Rollstar

By Scott Beynon

The ancient kingdoms of The Wheel are lit not by a sun, but by rollstars, great ovals of light that rotate around the hub in the sky. When they start going out, Sahaar’s world will never be the same. The little kingdom ruled by her grandmother is thrown into chaos: the ailing queen is overthrown in a coup and Sahaar is forced to run for her life.

With her pet fox as her only companion, Sahaar follows the directions she receives in a mysterious message and travels to a location far outside the kingdom. There she meets Izumi, a girl with porcelain skin who has been asleep for hundreds of years. Izumi is a synthetic person, the product of technology that to Sahaar is like magic.

Pursued by bounty hunters and attacked by crazy machines who want to ‘clean’ her, Sahaar and her friends must journey beyond the boundaries of The Wheel and uncover the secret of the dying rollstars before the world descends into darkness forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Scott Beynon
• Release date: Aug 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9780648837022

Scott Beynon

Scott Beynon writes fiction for children and young adults. Rollstar (now re-titled Princess Sahaar) was his debut novel. Prior to writing Rollstar, he worked as a teacher and business analyst. Now semi-retired (meaning mostly unemployed), he writes novels and screenplays and dabbles in creating 3D digital art for video games and films.

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Rollstar

Scott Beynon

Published by Scott Beynon at Smashwords

Copyright © 2020 by Scott Beynon. All Rights Reserved.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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No part may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication data:

Beynon, Scott 1964-

Rollstar / Scott Beynon

ISBN 978-0-6488370-2-2

First Published 2020

Cover © Kim Dingwall

Contents

Chapter One: The Stars

Chapter Two: The Princess Sahaar

Chapter Three: Primes

Chapter Four: A New Day

Chapter Five: Intermission

Chapter Six: Drifter

Chapter Seven: Days of Wander

Chapter Eight: The Island

Chapter Nine: The Underworld

Chapter Ten: The Cleaners

Chapter Eleven: The Ghost in the Machine

Chapter Twelve: Dark Skies

Chapter Thirteen: The Rescue

Chapter Fourteen: Flight

Chapter Fifteen: The Roof of the World

Chapter Sixteen: A Bright White Light

Chapter Seventeen: The Queen

About the Author

Chapter One: The Stars

Mr Baggle was a bore. But he had certain weaknesses that could be exploited. For example, if Sahaar got to the drawing room where she had her lessons early enough, she would move his favourite chair next to the window. During the long afternoon, while Sahaar was supposed to be diligently doing her maths exercises, Mr Baggle would retire to this chair and bask in the warm light streaming through the window – and promptly fall asleep, leaving Sahaar to wander off to play with her pet fox, Foxglove, in the palace gardens.

It was a cunning tactic. Unfortunately, today she had arrived late and missed her chance. Mr Baggle’s chair was still behind his desk and Mr Baggle himself was stunningly alert.

You’re chewing your pencil again, my lady.

It helps me think, Mr Baggle.

Mr Baggle sighed mightily. It is, however, rather hard on the pencils.

Sahaar spat the wet, gnawed little pieces into her hand. Actually, she rather liked maths, but Mr Baggle’s teaching method emphasised correctness, while Sahaar preferred a more exploratory approach. Take this question: if the distance to the mountain is ten kilometres, and the angle of inclination is thirty degrees, find the height of the mountain, x. Well, finding the height was all well and good, but what was at the top of the mountain? What could you see from the summit? And, most important of all, why was x trying to climb it in the first place? These considerations, among many others, captured her imagination.

How do they make pencils, exactly?

Really, my lady?

Hmmph. It was Sahaar’s turn to sigh. She leaned back in her chair and gazed out the window. The sky was bright blue. She watched little motes of dust drift over the sill, winking out of sight as they passed into shadow. The light outside dimmed. The motes faded from view entirely. Somewhere a dog started barking.

