Copyright © Rachel D. Knepp.
All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means—including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods—without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews or critical articles.
Chapter 1
The Raven Strikes
Fate had intertwined two people like the two moons that danced in the night sky of Umbriel. Steam rushed past her, a figure gripping the sharp metal spire, feet planted on the edge of oblivion, her mask radiating the green gold from the escaping aether. She saw the line of smoke escaping the fog first. One breath in, slowly exhaling through pursed lips. She readied herself as Fogdown’s fog breathed through the streets, ebbing and flowing, gentle tendrils circling smokestacks. A high-pitch whistle echoed through the darkness. Train tracks cut a black line like an artery through the town. A low, thunderous rhythm cut through the fog. The line of train cars slowed and turned near the docks, heading south to the Crystal Cathedral, an old relic of darker times, now being used as an incinerator. Thick, white smoke billowed from the smokestack as it traveled along the cold metal rails. Narrow passenger cars appeared as a garland of rusty metal, strung together with chains dangling at their connections that sent sparks with each jerk. Decades of soot dulled the gilded fittings. Dirty windows still had their old silk and woolen dressings, torn and holey from feasting moths. The fog twirled around as it pushed steadily through before swallowing it again. It carried a sense of dread as its aura.
Above the moving train, through the shadows, a figure with wings glided silently. She landed deftly on the roof of an end car, her wings folded back within their cage that enveloped her torso. She had her face hidden behind a mask, wore an outfit of dark brown herringbone-patterned twill, a form-fitting double-breasted jacket beneath the thin metal cage. Her well-cut trousers were full over her thighs and tapered to a fit close on her calves and tucked beneath the leather spool-heeled boots with gold pearls running up the side keeping them cinched tight. The train’s whistle blew and a fierce jolt caused her to fall, landing on the peeling metal roof. She quickly jumped back up, ran a few more feet and dropped between the two cars, landing in front of the reinforced door leading to the last car. She pulled out lock picks from slim slots hidden in her gauntlets. She picked the lock with limber fingers, pushed the door open, and moved through the train car. She was quick, her movements showed careful ease from hours of practice. She fought through the flutter in her stomach, easing her breath thoughtfully as she gazed around the once grand seating area for the wealthy. It had once been used to transport the high-born; the sign on the door indicated it had been a Lord’s carriage, traveling from old Verdancia through Fogdown and beyond into the rocky hills and vast stretches of forest to country houses they would escape to during certain phases of the moons. The mahogany walls still held their high polish from better days. High on each wall, a line of flickering lights within brass lanterns gave off a very dim glow. Gears turned on her mask, a pair of brass glass lenses came from either side of her mask, settling before her eyes, the lenses adjusted, allowing her to see in the dark. At any moment, mechanical attendants with their shiny brass gears could interrupt her and raise the alarm. She moved from box to box, lifting lids, rummaged around and moved on to the next. There would be no real need to be silent through the loud clacking beneath her feet. But, with attendants, you didn’t know what they may pick up through their sensory gears.
Helena frowned under her mask. The train kept pushing forward through the edges of Fogdown, passing cranes at the docks that appeared as skeletons through the fog. “Nothing yet,” she said to the person on the other end of the radio transmitter. The train jostled again, making her lose her balance again, this time for only a moment. She heard a low-pitched hum coming from a box a few feet away beneath a pile of old torn cloaks. “Ah, ha, the crystals…finally.” Inside the box she found burnt out aether memory crystals. They were dark except for one that glowed near the bottom. Crystals clinked together as she pushed her hands through them.
“Bingo,” she whispered. She held up a crystal that looked as fresh as it had the day it came out of the mine decades ago. Why they were being brought to the incinerator, she didn’t know. They are rare now. The first aether wars ended with a truce which made the mining of aether cores illegal unless you were of the Guild. Some thought it unfair, but executions ended the uproar quickly. A second skirmish ended the truce but confirmed the Guild’s absolute right to the mining and production of goods using aether and utilizing its power. Veterans of the battle still wore the scars, inside and out.
