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xenithNot sure about posting bits of my WIPs, but as I'm grumbling about this a lot lately, I thought I might share some.
This is from the excitingly titled Wind Weaver. Boy meets ship. Boy loses ship. Boy has to face down power-hungry satyr to get ship back.
"You look fine, sir." Even as the words left his mouth, Nate wondered if it was a smart thing to say, but Mr Byrne gave him an amused look. He stopped fiddling with his collar too.
Nate went over how he'd been told to act. He pulled his shoulders back. He lifted his head. He couldn't look anyone in the eye because the only person nearby was Mr Byrne and he was staring towards the station entrance. Although what he did or said didn't really matter, as long as he looked good. Then the other men would know that Mr Byrne could afford proper servants.
Nate took a deep breath. Maintaining that impression was a lot of responsibly though. What if he slipped over? The dirt road looked dry and stable, but sometimes that was the most treacherous. He leaned over and pushed the door shut without moving his feet.
"I should..." Mr Byrne smiled, a little nervously. "I will be back, later." He walked towards the train station.
Nate let his breath out.
"Was that so bad?" the coachman called as he climbed down.
"No," Nate said, and grinned. "So we wait now."
"We do." Tom patted the near horse on the flank. "Once I've checked over these two."
Which he wouldn't let Nate help with. "Can't have you smelling like horses," the coachman had said when Nate offered to help hitch the pair to the carriage.
Hopefully the meeting wouldn't take long. Nate couldn't see the platform from where he stood, the station building blocked his view. Beyond the station though, he could see part of the track.
When he worked at Bettham Park, he'd only seen the trains from a distance, as they passed the gate at the far end of the yard. He was closer now. He stood on the tips of his toes to see if he could get a better view of the track.
"Looking for something?" Tom asked, from the other side of the horses.
"Just the train."
"It'll come. You can go onto the platform and wait."
"I can?"
"Of course. As long as you're back before the master is, and you don't get dirty or make a fool of yourself," Tom crouched down beside the far horse, "or fall off the platform and get killed."
"I'll try not to."
Nate followed the dusty road up to the archway that led into the station. There he hesitated. No one shouted at him though, so he walked through.
The platform was a long, covered walkway along the side of the station building. At the far end, he saw his master, standing with two other men. Nate hesitated. Tom had said it was all right, but... Then Mr Byrne looked Nate's way. He obviously saw Nate, but he just turned back towards his colleagues.
It was all right to be here then.
On one side of the platform, a wide door led into the station building. A wooden sign beside the door had writing on it. Ticket O... Nate frowned. Off? It must be where they took the tickets off the passengers.
A bored-looking man sat on a wooden bench near the door. As Nate approached, the man sat up. He put one hand on a small cart from which came the smell of fresh strawberries. Nate studied the words on the side of the cart. Ice... oh, ice cream. He licked his lips. Strawberries and ice cream, was there anything more delightful?
The man beside the cart peered at Nate. "You buying?"
Nate shook his head.
The man sniffed and looked away.
Nate sighed. Then he remembered the train that was about to arrive. He shouldn't be greedy by wanting too many good things at once.
Down the track, he saw a light approaching. Was that the train? It came closer, following the track. Then came the whistle. He shivered. Soon he would see a train close up.
As it came closer, he saw the carriages following behind -- three long red boxes. The train clanked and squealed like it needed oiling. It charged in, still squealing, getting bigger and bigger. Nate took a quick step back.
Other people were coming onto the platform now. An old man walked by, so close he almost banged his suitcase against Nate's leg. The young woman with him was crying.
The train rattled past. Nate heard metal grinding against metal, then the huge beast slowed to a stop.
Doors opened along the sides of the carriages. Three men and a woman got out, then a boy about Nate's age. Nate watched him walk away. How wonderful it would be to rush from place to place behind such a powerful creature.
Nate took a step towards the rear carriage. No one shouted at him to get away. He took another step forward. Now he could see in the window. Two long padded seats faced each other, across a gap just big enough for the passengers' legs. It looked like the inside of a horse coach, but wider. Even the little curtains at the windows looked the same.
He looked down the length of the train. If each door opened into a compartment like this one, that meant, Nate paused to think, a hundred and twenty people could be carried by just one train. Many more than a team of horses. Trains didn't need to be fed or exercised either. Surely it was just a matter of time before trains were used everywhere instead of horses. Although it might be hard putting tracks all through the town, so horses wouldn't all be replaced.
Nate looked over his shoulder. Did he have time to look at the iron horse?
His master now stood on the edge of a group of men. The other men were nodding their heads or waving hands about, as if talking, but Mr Byrne was still. He mustn't be part of their group yet. It was strange to think that masters had a hierarchy too. Although they probably didn't drop hay bales on each other to gain an advantage.
Nate walked along the length of the train until he reached the iron horse. The first part looked like a little room for the driver, although he could see nowhere to sit. Nate stuck his head in. It had lots of handles and clock faces. Was that how they talked to the horse?
He moved on before the driver returned.
