Aether Spark

by Nicholas Petrarch

  AETHER SPARK

  Copyright © 2018 by Nicholas Petrarch

  This is a work of fiction. Names, events, and settings portrayed are a product of the author’s imagination and are fictitious or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, businesses, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. Reproduction, in whole or in part, of this book in any form without the express written consent of the author and publisher is strictly prohibited.

  Pelorus Books, LLC

  6905 S 1300 E #496

  Cottonwood Heights, Utah 84047

  info@pelorusbooks.com

  www.pelorusbooks.com

  Pelorus Books can bring authors to your live event! For more information or to book an event, contact us at info@pelorusbooks.com.

  Publisher: Pelorus Books, LLC

  Editor: Jana S. Brown

  Interior Design: Douglas Speck

  Cover Design: Biserka Design

  Illustrations: Wendy Speck

  Maps: Douglas Speck

  Author Photo: GinnyMae Photography

  ISBN: 978-1-7320642-0-1 (ebook)

  ISBN: 978-1-7320642-1-8 (paperback)

  1. Fiction/Science Fiction/Steampunk 2. Fiction/Urban

  First Edition

  Published by Pelorus Books

  To my loving wife, Eleena,

  Without whom I wouldn’t have had the courage to see this dream through

  To Asher, Morgan, and Catie,

  For encouraging me during the times when writing wasn’t so glamorous

  And to my family,

  They always believed in me, but I think I still surprised them with this

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  They say it takes a whole village to raise a child. Well, it takes almost as much to publish a book. Aether Spark was my first authoring endeavour, spanning five years since the story’s conception in college when it was no more than a stray thought captured on the back of a 3x5 card.

  Since that day, there have been many individuals who have influenced this project. I suppose you could say everyone I met shaped this story in some way as I drew characters and details from life experience. This is my humble attempt to thank my community for helping me share this story (and apologize to those I’ve failed to thank along the way).

  I don’t believe there is a word to express the appropriate measure of gratitude I feel for my wife. It was early in our marriage that she helped me “unstuck” myself and finally take strides to publish this book. Without her, I wonder if I would ever have overcome my apprehension to putting myself out there. It’s true what they say, “being deeply loved by someone gives us strength, while loving someone deeply gives us courage.” Thank you, Eleena, for our story and all it’s blessed me with. I couldn’t have asked for a better companion on this journey.

  Thank you to my father for being a stalwart example of integrity in the face of opposition, and for an early conversation which opened the world of Hatteras to be so much more than could fit on that early note card. He inspired the first of three major rewrites which added new characters, conflicts, and reasons to continue the story into future books.

  Thank you to my mother for the many times she has listened to my ramblings over the years, her never ending encouragement, and for her willingness to pitch in and help me with things like the chapter heading images. No mother ever receives the praise they fully deserve, but she remains a testament to me that even we who claim to be amateurs can still produce some truly amazing things.

  My writing group was paramount in the process of weeding through the heap of bad writing advice and gifting me courage to continue telling the story while in those first few awkward drafts. Did I say awkward? I’m sorry, I meant dismal. Thanks Asher, Catie, Morgan, Amanda, and Pete for helping me lay the foundation of my authoring career.

  My beta readers were timely and on point, offering me a healthy dose of criticism while showing genuine interest in the story. Thanks Wendy, Doug, Beka, Jess, and Jules for helping me catch those pesky plot holes and for guessing what happens next in the story.

  A huge thanks to my early patrons over on Patreon who believed in me enough to help offset some of the publishing costs which daunted me as a new indie author. Thank you Jared, Amanda, Brian, Scot, Stacey, Wendy, and Tom for making this phenomenal cover and hiring an editor possible!

  And a shout out to the mentor writing group at Paradigm High School. They were always willing to comb through a stray chapter here and there and have been patiently waiting for the full story. Thank you for all you do and sacrifice for your students and peers.

  And lastly, thank you for taking the time to read my story! Enjoy!