“Thank the gods,” a male voice said.
“Yes, Sera, thank the gods,” she replied with a smile exposing deep dimples in both cheeks. “I have what I was looking for. Are you ready on your end?”
“Yes,” he replied, for a split second the voice sputtered in her ear, “you better get going.”
“Can do,” she replied as she jumped up quickly. She pushed the crystal into another pocket hidden in the jacket. Steam escaped from the lightweight metal cage on her back. “We are going to make quite a large bang aren’t we?”
“Yes we are,” his tone made her smile spread upward.
“Good,” she said. She paused at the door, listening for any sound behind it. When she thought the coast was clear, she opened the door and standing right in front of her was an attendant, its face made of gears that shifted as it recreated human facial expression. She sucked in air and staggered backward. Mechanical eyebrows raised in surprise, the long, lean metal arms reached out toward her, and it floated toward her. Before it could sound the alert, she released a screen of steam and fog from her gauntlets. With intense speed, she took out a gilded smoke raven and threw it behind her. She turned and kicked the robotic servant with the full force of her. Its arms flailed, flew backward and landed beneath the moving train. “They’ll know I am here.”
She heard a stream of words from both people in her ears, but she blocked it out. Helena’s focus was on getting away from the train and back into the air. The only chance she’d have is hiding in the fog of Fogdown. As she feared, the sound of unfriendly voices came closer.
“Helena! – Go!” Clara yelled in her ear.
“I know,” she replied with a petulant retort in return. An illegal stream of aether powered steam took her up onto the roof of the train car. She released her wings, brass gears clicked and settled into place, each feather stretched and prepared for flight.
“Hey, you!” a man yelled from the next car. The train began to slow, but she jumped and took flight. Shouting from the train’s crew grew muffled as she disappeared.
Those Guild members are gonna get what’s coming to them, she thought to herself.
Helena’s wings gracefully maneuvered her escape, slicing through the acrid steam and fog, through lines of ancient brick buildings, warehouses, then residential, all coated in thick soot, still solid, but anger etched in each brick. Through the industrial district, a line of smokestacks billowed smoke that smelled of sulfur and burnt wood. Bright red orange embers shot out as she went by, turning into black specks floating into the sky. Only a few lights were lit behind dirty windows, indicating late night occupants still awake, hard at work, even in the night watches.
Helena had always been adventurous, climbing the trees of her childhood home and jumping over tall fences, chasing foxes or deer that dashed by. Her favorite spots were high up, looking out over the land she called home. As she whizzed by, she glided over rooftops, her feet barely touching the surface before jumping courageously off the edge. Usually, the fog was so thick, you could hardly see your hand in front of your face, but with the help of Clara’s tech, she could see through the fog like it wasn’t there, even as it got denser closer to the ancient aether exhaust pipes.
“Helena, are you okay,” Clara asked, her voice strained with worry.
“Yup, I got out in one piece, don’t worry,” she replied, “I am going to make a short stop to see Father Joss and head back to you guys.”
She looked back as the sound of the blast echoed off walls of crumbling buildings. She smiled to herself. “One train down…” she said with a giggle, “good job, Sera. Can’t wait to read about it in the Fogdown Gazette in the morning paper.”
“It’s my pleasure, Smoke Siren,” he replied with a snicker of glee, “we will take them down, you can count on it.”
Helena drifted to a stop on the soft moss outside a humble chapel nestled in the thick trees outside Fogdown. Edges of the stone walls crumbled and thick vines grew inside from broken windows that whistled as the wind passed through. It looked abandoned, except for a thin stream of black smoke rose out of the small chimney and mingled with the fog. She knew the terrain well from growing up there. She pushed the thick wood door that created a loud creak from the rusty hinges. In a small rear room, the Father’s library, Helena found Father Joss in his worn leather chair in front of the blazing fire, a book laid over the arm of the chair. The smell of candlewax and juniper berries permeated the air. A worn knit blanket covered his thin shoulders and gentle snores escaped from his mouth perched open from his head leaning back into the thick cushion. Helena pushed her mask up and left it on her plaited, chestnut hair that she had tucked under for aerodynamics.
