Touch the Sky
A steampunk entry by @Alice_Iceflower.
The prototype suspension engine exploded, spurting hot steam and dirty oil all over Miss Sally Price. She spluttered and wiped the sticky grease off with the back of her gloved hand, the blast resonating through her laboratory.
The door slammed open. “Sally?”
She took off her brass-rimmed safety goggles and wiped a blob of smelly goo from her eyebrow. “I’m fine, Timothy. Don’t fret.”
Her brother rounded the corner into the hangar, hands protectively on his expensive jacket as he scrunched his nose. He produced a handkerchief to cover the lower part of his face and waved the steam away from his face. “Really, Sally, you must stop this.”
“I won’t—not until I make my ship fly.” Sally wrenched a twisted brass rod back into place inside her small airship. “You may leave now.”
“That thing will never fly. When will you see that? Mankind is not made to fly above the Smoke.” He walked around a crate of components, careful not to get a smudge of stinking oil on his fine shoes. “Have you looked at yourself? You’ll never get anyone to marry you if you go around looking like some sort of sewer monster. You’ve ruined your dress.”
Sally patted the Eagle’s wooden hull and looked up at the little one-masted boat she had turned into her prototype airship. She would fly—as soon as the engines were fixed.
She pulled the damaged piston out of her engine and put it aside for repairs, pushing an oily strand of hair from her face. “If I cared for the dress, I wouldn’t have worn it today. Now, go and make a nuisance of yourself somewhere else.”
“Father told me he is going to cut your funds.”
She spun around, screwdriver in her hand. “What? Are you trying to be funny?”
“I do not waste my time on jokes, Sally. Go ask him yourself.”
“But he can’t do that. I’m almost there!”
Timothy dabbed his nose with the handkerchief and folded his hands behind his back. “He can and he will. You’re throwing away your life, and a lot of Father’s money with it.”
“This is my life.”
He snorted, a satisfied grin on his face. “Then maybe it’s finally time to change that.”
With a loud clang, Sally flung the screwdriver on the floor. “We’ll see about that.”
She stormed past him, but paused at the door. “If you dare touch anything under this roof, I will murder you and dump your body in Thames.”
*
Lord Anthony Price, Baron Price, didn’t look up from his correspondence when his daughter strode in, a trail of oil behind her.
“Is it true?”
He turned his letter over, reaching for a blank sheet and his ink vial. “Manners, Sally.”
She growled in frustration and stepped outside his study, rapping her knuckles on the hardwood door, not bothering to close it first.
“Come in.”
Sally entered again and shut the door behind her, more roughly than she should.
Her father smoothed his whiskers and looked up. He blinked several times as he took in the apron-shaped stains on her dress and the oil on her face and hair.
“What in heaven’s name happened to you?”
“It was an accident. It’s nothing.” She put her hands on his desk. “Is Timothy right? Are you going to cut my allowance?”
He closed his eyes and let out a long sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sally, you’re going to turn five-and-twenty in less than two months.”
“Exactly! I’m much too old for marriage.”
He ignored her outburst. “It’s time to stop this foolishness—this engineering. It’s dangerous, expensive and wholly unsuitable for young ladies like yourself. Such things are better left to the minds of men.”
Sally opened her mouth to protest, but her father held up his hand.
“You will have your coming out ball on your birthday.”
“I’ve already had my coming out ball—twice.”
“And you did not attend either of them. No, Sally, you will have a proper ball this time, and you will find a decent man who will look after you when I’m gone.”
“I don’t need anyone to look after me, Father. I can take care of myself. Please, don’t do this. I just need a few more months.”
He shook his head and pushed himself up from his heavy mahogany armchair with a grunt. He walked around his desk to put a hand over hers. “Sweetheart, you said that the last three times as well. You have a month to clear out the hangar, put aside the things you want to keep.”
Sally yanked her hands away. “What I want to keep is my ship.”
Her father sighed. “Sally—”
She turned around and stormed out of his study, slamming the door behind her. A month. She would do it in a month, then. The Eagle would fly above the black clouds of soot and smoke that covered over half of the world now. She would make it past the turning point, where all balloons had stopped moving.
She rushed down the grand staircase, to the front door, where their only footman stood waiting in case anyone should call on them—which was not likely to happen anytime soon.
“William,” she called to him, “have the carriage prepared and inform Mr. Harris that I’m going out. I will meet you both outside in ten. And tell Millie I’m going to need her help with my hair.”
“Right away, Miss.” The footman dropped his stiff posture and disappeared down the servants’ stairs to inform the groom.
Half an hour later, Sally stepped out of the carriage in front of the magnificent building owned by Royal Society of Engineers. William closed the carriage door behind her. She smoothed her clean dress, pushed a strand of oil-free hair behind her ear and strode up the marble stairs.