  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Prologue

  Part I

  Chapter 1 – Mishaps

  Chapter 2 – A Familiar Story

  Chapter 3 – Brooding

  Chapter 4 – The Spark

  Chapter 5 – Deliveries

  Chapter 6 – Old Acquaintances

  Chapter 7 – The Pub & Brawl

  Chapter 8 – Introductions

  Chapter 9 – The Exchange

  Chapter 10 – Announcements

  Chapter 11 – Poor Company

  Chapter 12 – Mundane Dreams

  Chapter 13 – Investigations

  Chapter 14 – Ashworth’s Summons

  Chapter 15 – A Secret Meeting

  Chapter 16 – Tea & Gossip

  Chapter 17 – The Plan

  Part II

  Chapter 18 – A View from Above

  Chapter 19 – Desperate Measures

  Chapter 20 – Septigonee’s Day

  Chapter 21 – An Unlikely Reunion

  Chapter 22 – The Rally

  Chapter 23 – The Powder Keg

  Chapter 24 – Ringgold’s Warning

  Chapter 25 – Night Terrors

  Chapter 26 – Flames in the Night

  Chapter 27 – The Informant

  Chapter 28 – The Aftermath

  Chapter 29 – Only Need One

  Chapter 30 – Sifting Through the Wreckage

  Chapter 31 – Tracking a Foxx

  Part III

  Chapter 32 – A Garden Party

  Chapter 33 – A Grisly Ordeal

  Chapter 34 – Working with Scrap

  Chapter 35 – Manufactured Chaos

  Chapter 36 – The Unwelcomed Truth

  Chapter 37 – Cruel Revelations

  Chapter 38 – A Friendly Gesture

  Chapter 39 – A Chance Encounter

  Chapter 40 – An Unfortunate Business

  Chapter 41 – Accidents

  Chapter 42 – Stoddard’s Invitation

  Chapter 43 – The Opera House

  Chapter 44 – Stoddard’s Offer

  Chapter 45 – Cornered

  Chapter 46 – Barred from the Exchange

  Chapter 47 – The March on the Spire

  Chapter 48 – Poor Timing

  Chapter 49 – The Clash

  Chapter 50 – A Misfortunate End

  Chapter 51 – The Secret

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  There are few bonds as enduring as a childhood friendship, even under great pressure.

  — Alchemical Proverb

  B lack waves crashed through the rocky crags of the shoreline as the bay’s tidal surges dashed against the cliffs of Hatteras. The magnificent city sprawled along the coast, following the haphazard slope from the rocky beaches of the Basin all the way to the peak of the Spire.

  Chance sat upon the iron sea-wall, his eyes closed as he listened to the din rising from below. The power of the waves reverberated through the wall with each impact. It awakened in him an awful reverence toward the unfathomable f
orce within those darkened waters.

  The sun had yet to sink below the horizon, but the city’s electric lights were already coming on. Chance’s gaze followed their illuminated trail as it traced the cliffs around the bay. It astonished him the way Hatteras had been built, nestled carefully into the cliffs so that the city resembled a series of steps leading all the way to the top of the Spire—a plateaued overhang that towered over the bay.

  From the shipyard, Chance watched the iron barges coming in from the sea and great winged dirigibles ferry their precious cargos inland. He watched as one of the smaller ships lifted away from the boatyard and rose into the sky. The craft wasn’t much more than a wooden dinghy suspended under a balloon.

  Not a vessel intended for long travel, he judged.

  Its path curled along the crooked cliffs away from the Basin before it turned inland and was lost between the towering buildings. Chance suspected it was on its way to one of the upper markets, either to deliver some wanted commodity or to ferry some important gentleman.

  Septigonee’s guess as to whom or what.

  With the dinghy gone, Chance’s attention turned back to the sea. His reedy hands kept moving from his side to his vest pocket, each time patting it three or four times before returning to rest on the wall. The wait was murder. A half-hour had passed already and he was growing twitchy—and not just because a constable might spot him loitering.

  He noticed a fleck of briny rust on the wall and picked at it absentmindedly.

  The truth was he would wait through the evening if he had to. It had been nearly three months since he’d last seen his closest friend, Ringgold. Despite how he resisted letting it show, he’d missed him. He missed seeing him at school and the frequency with which they used to make trouble together.

  He expected the news tonight would determine just how long it would be until their next meeting.

  “Ahoy!” a voice called.

  Chance turned to see Ringgold climbing over the rocks. He was wearing his school uniform: crisp white trousers and a long-sleeved shirt. The sleeves were rolled up and he carried his coat draped over the crook of his arm.

  He carried a couple small bottles in his hands too. Struggling to keep his grip on them, he shot Chance a quick salute and Chance returned it.

  “Come off the wall,” Ringgold called. His voice hardly carried to Chance’s ears against the noise of the surf. “You’re not supposed to be up there.”

  “We’re not supposed to be here at all,” Chance responded.

  “I know. But it’s dangerous up there. You don’t want to get washed away, do you?”

  Chance smirked. He wasn’t in any real danger. The bay offered the safest harbor for leagues around, and only the rare rogue storm ever threatened to overtake the seawall. Nevertheless, Chance flicked the piece of rust into the waves and swung his legs around.

  “About time you showed up,” he said, dropping down on the rocky sand. “I was about to give up on you. Another ten minutes and I’d have bolted.”

  “No need to do that,” Ringgold said, embracing Chance. “It was difficult getting away tonight; most of the family came by to hear the news. I couldn’t excuse myself until father went out to the den for drinks. I did manage to smuggle a few bottles away for us.”

  Ringgold waved two plum colored bottles before him. Chance recognized the contents immediately: a potent violet liquor. The news must have been good.

  “By smuggled you mean asked politely for?” Chance quipped, taking one of the bottles.

  “Yes. Well, that’s my way I guess.” Ringgold laughed.

  They used the edge of the rocks to pry the caps away and each took a swig. The viscous liquid crept down Chance’s throat, burning as it went. Ringgold choked on his.

  “Careful now,” Chance warned. “We don’t need you knocking yourself out with this stuff.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Ringgold coughed.

  “It was good news then?”

  Ringgold grinned, and Chance suspected he was drawing out the suspense as long as he could.

  “And?”

  “You’re looking at the newest admittee to Hamilton Academy,” Ringgold said, flourishing his arm.

