The Man in the Mask: A'lle Chronicles

By Marcelle Dube

A short story in the A'lle Chronicles.

Violet Stanhope defies her despised uncle to go on the long, arduous journey to the Klondike, but she spends the entire trip looking over her shoulder. Though she suspects him of sending a tracker after her, she will stop at nothing to fulfill her sister's final request, even if it means risking her life.

Once she reaches the Yukon, however, her troubles truly begin and she finds herself at the mercy of a mysterious masked man and his strange, mechanical dogs.

Will he help her with her mission—or will he kill her?

A short story steeped in classic pulp style with a hint of steampunk influence, The Man in the Mask is set a few years before the events of Backli's Ford.

Originally published under the pen name Emma Faraday in the anthology Masked Mosaic: Canadian Super Stories, by Tyche Books.

About Marcelle Dubé:
In the A'lle Chronicles, Marcelle Dubé creates a fascinating alternate past that includes the alien A'lle living among humans. Backli's Ford introduces the first A'lle investigator in Lower Canada. Dubé's fiction titles also include the Mendenhall Mysteries series and standalone fantasy novels Jilimar, Kirwan's Son and Obeah.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Falcon Ridge Publishing
• Release date: Apr 3, 2014
• ISBN: 9780993666827

Marcelle Dube

Marcelle Dubé writes mystery, science fiction, fantasy, contemporary and—occasionally—romance fiction. She grew up near Montreal and after trying out a number of different provinces (not to mention Belgium) she settled in the Yukon, where people outnumber carnivores, but not by much. Her short stories have appeared in magazines and award-winning anthologies. Her novels include the Mendenhall Mystery series (a number of her short stories are also set in the world of Mendenhall Chief of Police Kate Williams) and The A'lle Chronicles, as well as standalone fantasy and mystery titles. Her work is available in print and in electronic format. To find out more about Marcelle, visit her at www.marcellemdube.com.  

Book preview

The Man in the Mask

Marcelle Dubé

1

Violet stood at the prow of the airship, which floated a hundred feet above the tallest spruce tree, and looked out at the Klondike River Valley and the mountains flanking it. As far as she could see, the world was forest, snow, and frozen river. Not a house to be seen, or a bank, or a blasted factory.

Uncle George would have a fit if he could see her now.

He had objected to her journey to the Yukon, refusing to give his blessing to her fulfillment of Felicity’s last wish. Violet had fully expected to see an A’lle finder on her trail long before now. She had watched carefully, but once she left Upper Canada, she’d scarcely seen any of the strange beings. Nor had she seen any A’lle in Dawson City.

For the first time since Mama and Papa died, the sense of loss lifted somewhat and she felt free. Almost at peace. Even the air, cold as it was, smelled fresh, untainted by coal or oil.

With the beaver hat covering her forehead and ears, goggles covering her eyes, and the cashmere scarf attempting to keep her nose, cheeks, and chin warm, she might yet make it to the dredge without freezing to death. Some back home would frown to see the serviceable fur cap replace her black felt mourning hat with its veil and fashionable feathers, and they'd be positively aghast to know she wore woolen trousers beneath her full skirt. She had, however, kept the corset.

Miss Stanhope! Captain Frankel stood in the doorway of the so-called passenger lounge and stared at her. Miss Stanhope, what are you doing out here? Come inside!

She wanted to assure him that though she was from York she was not afraid of a little fresh air. Or, in this case, a great deal of fresh air. I will, Captain. In a moment. You must allow me this. She waved a hand at the river valley, which spread out like a roll of rich green velvet on a bed of white satin. For you, this sight is commonplace, but I have never seen anything half so grand.

The captain hesitated in the doorway, hatless, gloveless, and clearly cold. Only a sheepskin coat allowed him to brave the outdoors. I am responsible for your safety, he said at last.

She smiled at him. I promise I will not fall overboard. I would not like to crash, however.

His stubbled face grew ruddy. Crash?

She waved her fur muff at the enormous bag above them. You are not piloting, she pointed out