Sally pushed open the large doors, drawing the looks of all the men inside. They were scattered in groups, most leaning back in the comfortable red armchairs that filled the hall, smoke curling from their pipes, their conversation halted. She briefly closed her eyes as she recognised a tall figure standing to the far left. That had to be her luck—coming here on the one day that Richard Trevillian chose to spend outside his laboratory.
Ignoring the gazes that followed her, she walked towards the grand staircase.
A broad footman neared her, placing a hand on her arm. “Miss, I’m afraid you’re not allowed to be here.”
She raised her eyebrows and removed the man’s hand. “Daniels, you know as well as I that that has never stopped me before. I’m here to see Mr. Grant, and before you ask—no, I do not have an appointment. Now, if you please.”
She sidestepped the bulky man and made her way up to the secretary’s office. She knocked once and didn’t wait for a reply to enter.
Augustus Grant dropped a stack of letters and his glasses at the sight of her. “Miss Price! What are you doing here? You know women are not allowed in this establishment.”
“I’m well aware of that, Mr. Grant, but I cannot afford to waste any more time by arranging everything through written correspondence. I wish to reschedule my test flight. Is the field free on the 28th of August?”
Mr. Grant grabbed his glasses and rummaged through a drawer. “I believe so, yes.”
“That will be all, then. Thank you very much.”
She turned and left the office, William still trailing behind her as she descended the stairs and crossed the hall, followed by disgruntled murmurs and a pair of dark grey eyes studying her closely. The determined set of his mouth promised her that Richard Trevillian would find out why she had been here and would use it to his advantage.
*
Lying on her back under the hull of her ship, Sally Price upped the tension on her suspension cylinders with a twist of her wrench. She was so close to figuring out what was wrong with her engine, so close to getting the calibration right. She re-attached the wiring with practiced movements, but the engine did not react. She growled and beat her gloved fist against the brass engine casing.
“Need help, Miss Price?”
She jolted up and hit her head against the engine, the clang resounding in her head. She swore and pushed herself out from under the ship, looking up at Richard Trevillian’s insufferably arrogant smile. “Get out.”
Leaning against the side of her airship, Trevillian crossed his arms. “You know, it was remarkably easy to find out the reason for your unexpected visit to the Royal Society yesterday. A few pennies in the right places can work miracles.”
She got up, her gloved fingers tightening around the heavy wrench in her hand. “Get out of my hangar.”
Trevillian shook his head. “You rescheduled your test flight for next month. I was worried for a while, that you might be ahead of me, but now I see there was no reason to be concerned. You’ll never make this wreck fly in a month.”
“That’s none of your business.”
“Of course it is. I know the others don’t see you as much of a threat, but you are an impressive inventor.” He smiled. “You’re just not this good—no one is.”
Sally raised her wrench. “Get out. I will not warn you again.”
Trevillian held up his hands and turned away. “As you wish, ma’am. Remind your brother to lock the door when he sneaks out. You wouldn’t want anyone to wander in here and steal your inventions.”
She followed him to the door and slammed it shut before he could say his farewells. She leaned against the wood and took a shaky breath, the wrench slipping from her fingers. It wouldn’t even matter if someone stole all her ideas. Without her father’s financing, she would no longer be able to rent the hangar to store her ship. He was right. She was so close, but a month was not enough. She’d have to give up. Years of her life, her greatest dream, all gone.
“Are you crying?”
She started at Trevillian’s voice coming through the door. She sniffed and wiped her cheek, wetting her leather glove. She squeezed her eyes shut and leaned back against the door. “No. Leave me alone.”
“Sally.” His low voice reverberated through the wood, without a trace of mockery. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head, biting her lip. “Nothing.”
“You never cry.”
“I’m not crying.” She looked up at the hangar’s glass ceiling, at the thick cloud of smoke that hid the sun. What would it feel like, the sun on her face?
“I can hear you sniffle. What happened? You’re not ready for a flight and you know it. It’s not my ship and even I can see that much.”
Sally pushed herself up, scowling. “Go away, Trevillian. I don’t have time to entertain you.”
“If you’re giving up, I’d be happy to take that ship off your hands.”
She spun back and yanked open the door. “I would rather burn her to the ground than give her to you. And I do not give up. Ever.”
She slammed the door in his face, bolted it and got back to work.
*
One Month Later
Sally tightened the straps on her shoulder-length working gloves, the thick oil-stained leather protecting her fingers from the biting wind. The tools on her belt and over-corset were secure and her makeshift parachute around her chest. Her engines were triple-checked and she had stored enough fuel to reach above the clouds. She pushed her flying cap and goggles on her head and turned to her crew.
The old sailor leaned against the Eagle’s mast. He had accompanied her before, on earlier test flights.
