Lorelei and the Airship: Lorelei Wright, #1

By Vic Malachai

Lorelei scrambles through the streets of Southampton, where the great airships are built. There is treasure in the trash bins of the rich for those clever and brave enough to scavenge it. Guards prowl the streets, though Lorelei is far too fast for them to catch. But the winter winds blow cold, pushing her ward to the brink of starvation, and orphans are always the last to be served. Hope comes in the form of a broadside—the Imperial Navy is looking for young boys and girls. The Navy always has food, and a chance to see the skies of the world as a ship's rat.

 

The Dauntless, flagship of the fleet, is a wonderland. Her great sails billow high above the lifting balloon, and far below brass engines gobble coal. Lorelei explores the ship, runs messages, and climbs through the massive balloon and up the rigging perilously high in the sky. She and her fellow rat Bobby visit exotic ports and dodge pirate attacks. They are determined to make their new lives last forever by earning entrance to the exclusive Anglish Imperial Naval Academies. For a ship's rat has only a few short years to prove her worth or be unceremoniously dumped back on the ground.

 

When the Dauntless is recalled to Londinium to escort Crown Prince William to a war ending marriage with a foreign princess, a chance meeting brings new possibilities. Tom, a royal servant on the run from his own duties, is taught to play the part of a ship's rat. Emboldened by their success, they conspire to map the vents of the Dauntless. This opens the forbidden passenger decks for exploration, and gives them the key to the ship's inner workings. It's the chance of a lifetime, but discovery will see them all groundside for life.

 

Just three weeks from Londinium to Miyako. What could possibly go wrong?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vic Malachai
• Release date: Jan 17, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201442224

Vic Malachai

I started writing with my sister and a friend of ours back in high school. We enjoyed it and even finished one of our projects. One day in the bookstore I picked up a book and thought, even I could do better than this! Now I write in-between dodging grad school classes, baking, and wasting time exploring other people's worlds.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE—REDBRIDGE AND BASSETT

Lorelei scrambled through the streets of Southampton, running past the murals with their fading colors. The autumn air plucked at her shirt and she could feel the cobbles of the street through the thin places in her shoes. She would need a new pair soon, or at least, new to her. She hadn’t ever had new shoes and these had been bought in slightly worse condition than the shoes she usually got. Her uncle had brought them back from the market last spring. It didn’t take long for the bottoms to become thin enough for Lorelei to feel every dip in the texture of the streets as she ran. She probably should have claimed that they were too tight and made her uncle get a new pair. He never minded when she outgrew the shoes. It wasn’t like he had paid good silver for them—just traded in her last pair. But the shoes were now too worn to trade back to the market because no one would take them. That meant that the next pair would cost a silver, or at least a couple of coppers. And that Uncle would care about.

It was one of the reasons that Lorelei was in ritzy Bassett Ward alone. Normally, she would be home in Redbridge, down by the wharves, and there she was never alone. There was a pack of fifty others between the ages of eight and thirteen that owned her ward, and could be found in all the common areas like the edges of the port and market...but they were all scared of Bassett. Like Redbridge, Bassett was near the water, but on the far side of the port. Redbridge made the airships that took off from the great spires that brushed the clouds. Bassett housed the people who owned the airships, with their hotels, fancy shops, and restaurants. It would have been easier for Lorelei to get to the merchant’s district, Stonewall, where the airships actually docked, and her kind was—albeit grudgingly—allowed. But even the merchants didn’t throw out shoes with good leather left in them. It was against their creed to let goods go to waste. No, the only district where golden trash could be found was Bassett, where Lorelei had been born.

Not that Lorelei went back often. It was two streetcar hitchhikes and three long walks away. If she really remembered her mother and the time she had spent there, maybe, but her only clear memories were of laughter in the sunny park. Lorelei’s mother had been a maid at the Bassett Lodge, the largest, swankiest hotel in Southampton. Polished grey stone on the outside and white painted wood on the inside, the Lodge was so big that it had its own air-spire for small airships—the only private one in town. Patty had been a pretty woman—not much more than a girl really—pretty enough to work on the upper floors where the patrons tipped well. She only needed to work a couple of extra nights at one of the nicer taverns near the border to Stonewall to afford the little flat where she lived with Lorelei. Her family considered her to have done quite well for herself, even with a bastard baby.

But Lorelei could barely remember that happy time. A sickness had swept through the town when she was four years old, claiming one in twenty, young and old alike. One in ten were left with scaly patches on their skin where the blisters had formed over each other and never healed quite right. People had blamed the Oyashim, at the time. But with the war with the Oyashima Empire dragging on into its third decade, just about everything was blamed on the Oyashim. Lorelei neither knew nor cared whether it had been brought by a warship, trade ship, or crawled up from the sewers with the rats. Her mother was dead at twenty-two, and Lorelei was shoved to the back of an already crowded flat in Redbridge with her uncle.

