A teaser. #amwriting #romance #scifi

A Teaser.

This is the start of my latest WIP. It's a steampunk space opera set in Dartmoor in the summer of 1893. There's a reason I can be that specific, but you'll have to wait for later to see it. It starts with the heroine arriving at her Uncle's house. Her family hopes the fresh air and clean environment will help slow the progression of the consumption that is carrying her off.

Consumption it is, but not in the way that is usually meant.

 (c) 2015  Amelia Treader.

Uncle Sylvester Receives a Visitor.

It was nearly dark when the pony-trap carrying Elizabeth from the station at Moreton Hampstead finally arrived at the farm at Barnecourt. Venus, the evening star, shown brightly in the dull orange band of the western sky. She presaged a clear and starry night. Nobody noticed when she winked out and fell to Earth with a quick bright streak of light. George Trent, Dr. Standfast's man-of-all-work, drove the trap to the front of a small farmhouse in the country not far from the isolated village of North Bovey on the outskirts of Dartmoor.

After stopping, he gently awakened his sleeping passenger, “Miss James? We're here.”

Elizabeth James, a slight young woman, dark haired and pale, with the gentle slight cough of incipient consumption, stirred. Her parents had arranged for her to visit her uncle. He lived and practised in the country, and they all hoped that the fresh air would suit her lungs better than the stale smutty air of London. They had waved goodbye as she boarded a train in Paddington in the morning, her first step in the longest journey of her life. London, to Bristol, to Exeter, and then on the stopping train to the end of the line at Moreton Hampstead. There she was met by her uncle's servant with a one-horse trap, and now, finally, she awoke in front of his house.

“We're here?”

“Yes, Miss. Let me tie the horse and I'll help you down.”

The clatter of their arrival brought Dr. Standfast to the door. Unusually tall, thin and surprisingly active for his sixty years, he shot out of the door and said, “Elizabeth! You've made it at last. How was your trip?”

Elizabeth replied, “Tiring.”

“I can see that, but are you feeling well. At least as well as can be?”

She gave a slight cough, and then said, “I think so.”

The cough made her uncle frown, “We'll see what we can do about your cough.”

“If you can do anything, Uncle Standfast, it will be more than the doctors on Harley Street could.”

Her uncle walked to the trap and offered a hand to help her down, “You should call me Sylvester. Uncle Sylvester if you must. We'll see, but I'm sure the fresh air and clean water of Dartmoor will help.”

A Designing Woman 4 for #wewriwar

More from the Steampunk book

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors.  This is a sample from my latest work in progress, "A Designing Woman", and I hope you enjoy it.  This is the start of the next chapter and introduces more of the family. Continuing from last week, Amanda's father and brother quiz her about the mysterious Mr. Williams.
(last weeks snippet).

---

 She laughed, “Don't get too far ahead in your hopes. He's studying for the ministry, and I somehow cannot see myself as a minister's wife. Could you imagine me doing everything Mrs. Peabody does?”

Privately, Lord Caterham had to admit that he couldn't see that either, but this was such a step in the right direction for his daughter that he wasn't about to throw the least bit of obstacle in its path. So he changed the subject, “Did Mr. Williams mention which college he was a member of?”

“New College, Freddie's; doesn't remember Freddy, though.”

“Who doesn't remember me?” Frederick found his way to the parlor, having dealt with the horses, or at least ensured that the stable hands were at their work.

Amanda regarded her brother with a mixture of affection and envy. Affection, because he was a likeable if somewhat flighty, young man, and envy, because he could attend university while she could not.

---

This is a work in progress. Here are links on tablo and authonomy.  Apparently Steampunk implies Victorian, Dieselpunk the 1920's. What-punk should a Regency period book be? Horse-punk isn't right.

Despite being told in no uncertain terms that "steampunk" meant Victorian with ubiquitous steam technology, I'm calling this steampunk, although given the amount of time they will later spend on the river, maybe "Steampunt" is better. Amanda is working on what will become the defining technology of the 19th century, steam. Although, a few things, like the Napoleonic war will get in the way.

A Teaser

This is from my WIP Steorrum (c) 2015 Amelia Grace Treader.
Cynric had previously gone to the stars as payment for curing his beloved from TB. He's come back home at the wrong time.

At the White Hart.