“Mr. Fletcher, make ready to depart. I will speak to the secretary to get permission and we will set off as soon as I get on board.”
John Fletcher nodded. “Aye, Captain.”
Sally swung her legs over board and climbed down the rope ladder with ease. The testing field was wet and cold, barely lit by the faint light that made it through the Smoke. On the far side stood a group of men, spectators, more than there had ever been at any of her previous flights. Had they all come, hoping to see her fail?
Her chin high, she marched towards the Society’s secretary. “Mr. Grant, do we have permission to set off?”
The smaller man grimaced. “I’m afraid not quite yet, Miss Price.”
She frowned. “Why not?”
He glanced behind her and she turned around. On the far side of the field, a vehicle arrived, towing a large zeppelin with a familiar design. She groaned as a man jumped off and made his way towards them.
Richard Trevillian grinned at her, his wavy brown hair blowing out from under his leather cap, hands in his pockets, long black coat flapping in the wind. His thin moustache and well-groomed beard were half covered by a thick scarf. “Sorry to keep you waiting, Miss Price.”
“What—” Sally took a deep breath and counted to three in her mind. “—are you doing here?”
“I couldn’t risk for you to win now, could I? I don’t give up either.”
She gritted her teeth, determined to ignore him, and turned back to Mr. Grant. “I trust I have permission to set off now?”
Trevillian smiled. “That is, if your little boat actually gets off the ground this time.”
The secretary nodded quickly and reached for a device behind him—a photographic camera to obtain proof of having reached above the Smoke. Sally snatched the heavy camera and stomped back to her ship.
She punched the hull with a growl of frustration.
“You alright, Miss?” Fletcher asked from above.
“I hate him! Why can he never just leave me alone?”
Her outburst was met by silence.
She shook her head and climbed up the ladder, handing the camera to Fletcher. “I’m sorry. Is she ready to fly?”
“Aye, Captain. All the ropes are loose. Nothing left to tie her down.”
Sally smiled and strode up to the helm, flipping on her power switches and setting the suspension engines to full power. The ship hummed softly beneath her feet. “Then let’s fly.”
The Eagle lurched sideways and shot several feet into the sky.
Holding on to the wheel, Sally pulled down the power on the left side and powered up the extra, stabilising engines she’d fixed to the sides of the hull. The ship’s rocking lessened as it rose steadily up towards the black clouds.
Beneath them, Trevillian’s balloon came after them, rising faster and more stable.
She swallowed. They would slow down. The balloons always slowed down when they reached the Smoke. They never got past. She suspected the gas in balloons was too heavy to float above the smoke and soot that filled the sky, but there was no way to prove that unless she made it through with her ship.
She looked down at the ground, the figures of the spectators growing as small as pinpricks. Nervousness fluttered through her insides.
Fletcher grinned, leaning over the other side of the ship. “We’ve never been this high, Miss. We’re going to do it.”
The engine spluttered.
Sally swore, her stomach jolting up as they dropped for a fraction of a second, before stabilising. “Fletcher, hold this lever.”
She jumped down below the deck, checking the wiring to her engine that took up nearly the whole ship. Swiftly running her fingers over the plugs, she made her way to the back of the hull, where the main engine was attached. The power gauge was already half-way empty.
She groaned. They wouldn’t make it like this.
She closed her eyes to concentrate. They had to save power, enough to make it through the Smoke. She disabled the stabilising engines and lowered the power supply running towards the main engine. They would go slower, but hopefully save some power by generating less heat.
“We’re almost there, Miss! We’re at the Smoke!”
Sally climbed up and pulled her goggles over her eyes, covering her mouth with her scarf. Fletcher followed her example, looking up as the top of their mast disappeared in a thick curtain of black smoke.
The last thing she saw before darkness swallowed them, was Trevillian’s zeppelin following close beneath them.
There was no wind, no light in the Smoke. Just cold darkness and a terrible stench of burned coals. She had no idea how long it would take to reach the top.
Fletcher lighted an oil lantern and held it up. It cast a small bubble of light that barely reached the sides of the ship. Neither of them dared disturb the eerie silence that surrounded them. Even the humming engines seemed muted by the heavy smog.
A loud explosion echoed through the Smoke.
A flash of bright light lit up the black cloud below them, dimming to a smouldering red. Muted shouting reached them, panic clear in the muffled tones.
Fletcher leaned over the side of the ship. “It’s the zeppelin. They’re in trouble, Miss.”
Her heart racing, she glanced up at the Smoke that started to thin. So close. She looked back at the flame in the darkness. If she went down to help them, she would have too much weight and not have enough power left to reach the sky. She was so very close and she would never have another chance. She could make it.
Another—a smaller—explosion sounded from below. A second bag of gas went up in flames. They would start falling soon.
