Read Online Chasing the Star Garden: The Airship Racing Chronicles (Volume 1) by Melanie Karsak - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Melanie Karsak
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screamed, the dust burning her eyes. I took the opportunity to punch her in the gut. Crying, she fell to the ground. After she was down, I gave her a solid kick in the side of the head, the other girls cheering me on. Suddenly Sister Margaret was standing over us. Her towering shadow cast a gloomy pall.
“What is going on here?” she asked aghast. Sister Margaret yanked me away from Maggie, her fingernails digging into my skin. She squeezed my wrist until it ached.
I pulled my arm free. Knowing I would be punished either way, I decided it was best not to lie. “Maggie was calling me names so I beat her a good one,” I told Sister Margaret.
She looked down at me, her face furrowing deeply. She had an odd look on her face like she was suffocating rage. “This is the last time-” she began to say but stopped short when she heard Sister Sarah approach.
“Are you sure, Mr. Fletcher? You did say you wanted a lad. The boys will be out any moment,” Sister Sarah said as she came up behind us. She sounded nervous.
I turned to look. Sister Sarah escorted two gentlemen onto the yard. The man she referred to as Mr. Fletcher had long, curly gray hair. He wore small, round glasses, a tight blue shirt buttoned to the neck, breeches, stripped stockings, and a top hat. The other man, also gray haired but balding, looked like he’d just rolled out from under a greasy transport. He wore a checked top with tan trousers, both of which were stained with grease. His two front teeth were missing.
“No need. This one fights like an alley cat. She’ll do,” the man she referred to as Mr. Fletcher said, looking down at me. “What do you say, Mr. Oleander?” he asked his companion.
“Let me see your hands, girl,” the other man, Mr. Oleander, said to me.
I stuck out my hands and let them inspect me.
“Dirty under the nails. Scratches on the knuckles,” Mr. Oleander observed. Both men seemed impressed.
“But gentlemen, a young lady will need some refining, a womanly influence,” Sister Sarah said.
“We’ve got a woman, don’t we, brother?” Mr. Oleander answered chuckling as he elbowed the other man in the ribs. They both laughed.
“What is your name, young lady?” Mr. Fletcher asked.
I looked up at Sister Margaret. Only once had I ever been asked my real name and that was on my first day there. A very old nun had written it and my parents’ names on a paper. She died a few days later. Otherwise, everyone called me Lily on account of my mother’s bouquet. Both Sister Margaret and Sister Sarah had come to St. Helena’s later, and that’s all they and all the others knew of my name. And in my mind, that other girl, the one my mother—who had never come back-had thrown into the Thames, was dead.
“Lily.”
“Lily what?” Mr. Fletcher asked.
“Just Lily,” I replied.
Both of the men laughed.
“Yes, she’ll do. Where do we sign?” Mr. Oleander asked Sister Margaret.
Sister Margaret and Sister Sarah looked at one another in shocked silence. After a moment, Sister Margaret looked down at me, her face still wearing the shadow of rage. I realized then I had chosen the wrong day to infuriate her. Indeed, it would be the last time. “This way to my office, gentlemen,” she said, directing them back to the orphanage. “Sister Sarah, please get Lily ready to go.”
Lost in my memories, I was about to doze off when I heard a gunshot. Sal snored in his sleep and turned but did not wake. I rose and looked over the side of the Stargazer . In the dim light of the gaslamps, I saw a man run off. The shot man lay still in the street. Clearly, he was dead. The tower guards were soon on the scene. I sighed and crawled back into the hammock. I pulled out the laudanum and took double my usual dose. I snuggled close to Sal, reminding myself that the days with Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Oleander were long behind me. They were now ghosts who could only harm me in my memories. And then, just as I had wanted, everything went
“What is going on here?” she asked aghast. Sister Margaret yanked me away from Maggie, her fingernails digging into my skin. She squeezed my wrist until it ached.
I pulled my arm free. Knowing I would be punished either way, I decided it was best not to lie. “Maggie was calling me names so I beat her a good one,” I told Sister Margaret.
She looked down at me, her face furrowing deeply. She had an odd look on her face like she was suffocating rage. “This is the last time-” she began to say but stopped short when she heard Sister Sarah approach.
“Are you sure, Mr. Fletcher? You did say you wanted a lad. The boys will be out any moment,” Sister Sarah said as she came up behind us. She sounded nervous.
I turned to look. Sister Sarah escorted two gentlemen onto the yard. The man she referred to as Mr. Fletcher had long, curly gray hair. He wore small, round glasses, a tight blue shirt buttoned to the neck, breeches, stripped stockings, and a top hat. The other man, also gray haired but balding, looked like he’d just rolled out from under a greasy transport. He wore a checked top with tan trousers, both of which were stained with grease. His two front teeth were missing.
“No need. This one fights like an alley cat. She’ll do,” the man she referred to as Mr. Fletcher said, looking down at me. “What do you say, Mr. Oleander?” he asked his companion.
“Let me see your hands, girl,” the other man, Mr. Oleander, said to me.
I stuck out my hands and let them inspect me.
“Dirty under the nails. Scratches on the knuckles,” Mr. Oleander observed. Both men seemed impressed.
“But gentlemen, a young lady will need some refining, a womanly influence,” Sister Sarah said.
“We’ve got a woman, don’t we, brother?” Mr. Oleander answered chuckling as he elbowed the other man in the ribs. They both laughed.
“What is your name, young lady?” Mr. Fletcher asked.
I looked up at Sister Margaret. Only once had I ever been asked my real name and that was on my first day there. A very old nun had written it and my parents’ names on a paper. She died a few days later. Otherwise, everyone called me Lily on account of my mother’s bouquet. Both Sister Margaret and Sister Sarah had come to St. Helena’s later, and that’s all they and all the others knew of my name. And in my mind, that other girl, the one my mother—who had never come back-had thrown into the Thames, was dead.
“Lily.”
“Lily what?” Mr. Fletcher asked.
“Just Lily,” I replied.
Both of the men laughed.
“Yes, she’ll do. Where do we sign?” Mr. Oleander asked Sister Margaret.
Sister Margaret and Sister Sarah looked at one another in shocked silence. After a moment, Sister Margaret looked down at me, her face still wearing the shadow of rage. I realized then I had chosen the wrong day to infuriate her. Indeed, it would be the last time. “This way to my office, gentlemen,” she said, directing them back to the orphanage. “Sister Sarah, please get Lily ready to go.”
Lost in my memories, I was about to doze off when I heard a gunshot. Sal snored in his sleep and turned but did not wake. I rose and looked over the side of the Stargazer . In the dim light of the gaslamps, I saw a man run off. The shot man lay still in the street. Clearly, he was dead. The tower guards were soon on the scene. I sighed and crawled back into the hammock. I pulled out the laudanum and took double my usual dose. I snuggled close to Sal, reminding myself that the days with Mr. Fletcher and Mr. Oleander were long behind me. They were now ghosts who could only harm me in my memories. And then, just as I had wanted, everything went
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