All posts tagged: steampunk

Dirt Beneath The Cobbles

London did not make itself an easy city to love, Christina knew that better than most. She kept her eyes fixed to the cobbles underfoot and forced herself to ignore the flood of people crowded into the streets, their bodies pressing in on her as she picked her way past. The in-between ran across the bridges of London. It was the area where the nobility ventured out to gawk at the poor, worthless people who fell into the wrong side of London, and those same poor, worthless people lingered, hoping for scraps. Christina pulled the rim of her hat lower and shrugged past the small mobs of well dressed gentry, into the maze of narrow alleyways and filthy terraces beyond. Sidestepping the beggars who huddled in doorways she gripped onto her collar, hiding behind the discoloured leather. Here was where the unsavoury were kept out of sight, laws set out by men like Christina’s father, forbidding those ‘of less than pleasing appearance’ to step out into the main streets of London. Their presence was deemed too distressing …

Watertight

“You’ve checked the cargo right, the last thing we need is that thing going off when we’re halfway across the continent?” asked Pike for the fourth time in as many minutes. “It’s secure,” Maisie assured him, the steel soles of her boots clanging against the grated floor as she dropped down from the ladder and into the cockpit. “You worry too much, this deal is as watertight as they come.” Pike shrugged as she shed her jacket and dropped into the seat next to him, her grey t-shirt and black trousers matching his own, he did his best not to stare at the scar running from shoulder to little finger, or the plating around her elbow. “Yeah,” he said quietly, “that’s what we thought about the last deal as well.”

Extract From Chapter Two of ‘The Lady Winters’

Gregory Yikes was dead. Becket grinned as he watched the mummer run through the House of Lords, the Speaker scowling as the gossip jumped from one person to the next in the furious chatter of panicked, desperate men who saw their worlds titling dangerously towards something very dark. “I see your father’s unimpressed with you again.” Henry Junt dropped down into the bench seat next to Becket and kicked his feet up onto the balcony railing. He’d changed little since Becket had last seen him, hair kept short in tight dark curls and bright green eyes that darted across faces too quickly. “You stink of opium.” said Becket, pushing his hand into his trouser pocket to see if he still had his cigarettes. “And you reek of gin.” Henry grinned, snapping up a cigarette when Becket held the tin out. “Did you spend the entire night in the South Banks?” “Most of it.” Becket admitted. “It seems I made somewhat of a racket finding my way back into the house this morning.” “Servants quarters?” “Burst …

Ismae and Michael

“And where have you been?” spat Ismae, throwing her hair back over one shoulder as she spun to face Michael. He slumped against the doorway, one hand covering the gaping wound beneath his ribs. “I-” He gasped, coughed and dribbled blood down his chin. “She got the jump on me.” he rasped, sinking towards the cabin floor as he spoke. Ismae titled her head to one side and looked at him, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “She got the jump on you?” she said, clicking her tongue against the roof of her mouth after the last word. “One little rich girl manage to get the jump on you?” She shook her head, blond hair spraying our behind her. “I don’t believe it.” she said, leaning back against her desk. “I would have thought you had at least enough sense not to fall for her tricks.” Michael took three hacking breaths and fell silent. “You have really disappointed me Michael.” Ismae sighed. “After all we’ve been through; I would have thought that you could have at …

Dirt beneath the Cobbles

  London did not make itself an easy city to love, Christina knew that better than most. She kept her eyes fixed to the cobbles underfoot and forced herself to ignore the flood of people crowded into the streets, their bodies pressing in on her as she picked her way past. The in-between ran across the bridges of London. It was the area where the nobility ventured out to gawk at the poor, worthless people who fell into the wrong side of London, and those same poor, worthless people lingered, hoping for scraps. Christina pulled the rim of her hat lower and shrugged past the small mobs of well dressed gentry, into the maze of narrow alleyways and filthy terraces beyond. Sidestepping the beggars who huddled in doorways she gripped onto her collar, hiding behind the discoloured leather. Here was where the unsavoury were kept out of sight, laws set out by men like Christina’s father, forbidding those ‘of less than pleasing appearance’ to step out into the main streets of London. Their presence was deemed too …