Sally took a deep breath and with one look at the brightening sky, she pushed up the power lever, the engines slowing down. She switched on the stabilising engines and spun the wheel around. “Fletcher, open the sails. We’re gliding down.”
“Aye.” The old sailor jumped into action, rigging up the sails to carry them towards the burning zeppelin.
The balloon came into focus and Sally shouted for Fletcher to slow down their descent. If another one of those gas bags exploded, her wooden ship wouldn’t hold out very long either. She ran for the safety cords and tied one around her waist, throwing the others overboard to the zeppelin’s crew.
“Get on!”
She and Fletcher leaned against the opposite side of the ship to keep her balanced while two men climbed up the ropes. They hauled themselves on deck, but she didn’t recognise either of them.
“Where’s Trevillian?”
The closest man, cradling an ugly burn on his arm, shook his head. “Still down, ma’am.”
Sally cried out in frustration and poked her head over the side of the ship, the heat of the burning balloon searing her face. “Trevillian! Get up here, right now!”
He looked up at her, grinning. “Not bloody likely!”
He had lost his cap and goggles, his wavy hair sticking to his face. He tied a rope to the railing of his ship, the weight pulling the Eagle down several feet, and then bent back over his engine, pulling at it with a large wrench, the hollow sound of steel on brass resounding through the howling of the fire.
“This is not the time, Trevillian. Your ship is lost.”
“And a captain goes down with his ship!”
“You—” She let out a wordless scream. The ship dropped another few feet. “I’m cutting you loose!”
Trevillian yanked at a brass pipe.
Sally pulled a knife from her tool belt and held it over the strained rope. “Last chance!”
“Goodbye, Miss Price!”
Gritting her teeth, she sawed at the rope until it snapped and the Eagle lurched up. The zeppeling fell down into the darkness, the flame growing smaller. Another explosion lighted up the black clouds.
Silence enveloped the ship again, save for the heavy breathing of the three sailors on board.
Sally’s heart drummed in her ear and she closed her eyes, leaning her head against the railing as a tear rolled down her cheek. “Stupid, stupid man.”
“Are you crying?”
She jerked up. Beneath the ship, dangling from a single safety rope, clutching a large brass engine, Richard Trevillian grinned up at her.
She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.
His crew shouted and pulled him up, hauling him over the side of the ship together with his mangled engine. He brushed himself off, spreading the grease stains on his coat only more, and pulled off his oil-soaked gloves.
Sally clenched her hands into fists. “You are the most insufferable, unbelievable—”
He held up his hand. “Where’s your engine?”
“What?” She hit him in the chest. “I gave up my last chance because of you! I could have made it, if you didn’t set your stupid balloon on fire!”
Trevillian grabbed her arms, pulling her closer, his grey eyes gleaming in the lantern light. “Engine, now.”
“No.”
“Do you want to make it to the sky?”
Her jaw clenched, she pulled away. “More than anything.”
“Then show me your engine.”
She breathed heavily, watching him. He had a plan. She could see it gleaming in his eyes. This was her last chance. She had nothing left to lose.
Sally threw open the hatch and made her way down the narrow stairs. He followed behind her, his heavy engine in his arms. With one look at the gauges, she could tell that the power levels were critically low. The engine could stop working any minute. She switched off the stabilisers again, rewiring the power supply to the main engine.
Trevillian reached for a wrench and made for her engine.
She grabbed his arm. “Don’t you dare.”
“You want to get up, right?” He glanced at his own engine.
Her eyebrows rose. “You want to connect both engines? Is that why you stayed on your ship?”
“Yes.”
“That still won’t solve the lack of power, especially with three more people and a heavy engine on board.”
He nodded. “But if we can wire my heavy steam blast engine straight into your power circuits...”
A slow smile spread on Sally’s face. “Then we can boost the suspension and send her shooting up. Brilliant!”
He grinned. “Better act fast then. I don’t have that much fuel.”
Sally tossed him a smaller wrench and got to work on the wiring, pulling all the power lines together into steam turbine. They worked as fast as they could, the ship lurching every time they disconnected an auxiliary engine’s power supply. She shouted up at Fletcher to roll up the sails to make sure they wouldn’t slow them on their way up.
Trevillian plugged in his last wire and the Eagle’s steady hum grew louder, the hull trembling beneath their feet as they went up.
Sally climbed up to the deck, gazing up. The sky was still pitch-black.
The humming intensified as Trevillian walked up next to her and the sky lightened above them. With a final lurch, they shot up into open sky, the sun on their soot-stained faces.
She laughed, hugging Trevillian. “We did it!”
He picked her up swung her around, laughing as the wind blew through her hair. He put her down, grinning. “We did it, together.”
She grinned back at him. “Together.”