  Chance was taken aback. “The military institute?” he asked.

  “That’s the one,” Ringgold beamed. “Father is ecstatic! He hasn’t been off the wire for more than ten minutes since we heard from the Board. Mother is less excited, I think, though she wouldn’t admit it. She still has her heart set on me attending Solair and becoming a mechanist. She thought I’d make a fine engineer.”

  It was true. Ringgold had a knack for designing mechanisms. He’d received many endorsements in school over the years, and it was no doubt in part why Hamilton had taken an interest in him.

  Chance felt a familiar sense of jealousy pitting in his stomach.

  “I always thought that was what you wanted.”

  “It’s been a decent hobby growing up,” Ringgold admitted, “but they’re going to put me through an academy program. All I have to give them in return is my time.”

  “You mean your life.”

  “There haven’t been any real conflicts for a quarter of a century,” Ringgold reasoned. “Not since the Great War, anyways. I won’t be in any danger.”

  “But what about the colonies? What if they ship you off to Madura, or Aurora?”

  “I wouldn’t mind seeing a bit more of the world.”

  Chance’s brow furrowed. “Fine. But, even if you aren’t killed, you’ll be taking orders for the rest of your life. Do you really want to put up with that?”

  “Have a little faith,” Ringgold said. “I’m not planning to remain a foot soldier for long. I have a real opportunity to prove myself to the city. Nearly everyone in the meritocracy has some form of military background. I bet you I come back from my service an officer!”

  Chance turned his head and cursed under his breath. He couldn’t abide Ringgold’s veneration toward distinction.

  “Can’t you see it?” Ringgold asked, oblivious to Chance’s reaction. “An officer in the Navy. And who knows where that could lead? You never thought you’d see me in a naval uniform, did you?”

  “Actually, I always thought the costumes they gave you quite fitting,” Chance said. “You’ve always had that certain pomp needed to fill one. It comes naturally.”

  Ringgold frowned.

  “No, you’re right!” Chance jeered. “I don’t know why I didn’t see it before—you standing guard somewhere all shipshape and pretty. You’ll make a fine watchdog. In fact, I bet they recognize your talents in the first week and skip deploying you altogether. Perhaps they’ll have you following at the heels of some gentleman lord somewhere. That would be a great use of your time.”

  “Chance,” Ringgold said, his voice stern.

  “I know! Mention our friendship and maybe they’ll promote you on the spot. That’s almost six years experience babysitting already? Good luck to anyone trying to compete with that as a new recruit.”

  Chance took a bitter swig from his bottle.

  “The way you carry on, it’s little wonder you needed me to look after you all these years.”

  “Well, count yourself fortunate. That job won’t be yours anymore.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” Ringgold asked.

  “Don’t be daft. You know as well as I do Hamilton is on the Spire. You’ll move on and pursue your grand dream, and I’ll be left here in the Basin. This is the end of our friendship, and you’re acting like I should be excited.”

  “It’s not like I’m dying.” Ringgold said. “Just because I’m living on the Spire doesn’t mean our friendship has to end.”

  “But it will,” Chance sighed. “Sneaking away to the beach today is one thing, but there’s no way I’m getting near that place—even if I wanted to. And there’s no way you’ll be getting away to come back and visit with the regimen they’ll keep you under.”

  “So it might be a while till we see each oth
er next,” Ringgold shrugged. “That doesn’t negate the past few years, does it?”

  “No,” Chance conceded. “It’s just disappointing.”

  A heavy silence fell over them as the weight of the unknown future settled on them, interrupted only by sound of the waves. Neither knew what would happen, and it was suddenly difficult to talk about. They endured the awkward silence in the comfort of their bottles.

  Despite the mood, Chance chuckled at a thought and cast a sidelong grin at Ringgold.

  “You know, you and I could stir up some trouble on the Spire. You’ll be my inside man. Think of what mischief we could manage. Might be a lot of fun with the stakes raised.”

  Ringgold’s frown deepened.

  “Do you really think I’d pull one of our old stunts there?” he asked. “Septigonee’s Well, Chance! This isn’t a public program anymore. They’re offering me a prestigious future. I’m not going to jeopardize that for the sake of giving you a thrill.”

  “I didn’t mean it like that.”

  “Sure you didn’t,” Ringgold chuckled weakly, shaking his head. “Here’s a novel idea. Why don’t you try the conventional approach rather than jumping straight to planning a break-in? You still have a shot at an academy placement. Take an extra year to study. Refocus. Then reapply for the next term. Quit acting like you don’t care about the Board, and perhaps they’ll care a little more about you.”

  “It’s that simple, huh?” Chance asked, rolling his eyes.

  “I don’t see why it couldn’t be.”

  “The Board made it clear what they think of me when they stripped my endorsement. I’m not about to go back and grovel in front of them.”

  “So, don’t grovel. You show them you haven’t given up and that you’re ready to commit to a program. You’ve got talent. They know that. They’d have a hard time ignoring you if you just tried a little harder.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Sure you can,” Ringgold assured him. “I bet I can speak to our old mentors and ask them to recommend an appeal. And my father knows a few—”