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The Northern Sunrise
Category:
Fantasy
Publisher: Rob J. Hayes
Type: Fiction
Copyright: march 19 2014
Price: $6.69 (eBook)
The Northern Sunrise is a stand alone book by the author of The Ties that Bind trilogy. Set in a new world of corruption, deceit and thievery; mixing magical fantasy and alchemy-punk with a healthy smattering of airshippery.
"There comes a point in every thief's life where one has to take stock of all that they have achieved. We have stolen almost everything there is worth stealing: Prince Henri's Jadefire ring, the Marquisse d'Bola's collection of prized toy soldiers, Elize Gion's Living Autumn, the very first airship schematic, and who could forget we definitely made off with Baron Rivette's pride.
The trick, I find, is not to break in. No. The trick is to convince the mark to invite you in."
Excerpt
“Duc Valette is the key.”
“The younger one?” Isabel asked.
“Mhm,” Jacques agreed. “I suppose we could use the older Valette, but he is married and well known to be an unrepentant letch.”
Isabel gave him a withering look. “I would really rather not have a repeat of the Bonneire incident. Thanks to your, shall we say, less than perfect research, I had to hit Baron Bonneire over the head with a candlestick.”
“But at least when he woke he couldn’t even remember you had been there.”
Isabel sighed. In the face of Jacques’ unwavering good humour and optimism she found it very hard to stay angry at him and the Bonneire incident was well and truly water under the bridge. “So Valette the younger,” she prompted.
“Quite,” Jacques continued, “The Comte de Çavine Bruno Lesod Valette; heir to the entire Valette estate. He’s young and handsome with a chiselled jaw and a full head of hair, though if his father is any indication, he may be losing that soon. Comte Bruno is an accomplished horseman, a deadly swordsman, and a gifted pistolier. He has almost as many medals as he has trophies in the fields of rowing, wrestling and that new sport from Great Turlain, the one with the rackets and the balls.”
“Tennis?”
“Mhm, probably. But for all Bruno Valette’s feats, accomplishments and worrying ability with all manner of dangerous weaponry, he has one vital flaw. His chivalry,” Jacques said with a grin.
“Some people might think chivalry to be a strength, not a flaw,” Isabel said.
“Not us though.”
She grinned. “Maker no. The chivalrous ones make for the easiest of marks. Although they don’t tend to get hit over the head with candlesticks quite so much.
“So all I need to do is make sure I’m in some kind of trouble and Comte Bruno, being the chivalrous gentleman that he is, will rush to my rescue.”
Jacques nodded. “You’re thinking of the ‘drunken lady unable to remember whom she came with’ approach.”
“It works with chivalrous fools and letches alike,” Isabel agreed. “Though with a considerable less feature of violence with the former and, if Comte Bruno is as formidable as you described I would rather not attempt to overpower him.”
Isabel slipped into the ballroom from one of the side doors that led from the pantry and smoothed down a wrinkle in her dress. An unfortunate side effect of not actually being a part of the aristocracy, or even the minor peerage, was that neither she nor Jacques received invitations to affairs such as the Valette Winter Solstice Ball. However, a lack of invitation had never stopped them from attending and subsequently using the cover of such events to further their own fortunes.
She took a moment to absorb the sights, sounds and smells of the ball. A low, open fire burned at the far end of the hall radiating warmth and light; none of the aristocracy in the more central areas of the kingdom used open fires any more preferring instead to use electrically charged alchemical fires, but here on the outskirts people were known to be a little more old-fashioned and the Valettes certainly had enough money to be as old-fashioned as they liked. No fewer than four chandeliers hung from the ceiling each with a hundred candles, again an old-fashioned practice but Isabel had to respect the elegance and beauty and danger of four hundred tiny flames burning above the people gathered below; after all who didn’t enjoy being showered in molten hot wax from time to time.
The walls of the ball room were a bright, newly-painted white with a host of decorative pillars and an equal number of alchemically treated windows that people could see out from but not in to; an expensive and modern procedure that seemed at odds with the use of real fires.
