Category Archives: Free Stories

“The Grinder” – A Tale from Nimbus

Posted on by
Reply

“Tales from Nimbus” are short shorts that offer insight into the world of Nimbus in ways the main narrative cannot.

Nimbus Volume 4“The Grinder”

Jonah Roebuck laid his cards on the table.

The man across from him—Jack Panzer—chewed on his cigar and swore under his breath. Slowly, Panzer put his cards on the table, too. The others laughed.

“Well, ya can’t win em all,” Roebuck said. He raked in his winnings, but before he could get any of the coins into his pockets, Panzer had pulled out a switchblade knife and was waving it in the air. “Nice toy,” Roebuck said. “Very shiny.”

“For such a little man,” said Panzer, “you have a very big mouth.”

“Yeah? I get that a lot.”

Panzer stuck the knife into the tabletop. If Roebuck had pulled his hands back just a second later, his fingers would still be on that table. He scratched the back of his head and snickered. He’d made a lot of people mad during card games before, but Jack Panzer had just risen to the top of that list.

“Easy now,” said one of the other men at the table. “Just relax, Jack. It was a fair game. No need to get all angry.”

Panzer glared at the guy. “If you don’t get up from this table right now, I’m going to have Lenny shoot you in the head.”

Behind Panzer, the giant bodyguard patted the butt of his rifle.

Everyone except for Roebuck and Panzer left the table. Roebuck kept his eyes on Lenny, but it didn’t look like Panzer’s bodyguard was going to shoot him anytime soon. Cautiously, Roebuck eased out of his chair. Now, he could barely see over the table.

“I reckon ya want your money back,” Roebuck said.

Panzer grunted.

“Sorry, buddy, but I won it—”

Panzer coughed into his hand. Lenny fired a warning shot that barely missed taking off Roebuck’s scalp.

“Ya know,” Roebuck said. “I didn’t peg ya as the sore-loser type.”

“If you don’t leave right now,” Panzer said, and his jaw was clenched tight, “I’m going to get Lenny to dangle you over the edge of this skyport, until the novelty wears off, and he drops you into the fog.”

Roebuck reached for the coins on the table.

“Leave the damn money!” Panzer snapped.

Roebuck started to retract his hand, but instead, he grabbed the knife that was still embedded in the table. Before Lenny could even fire a shot, Roebuck had ducked beneath the table. Lucky for him, he was incredibly short. He barely even had to crouch.

Panzer leapt up from his chair, and Lenny slunk down low enough to put the steam-rifle in Roebuck’s face.

“I like that gun,” Roebuck said, and then he rammed the switchblade into Lenny’s hand. Before the bodyguard even started howling, Roebuck was running for the exit. He turned around to smile at Panzer. “Thanks for the knife, buddy,” he said. “I’ll always remember ya for it!”

When he was safely outside the tavern, he followed the crowd toward the loading docks. That was another perk of being so tiny—he easily disappeared in a sea of people. Now, though, he just needed a place to hide while Panzer and Lenny searched for him.

Roebuck was nearly toward the end of the docks, when he spotted a small Hosing vessel with a NOW RECRUITING sign. There was a scraggly, bearded man near the airship. At first, he didn’t seem to notice Roebuck, but after Roebuck tugged on the man’s shirt a few times, he looked down.

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Want a job,” Roebuck said. He stashed the switchblade into his pocket. “That sign says you’re recruitin. Whaddya say?”

“You’re a little short for the Gangly Dirigible,” the man said. “Try a smaller vessel.”

“C’mon,” said Roebuck. He looked at the captain’s insignia on the man’s overcoat and read the name printed there. “Schlocky? What kind of name is that?”

“It’s my name, and if you don’t get lost, I’m going to bash your head in until you’re a few inches shorter.”

“All right, all right. I’ll get lost.” Roebuck started to turn around, but he nonchalantly added, “I could be a lot of help to the crew, though…”

Schlocky scoffed, “How?”

Roebuck thought about it for a moment. He hadn’t really expected the captain to sound so intrigued. Now that his little ploy had worked, though, he wasn’t sure what to say next. He stroked his chin and hoped Panzer and Lenny weren’t close to finding him. He was good at hiding, but out in the open like this, they’d spot him in a heartbeat.

Then, Roebuck grinned. “I bet ya need someone to fit between the aqua vats on that ship, right?”

Schlocky raised his eyebrows.

“Well,” Roebuck said, “I can fit between em.”

