Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2011 Lilith Duvalier
ISBN: 978-1-926950-73-0
Cover Artist: LF Designs
Editor: Dana Horbach
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
This is dedicated to everyone who ever told me I could write, especially Caitlin and Nikki.
THE PROMISE OF SILK
Lilith Duvalier
Copyright © 2011
Chapter One
Jane pulled her automobile up into the empty space at the end of The Row and wrenched open the valve that let the steam off the engine. She stepped down from the automobile daintily as the sputter of the engine slowed, and, with a sigh of disappointment, adjusted her red leather and brass driving goggles.
This carnival had once been the best London had to offer, and, like anything at all that fell outside the normal and proper, the mechanic and predictable, it had shrunken and grayed down to nothing but a shadow of its former self. Pushed out into the country where it wouldn’t directly offend.
Jane slid the leather accordion cover of her automobile back, revealing her collection of mahogany furniture all meticulously packed around a large, varnished box. A young woman ducked out of the tent flap of the balding pink and orange velvet atrocity a little ways down the row of tents.
Jane nodded to her and the young woman crossed her arms under her bosom, which was pushed ludicrously high up her chest by her baby pink corset. It was laced with brown ribbon, and ended at her ribcage, showing off her pale stomach. A matching a bustle skirt opened suggestively, showing off most of her porcelain thighs. Tacky, but expensive. The woman clearly provided her clients with more than a Thruppeny Upright.
“’Ere, Lady- this patch is for the Soiled Doves, if you gets my meanin’,” the young woman called out, arms still crossed, a challenging smirk on her face. “If you got wares to sell you oughtta be clear over on the other side of the field.”
Jane opened the lid of the large box, reached into it with both hands, and picked up the hem of the large piece of red silk, pulling it up just enough for the girl to see it. The girl’s smirk evaporated. Jane’s smile deepened.
“I’ve been here before.”
****
“Slow down, you blasted sky dogs!” The Captain howled as the crew let the air out of the ship’s balloons and the prow dove into the clouds.
Buck groaned as his harness dug into his ribs. He wrapped his arm around the rope anchoring his body to the balloon mast, pulled himself back up to the burner, and turned the flame up. The prow evened out, and his feet returned to the deck of the ship.
The Captain was in one of his moods again. Even though Buck had engineered the hot air balloons that carried the ship, and Buck had taught the other burner handlers how to land and take off, every once in a while the Captain would need to feel he was in charge. When these moods struck him, he would stand at the helm, facing back toward the ship, gripping the long neglected wheel, and bark out orders that inevitably lead to confusion.
The Revenge of The Saint Mary was ancient, even for a pirate vessel. It was barely even an airship. Commercial lines used Zeppelins, hobbyists had mini-dirigibles or small balloons, but The Revenge of The Saint Mary was an actual sea-going vessel, complete with a mermaid figure head and cannons, which had only recently been equipped with four large hot air-balloons to take it from sea to sky.
“Down again, you sonsabitches!” The Captain cried out. “And let’s kiss the ground this time, not plow it!”
Buck turned the key on his burner with caution. Crew members all across the deck wobbled on the lines they used to tie themselves to the masts and riggings of the ship to prevent being thrown overboard. On Buck’s signal, the other burner handlers adjusted their flames, and The Revenge of The Saint Mary began to sink majestically through the clouds.
The sight of England, green and lush in the falling twilight, brought a tear to Buck’s eye. In his former life as Alaric: the lonely, overworked engineer, he had hated England so much that one day, walking back from work to the dark, sooty flat he shared with two other bachelors, he had been unable to force himself to climb up the stairs. He had turned back out onto the street and marched toward the docks, begging his way onto any vessel that would have him. But now, sometimes he almost missed it.
Buck had been lucky that night at the docks. The Captain of The Revenge of The Saint Mary had been watching his crew thin out for months as man after man abandoned the sea for the new sky going vessels and the riches they promised. When Buck had suggested a cheap, if unusual way for the captain to update his ship, he was welcomed on board with open arms. Buck had begun sewing together the balloons that night.
Freed of the confines of the sea, the crew had spent months traveling to places none of them had ever seen before, building up the type of hold that would have taken them years in the old days. Stolen pepper and illicit opium from India. Cheap silks and dubious tonics from China. Moonshine from the Americas. Enough swag to make them all very rich men. And with the carnival having moved out of London and away from the prying eyes of Scotland Yard, there was an easy market just waiting to be filled with black-market booty.
Buck had never made it to the carnival in his old life, but from all the stories he heard, swaggering through the carnival with pockets full of gold would be an experience worth returning to Earth for.
****
Jane dabbed her finger into a little copper pot full of bright red paste and set it to her lips. She slid it lazily over her bottom lip, leaving behind a blood red streak. She pressed her lips together, transferring the color between them, then used her pinky finger to spread the paste out to cover her lips completely.
