Ch 1 - Old Friends and New

Chapter one of a steampunk (ish) novel I am working on. We meet a young thief who has run afoul of his gang and now is fleeing for his life. But that life is about to change...

Chapter One

Let me get one thing perfectly clear: Heroes are those individuals that get themselves and usually an army or two of other people killed. They stand up to authority. They stick their necks out. They are admired, emulated, and even worshiped.

I am not one of those people.

I am a liar. I am a thief. I am a pickpocket, a scoundrel, a brigand, a rogue, a misanthrope, a scallywag, a coward, and a cheat. And once, just once, I stooped so low that I even pretended to be a lawyer. Please don’t hold that against me. Even I have my weak moments.

I want these facts clear as mermaid’s piss before I impart this tale. I am no gods-damned hero.

So why was I, Tripp Carver, barely sixteen years old, on the run from a band of thieves one cold foggy night upon the docks of Illisport, the crown jewel of the Shattered Isles? If you were to ask a young woman named Darby Simms, it was because I was courting her fair hand and defending her honor against thugs and misogynists.

If you were to ask one Angus Breck, the heretofore boyfriend of one Miss Simms and leader of the aforementioned gang, he would (and did) have the following to say:

“Carver! You b*****d son of a dead w***e! I’m gonna to thrash you for getting’ cozy with my girl!”

Now, Angus has his flaws. Innumerable to be honest, but he was quite correct here on all points. The identity of my father was and is the subject of much debate. My mother, may the gods watch over her eternal rest, was a “lady of loose morals.” Furthermore, Angus did beat me quite thoroughly when he finally caught up with me on the rooftop of one of the larger warehouses on the docks. And finally, I was getting quite, let us say, familiar with Miss Darby.

“Nobody crosses Angus Breck! Nobody!” he said, his breath reeking of stale beer and...

“Onions?” I gasped, trying to breathe through the stench. “What do you do, gargle with the juice? No wonder Darby was ready to reveal all her delightful feminine charms to me.”

A thick, muscled fist connected with my head several times. I would have returned a blow in kind, but my limbs were already encumbered by his largest henchmen, the enormous troll brothers Erik and Forni Olimarr. Additionally, they were not helping the smell at all.

“And now,” he said, breathing heavily in my face, “I am going to kill you.” He enunciated each word to have the maximum halitological effect.

This part, I decided, he was not going to be right about. He pulled out his disk-gun, a simple mechanical device that fired razor-sharp circles at high speed. At a distance, it was a nasty, but non-lethal weapon that could wound or even incapacitate someone. At point blank range? Well, that was a different story.

Now, this wasn’t the first time my life has been in peril. Hells below, it was not even the hundredth. The sensation of everything slowing down and coming into perfect clarity was nothing new, yet the thrill of it never got old. My senses took in my surroundings in an instant.

A breeze rolled in off the sea causing the airships, both mighty and small, to sway and creak at their moorings. The mighty alchemically powered mechanisms of lift and thrust contained in their hulls hummed softly, keeping behemoths aloft and stable. Mechanical crabs and spiders scuttled over their iron, brass, and steel hulls, cleaning, painting, and repairing them for their next journey across the seas. Within their mighty hulls, alchemists brewed, mechanics tinkered, and soldiers sharpened their blades. Just to my right, a skylight protruded from the building’s rooftop. It was currently closed, but glass was breakable. To my left, a small steel dome sat closed, its intended purpose unknown and apparently not needed during the nighttime hours.

My eyes went wide as the soft popping noise of the gun releasing its deadly projectile a few feet from my face bringing me back to my immediate surroundings. As the shot was fired, the two brutes on either side of me slackened their grips, knowing I would be dead in less than a second. Pulling in my arms, I rolled to my right, hearing the disk hit the roof and shatter behind me. Bits of shrapnel bit harmlessly into the leather of my duster jacket; I kept rolling to my right, knocking Forni off balance. To my left, I could hear Erik howl as the disk’s remnants cut into his exposed flesh and Angus bellowed more than a few disparaging remarks about my person.

Forni clumsily stumbled and then fell, cracking his head on the corner of a nearby chimney and slumping to the ground, motionless. As I gained my feet, I found that Erik was covering his face with his hands, blood trickling between the fingers. Forni lay unnaturally still and Angus’ gun had jammed. The fat red-headed boy was fighting to fix the device, all while uttering a stream of impotent profanities. The remainder of Angus’ gang took several paces back, looks of astonishment on their faces. Clearly, they were impressed by feat of dexterity.

Of course it was at the moment when I felt the best about my predicament, the closed dome atop the warehouse slid open. Its sides opened like a steel flower to reveal a black, tensely crouched metallic creature.

“What the…?” Angus asked; stupidly.

The rising sun was coloring the sky a little, so I could just make out the creature as it got to its feet. It appeared to be a large cat. I had once seen a tiger in a travelling menagerie visiting Illisport a few years back, but that fearsome beast looked positively cuddly in comparison to the alchemechanical monstrosity that stalked around our small group.

I looked over at Angus and I could clearly see the veins tighten and throb on Angus’ forehead. He raised his disk gun and fired, thrice. Each disk clanged harmlessly off the creature’s metallic hide. Red, glowing eyes fixed on him and the monster let loose an unnatural, mechanical growl.

“Oh good, Angus,” I said. “Piss it off some more.”

Ignoring me, he fired yet another disk at the creature. This time, the beast was prepared and batted it back, like a cat playing with a ball of yarn. The disk was returned to Angus by way of his meaty thigh where it sank deeply therein. Howling in pain, Angus gripped his leg and collapsed to the ground in pain. What few members of our gang remained, fought to scramble down the access ladder on the opposite side of the building. Thankfully, Erik had regained enough of his senses to pull his brother, now partially conscious away from the fray. Angus dug into his coat and retrieved a revolver. A great, big revolver.

