The
Airship Racing Chronicles
By
Melanie Karsak
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
readers on a thrilling adventure from the gritty opium dens of gaslamp London
It all begins on one of
the worst days of Lily’s life. She just lost the London Venice
Lily’s lover, Lord
Byron, encourages her to make the trip to Venice
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 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
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
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.
About the author:
Blog:
melaniekarsak.blogspot.com
Twitter:
twitter.com/MelanieKarsak
Email: melanie@clockpunkpress.com
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