by M J Moores
Shadow Phoenix
Episode IV: Mettle & Bone
MJ Moores
Shadow Phoenix Volume 1, Episode 4: Mettle & Bone
Copyright © Melissa J. Moores, 2019
Published by Infinite Pathways Press 2019
P.O. Box 4, Caledon Village, ON Canada L7K 3L3
eISBN 978-1-988044-16-3
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilisation of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by any individual known or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention.
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TABLE of CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright
Blurb
Author’s Note
Chapter 1 ~ Deal Breaker
Chapter 2 ~ Identity Fraud
Chapter 3 ~ The Book is on Which Foot?
Chapter 4 ~ False Start
Chapter 5 ~ Chemistry Lesson
Chapter 6 ~ Herding Rain
Chapter 7 ~ In the News
Books
Shadow Phoenix Volume 1
Episode IV
Mettle & Bone
An unexpected letter heralds trouble as the past and Louisa’s curse play “hydra” while she desperately works to impress Master Bennett – or is it Mr. Bennett, now that she’s no longer a maid? With the second cloud seeding test looming, the last thing Louisa needs is a black mark on her reputation …
… but that’s exactly what she gets letting a sociopath tinker with her lightning orbs. Shadow Phoenix’s guardianship falls under sharp scrutiny by the police, and her only ally marks her as a criminal, testing more than just her mettle.
As she goes in to strike each snake’s head, Louisa is left to grapple with their sinister offspring and a growing realization.
A New Steampunk Serial
This is the fourth installment of eight short-story-length episodes that link together to form a complete novel or volume. As Charles Dickens once wrote in batches of chapters for the local paper, this story will be revealed similarly via electronic episodes.
Each “short read” is intended to have both a general conclusion to the immediate story line, and a through-story that links to a larger, over-arching, plot.
It is my hope that readers who prefer shorter pieces, or who only have a limited time to read, will feel satisfied with each separate episode while looking forward to the next installment.
Happy reading.
Sincerely,
MJ Moores
SHADOW PHOENIX
Vol. 1
EPISODE IV
Mettle & Bone
Deal Breaker
T he heavy aroma of mutton stew accosted Louisa upon entering the boarding house. Another late night helping Master Bennett meant working through meals. She ignored the unladylike grumble of her constitution and hauled herself up the stairs to her room. Supper was long over, but before she did anything about finding food, Louisa had a vital mission to complete.
Tired muscles twitched and jumped, but only one thing remained on her mind—Morrie. Him and his damnable article. It was bad enough she’d accidentally disfigured a man, but being named a suspect in the crime? Unfathomable! He’d ignored their deal with the implication and destroyed her reputation with the city.
She stopped short of slamming her door, but only just. As Louisa turned to face her tiny room, something small and white caught her eye. She snapped her head to the left. The envelope from this morning taunted her, sitting pristine and perfect on the desk against the wall. She glanced at the waste bin—empty—the contents burned, but not this … abomination.
An invisible fist reached into her chest and squeezed. Cold fire blazed through her veins and she blinked spots from her eyes. Louisa gritted her teeth, snatched the envelope, and stormed back down the stairs straight to the parlor. The fireplace’s heat momentarily blasted any lingering chill from her body while she thrust the offending object over the flames.
But she didn’t let go.
Her arm trembled. She stared down its length to the envelope. It shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t exist. And yet, it not only bore her birth name but also brought word of a ghost—one she’d sworn to forget and yet still needled her.
Don’t do it, her mother warned.
“Bollocks, I’ll do what I bloody well want,” she snapped and whipped the letter into the fire. It flitted and twisted and tangoed above the flames before dipping sharply into the hot coals.
Louisa’s heart jumped into her throat. She gasped. Her body trembled. No! She dropped to her knees and scrambled to reclaim the letter, tamping and smothering it with the coal shovel.
Movement by the hall registered in her peripheral vision, but she ignored it, pulling the singed letter free from its trappings. And there, on her knees, she read the missive.
To Miss. Louanna Pierce,
It is with mixed feelings I write to you this autumn day, October 6th, 1867, regarding Marie Charlotte Pierce and her current status at St. Mary’s Bethelhem Hospital for the Insane. Due to Miss. Pierce’s recent breakthrough in treatment, we scheduled her for a pre-release hearing. However, once informed of this encouraging news, her health deteriorated rapidly to the point of severe malnutrition and disregard for personal safety.
Should her health continue to fail, I fear she will not live to make her hearing. I implore you to come and reason with her. She cannot be convinced that leaving our care is a positive step toward a full recovery.
Visiting hours are Monday to Friday, 9:00 a.m.–11:00 a.m., and Saturday, 1:00 p.m.–5:00 p.m. Advance notice is advised.
Sincerely,
Dr. Cornelius Hopkins
Asylum Director
Louisa read the letter twice over, convinced it spoke of someone else, that they got the wrong person … but no. The woman who’d been dead to her these past seven months was now really dying. They’d made a deal though—during one of Marie’s rare, lucid moments: she’d go away, forever, and Louisa would get to live her own life. The deal did not include Marie starving herself to death or being released. Louisa had spent the last of her mother’s savings to secure a permanent place at the hospital. Permanent. Now, the only certainty was her mother’s death.