Dr. Bridget Heartney blearily scanned the menu at the White Hart. She said to her best friend Madge, “It's been twenty days quarantine. I did my twenty-three days in-country and when I came back, another twenty-three. Damn idiots.”
Madge, a new-age believer, nervously fingered the quartz crystal she wore from a silver chain around her neck and said, “Can't blame them. There's not much hope if you have that virus.”
“That's not true. Not if you aren't half starved before you catch it.”
“Still, they're scared. Afraid they might catch it from you.”
“That's truly daft. I mean it. You have to have body fluid contact. Not like that's going to happen here in Wroughton. Bloody stockbrockers.”
“You never know. Your aura says something's afoot. A big change in your life.”
Bridget ignored her friends superstitious worries and said, “Damn, I missed this bitter in Liberia. Even if it is just Courage.”
“You shouldn't drink that much, Bridge. Not good for you and,” she paused, “Your aura is showing red.”
“Stop it. What aura?” Bridget rather uncertainly, because two pints on an empty stomach is one too many for her, stood. She walked, almost stumbled, to the bar and placed her order. “Another pint of bitter, and a.”
“What, Dr. Bridget?”
She looked up at the barman. He seemed half her age, and she'd given him his school physical when she was newly qualified. “What's good?”
“It's all rubbish.”
“Then the bangers. Bangers, beans and chips. Tha's what lipitor is for, and I missed them.”
The man smiled at her. In exactly the way he'd smile at his mother. “Ta love. You're over at table four, with that crazy woman.”
“Madge isn't crazy. A bit odd, but not crazy.”
“If you say so. On the tab?”
“Why not? Thanks.” Then she walked back to the table with her friend. Miraculously, or perhaps from years of practice, she didn't spill her pint.
Bridget was halfway through her pint, and listening with barely concealed credulity to Madge telling her about the corn dolly's she'd left in Wayland's smithy and the Long barrow at Avebury when it happened.
“Come on Madge, you don't really believe that tripe, do you?”
“Tripe? I'll have you know this is the old religion, the way of the druids. It's you new believers that cause trouble. There were lights last night; didn't you see them? It is the coming of the new age for the old gods.”
“New believers? I don't believe in much of anything. We're just meat. When we die that's it.”
Madge looked at her friend and said in sorrow, “No, Bridge, there's more than that. You know it.”
“Maybe. Can't tell. Where's that damned banger and beans? Missed that in-country, more than you can possibly know.”
She was about to stand up and demand her food when the man came in. Tall, brown-haired, dressed in coarse linen and followed by a bobby, he looked completely lost.
“Is there something to eat? And some ale, mead?”

Bridget looked up, “Sound's Swedish or Danish. Most of them know English.” She stood up and walked to him. “Ale?”

He nodded, “Ale and food.”

Bridget nodded to the barman, “Get him a pint, and double that order of bangers. Where's mine, or do you have to kill the pigs first?”

“It's coming Dr. Heartney.”

“Good.” She turned to the bobby who was shadowing the man. “He's just a lost foreigner. Swedish or something like that. I'll look after him.” She looked at the man, “Probably an extra from some remake of Robin Hood, or a similar piece of dreck.”

“You sure?”

“Yes, lot's of Swedes in the MSF. Got on well with most of them.”

“Did they carry swords?”

“No, didn't need them. Good enough with their fists when it came to it. I'll keep him out of trouble.” Then she turned to the man and said, “This way.”
He seemed to understand and replied, “Fair maid, thank you for your kindness.”

“Whatever. Don't forget your pint.”

The man picked up the pint and drained it. “Another.”

“Thirsty much? Get him another, but I'll carry it. And hurry up with that food.”

“Yes, Dr. Bridget.”
Bridget thought, “I should never have encouraged them to use my first name,” but she took the pint and led the man to her table.

“This is my good friend Madge. What's your name?”

The man almost understood, so she tried again, slowly. “What, is, your, name?”

“I'm called Cynric son of Cedric.”

“Cynric Cedricson. I'm Bridget Heartney, well Dr. Heartney, but you can call me.”

“Bridget? Is it really you?” He grabbed her arm. Bridget could not help noticing the strength of his grip and the muscles in his arms.

A designing woman #2 for #WeWriWa

More from the Pre-steampunk book

Welcome to Weekend Writing Warriors.  This is a sample from my latest work in progress, "A Designing Woman", and I hope you enjoy it. Mr. Williams has come for a visit, the day after the assembly, and is now walking with Amanda on their way to the riverbank. They'd have seen her workshop, but for wearing their good clothes. He's just asked her about the papers he read (in last weeks snippet).

---

“What papers?”

“The ones in the library; I must say, you have a fine hand.”

“I hope you didn't mix them up, they were in order.”

“No, I could see that.” Then Mr. Williams gently chided her, “May I add, that 'Principles of Mechanics' is an unusual read for a young lady. I'd have thought 'the Mysteries of Udolpho' or some such romance would be to your liking.”

Amanda stopped short. She was about to reply sharply, and then noticed the smile on his face, “You're teasing me, aren't you?”

“Yes.”

“I never saw the point in those books, all heartthrob and passion in some made up land; I want to do real things.”

---

This is a work in progress. Here are links on tablo and authonomy.  Apparently Steampunk implies Victorian, Dieselpunk the 1920's. What-punk should a Regency period book be? Horse-punk isn't right.

Google's being dashed odd - the only way I can reply to comments is to edit the post. Oh well, there's always wordpress. Turns out, Google and Firefox don't get along on windows, but they do on my trusty Linux box.