Puzzled, Sahaar got up and went to the window. Behind her, Mr Baggle said something, but she didn’t hear his words. The world outside had descended into gloom, like an overcast day, but there wasn’t a cloud to be seen. Below in the courtyard one of the maids was frozen in the act of hanging up the washing, clothes pegs between her teeth, gazing up at the sky.

Sahaar looked up too. Far in the distance lay a range of razor-sharp mountains; beyond them, the world disappeared behind a gauzy curtain. To left and right the mountains curved up and away in a subtle arc, and the land below, a rumpled quilt of wheat fields, forest glades and orchards, gradually rose to meet them. The maid appeared to be fixated on the hub in the sky: the cylindrical core around which the whole world turned. Embedded in the hub was a line of rollstars – pools of liquid yellow light – running along invisible tracks around its circumference. It was early afternoon now and the rollstars had passed over – later they would disappear around the curve of the hub and night would fall.

Suddenly cool, Sahaar shivered. The noise of the city outside the palace walls receded, like someone had turned the volume down on a phonograph. What the heck was going on? Sahaar craned her neck out further and twisted her head to see what the maid was looking at. The central rollstar above was a translucent shell, like a cataract in a blind eye – its light had gone out.

As she watched, jagged streaks of light flashed across the rollstar’s surface, sparking and crackling with energy. The streaks fizzled out and stopped, to be followed by a thunderous boom that slapped the air and caused it to vibrate like a plucked string. Sahaar flinched. A flock of blackbirds erupted from a palace turret and flew off spinward.

The rollstar brightened a little, then a little more, and then it flared back to normal, stinging her eyes. She pulled her head in quickly. The sky brightened and the air started to warm up again; the bustle of the city returned.

The maid looked in Sahaar’s direction, the expression on her face unreadable, then she turned back to the washing, pulling a peg from her mouth with a trembling hand.

Unnoticed, Mr Baggle had come up behind Sahaar. His forehead was creased with concern. He placed a hand gently on her shoulder.

Lessons are over for today, Princess. Perhaps you should go back to your room.

Chapter Two: The Princess Sahaar

It could take a long time for Sahaar to dress in the mornings. Today there were silk undergarments, white stockings, a pair of velvet ankle boots with brass buckles, an embroidered green dress, a silver frock coat with gold buttons, and an impressive assortment of rings, necklaces, bracelets, hairpins and brooches, all polished and pressed and carefully laid out by her handmaid, Lizzie, on the divan in her bedroom. Sahaar ignored it all. Instead, she pulled on a pair of old trousers she had hidden at the back of the closet, a floppy white shirt and her favourite pair of lace-up boots, which she had pilfered from an unlucky squire in the guardhouse. A driver’s cap completed the look: with her chestnut curls tucked away under the cap she looked like a rather clean stable boy. Sahaar would deign to wear dresses if she must – although she drew the line at stockings. Today, however, she had plans, and a dress simply would not do.

Turning to the window, she lifted the catch on the sill and crawled out onto the roof shingles. Sliding down to the gutter, she rolled over and inched out over the ledge, her feet instinctively finding purchase on the brackets that held the drainpipe. She shimmied down and ten seconds later was on the ground.

She turned about to find Foxglove sitting in front of her licking his paws. He wasn’t allowed to sleep in her room and had to make do with a basket under the stairs. But they were peas in a pod.

Heard me climbing out the window, did we?

Foxglove looked up at her from under half-lidded eyes and yawned.

Yes, you are very smart.

The next bit could be tricky. The palace wall was twenty metres away and there were few trees on this side of the building to provide cover. To make matters worse, the young captain of the guards, Alden, was practising his swordplay among the rose bushes, dead-heading the spent buds with a deft snick-snack of his blade. If the gardener caught him, Alden would be the one losing his head. He saw her and waved.

Morning, Princess.

Alden was new to the palace, having recently replaced the ancient former captain who had died on duty – still standing – propped up against the battlements. Alden didn’t always address her with the proper deference. Sahaar found this both refreshing and strangely vexing.

