He could feel himself blushing and it was stupid. Graham was the enemy. He was the block in the road that led to Ainsley. He shouldn’t be thanking him. He shouldn’t be drawn to the warmth his body radiated.
<>
Showing posts with label Alternative History. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Alternative History. Show all posts
Wednesday, November 2, 2022
Saturday, June 30, 2018
Thursday, November 16, 2017
karmic ties and unconscionable crimes - Silent Meridian (Time Traveler Professor #1) by Elizabeth Crowens
"An intriguing take on the concept of time travel, treated more as fantasy than science fiction, with a goodly peek at intellectual movers and shakers of the late 19th/early 20th century."- Elena, Goodreads
Thursday, November 2, 2017
what if their new freedom is all a lie? -Last Class Citizen (The Downriver Trilogy #2) by Lex Ramsay
They’ve gained their freedom from the South. But what if their new freedom is all a lie?
With hope finally on the horizon, Patrick and those he helped free begin what will be a long journey towards equality and rehabilitation.
Tuesday, August 2, 2016
Abe Lincoln on Acid by Brian Anthony & Bill Walker
" It's witty, fun and takes you on a wild ride in the sixties with none other than our beloved 16th president Abe Lincoln.[...]
It was definitely well-researched in my opinion with many good references to life in the turbulent sixties with very accurate social and political references. referencesonly, in my opinion, only add to the books believability. I definitely recommend this read for anybody with a love for Abe Lincoln and Americana." - Goodreads, Tina
Tuesday, May 3, 2016
Apocalypse Orphan (The Fractured Earth Saga #1) by Tim Allen
Wolf awakens 50,000 years later to a wildly different earth. Endowed with incredible strength, he finds himself caught in a war between primitive tribes, and his survival depends on Syn, an advanced computer intelligence who has fallen in love with him.
Sunday, March 15, 2015
magic, steampunk, and traditional German fairy tales - The Witches' Covenant (Twin Magic #2) by Michael Dalton
Erich, Ariel and Astrid have begun their life together, but all is not well.
Ariel and Astrid have discovered that sharing a husband is a greater challenge than they anticipated, a challenge that is exacerbated by a difficult winter trip to Wittenberg, where Erich hopes to enter the service of Frederick III, Elector of Sachsen. But their trip is soon interrupted by unexpected complications.
In the town of Marburg, a century-old agreement that has kept the peace between the Landgraviate of Hessen and a band of witches in the forest is beginning to unravel. The young Landgrave, Philip, needs to consolidate his authority, and the witches want something from him that he does not dare surrender.
Erich and his wives are drawn into this conflict, and in the process discover a mystery that seems tied to their unique magical bond—a mystery that may threaten its very existence if they cannot resolve it.
In this second installment in the bestselling Twin Magic series, Michael Dalton spins together magic, steampunk, and traditional German fairy tales into another entertaining alternate history adventure.
GUEST POST
Alternative History vs. Fantasy Worlds
I will confess to being a sucker for good alternative history. I’ve always been a big history buff, and for me, there’s just something cool about taking what you think you know about a historical period or event and twisting it around into “what-if” situations.
All three of the fantasy novels I’ve written so far have been alternative history set in Renaissance Europe. This is a period I’ve been fascinated with for a long time because of the many political, economic, and technological changes that were taking place. With so much going on, it’s not hard to create intriguing dramas by taking a few elements and twisting them around, or injecting traditional fantasy conventions like magic or dragons into key events.
This not to say that I have anything against conventional fantasy; a well-designed imaginary world can be just as engaging, if not more so. Our literary landscape would be considerably poorer without Middle-Earth, Westeros, Mid-World, Dune, and Melniboné, to name just a few. But building fantasy worlds that are both plausible and memorable is a tall task, one that unfortunately many would-be fantasy authors are just not up to.
Writing a fantasy–alternative history piece might seem like less work than crafting a pure fantasy world, but that’s not been the case in my experience. There’s less imagining and designing, but a lot more research. Doing alternative history right requires having a very good grasp of the material you’re working with. Any changes you make need to be deliberate rather than errors—and these are errors that are all too easy to make.
