The late evening comes with a confident wind. It rouses the few gnarly, bare-branched trees at the Fumedge train station into a vortex of macabre dance.
We're the only two people here.
Amidst the whirring gears and the rhythmic hiss of steam, the Fumedge train station stands like a mechanical marvel, a testament to the ingenuity of our steampunk world. The station's metal arches soar above me, adorned with cogs and brass embellishments that gleam in the sunlight. The platforms that're normally bustling with travelers, their attire a symphony of corsets, goggles, and pocket watches are empty today. Pa and I stand on Platform Seven, waiting for the train to Lighthaven Capitol.
"Veda, my dear, mind the gap when boarding," Pa reminds me, his eyes crinkling behind his aviator goggles. "And keep your pendant close. It'll protect you."
I nod, fingering the pendant around my neck—a delicate clockwork trinket he crafted for my eighteenth birthday. The train's whistle pierces the air, and the ground trembles as the behemoth machine pulls into the station. I embrace Pa, his coat smelling of oil and nostalgia.
"Take care, Veda. Lighthaven's a bustling city, but remember your roots," he says, a hint of wistfulness in his voice.
"I promise, Pa. I'll make you proud," I reply.
A tattered coal-black umbrella wobbles in Pa's wrinkly hand. Vogel nests on his shoulder. The mechanical menace of a bird leans forth and gently nips the tip of my nose.
A sign that it's fully recovered, fer now. Who knows when it's gonna go on the fritz again?
"I'll send a missive to the Lighthaven Castle. It should arrive before you, explaining everything." Pa scratches his head.
He wears a scuffed top hat, and a decent black suit. The same one he had on him during Ma's funeral. The only decent one he has left. I'm not used to seeing him in this fine regalia. Moths have eaten through the pockets, but no one else knows, or sees that, but me. Pa's breeches are big on 'im, but I've made them stay with pins and an old leather belt.
Scattered shops and metallic carts surround us. On public market days, with all the trade and chatter, the station has an almost holiday feel to it.
Today, there is a certain air of grimness.
The ticket to Lighthaven might just be a one-way ticket. Pa may never wait for me at this same place again.
Never... see me return.
"Try to get some sleep on the train. You should arrive there at dawn. A bit early but... Always better to show up sooner."
I nod. We've been over this already in our hovel.
"Your official presentation will happen during the first combat. Until then, the Grand Duke won't publicly reveal the names of the Champions."
Better yet. I can slip in undetected.
"Got everything you need?"
"Yes, Pa."
Both weapons: Exo-boots and a stun ray gun, are in me backpack.
Two of Pa's inventions I know how to use best.
"Your ticket? How about your ticket?" He does a little jump, which makes Vogel comically hop on his shoulder.
"Right 'ere."
"Good. Hold on to it, you hear me? You hold on to that ticket now." He trembles.
"I will."
A lime-green centipede rushing alongside my left leather boot piques my interest.
I don't wanna look up.
If I see Pa cry, then I'll cry too.
The train whistle lets out a mournful wail.
That's my cue.
"Time to go." My voice is but a whisper.
Pa clasps my chin and speaks with a feverish haste: "Listen, sweet pea. Do not tell anyone that your boots and your gun use sparks."
Why hide the tech?
"Pa..." I start.
He places a finger on my lips. "Even if you showed them sparks are better than coal and steam power..."
"They are!" I huff.
"I know. I know they are. But the Council would veto them. Destroy them. Sparks would scare them."
"Fucksticks. Why do I 'ave to..."
"Shh. Shh. Listen. This is important. The Grand Duke is not to be trifled with. You must make them believe you are using steam-powered technology. Make them believe you are not a threat."
I scoff.
"Remember: play the role. You are just a sweet daughter of an ordinary toy maker. A feeble old toy maker. Do not draw attention to yourself."
"Fine. Fer cryin' out loud," I concede, defeated.
The whistle sounds off the second time — now insistent and angry.
"Member to stay indoors fer as long as ye can, Pa. Left you enough laudanum to last you quite a while. Drink plenty of water and... Eat well. I'll be back soon," I say before I heed the whistle's call.
"Bon voyage," Pa says. He pushes a small bundle into my arms as I climb atop the rickety metallic stairs the best I can.
The steam locomotive huffs and puffs and pulls the wagons forward.
Through the soothing pattern of steady rain droplets, I glimpse the white tufts of Pa's disheveled hair.
He touches the forefinger of his right hand to his heart and then points it at me.
I do the same in return.
We don't mouth "I love ye" or "I'll miss ye" to each other because there is no need.
He knows.
And I know.
As Fumedge fades into a distant blur, I lean back into the seat and hug myself.
Pa, I'll make ye proud if it is the last thing I do.
I've never ridden onna train, and the speed makes me lightheaded.
I lift the still warm package Pa had shoved into my hands at the platform.
