Shapechanger's Birth Page 17

  There was a big, well-dressed man with awesome mutton-chop whiskers in her seat, leaning over an annoyed-looking Jane and talking to her. When Mary loomed over him he gave her a quick startled glance and quickly removed himself to a seat at the rear of the car.

  "What was that about?" she said to Jane as she re-seated herself.

  Jane was amused. "I told him I had a girl-friend who hated men and carried a revolver." The girl-friend phrase could mean a lover rather than just a sister-like friend.

  Mary laughed, turned to look out the front windows. In fact it was Jane who carried the gun, plus two small but very sharp knives. Mary rarely needed any other weapon than her body. She could rip someone into pieces with her physical hands, cut them into pieces with a single slice of her invisible esoteric hands, or commit any other sort of trauma with her fists, feet, or knees.

  When she needed a distance weapon — her esoteric hands extended only about a foot and a half beyond her physical hands — she sometimes used any convenient hand missile. Once she had used an orange. Thrown at speeds well over 200 miles per hour, even an orange could be fatal. And with the machine-like precision of Mary's mind and body — when she chose them to be — Mary never missed.

  The rain was letting up and the sky was lightening a bit now. That relieved Mary's dark mood somewhat. She had been afraid the weather would sharply cut down on attendance tonight.

  In a rented mansion outside the town of West Passage her gang was putting on what she hoped would be the first of many hugely moneymaking events. It was a very private and elaborate orgy, with music and dancing and funny skits, open only to the richest and most-influential men in the area. Which would also provide Mary's gang with useful blackmail information to prevent any crackdown on her organization.

  The train was turning more to the south than the east now, and several hundred yards off to her left and east she could actually see the Lee River as it widened out to become Lough — Lake — Mahon.

  She squinted a bit and adjusted her eyes to act as binoculars. There were actually some idiots out in the Lake, in sailboats no less, despite the wind and rain. She could understand running a steamboat out there, but sails?!

  What had she been thinking just now? Ah, precision.

  Machine-like precision, Mary had found after a short while being inhumanly precise, had only limited usefulness for a human. Which was part of the problem with a lot of manufacturing moguls. They tried to turn people into machines, coming to work on time, repeating the same tasks over and over in identical ways, working long hours in unsafe conditions.

  Mary understood the importance of standard interchangeable parts and well-thought out procedures. She had heard Samuel Colt talk to the Cuvierian Society about his gun-making plants, just a few weeks after Sir Robert Kane's talk. Colt had been steaming back to America from England, where one of his plants made weapons for the British army that was fighting the Russian Empire in the Crimea.

  And she understood that the body politic and business enterprises had to use people in some ways as if they were machines. But a good manager matched the tool to the task, and people had different abilities and limits than mechanical devices.

  She noticed that the CLACK-clack CLACK-clack sound of the wheels had changed in pitch. Out the window she could see that the rails were passing over a bridge crossing a finger of Lake Mahon that intruded into the land. And just ahead the track turned sharply left to go east. She could see the locomotive well and the huge puffs of black smoke streaming out and back from the high chimney at the front of the engine.

  That meant that West Passage was near, where they would disembark to prepare for the orgy tonight. She was sure that, weather permitting, it would be a success.

  And that, she realized, was a big part of her problem. Her gang was just too damned efficient and — homey. It attracted whores as honey did bees — and the men and women who preyed on them. The worst of the users Mary killed or otherwise rejected and silenced. Or her subordinates, knowing Mary's standards, did it for her. The rest she trained to be shepherds to their sheep.

  A lot of how her organization came into being was actually done by the gang members themselves. Little groups of women, one to three dozen strong, banded together. They took care of each other, and of those who "managed" them. These pimps and one or two strong-armed men — or increasingly, women — made appointments and disciplined any errant whore or customer.

  Only rarely did a whore or customer need more than the managers' attentions. Then Mary as the cat lady was notified. She tracked humans better than any bloodhound and more than once literally scared the shit out of a malefactor merely by dropping in on them — sometimes literally from a ceiling or rooftop.

  The personnel of the Organization — a name given it by some anonymous gang member, not Mary — were also very healthy. Mary could diagnose and cure almost any disease short of death in a few minutes' time, usually by boosting a person's immune system and instructing it to fix problems. The systems of all but a few people could then handle almost any illness, including venereal diseases.

  A loose, informal referral system of doctors and midwives and so on grew up to take care of Organization members and their families. Mary had a direct esoteric view inside people's bodies of how disease spread and worked. So she ordered through her subordinates all medicos to sterilize hands and instruments before and after treating anyone, using soap and water or boiling water or alcohol — fiery harsh Irish poteen was especially effective. The practice was slowly spreading throughout Cork City from these medicos, who saw their patients get well — and able to pay medical bills — more often than before .

  The Organization acquired brothels, out of which the better whores had always operated. Only the first three brothels had been Mary's idea and needed the cat lady's attention. The rest had been nudged or forced into the Organization by Organization members — and in several cases had voluntarily or even eagerly come into the Org. Which it soon came to be called, the shorter term coming more trippingly off the tongue.