Best to ignore him. In fact, she’d found that the secret to going unnoticed was not looking like she was hiding. Nothing said up to no good like furtive crouching. Sahaar stuck her nose in the air and wandered innocently among the bushes; Foxglove smelt the flowers. They walked back and forth but always outwards until they reached the base of the wall. Quickly, they trotted down a gentle slope and followed a hedge that ran along the side of a drainage channel. The water trickled under the stonework and exited the grounds through a metre-high culvert. With one last look around, Sahaar climbed through the hedge and down into the ditch. An iron grate blocked her passage but Sahaar had previously bent several rusted rods back with her boot. Foxglove had already squeezed through and she quickly followed. She emerged at the edge of what was once a deep moat but was now just a rocky pond. Sahaar jumped from rock to rock towards the other bank and then sprinted across a cobbled square into the cover of a laneway. She was free – at least until lunchtime when her appearance would be expected in the kitchen.

The palace was built on top of a hill that overlooked a series of terraced avenues running down to Pasha Canal, one of several waterways that crisscrossed the city. The streets were slowly filling up: civil servants dressed in frock coats and buttoned shirts were going to work, maids carrying wicker baskets were off to do the shopping, and there were some children about – although it was still too early for school. A gang of sullen youths was loitering in the shadow of the church of St Gerome. One of the boys, who she had sometimes played with when she was younger, beckoned to her, but she pretended not to notice. He had tried to kiss her once, but she had punched him in the nose and that had been the end of that.

Sahaar skipped along the sidewalk past prim courtyards filled with roses and buttercups. Foxglove ran on ahead, zigzagging from side to side as he was distracted by a dozen interesting scents. A soft breeze carried the sounds of the city: a bell, a whistle, an animal bellowing, a baby crying. The streets smelt of wood smoke and the musty tang of wet stone.

She cut through Albestrasse – more of a gap between buildings than a street – laughing as drops of water splashed on her cap from washing strung on clotheslines above. They turned left into Bernauer Lane and followed the cobblestone path along the edge of a waterway down to the tram stop on Rosenstrasse. A rickety tram was just pulling in and she bought a ticket with a few pennies she had won playing cards with Alden. Pets were permitted to travel as long as they were carried. Foxglove growled as Sahaar scooped him up into her arms.

Don’t give me that. You insisted on coming.

Sahaar took a seat behind two old ladies wearing pink bonnets that teetered atop piles of carefully coiffed hair. Half listening, half daydreaming as she gazed out the window, she caught snatches of their conversation.

… and I need to buy something for Penelope. It’s her birthday on Sunday. She’ll be eight. Can you imagine?!

… he said he just ran into her at the teahouse. Of course, we all know the truth …

"… she died, poor thing. I read about it in the Gazette. The cat found her …"

… and the cost! The Queen is raising taxes again! I mean, what is the purpose of this thing? So what if a rollstar blinks a little from time to time? The other stars are fine.

Instantly, Sahaar’s ears pricked up at the mention of her grandmother.

… and scientists meddling in things we don’t understand. Mark my words, the Queen will be the ruin of us all. And the price of silk has gone up again! How will I ever find the money to finish my new ball gown?

The other lady nodded in agreement, the rolls of flesh around her neck wobbling. Sahaar leaned in to hear more.

You heard about the tower they built in Holster? Trying to reach the sky. Ridiculous! Well, it caught fire and fell over. This thing will crash and burn, too, no doubt. We can only hope it lands on the palace.

Sahaar had only intended to eavesdrop, but this was too much! The words tumbled out of her mouth even before she knew she had spoken.

Are you mad? Didn’t you see the rollstar yesterday? Are we all going to sit here like mushrooms in the dark while the stars go out?

Stiffly the two ladies turned around and glared. The one who had spoken ill of the Queen looked her up and down and sniffed.