She turned her head from side to side, assessing her reflection in the mirror. The elegant twist at the back of her head was perfectly set in place. The thin line of kohl around her eyes made her liquid black irises seem deep enough to fall into. The rouge on her lips and cheeks burned brightly red, reflecting the red light that infused the inside of the tent. She stood, making sure her red silk dress was clinging just right over her breasts, hips, and buttocks. Assured everything was perfect, she glanced out the tent flap.
Only a small orange sliver of the sun could be seen, illuminating a yellow haze of pollution at the horizon. The sky was black in the east, and tendrils of blue and purple were creeping into the west. There was still time. She never began until after dark.
And it wasn’t as though she was in much of a hurry. The carnival lost more and more of its appeal every year. Jane could still remember when it had been held, jubilantly and defiantly, in the middle of Hyde Park. Its bright lights and loud music a siren’s song that pulled in London’s high collared and over-buttoned and dared them to indulge in one night of open revelry. To leave the chores and the mending and the dusting to sit for one night while they finally allowed themselves to experience the things they pretended to not even know about in their daily lives.
But everything was different now. The carnival had been moved far outside of the city proper, forced to erect its tents, games, and shops in the skeletons of the villages abandoned by people pouring into the city for jobs in the new factories.
Steam and gears had replaced flesh and blood, and the carn
ival had been allowed to extend its services from one night of allowing people to acknowledge the pleasures of the flesh of which their God and Her Majesty wanted them to strive to rid themselves. It had become a semi-permanent fixture here, far outside the city, where it was allowed to work like any other part of the great London Machine.
It was the part that let off steam.
Jane returned to her vanity, put her brushes and paint pots away in one of its drawers, then crossed to the other side of the tent and opened one of the trunks she’d brought in from her automobile.
She tipped several leather masks out of it, all of them scarlet, chocolate brown, or both, and spread them over the top of the huge, coffin-like box she had set up in the middle of her tent. She dropped the raven mask back into the box without much consideration; she didn’t feel that morbid tonight. The cat mask was tossed back in next. She didn’t feel playful either. A few moments were spent considering a plain red mask with worn out edges and lacing holes that were fraying open. Jane turned it over in her hands several times before dropping it into the box as well. She tossed back a few more animal masks, and a few more decorative ones, until one remained.
She returned to the mirror and, careful not to catch her hair, buckled the mask around her head. The bloody red matched her dress and lipstick, and the angles matched her mood. Points, dagger sharp, dripped down over her cheeks, ending under her chin, and spikes sprayed out from the right side of the mask, much like the rays of the setting sun.
She admired herself in the mirror again, added a little more rouge to her lips, and fetched another trunk from the other side of the tent, this one full of incense, candles, and holders for both. She set a white candle in each holder and placed them around the room, leaving them unlit. She brought the incense to a small table near the tent flap, on which stood a small statue.
It was a dark, wooden carving of a woman, her full breasts, round hips, long hair, and protruding vulva shimmering in the candle light. Jane set several sticks of incense in front of it, lit them all with the matches from a small match box hidden behind the statue, and blew them out. The smell of rose and clove smoke began to whisper its way through the tent. Jane inhaled deeply and stepped outside into the dark.
There was a rumble of hot air balloon blowers and a cacophony of cursing overhead as a ridiculously old fashioned ship some fool had strung up between four hot air balloons sailed uncertainly past the carnival. A crunch boomed across the grounds as it came to rest on top of a copse of trees on the far side of the field, followed by a crack as it fell through the branches to the ground.
A storm of laughter and applause went up from the carnival goers. Jane strode unconcernedly through the crowd, and the laughter died out in her wake.
****
“Where to first, Buck?” Thomas asked. “Me, I’m for a shot of something to warm the blood then I’m off to The Row to warm everything else.” He laughed and dug an elbow into Buck’s side. “Maybe I’ll unload some of this tonic crap first. If I’ve got the money, I may even find myself in the mood for two lovelies for the night.”
Buck nodded, tight-lipped. While he didn’t mind traveling, or somehow, stealing, there were aspects to the pirate lifestyle that did not suit him as they suited Thomas and the others. It didn’t improve his mood that he was back on land in the middle of a crowd that had just watched his ship crash. But he was forced to admit it was one of The Revenge of The Saint Mary’s better landings. They had been forced to repair the entire prow after crashing into a barn in Oklahoma. Though, that didn’t make tonight’s crash less embarrassing. The life of an airship-pirate was rarely all it was cracked up to be.
He stuck his hand in his pocket, running his fingers over the large purse of gold tucked away in it. He had sold quite a bit of his share of the opium in America. He didn’t know what a “lovely for the night” would cost but he was sure that if Thomas, who pissed away all of his money, could still afford two, he himself could probably afford five or six, were he inclined. However, considering all the responsibility of testing and repairing the balloons would fall to Buck in the morning, and just pulling them down from the trees without shredding them would take a day or two, he was tempted to have one beer to appease Thomas, then go back to the ship and spend a peaceful night alone with his sketchbook for once.