  Org streetwalkers and their managers — completely without Mary's involvement or even permission — also improved the lot of the lower-grade and part-time whores who had no brothel. They designated some of the alleys of the entertainment and the red-light district as Org alleys. These were places for streetwalkers to give a quick blowjob or stand-up confident that they were protected.

  No thugs or constables interfered in this new practice — not more than once — and the message soon got around.

  The train began to turn right and south to follow a new curve of the coast. They would soon be coming to the end of the line at the town of West Passage.

  The latest manifestation of the Org's spontaneous growth had left Mary not knowing whether to laugh or cry.

  "Maggie" had casually mentioned attending the lectures of Kane and Colt and the lessons they had taught her about organizing. Now Organization whores and their managers all over Cork City had been infected with an addiction to reading.

  And attending lectures. Increasingly it had become not unusual to go to a meeting of the Cuvierian, or other learned society, and see in the back a demurely dressed and coifed and well-scrubbed whore or burly pimp. Who were very polite and apologetic and biddable if asked to leave. Though only till the next meeting, when they were ignored by the limping or bandaged sergeant-at-arms or constable who had ejected them from the meeting before.

  Mary was increasingly feeling like that man in the story who had the misfortune to get atop a tiger and been forced to ride it lest he be eaten.

  Damn it, she couldn't back up the Organization forever! She wanted to visit Dublin, and London, and Paris, and Rome. And Africa and America and Jerusalem and Japan!

  Laugh or cry ?

  She decided laughing was a better response. And, damn it, the image of the legendary cat lady, surly and puzzling over such a choice, WAS funny.

  She chuckled, roused herself and looked about her. Beside her Jane looked up fr
om her book. "Got over it?" she said.

  Mary nodded. On the other side of Mary across the aisle a grey-haired whore — the oldest Mary knew of — looked up from her own book. Edith was Mary's height and had a similar build and no-nonsense attitude. "About time," she said, eyeing Mary speculatively before immersing herself in her book again.

  Mary marked down such disrespect for an appropriate punishment, probably more work and responsibility. Though knowing Jane and "Dame" Edith they would more likely regard this "punishment" as a reward.

  At 2:00 o'clock they left the train at its terminal in the town of West Passage, which was right on the River Lee where it narrowed down again from Lake Mahon before widening out into Cove Harbor and exiting into the ocean. West Passage was where many if not most ships in the Harbor came to exchange cargo, and there was a motley group of sailing ships and steamships doing just that.

  Carriages were waiting for Mary's group of two dozen people, the front runners of the more than a hundred Org people or people special-hired by the Org who would show up later. Perhaps fifty people had already preceded Mary, including a cleaning crew and a master chef and his assistants.

  Mary double-checked the arrangements that Jane and Edith and several other Org people had made, including the provision of some constables to discreetly keep order among the arriving guests and Organization personnel. The town had its own constabulary independent of Cork City, and they were perfectly happy to take a substantial donation to their Benevolence and Retirement Fund for doing a little more diligently and politely what they would have done anyway.

  By the time Mary and her group were in carriages rattling up into the hills west of West Passage the sky was promising to clear up. Pale gold light illuminated the green hillsides and sandy, rocky road not too badly damaged by the recent rain. The air was also warming up slightly.

  After three miles or so they came to their destination. In a valley between several low hills stood the three-story mansion that a rich family had built more than a hundred years ago. The family's fortunes had not flourished in recent years though the mansion was still in fair condition. The Organization's hired crews had been cleaning it up in the last week or so, and when Mary alighted and went through the big double-doors she found the place inside in festive clothing.

  The big two-story main room that Mary and company entered was fixed up like an Arab potentate's harem, with cushions on the floor and low tables as well as straight-backed chairs and more conventional tables. There was a special-built stage against the wall opposite the entrance where musicians and a joke-telling master of ceremonies would stand. It would also provide a taking-off place for a few ribald playlets that would move off the stage into the audience to tease the watchers and incorporate them into the plays.

  Opening off the main room were several smaller rooms where individual guests and groups could have privacy for intimate acts. There was a dressing room with a selection of costumes for attendees who did not bring their own. This included a selection of masks to disguise the customers who did not bring their own masks.

  The last part of the inspection was the kitchen. By now only Jane and Edith accompanied Mary, the others having peeled off to go to their assigned duties.

  As they came in the chef, dressed and mustachioed like a French chef (which he was), turned around tearfully and angrily. He rushed up to Edith, who with her manner and grey hair played the Grande Dame better than Jane or "Maggie." He began to scream and literally pull his hair over some inadequate arrangements.

  Mary guessed that he was acting as a great chef should rather than having a major problem. A quick esoteric probe of his emotional state confirmed this. She left him with the capable Edith alternately scolding and soothing him.

  "So," said Jane. "Are we ready yet?"

  Jane had been impatiently waiting through all the inspections. Mary nodded. It was time to let Jane Willison show Mary the deadly toys that she had gotten permission to demonstrate to Mary's top-level Organization personnel.