In conceiving the Twin Magic series, I began with what felt like fertile ground: German at the beginning of the Protestant Reformation, a time when science was starting to rise up against religion but when old fears and superstitions—such as the risk of babies beings switched for changelings—were still strong. It’s important to remember that during this period magic was nothing unusual, in the sense that common people believed in it and believed that witches and wizards existed along with all sorts of fantastical creatures.
So I took that background and made it real. In these books, magic does exist and has become a familiar element in people’s lives, familiar enough to be part of the scientific, religious, and cultural revolutions that were taking place. Developments like gunpowder and advances in engineering, rather than being pure inventions, are instead outgrowths of this magical knowledge. (Thus injecting a bit of steampunk into this world as well.)
That allowed me to ask some interesting questions: How would the presence of magic affect the endless political machinations that wracked the Holy Roman Empire? How would Martin Luther’s challenge to the Church play out in such a context? (Among other things, the Luther in The Witches’ Covenant, who has both mages and indulgences to worry about, comes up with 110 theses rather than 95.) And how would these mages who have become part of the political and religious landscape deal with those pernicious superstitions?
I’m pleased with how it’s developed so far, and I’m excited to see where I can take things as the series evolves.
Michael Dalton is a professional journalist and editor who writes erotic fiction and other works for readers of discriminating tastes.
Michael wrote his first piece of fiction in third grade, for which he was immediately accused of plagiarism by his teacher. His first piece of erotica–which has thankfully been lost to the mists of time–came a few years later.
Since then, he has been writing more or less steadily, interrupted only by occasional demands of work and family.
Michael enjoys writing across genres, and often mixes science fiction, fantasy, erotica, and alternate history into richly plotted and detailed novels.
Michael lives with his family and multiple pets in Southern California.
Saturday, August 2, 2014
Special Offer and Giveaway: Endgame Earth: Storm's Quest by Scarlet Owen
Description:
Two continents. One with humans. One with dinosaurs. Who will win the battle of the planet?
For Lincoln Kreft everything is at stake. His sister is sick. On an over-populated planet the only way to get access to healthcare is to become a Trialist – one of 100 people who visit the dinosaur continent each year in search of new resources. Few return.
Stormchaser Knux doesn’t have a family to care about. She’s been on her own for the last five years. But she does have a conscience. Having her life saved by one of the plesiosaurs living in the nearby loch gives her a new perspective on the propaganda about dinosaurs. She doesn’t believe they are all ferocious beasts. But can she prove it?
Staying alive on the dinosaur continent becomes their top priority.
But will dinosaurs really be their biggest threat – particularly when one friend will betray another?
ENDGAME EARTH: STORM’S QUEST will be free on Amazon from 7/30 through 8/3. Go download your copy!
Scarlet Owen is a pseudonym of Scarlet Wilson, a romance author for Harlequin Mills and Boon, Tule Publishing and Entangled Publishing. She lives on the West Coast of Scotland with her fiancé her two sons. The ‘Owen” surname is a tribute to Dr Richard Owen,the man who first gave us the name dinosaurs. This is Scarlet’s first YA novel. Jurassic Park meets Hunger Games. Enjoy!
Wednesday, January 22, 2014
Excerpt and Giveaway Chasing the Star Garden (The Airship Racing Chronicles #1) by Melanie Karsak
Published: December 4th, 2013
Description:
An opium-addicted beauty.
An infamous poet living in self-imposed exile.
An ancient treasure about to fall into the wrong hands.
Melanie Karsak’s “Chasing the Star Garden” takes the reader on an exciting adventure from the gritty opium dens of gaslamp London to the gem colored waters of the ancient world, introducing us to Lily Stargazer, a loveable but reckless airship racer with a famous lover and a shattered past.
Lily Stargazer is having a bad day. She just lost the London leg of the 1823 Airship Grand Prix. To top it off, a harlequin fleeing from constables shoved a kaleidoscope down her pants, told her to fly to Venice, then threw himself from her airship tower. What’s a girl to do? For Lily, the answer is easy: drink absinthe and smoke opium.
