The Curious Life of Richard Gearheart

AN: This story is a commissioned piece by an anonymous person who was interested in my previous work. I am actually really loving the chance to work on this, and it has been super fun so far! If you are interested in your own commission, feel free to contact me via message.

Richard had always been told there were two kinds of people in life. The haves and the have-nots. The haves had it all. Money, wealth, power. They drifted above the clouds on elegant steamships, endlessly voyaging from one party to the next. Their existence one of decadence, gluttony and clandestine lust.

Then, there were the have-nots. The factory-workers, the mechanists, the grunt labourers who toiled to keep the mighty steamships in the air.

Now that had never seemed fair to Richard, and when he was told that he was one of the have-nots?

Well, that had just not been acceptable.

The Pentecost listed gently to the side; harsh wind buffeting her flank. Richard easily kept his footing, digging his feet into the rich, upholstered corridor. There was no one around. Everyone was at the party that was even now taking place several floors up.

He’d chosen his time well.

Bribing his way onto the ship had been hard, had cost quite a bit of money. But he was set to make far more of it for this job. Richard was a sellsword, a paid man. The kind of guy you’d turn to when you had no one else.

A mercenary, if you wanted to be crude about it. Though Richard always tried to look the part of the dashing rogue instead. He prided himself on being debonair, his brown hair slicked back, his face clean-shaven. His eyes glinted with good-natured mischief (He’d practised that one quite a bit!). He wore an open-fronted navigator’s jacket over a white shirt, with a pair of navy blue leather trousers. Good for hard-wearing.

And - because he was not a fool and knew that his job earned him plenty of enemies - Richard also was wearing a leather harness swung across one side of his torso. A holster snugly fitted at his hip.

The corridors were empty, but that didn’t mean Richard wasn’t careful as he went. His eyes flickered back and forth, knowing that all it would take was one worker on a break, one automaton in an unusual place…

He couldn’t afford to be seen right now. As far as anyone knew, he was at the party with the rest of the upper class. Drinking and laughing and probably stabbing each other with words or something.

He was certainly not supposed to be down here, inching his way to the cargo hold. A gun at his side and a goal in his mind.

But you see, there was a thing in that hold that he very much wanted to have.

Or rather, a client did. A client who was willing to pay a great deal of money to have it delivered to him in his room after the party.

And who was Richard to argue against free money?

The massive, reinforced doors of the cargo bay loomed ahead of him now. Thick and solid, like the gates of a castle. They were cast in bronze, solid slabs of reinforced metal. As thick as his arm, and with a single lock set near the side. There was an indentation and a hole for a key.

A key that he did not have.

Richard had expected some guards here. An automaton or two, perhaps. But it seemed that the captain of the Pentecost was less than concerned about such things. And why should he be? No one would be able to get through here.

Arrogance!

But, as he stepped closer to the doors, Richard had to admit to himself that it was arrogance that might have had a point. The door was thick, ringed with copper tubing and pipes. Faintly, he could hear the sound of compressed steam. A gauge beside the door told him the current pressure there.

Not nearly enough.

He moved to the keyhole, but knew already that he had nothing which could get him through. There was an indentation beside it. Some kind of security override? But he had no way to trigger that either.

Still, still, still…. What was it his old instructor had said?

‘’If you have a will, you’ll find a way.’’

Well, he’d said it with a lot more swearing and pointing.

And threats of .

But the old man definitely knew how to drive in the point. Richard reached into his jacket, coming out with a tool and moving behind the frame of the door. It was no less secure here, but he could see where the pipes connected and fed the steam to the internals. He wasn’t totally familiar with this design, but….

Yes!

There it was!

A metal box, about the width of his chest. It was half buried in the ground, positioned away from the corridor in the shadow of the door. You wouldn’t know it was there unless you knew to look.

But Richard had.

He felt a grin tugging at his lips.

It was a pressure chamber. Where the coiling steam was built up as the door opened. It would be wound tighter and tighter until it was strong enough to aside even those thick slabs. A titanic amount of .

Now, the next part was going to be tricky. It probably wouldn’t work. It shouldn’t work. Chambers like this were supposed to be purged and cleaned regularly. Otherwise, steam built up inside of them.

If the captain of the ship was doing what he was supposed to, Richard had no hope at all.

But the thing about the haves? They didn’t care how things worked so long as they did.

He worked for a few moments, taking a dozen tools out of his pockets one by one - the jacket was mostly pockets. Very useful for a mercenary on the go - and at last, the box issued a long, drawn-out cry. Richard leaned back, yanking his arm out of it as fast as he could - people had been known to lose them trying this!

The door juddered. Struggled, for a few moments, it seemed to want to hold its position. Then it began to rise with agonising slowness.

“Shoddy work,” Richard grinned to himself. “I’d file a complaint if I actually cared.”

He darted forward, still very aware of the ticking clock.

But he was so close now! Almost there!