Schlocky snorted and stepped to the side. “Welcome aboard.”

“Verdigris” – A Tale from Nimbus

Posted on by
1

“Tales from Nimbus” is an ongoing series of shorts that expands the world of Nimbus in ways the novel’s main narrative cannot.

“Verdigris”

Nimbus: A Steampunk Novel - Part Two Cover

Even though the sun was up, Altza felt that he could sleep a bit longer. But Elden hadn’t stopped nudging him, so he had given in. Outside, however, the day was gloomy. Lately, things were always gloomy, but there was something about today that left a particularly twisted feeling in Altza’s chest.

“It’s not that bad,” Elden said. He nodded at the others, all making their way toward the statue at the center of the acropolis. “One quick bow, and we get to start our day. Things could be worse.”

Altza scoffed. “Do you ever get tired of being so optimistic?”

Elden just smiled. “When I’m gone, that’s probably the thing you’ll miss most about me.”

Upon seeing the statue up close, the twisted feeling in Altza’s chest moved down into his stomach. He could still remember when the idea of a statue erected in the Interloper’s honor would have seemed like a joke. He might have even laughed at the thought. But not anymore.

“Come to pay your respects?” asked Ira, who appeared on their left. She wasn’t smiling, but it was hard for Altza not to hear the sardonic tone in her voice. “I didn’t think Altza bowed for anyone.”

“I don’t,” Altza said. He looked around. The acropolis was crowded, but he couldn’t see Malrok. Leave it to the Interloper to be absent from his own induction ceremony. Not that it mattered; the entire event was a sham anyway, completely arranged by the Interloper himself.

Elden kissed Ira lightly on the cheek. “It’s good to see you again.”

“I bet it is,” Ira said, and her smile widened.

A large group of guards arrived at the statue, all of them looking tough and humorless. Altza glanced around, but he still couldn’t see Malrok anywhere. Maybe I’ll get lucky, he thought. Maybe the treacherous bastard will stay at home.

“I hear about fourteen workers died while building that sculpture for him,” Ira told them, nodding toward the statue. “But he wouldn’t let them stop, not until it was perfect.”

“That’s appalling,” Elden said. His jaw was set. “We should have won the war.”

“You should tell that to the Uprisers,” Altza said. He was still focused on the guards that were circled around the statue. “They look like a cheery bunch.”

“You’ve got to admit,” Ira said. “It’s not a bad statue.”

Altza had always liked Ira, but right now he found her revolting. “Are you serious?” he asked, his eyes still on the statue. “I hope I live to see the bronze turn green. It won’t look so shiny then.”

“You should tell that to the Uprisers,” Elden said.

“Or better yet,” said Ira, “tell that to the Interloper.”

“Damn the Interloper,” Altza said, “and damn his statue!”

There were a few gasps from around the acropolis, and everyone’s eyes seemed to fall on Altza. That twisted feeling in his stomach got tighter.

Then, Altza saw him—carried on a litter which had just reached the statue.            Malrok.

 If the look on the Interloper’s face was any indication, he had heard exactly what Altza had said.

Several guards came over and dragged Altza to the statue. The crowd parted for them.

“Do you not like my statue?” Malrok asked. He twirled a thin finger through the air. “I believe you also said something about me?”

Altza tried not to make eye contact. He was certain he was about to die, but he didn’t want to look like a coward in front of everyone. He would be brave. To the bitter end.

“Are you aware that I forbade anyone from calling me the Interloper ever again?” Malrok asked. His teeth glinted in the sunlight. “That is a crime punishable by death.”

Altza looked back at the statue. “I’ll live to see that thing lose its luster. And I’ll be here when it’s torn down.”

“You think you sound so brave,” Malrok said, his hand reaching for something in the litter. “But to everyone else, you simply sound like a fool.”

“Stop!” Elden called from the crowd. For once, Altza saw that his brother looked scared. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying! He’s just a child!” He looked at Altza and frowned. “You don’t always have to play the hero, Altza.”

“Yes, I do. And I know exactly what I’m saying,” Altza said, turning to look directly at Malrok. “You can call yourself a king, but you’ll always just be an interloper. A liar. A thief.”

The earth shook.

The skies parted, and the sun became so bright that Altza was temporarily blinded. When he regained a bit of his eyesight, he saw that everyone was running in a frenzy.