  Jane led her through the house, collecting all the women who had come with them on the train, starting with Edith. Jane told two of the Org people already working in the house to pass the word on to the rest of the house and to the stables not to be alarmed when they heard pistol shots from the old nursery.

  The group exited the house and walked down a grassed-over gravel path that lead off to one side. Some ramshackle poles and fluttering rags showed that a canvas cover for the walkway had once existed.

  At the end of the walk was a long narrow building that was completely open inside. The floor, which had been swept but not well, was a sturdy wood of some kind that had not been harmed by the years. Mary guessed that this had been some rainy-weather or winter recreation house, maybe a place to get noisy and overly energetic kids out of sight and hearing.

  Inside waited a man and a couple of women. Jane introduced them as "Monsieur" and "Mademoiselle" this and that, and asked them to please forgive her for attending to other business first.

  The first piece of business came from a large wooden box by the door. Jane took a rifle, several knives, and a variety of small tools and boxes and placed them on a table in the middle of the room.

  Jane also brought out a pistol from the large box, saying "You've agreed that it wouldn't hurt to standardize on the same pistol for all of our managers and enforcers." Manager was Organization jargon for pimp and an enforcer was his — or sometimes her — aide.

  Mary took the revolver from Jane. Jane spoke to Mary and the rest.

  "This is the Colt Model 1851 Navy Edition. As far as I can tell the label and some decoration is the only difference from the Army Edition. The people I bought these from say the Navy is chambered for .36 caliber bullets and the Army for .44 caliber."

  Mary looked at the gun. It had a handle curved like a plow's which widened at the butt end. The handle merged into the rest of the gun which tapered toward the front, a cylinder occupied the space above the enclosed trigger, and a hammer at the back top curved back and up to offer an easy grasp to a cocking thumb. The smooth curves of the weapon as a whole had a graceful beauty totally at odds with its murderous purpose.

  Mary found the latch that opened the revolver and tilted the barrel down. Open, the cylinder of bullets could be quickly switched. This cylinder was empty but Jane handed her a full one.

  "Want to try it?" her lieutenant said. She pointed down the length of the long room at a round piece of paper tacked to a door at that end. The target had a small black circle in the center and two concentric rings drawn around the dot.

  Mary nodded to Jane and turned to one of the group. "Run out back and make sure no one is out that way." She pointed toward the target. The young woman raced out and came back a couple of minutes later, reporting that no one was around, especially off in the direction where bullets would go. Mary was pleased that the young woman had been smart enough to look all around and not just where Mary had told her.

  Meanwhile Jane had been giving Mary instructions on how to shoot, the other manager candidates in an interested cluster around them. When the lookout returned Mary turned toward the target and lifted the gun as instructed.

  "Just a minute!" said Jane. "Everyone put your hands over your ears." She offered two pieces of cork to Mary to stuff into her ears, but she shrugged them off.

  She cocked the hammer and lined up the sights on the gun as instructed. She squeezed the trigger and the revolver kicked back into her hand as the shot cracked out. A huge puff of white smoke shot out the barrel toward the target.

  The sound of the shot in the enclosed room hurt Mary's ears. A ringing began in them. She quickly adjusted her extrahuman body and her insulted ears recovered.

  Mary smiled at Jane, "I like it." Jane smiled back.

  Mary turned to the rest of the women; she had talked over weapons training with Jane and they had agreed on some rules.

  "You can't always have me or a manager or enforcer around to protect you," Mary said. "I e
xpect everyone who works for the Organization to learn to shoot a pistol. You won't be expected to become experts, but you will be expected to meet a minimum skill level. Or two, one with aimed fire like that one, one with pointer fire like this. "

  The one shot that Mary had fired had given her extrahuman body and brain all she needed to be expert. Turning toward the target she pointed the gun at the target and fired the remaining five bullets, cocking and squeezing the trigger so fast that the shots came out in a single drum roll.

  "Get the target for me," Jane said, looking to the young woman who Mary had used before as a lookout. The woman trotted down the room and brought it back. Jane took it and showed the target all around.

  Mary's first shot had hit the black round mark not quite in its middle. The other five made a five-tipped star around the center hole, every shot an equal distance and angle from the other.

  The lead Frenchman, Monsieur Lecour, came over also and looked at the target. He showed it to his people and they all looked at her with eyes both curious and cautious. They knew something extraordinary had happened here, but they did not know what.

  The Org members thought they knew, that Maggie was the cat lady, a supernatural being who legend said was Princess Sharpclaws, daughter of the Cat King.

  Mary handed the emptied gun back to Jane, who took it from her and held it butt up so that everyone could see it. The wooden handles attached to each side of the butt were a pale yellow wood with brown stripes. They approximated the orange skin with chocolate stripes that Mary gave herself when she was pretending to be the cat lady.

  Jane said, "Every Organization weapon will have handles like this. That way we'll know each other even if we have no other way to identify ourselves. And if you see anyone with an Org gun who is NOT a member, you'll know they probably stole it."

  Mary added, "Be sure to warn everyone that, if they see someone with an Organization gun who they don’t know, to take whatever action seems needed. Be cautious about killing anyone, however. Jane or I could have given them the gun, and they might just be new members you haven't met yet."