PUBLISHED BY:
Lily Benjamin,
Purveyor of Fine Gadgetry,
on Smashwords
Finette’s Folly
A Steampunk Fairy Tale
Copyright © 2016 by Lily Benjamin
Smashwords Edition License Notes
Ahoy, dear reader!
I am delighted that my story has caught your fancy.
Please note that this ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.
This ebook may not be re-sold, given away to other people,
automatons or reasonable facsimiles thereof.
I would be ever so grateful for your desire to share this book,
but please do so by purchasing 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,
then you should stop reading immediately, visit Smashwords.com
and purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the author's craftiness and ingenuity,
which deserves the small pittance being charged.
Thank you for buying my book!
I hope you’ll love my characters as much as I do.
For lovers of adventure and believers in everyday magic.
Finette’s Folly
by
Lily Benjamin
Chapter One
Finette Proulx filled the stillness with twists of her screwdriver, taps of her hammer, and turns of her wrench. Each secured the clockwork parts of the model-sized airship. She barely heard the noise as she worked, because in her head, more than a model was taking shape—her dearest dream was becoming real. By the time she’d finished, the future she had yearned for spread out before her—in miniature.
“Unfortunately, I’m not doll-sized.” Her grumble echoed through her father’s factory like a ghost. Today was a rare day—other than herself, the place sat empty, no workers bantering easily, no clang-thump of machinery churning out a succession of machines.
On a platform high above the main floor, she’d created her private work space. Despite her stepmother’s repeated outcries, Papa had granted Finette the favor of this small escape where she could pursue her love of automaton gadgetry. And where she could indulge in her fantasies.
In early June, the sweet harbor breezes tempted her to abandon her gadget tinkerings and take to the skies. At this particular moment, however, time was running short, so she worked faster. Happy endings didn’t happen on their own.
“Once upon a time,” Finette grumbled to herself, “there was a mediocre girl who everyone ignored.” She brushed a stray strand of auburn hair from her vision. “Until one day, using only scraps of metal and fabric, she constructed her own airship, full-sized and glorious and the envy of every pilot in the land.”
She said the words every day, like a prayer and a promise to herself, though she realized the danger of beginning any tale with ‘once upon a time’. The phrase fostered false hope, and almost always ended in a shattered fantasy for someone. Finette knew this all too well, but still told herself the same fairy tale every day of her life. The story changed throughout the years, always beginning in the present day. Now she was a twenty-year-old, but still lived with her father, his self-absorbed wife and equally selfish twin half-sisters in the beautiful harbor town of Honfleur, France. Bouts of loneliness interspersed her slow grappling toward the happy ending she most dreamed of—building an airship that would be her key to unlock a life of independence.
Once she finished the ship, she mused as she tightened a bolt on the model airship she was working on, her family would have no say in her future. No sway over her happiness. Ever. Again.
Adjusting the rear wing into place, she held up the model, flicked the magnifying lenses over her goggles and examined the details. Constructed to scale, the airship roughly equaled the size of a duck’s body. But no bird ever flew so fast, or with such grace.
Or looked so pretty. She’d sacrificed her blue satin hair ribbons to fasten the ship to the balloon. Her stepmother Jacalyn would howl when she saw the old satin skirt she’d discarded cut in strips and re-sewn to form the airship’s upper section. Jacalyn might actually curse if she recognized the bottom section as her old copper pan, reshaped through multiple firings into the beautiful airship model in Finette’s hands, complete with railing along the upper deck and portholes looking out from the simulated cabins below deck. The wings on either side of the rear boasted a feature that allowed her to steer the ship by tilting them, and the propeller at the back sent the airship soaring to high speed.
Perfection. In appearance, at least.
Now for the real test—had the miniature airship improved its flight performance? In previous attempts, the model had launched slow and its response was erratic, at best. She’d worked for weeks to make improvements. Results had proven… steady. What she needed was fantastic.
With nervous fingers, she set the miniature atop the work table, stepped back and blew out a breath. She poised her finger over the console pad and closed her eyes. “Be my champion.”
A click, and the two small engines whirred. Another click, and the ship lifted and hovered. Using the pad, she nudged the gear forward with her finger, and the model did the same. At her command, the model soared through the air, cut sharp angles and sailed back toward her. Each time the ship responded to her every touch of the pad, her heart soared in tandem with it.
In a hearty narrator’s tone, she announced with a sweep of her arm, “The girl ruled over her kingdom of sky, and commanded only love from her loyal subjects below, who cheered her every flight.” She mimicked the hushed roar of her thousands of admirers.
At hearing snickering from the lower floor, she snapped her mouth shut and steered the model to a safe landing.
“Finnie.” The call bounced off the steel rafters.
“With all these interruptions, I’ll never finish in time for the competition.” An exaggeration, as she already was finished, but this year she intended to win the race. The award wouldn’t save her father’s automaton factory from ruin, but at least help keep it running for another year or so. Then he might allow her to use more than scraps for her own inventions. And then, she could, at long last, construct the airship of her dreams. The real airship.
