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Einar Mercier

MERCIER PHOTOEinar Mercier is an independent author and combat veteran, and hails from the Granite State where, “Live Free or Die,” is both a motto and a way of life. He spent the majority of his twenties traveling to various military postings in search of fame and fortune, and studied psychology through online colleges between his service commitments abroad. Einar began writing when Margaret Weis and Tracy Hickman killed his favorite character, and his 4th Grade teacher suggested he rewrite the ending to his liking. Shortly thereafter, he discovered an enduring interest in the high fantasy art of world creation, and has been manufacturing literary universes ever since. Einar’s father imbued him with an enduring love for the Wild West and the American Revolution, and he discovered steampunk in his late teens. His first published book, “Shootout at Roulement Ridge,” introduced the world to his Gears & Gunfighters series as a blend of the two genres, and expanded on the alternate history landscape with the second book in a trilogy, “Mystery of the Crimson Gear.” Einar lists Stephen King, Nancy Kress, Anne McCaffrey, and Oscar Wilde as his key inspirations for literary work, and firmly believes that Casablanca is the best movie ever produced. He currently lives in Georgia.

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Shootout at Roulement Ridge: Gears & Gunfighters, book I (Steampunk)

BOOK 1 COVERLucas Steele had no intention of dying in Raleigh. The iron bars of his cell and the deputy with the shotgun seated in the hall outside had other plans, but if he was being honest it wasn’t the tightest spot that the young and brash gunfighter had found himself in. Once in Decatur, he had outrun a posse of lawmen with the broken noose still around his neck, flapping in the wind like a pennant as he crossed the northern Alabama countryside. In Tallahassee, the firing squad had all managed to miss him entirely save for the one bullet that cut the cord holding his wrists and allowed him to climb first the firing post, then onto a rafter, and escape across the rooftops to a passing train bound for Atlanta. By comparison, a jail cell in Raleigh was much more comfortable and further from the casket than he had been in recent memory.
“You think they’ll hang us, Lucas?” Calamity asked, an accent of concern blending with her south Alabama drawl.
He shrugged, plucking a thread from the worn blanket beneath them and flossing absently with it. “Oh, I suppose so. Well, me. They don’t hang girls as a rule.”
A skeptical look fixed on Calamity’s pretty features, a look Lucas had come to know well over their two months riding together. “They hung the Kennedy Twins.”
“Well that stands to reason,” the gunfighter replied, looking up at the ceiling as he figured on her statement for a moment. “The Kennedy Sisters were treasonous whores though, and wretched scoundrels besides- mean as an over-steamed boiler and twice as vicious.”
Something in Lucas’ tone, a flicker of admiration, made Calamity prickle with jealousy and she said in a sulky voice. “I’m vicious.”
Lucas smiled, reaching over to tousle his partner’s short brown curls. “Of course you are, my vicious little Calamity.”
“Stop calling me that,” She growled, though she was unable to suppress her smirk. “My name is Adelaide. Nobody calls me Calamity. It’s not a thing.”
The deputy’s boots crunched down the hall as he followed his shadow into their view. “Shut up you two, enough of your jabbering.”
The gunfighter ignored the lawman. “They should have thrown us in the stockade- we’re allowed to talk in the stockade. The stockade is way better than jail.”
Calamity punched him in the arm. “It’s not funny, Lucas. We’re gonna be executed, again! I think they really mean to get it right this time!”
“Damn straight we do,” the deputy added with glee. “We’re gonna hang you from the big oak tree so everybody can see what happens to outlaws here on the Frontier- leave you up there until the ravens eat your eyeballs.”
Calamity shivered, and Lucas turned to look the deputy straight in the eye. Something in the flint in the gunfighter’s eyes made the deputy take a half-step backwards, despite the bars that separated them and the fact that the lawman held a shotgun while Lucas was unarmed.
“You’re scaring the girl. Mind your mouth, deputy, or I’ll give you some lead fillings.”

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Mystery of the Crimson Gear: Gears & Gunfighters, book II (Steampunk)

BOOK 2 COVERBerkeley hefted the Smith & Henry Railway Railrider with his good hand, cocking and decocking the hammer with his thumb. He had never owned a proper handgun before and the stub-nosed gun felt heavier than he had expected, but compared to the blunderbuss it would be far easier to operate if the spring gave out on his mechanical arm. The sights were painted blood red and after seeing his perplexed expression, Lucas had explained in his best lecturer’s voice that it made the gun easier to use in the dark. He nodded in appreciation and agreement to Calamity, and he hoped he never had occasion to use it but felt better for having it.
“Let’s see if we make it out of town without firing it,” Lucas said cheerfully, clapping Berkeley on the back.
Though the gunfighter’s words agreed with Berkeley’s sentiment, his tone suggested he meant the exact opposite. Lucas continued to confuse Berkeley- at times he talked as though his life was a practical and rational reaction to things beyond his control, and at other times it seemed that no day was complete until Lucas had killed someone. Berkeley couldn’t understand either perspective but they seemed to be the views of very different men, and it made him wonder if Lucas Steele was afflicted by one of the unfixable disorders of the heart that Gearsmen talked about over whiskey at the local saloon from time to time.
Calamity knew the expression on Berkeley’s face well- others who had joined their company had worn the same look from time to time, and she imagined she had worn it herself in her early days with Lucas. She imagined that he would have preferred running into any other soul from Roulement Ridge as he fled the carnage and destruction, and she knew he was doing the best he could with his circumstances. A part of her wanted to say something to reassure him that Lucas was more or less a good man and that it was better to be his friend than his enemy, but she knew that her sentiment wasn’t a resounding recommendation for her companion. Instead she just smiled supportively at the conflicted man with the mechanical arm. She paid the tab for his gun and the other supplies they had collected for their trip, and led the way back out into the street.
Where the street had been nearly vacant when they had entered the shop, a crowd had gathered by the time they exited. Lanterns and torches flickered like fireflies behind a single man with a sheriff’s star sitting atop a Steamhorse, backed by dozens of suspicious eyes that sized up the three travelers.
“Are you Lucas Steele?” The man on horseback asked, tipping his cream-colored cowboy cap back so he could stare with determination at them.
“Can’t say that I am,” Calamity answered dryly, resting her hands on her pistol belt. “I hear tell he’s a man.”
“Step aside, miss,” The Sheriff responded without a trace of humor in his voice.
Lucas leaned forward over Calamity’s shoulder and murmured, “It’s alright.”

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