Lily’s lover, Lord Byron, encourages her to make the trip to Venice. Lily soon finds herself at the heart of an ancient mystery which has her running from her past and chasing true love and the stars along the way.
EXCERPT
Chapter 1
I was going to lose-again. I gripped the brass handles on the wheel and turned the airship sharply port. The tiller vibrated in protest making the wheel shake and my wrist bones ache. Bracing my knees against the spokes, I tore off my brown leather gloves to get a better feel. The metal handgrips were smooth and cold. My fingers tingled from the chill.
“Easy,” I whispered to the Stargazer. I looked up from my position at the wheelstand, past the ropes, burner basket, and balloon, toward the clouds. They were drifting slowly left in a periwinkle blue sky. There’d be an updraft as we passed over the green-brown waters of the canal near Buckingham House. I locked the wheel and jumped from the wheelstand onto the deck of the gondola and looked over the rail. The canal waters were a hundred feet away. I ran back to the wheel and steadied the ship. If I caught the updraft, it would propel me up and forward and give me an edge.
“Cutter caught it, Lily,” Jessup yelled down from the burner basket below the balloon opening. “Up he goes,” he added, looking out through his spyglass. The gold polish on the spyglass reflected the fire from the burner.
“Dammit!” I snapped down my binocular lense. I saw Hank Cutter’s red-and-white striped balloon rise upward. At the top, he pitched forward with great momentum, catching a horizontal wind. I could just make out Cutter at the wheel. His blond hair blew wildly around him. He turned and waved to me. Wanker.
I was not as lucky. Just as the bow of the Stargazer reached the water, a stray wind came in and blew us leeward. The balloon jiggled violently in the turbulent air. I missed the air pocket altogether.
“No! No, no, no!” I cursed and steadied the ship. I had chased Cutter from Edinburgh across the Scottish and English countryside. He had been off his game all day. I’d had him by half a mile the entire race. With the bottom feeders lingering somewhere in the distance behind us, I’d thought the London leg of the 1823 Airship Grand Prix would be mine. That was until St. Albans, where Cutter caught a random breeze that pushed him slightly in front of me. Cutter had a knack for catching favorable winds; it was not a talent I shared.
“We’re coming up on Westminster,” Jessup yelled down from the basket. “Lily, drop altitude. Cutter is too high. Come in low and fast, and you might overtake him.”
The airship towers sat at the pier near the Palace of Westminster along the Thames. A carnival atmosphere had overtaken the city as it always does on race day. Colorful tents were set up everywhere. Vendors hawked their wares to excited Londoners and international visitors. I could hear the merchants barking from their tents even from this far above. I fancied I could smell roasted peanuts in the wind.
I jumped down from the wheelstand, ran across the deck, and pulled the valve cord, opening the flap at the top of the balloon. Hot air released with a hiss. I kept one eye on the balloon and another eye on Tinkers’ Tower. At this time of day, the heat coming off of the Palace of Westminster and Tinkers’ Tower would give us a bump. I looked up. Cutter had started preparing his descent. It would be close.
I ran back to the wheel.
“Angus, I need more speed,” I yelled down to the gear galley, rapping on the wooden hatch that led to the rods, belts, and propeller parts below.
Angus slapped open the hatch and stuck out his bald head. His face was covered in grease, and his blue-lense monocle glimmered in the sunlight. He looked up at the clouds and back at me.
“Let’s giddyup,” I called to him.
“You trying the Tower sling?” he yelled back.
“You got it.”
He laughed wildly. “That’s my lassie,” he yelled and dropped back down, pulling the wood hatch closed with a clap. I heard the gears grind, and the propeller, which had been turning nice and steady, began to hum loudly. The ship pitched forward. Within moments, we were coming up on Tinkers’ Tower. The airship towers were just a stone’s throw away.
I aimed the ship directly toward Tinkers’ Tower. Just as the bowsprit neared the clock, I yanked the wheel. The warm air caught us.
“Whoa!” Jessup yelled as the balloon moved within arm’s length of the tower.
The sound of “Ohhs!” echoed from the crowd below.