Still, a handful of times a month, Lorelei would find herself back in the shadow of the Lodge, wondering if she would be one of the littlest serving girls in the black dresses with the frothy white lace if the pox had never come. But today was not for sitting in the sunny park. Today was for shoes, to get them and get back before she was missed at dinner, and the bins behind the Lodge weren’t a bad place to start. The trash in Bassett was always much more interesting than in Redbridge or the port, if you could get it. The neighborhood coppers took a rather dim view of rats from Redbridge in their district at all, let alone digging through their trash. Never mind the fact that it was trash and would soon be hauled away to be burned, they would chase an unwary boy or girl with a billy club and a scowl. But Lorelei knew that the guards on this particular street would leave midafternoon to get a drink at The Sky Shanty. An hour before the next shift arrived was more than enough time to pick the trash bins clean.

The Lodge cast deep shadows into the narrow space between the buildings. None of the nobles or posh folk would ever spot her. Lorelei moved down the row of wooden bins, one street and then another. A picture frame, only a little cracked. A pair of spectacles, that for the life of her, Lorelei couldn’t figure what was wrong with them. A locket with a rose etching that might have even been real silver. A hand mirror with a single chip in the silvering. A glass ball with funny shapes painted on it in green and blue. The haul would have been worth a fortune to an urchin if Lorelei could sell the stuff properly. The only merchants or traders who would take it were the fences, and she was sure they were cheating her. The legitimate businesses wouldn’t touch it, convinced that it had to be stolen. No one in their right minds threw out those kinds of things. Lorelei was convinced that they were right. Bassett was completely insane. It took her most of the afternoon to find a pair of shoes. They had belonged to a servant, made of scuffed brown leather. A noble’s servant considering how ‘worn out’ was considered useless, and made for feet much bigger than Lorelei’s. That was good though. Adult shoes always went for more. A nice pair might even score two pairs for me, thought Lorelei. The nicer one would probably be immediately co-opted by her older cousins, but such was life.

The bag thumped against her back as she darted around the corner. Lorelei saw the two guards on the far side of the street. She couldn’t run. Running drew attention to yourself, and watchmen loved to chase rats. Lorelei might be fast, but their legs were twice as long as hers, there was no way she could escape them. The tubby one with the silver hair that worked this block every day saw her first. The other one, young with brown hair, was still eating his pastry. I know that one, The older cop growled, starting to stalk across the street.

Lorelei knew that one too. Tubby was the oldest guard, as round as an airship’s balloon, and seemed perpetually angry. She took that moment to bolt. No point in making it easy for them.

What are you doing, man? After her! Tubby called to his companion, and Lorelei heard the snap of the billy club disconnecting from his belt.

What the little one? Lorelei heard as the second set of footsteps began pounding after her. What could she possibly have done?

What do you think she’s got in that sack you idiot!

Lorelei tried to run faster, cursing her bad luck. But they were gaining on her. She could hear the billy club swipe the air behind her. Lorelei stumbled a bit as she let her sack slip half off her shoulder. Her eyes fixed on the safety of the dense shops ahead, she rummaged blindly in her loot, desperate for something that could save her. Her hand closed on the glass ball. She slipped it over the lip of the sack and it shattered on the cobbles behind her. Lorelei grinned and kept running, swerving around the corner as the glittering shards became stuck in the men’s boots. Her breathing harsh in her ears, she ran along the track.

Lorelei darted between two buildings, back along two streets where the track swung away from the water and ran through the tavern section of Bassett, glancing over her shoulder to see if they had made it past the glass. It didn’t take long for a streetcar to pass, and Lorelei swung onto the back as it slowed down at the intersection, joining two other freeloaders. One was obviously a newsboy, his empty sack flapping in the wind. The other looked like a merchant’s kid, just a little better dressed than most of the other streetcar barnacles. She heard the men’s shouts as the trolly sped up, their anger disappearing into the distance. Lorelei stuck her tongue out and smirked at their scowling faces.

It was a long ride through Stonewall—and sure enough, the merchant kid jumped off halfway through the district—another walk, and the last ride back to Redbridge. The afternoon sun was already beginning to slant down, the buildings casting long shadows on the cobbles. Lorelei knew she really should start heading back home, but there would be nowhere to hide her treasures. So her feet carried her to the market instead, bypassing the open-air stalls to the real storefronts scattered behind them.

Crevan’s was a battered building, with cracked glass barely clinging to its solitary window. But Crevan was the most respectable trader of the disreputable lot that would deal with Lorelei. He was a thin greasy man, still young in his mid-twenties, probably why he bothered with the likes of her. He hadn’t built up the contacts to be able to turn down any business at all. His one claim to fame was his counter—real Vinland redwood if you could believe it. It was ruddy enough under all the dirt at least. Crevan claimed to have salvaged it as a teenager from a wrecked airship floating off the coast. The chunk was said to have been ripped from the keel of the ship itself, formed from the mutant trees forced to grow fast and tall enough to supply the Anglish Navy.

It was onto this slab of somewhat dubious provenance that Lorelei dumped her sack of treasures. Except for the shoes. She would take those straight to Madam Schumacher. But the other shiny baubles might soon belong to Crevan. It was the necklace that caught his eye first, his skinny hand darting out to grab it. The trinket was put through a series of tests that left Lorelei completely bemused, first a little scale, then examined under a magnifying glass before Crevan held it up to twirl in the light.