“Father Joss,” she said in a whisper as she entered through the worn wood floor. The small room felt both damp and dusty, both mingling around the piles of books that sat in piles all around. He didn’t stir. “Father Joss,” she said louder. He twitched and snorted, trying to sit upright with some effort and turned in the direction of her voice.
“Helena,” he replied, clearing his throat. His tone was gruff from years of inhaling smoke and fog. “Oh, Helena. So sorry, my dear.”
“I found it, Father Joss,” she said with a proud expression. “The memory crystal you told me that existed,” she replied. “Your intel was right.” She cast him a large smile as she took it out from its hiding place and held it out to him.
“Thank the gods.” Father Joss let out a deep sigh and held the crystal to his chest. “Maybe this will give us some more information he had on them.”
“Let’s hope so. I have a feeling they have something big planned, but even with my connections on the inside, everyone is only alluding to a plan. Still, no one is confessing anything specific. It is getting rather discouraging.”
“Even the opera singer? What’s her name?” He tried to push himself up off the chair, but she placed her hand on his shoulders and he fell back down.
“Tamsin…she promised me after her last performance, if she learned anything, she’d let me know in our usual manner, but nothing so far. I have it on good authority that her new patron is high up within the Guild,” she said with a sigh, “It’s the patience part, you know I am not too good at. I know the Guild is guilty. I know they spilled blood through the streets of Ashwood as well and it is going to find its way to Fogdown. I swear to you, it will be stopped. You can rely on me.”
“I know my child,” came his reply with a chest rattling cough. “I believe in Lady Helena Ward of the Grayvale and the Smoke Siren. With all my heart and soul.”
Helena squeezed his hand. “Would you like some tea, Father?”
She tucked Father Joss back into his chair before leaving.
From a dark balcony, Helena could hear from the shadows the sound of Sera’s sky ship moving slowly across the top edge of the fog. He was the new captain of a new ship. Part of a new fleet the Guild used now for transportation.
Clara’s tinkerer’s workshop was located in the heart of Fogdown, in the unofficial tinkerer’s district. It was hidden within an old tailor’s shop with a sign with thread and needle over the boarded up door.
Beneath the ancient building, Helena had turned the basement into her own Fogdown apartment. She took off her Smoke Siren outfit and arranged it in an old, worn oversized wardrobe that lit up brightly as she opened the doors. The wings had their own perch dedicated to it and she slipped the gauntlets onto old hand display models from when the shop made gloves for the Lords and Ladies of Verdancia. She relocked it and left through a side panel that led to a pathway between the walls.
Clara gave a sigh of relief when Helena emerged from behind the bookshelf.
“Sera got a call and had to leave. How is Father Joss?”
“He looks thin, but still has his old spunk. We talked and planned over tea. He is very excited about the explosion, but a bit worried for us. He knows the dangers we face with the Guild.” Clara jumped up on the back of the railing of the stairs leading downstairs and balanced herself as she walked the length before jumping down.
Clara sat at her workbench with her goggles that made her eyes huge placed firmly over her eyes. Piles of clutter were scattered around her, half-built automatons, cracked pressure tubes, and shelves of labeled gadgets: fog frogs, shock beads, and gear grease. The smell of melting metal and candle wax permeated the air. Clara readjusted the light above her as Helena approached the table. She had grabbed a gear and twirled between her fingers.
“I’ll have to go see him soon,” Clara replied.
“He’d like that,” Helena replied. “So, I cut that one kind of close, huh?”
“Yes,” Clara took off her goggles after putting down the soldering iron in its place beside her. Helena could read her mind. She looked irritated, but she didn’t like to make waves.