A mix of warm air and propulsion gave us some go, and seconds later we were slingshotting around Tinkers’ Tower toward the airship platforms. Gliding in on warm air and momentum, we flew fast and low.
Cutter had kept it high, but now he was dropping like a stone toward his own tower. Damned American. I didn’t blame him; I would have used the same move. His balloon was releasing so much air that I wondered if he would be able to slow down in time, not that I would have minded seeing him smash to the ground in a million pieces.
“It’s going to be close,” Jessup yelled as he adjusted the heat pan.
I guided the helm. The Stargazer was temperamental, but we understood one another. A shake of the wheel warned me I was pushing too hard. “Almost there,” I whispered to the ship.
The Grand Prix Marshalls were standing on the platform. Cutter and I had the end towers. I was going to make it.
“Cut propulsion,” I yelled toward the gear galley. On the floor near the wheelstand, a rope led to a bell in the galley. I rang it twice. The propeller switched off.
A soft, sweet wind blew in from the port side. It ruffled my hair around my shoulders. I closed my eyes and turned the wheel slightly starboard, guiding the ship in. Moments later, I heard a jubilant cheer erupt from the American side and an explosion from the firework cannon signaling the winner had been declared. My eyes popped open. I tore off my goggles and looked starboard. Cutter’s balloon was docked. I threw the goggles onto the deck and set my forehead against the wheel.
The Stargazer settled into her dock. Jessup set the balloon on hover and, grabbing a rope, swung down to the deck. He then threw the lead lines and anchors onto the platform. The beautifully dressed crowd, gentlemen in suits and top hats and fancy ladies in a rainbow of satin gowns carrying parasols, rushed toward the American end of the platform to congratulate the winner.
I was, once again, a national disgrace. Lily the loser. Lily second place. Perhaps I would never be anything more than a ferrywoman, a cheap air jockey.
“Good job, Lily. Second place!” Jessup said joining me. He patted me on the shoulder.
I sighed deeply and unbuttoned my vest. The tension had me sweating; I could feel it dripping down from my neck, between my breasts, into my corset.
“You did great,” I told Jessup. “Sorry I let you down.”
“Ah, Lily,” he sighed.
Angus emerged from below wiping sweat from his head with a greasy rag. He pulled off his monocle. He frowned toward the American side. “Well, we beat the French,” he said with a shrug and kissed me on the cheek, smearing grease on me.
“Good job, Angus. Thank you,” I said, taking him by the chin and giving him a little shake as I wrinkled my nose and smiled at him.
Angus laughed and dropped his arm around Jessup’s shoulders. They grinned happily at one another.
“You stink, brother,” Jessup told him.
“It’s a wee bit toasty down there. Besides, I pedaled this ship across the entire fucking country while you were up here looking at the birds. That, my friend, is the smell of success.”
I laughed.
“You pedaled the ship?” Jessup asked mockingly. “Like Lil and I were just up here playing cards? If I didn’t keep the balloon aloft, your ass would be kissing the ground.”
“Now wait a minute. Are you saying your job is more important that mine?” Angus retorted.
I could see where this was going. “Gents.”
“More important? Now why would I say that? Just because I’m the one . . .” Jessup started and then his mouth ran.
“Gents.”
“ . . . and another thing . . .” Jessup went on.
“Gentlemen! Our audience awaits,” I said cutting them both off, motioning to the well-shod crowd who waited for us on the loading platform outside the Stargazer.
I grinned at my crew. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I patted the rail of the Stargazer. “Thanks,” I whispered to her, and we exited onto the platform.
A reporter from the London Times and several race officials stood waiting for me.
“Well done, Lily! Well done!” the British race official congratulated me with a pat on the back. “Second place! King George will be so proud. One of these days you’ll have it, by God.”
I was pretty sure that the last thing I needed was the attention of George IV, the extravagant, unpopular lush. But I bit my tongue and smiled politely.
“Lily, how did Cutter beat you? You led the entire race,” the reporter asked. She was a round woman wearing a very thick black lace collar that looked like it was choking her. Her heavy purple walking dress looked hot under the late afternoon summer sun, and the brim of her black satin cap barely shaded her nose. I noticed, however, that she had a small clockwork fan pin attached to her chest. The fan wagged cool air toward her face.