“Finette,” two voices shrieked in unison. “We must go now.” More insistent this time. And a tad pouty, typical for her younger sisters. Finette had had such high hopes for them, too. After a lonely childhood, she’d been overjoyed to learn her new stepmother was carrying twins. But instead of playmates to share in her imaginative adventures, the twins turned into spoiled brats, and continued to be, even at sixteen years old. They spent half their time primping in front of a mirror, trying to outdo one another, and the other half waiting for some nonexistent prince to show up magically at their doorstep to whisk them away… to what? A life in a cold, damp mansion, where they’d do exactly the same things they did now? Her sisters lived in a fool’s paradise, with no clue how to earn their keep—a mistake Finette would never make. And no one would ensnare her to a life of drudgery.
For now, she must plaster on a good-girl smile. “Coming, dearest Daisy and Celine.” Otherwise, there’d be no point in any of them going to the race, would there? The thought cheered her, even if Papa did have to force the others in the family to attend.
After setting the goggles atop her head, Finette gently placed the airship in a pillowed box. Cradling her most precious creation beneath her arm, she clattered down the spiraling open metal staircase.
Celine’s narrowed eyes strained to take her in. “You’re not even dressed.”
Finette glanced down at her white blouse edged with lac
e at the collar and cuffs, and tan trousers tucked neatly into brown boots, polished for the occasion. Adorning her suspenders was the only jewelry she owned, the delicate dragonfly broach she’d crafted of copper bits.
“Of course I’m dressed.” Not like her sisters, of course. They’d probably spent all morning curling their hair into perfect cylinders of mousy brown curls, staining their cheeks with powdered berries. Their gowns were be-ribboned, if a bit bedraggled, and matched their satin slippers.
“Is that my jewelry box?” Daisy snatched at it. “Give it back.”
Panicked that her sister might ruin its contents, Finette held tighter. “Please, I only need it for a few hours.”
“You never asked my permission.” Daisy looped her arm beneath Finette’s and around the box.
Finette struggled to keep her hold. “You’d have said no.”
“Yes, and the answer’s still no.” Daisy yanked hard and stumbled backward.
The box sailed in an arc and tumbled across the floor. The airship spilled out, its wing bent and tail rudder hanging at a disastrous angle.
“No!” Finette lunged over the model, cradling it protectively. “Why must you be so hateful?”
“Father’s precious daughter,” Daisy sneered. “How precious will you be to him now?”
The fool. If her airship won today, the award would benefit them all. Not a likely prospect now.
Finette swiped a tear from her cheek. “I’ll fix the damage in the carriage.” Since last year, she’d saved up for the race’s entry fee. She couldn’t afford to lose that. Her ship would race today. And afterward, she’d no longer settle for miniature versions of anything.
“I hate these stupid events.” Huffing, Celine stomped off. “You’re impossible.”
“An embarrassment,” muttered Daisy, who ran after her twin.
A sigh, and Finette followed. “Mind the debris. We wouldn’t want any scrapes.” Between Daisy’s upturned nose and Celine’s sight impediment, the two might prove a danger to themselves.
Satin slippers were of no use inside the automaton production house. Finette would never trade her dusty boots for a pair. “And you really should allow me to craft you a pair of spectacles, Celine. Your face will wrinkle before its time if you keep squinting like that.”
Her small attempt at humor faded when she emerged into sunlight, only to be greeted by the scowl of her father’s wife through the carriage window. Her flared nostrils might have produced the steam puffing through the pipes running up the sides of the carriage.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” She waved to Maurice, their driver, who sat atop the carriage. She wished she could ride with him instead of her family.
No avoiding her wicked stepmother. Finette would simply focus on the task at hand—repairing the model. Holding the door open, her father extended his hand to her.
Grateful his pleasant expression showed no judgment of her, she did her best imitation of a lady as she climbed into the carriage, cradling the airship to her chest. She took a seat on the worn velvet bench.
Opposite her, Daisy and Celine sat beside their mother, making a three-headed monster, all fanning themselves. The twins’ features echoed Jacalyn’s—smaller versions of her bulbous nose, her pointed brows, her dark, narrow eyes that shifted constantly, spearing anyone within reach.
As Finette had feared, the sun heated the metal carriage, already warmed from the steam engine powering it. The thirty-five minute ride to the airfield outside Honfleur would seem endless.
The door creaked shut and Papa climbed in next to Finette. “All set for the big race?”
She ducked her head. “Almost.”
“What happened?” he asked, with such concern she nearly blubbered.
No use blaming Daisy, who had propped the chest beneath her feet as a footrest. Trouble would circle back to find Finette somehow. “I dropped it.”
“Honestly.” Jacalyn, her stepmother tsk’d with a smug look. “You’re always too reckless. You should act more refined, like my darlings.” She smiled at her daughters, who batted their eyes in pretend innocence. “And wear something suitable for once.”
Finette would rather sweep cinders than be like any of them. She kept her thought to herself as she gently smoothed out the creases in the wing and rudder, but several bolts had loosened and required a specific wrench to fix. In her forced haste, she’d forgotten her most important tool. Hopefully someone would let her borrow one.