Silver. Mostly at least, He pronounced finally. I can give you five coppers for it.

Five coppers! Lorelei seethed. It’s worth two silvers, four times that!

As you like, girl, but I won’t be givin you more than five. If you want to bargain, take your rubbish somewhere else, Crevan snorted.

Lorelei glared at him from across the grimy counter. He knew full well that she couldn’t. All of his customers were desperate, it should be painted on his door. Crevan’s fingers flitted over the frame, spectacles, and hand mirror. It was a good haul, Lorelei knew it and so did he. If she could bring back these things regularly one of the real fences might bother with her. Three silvers for the lot, Crevan decreed, looking up from where he had been futilely polishing the mirror.

You’re a right bastard, Lorelei grumbled as she pushed the treasures over to him. Three little coins tumbled into her hand in return.

You too, Lorelei, you too, Crevan called as she stalked away.

I hope you catch pox, Lorelei hissed, already too far away to be heard.

The market square was truly packed when Lorelei emerged from the alley that divided the respectable parts of the market district from the less savory. It was just before supper, and most of the adults had just started coming home. Many of them were buying their dinner at the market, haggling over fruit, bread, and what scanty meat that Redbridge could afford. Others must have just been paid because they were buying little luxuries, oil for lamps, new cloth for clothes. Lorelei wove her way through the crowd, dodging the wide baskets of the women and the heavy boots of the men. She passed the butcher who always eyed her like she would steal something. Move on, you! he barked roughly. Lorelei had once tried to trade him a pair of eyeglasses for a meat pie. It hadn’t gone well.

The baker’s apprentice leaned in the doorway with her basket of sweet buns. She smiled at Lorelei and raised an eyebrow, Got a free hay-copper, Lorelei?

The smell of the thin sugared glaze made her mouth water, but Lorelei shook her head and made her feet keep moving as the baker shouted from inside the shop. We don’ sell to urchins with sticky fingers, Wright!

Lorelei wasn’t sure if the apprentice believed her that Bassett threw away treasures, or simply didn’t care where her money came from. She passed through the street with the proper shops, and into the wide alley of temporary stalls.

Madam Schumacher’s was brick, built into the side of a real building. Schumacher had started out with a basket of her children’s old shoes, and over the years the sprawling piles had been born. As the stall grew, she moved first to the walk where awnings could be set up, and then a brick wall, and another. Now it was mostly enclosed, with the roof made of airship balloon. Maybe it had come from the same wreck as Crevan’s redwood.

Madam Schumacher was an old woman, sitting in the back corner on her ratty throne. She always seemed to have a pair of shoes in her lap, trying to breathe a final breath of life into something that really should have been thrown out long ago. Lorelei threaded her way through the towering baskets to her, pulling the shoes out of her empty sack, setting them down at the proprietress’ feet like a tribute. Lorelei was fairly sure that Madam Schumacher couldn’t see beyond her fingertip’s reach. Still, Lorelei hadn’t ever heard of anyone managing to steal from her. The woman snatched up the shoes, running her wrinkled fingertips over the supple leather, testing the sole, and measuring them against her palm.

I didn’t steal em, Lorelei blurted. Found em outside the Lodge, honest. If Schumacher wouldn’t take them there wasn’t anywhere else to trade for new shoes.

I believe you, child, she said, and Lorelei let out a sigh of relief. Your ma used to bring me things too. Four credits, the old woman proclaimed.

Lorelei grinned at her and let out a sigh of relief. She had wished for five but could live with four. Perhaps an extra credit would please Uncle. Adult shoes were usually worth three credits, but good ones could cost four, or sometimes five. If Lorelei had to guess, the pair from Bassett would be sold for five. Children’s shoes were two or three. Lorelei had never gotten a three-credit shoe.

Her choices, even with more than three credits to her name were fairly dismal. The best she found in the upper third of the children’s basket looked to be in one piece, and as if they would fit well, but they were lime green. Who makes lime green shoes? Nobody in Redbridge, that’s sure. Lorelei must not have been the only person who combed through the better wards’ trash. But the good shoes were never taken out and slowly migrated to the bottom, like flecks of gold in silt.

In the end, Lorelei chose a leather pair with a heavy sole and even one original lace. It had probably been only owned once. True, they had certainly been made for a boy, but feet were feet in Redbridge and no one could afford to deal with those fancy things with the thousand little buttons. And they aren’t green.

She hid the coppers and occasional silver pieces that she earned from her sporadic scavenging forays and other pursuits in a loose brick behind the bins in the alley at the back of her uncle’s flat. Not even her thieving cousins would think to look there. It wasn’t much, but Lorelei had a dream of eventually getting out of Redbridge, maybe even making her way back to Bassett Lodge. But to get out, you had to look like something other than a street rat. She could read at least, one of the few useful things that Uncle had taught Lorelei. Her great-grandfather had been a printer’s apprentice before he had gotten great-grandmother pregnant and been thrown out, in the days when ships still sailed the seas. He hadn’t