I pulled off my cap, mopped my forehead, and thought about the question. “Luck,” I replied.
“Lily, that was some move around Tinkers’ Tower. How did you learn to do that?” another reporter asked.
“My father,” I lied.
“Make way, make way,” one of the race officials called, ushering a Marshall forward.
The Marshall looked like someone who lingered an hour too long at supper. The gold buttons on his satin, marigold colored vest would take an eye out if they popped. His overly tall top hat was adorned with a ring of flowers that matched his striking orange colored dress coat.
“Miss Stargazer, congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand. “The Spanish airship is coming in now. Will you please join Mr. Cutter at the winners’ podium?” he asked politely as he guided me forward by the hand.
From below there was a commotion. A man dressed in an unusual costume rushed up the stairs. The London constables, a full squadron of the Bow Street Runners, chased him. When he got to the loading platform, the man pushed through a crowd of well-dressed ladies and gentlemen, many of whom were gentry. It was then I could see he was dressed as a harlequin. He wore the traditional red and black checked outfit and a black mask. He scanned the towers until he caught sight of me. He jumped, landing on the tower railing, and ran toward me. A woman in the crowd screamed. Moments later the constables appeared on the platform. The race Marshalls pointed toward the harlequin who was making a beeline for me.
I let go of the Marshall’s hand and stepped back toward the ship.
“Lily,” Jessup warned, moving protectively toward me.
Angus reached over the deck of the Stargazer and grabbed a very large wrench.
Was it an assassin? Christ, would someone murder me for winning second place? I turned and ran toward the Stargazer. A moment later, the harlequin flipped from the rail, grabbed one of the Stargazer’s ropes, and swinging over the others, landed on the platform directly in front of me. Any second now, I would be dead.
He panted and muttered “Lily?” from behind the mask.
“Stop that man! Stop him!” a constable yelled.
“Get out of my way!” Angus roared at the crowd that had thronged in between us.
The masked man grabbed me, tugged on the front of my trousers, and leaned into my ear. The long nose of the mask tickled the side of my face. “Go to Venice,” he whispered as he stuffed something down the front of my pants.
“We got you now,” a constable said, grabbing him, raising his club.
The man shook him off, took two steps backward, and with a jump, leapt off the tower.
Several people in the crowd screamed.
I rushed to the side of the tower to see the harlequin lying at its base. His body was twisted, and his arms and legs bent oddly, contorted into three distinct points. Blood began pooling around him.
“Miss Stargazer, are you all right?” a constable asked.
“A man just killed himself in front of me. No, I am not all right.”
“I mean, are you harmed? Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head and looked down at the mangled body which lay in the shape of a three-sided triskelion. It was the same symbol that was painted on the balloon of the Stargazer.
Goodreads ** Amazon ** Barnes&Noble
About the author:
Melanie Karsak grew up in rural northwestern Pennsylvania where there wasn’t much to do but read books and go for hikes. She wrote her first novel, a gripping piece about a 1920s stage actress, when she was 12. Today, Melanie, a steampunk connoisseur, white elephant collector, and caffeine junkie, lives in Florida with her husband and two children. She is an Instructor of English at Eastern Florida State College.
Blog ** Goodreads ** Facebook ** Twitter ** Authorgraph
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Wednesday, October 23, 2013
Cover Reveal, Excerp and Giveaway: Chasing the Star Garden (The Airship Racing Chronicles, #1) by Melanie Karsak
Publication Date: December 4th, 2013
Description:
An opium-addicted beauty.
An infamous poet living in self-imposed exile.
An ancient treasure about to fall into the wrong hands.
Melanie Karsak’s “Chasing the Star Garden” takes the reader on an exciting adventure from the gritty opium dens of gaslamp London to the gem-colored waters of the ancient world, introducing us Lily Stargazer, a loveable but reckless airship racer with a famous lover and a shattered past.