Swearing, I dove to the ground as my former partner in crime sent multiple rounds into the alchemical creature’s metal face. Knowing full well what was to come, I braced myself as the bullets found their initial target and ricocheted all around me. Bits of shattered bullet and rooftop bit into my duster. It was a good thing I had opted to get the alchemically treated leather. Or, more accurately, it was good the guy I stole it from had been willing to spend the extra coin for it.

“That doesn’t work, you drooling moron!” I screamed when he finally stopped firing. I looked up to find the creature mere feet away from Angus’ prone form. The rest of the gang was gone, fled to other rooftops or down the ladder on the far side of the building. I felt it was my chance to escape, so I got to my feet as quickly and quietly as possible. Taking a few paces backward, I stepped on something slightly higher than the roof. When I put my weight down upon it, the cracking noise told me I had just found the skylight.

Barely audible, the glass fracturing got the creature’s attention and it spun around to face me. With a slow, unyielding pace, it closed the distance between us. I swore under my breath. I had been so close to escape.

“Cheers!” Angus said scrambling back towards the roof’s edge and the safety of the ladder. “Wish you the best of luck, Carver.” His hand settled on the top of the ladder. “In your next life, at least.”

The rude gesture I wanted to give Angus was incomplete as I raised my hands to attempt to ward off the lunge of the creature. We toppled back into and through the skylight, the glass unable to hold even a little weight let alone the two of us.

My right hand reached out, snagging the lip of the skylight as the creature, all claws and fangs flashing ripped up my left arm and leg as it fell to the ground below. I cried out in pain, but at least I was alive. I tried to raise my left arm to grab the edge of the hole I was now so precariously dangling through, but it would only respond feebly. The wounds were not deep, but the numbness that spread through the injured limb told me the creature’s arsenal included not only fantastic strength and agility, but alchemical poisons. Hopefully, they were only chemicals that would paralyze and not kill outright. My right hand would give out any moment, if I didn’t find an alternative to my present situation.

I cast my gaze about for a solution, but the shaft of light from above only illuminated me and my mechanical antagonist, who was pacing about below, waiting for my strength to give out. Glints of light reflected off its polished body and into the surrounding darkness. A few such small flecks of light illuminated a tall stack of crates, just a few feet to one side and at a not-quite-lethal distance below me.

I began swinging my lower body, my right arm starting to cramp. With a howl, I let go, praying to all the gods I had enough momentum to make it to safety.

As with most things in my life, the gods did smile down on me, but with a wicked glint in their eyes as the crates I landed on broke my fall, but also shattered and splintered, making me tumble and twist down the pile onto the wood floor. 

I pushed a few of the boards off of me as quietly as possible. I could just barely make out the creature’s red, glowing eyes as it searched for me several yards to my right. The piles of debris were hiding me for the moment. Finding a small chunk of wood, I threw it with my good arm. I managed to send it across the warehouse where it clattered. It had the desired effect of getting the mechanical beast’s attention and it ran off blindly in that direction. There was metallic clang and a thud. I had a mental picture of the creature running full-tilt into something bigger and heavier than it was and smashing its head in.

Gasping and wheezing, I struggled to my feet but faltered and nearly fell. I was then helped up by a strange hand in the darkness.

By “helped up,” I mean grabbed by the throat. And “by a strange hand,” I mean the iron-encased grip of a walking collection of alchemical vials and brass gears in the shape of a large man.

Author's Note

How does it flow? Is the main character engaging? Are you interested in finding out more about him or where this is all leading?

Reviews

[Anthony Gerrard]

I liked this and want to know where it might go but I don't actually like your main character as a person, at least not yet. This means that, although I'm supposed to mind if he gets killed, I don't. I need to care about him a bit more.
Also, I don't understand how the disk, which is moving away from him and the other characters at head height (and fired at point-blank range) can ricochet off the roof, when it eventually hits, and throw shrapnel behind it into their faces. Physically this isn't possible. What would make more sense is if it glances off your character as he moves (perhaps off his raised arm) and into the person holding him?
I do think you capture the world very well in this piece. I know about the technology, the weapons, armour and that there is magic. you have also raised a question in my mind, which means I want to read on so that it can be answered.

[Brian Rollins]

Thanks. You're not the first person to spot the ricochet problem, but I appreciate the comment nonetheless. I'm actually in the process of rebuilding the story and doing away with the 1st person narrative. While it fits my style of writing, it's limiting my main character's description. I'll still keep the tone, just in 3rd Person limited.

I have two more chapters up, so you'll get a little more story, but they both are hampered by the same lack of character development (I do get to it, just not for several chapters, which is not good).

Glad to see people are liking the style, I just need to refine the character and how they're portrayed.

[Anthony Gerrard]

Sorry, i didn't notice the ricochet problem had been mentioned. I will look at the other chapters.

[Brian Rollins]

To be fair, it may have been mentioned on another review site (like Scribophile). It just reiterates that the problem is glaring and definitely needs fixing.

[SweetNutmeg]

It flows well. I was especially amused by his assurances that Angus was quite truthful in his insults and intentions. The main character is engaging. I am anticipating getting to know more facets of his personality, as well as his history. I am definitely interested in finding out where this is going. You've given us tantalizing glimpses of this world of alchemists in a natural way. Introductions of characters and settings are frequently awkward but your introductions of both are seamless. This is very good indeed.

[O'Drama]

Loved the first chapter. I was looking for some steampunk fiction, when I stumbled on your book. I loved the way you started the chapter. I liked the comic effect that you leave in your writing.. "B*****d son of a dead w***e...", the way you justified the use of this line for describing the protagonist, brought a smile on my face. Eagerly waiting for the next chapter.