Sahaar opened her mouth to say more but the other passengers on board had turned to look at her too. She couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself. She scrunched down into her seat and pulled Foxglove’s tail across her face.

Harrumphing, the women turned around to face the front again. The fat-necked one leaned towards her companion and whispered loudly, What a rude boy!

Sahaar jumped off at the next stop and put Foxglove down. They continued the rest of the way on foot. Sahaar felt light-headed – she had just defended her grandmother, a strange notion if ever there was one. Hesitantly she looked up. The rollstar that had blinked yesterday seemed as bright and fierce as ever. Maybe the Queen really was overreacting?

But this wasn’t the first one. Lustreless grey spaces showed where other rollstars in the distant, or not so distant, past had failed. Sahaar tried to remember the time when the polestar, the most distant one above the range of mountains, had failed three years before. She had just turned ten. But there had been no birthday celebration that year. Her grandmother spent long nights in private sessions with her councillors, and from her bedroom window Sahaar watched a seemingly endless procession of alchemists and engineers roll up to the palace gate carrying charts and telescopes and looking flustered. At first, Sahaar pestered her tutors with questions, but no-one wanted to talk to her about it. The cook baked her favourite dessert of apple dumplings for her birthday, then took her aside and told her not to worry, Her Majesty would fix everything. Later it occurred to Sahaar that no-one answered her questions because no-one had any answers. Adults were like this.

They arrived at Jaffa Gate – a large gatehouse that marked the counter-poleward boundary of the city – and joined a steady stream of pedestrians, horses, pigs, chickens and carts passing underneath the fortification. Once through, they were officially outside the city limits. The road sloped gently downhill through fields of wheat and groves of lemons and olives. In the distance the road crossed over Leopold Canal, one of several ribbons of shining water that literally circled the world. Boats from the countryside slowly ploughed through the water, their triangular sails flapping gently.

Spoiling the rustic view was the airship hangar. It had been plonked down like a gigantic pumpkin in the middle of a wheat field. Built on the foundations of an abandoned amphitheatre, the massive structure measured one hundred and fifty metres across and three hundred metres long and, at sixty metres high, it towered over even the walls of the city. Brickwork extended upwards from the remains of the original sandstone archways of the theatre and a roof of wooden beams and shingles had been erected to cover the arena floor. The roof was now being dismantled to get the soon-to-be completed airship out. A small township of tin sheds had sprung up around the hangar: workshops, warehouses and temporary dwellings for the army of builders, engineers and scientists who worked on the project.

Sahaar and Foxglove left the roadway that led to the main gate of the complex and cut through an olive grove, joining up with a path that wound down to the rear of the little tin township. The path ended at an elm tree and the remains of a church. Wisteria grew over exposed rafters, creating a shady grotto inside what was left of the building. The day was warming up now and the air was humming with the beating of tiny wings.

Foxglove would attract unwanted attention to her if he followed her any further. Sahaar took his face in her hands. Stay here. Don’t let the farmers see you and don’t eat any frogs with yellow legs. They always make you sick.

Foxglove’s brows knitted together.

I know, I know, I’ve led you astray. You thought we were going to have some fun in the city. I promise we will do something you want to do tomorrow, okay? Sahaar tried to rub his tummy but he squirmed away. He would sulk for a bit, on principle.

Oh look, rabbit burrows!

Sahaar left Foxglove scratching at the entrance to a burrow and sneaked off to the elm tree. From a hollow in the trunk she retrieved a red cap she had hidden there. On its peak, a maid at the palace had stitched a star – the insignia of the Queen. Sahaar had pinched it from the completed stack while the maid was away having lunch. She crammed it into the pocket of her trousers.

Gaining access to the hangar required subterfuge. Luckily, the airship was quite the tourist attraction. A ring of booths encircling the site did a brisk trade selling tickets to sightseers. Groups led by guides in red caps left regularly to tour the site and gawp at the thing inside – and to trip over cables, get in the way and