“Sure, Thomas. I’m for a drink as well.”
Thomas leered at him.
“And are we going to get you to dip your wick tonight or not?”
Buck shrugged, the apples of his cheeks beginning to burn. He hadn’t been planning on it. After being caught out in a lie about how much experience he had with women, Thomas and a few of the other men had drug him to a house of ill-repute in China. After his thoroughly humiliating experience there, wasn’t sure he would ever return to a prostitute.
“Ahh…now, Buck.” Thomas’s voice went soft. “A good English whore, that’s what you need. Kind of spirit and sweet of nature.”
“Let’s find a drink,” Buck replied, stepping out ahead of Thomas.
“They’re not gonna run out!” Thomas huffed, rushing to catch up.
They wound up under a green tent with a sign outside declaring it to be “The Traitor’s Head” and took seats near the back corner of the large square bar, where they could watch the crowd wander by. Thomas bought a tumbler of gin for each of them.
“Bottoms up!” Thomas shouted jovially, toasting Buck with his glass. Thomas tossed his head back and drained his glass while Buck took in his surroundings.
He had never gone to the carnival before. When it had still been held in London he was too young. After it moved out past the fringes of the city, it had been too expensive, and, if he was honest with himself, he had been too frightened. Everyone knew the carnival was full of thieves and cheats. Prostitutes, opium addicts, gamblers.
Pirates.
Buck’s smile bloomed on his face and tipped his head back, downing his gin as Thomas had.
“Oy, Barkeep! Bring us another!”
The hassled young man nodded to Buck and ducked down behind the bar. A flash of red somewhere out on the grounds caught Buck’s eye before the barman stood back up, blocking his view. He poured them two more tumblers, and Buck handed him a coin.
“Cheers,” Thomas said, lifting a glass to the man as he bustled off to the other side of the bar. His view no longer obstructed, Buck looked off into the crowd, searching for the flash of red he had seen.
Two women, one in green, the other in blue, both of them obviously marked as prostitutes by their minimal clothing, were heading toward Buck and Thomas.
Thomas leaned over to Buck. “This right here is what I love about the carnival,” he said quietly before raising his voice again. “Hello, lovely ladies! Come share a drink with a sailor and remind him of home!”
The women smiled at the two pirates and sauntered over. Their breasts and hips swung in a way that made Buck wonder if they had to be taught to walk like that.
As Thomas ordered two more tumblers of gin, Buck saw the flash of red out in the crowd again. It was closer this time.
“I’m Thomas, and this is Buck. We’re on the crew of The Revenge of The Saint Mary. Maybe you’ve heard of us. We’ve been cutting a swath of terror through the Oriental sky,” Thomas told them grandiosely. “Innit that right, Buck?”
“Right,” Buck agreed, only half paying attention as Thomas continued on. The red blur was beginning to take shape. He could see red spikes moving through the crowd, flashing like red lightening whenever they crossed a beam of lantern light. Underneath them, something talc white bounced.
“I’ve heard of The Revenge of The Saint Mary,” the woman in blue said, dropping suddenly into Buck’s lap. “That’s the one what crashed here tonight.”
“That’s right!” Thomas agreed cheerfully. He toasted the woman and took another deep gulp of from his glass.
The crowd parted as the red blur walked past a lantern, and Buck saw her. A crimson mask flaring out over a whi
te face and sensuous red lips, a full white bosom cresting over a sinful silk dress which clung to every curve and caught every flicker of lantern light. She drifted through the crowd like a ghost, coming directly toward him. He jolted as someone touched his face .
“So you’re pirate too, Buck?” the whore in blue asked him.
“Yes,” he replied, “Uhh…what was your name?”
“I’m Chastity,” she told him.
“But only by name.” Her friend laughed. Thomas echoed her laugh ingratiatingly, and Buck turned his head back out to the crowd to look for the woman in red. He gulped. She had sat down at the bar, directly across from him.
Buck watched as the barman stopped in the middle of pouring a customer’s drink, ducked under the bar, and pulled out a small black bottle and a glass. He poured the woman half a glass of amber liquid, replaced the bottle without a word and returned to the other customer, picking up where he had left off.
The woman held her glass between her thumb and first two fingers and took a lady-like sip before setting it back down onto the bar. Her shadowed eyes never left Buck.
“Oy, Amelia, look who’s ‘ere,” the woman in Buck’s lap grumbled, tipping her head almost imperceptibly across the bar.
“Who is she?” Buck asked.
“The Red Lady,” Chastity sneered. “You want to be careful of her, love.” Chastity grabbed Buck’s chin in her hand again, pulling his gaze away from the woman across the bar. “There’s simpler pleasures to be had.”
“Is she a-” Thomas started, then cleared his throat. “Is she…an accommodating woman?”
“I ‘eard she’s a demon,” Amelia whispered. “And I believe it. She gives us all the bleeding willies.”
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