The fog thinned, which made it difficult for him to breathe, but Altza also noticed some strange creatures moving through the acropolis. They walked upright, their arms and legs covered in strangely colored clothing. They had thick hides, and some of them had hair like animals.

He felt someone grab him by the arm. It was Elden.

“What are those things?” Altza asked.

“Monsters,” Elden said.

My Story “Working Retail” Published Today by BuzzyMag!

Posted on by
2

Well, today’s a good day, folks. A very good day.

My first professional short story hit the shelves (virtually, at least) over at Buzzymag.com. I thought you folks might like to give it a gander.

“Working Retail” is a horror-comedy story, and I think that I’ve handled the whole zombie apocalypse thing in a pretty unique way.

So if you want to find out what student loans, HDTVs, and zombies all have in common, then head on over to BuzzyMag and read “Working Retail” in all its glory.

And just in case that isn’t enough, here’s a quick teaser so you can see all the inherent awesomeness in the story:

“Working Retail” by B.J. Keeton

I felt a tap on my shoulder and heard a grunt. I stood up from straightening the endcap of blank DVDs, and put on my best smile. If I had learned nothing else from nearly four years of working at MediaTown, it was that I never sold a single laptop, flat-screen TV, or Elton John boxed-set if I didn’t greet everyone who wanted my attention with a smile.

Sometimes it was all I could do to make the smile touch my eyes, but it still counted as a smile. That day, I was in a pretty good mood. I was getting paid at the end of my shift, and for the first time in my life, I was going to be able to pay something off. Two somethings, actually. I had made some stupid decisions since I had graduated college, the worst of which involved living off a high-interest credit card and buying a new car a month after graduating. In my defense, I had been promised a cushy programming job at a tech firm in the fall, and I thought as long as I could live through the summer, I’d be okay. But that was the summer of the outbreak, and while I–and my accrued debt–lived through the summer, the firm didn’t. On top of regular living expenses–rent, utilities, gas, and so on–those decisions made money a little tight in my neck of the woods.

But that week’s paycheck was going to make the final payment on the credit card, which was going to finally get me off my signature “Dollar Menu and Bologna Diet.” I would still have enough money to throw at getting the car paid off, too.

So it wasn’t even a fake smile I put on when I had to stop stacking DVD-Rs.

“Hi there!” I said as I pushed myself from the floor. “What can I do for–Holy Mother of God!”

Good right? Make sure you head on over to BuzzyMag to read the complete story.

“At the Puffing Grampus” – A Tale from Nimbus

Posted on by
Reply

“Tales from Nimbus” is an ongoing series of short shorts meant to offer insight into the world of Nimbus in ways the main narrative cannot.

At the Puffing Grampus

Nimbus: A Steampunk Novel - Part Two Cover

“Look,” said the first mate of the Amber Skycruiser. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t know—”

“Shut up,” Fritz said, trying to hold back his rage. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“But we need to,” the first mate replied. His eyes were bloodshot, and his breath smelled like stale whiskey. Fritz might have felt sorry for the man—if he hadn’t hated him so much, that is.

The first mate looked pitiful, indeed. He was dressed in tattered rags, and he stank like sweat and piss. “I shouldn’t have ignored the readings,” he said, and then bit his lower lip. “The monitors all indicated there would be some turbulence, but I didn’t expect the dorsal fin to snap in half and tear the gasbag. I really am sorry, you know. I didn’t know a kid was out—”

Fritz hurled a bottle at the first mate. It missed, but shattered against the wall behind the first mate. Everyone inside the Puffing Grampus turned to stare. A few of the barflies kept drinking, but most had turned their attention away to stare at the two men near the back booth.

“What—” the first mate stammered. “What was his name?”

Fritz just shook his head. “His name was Owen.” He reached into his pocket and pulled out the glass marble. “And this is all I have left of him. All I have to remember him by.”

The first mate nodded solemnly. “I’m sorry,” he said. It was barely a whisper. “About Owen. I really am.” He paused, as if trying to find the right words. “I just thought the monitors were wrong. I didn’t expect the turbulence to be that bad.”

“Yeah, well, I guess it was.”

“What about the boy’s mother?” asked the first mate. “How is she holding up?”

“She’s dead,” Fritz said. “Died of a brain aneurysm just a few months ago.” He tried not to cry. He wouldn’t cry—not here, amongst the riffraff that drank themselves to sleep at the sleaziest bar on the Spire. “That’s why we left Garden Point.” He scoffed. “We wanted to get a fresh start here. Some dream that was, right? More of a joke, really.”

