Steampunk Voyages: Around the World in Six Gears by Radford Irene & St. John Julia Verne

Author:Radford, Irene & St. John, Julia Verne [Radford, Irene & St. John, Julia Verne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: steampunk
ISBN: 9781611382808
Publisher: Book View Cafe
Published: 2013-09-26T21:00:00+00:00

Introduction: Dancing in Cinders

More adventures with Madame Magdala, an entirely new story written just for this collection.

Dancing in Cinders

Irene Radford

March 1835

I thought about light and glass frequently that . . . interesting . . . year. Watery spring sunlight drifted through the rain-spotted windows of Café du Paris on Charing Cross Road in London. The shaft of yellow sunlight pierced thick mullioned glass windows and turned my café au lait to shimmers of gold that enticed me to look deeper into its depths, find truth in the whirlpool I made with my spoon.

Not now. I couldn’t afford the time or distraction of getting lost in the swirls and patterns of my coffee. Deliberately I put down the spoon and sipped. The barista had to be French or Italian. One of the few things the owners had done right was to hire him. I didn’t trust any Englishman to serve a decent cup of anything but tea. Or maybe beer, though the Bavarians did that better.

And I didn’t trust the tall fur trader sitting at the centre table. He sat alone, yet he’d placed his tall top hat—excellent beaver fur died coal black to match his frock coat—at one place beside him, and his caped cloak—lined with a Hudson’s Bay trade blanket for extra warmth—on the other chair, as if reserving those places for people he expected to join him. He’d been there an hour and he never looked up at new patrons entering with anything like expectation. Instead he looked wary and keenly observant, shifting his attention from newspaper to seated patrons, and back again. The weathered lines around his jaw and eyes and his permanently sun-darkened skin told of a hard life. I needed to see him walk to know more. To know if he’d been hired by my lady’s enemies to kidnap her.

He hadn’t the look of the romantic, glory-seeking followers of Lord Byron.

In the meantime I could imagine the intensity of the fur trader. While not beautiful, as so many dandies were in London these days, he was rugged and attractive in a raw sort –of way.

And he appeared taller than me. His long legs stretched beneath the chair opposite him and the table top brushed his first rib. Few men topped me. That made him more attractive by the minute.

Not today. For either of us.

This lean and hard man, practical and decisive, was obviously on home-leave and hadn’t been in London long enough for the coal-smoke-filled air to soil his fresh-from-the-tailor linen and waistcoat.

Occasionally his fingers flexed as if they itched and he reached for the pocket of his cloak as he reassured himself that his weapon was loaded and close to hand. Smart man.

My hands felt the same way. As a governess, I’d spent too many years protecting my young charge to be comfortable without a pistol in my pocket, a stiletto disguised as decorative hat pin, and a skene dbuh tucked into the top of my boot.

Another time I might be interested in this man.

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