Steampunk Desires: An Erotic Romance (The Complete Collection) (4 page)

Right now, though, he had the week’s drudgery to do. He still hadn’t caught up on the last week’s production payments, and the last week had been a big one with the push to fully energize the ship before it took off. There were a lot of numbers to crunch.

He entered his quarters. To his right were his bed, nightstand, and washbasin, the same as everybody else’s. To his left was his roll-top desk, open, with a sheaf of papers from Engineering and a few chairs for himself and people he invited in. Giles had compiled reports on the energy collected from each person and had delivered them to him a couple of days ago, but with the new recruits to train, Edwin had been too distracted to get to them.

Now he sat at his desk, took a pen from one pigeonhole, an inkwell from another and unstoppered it, and a piece of fresh parchment from a tray to his right. He pored over the pages, making notes for his report to the captain, comparing the output from this week with the week before, and ranking his crewmembers in descending order of output. Agatha was, once again, at the top: she was always the top by a fair margin. Albert came in second. The list continued down, and he sighed. One name caught his attention at the bottom of the list: Clarence Nightgood. The name caught his attention because it was always at the bottom of the list, despite Edwin’s best attempts to rectify it. If Clarence could not improve his numbers by the end of the voyage, Air Cruise Co. would bid him ‘bon voyage’ as soon as the airship returned.

Edwin massaged his white temples with calloused hands. His face was rugged and lined from years of hard work and a lot of grinning ear-to-ear. A jovial man, beloved by his crew and infectiously cheerful, he preferred to spend his time joshing around with the other crewmembers, not disciplining his subordinates. And while he wanted the best for Clarence, he was at his wit’s end. The man simply did not have the libido or motivation to maintain his numbers. Edwin had searched for a cause, sickness, perhaps, but nothing had turned up. He’d thought that perhaps Clarence wasn’t as straight as he said he was, and maybe some time in the gay propulsion room would help. It had failed abysmally. He had tried a threesome and a foursome. The others’ performance had suffered in Clarence’s presence, and Clarence’s performance remained the same: terrible. It wasn’t that he was a bad man or a lazy fellow; he just lacked sexual prowess and drive.

Edwin knew, as did Eleanor and every other crewmember who had come from poor-class living conditions, what the alternative was to working on the
HMS Rapturion
: workhouses with little to eat, freezing to death in the bitter winter, and threadbare clothes that barely preserved decency, let alone provided shelter from the elements. He had to get through to Clarence, whatever it took. He glanced at the brass-and-wood clock on his desk. It read a little past eleven in the morning. If he could finish his report by noon, he could spend the afternoon working with Clarence. Glancing over his notes, he decided to push for it.

At 12:05, Edwin finished his report. Stopping to pick up a hunk of bread and some more cheese on his way up the stairs, he made his way up the three flights of stairs required to get to the fifth floor. As he exited the stairwell, facing aft, a plaque in polished brass designated the floor “Third Class, Floor 3.” He liked coming up here occasionally. While certainly not nearly as lavish as the floors above it, third class was a significant step above the crew’s accommodations: the floors were carpeted, and the walls were painted in earth tones. Lighting came from recessed fixtures rather than bare bulbs. Passengers moved to and fro, enjoying the entertainments the floor had to offer: nice cabins for two or four with comfortable bedding, excellent views of the world below them through large portal windows on the port and starboard sides, a restaurant that provided local fare for free and alcohol for a price, and a pianist.

Second-class accommodations were significantly better still, occupying the second and third decks down from the top of the dirigible. A ballroom for dancing, a theatre for plays or symphonies, and four-piece orchestras or vocal quartets were provided to entertain the passengers from seven in the morning until ten at night. The restaurant fare and alcohol were free of charge and were of better quality than that available to the third-class passengers. Staterooms were more spacious, and the furniture was of nicer quality. Where the nightstands of the crew were of pine, those of second class were of mahogany. Where the beds for the crew were single-sized and frequently too small for the taller men, the beds of second class were double beds with nice linens. The second class also had running water, which was a luxury not provided to the third class or crew.

But by far the finest of the finery was reserved for the first class occupying the topmost deck on the
HMS Rapturion
. The floors were finely carpeted in crimson velvet; the walls were adorned with silks, tapestries, fine paintings, and even statues. The orchestra that made occasional trips down to second class had a permanent position in a large atrium at the front of the ship. Champagne and hors’ d’oeuvres made their way on silver platters around the entire floor at all hours. The restaurant provided seven-course meals throughout the day. Running water was available in all the staterooms, which had their own baths and even showers. A large communal Turkish bath was a favorite of many of the passengers, who could eat, drink, and smoke fine cigars provided by the cruise while enjoying either dry or steamed air and a sauna. Massages were provided free of charge. But amid all these luxuries, the very best reason to travel first class was the breathtaking view of the sky provided by a single monolithic window that provided those privileged few a view of the entire sky at once.

All of the floors from first class through the engine room halted before the forward end of the ship at a balcony. From there, passengers could view the ship’s bridge, which jutted off the fifth floor into a wide-open atrium that provided an uninterrupted view of the world in front of the airship through a window that covered the ship’s nose. From the first floor, the five-story drop to the bridge deck must have been dizzying, and the ten-story drop to the bottom of the enormous window must have been worse still.

Edwin had never been to those finer floors; this was as good as he got, but it was still a nice change for him. With his report in hand, he turned to his right and made his way to the bridge. A marble arch labeled “Bridge” engraved into it provided the demarcation between passengers and flight crew. The passengers could see beyond the arch onto the bridge with its polished wood consoles, brass dials, and levers as the flight crew piloted the ship, but ushers stood at the arch, preventing the passengers from interfering with the day-to-day operations. Edwin nodded to the ushers, who let him pass.