“I’m sorry,” the first mate said again and looked down at his feet. “I guess you’ve been through a lot.”

Fritz pointed to his wounds: bits of flesh had started peeling off his body and there were boils all along his arms and face—side effects of the fog. “You should have left me to die out there. I would have been better off. Now I’m just a monster, a hobgoblin.”

“You shouldn’t have gone after your son like that,” the first mate retorted. “You’re lucky I twisted the ship around to scoop you up before the fog could really do some damage.”

“Lucky.” Fritz let out a long sigh. “Right. I’m lucky.”

“Yeah,” said the first mate. “You’re also lucky Captain Fruscia was incapacitated at the time.” He shifted nervously, as if he knew he was about to go too far. “He wouldn’t have tried to save you.”

“If Captain Fruscia hadn’t been incapacitated,” said Fritz, “then my son would probably still be alive.”

“What do you want from me?” the first mate yelled. He slammed his fist onto the table, and once again everyone in the Puffing Grampus turned to look at them. “It was an accident! I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, but it did. Why else do you think I’d been drinking myself stupid at this ratty bar?” He wiped tears out of his eyes. “I feel guilty…”

“Look,” Fritz said. “If I had known you came here, too, I wouldn’t have come inside at all. But if you’re looking for forgiveness, I’m sorry, but you won’t get it from me. My wife is dead, and that boy was all I had left. My son was all I left. And now, all I have to remember him by is this stupid marble!”

There was a long silence.

“So—so what are you going to do?” the first mate asked.

“I don’t know,” Fritz said. “I guess I’ll try to find work on an airship. There’s no way they’ll still let me have a job at the magistrate’s court here. They don’t give jobs like that to hobgoblins. Then again, most airships don’t hire hobgoblins, either—”

“Will you stop saying that?” the first mate said. He twisted uneasily in his chair. He was no longer the cocky kid Fritz remember seeing from afar on the Amber Skycruiser. He was now just another disillusioned adult left to wander the skies.

After a long pause, the first mate continued. “How about I give you a job? I was scheduled for a promotion as soon as we docked here. This airship tycoon named Alfred Gangly is hiring me to fly one of his vessels—a Hosing ship. Even with this—” He searched for the right word. “—incident he’s letting me take the job. I’ll be captain of my own ship—well, Gangly’s ship—but you understand what I mean. Why don’t you take a job on it? I get to hire all my own people.”

“I don’t know,” Fritz said. He would need the money—and the water—but he didn’t want to take a bribe from the man responsible for his son’s death. “I don’t know if I could live with myself if I took a job from you.”

“Come on,” said the first mate. He flashed a dashing smile that made Fritz hate him even more. How could someone still be so confident after getting a child killed? The first mate didn’t seem to notice Fritz’s sneer. “What do you say?” he asked. “I’ll let you be first mate. The pay will be good, and I—”

“No,” Fritz muttered.

“You won’t take a job aboard my ship?”

“No, I mean I don’t want to be first mate,” Fritz said. He considered his words carefully. “I’ll take a job on your boat. But only because I need the pay. I don’t want any vanity position. Just make me a regular Hoser.”

“An educated man like you?” the first mate scoffed. “Why waste your time as a Hoser?”

“Because I won’t have to see you, or talk to you.” Fritz snorted, then said, “Or even think about your existence. You’ll stay in the pilot’s house, and I’ll get to stay down below with the rest of the chaff.”

The first mate seemed to consider this for a long time. “Okay,” he said, extending his hand. “You’ve got a deal. I won’t bother you, and I won’t even speak to you, if that’s what you want. I know it won’t bring back your boy, but I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

“Just pay me whatever you pay the rest of the Hosers,” Fritz said. He couldn’t bring himself to shake the man’s hand. It felt like a betrayal to Owen’s memory. “And don’t you ever try to get me promoted. It won’t work.”

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” he replied. He seemed to give up on Fritz shaking his hand and scratched the back of his head, smiling awkwardly. “I, uh, don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Fritz. William Fritz.”

“I guess I’ll see you soon, Fritz,” the first mate said. He stood up to leave, but turned around and smiled again. “I’m Schlocky, by the way. Allister Schlocky.”

Want more Nimbus? Of course you do! Be ready for Part Two by reading Nimbus: A Steampunk Novel Part One for FREE!

