But Leslie's hand went to my cheek. Her thumb caressing my jawline as she looked into my eyes, her voice insistent. That same edge of command she had had used on Wesley she now used on me -- and the combination of her almond eyes, her soft tones, the feel of her silk perfect skin and the soft fuzz of her pubic hair, all of it lulled me into a state of upmost trust. "Tell me, Ray. If we're to share a moment...we may as well share it." Her finger twined along my hair, finding where I had tied off the queue.

As she undid my hair, I leaned forward and kissed her neck, licked my way to her breasts. But between points of contact, I found myself confessing about the recent visit to Quintarra -- the prophecy of the Silver Lady. Or, more accurately, the weight of it that hung on my shoulders heavier than every raven and blinded eye. Leslie let out soft mewls and gasps as I sucked upon first one diamond hard nipple, then upon the other. But as I kissed my way down her belly button, she caressed my head. "You...fear you will n-never have a child with some orcess?"

I kissed the swell of her clit, finding it through the thatch of her hair with the skill of long practice. The sound that escaped Leslie now was more shocked than pleased. Her eyes went wide and her fingers clutched to my head as she, sounding quite diverted from her question, exclaimed: "Oh my! V-Victor ne...nev...ahhh!" She trailed off, unable to continue to make coherent sentences as my tongue delved into her sex, plunging in and crooking upwards, finding her center of pleasure and stroking it.

Leslie's back arched and her sex clenched upon me in remarkably short order, her breath coming in thick, animalistic gasps and pants. Her eyes closed tightly and she came -- her juices spurting along my tongue. I drank her down -- and continued to feast upon her. My lips sucked on her lips, my tongue lashed her clit. I even added a finger, two, three, thrusting them into her sopping wetness. The slick noise of her sex mixed with the patter of the rain, and her cries seemed to be tied to the distant flash -- then the nearby rumble -- of thunder and lightning.

At last, she spoke words. Desperate words. "Ray! Oh Ray...I need you!"

I reared upwards, my lips dripping with her juice. When my member pressed to her slick, almost frictionless sex, she tensed up, then relaxed into a puddle of her own excitement -- and I slid myself into her. Her body was almost virgin tight to my girth and length, and I could see the softening of the eyes, the slackness of jaw that came from when a woman accepted me. Her hands gripped my shoulders as my balls slapped, gently, to her ass. But her voice was soft. "Gods..." She closed her eyes. "Y-You're wasted on orcesses..."

If only she knew.

I grinned, my hands going to either side of her head. I began to slam into her then -- not gently. Not gingerly. Oh no. My hands took the weight and my legs spread, pressing toe-tips to the floor, as I used the weight of my body to add force to the thrusts. My balls slapped her ass like a palm, and her whole body rocked with the impacts, her breasts bouncing in perfect circles as her eyes went hooded with pleasure. She grunted. She groaned as I fucked into her, the bed squeaking and squealing softly.

"The her in that prophecy?" I asked, my voice husky. "Is Virginia."

"No!" Leslie gasped, her back arching as she came upon my cock. The fact she was so utterly shocked that I and Virginia made love struck me as deeply funny, considering how very happy she was to take my green cock. Leslie seemed to recognize that, looking aside as I grinned down at her. Her cheeks flushed with the mixture of her pleasure and the mortification she felt at her own hypocrisy. But as I drove into her, the mortification was overwhelmed by the pleasure. Her eyes closed and she began to toss her head back, then forth, her hair fanning out around her as I felt my own pleasure rushing towards its peak.

Wordlessly, I groaned as Leslie's back arched as if she were an animal in heat. I would have pulled back -- save that her legs had locked around my hips, her ankles slotting one over the other. She held me into her as my balls clenched and surged and I emptied myself into her, shuddering in pureest bliss. My eyes filled with white...and as they cleared, I saw Leslie sprawled beneath me, the joining of our body gleaming with my own thick seed. Her body glittered in the pale sunlight, sweat beading on her pale skin.

Rain continued to patter on the windows as Leslie murmured. "Thank you..."

I kissed her.

But, as needs must, we did not have time to caress and hold one another -- not like me and Virginia in our private hotel room. At any moment, Wesley or one of the other footmen could come to investigate, or simply to ensure that the mistress was not in distress. And so, we quickly donned our clothing, Leslie doing so with a pleased smile, while I stood by the window, out of the line of sight of the abandoned streets. This was why I saw two robed figures hurrying towards the home, coated in mud and muck. One was tall and broad and held a shovel in one hand. The other was shorter, their gender and race indeterminate beneath the brown robes. But...

I knew it was Virginia. And I saw that she was clutching a cloth wrapped package, ducked forward to keep it from the rain.

I frowned. "It seems great minds do think alike," I said, quietly.