The checkered cloth conceals a scribbled note:
"DINNER"
Inside, there's a piece of dried meat.
We hadn't had meat in months. What must it have cost him, to provide me with this meager ration?
"Thank ye," I whisper into the void.
I bite into it. 'Tis good. Tastes like home.
When I've chewed the whole chunk, I stare at the wet pane and I think of Pa.
He must' be eating that last hasselback potato, sitting alone for supper, glancing at the now two empty chairs.
Each raindrop is a kaleidoscope, a tiny water gift through which I can peek, immersing myself into the memories.
Every moment spent with Pa and Ma makes me smile. I'll never forget who adopted me. Who cared for me. Gave me a home. He is my family.
A steady chugga-chugga of the train elicits a yawn from me.
I lean against a plush velvet curtain and sigh. Pa will sleep poorly tonight, without a doubt. Imagining my tiny hut at the end of Fumedge makes me ache with a newfound loneliness.
Soon enough, the curtain is soaked in my tears.
⚙️🕰🗝️🎩⚙
"Tick-et, plea-se?" A grating voice rouses me from light sleep.
I leap to my feet and am forced to cover my eyes from the bright sun rays that invade the compartment. It takes a good couple of squints before I soak in the sight.
A tall, brass automaton in a dark-blue conductor's uniform and a burgundy red cap blinks its yellow irises. The fingers on its metallic hand open and close ad nauseam, until I lay the yellowish paper upon its palm.
"Your-ticket-has-been ve-ri-fied," it says.
"Aww, shite, my back is all stiff." I stretch, cracking my knuckles. "How much longer till Lighthaven?"
The automaton pauses, tilting its head. "Your-ticket-has-been ve-ri-fied," it repeats, and walks off.
Pa's words come to mind.
An automaton is a mere machine, Veda. It can only perform a range of functions according to a predetermined set of coded instructions.
Huh. Guess 'twas just a recording after all.
The commotion in the hallway makes me wanna take a peek. The fellow Fumedgers are yelling in excitement, pointing through the glass. Grimy-faced children are rolling up the windows and cheering, jubilant, inhaling the clean, filtered air.
I follow suit.
As we climb towards the mountain above which Lighthaven floats, the landscape becomes tamer and softer. Cheerful tufts of grass replace the cruel, jagged rocks.
The sight coaxes a feeble smile out of me. 'Tis a smile which says: "I can keep pretending that I am going on an adventure. On a wonderful trip into the unknown."
The train slows. The automatons instruct us to descend at the top of the mountain. I secure my backpack and my gas mask, and then step out of the locomotive.
The wind tousles me hair. The huge sun, the eye of the sky, winks at me. I can't get enough of its light and warmth.
"Pro-ceed to the aero globes, plea-se," the automaton says.
The train passengers now stand in line to board the new transport.
T' makes sense to me. We're closer to Lighthaven, after having traveled onna train the whole night, but there is still the matter of...
The Ascent.
Dozens of majestic, multicolored mushroom-shaped aero-globes await us. I pick the light blue one. The color of the sky itself.
I know how it werks. Tall flames, jus' like the ones in the furnace of Pa's workshop, surge upwards and heat the inside air, creating the elevation. The hot air is lighter than the cold air, therefore it will go up.
And up we go, and I have to bite hard on my hand to suppress the cries of sheer joy.
The higher I am, the further I am from all my problems.
We glide upon cotton-clouds, sun-warmed, soft and free. I'm in my sky-born cradle, rocked by the winds far above the ground.
I'd always wanted to be an aviatrix. I don't want this flight, my first flight, to end. Ever.
As warm updrafts carry the aero globe onward, suspended in that expanded sense of time, the view explodes down below.
It mimics the sun-shaped illustration from my school book. The round walls of the Lighthaven Castle are in the center. From it sprout eight majestic arched bridges, leading to the eight city districts. University, Gardens, Market, and Residential Districts are located north. Judiciary, AeroCorps, Common Pits and Red-Light Districts are to the south.
Pish-posh. All the cities of the Empire have an identical layout.
The ride lasts about half an hour before my transport begins its descent, suggesting we're nearing the Castle District. We land upon a wide, illuminated Plaza. The aero globe basket kisses the earth with a small and joyous bounce.
I step onto the bustling platform, and there, rising majestically before me, stands the Lighthaven Castle—a stunning marvel of steampunk architecture that steals my breath away.
The castle's grand facade gleams with polished brass and glistening glass, adorned with intricate clockwork detailing that seems to come alive as gears spin and pistons hiss. The sunlight reflects off the metallic surfaces, creating a mesmerizing dance of light and shadow. Towering spires reach towards the sky, crowned with weather vanes shaped like mechanical dragons, ready to take flight at any moment.
