Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Acknowledgements
Roderigo Runs Rampant
Last Night in New Africa
Queen of the Air
Remembrance & Revenge
The Prince of Blades
Surprises and Surveillance
Conversation and Consternation
Neve’s Secret
Dancing and Deliberations
Unpleasant Reflections
Magicians Lost and Found
The Amazing Bianca
After the Curtain Falls
Future Plans and Secrets Past
Fortune and Folly
Regrets and Recriminations
Illusions and Misdirections
Dark Machinations
Grave Matters
Seven Little Thieves
Accusations and Revelations
Pursuit to a Dead End
The Knife Thrower’s Tale
Mourning in Mirrors
A Majestic Return
Appendix A - The History of New Africa
About the Author
Also By Katina French
Mirrors & Magic
Katina French
Mirrors & Magic
Electronic Edition
Copyright © 2014 Katina French
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold, reproduced or transmitted by any means in any form or given away to other people without specific permission from the author and/or publisher. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, please return to your ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of these authors and artists.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to the living or dead is entirely coincidental.
http://www.3fatespress.com/
ISBN 978-1-940938-26-4
First Edition 2014
Electronic Edition 2014
Dedication
To Maddie, for making me write a Snow White story, and for watching Once Upon a Time with me despite it being past your bedtime.
To Josh, for reminding me of the joy and camaraderie of performing. You make a wonderful Scrooge, but an even better son.
To Chris, for being my incorrigible, incurably romantic Prince Charming. Stay away from the kitchen knives, though, sweetie.
Acknowledgements
This book wouldn’t be possible without the support of my family and friends. My thanks to the members of Quills & Quibbles Writers’ Group, for advice, encouragement and patiently listening to me explain steampunk to every new member.
I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to my beloved betas: Jen, Carrie, Jeremy, Rob, Charles, and Chris. Feel free to take credit for anything awesome in this book.
Except the monkey. The monkey was all my idea.
Roderigo Runs Rampant
Neve Bianchi was born into circus royalty, her father the most celebrated illusionist of the age. Her childhood memories were a blur of beautiful dresses, exquisite dolls, and the warm, magical glow of her father's affection.
Then one terrible night, she lost everything. An accident claimed the life of Giovanni "The Magnificent" Bianchi. Although his daughter and the circus carried on without him, neither would ever be the same.
Ten years had passed, and Neve had grown into a beautiful young woman. But she was far from the pampered little girl she'd once been. For one thing, an elegant young lady wouldn't be caught dead careening through the streets on a steam-powered pennyfarthing.
Neve had no time for decorum and propriety these days. She had a runaway monkey to catch.
She bounced astride the steamcycle, zooming through the dusty streets of Omaha in the Republic of New Africa. The split skirt of her khaki jumper flapped in the wind. Her practical work clothes bore no resemblance to the embroidered dresses of her childhood. Mud splatters decorated her plain shirtwaist, flung there by the huge front wheel.
Pistons and gears pumped away, propelling her at a frightening speed. Steam and smoke billowed out behind her. The noisy machine backfired, startling and annoying the townsfolk. They scattered out of the way to avoid being run over.
At least she'd managed to snatch Claude's goggles before she'd rushed off with his steamcycle. If only she'd thought to grab the daredevil's aviator scarf as well. A glob of dirt, debris, and most likely bugs flew into her mouth as she tried to suck in a deep breath.
She choked, coughed, and then spit in an unladylike manner off to the side. It narrowly missed hitting a plump old man in a bowler hat, who'd stopped to check the time on his brass pocket watch. The pipe dangling from his lips fell to the ground as his jaw dropped in alarm.
But there was no time to stop and apologize.
A steady column of steam hissed out the pipes jutting from the back of the rickety brass contraption. An empty carrying cage dangled precariously from one handlebar.
A look of grim determination had replaced the sweet expression which usually graced Neve's cafe au lait features. Her wide brown eyes held a glint of steely determination.
That little monster is not getting away this time.
She zipped down dusty streets, clenching her teeth and hoping to avoid another mouthful of road grit. Her eyes were protected by the goggles, but they were getting foggy and mud-splattered. At least the tight coils of her hair remained bound in its usual loops of twisted braids, instead of whipping around into her face.
Thank goodness for small miracles and cheap hairpins. She'd probably left a trail of them from here to the fairgrounds.
The cycle swerved around a corner, kicking up a cloud of dust and gravel. Fat rubber tires bounced over ruts and potholes. She wished Claude had invested a little more effort in improving the machine's suspension. Her legs ached. Her kidneys had taken a beating. Her bottom hadn't been this sore since the time she'd tried to stand in for an equestrian who'd left the show in the middle of the night.
Tomorrow she'd feel like she'd fallen off the Ferris wheel and hit it several times on the way down, but there was nothing she could do about it now. She had to catch that monkey.