***

While Virginia and Sally cleaned themselves off from their little excursion to the graveyard -- and if they had not dug up Victor Misk to see if he had been buried with his journal, then I was the child of a gnome -- I made my way through the corridors of the mansion. I had hoped to find Binda first, to ask her about Mr. Wales and his theft of Mr. Misk's journal. Instead, I found Wesley. The human butler regarded me as if I were an insect, and he pursed his lips as I stepped into the chamber he was in -- one of the offices of Mr. Misk. It looked like he had been tidying the place.

"Yes, Dr. Cog?" he asked his voice prim.

"Oh, well, I may as well come right to the point, sir," I said. "Do you know how Mr. Wales happened to find the journal?" I asked -- but I pitched my tone in such a way that made it quite clear that I knew exactly who it was. It was a trick that us poker players referred to as 'bluffing.' And I saw, immediately, that my bluff had been carried: Wesley's eyes widened fractionally and then brushed his hand along his belly, straightening his shirt somewhat.

"Well, I happen to know," he said, far too smoothly. "That Binda the half-orc has been quite nervous lately. Almost like she is guilty of something."

"Ahh, yes," I said, as if I had been entirely carried away by his deception. I tapped my nose. "Do keep it on the down low, old boy. No need to spook the query."

"Of course." He smiled at me. An honest smile -- honestly slimy.

I found Virginia in the kitchen, warming her hands on the fire, while Binda spooned out soup in a ladle for her and Sally, who was clomping her feet to get the mud off them. I smiled at Binda. "Binda, do you have an umbrella and do you happen to know where Wesley's house is?"

Binda blinked at me, her eyes widening. "Y-Yes?"

"Sir?" Virginia asked. I tapped my nose and winked at her.

Binda bustled into the closet near the kitchen. When she returned, she held a somber looking black umbrella. Holding it to me, I took it and she said: "25^th Dragon Terrace, by the northern part of the town. It be very close!" She nodded and I took the umbrella.

"Virginia, you're with me," I said.

Virginia and I strode through the storm, the umbrella rumbling and rattling with the rain that hammered on the canvas. Our boots splashed through the puddles of the road, and soon, we came to the poorer part of the city -- here, buildings were smaller and closer together. 25^th Dragon Terrace was a single story, single room home, and there was but a single guard stomping through the rain nearby, wearing a thick raincloak. Virginia and I looked as if we were entirely meant to be here as we strode up to Dragon Terrace.

"Keep an eye out, sir," Virginia said as we came to the front door.

I looked back. The guard was looking away from us. When I looked to Virginia, I saw that she was bent forward, a lockpick and a knife in her hands. My eyes widened. "You can-" I whispered, and then the door opened with a faint creak. Virginia stood, the knife and the lockpick vanishing as if they had never been. She smiled at me. Her eyes glittered.

"I have many skills, sir. I wasn't always a Panarii, after all."

I chuckled and the two of us stepped into the small home. The door shut and the ceiling rumbled with rain. Virginia looked about herself, frowning. "Not a very posh for a posh lad..." She said, quietly, while I opened the footlocker at the base of the bed. Nothing but suits. I thumped on the floor boards, ruffled some pillows. Virginina opened the nightstand.

"Ah!" she said, holding up a paper.

***

Leslie's hands shook as she read the paper, her eyes widening. "Wesley..." She whispered, quietly. "Sold us out for two thousand pounds?" she asked. "My husband was killed for two thousand pounds!? We could have given him two thousand pounds!" Her hands shook more and she crumpled the letter -- in which one Mr. "Simon Welsbare" offered Wesley 2,000 pounds sterling for every piece of information he could find on Victor Misk's ownership of the unfortunate book.

"It seems he didn't trust your generosity..." Virginia said.

Leslie stood. Her face had two high spots of color upon the cheeks and she stormed past me and Virginia. The two of us hurried -- neither of us knew what Wesley could do if confronted, but Leslie drew ahead. She rounded a corner -- and then a sharp shriek burst from around that corner. I sprinted forward, Virginia at my side. We came around the bend and saw that Leslie was sagging against the wall across from Wesley's room. I stepped to the door, drawing my accelerator pistol. The battery whirred and I stepped through and saw what had provoked her scream.

Wesley dangled from a rope. The rope had been sung over a rafter on the ceiling, and the rope creaked faintly with the faint sway of his motions. A note had been left on the desk -- and I picked it up, finding that it was covered with neat handwriting: I, Wesley Carrington, cannot live with my guilt anymore. My foolishness and my greed slew my master, and thus, I turn my hand upon myself.

I set the note down. The ink smelled very fresh. I looked to Wesley's face. It was already purple and his expression had been wiped away by the slackness of death, the sightlessness of his eyes. His ankles continued to sway. But I noticed that there was no chair nearby -- it was against the wall. Not knocked over on the floor. I stepped to the windowsil and noted a rapidly drying puddle here.

"He...he must have felt such guilt, oh Wesley..." Leslie whispered.

I decided to let her believe the best of poor Wesley.

But I knew the truth.

The curse of T'Sen-Ang had struck once more.

TO BE CONTINUED