The Providence Engine: A Steampunk Novella Series: Episode 1 (The Crimson Blade) by Ed Zenith

Author:Ed Zenith [Zenith, Ed]
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub, mobi
Publisher: Word Nerd Publishing
Published: 2017-09-18T04:00:00+00:00

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Marrakech, North African Colonies, 1838.

Lord Farleigh Hungerford strode purposefully through the heat of the African sun, on his way to what was one of the most important meetings of his life. Had he known that this particular meeting would cost him his life and set free a curse that had lain dormant for hundreds of years, he may not have been quite so keen to be punctual.

Whilst he had lived in Marrakech for almost fourteen years and in the outlying regions of North Africa for much longer, Lord Hungerford made no allowances for the heat; he wore his white linen suit as though it were his old regimental uniform, with pride. His white skin had not picked up a tan in the entire time he had lived on the continent, but instead glowed an intense shade of red. Perspiration dripped on to his thick white moustache, which perched on his upper lip like an albino slug.

Hungerford had been appointed Principal Minister of the North African Colonies since their creation twelve years previously, when Morocco, Algeria, Libya and Tunisia came to be ruled by England after a short but bloody war. The English Empire continued to grow and prosper. Peace was at long last announced between England and the International Celtic Alliance (comprising of Eire, Scotland, Wales, Cornwall and Brittany), but disagreements with France and Spain still waged.

The King had died the previous year and Queen Victoria had ascended the throne. The official coronation would not take place until the summer of 1838 and all friendly nations would naturally send a gift, each seeking to out-do the other. Hungerford sought to trump them all and it was for this reason that he now paced through the market, towards his own death.

He came upon the workshop that North Africa’s chief weapon maker chose for his home. It was little more than a cave, having no windows or fresh air. Light came from a blazing fire which burned constantly and Hungerford finally conceded to removing his jacket. The air tasted of metal, grease and death.

“You are late, my Lord,” said Hassi, his accent thick with the dust and heat of his native Algeria.

“Nonsense. I’m never late,” mumbled Hungerford. Hassi did not reply but instead went over to his workbench, where a small case was sat.

“I-is that…it?” stammered Hungerford. Hassi nodded. “Can I see it? Has the jeweller finished his work?”

Hassi nodded again. “A fine man, your jeweller. Very professional. He understood the nature of the piece and set the stones with a true artist’s eye.”

“He’s the best,” murmured Hungerford, his eyes locked onto the small case. “Only the best.”

Hassi delighted in Hungerford’s expectation and teased him further.

“Are you ready?”

“Of course I’m ready, you great baboon! Open the case!”

Hassi did as he was told and a smile spread across Hungerford’s face.

Inside the case, laid on red velvet, was the most exquisite piece of jewellery ever produced. Along the top of the case was a belt fashioned in the traditional Moroccan style. Made of the

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