Two wide staircases led up to either end of a balcony that looked over the hall and a further single staircase led to a second more secluded balcony. Isabel knew that the second balcony would be for Valette family members and favoured (and invited) guests only. Comte Bruno Valette may even be up there right now, she would have to catch him as he toured the lower sections, but for their ruse to succeed she would need to wait a few hours yet. A drunken woman at the end of the night might beg assistance, that same drunken woman so early in the night would be considered unseemly and rude.
Men gathered together in small groups, those allied by family ties or business relationships, and women gathered in equally small groups allied by social standing and current popularity. This would be both the hardest trial of the night and where her ruse was most likely to be broken. She would need to insert herself into one of the groups without rousing too much suspicion or irking any of the other women.
Fashions changed amongst the aristocracy as often as the direction of the wind and here, in the city of Çavine, they were a little behind the times. Most of the women wore brightly coloured dresses with a multitude of patterned frills on the skirt. The dresses stretched all the way down to the floor to hide the women’s feet and were completely sleeveless by design allowing them to be worn with long sleeved gloves that ran almost to the elbow. They were, Isabel decided, hideous and she was, in Çavine at least, ahead of the current fashion trend which put her distinctly out of fashion.
“What else do I need to know about him?” Isabel asked in a voice loud enough to carry through the closed door as she smoothed down the dress and picked off a long brown stray hair; one of hers, Jacques’ hair was much shorter and a dark mahogany colour that resisted almost all attempts to dye it.
“Well the local gossip has him liking demure women prone to over-ambitious flattery,” Jacques replied in an equally loud voice. Isabel spotted the door opening and shut it before he could peek in. “Spoil sport.”
“I’m not wearing anything yet, Jacques,” she said. “If you come in now we both know how it will end.”
“Rather pleasantly, I imagine.”
“Yes but not very productively.”
“I suppose that’s all in how you define productive.”
“Very differently to your definition.” She pulled her attention back to the dress. It was sleek and light, designed to hug her curves and accentuate her bosom. It was a deep blue colour, very similar to her eyes and perfect for her dark complexion. It ran from her neck down to her ankles and all along her arms before finally looping around each middle finger. It was the very height of fashion in the capital.
“So I should complement him on his physique, flatter his ego, and laugh at all of his jokes,” she said.
“Precisely,” Jacques replied from the other side of the door. “He suffers from that same problem that most hideously successful people do, he’s very proud of his success.”
“Emphasis on his success and not his family’s?”
“Mhm, I would say that would be the safe bet,” Jacques said before quickly adding. “Not that I ever bet.”
“Of course you don’t.”
“It’s not a bet if it’s a sure thing.”
“Considering our line of work I think you would well know, there’s no such thing as a sure thing.”
Isabel heard him sigh from the other side of the door. “You are, of course, correct though I wish you weren’t.”
While they had been talking Isabel had been skilfully applying makeup and dabbing herself with perfume, a lavender fragrance enhanced and altered alchemically to be both pleasant and discreet. Now she slipped into the dress and tugged it into position before smoothing it down. It would be a chore to walk in like this, but it would be worth it towards the end of the night. She looked at herself in the mirror, affected a playful half-smile and opened the door.
Jacques’ mouth dropped. “You look…” he said accidentally dropping his upper-class accent.
“Could it be Jacques Revou is actually at a loss for words?” Isabel asked not dropping her smile.
He cleared his throat and re-established his accent. “Well if anyone could conjure such an effect it would be you, my lady.”
It was abject flattery and she knew it but that wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy it. Isabel knew she would never be the most beautiful woman in the world, and the majority of the time neither would she be the most beautiful woman in a room, but he had always treated her as if there were no other worth his time.
“I think…” Jacques began with a frown and then clicked his fingers, reaching into the jewellery box on the table and pulling out a single jade earring and carefully attaching it to Isabel’s right ear. “Perfect,” he finished.
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