Lily Stargazer is having a bad day. She just lost the London leg of the 1823 Airship Grand Prix. To top it off, a harlequin fleeing from constables shoved a kaleidoscope down her pants, told her to fly to Venice, then threw himself from her airship tower.
What’s a girl to do? For Lily, the answer is easy: drink absinthe and smoke opium.
Lily’s lover, Lord Byron, encourages her to make the trip to Venice. Lily soon finds herself at the heart of an ancient mystery which has her running from her past and chasing true love and the stars along the way.
EXCERPT:
Chapter 1
I was going to lose-again. I gripped the brass handles on the
wheel hard and turned the airship sharply port. The tiller vibrated in protest
making the wheel shake and my wrist bones ache. Bracing my knees against the
spokes, I tore off my brown leather gloves to get a better feel. The metal
handgrips were smooth and cold. My fingers tingled from the chill.
“Easy,” I whispered to the Stargazer. I looked up from
my position at the wheelstand, past the ropes, burner basket, and balloon,
toward the clouds. They were drifting slowly left in a periwinkle blue sky.
There would be an updraft as we passed over the green brown waters of the canal
near Buckingham House. I locked the wheel and jumped from the wheelstand onto
the deck of the gondola and looked over the rail. The canal waters were about a
hundred feet away. I ran back to the wheel and steadied the ship. If I caught
the updraft, it would propel me up and forward, giving me an edge.
“Cutter caught it, Lily,” Jessup yelled down from the burner
basket below the balloon opening. “Up he goes,” he added, looking out through
his spyglass. The gold polish on the spyglass reflected the fire from the
burner.
“Dammit!” I snapped down my binocular lense. I saw Hank
Cutter’s red and white striped balloon rise upward. At the top, he pitched
forward with great momentum, catching a horizontal wind. I could just make out
Cutter at the wheel. His blond hair blew wildly around him. He turned and waved
to me. Wanker.
I was not as lucky. Just as the bow of the Stargazer
reached the water, a stray wind came in and blew me leeward. The balloon
jiggled violently in the turbulent air. I missed the air pocket altogether.
“No! No, no, no!” I cursed and steadied the ship. I had
chased Cutter from Edinburgh across the Scottish and English countryside. He
had been off his game all day. I’d had him by half a mile the entire race. With
the bottom feeders lingering somewhere in the distance behind us, I’d thought
the London leg of the 1823 Airship Grand Prix would be mine. That was until St.
Albans, where Cutter caught a random breeze that pushed him slightly in front
of me. Cutter had a knack for catching favorable winds; it was not a talent I
shared.
“We’re coming up on Westminster,” Jessup called from the
basket. “Lily, drop altitude. Cutter is too high. Come in low and fast, and you
might overtake him.”
The airship towers sat at the pier near the Palace of
Westminster along the Thames. A carnival atmosphere had overtaken the city as
it always does on race day. There were colorful tents set up everywhere.
Vendors hawked their wares to the excited Londoners and international visitors.
Even from this distance, I could hear the merchants barking from their tents. I
even fancied I could smell roasted peanuts in the wind.
I jumped down from the wheelstand, ran across the deck, and
pulled the valve cord, opening the flap at the top of the balloon. Hot air
released with a hiss. I kept one eye on the balloon and another eye on Tinkers’
Tower. At this time of day, the heat coming off of the Palace of Westminster
and Tinkers’ Tower would give you a bump. I looked up. Cutter had started
preparing his descent. It would be close.
I ran back to the wheel.
“Angus, I need more speed,” I yelled down to the gear galley,
rapping on the wooden hatch that led to the rods, belts, and propeller parts
below.
Angus slapped open the hatch and stuck out his bald head. His
face was covered in grease, and his blue-lense monocle glimmered in the
sunlight. He looked up at the clouds and back at me.
“Let’s giddyup,” I called to him.
“You trying the Tower sling?” he yelled back.
“You got it.”
He laughed wildly. “That’s my lassie,” he yelled and dropped
back down, pulling the wood hatch closed with a clap. I heard the gears grind
and the propeller, which had been turning nice and steady, hummed loudly. The
ship pitched forward. Within moments, we were coming up on Tinkers’ Tower. The
airship towers were just a stone’s throw away.
