The Illustrious (The Sublime Electricity Book #1) by Pavel Kornev

Part I. Chapter 1

"I will cut out my own heart. I will give my heart to you!"

Phillip August, Steamfonia*

Part OneThe Fallen. Titanium Blade and the Power of Imagination1

Is it true that all which is born to crawl cannot fly? Indeed it is!

People simply were not made for flight. Any flight is doomed to end in a fall. And the faster the ascent, the more disastrous the consequences. Consider, for example, the fallen...

I opened my eyes. I immediately slammed them shut, but it was too late. When I opened them again, I caught a glimpse of the gray-smoke-shrouded sky spinning and whirling above me, creating the illusion that I was lying on a rescue raft in the middle of a giant whirlpool. The mere thought of having to stand to my feet was painful, though, so I stayed where I was, sprawled out in a cowardly fashion on top of the rubbish pile that broke my fall.

I took a careful breath, and my ribs were instantly pierced by a sharp pain. But, when I inhaled a second time, the unpleasant sensations were already on the decline, letting me know that I had been lucky enough to get away with nothing more than a bruise to the back. No pieces of brick, nor broken bottles, as luck would have it, were to be found among the trash heap that took me in its sweet embrace.

That brightened my mood. Overall, I still wasn't feeling too great, considering the circumstances of my fall but, nevertheless, I did have something to be happy about.

I opened my eyes again.

Gloomy building walls rose up all around me, giving the impression that I was at the bottom of a deep well. Above them loomed a gray sky, hostile and ugly like everything else around. Suddenly, the darkness grew even thicker, foreshadowing the coming of an army dirigible. Its cabin was lined with tightly battened-down square weapons hatches. After that, I saw the tail stabilizers, keel, and Gatling-gun barrels, reflecting back a solar sheen. But next thing I knew, all trace of the airship was gone, as if it had never been there at all.

No matter! It wasn't as if I'd tumbled out of the cabin of that flying monster. Not at all: I had been sent on a short flight out the snarling maw of a shattered second-story window.

Though, to be frank, saying I was "sent" is rather overstating it.

"Leopold!" the echo of a far off scream rolled over the courtyard. I heard a booming clatter, and a moment later, the voice was closer: "Leo! Curses, where are you?!"

The beam of an electric torch swept over the area; its bright light ran across the walls, sidled off in my direction and went out. Only when my eyes began getting reaccustomed to the darkness did I see the short constable step into the courtyard. He was wearing a police-issue raincoat and service cap. His high-caliber lupara gave me an ugly snarl with the muzzle-end of its quadruple barrels.

"Don't point that thing at me!" I demanded, frowning in annoyance.

Ramon Miro dallied for a moment, then tucked his weapon into the crease of his left elbow.

"Are you alright?" he asked, looking around apprehensively.

"I will be," I answered tersely but concisely.

"Are you sure?" My hulking black-haired partner doubted, extending his free hand.

I batted it away in annoyance. Mustering my strength, I rolled over onto my side, and even managed to lift myself up on an elbow before hearing the jingle of broken glass ring out above me.

A round-faced gentleman of middling years wearing a three‑piece gray suit and an equally unassuming bowler appeared behind the glass-shard-toothed smile in the window. With the handle of his cane, he knocked one more piece of broken glass from the frame, then looked at me, his face acquiring an expression of extreme disapproval.