Revolt of the Perfectly Free

By Kim Flowers

In this steampunk version of American history, slavery was abolished during the American Revolution and Native Americans live in harmony with immigrants of all races. Steam-powered carriages and trains make travel easier, and automaton robots do manual labor such as planting crops. The government uses a mixture of native ways and democracy, with both a chief and a governor ruling over the state of Delaware. Across the ocean in Great Britain, the people live in a near-dystopia, and tyranny and inequality still reign.

Amelia Corn is the daughter of the governor of Delaware, and her best friend Two-Spirit is son of the Lenape chief. When a delegate from Great Britain arrives and threatens war unless the U.S. agrees to serve Queen Victoria under colonial rule again, Amelia and Two-Spirit know they must make sure this never happens. Amelia enlists the aid of Nadine, a beautiful slave of the British delegate, who organizes a revolt while the citizens attack the British ships. Two-Spirit’s boyfriend, the warrior Strong Arrow, completes their team and helps take out any traitors or enemies who get in their way.

Amelia falls in love with Nadine, whose family is an ocean away; Nadine doesn’t know if she has room in her heart for romance. Two-Spirit becomes both shaman and warrior, which makes Strong Arrow insecure; he faces ridicule from his father because of who he loves. And the biggest threat of all is the might of the entire British Imperial Navy, rumored to be headed to Delaware to set up a stronghold for Queen Victoria to rule.

Can Amelia and her friends defeat their enemies or will they be torn apart, victims of a failed attempt at perfect freedom?

Contains the stories Amelia's Revolution, Two-Spirit's Red Road, Nadine's Voyage, and Strong Arrow's Warpath.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Independent Publishers Group
• Release date: Aug 19, 2020
• ISBN: 9781646564125

Book preview

Warpath

Amelia’s Revolution

Two-Spirit held a wooden bowl high and slammed it on the raccoon-hide blanket on the ground. The bone dice inside jumped. I win! He adjusted his soft brown robe, which was cut in a style that would befit either a man or a woman. His hair fell in black curtains to his shoulders. Would you like to play again?

I didn’t know Two-Spirit’s real name, even though he was my best friend. Only his close family and name-giver knew. Like him, sometimes I didn’t dress according to normal gender roles. Today I wore a style that had first become popular across the ocean: black pants, a white, long-sleeved dress shirt with a high-stand collar, and a gray Mulrooney vest. My blonde hair was pulled back into a long braid.

"Brother!" Two-Spirit’s sister Fawn appeared in the doorway of their longhouse, calling for him in the Lenapé language. He and I were playing mamandin just outside. "Father needs you."

He scratched around his newest tattoo, a turtle on his arm. "I’ll be right there."

I stood and switched to their native tongue, as well. "I should see what my own father is doing."

Bye, Amelia.

I left the longhouse and passed several more. Some of the homes belonged to Lenni Lenape families, and others to those whose ancestors were from Europe, Africa, or Asia. I’d been raised in a true melting pot of the best features of many multicultural beliefs. We lived in Lewes, the capital of Delaware, a coastal city with a diverse mixture of those from Lenni Lenape tribes, people of European, African, and Asian descent, and younger generations which were uniquely American.

My father was the governor, and Two-Spirit’s father the sachem, or chief. The position was not like that of a king, where a son would automatically inherit the position of his father, but it was likely that Two-Spirit’s father still might designate him as his successor one day. The sachem and governor worked together to make sure the cultures of not only our city, but our entire state, continued to flourish. Two-Spirit was a year older than I, seventeen, and had just completed training to be a healer. Sometimes he suggested I consider it, but I thought I would do better as a counselor. People like us were supposed to be especially good at those kinds of things. I was shocked when I learned that, across the ocean, people with spirits which did not always match their physical bodies were jailed, or even worse.

The groups of longhouses I passed were mostly occupied by farmers, hunters, or those who simply liked to live close to Mother Earth. As I strolled down the dirt path towards the city proper, a steam-powered planter driven by an automaton rolled through a field to my left. I walked for almost a mile past several more engines working the fields until the surroundings became more urban than rural.

The majority of buildings were now European-style. This is where Father and I lived, amongst cobblestone streets crowded with people, horses, and carriages. Merchants of all sorts preferred the crowded city to the longhouse communities. The fire engine rushed past; it was known to race blindly to fires regardless of anyone in its way. I jumped to avoid it, and bumped into a portly man.

He grunted, barely glancing at me. Watch where you’re going, boy.

I smiled. That’s ‘girl,’ Mr. Pickett.

The man I’d hit had run against my father for election and lost. Mr. Pickett turned to face me, adjusting his eyeglass and top hat. Oh, Amelia, I should have known. It’s so nice to see the daughter of the state’s leader dressed as a gent when she isn’t running round with the heathens.

I frowned. If you don’t like it, go back across the ocean.