“That wasn’t the deal,” she whispered. Louisa released the hateful letter and watched it float into the gullet of the fire. It burned through the impossible words, erasing them—but only from the page.
… her health deteriorated …
… severe malnutrition …
… will not live …
“Will. Not. Live,” she rasped. The ache building in her chest burned along with the letter, along with the fragile trust she’d placed in Ryn, the engineer, and Morrie, the reporter … The blaze consumed her, charring her soul.
A great sob escaped, wracking her body. Louisa crumpled on the hearth and gave in to the tears. A firm but gentle hand gripped her shoulder, slowly guiding her away from the hearth and into a pair of arms.
“There now, child.” Miss. Margaret stroked Louisa’s hair and rubbed her back.
She gave in to the tender embrace and allowed herself to be led up the stairs to her room. Margaret sat Louisa on the edge of the bed, gave her a quick squeeze, and pulled back, holding the girl’s hands.
“You rest. I’ll bring you some supper.”
The landlady sm
oothed stray curls away from Louisa’s face with cool hands, then bustled back downstairs to the kitchen.
Louisa sat and let the tears come, hands clasped on her lap, body shaking. When Margaret returned, she set a saucer and a bowl of stew on the desk. She wrapped the young woman’s hands around the steaming cup of tea and guided it to her mouth.
“Drink some. It’ll help.”
It tasted like Morrie’s tea. She wasn’t sure whether to swallow or spit it back into the cup.
Margaret smoothed hair from Louisa’s forehead again, then lingered a moment in the doorway. “Get some rest, dear. If you feel up to it, you can tell me about it in the morning.” She closed the door, leaving Louisa to her thoughts.
The heat of the tea contrasted with the lingering cold. Though her mind continued to loop the doctor’s words over and over, her mission resurfaced and puppeted her body. She set the cup on the saucer and systematically undressed from her work clothes.
Promise me, she heard herself say long ago. Louisa replaced the soft blue chemise with her black one. I can’t do this anymore. Took her trousers off one leg at a time. This isn’t a life. Slid her black hose under borrowed lace skirts. Face the facts; you aren’t that person anymore. And fitted her matching leather bodice in place. Promise me you’ll do this, she’d begged.
As she reached under her bed for her mother’s boots and the Phoenix mask, Louisa collapsed on the floor, curling her body around the objects.
And there she remained for the rest of the evening.
Identity Fraud
T he next morning, Louisa paused her sphere building, tilted her head in thought, and looked at Bennett from the corner of her eye.
“Well, if I had to choose, I’d say wild strawberry,” she answered and returned to layering more tiny glass filaments crosswise around the dispersal orb.
“Truly?” He finished measuring the ingredients and corked the sphere, his elbow rustling the loose fabric of Louisa’s chemise, which billowed out from the restraints of her vest.
“From what I remember, anyway. Nowadays, I’d pick Isabel’s crabapple jelly. It melts deliciously over a crumpet.”
“Ah, yes. Crabapple is definitely my favorite,” Bennett said, then lowered his voice and leaned toward Louisa, his arm touching hers.
Her heart fluttered and her nerves tingled.
“Now, don’t breathe a word of this to Isabel, but I do prefer Widow Abernathy’s crabapple jelly to hers. She sneaks me a jar every other week until her preserves cupboard runs out.” He grinned and winked.
She couldn’t help but laugh. Bennett joined in.
“You know, if I didn’t know any better, the widow sounds fond of you.”
“Well, I say, were she fifty years younger I might contemplate a courtship—just to have a lifetime supply of jelly.”
He said it so matter-of-factly Louisa couldn’t help herself and gave in to a very unladylike full-bellied laugh. Bennett startled a little, surprise painting his features, before he gave over and joined her. He collected the lined crate of filled dispersal orbs and set it by three others behind his desk.
Bennett rubbed his stomach when he stood straight. “I don’t need a watch to tell me it’s lunchtime,” he said.
Louisa placed the orb she worked on aside to set, along with that morning’s batch, which filled half of the large table in the workshop.
“Why don’t you take a break, and we can pick up again this afternoon?”
Louisa washed her hands in the dry sink by the door. “I don’t mind working through. With the second test this weekend, I would hate to fall behind.”
“Our progress is on track, Lou. Don’t fret. Those late nights you’ve put in have done the trick. So much so, I’d like you to come to the race Friday afternoon. Rathburn, the Mini pilot who’s agreed to fly for us, is also testing Collingworth’s new engine.”
“He got it working!” Louisa stood with dripping hands over the basin.
“Indeed. Looks like he managed to dry it out after the incident in the Thames, and after re-lubricating the parts, it’s starting without issue. It’ll be a momentous day. I’d like to introduce you to him.”
Louisa’s heart swelled and the little hairs on her arms stood up.
“Well? What say you, Lou? Are you ready?”