“Are we ready to go bold now? We have enough people behind us.”
Clara turned around slowly and crossed her arms, staring down at her feet. She still had her boots on. The clock tower began to strike the time in the distance. Clara looked out through the dirty window. “Both moons will be out tomorrow night.”
“That means the Guild will hold their gala,” Helena stretched out on the sofa, flipping the gear into the air.
“That means you should get back to your Verdancian apartment,”Clara turned toward her, “before you are missed.”
“I will. I am trying to distance the Smoke Siren’s attack with Lady Helena Ward of the Grayvale. But, I do miss the air up there, to be honest. Fogdown’s fog…well…it’s rather oppressive.”
“They do that on purpose – the Guild. They want us mere fogbits to suffer while they live in their palaces and breathe the fancy air.” Clara coughed, knocking over dusty blueprints she had rolled up on a side table. They bounced as they hit the thin carpeted floor. She sighed. “The nights without the moons are so long. Maybe with the rise of Aetheris I will get some inspiration for the new gear.”
“Oh, by the way,” Helena pulled out the crystal from her vest pocket and held it out to Clara. It glowed and hummed a familiar tune in a low timber. “It sounds like the tune he used to hum as he worked. How long will it take to get the files? The frequency you programmed in the gauntlets worked exactly as you said. It would have taken forever to pick it out from all the other discards.”
Clara smiled, taking it from her and holding it up to the light. It glowed a bright shade of pale green and hummed softly as it hit the light waves. “It shouldn’t take too long.”
Helena nodded. “I am excited to see my father’s work. Well,” Helena swung her feet across the arms of the thick upholstered chair, “I will be here for a couple days, I hope you don’t mind. I told the baroness I would be visiting family in Grayvale. You know she’d have spread it around during her tea-times and luncheons – and she’d take my word for it. What is Sera doing right now? Where exactly did he go?”
It hadn’t taken long after the Smoke Siren escaped into the fog and disappeared, that officials, Guild members and Peacekeepers, rushed in their mechanical carriages to the scene of the crime. Pieces of the train laid across the track along with broken full cars overturned, resting on their sides. The back car still stood upright on the track. Fog danced around men with official insignias emblazoned on their overcoats and bowler hats. Other men stood around like chess pieces wearing thick velvet scarves around their neck and over their mouths, black top hats with a band of gold gears. They each had a gold tipped cane that they leaned on as they spoke to each other. They had gathered far from the accident scene. Their voices were muffled, but they discussed their issues with the vigilante determined to undermine everything.
They turned toward the mechanical carriage that stopped just beyond the gathering of peacekeepers. Out stepped a shiny black boot onto the metal step. The mechanical arm, made of brass gears, grabbed the door frame as he jumped out into the mud. Cold-gray eyes peeked out over the woolen scarf. A top hat fit snug on his head, thick dark brown hair curled at the edges. He wore a dark gray three piece suit and a long frock coat. Beneath the jackets, a brass pocket watch ticked the cycles of the moons.
Within the twirling fog, he recognized the outline of the Guild member who he knew well, first through gossip of another Lord who spoke of his exploits during the war which made Elias stomach churn. Recently, Lord Vantell Dros became the Guild’s elected leader and overseer of the Peacekeepers. He dressed like most Guild members of Verdancia with ribbons of Guild valor and well-cut, expensive clothing. Lord Dros’ long cape of light gray waved in the stiff breeze coming off the water. He wore it over a darker gray expensive gaberdine and silk suit. His hair was the palest of blonds along with pale skin and ice blue eyes made him seem ghostly and intimidating. He waved to Elias with his cane. Both the top of his cane and tie pin glowed bright green, a crystal of aether core. The distinct glow cut through the fog. “Detective Thorne, you have finally joined us – she has struck again, my good man.”
………. To be continued……….
The fog never truly clears—unless you’re willing to step inside.
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