“A Bum’s Tale” – A Tale from Nimbus

Posted on by
1

“Tales from Nimbus” are meant to offer insights that help explore aspects of the world of Nimbus that the main narrative doesn’t get a chance to touch on.  

“A Bum’s Tale”

Gully crept across the faux-cobblestone driveway of one of the nicer estates on the skyport. While small when compared to the Spire, Cloud Nine still boasted some of the wealthiest homeowners on the planet, most of whom were high-ranking members of the Assembled Court—including the High Prelate himself. In addition, the skyport was also home to some of the foulest degenerates this side of the Skyline.

Gully fit into this latter category.

As he continued sneaking through the corridor that led to the apartment suite of some high-ranking official, Gully noticed that he could spot the homeowner’s pretty daughter undressing through one of the windows. Now, however, was not the time to enjoy himself. Gully understood that he was here on some pretty important business.

The Assembled Court’s peons had to pay. Tonight would be the first of many acts of rebellion, and when it was all through, the weak and the homeless of Cloud Nine would sing his praises, or even better, buy him a drink.

Gully stopped just outside the front door to the suite and glanced around, making sure that he was alone. When he was satisfied that no one was watching, he pulled down his tattered pants and squatted directly in front of the door. Hopefully the rich bastard who lived inside would open the door in the morning to find the present Gully had left for him.

It would be a nice big one, too. He had eaten a hefty meal that morning and everything.

When he was finished, he looked around for something to clean himself up with. It didn’t take him long to spot the flagstaff erected nearby. A flag bearing the crest of the Assembled Court waved in the light breeze, and Gully’s spirits lifted at just the prospect of defiling it.

Giggling to himself, Gully walked over to the flagstaff and immediately attempted to shimmy up it. He was no more than three feet above the ground when he heard someone coughing behind him. He turned around and grimaced at the sight beneath him.

Dressed in the armor of one of the pawns of the Assembled Court, a templar stood with his arms crossed and eyes narrowed, just glaring at Gully. “What are you doing, filthbag?” asked the templar with a snarl. “And why are you not wearing pants?”

Gully looked down at his legs. He must have forgotten to pull his pants up when he was finished delivering his present. “Ain’t none of your business, god-tard,” Gully said.

“What did you call me?” The templar pulled a thin, blunt instrument from his belt and waved it threateningly in the air. “Hop down from there. You’re coming with me, scumball. Maybe you can learn some manners while rotting in prison.”

“I’d like to see you try,” Gully said, smiling so that his rotting teeth could shine in the moonlight. He playfully swiped at the templar, holding onto the flagpole like a monkey from a branch. “Why don’t you climb up here after me?”

With one quick swipe, the templar whipped his weapon toward Gully and slapped him across the face with it. Gully had time to cough out a giggle before he fell with a thud to the ground. Rather than just lie there, he clawed at the templar’s feet and giggled more as he watched the templar hop to avoid it.

“Dance, buddy-boy!” Gully said. “Dance like the whore your mother was!”

“That’s quite enough of that,” the templar said. He brought the nightstick down against Gully’s skull again. Now, it was the templar’s turn to laugh. “Not so feisty now, are you?”

“Whaddyawant?” Gully choked out.

The templar grabbed Gully by the collar and started to drag him out onto the street. The skyport was busy tonight, but no one paid much attention to the templar and his prisoner. Slowly, the templar marched Gully through Tier Two of Cloud Nine.

“Where you taking me?” Gully asked.

“To see the High Prelate,” the templar said. “We’ll let him deal with you.”

Snickering, Gully said, “If I were you, I wouldn’t mention how I made you dance.” Gully flashed a devilish grin. “With that cripple son of his, it might be a sore subject.”

“You will not insult the High Prelate in front of me, filthbag,” said the templar. “Or his son.”

The templar’s grip on Gully’s collar slackened for just a moment as the armored man balled up his fist, and Gully knew it was now or never. With all the strength he could muster, he slammed his elbow into the templar’s gut, then before the templar had time to react, rammed his fist into the man’s throat.

The templar gagged and dropped to his knees.

Free from the templar’s grasp, Gully ran a few steps from the templar before turning around and saying, “Looks like Gully’ll get to live another day after all, you worthless god-tard!”

He wanted to say more, but the templar reached out to grab Gully again, but he was just out of reach. Not wanting to press his luck any further, Gully turned and ran down the nearest alleyway, still yelling taunts at the templar as he sped away and disappeared into the night.