His words jolted her from a stupor. She dried her hands, watching them fold the cloth over and under and around her fingers, while a hot blush crept above her collar to her cheeks.
“I’d be honored, sir.”
“Excellent. That’s settled then. Off you go.”
As Bennett searched through the piles of papers littering his desk, Louisa slipped from the room and walked in a daze down the hall. Without even trying, he’d lifted her spirits and kept her distracted from negative thoughts all morning. Not only had they worked amiably side-by-side, joked, and laughed together, but now he’d invited her to the airship races.
Louisa floated down the stairs on the balls of her feet, taking each step as the Queen might, allowing her thoughts to linger over their perfect morning together.
“Right this way, Miss.” Courtright’s gruff voice cut through Louisa’s musings. The housekeeper led a tall, slender, young woman into the sitting room, taking her white lace parasol as they went. The lady’s large, loose curls cascaded down her back as she removed her walking hat and sat, skirts spread wide, ankles crossed just so, before the tea table.
“Please inform Mr. Bennett that Miss. Elenore Rathburn is here on behalf of her brother.”
“Yes, Miss.” Courtright turned, her steely gaze landing on Louisa gawking from the stairs. A jolt sizzled through Louisa all the way to her feet. She hurried down the next two steps ready to bolt to the kitchen.
“Lou! Wait a moment,” Bennett called, hurrying down the stairs to meet her. “Can you run this invitation into London for me? I forgot to put it in the post with the others on Monday. Take a Steamie so we can keep on this afternoon as scheduled. Don’t want anything interfering with our excursion on Friday.”
“Certainly, sir.” She accepted the envelope.
“Master Bennett”—Courtright stepped up to the pair—“Mr. Rathburn’s sister, Miss. Elenore, awaits you in the parlor. Light refreshment is served. I will await your call should dinner be requested.”
“Excellent. Thank you, Missus Courtright.” Bennett nodded to Louisa and went to entertain his striking guest.
“Follow me,” Courtright snapped, making Louisa jump.
Oh no, what have I done wrong now?
In the kitchen, Courtright unlocked her roll-top desk and retrieved a small satchel before turning to face Louisa.
“The Master has asked that you run an errand to London. Hiring a Steamie will not suffice. It will take you nearly an hour just to get there and then another to return. His schedule clearly has you working again in an hour’s time. Here.” She handed Louisa a shilling. “Request a round-trip ticket on the train from Clapham Station to London. Do not doddle or lollygag along the way. Make your delivery and return promptly.”
The housekeeper re-locked her desk, turned, and bustled about the kitchen, returning to a dumbfounded Louisa with a small jar and tied bundle of cloth.
“Take your meal along and eat on the train. Here is some tea. I expect you back promptly in one hour.”
The woman’s glare cut through Louisa’s disbelief. She pocketed the coin, collected her lunch, and curtsied to Courtright before leaving the kitchen. Louisa picked up her satchel on the way down to the servant’s entrance and placed her meal inside it before racing to the station.
The train station.
This wasn’t her first train ride, but it was only her second. She didn’t have time to think about anything except making the twelve o’clock run and following Courtright’s explicit order to remain on schedule. In fact, it wasn’t until she sat in the dining car with her simple lunch spread before her, trundling along to London proper, that her senses returned.
A lady had come to
call. A refined lady who walked in and out of the house using the front door and who now sat having tea with Master Bennett. A faint echo of a half-memory surfaced—he’d introduced himself to the woman as she’d followed Courtright. Please, call me Andrew.
The bite of bread with cheese Louisa chewed stuck in her throat when she swallowed. She’d gone and done it again. He’d invited her to attend the race with him, just like he’d invited her to the demonstration fundraiser that night—as his assistant, nothing more.
Louisa pushed her food away, no longer hungry, and pulled the invitation from her satchel. She might as well make use of her time and figure out where in London she needed to go. Louisa flipped over the simple, pale envelope and stared in disbelief.
The London Chronicle
Middlesex Street, London
c/o M. Tweed
#
Louisa circled past the Candy Shoppe for the third time, staring across the street at the newspaper office, wishing she were anywhere but there. She glanced at the steam clock in the middle of the sidewalk in front of the five-story building. Her chest tightened.
“Go,” she whisper-yelled at herself. “He won’t know it’s you.”
Louisa ran her hands over her reined-in hair—only tiny wisps of curls escaped the severe style, the rest of her volumes twisted into a knot at the nape of her nck. She’d fixed the loosened mass on the train after tucking the majority of her meal away.
She stepped away from the corner of the sweet shop toward the busy road. A steam landau sped past. Her heart leaped, but not from the close call.
Go!
She hurried across the street, butterflies and cramps battling it out in her stomach.
Keep moving. Don’t stop.
Louisa caught her reflection in the upper glass portion of the door as she reached a shaking hand to push it. Alarm bells sounded in her head while she took in row upon row of desks with typewriters and reporters clacking their stories out or hurrying through one of several doors at the back of the long room. Her feet failed her. She stopped halfway to the reception desk.