The wheels were bigger than any Nate had ever seen, almost as tall as he was. He looked up. The black horse itself, that was huge. How could anyone control something so big and powerful?
The whistle blew. Nate jumped back.
A man stuck his head out of the driver's room. "Don't get too close. We're pulling out in a bit."
Nate backed away. There was no sign of his master now. Surely he hadn't gone back already?
Nate hurried to the archway, not running, that was undignified and he might fall over, but as fast a walk as he could manage. Tom stood by the horses' heads, probably talking to them, and there was no sign of Mr Byrne. Nate relaxed. He walked back along the road at a more sedate pace.
Other coaches were parked along the edge of the road now. A big, black coach caught Nate's eye. The shiny black paintwork was embellished with gold swirls and lines. More swirls and lines had been carved around the edges. Nate looked through the window. Inside were plump, padded seats with arm rests and foot rests. It looked very comfortable.
Nate walked back to his own coach. It looked dull by comparison.
"Pretentious fool," Tom said.
"Me?"
"Never you, boy. The owner of that coach. You look at it closely next time. It's poorly made, probably done on the cheap. He put all the money into decoration, so he can impress people. Bet he regrets it every time he travels a rough road."
Nate just nodded. They all looked the same to him.
"Now with this one..." Tom patted the side of their coach. "Mr Byrne was smart. He got it cheap because its owner wanted a bigger one, but it's quality. You won't get bounced around as much in there, and it won't break easily either. You see, you can always make a drab coach look better, but fancy paintwork won't fix a faulty coach." He gave Nate a direct look. "Mr Byrne, he sees what really matters, not the surface appearance, doesn't he?"
Nate shuffled his feet. He felt Tom was talking about him, but he wasn't a coach. "I, ah, guess so."
Tom chuckled. He leaned against the side of the coach, and pulled a stick and folding knife from his pocket.
A darkhaired man came up to the black carriage. Nate turned away so he wasn't staring at it. "Why not buy a good carriage and then paint it fancy?"
"It takes money to do that, boy."
"But masters have money."
"They do," Tom chuckled, "but they also have servants to feed and clothe, and horses to look after, and a house to keep. That takes all their money."
"I hadn't thought of that. Mr Byrne doesn't have many servants, nothing like Lord Bettham, so he must have more money?"
"Other way around, boy. Mr Byrne has less money than your old master, so he can't afford as many servants. That's why he's wanting to go to all these meetings--"
"Where is my watch?" A hand thumped down on Nate's shoulder. He turned to find a man with a bushy black beard glaring down at him. "You thief, I saw you poking around my coach."
This is from the excitingly titled Wind Weaver. Boy meets ship. Boy loses ship. Boy has to face down power-hungry satyr to get ship back.
"You look fine, sir." Even as the words left his mouth, Nate wondered if it was a smart thing to say, but Mr Byrne gave him an amused look. He stopped fiddling with his collar too.
Nate went over how he'd been told to act. He pulled his shoulders back. He lifted his head. He couldn't look anyone in the eye because the only person nearby was Mr Byrne and he was staring towards the station entrance. Although what he did or said didn't really matter, as long as he looked good. Then the other men would know that Mr Byrne could afford proper servants.
Nate took a deep breath. Maintaining that impression was a lot of responsibly though. What if he slipped over? The dirt road looked dry and stable, but sometimes that was the most treacherous. He leaned over and pushed the door shut without moving his feet.
"I should..." Mr Byrne smiled, a little nervously. "I will be back, later." He walked towards the train station.
Nate let his breath out.
"Was that so bad?" the coachman called as he climbed down.
"No," Nate said, and grinned. "So we wait now."
"We do." Tom patted the near horse on the flank. "Once I've checked over these two."
Which he wouldn't let Nate help with. "Can't have you smelling like horses," the coachman had said when Nate offered to help hitch the pair to the carriage.
Hopefully the meeting wouldn't take long. Nate couldn't see the platform from where he stood, the station building blocked his view. Beyond the station though, he could see part of the track.
When he worked at Bettham Park, he'd only seen the trains from a distance, as they passed the gate at the far end of the yard. He was closer now. He stood on the tips of his toes to see if he could get a better view of the track.
"Looking for something?" Tom asked, from the other side of the horses.
"Just the train."
"It'll come. You can go onto the platform and wait."
"I can?"
"Of course. As long as you're back before the master is, and you don't get dirty or make a fool of yourself," Tom crouched down beside the far horse, "or fall off the platform and get killed."
"I'll try not to."
Nate followed the dusty road up to the archway that led into the station. There he hesitated. No one shouted at him though, so he walked through.
The platform was a long, covered walkway along the side of the station building. At the far end, he saw his master, standing with two other men. Nate hesitated. Tom had said it was all right, but... Then Mr Byrne looked Nate's way. He obviously saw Nate, but he just turned back towards his colleagues.
It was all right to be here then.
On one side of the platform, a wide door led into the station building. A wooden sign beside the door had writing on it. Ticket O... Nate frowned. Off? It must be where they took the tickets off the passengers.