I aimed the ship directly toward Tinkers’ Tower. Just as the
bowsprit neared the clock, I yanked the wheel. The warm air caught us.
“Whoa!” Jessup yelled as the balloon moved within arm’s
length of the tower.
The sound of “Ohhs!” echoed from the crowd below.
A mix of warm air and propulsion gave us some go, and seconds
later we were slingshotting around Tinkers’ Tower toward the airship platforms.
Gliding in on warm air and momentum, we flew fast and low.
Cutter had kept it high, but now he was dropping like a stone
toward his own tower. Damned American. I didn’t blame him; I would have used
the same move. His balloon was releasing so much air that I wondered if he
would be able to slow down in time, not that I wouldn’t mind seeing him smash
to the ground in a million pieces.
“It’s going to be close,” Jessup yelled as he adjusted the
heat pan.
I guided the helm. The Stargazer was temperamental,
but we understood one another. A shake of the wheel warned me I was pushing too
hard. “Almost there,” I whispered to the ship.
The Grand Prix Marshalls were standing on the platform.
Cutter and I had the end towers. I was going to make it.
“Cut propulsion,” I yelled toward the gear galley. On the
floor near the wheelstand was a rope attached to a bell in the galley. I rang
it twice. The propeller switched off.
A soft, sweet wind blew in from the port side. It ruffled my
hair around my shoulders. I closed my eyes and turned the wheel slightly
starboard, guiding the ship in. As the bowsprit scooped into the opening of the
tower, I heard a jubilant cheer erupt from the American side and an explosion
from the firework cannon signaling the winner had been declared.
My eyes popped open. I tore off my goggles and looked
starboard. Cutter’s balloon was parked. I threw the goggles onto the deck and
set my forehead against the wheel.
The Stargazer settled into her tower. Jessup set the
balloon on hover and, grabbing a rope, swung down to the deck. He then threw
the lead lines and anchors onto the platform. The beautifully dressed crowd,
gentlemen in suits and top hats and fancy ladies in a rainbow of satin gowns
and parasols, rushed toward the American end of the platform to congratulate
the winner.
I was, once again, a national disgrace. Lily the loser. Lily
second place. Perhaps I would never be anything more than a ferrywoman, a cheap
air jockey.
“Good job, Lily. Second place!” Jessup said joining me. He
patted me on the shoulder.
I sighed deeply and unbuttoned my vest. The tension had me
sweating; I could feel it dripping down from my neck, between my breasts, into
my corset.
“You did great,” I told Jessup. “Sorry I let you down.”
“Ah, Lily,” he sighed.
Angus emerged from below wiping sweat from his head with a
greasy rag. He pulled off his monocle. He frowned toward the American side.
“Well, we beat the French,” he said with a shrug and kissed me on the cheek,
smearing grease on me.
“Good job, Angus.
Thank you,” I said taking him by the chin and giving him a little shake as I
wrinkled my nose and smiled at him.
Angus laughed and dropped his arm around Jessup’s shoulders.
They grinned happily at one another.
“You stink, brother,” Jessup told him.
“It’s a wee bit toasty down there. Besides, I pedaled this
ship across the entire fucking country while ya were up here looking at the
birds. That, my friend, is the smell of success.”
I laughed.
“You pedaled the ship?” Jessup said mockingly. “Like Lil and
I were just up here playing cards? If I didn’t keep the balloon aloft, your ass
would be kissing the ground.”
“Now wait a minute. Are ya saying your job is more important
that mine?” Angus retorted.
I could see where this was going. “Gents.”
“More important? Now why would I say that? Just because I’m
the one . . .” Jessup started and then his mouth ran.
“Gents.”
“ . . . and another thing . . .” Jessup went on.
“Gentlemen! Our audience awaits,” I said cutting them both
off, motioning to the well-shod crowd who waited for us on the loading platform
outside the Stargazer.
I grinned at my crew. “Come on. Let’s go.”
I patted the rail of the Stargazer. “Thanks,” I
whispered to her, and we exited onto the platform.
