Posts tagged as “Dragon Writers”

At last, a day ahead on Nano ... 28580 words out of a needed 26666 ... even ahead of tomorrow, which needs 28333 ... excellent, it's all falling into place...

-the Centaur

“Then we shall follow,” Sir Alice said. “Commander Willstone!” “Yes, sir?” Jeremiah said, standing at attention. “It seems that Lord Christopherson has cracked the secret of travel to the past,” Sir Alice said, her own objections, once overcome, completely forgotten. “Outfit the Prince Edward with one of his own devices and hunt that blackguard down to the very ends of time,” she said. “I’ll see no-one destroy Victoriana on my watch, much less undo Liberation!” “Yes, sir!” Jeremiah said. “Prevail, Victoriana—” Lord Birmingham cleared his throat. “Sir Alice, might I remind you that the destination the Lady Georgiana has charted is over the dark heart of Georgia?”

Jeremiah stepped out into the street, taking in the smells and sounds of Boston: cold air, wafting soup, crackling leather, fragrant horses, whirring gears, walking feet. God, she loved this town. “Here you are, Commander,” a young girl said, walking her cycle up. “Thank you, dear,” Jeremiah said, pulling the boy’s two shillings out and adding a third for the girl. “Apportion it fairly among you.” “Yes, Ma’am,” she said—then gasped. “Oh my goodness!” And Jeremiah followed her gaze to see the Prince Edward shimmering into existence above them, a rope ladder tumbling down towards her. “All right!” she said, leaping up onto a horse-tie, then into the air to catch the ladder. Her weight brought it down, just slightly—taking tension in the rope, of course, not lowering the Prince Edward—and as she swung back she reached down towards the girl. “Heave it here!” “Are you all right, Ma’am?” she cried, even as she raised the cycle. “Never better!” she said, seizing the cycle with her free hand. Predictably the Edward didn’t wait, and in moments she was rising above the street, holding on to the ladder with one hand and the bike with the other, trusting the boomsman to keep her clear of the buildings as she ascended into one of those singular adventures that enlivened her life.

Without a second thought, Jeremiah decked the guard. One fist, one punch, flying out, clocking her jaw and laying her out, ten feet out on the tile. The gun spun away, impacted, fired, the deadly bullet shattering a storefront of glass. There were shouts, screams, and panic, but to Jeremiah’s delighted horror the crowd did not scatter like civilians. A dark-suited man saw the guard fall and came at Jeremiah; a frilly young girl in a beret saw the gun and dove for it. “Capital,” Jeremiah said, ducking one punch, blocking the other, popping the man on the jaw, then kneeing him in the groin when he didn’t fall. “Absolutely capital!” she said, kicking the gun away into the glass just as the bereted girl seized it. Jeremiah clamped both hands on the girl’s arms to neutralize her, lifted her up, and said, “I’m so proud of you!” before head-butting so hard her beret came off and she fell back in a sudden spray of hair, eyes rolling. “We should go,” Patrick said, shepherding Georgiana out of the darkened cave of the restaurant. “Did you see,” Jeremiah said, blocking another punch, kicking her new assailant in the gut, then decking a third man. “These people have spines!” “Very much so,” Georgiana said. “Good for them, but for us—” “Fear not!” Jeremiah said; there were no more instant heroes popping out of the crowd, but there were still the shouts and screams and now whistles blowing, so it was very definitely time to go. “Follow me, thataway!”