Title: Chasing the Star Garden
Author: Melanie Karsak
Series: The Airship Racing Chronicles, Book I
Genre: Alternative
History/Gaslamp-Steampunk
Publisher: Clockpunk Press
Date of Publication: December 4th,
2013
Cover Artist: Damonza
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.
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 Stargazer.
Author Bio
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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