Read Online Bitter Cold: A Steampunk Snow Queen (The Clockwork Republic Series Book 4) by Katina French - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Katina French
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breaking into her emergency savings, a frantic visit to the herbiary, an apothecary supply store, and several trips to her stash of supplies in the cellar had yielded enough ingredients and equipment for a triple batch of featherfall.
She shuddered to think what a miscalculation like the one she'd made this morning would have done to a batch this large. Turned St. Louis into a floating city?
But she hadn't miscalculated. Not with Kit's life at stake. She'd remained calm, focused on the task at hand, and completed the formulae in record time. A small sample worked perfectly on a wooden mallet, a cast-iron poker and three horseshoes, all of which floated around the workshop like toy boats bobbing slowly across the surface of a pond. A splash of water had brought them tumbling to the ground.
As long as it doesn't rain, this just might work.
It should have been a moment of triumph, but she could hardly enjoy it. She was still too far away from catching up to whomever had kidnapped Kit.
Hope had welled up in her heart after realizing she could use featherfall to turn the Christmas exposition sleigh into a makeshift airship. Then, as always, reality had descended with a crashing thud. She needed more than an idea, she needed a plan, and Kit was the planner. She could come up with wild ideas and inspiration easily enough, but when faced with basic problem solving, she tended to overlook where things could go wrong.
What would Kit do in this situation?
In her head, she could hear his calm, deep voice say "Contact the authorities."
No good. No time for that. What would I talk Kit into doing if he were here?
Untroubled by the logical inconsistency of Kit helping to plan his own rescue, she imagined him near, asking the questions he always asked and providing the rational suggestions he always provided. In short order, she'd come up with a reasonable plan. The real Kit could be fairly predictable, which made it easier to figure out what advice pretend Kit should give.
If she was going to rescue him, she'd have to do more than get the sleigh into the air. She'd need to do so without anyone noticing and reporting her. The Alchemists Guild may have had no restrictions on creating an air buoyancy formulae, but she suspected the Continental Commission on Air Traffic as well as the Aeronautic Navy of Missouri might take exception to a young lady flying an experimental aircraft over the republics at high speed.
And she intended to fly at as high a rate of speed as she could coax out of the machine. Time was wasting, and every moment carried her best friend further away and possibly into greater peril.
After that, the problems were considerably easier to solve. She could hardly take off from the alley without attracting unwanted attention, especially after the events of the day. This necessitated a tedious trip down the back alleys, driving the sleigh on its locomotive tracks, to the park. She kept one eye trained nervously on the windows of the houses, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for why she was driving a Christmas exhibit through the back streets of town after dusk in March.
After the day's earlier exploits, they must not have found her current adventure all that peculiar or interesting. Not a soul came out to confront her. Once she'd gotten to the park, she made haste to reconfigure the steam engine's gears to the propellers she'd cobbled together and apply and activate the featherfall formulae before the constable stumbled upon her activities.
She doused the surface of the sleigh with the first bottle of featherfall. Then she pulled out a torch from her box of supplies and lit it from the lantern she'd brought along. She brushed the edges of the flames against the sides of the sleigh, like a painter putting a final coat of shellac on her work.
By the time she had heated the reindeer and the front edge of the sleigh, it was rising up from the ground. Greta suppressed a squeal of excitement and relief.
It was
She shuddered to think what a miscalculation like the one she'd made this morning would have done to a batch this large. Turned St. Louis into a floating city?
But she hadn't miscalculated. Not with Kit's life at stake. She'd remained calm, focused on the task at hand, and completed the formulae in record time. A small sample worked perfectly on a wooden mallet, a cast-iron poker and three horseshoes, all of which floated around the workshop like toy boats bobbing slowly across the surface of a pond. A splash of water had brought them tumbling to the ground.
As long as it doesn't rain, this just might work.
It should have been a moment of triumph, but she could hardly enjoy it. She was still too far away from catching up to whomever had kidnapped Kit.
Hope had welled up in her heart after realizing she could use featherfall to turn the Christmas exposition sleigh into a makeshift airship. Then, as always, reality had descended with a crashing thud. She needed more than an idea, she needed a plan, and Kit was the planner. She could come up with wild ideas and inspiration easily enough, but when faced with basic problem solving, she tended to overlook where things could go wrong.
What would Kit do in this situation?
In her head, she could hear his calm, deep voice say "Contact the authorities."
No good. No time for that. What would I talk Kit into doing if he were here?
Untroubled by the logical inconsistency of Kit helping to plan his own rescue, she imagined him near, asking the questions he always asked and providing the rational suggestions he always provided. In short order, she'd come up with a reasonable plan. The real Kit could be fairly predictable, which made it easier to figure out what advice pretend Kit should give.
If she was going to rescue him, she'd have to do more than get the sleigh into the air. She'd need to do so without anyone noticing and reporting her. The Alchemists Guild may have had no restrictions on creating an air buoyancy formulae, but she suspected the Continental Commission on Air Traffic as well as the Aeronautic Navy of Missouri might take exception to a young lady flying an experimental aircraft over the republics at high speed.
And she intended to fly at as high a rate of speed as she could coax out of the machine. Time was wasting, and every moment carried her best friend further away and possibly into greater peril.
After that, the problems were considerably easier to solve. She could hardly take off from the alley without attracting unwanted attention, especially after the events of the day. This necessitated a tedious trip down the back alleys, driving the sleigh on its locomotive tracks, to the park. She kept one eye trained nervously on the windows of the houses, trying to come up with a plausible explanation for why she was driving a Christmas exhibit through the back streets of town after dusk in March.
After the day's earlier exploits, they must not have found her current adventure all that peculiar or interesting. Not a soul came out to confront her. Once she'd gotten to the park, she made haste to reconfigure the steam engine's gears to the propellers she'd cobbled together and apply and activate the featherfall formulae before the constable stumbled upon her activities.
She doused the surface of the sleigh with the first bottle of featherfall. Then she pulled out a torch from her box of supplies and lit it from the lantern she'd brought along. She brushed the edges of the flames against the sides of the sleigh, like a painter putting a final coat of shellac on her work.
By the time she had heated the reindeer and the front edge of the sleigh, it was rising up from the ground. Greta suppressed a squeal of excitement and relief.
It was
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