A bored-looking man sat on a wooden bench near the door. As Nate approached, the man sat up. He put one hand on a small cart from which came the smell of fresh strawberries. Nate studied the words on the side of the cart. Ice... oh, ice cream. He licked his lips. Strawberries and ice cream, was there anything more delightful?
The man beside the cart peered at Nate. "You buying?"
Nate shook his head.
The man sniffed and looked away.
Nate sighed. Then he remembered the train that was about to arrive. He shouldn't be greedy by wanting too many good things at once.
Down the track, he saw a light approaching. Was that the train? It came closer, following the track. Then came the whistle. He shivered. Soon he would see a train close up.
As it came closer, he saw the carriages following behind -- three long red boxes. The train clanked and squealed like it needed oiling. It charged in, still squealing, getting bigger and bigger. Nate took a quick step back.
Other people were coming onto the platform now. An old man walked by, so close he almost banged his suitcase against Nate's leg. The young woman with him was crying.
The train rattled past. Nate heard metal grinding against metal, then the huge beast slowed to a stop.
Doors opened along the sides of the carriages. Three men and a woman got out, then a boy about Nate's age. Nate watched him walk away. How wonderful it would be to rush from place to place behind such a powerful creature.
Nate took a step towards the rear carriage. No one shouted at him to get away. He took another step forward. Now he could see in the window. Two long padded seats faced each other, across a gap just big enough for the passengers' legs. It looked like the inside of a horse coach, but wider. Even the little curtains at the windows looked the same.
He looked down the length of the train. If each door opened into a compartment like this one, that meant, Nate paused to think, a hundred and twenty people could be carried by just one train. Many more than a team of horses. Trains didn't need to be fed or exercised either. Surely it was just a matter of time before trains were used everywhere instead of horses. Although it might be hard putting tracks all through the town, so horses wouldn't all be replaced.
Nate looked over his shoulder. Did he have time to look at the iron horse?
His master now stood on the edge of a group of men. The other men were nodding their heads or waving hands about, as if talking, but Mr Byrne was still. He mustn't be part of their group yet. It was strange to think that masters had a hierarchy too. Although they probably didn't drop hay bales on each other to gain an advantage.
Nate walked along the length of the train until he reached the iron horse. The first part looked like a little room for the driver, although he could see nowhere to sit. Nate stuck his head in. It had lots of handles and clock faces. Was that how they talked to the horse?
He moved on before the driver returned.
The wheels were bigger than any Nate had ever seen, almost as tall as he was. He looked up. The black horse itself, that was huge. How could anyone control something so big and powerful?
The whistle blew. Nate jumped back.
A man stuck his head out of the driver's room. "Don't get too close. We're pulling out in a bit."
Nate backed away. There was no sign of his master now. Surely he hadn't gone back already?
Nate hurried to the archway, not running, that was undignified and he might fall over, but as fast a walk as he could manage. Tom stood by the horses' heads, probably talking to them, and there was no sign of Mr Byrne. Nate relaxed. He walked back along the road at a more sedate pace.
Other coaches were parked along the edge of the road now. A big, black coach caught Nate's eye. The shiny black paintwork was embellished with gold swirls and lines. More swirls and lines had been carved around the edges. Nate looked through the window. Inside were plump, padded seats with arm rests and foot rests. It looked very comfortable.
Nate walked back to his own coach. It looked dull by comparison.
"Pretentious fool," Tom said.
"Me?"
"Never you, boy. The owner of that coach. You look at it closely next time. It's poorly made, probably done on the cheap. He put all the money into decoration, so he can impress people. Bet he regrets it every time he travels a rough road."
Nate just nodded. They all looked the same to him.
"Now with this one..." Tom patted the side of their coach. "Mr Byrne was smart. He got it cheap because its owner wanted a bigger one, but it's quality. You won't get bounced around as much in there, and it won't break easily either. You see, you can always make a drab coach look better, but fancy paintwork won't fix a faulty coach." He gave Nate a direct look. "Mr Byrne, he sees what really matters, not the surface appearance, doesn't he?"
Nate shuffled his feet. He felt Tom was talking about him, but he wasn't a coach. "I, ah, guess so."
Tom chuckled. He leaned against the side of the coach, and pulled a stick and folding knife from his pocket.
A darkhaired man came up to the black carriage. Nate turned away so he wasn't staring at it. "Why not buy a good carriage and then paint it fancy?"
"It takes money to do that, boy."
"But masters have money."
"They do," Tom chuckled, "but they also have servants to feed and clothe, and horses to look after, and a house to keep. That takes all their money."
"I hadn't thought of that. Mr Byrne doesn't have many servants, nothing like Lord Bettham, so he must have more money?"
"Other way around, boy. Mr Byrne has less money than your old master, so he can't afford as many servants. That's why he's wanting to go to all these meetings--"
"Where is my watch?" A hand thumped down on Nate's shoulder. He turned to find a man with a bushy black beard glaring down at him. "You thief, I saw you poking around my coach."