I'm calling this proto-steampunk simply because I was told in no uncertain terms that "steampunk" meant Victorian with ubiquitous steam technology. Amanda's working before that and during the Regency, so it cannot be steampunk.

Aurora Springer’s latest release is GRAND MASTER’S GAME.

Blurb

Spin across the galaxy as Violet and her Grand Master hunt their enemies.

Cracks in the portal web threaten galactic civilization, and suspicions fall on the mysterious Grand Masters with their immense psychic powers. Once, there were twelve Grand Masters, humans and aliens, on the Council. Now there are eleven. One was killed when the young pawn, Violet, rescued her Grand Master, Athanor, from the Red Queen’s dungeon. The Red Queen fled the fight and now she lurks out of sight, regenerating her energies.

Athanor devises a risky plan to expose his enemies on the Council and force the Red Queen into the open. His strategy will employ Violet’s empathic skills as his secret weapon. Meanwhile, she wrestles with her erratic talents and doubts about their unequal partnership. In their search for revenge, they contend with the portal crisis, psychic traps and hostile aliens. In the inevitable battle of Grand Masters, Violet and Athanor each will face their worst nightmares. What is the sacrifice for victory?

Buy Link: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B0104OFJJ8

Book 1, Grand Master’s Pawn is discounted to 99c for July: http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00TP1N5PM

Excerpt:

The spinning ceased. They had arrived at the destination. Kondric pushed the portal door open and stepped out onto a narrow shelf of rock. An icy wind roared into the cylinder from a murky gray sky.

Kondric recoiled, yelling, “This isn’t Avalon!” A fit of coughing convulsed his face and he tottered on the edge of the cliff. The Grand Master grabbed his arm and pulled him back into the cylinder. Holding his breath, Kondric pulled on the headpiece of his suit.

The frigid air stunk of rotten eggs. Violet gagged and blocked her nose. She sensed Athanor expand his shield to envelop the three of them. As a further precaution, she reattached the breather on her suit.

“The atmosphere is deadly,” Athanor said.

The lights on the control panel clicked off. The portal had died. With a squeak of alarm, Violet gripped Athanor’s arm. They stood on an unknown frozen planet with a toxic atmosphere, overlooking a bottomless precipice.

“Where are we?” she breathed.

No one answered.

Standing at the rear of the precarious ledge, Violet leaned against Athanor’s warm body and squinted through the gloomy atmosphere. The portal perched on a cliff surrounded by roiling umber clouds. Frozen peaks stabbed into the horizon. Far below the clouds, blue green spikes protruded from a glassy blue lake. Ice pillars carved into fantastic shapes were reflected in the mirror of the lake.

Overhead, jagged lightning zipped from the ominous black clouds and struck the frozen peaks. A fountain of water vapor sprayed into the sky. Cracks snapped across a pillar of ice. The severed top tumbled slowly into the lake and the splash rippled outward in concentric circles. Winds roared through the peaks, spinning dark streaks of cloud across the sky towards their shaky perch.

The hazy black swirls fired an alarm in Violet’s mind. “Athanor, it’s the black dust. Port us out of here!” she shouted, fearing the clouds contained the horrid dust that suppressed his telekinesis.

“Hades!” he grunted. Quickly checking that they were linked together, the Grand Master tapped his insert and they flipped into the soundless void. To Violet’s amusement, Kondric’s mouth had frozen open in a cry of shock. She and Athanor had slipped into their customary half embrace.  

They popped out beside the teleportal cylinder in the central square of the main town of Avalon. Violet inhaled the flower-scented air and relaxed.

Bio:

Aurora Springer is a scientist morphing into a novelist. She has a PhD in molecular biophysics and discovers science facts in her day job. She has invented adventures in weird worlds for as long as she can remember. In 2014, Aurora achieved her life-long ambition to publish her stories. Her works are character-driven romances set in weird worlds described with a sprinkle of humor. Some of the stories were composed thirty years ago. She was born in the UK and lives in Atlanta with her husband, a dog and two cats to sit on the keyboard. Her hobbies, besides reading and writing, include outdoor activities like gardening, watching wildlife, hiking and canoeing.

Aurora has published science fiction romances in two series, two novellas and short stories. Her first series, Atrapako on Eden, describes the interactions of humans on the terraformed planet of Eden with scaled aliens from the hostile planet of Vkani. She has published two books in this series: The Lady is Blue and Dragons of Vkani. Her second series is Grand Master’s Trilogy. Book 1, Grand Master’s Pawn, and Book 2, Grand Master’s Game, have been published. Her short story, Gifts of Jangalore, is set in the Grand Masters’ Universe. Her standalone novellas are: A Tale of Two Colonies and Captured by the Hawk.

Media links:

Blog: http://AuroraSpringerNovels.blogspot.com/

Amazon: http://www.amazon.com/Aurora-Springer/e/B00K2C4NL8

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/pages/Aurora-Springer/885945434752937

Twitter: http://twitter.com/AuroraSpringer

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/101087717415198221200/posts