With each step, I enter a world of wonder and enchantment. The air is filled with the scent of polished metal, mingling with the faint aroma of steam and machinery. The castle's walls seem to hum with life, resonating with the energy of the machines that power its every mechanism.
As I approach the castle gates, I notice the intricate clockwork engravings that tell the story of Lighthaven—a tale of innovation, ambition, and dreams woven into the very fabric of its architecture. My eyes are drawn to the enormous clock that adorns the central tower, its hands perpetually ticking, a reminder that time is both precious and fleeting.
Stepping inside, I find myself in a grand atrium, where a magnificent brass chandelier hangs from the soaring ceiling, illuminating the space with a warm, golden glow. The floors are a mosaic of intricate gears and cogwheels, and the walls showcase intricate mechanical contraptions that serve as both art and function.
In the heart of the castle, I find myself thinking about the Great Workshop—a place where inventors and visionaries come together to shape the future. I can't help but feel a surge of inspiration, knowing that this is where dreams are born and nurtured into reality. This is where Imma improve Pa's inventions for combat.
Lighthaven Castle is more than just a fortress; it's a testament to the boundless possibilities of the human imagination. I can't wait to immerse myself in this world of gears and steam, to learn, to create, and to be part of the legacy that is Lighthaven.
I barely have the time to see where the heck I am, when a woman inna a knee-high black dress, a white apron, and a sun-shaped hairband marches up to me.
"Madam Veda Igglesden?"
"Aye."
"We've been expecting you. Your... father... has already explained everything in his missive. My name is Sophie Takeuchi. I am Head of Maids here in Lighthaven Castle. Your aero globe is early." She taps the orifice where her right eye is supposed to be.
There's a functioning tiny clock instead, ticking six a.m.
I'm so friggin fascinated by it I don't even notice when two mechanical arms sprout from her uniform sleeves. One grabs my rucksack and the other goes straight for my jacket.
I must've forgotten to close me mouth because she says this, next:
"Ah. Born crippled from the upper half. Saved by the late Grand Duchess. She suggested the Duke give me new extremities."
Sophie leads me to the castle's back entrance, and conducts me through a maze of labyrinthine corridors. We stop at a door with the name "Igglesden" on it.
"Breakfast for Champions is at eight. I shall make sure you are not late. The Grand Duke does not appreciate tardiness." She wrinkles her nose.
The heat rises to my cheeks at her allusion of my trash stench.
"Would you require assistance in your... preparations?"
"No!" I say a little too fast. "I'd like to be alone. Please," I add after a thoughtful moment.
Sophie nods and her features soften.
When I walk through the doorway, I find meself in the richest place I've ever been in, with thick deep vermillion carpets, a velvet couch and soft-padded chairs. I sit on the bed with reverence, running my fingers over the silky fabric.
The room's bloody bigger than me entire hut.
A tub of warm water waits for me in the bathroom. I soak in it for at least an hour, as I scrub off the dirt and sweat from the train travel and wash my hair. To my surprise, they laid out a dress for me. A pale, sand colored thing with a corset, matching stockings and boots.
I frown, preferring just the shirt and the breeches, but there is no turning back. Luckily, I have no problem putting on the garment, having seen Mar do it a thousand times already. At least it didn't come with a stupid flowery hat or something like that.
When Sophie comes to collect me for breakfast, her eye-clock shows ten minutes to eight. I follow her through yet another maze of rocking corridors, walking as fast as I can.
The full length-gown is not as bad as I thought, although the eejiotic corset thing almost cuts my bloody breathing altogether. The high-heeled boots are the worst part. I'd never worn such shoes, and can't get used to wobbling around on them.
Why do Lighthaven women put these torture devices on their feet?
It seems like we've been walking forever when the almond-colored, gold-trimmed door greets us.
The knob is cold to my fingers—it's as if I'm touching a block of ice.
Sophie nudges me, and I enter. As I take a step forth, I sink a couple of inches because of how soft the floor is.
My wobbly feet perform an acrobatic forward somersault, and I fall head first, wedging meself into the stupid caramel colored carpet.
Even if I get up as fast as I can, a bald girl in a lizard-green dress, seated closest to the door, notices my blunderish nosedive. She bears her coal-black irises into mine, and the corner of her mouth rises upward.
Curse my clumsiness! If she's one of the Champions... She mus' think Imma be an easy prey. I swallow and look anywhere but into her eyes.
Huge, glamorous chandeliers hang from the high vaulted ceiling. The stained-glass windows are enormous portraits of the Grand Duke's family members. But it's the center of the room that draws my attention. My mouth hangs open in amazement.
The long rectangle table, made of solid wood, is trimmed in a thin layer of what can only be gold. And it's laden with more food than I've ever seen in me life.
My stomach rumbles at the sight.
"Ah. Madame Igglesden. Right on time. Quite an entrance, too." A tall, gray-haired man rises from the massive chair at the head of the table and focuses his monocle on me.