A reporter from the London Times and several race
officials stood waiting for me.
“Well done, Lily! Well done!” the British race official
congratulated me with a pat on the back. “Second place! King George will be so
proud. One of these days you’ll have it, by God.”
I was pretty sure that the last thing I needed was the
attention of George IV, the extravagant, unpopular lush. But I bit my tongue
and smiled politely.
“Lily, how did Cutter beat you? You led the entire race,” the
reporter, a round woman wearing a very thick black lace collar which looked
like it was choking her, asked me. Her heavy purple walking dress looked hot
under the late afternoon summer sun. The brim of her black satin cap barely
shaded her nose. I noticed then, however, that she had a small clockwork fan
pin attached to her chest. The fan wagged cool air toward her face.
I pulled off my cap, mopped my forehead, and thought about
the question. “Luck,” I replied.
“Lily, that was some move around Tinkers’ Tower. How did you
learn to do that?” another reporter asked.
“My father,” I lied.
“Make way, make way,” one of the race officials called,
ushering a Marshall forward.
The Marshall looked like someone who lingered an hour too
long at supper. The gold buttons on his marigold satin vest would take an eye
out if they popped. His overly tall top hat was adorned with a ring of flowers
that matched his striking orange colored dress coat.
“Miss Stargazer, congratulations,” he said, shaking my hand.
“The Spanish airship is coming in now. Will you please join Mr. Cutter at the
winners’ podium?” he asked politely as he guided me forward by the hand.
From below there was a commotion. A man dressed in an unusual
costume was rushing up the stairs. What looked like a full squadron of the Bow
Street Runners, the London constables, were chasing him. When he got to the
loading platform, the man pushed through a crowd of well-dressed ladies and
gentlemen, many of whom were gentry. It was then I could see he was dressed as
a harlequin. He wore the traditional red and black checked outfit and a black
mask. He scanned the towers and caught sight of me. He jumped, landing on the
tower railing, and ran toward me. A woman in the crowd screamed. Moments later
the constables appeared on the platform. The race Marshalls pointed toward the
harlequin who was making a beeline for me.
I let go of the Marshall’s hand and stepped back toward the
ship.
“Lily,” Jessup warned, moving protectively toward me.
Angus reached over the deck of the Stargazer and
grabbed a very large wrench.
Was it an assassin? Christ, would someone murder me for
winning second place? I turned then and ran toward the Stargazer. A
moment later, the harlequin flipped from the rail, grabbed one of the Stargazer’s ropes, and swinging over the others,
landed on the platform directly in front of me. Any second now, I would be
dead.
“Lily?” he asked from behind the mask.
“Stop that man! Stop him!” a constable yelled.
“Get out of my way!” Angus roared at the crowd that had
thronged in between us.
The masked man grabbed me, tugged on the front of my
trousers, and leaned into my ear. The long nose of the mask tickled my face.
“Go to Venice,” he whispered as he stuffed something down the front of my
pants.
“We got you now,” a constable said, grabbing him, raising his
club.
The man shook him off, took two steps backward, and with a
jump, leapt off the tower.
Several people in the crowd screamed.
I rushed to the side of the tower to see the harlequin lying
at its base. His body was twisted oddly. Blood began pooling around him.
“Miss Stargazer, are you all right?” a constable asked.
“A man just killed himself in front of me. No, I am not all
right.”
“I mean, are you harmed? Did he hurt you?”
I shook my head and looked down at the mangled body whose twisted form
made the shape of a three-sided triskelion. It was the same symbol that was
painted on the balloon of the Stargaze
About the author:
Melanie Karsak grew up in rural northwestern Pennsylvania where there was an abysmal lack of entertainment, so she turned to reading and hiking. Apparently, rambling around the woods with a head full of fantasy worlds and characters will inspire you to become an author. Be warned. Melanie wrote her first novel, a gripping piece about a 1920s stage actress, when she was 12. A steampunk connoisseur, white elephant collector, and caffeine junkie, the author now resides in Florida with her husband and two children. Melanie is an Instructor of English at Eastern Florida State College.
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