Read Online Chenda and the Airship Brofman by Emilie P. Bush - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Emilie P. Bush
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of her long brown hair had burned away.
Her right side, however, survived the attack unmarked. The familiarity of the right accentuated the anomaly of the left. Chenda stared at herself for a while, closing one eye at a time, making sure the damage to her eye was merely cosmetic. She could still see just fine. She shrugged, picked up a washcloth, struggling to keep her bandaged mitts dry, and started to wash herself. The water felt cool on her fingertips, but the odor of burnt hair just wouldn't rinse away. She decided the only way to rid herself of the smell was to discard the remaining bits of her charred locks. She rummaged around the bathroom looking for scissors, which she found along with a straight razor. She sliced off a giant hank from the right side of her head and let it fall unceremoniously into the trash. She kept cutting all the way around until none of the scortched hair remained, then she worked on the shaping what was left of her hair. The flames hadn't left her much to work with. In the end, she worked her dark hair into a short wispy style that looked, she hoped, vaguely girlish.
It will have to do.
Chenda wandered back to Candice's room searching for something to wear. She kept her own quilted silk pants, but found a simple, clean shirt in the closet. She hoped it wasn't one of Candice's favorites.
Chenda went back into the bathroom and dropped her torn and bloodstained blouse on top of her hair in the trash can. She took another long look in the mirror. Yesterday, she dressed like a delicate woman, in rhinestone studded shoes and fashionably long silk skirts appropriate for her years and social standing. Today, Chenda looked like an abused pixie, and a boy pixie at that.
Her hand drifted to her chest and she absentmindedly traced a finger over the bag of stones. It comforted her to know they were still there, secured under her shirt.
Candice's pristine bathroom looked like someone had done an autopsy in it. Chenda was doing her best to clean up the fallen hair and dirty towels when Candice returned.
“What do you think?” Chenda asked in greeting. She ran her hand through the sassy haircut.
“Not bad,” Candice said, “for a corpse.” Candice tossed the newspaper to Chenda, who read for a second and then looked up, shocked.
“I'm dead?”
“Seems so.”
“Huh. Imagine that.” Chenda dropped the paper into the trash. “Shall we go?”
“Fine by me.”
Chenda pulled on her battered flight coat and the two women departed.
The Coal City Terminal Station pulsed with activity around the clock. Not just the tallest building in the city, it was the central point and interchange for all manner of conveyance: trains, trolleys, airships and pedestrian. Chenda and Candice arrived by trolley and dashed past the shops and kiosks to the lines forming before the grand elevators labeled To the Airship Concourse . Candice did most of the talking as the twosome passed though the building's layers of petty officials and security. When Candice played the boisterous professor, no one seemed to notice the name on the documents held by her meek assistant. Chenda's badly bruised face, however, garnered a few pitying stares.
After a few minutes ride in the ornate brass elevator, the women arrived at the very top level and stepped into the center of a large, circular concourse. There were great glass windows in every direction. Down below, the city stretched out like a very detailed map, and a beautiful, cloudless sky surrounded them on all sides. Chenda, who had never had occasion to visit the top level of Terminal Station before, found the view breathtaking.
The docking points for airships – called airslips - formed a circle around the central hub of the elevators. Each slip had its own assembly area, with rows of chairs that faced outward. A set of beveled glass doors separated each waiting area from the narrow platform that ran beside each slip. Chenda and Candice walked
Her right side, however, survived the attack unmarked. The familiarity of the right accentuated the anomaly of the left. Chenda stared at herself for a while, closing one eye at a time, making sure the damage to her eye was merely cosmetic. She could still see just fine. She shrugged, picked up a washcloth, struggling to keep her bandaged mitts dry, and started to wash herself. The water felt cool on her fingertips, but the odor of burnt hair just wouldn't rinse away. She decided the only way to rid herself of the smell was to discard the remaining bits of her charred locks. She rummaged around the bathroom looking for scissors, which she found along with a straight razor. She sliced off a giant hank from the right side of her head and let it fall unceremoniously into the trash. She kept cutting all the way around until none of the scortched hair remained, then she worked on the shaping what was left of her hair. The flames hadn't left her much to work with. In the end, she worked her dark hair into a short wispy style that looked, she hoped, vaguely girlish.
It will have to do.
Chenda wandered back to Candice's room searching for something to wear. She kept her own quilted silk pants, but found a simple, clean shirt in the closet. She hoped it wasn't one of Candice's favorites.
Chenda went back into the bathroom and dropped her torn and bloodstained blouse on top of her hair in the trash can. She took another long look in the mirror. Yesterday, she dressed like a delicate woman, in rhinestone studded shoes and fashionably long silk skirts appropriate for her years and social standing. Today, Chenda looked like an abused pixie, and a boy pixie at that.
Her hand drifted to her chest and she absentmindedly traced a finger over the bag of stones. It comforted her to know they were still there, secured under her shirt.
Candice's pristine bathroom looked like someone had done an autopsy in it. Chenda was doing her best to clean up the fallen hair and dirty towels when Candice returned.
“What do you think?” Chenda asked in greeting. She ran her hand through the sassy haircut.
“Not bad,” Candice said, “for a corpse.” Candice tossed the newspaper to Chenda, who read for a second and then looked up, shocked.
“I'm dead?”
“Seems so.”
“Huh. Imagine that.” Chenda dropped the paper into the trash. “Shall we go?”
“Fine by me.”
Chenda pulled on her battered flight coat and the two women departed.
The Coal City Terminal Station pulsed with activity around the clock. Not just the tallest building in the city, it was the central point and interchange for all manner of conveyance: trains, trolleys, airships and pedestrian. Chenda and Candice arrived by trolley and dashed past the shops and kiosks to the lines forming before the grand elevators labeled To the Airship Concourse . Candice did most of the talking as the twosome passed though the building's layers of petty officials and security. When Candice played the boisterous professor, no one seemed to notice the name on the documents held by her meek assistant. Chenda's badly bruised face, however, garnered a few pitying stares.
After a few minutes ride in the ornate brass elevator, the women arrived at the very top level and stepped into the center of a large, circular concourse. There were great glass windows in every direction. Down below, the city stretched out like a very detailed map, and a beautiful, cloudless sky surrounded them on all sides. Chenda, who had never had occasion to visit the top level of Terminal Station before, found the view breathtaking.
The docking points for airships – called airslips - formed a circle around the central hub of the elevators. Each slip had its own assembly area, with rows of chairs that faced outward. A set of beveled glass doors separated each waiting area from the narrow platform that ran beside each slip. Chenda and Candice walked
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