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Chasing
the Star Garden
The Airship Racing Chronicles
The Airship Racing Chronicles
Book I
Melanie Karsak
Genre: Alternative
History/Gaslamp-Steampunk
Publisher: Clockpunk Press
Date of Publication: December 4th,
2013
ISBN: 978-0615878775
ISBN-10: 0615878776
Number of pages: 325
Word Count: 70,000
Cover Artist: Damonza
Book 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.
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.
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.
Twitter:
twitter.com/MelanieKarsak
Pinterest:
www.pinterest.com/melaniekarsak/
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