I stormed away, but soon pushed the encounter out of my mind. Most people here were not like Mr. Pickett. I honestly had no idea why he would bother staying in this country if he liked the tyrannical English way of life. Great Britain used to rule the U.S. colonies, but our country had been free for two generations now—no more persecuting the gender-queer, no more slavery, and no more slaughtering the natives.

After walking a few more minutes, I reached the brick house where Father and I lived. As I walked in the front door, my automaton whirred down the hall at top speed holding a red dress that looked far too silky and ruffled and uncomfortable for my liking.

No, Nickey! I stepped past his cylindrical body (as a child I had decided Nickey was a boy), but his box-like head spun round. Somehow the one black hole there was capable of following my every move. He raised the dress higher in his metal arms and rolled after me, gears clicking and whirring. He couldn’t speak. But it was obvious, once he latched himself to the banister and slid past me as I walked upstairs, that Father had programmed Nickey to put this dress on me come hell or high water.

Oh, hang it. Is something important going on?

Of course, I received no reply. In my bedroom, Nickey grabbed a hairbrush from the bedside table. I waved him away impatiently, and wondered why Father wanted me to dress so hideously today.

I could never oblige myself to be suffocated in a corset, so I wore leather underclothes beneath my long, flowing dress. After transforming my hair into a mass of soft curls, Nickey was satisfied and rolled away, leaving me to squeeze into tight black shoes with three-inch heels and straps that wound up my calves.

Father’s voice drifted upstairs. Amelia, are you home?

I decided to rush happily to meet him instead of plodding. Father!

You look lovely. We have a very important function to attend.

I forced myself not to slump. Do I really have to go? Two-Spirit’s initiation ceremony is tonight.

I’m afraid his ceremony will have to wait. It was only then I realized Father was sweating. He rushed past me to his library, still talking, so I followed as fast as my pinching shoes would allow. A delegate from Great Britain arrived today with a message from Queen Victoria. I can only imagine what sort of message it might be, and we’ll need Two-Spirit’s father and all our other top leaders at the capitol building.

Why on earth would they come here and not New York City?

Father chuckled. They didn’t intend to arrive here first, but seem to have lost their bearings. It must be a common trait amongst our ancestors.

I shrugged and resigned myself to a boring evening. But as Two-Spirit’s father was considered just as important as mine, I knew at least I would be with my best friend.

Father and I soon got into our horseless carriage, foregoing the usual riding goggles. Father’s automaton, Hack, drove us across town to the state capitol. Father and I were supposed to live there, but we preferred the house where we’d been all my life. Mother’s memory was there. She died of cholera just before my eleventh birthday, two years before Father became governor. Father could potentially remain in office for years, and we didn’t want to leave Mother behind.

* * * *

The sun set as we arrived at the grand capitol building. A slew of other carriages, horses, people, and automatons crowded the front entrance. I didn’t think too often about the privileges of being the governor’s daughter, but in this case, we were spared the crowds and entered the building through a back door.

Inside the spacious ballroom, I spotted Two-Spirit and his father, Eagle Eye, sitting at the head table. I passed many other tables to join them, swishing my skirt. Our table seated twenty people, and was filled with other office-holders. Two chairs remained empty; one for my Father, the other for our guest of honor.

You look delighted to be here, I said, attempting a British accent.

Overjoyed. If Two-Spirit was disappointed his night was ruined, he hid it well. He wore healer’s robes and his hair looked beautiful, adorned with feathers and beads.

For several minutes Two-Spirit and I chatted in Lenapé while the room filled with local leaders. Father circled the room, shaking hands. Suddenly Mr. Pickett appeared at the door, and the entire room hushed.

I looked closer and realized it wasn’t really Mr. Pickett, but someone who looked remarkably similar, right down to the eyeglass and hat.

Ah, Father said. I am Governor John Corn. Please, be seated at our head table.

The man frowned. This is all very unorthodox. Is there no one here to announce me?

For once, my father looked flustered. Why, we all know who you are. But if custom dictates…ladies and gentlemen, may I announce the emissary for Queen Victoria, Sir Joseph Pickett.

I smirked at Two-Spirit. This man didn’t look like a knight one whit. He was surely related to our loveable Mr. Pickett, though. As he moved into the room, I gasped. Several African people followed. Though dressed exquisitely, it was plain as day they were slaves.

I lowered my gaze in shame. My ancestors were responsible for trying to bring this way of life to America, but we had overthrown it. How dare this man shove his immorality in our faces?

When I looked up again, I lost my breath. The slaves were following the man to our table. They were male and female, and one of the girls looked about my age. I caught her eye, and thought I could happily drown inside it. Her eyes were rich brown, her braided hair adorned with flowers, her dress every bit as fancy and uncomfortable as mine.

The slaves stood behind Sir Pickett as he took his seat.

I stood immediately and held my arm out to the beautiful girl. "You can