If only she could have just looked the other way when she'd spotted trouble brewing. Just once, she should've let others manage their own problems. Instead, she'd done exactly what she always did. She'd rushed in to help without thinking it through. Now there was no disentangling herself from the situation.
This is not my job.
Of course, neither is anything else, exactly.
Roderigo, the runaway monkey, wasn't really her responsibility. That dubious honor belonged to Bosworth, the animal keeper. Many of the crew pulled double or even triple duties these days. Bosworth also juggled and performed as a clown. He said you needed a juggler's reflexes to wrangle a group of unruly, formerly-wild animals. Neve helped him care for them, the same way she helped almost everyone who had a real, paying job with Lang & Perrault's.
As the ward of Andrew Lang, the circus' owner and manager, Neve had no official duties and wasn't on the payroll. She owed her room and board to a man who wasn't even a blood relative. Gratitude motivated her to try to do everything, for everyone, all the time.
She wanted to earn her keep, but lately it seemed like she wasn't just doing her fair share. Cast and crew dwindled, and it felt like a struggle just to keep things from falling apart. The
occasional runaway monkey didn't help matters.
She scanned the streets, searching for Roderigo. She swiped her arm across Claude's goggles, smearing the mud as much as clearing it.
There he is!
The monkey darted out of a shop between the swishing skirts of two women. He zoomed across the street, almost two blocks ahead. Naked, he'd have blended into the dull palette of tans and greys which made up most of the view of town. However, his bright red jacket embellished with brass buttons, along with a rakish miniature top hat, made him easier to spot.
His purloined prize, their star attraction's peacock feather headdress, also made him conspicuous. He waved it as he scuttled down the street, a flag of rebellion in the New African breeze.
If not for the garish headpiece, Neve would've been tempted to just let him run off. She'd might have even packed him a lunch of roasted peanuts and wished him "Bon Voyage," delighted to see the last of him.
All the monkeys could be mischievous, especially when they got bored between shows. Several were probably senile. One macaque, Malviano, demanded a china teacup of beer before showtime to avoid getting violent. Roderigo was in a class by himself, though.
What made the madcap chase worth all this trouble was the feathered headdress he'd stolen from the costume tent.
Sequins, beads and peacock feathers were hard to come by these days. The costumière, Monique, was a sweet woman. Neve helped her keep their ragtag crew looking properly sparkly, mending whatever could be kept presentable with clever stitches.
The loss of the headdress would be a serious calamity. Worse than the material loss, what would Bella do when she found out? Why did Roderigo have to steal part of her costume?
If that menace has a moral compass, it points due evil.
If Neve didn't get Bella's headdress back, the acrobat would kill her, Monique, and Bosworth with her bare hands. Roderigo, too, if she could get her hands on him. Bella was fast, but the monkey moved like greased lightning.
She only hoped she could catch him before he was halfway back to the Republic of Kansas.
She bounded through another alley after the flash of red and blue. An ornate sign, swinging in the wind, caught her eye: "Martin's Dry Goods."
Could that be Mama's family's old shop? Her mother's folks had lived in Omaha and owned a dry goods store. They'd died in the Mechanicals War. Even if it had been theirs once, the new owners weren't her relations.
But they might have known them.
Curiosity begged her to stop, but there was no time. Roderigo had slipped out of sight around the next corner. Lang & Perrault's was her family now, and had been since Papa died five years after Mama.
For a moment, she thought she might have lost her quarry altogether. She wasn't sure whether to be upset or relieved. The steamcycle rounded another corner past the stockyard when it looked like she'd cornered him at last.
The grizzled monkey sat perched on the top rail of a pig sty. He dangled the headdress over the foul smelling froth, fingers twitching like a gunfighter about to draw down.
The pigs seemed oblivious to the showdown about to erupt behind them. A trough full of slop absorbed their full attention. The appeal of dinner and a show was lost on a porcine audience.
She tried to be grateful for that at least. The last thing she needed was adding "Champion Pig Wrestler" to her impressive résumé of carnival skills.
"You wouldn't dare." She clambered down from the steamcycle, then straightened her shirtwaist and jumper.
The monkey grinned, baring his teeth.
Apparently, he would dare.
"I'll turn you over to Bella," she threatened. "She'll have you begging with a tin cup to pay for a replacement."
He shook his head and pointed at Neve, his reply a mocking volley of unintelligible chatter.
"You think I'm taking the blame for this? Not a chance."
He shook the headdress again when she stalked towards him. She changed tacks, sweetened her tone, and approached more slowly, with palms turned up.
"Who's a good monkey? Who's a sweet monkey?"
He looked around, searching for such a mythical creature.
Neve leaped just as he let go of the headpiece. She managed to grab it with one hand and Roderigo with the other. Momentum carried her over the rail of the sty.