As they approached the Honfleur International Airfield, her heart thumped in her chest. She hadn’t expected a crowd quite this large. Dozens of carriages, both steam-powered and horse-drawn, sat along the designated waiting area. Throngs of people milled around the edge of the airfield, which would serve as the raceway. Along the hangar sat a dozen airships and aeroplanes of the most wondrous variety. She couldn’t wait to get a closer look, and had to bridle her enthusiasm while waiting for Jacalyn, Daisy and Celine to descend ahead of her. They moved like haughty turtles straining their beaks in the air.
Finally, Finette leapt down and kissed her Papa’s cheek. “Wish me luck.” She barely heard him call, “Good luck” as she wended her way through the crowd toward the hangar. One boy stood at the registration table ahead of her. After he finished, she gave her name, and the man inscribed it in the ledger.
“Your ship’s name?” he asked without looking up.
She hadn’t thought of one. “Finette’s Folly,” she blurted.
His grunt acknowledged her reply and peered past her. “Next.”
She didn’t let the man’s bad humor infect her as she strolled off. The glorious weather added to the festive air. Vendors sold souvenirs from their carts, and the delicious aromas from the food booths made her mouth water and her stomach grumble in complaint. This morning, she’d grabbed cheese and a crust of bread on her way to the factory, but most of it still sat on the work table.
Her appetite soured when she glimpsed Monty Royce beneath an airship, talking to another man. Anger snapped her gaze upward, and faded slowly after she examined the aircraft’s design. Not hers, thank goodness. She skirted past him, but not fast enough.
“Finnie?”
She cringed as if stung. It wouldn’t do to let him know how he’d hurt her, so she pretended he was someone else and greeted him with a cheerful, “Hello.”
Her heart skipped a beat. Still as handsome as ever, with his shining blond hair and twinkling blue eyes and dimpled smile. Too bad his angelic appearance didn’t warn her of his lying tongue, his greedy, roving hands and his black heart. Ten years from now, he’d have a bald pate, a rotund belly and a passel of children, courtesy of whichever rich female he persuaded to marry him. She pitied the woman.
He grabbed her arm and dragged her toward the other man. “Don’t rush off. Let me introduce you to a fellow racer. This is Antoine Thierry.”
The man reminded her of a weasel, from his narrow, sniveling features to the way he hunched his shoulders and moved with a kind of slither. Otherwise, he had nothing distinctive about him, brown hair neither dark nor light, eyes neither brown nor blue nor green but a muddied mixture.
She nodded. “Pleased to meet you, Antoine. Good luck to you today.”
Monty exaggerated a pout. “What about me?”
She cooled her demeanor. His luck with Finette ran out the day he took three of her automaton designs. “Of course. May Lady Luck smile upon us all.”
His gaze pried at the model she held. “Let’s see your entry.”
“No.” She hated to admit to him that she needed help. “Do you have a wrench I could borrow? It suffered a small mishap at home.”
He tsk’d and shook her head like a scolding schoolteacher. “Oh, bad luck already. Finnie, I’m surprised at you, being so unprepared.”
She clenched her fist at the nickname. He knew how much it grated her.
At Antoine’s chuckle, her face flushed hot. “Yes, it’s quite unlike me. But if you could be a gentleman and lend me your tool,
I’d be grateful.”
Antoine shrugged. “A real mechanic wouldn’t leave his tools behind.”
Monty nudged the other man. “But we’re always happy to let her handle our tools, eh?”
Fury blinded her, and a string of curses flew from her mouth. A few passersby stopped to gawk, and she gathered her wits and the last semblance of manners. “Never mind.”
Gentleman—what was she thinking? If the word were tattooed on Monty’s forehead, he couldn’t remember how to act like one. When they were secretly seeing one another, he’d tried to force her to handle his “tool” but she’d refused. It didn’t stop him from groping her, so she’d broken off their relationship. Bastards never changed, apparently.
She stomped off, but slowed when she approached a sleek airship of the most amazing metal, its shine like polished onyx. Nearly everything on the ship was black, even the balloon, barely visible above the hulking decks. The red insignia painted on the bottom appeared bold—a red dragon with its claws wrapped around a bolt of lightning, with flames from its mouth encircling it to form a jagged oval border.
“Oh, how beautiful,” she said on a breath.
Of the two men beneath the ship, one had moved like a fleeting shadow, but now glanced back, and his gaze caught hers and held. His long black hair had the sheen of a raven, bound at the nape of his neck by a leather string, revealing a small gold hoop through his left ear. He turned to fully face her and his black shirt, open to the top of his black slacks, flapped in the breeze. Even at a distance, his eyes, a brilliant shade of blue, cut deep into her.
The urge to flee came over her, but she stood riveted in place. A most embarrassing predicament. And from his companion’s frown, she was obviously interrupting their work. “I’m very sorry to disturb you,” she called.
He gave a slow, wolfish smile and leaned an elbow on the metal rung of the rope ladder hanging from the ship. “I’m not sorry.”
He spoke in an accent she couldn’t place. She opened her mouth to respond, but the way he stared at her made her all too aware of her boyish outfit, her dusty boots. Why hadn’t she taken a few minutes to arrange her hair, rather than push the unruly copper waves behind the goggle straps?
Finette's Folly Page 1