The shoulders of his flawlessly tailored dark-blue uniform bear golden epaulets, and the sash across his chest is packed with dem war medals. The goatskin breeches that are prob'ly worth the entire city of Fumedge are tucked in polished, high black boots. I see the ornate sun sword resting next to his seat, and I know — I stand before the Grand Duke of Lighthaven.
The eejit responsible for the world order being as it is. For Fumedgers' starvation and Lighthaveners' abundance.
"Grand Duke." I bow.
"I bid you welcome to the Breakfast for Champions. I expect you are as... enthusiastic as I am about the Gaslight Trials." He caresses his yellowish sideburns.
"Wholeheartedly," I say, flashing what I hope is a sweet smile. Then I shut me mouth rememberin' the missing incisor.
"It is the first combative event of its kind, and the most innovative, if I dare say so. Sorry to hear your... father... is indisposed."
"Jus' a bit under the weather, is all." I grit my teeth.
"A charming accent," he says, honey dripping through his words. "I hope for his speedy recovery, then." The Grand Duke points at a chair between a tiny, quiet girl and a dark-haired, elderly, sallow man. "I'm sure we can expect grand things from you. Otto has painted you as quite a worthy successor of his talent. Meanwhile, enjoy the... Breakfast for champions." He gestures at the food.
Has he now? Has my Pa been having regular correspondence with the Grand Duke?
No time to ponder this. I trot towards the seat, avoiding the bald girl's voluminous skirts.
The chair opposite mine scrapes the plush carpet as its occupant rises in wait for me to sit down.
I have to grasp the feckin' table with all my might, in order not to plummet to the floor again.
It's 'im! The lad from the junkyard!
Minus the rotten cabbage smell, plus a full-toothed perfect smile. It makes me so jealous, and so self-conscious.
Last I saw 'im, I told him "You don't belong here."
Ha. Joke's on me. Now I'm the one who's out of place.
What's he gonna do? He gonna tell everyone what I did?
My gaze darts at the nearest exit. Betcha I could make it to the door if I chuck these boots off, but... would the guards catch up with me? Are the windows too high? I consider jumping out of them.
Langdon Septimus opens his mouth.
I close my eyes, expecting to hear a "throw her inna Brig!" yell every second now.
"Milady," he whispers a single word instead, and bows.
Bedamned lad. Fine. Two can play this game.
"Milord," I whisper back, and mock'curtsy.
An awkward moment passes and then another, before I decide to fully focus on the food before me.
I grab the nearest loaf of bread and marvel at it. It's a real bakery bread, the kind I 'avent seen in years. I take it in my hands and hold the puncture in the crust to my nose, inhaling the fragrance that makes my mouth flood with saliva. Then I bite into it with a loud crunch and say, "Mmm."
Langdon Septimus chuckles.
As on cue, the grand door bursts open and a cohort of maids, led by Sophie, parades around the dining room, placin' food-laden plates every which way.
The dishes go on and on like onna factory conveyor belt.
I could just inhale the whole thing.
There are foods there I've never eaten in me life, and everything smells heavenly.
Hot coffee is what I can't get enough of.
Once a year, fer my birthday, Pa would turn on our alembic. The cold fusion furnace would then create fine coffee overnight using cold water and coffee grounds. Dem grounds were damned hard to come by.
And here I'm already through my second cup!
I shove the food in me like there's no tomorrow. Chicken breasts, garlic tater salad, cheese and melon, a fruitcake. I stuff meself as much as I can, as the meat sauce drips on me fine dress. After some time, all textures and tastes are a blur and I no longer know if I am eatin' cheese or a tart, sweet or sour flavor.
It's food, and it's all that matters. Darn good food, the kind I hadn't had since I was fecking born.
I belch and cover my mouth, but no one seems to have noticed except Langdon Septimus. He doesn't say a thing. He just keeps looking at me with a ghost of a smile.
Oh, Mar. If only you were here to see this. My throat tightens at the thought of my best friend. I couldn't tell 'er anything. Pa wouldn't let me. This afternoon, she'll be all alone, waiting for me at our usual garbage mountain.
Fer a spot of lunch.
A bear grunt suppresses my oncoming tear. "We apologize for the tardiness, Grand Duke."
The grunt belongs to a massive frame, clad in a military-style jacket heavy with gold work embroidery. The man is impeccably dressed according to all the proper etiquette: cream pantaloons, stockings and court shoes included. But I'd recognize his stinkin' voice anywhere.
The Puncher.
I growl and the tender porcelain on my third cup of hot coffee cracks along the edges from how hard I'm clutching the thing.
But there's nothin' that could 'ave prepared me for what comes next.
Hanging onto this monster's arm, in an elaborate cobalt-blue gown and a matching, poorly covered black-eye...
Is Mariposa.