The captain was a tall, slender man, gray-haired and balding beneath his captain’s cap. He had been facing forward at parade rest when Edwin came behind him and tapped his shoulder. He turned and nodded to Edwin.

“Last week’s report, Sir,” Edwin said, handing it to him.

“Thank you, Master Propulsionsman,” the captain said, smiling. He glanced over the list. “Nightgood, eh?”

Edwin nodded gravely. “Yes, sir. When I finish here, I’m going to light a fire under him. I don’t know how, yet, but it’s got to be done. He needs this place, but this place needs him to pull his weight.”

The captain nodded. “I have confidence that if it can be done, you’re the one to do it. Anything else?”

“No, sir.”

“Dismissed. Light a fire.”

“Yes, sir.” Edwin bowed, turned, and left. The captain returned to watching the world drifting towards them.

Edwin returned to the propulsion deck and set out in search of Clarence. He found him where he expected to: lying in bed in his quarters, reading. He looked up when Edwin entered, a look of defeat splashing across his features as he did so.

“Step into my quarters,” Edwin said gently but firmly. Clarence roused himself, putting the book neatly on his bed as he followed Edwin to his quarters. They took up seats opposite each other.

“Am I fired?” Clarence asked, his nose quivering above a trimmed, yet scraggly-looking mustache. He was a mousy man in his late 20s. Premature balding had left him with patches of light brown hair on either side of his head, but none on top, and his eyes were a mix of chronic exhaustion and stress and acute fear.

Edwin sighed. “No, Clarence, you’re not fired, but this is it: I’ve gotten word that this is your last chance. If you can’t get your numbers up by the end of the voyage, they’re going to let you go,” he said gravely. Edwin’s posture sagged in his chair.

“I know it’s not for laziness, Clarence,” Edwin said gently, “but the numbers are what they are, and you’ve been consistently the lowest performer your entire tenure with Air Cruise Co. I’ve tried to help you, but I’ve wracked my brain, Clarence, and I don’t know what to do. We’re going to brainstorm and see what we can come up with, even if it takes all night.”

Clarence’s heart sank. He knew the problem: he had the wrong kind of stimulation. What he needed was the right stimulation, but he dared not ask for it; the others would think him unsavory, worse than they already did, if that was possible. It was unfair, he contended, that the men were always expected to take charge, to arouse the feelings in the women. Of course, in this day and age, the notion of men taking the lead was almost universally expected. But he secretly yearned not to be the aggressor, to have someone else take control. Edwin wouldn’t understand. None of them would.

“…all ears,” Edwin was saying. Clarence started; he’d been lost in his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, Edwin. What was that?” Clarence asked, embarrassed.

Edwin looked keenly at Clarence, his experienced eyes narrowed in contemplation. “I said that if anything came to mind, I’m all ears.” Clarence looked relieved. “And if I’m not mistaken, something has come to mind, hasn’t it?”

Clarence subconsciously tightened his grip on his chair. “No, sir. Nothing at all,” he said innocently, concealing his nerves under a gloomy countenance. “I’m as frustrated as you are,” he said sorrowfully. “Worse, even; it’s my job at stake, not yours.”

Edwin wasn’t fooled. “Are you really willing to sacrifice your job over it, Clarence?” he asked keenly. “Are you really going to doom yourself to the streets, the cold, and a life of starvation over it?”

Clarence’s facade flickered, then fell, and he cried out desperately, “What else can I do, Edwin? Society’s got roles we’re supposed to fill, and he who can’t fill his role is an outcast!”

Edwin was puzzled, and he replied slowly, “Oy, Clarence, it’s not all that bad! So your libido’s not all that great. Society won’t crucify you for that.”

Clarence’s eyes darted left, then right. Edwin hadn’t picked up on his slip-up. Time to deflect the conversation; he’d done it many times before. “But what is a man who isn’t out sowing his oats, Edwin? Why, he’s not a man at all! He might as well be a woman if he can’t bring himself to spread his seed to the four corners of the world!” That should do it: invent some sexism, take an indefensible, ludicrous position, receive chastisement for it, and hang his head as he took his leave. It had worked a hundred times.

Edwin gave him a quizzical smirk. He had just recognized the pattern himself. “I’m not biting, Clarence.”

Clarence bit his lip. “Bugger,” he said by way of frustrated confession, a hint of a rueful smile on his lips.

Edwin leaned forward encouragingly, hopeful that they’d make progress, that all this time, Clarence had just been holding out for fear of some secret evil. “What’s going on, Clarence?” he asked earnestly. “Whatever it is, it can’t be as bad as death by the elements. Oy, even death by stoning would at least be faster!”

Clarence huffed, beaten. Edwin was right: pride spared a wounding would not keep him warm or feed his belly. The trouble now was that he didn’t know how to express it. “I–”

“Yes, go on,” Edwin urged encouragingly.

“I–” Clarence sighed in frustration. “I don’t want to train the women,” he said at length.

Edwin frowned, puzzled. “But, Clarence, we tried putting you in with the men, and it was an utter disaster.”

Clarence shook his head vigorously. He did
not
want to go in with the men again. “No, what I mean is, why can’t they train me?” Having finally gotten it out, he felt a passing sense of relief, followed by dread.

Edwin said nothing, trying to understand what Clarence was getting at. He was already trained; he knew how to have sex. He’d even done it — a few times. Fewer than most, but he’d done it.