Taking a deep breath, she twisted in mid-air. Years of practice alongside clowns and tumblers allowed her to avoid landing face-first.
She landed on her back in the muck, still holding the feathered trifle in one hand as high as she could.
"Eww!"
The monkey struggled and screamed in her other grip.
Disgusting muck oozed all over her back.
She glowered at Roderigo.
He was wearing his best, and only, costume.
It would probably fall to her to clean it.
She pondered the squirming monkey and the mud.
He shook his head. Distress pinched his wrinkled face.
His chatter sounded like an eloquent, insincere apology.
~*~
A few minutes later, Neve sat astride the steamcycle, puttering back to the fairgrounds at a much more sedate pace than she'd left. Her back was coated in drying, golden brown mud. From behind, she looked like she'd been battered and deep-fried like a confection from the midway.
The feathered headdress stuck out of her coiled braids. Peacock plumes waved in the early summer breeze. It was the only way to get it back in one piece.
The small brass carrier cage still dangled from the handlebar. Roderigo raged inside it, coated from top hat to tail-tip in pig mud.
Last Night in New Africa
Neve puttered towards the twinkling lights of the midway, weaving a path through the small crowd. She steered clear of those on horseback or in horse-drawn buggies, trying not to spook the animals with the steamcycle. Although judging by the number of steam carriages, the horses in Omaha were probably immune to being startled by it.
A few families drove aeromobiles, which Neve found fascinating. The light, wheelless buggies were all the rage in some bigger cities. An alchemical formulae held them a few feet above the ground, while steam-driven fans propelled and steered them. They looked like flying carpets from the book of Arabian tales her father used to read to her.
If modern inventors kept coming up with such magical creations, would anyone still want to come to the circus? She frowned, imagining a future where children didn't beg their parents to take them to the big top.
Not that they're breaking down the toll gates now.
She sighed. Roderigo rattled the bars of his little cage, but even he seemed tired. It was good to come home after her exhausting adventure.
When home was a traveling circus, it looked a little different each time you returned. Passing through different towns and the passing of seasons altered the backdrop.
It wasn't just that, though. The circus itself had changed. Of course, they were in a constant state of change. Tents came up and down. Wagons and caravans rolled from one town to the next. Acts and animals joined and departed as years went by. But in the fading light of her mother's hometown, Neve saw the place with fresh eyes.
The wondrous, magical kingdom her father had helped build was falling apart at the seams.
How could I have missed this?
The fat red sun sank slowly behind the tangle of tents, booths and brightly-painted wagons. Somewhere, a clockwork calliope tried valiantly to drown out the steam engines and screaming children. How long had it been so out of tune?
Many attractions still glowed with gaslights or alchemical lanterns, notably the Ferris wheel. A few strands of newfangled electric lights hung across parts of the midway, strung by a crew who had too many tasks and too few hands. Occasional sparks and pops startled nervous patrons and crew.
Despite the little show of modernity, no electric lamps pierced the evening sky above the toll booth. Instead, a stalwart troupe of fireflies danced around a banner announcing "The
World Famous Lang & Perrault's Circus."
Neve continued to look around her in dismay as she made her way down the midway towards the costume tent. When had the gaps between the tents become so large? And the crowds so thin?
Although few people complained, the prizes were a bit shabbier than they should've been. The carousel's paint was chipped, and no one had bothered to touch it up. The tent stripes were stained and sun-faded to a dirty rainbow of pastels and beige, patches showing in too many places.
She arrived at the costume master's tent, successful in her pursuit, but more troubled than when she'd left. She jumped off the steamcycle and ran into the tent.
"Monique! I got it back!"
The plump Frenchwoman bounded out, ecstatic.
"Neve! You did it! Merci, ma chere! I thought I would never see it again." She pulled up short, as the aroma from Neve's back half wafted its way to her. Her petite nose crinkled in dismay.
"Mon dieu! What is all over you, child?"
"You don't want to know, believe me."
She leaned forward. Monique plucked the headdress from her scalp.
"Come get cleaned up, ma chere. There's a tub of 'ot water in ze dressing room. I refilled it in case La Reine decided to grace us with 'er presence, instead of changing in 'er wagon."
La Reine was her nickname for Bella. It was less a reference to the aerialist's stage name, "The Queen of the Air," than her arrogant manner.
"I will get you a change of clothes, n'est pas?"
"Thank you, Monique. You're an angel."
"It is nothing. You went to such trouble to recover zis trifle, for someone who will never appreciate it. A bath and a change of clothes is the least I can do, yes?"
~*~
Freshly bathed and dressed, Neve decided to ask Monique her opinion before carting Roderigo back to the animal pens.
"Do you think the circus is going under?"
Mirrors and Magic: A Steampunk Fairy Tale (The Clockwork Republic Series) Page 1