I've also been updating my Wattpad page, it's under SmilingStallionInn, just for some advertising and promotion. I'm putting in more excerpts from published, unpublished, and fanfiction works on there, too, so check it out if you want. Here's a sample from Tarn & Beck: The Cursed Coin.
Chapter 1:
Son of a Rat-Catcher
In a large Dickensian office, a company of clerks sat around
at roll-top desks, rows and columns of them like the pages inside the ledgers
they wrote in. They calculated various figures and formulae with large registers
and other devices, keys clicking and clacking inside the machinery with the
totals popping up behind a glass screen.
Of course, they could have figured out all of the numbers
themselves, but it was faster to rely upon the mechanics of these machines. Any
slip-up, of course, was blamed upon the clerk and not the machine, so they had
to be precise and careful.
They wrote reports and stamped documents, sending off
various paperwork through messengers and office-boys for processing and
recording. There was talk of installing some contraption of pneumatic tubes for
faster delivery to other departments, but it was decided that such a system was
more bother than it was worth.
Just outside the office in the hallway, a short, hapless young
man in his twenties, Beck, returned from his break. He brushed the crumbs off
of his vest and waistcoat, adjusted his tie and the kerchief in his pocket.
He smoothed down his slick black hair that he oiled in the morning,
trying to appear urbane or at least keep it from sticking up. He sniffled a
little, suffering a cold.
He wiped his glasses again, mentally going over a problem he’d
been dealing with before he left, and entered the office. He should’ve noticed that the office seemed unusually quiet
and productive, even by the strict standards imposed upon them by their bosses.
That should’ve alerted him something
was wrong, but he was still distracted and preoccupied.
It was important to the firm that his
work should continue unabated, never mind the small interruptions and breaks
necessary for a human like him. He wasn’t a bleeding calculator.
Meticulous and studious described most
of the clerks at the Lavonya banking and insurance firm for good reason. The
firm’s reputation depended on their work and the clerks wished to appear as
assiduous as possible for better promotion and compensation.
Smug might have also been the word that
Beck would have used for some of them. But he attempted to keep his opinions to
himself and hold his head down to his work, even as difficult as that sometimes
was.
Beck walked down an aisle between desks, ready to get back
to his job. Most of the clerks didn’t look up at him, preoccupied. However, a
tall, snobby clerk named Greg smirked as Beck sat down at his own desk, which
was unoccupied with its roll-top closed.
Beck unrolled the top, and quickly closed the top again. He
glared at the others sitting around him, wondering who was the culprit.
Most of them appeared to be hard at work as if they didn’t
notice what was going on. However, several of them started squeaking like rats
or mice. Beck fumed to himself.
Beck rolled open the top again and stared down at a dead rat
lying on top of his desktop and paperwork. Greg looked up from his work and
seemed to notice the rat.
“Oh, look, a rat. Always a problem, aren't they?” Greg said.
Beck got up from his desk, pretending to ignore Greg for
now. He headed toward the supply closet
where the night cleaners stored their equipment.
However, he had to pass by Greg’s desk on the way. “Rats get
you everywhere.” Greg remarked as if to thin air while Beck passed by.
Beck paused and shook his head, not looking back at Greg as
he pushed up his glasses. “You all are nothing more than children at heart. The
school bullies who refuse to grow up.”
Beck continued on as Greg glared at him. “How dare you
insult us like that.”
Beck opened up the supply closet door, fetching a pail,
gloves, and a bag. “This is something that should have been left behind at the
schoolyard ages ago.” He coughed and slammed the closet door shut before
heading back to his desk.
Beck slipped the gloves on, unrolled
the desktop cover again, and snatched up the rat, disposing of it into the bag.
“Did the rat die of natural causes?” One of the clerks
asked.
Beck began sorting through the documents
that had been left on his desk, tossing the papers that appeared to have been
befouled by the rat into the pail. He ignored their comments, sniffing the
papers occasionally and trying not to sneeze.
“Or was it a trap or poison?” Another clerk asked.
Greg smirked at Beck. “I bet a rat-catcher like you could
tell.”
Beck turned around and faced the clerks as he slipped off
the gloves, his voice hoarse. “All right, go ahead and laugh. But if it weren't
for rat-catchers like my father still working down below, rats would be overrunning
this place.”
He tossed the gloves and frowned, grim and serious. “Although
how could you tell with the rats already running this place?”
The clerks stared at Beck, shocked as Greg got up and
confronted Beck. “Now see here! If that is a dig at the firm, then you really
have gone too far.”
Greg kept poking Beck in the chest for emphasis. “This firm
just happens to be the best, most respected business in this city, this
country.”
Beck looked down at Greg’s finger poking him like he wanted
to bite it off and sniffled.
“It's trusted everywhere currency is spent.” Greg stopped
and crossed his arm, glaring. “Do you still want to work here?”
Beck looked up at Greg. “My father happened to be a boxer as
well. Would you care to sample a move?”
Greg ducked one of Beck's swings, but received another
punch.
