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Okay, so I have been dying for a bit of feedback on The Fisherman's Daugher, but in its current state, it's not quite ready for any eyes but my own. Mainly because:
1. It's so rough even I feel a little embarrassed reading it.
2. There are major plot-points I haven't decided what to do yet, so much of it is left ambiguous.
3. Well, there is no 3, but suffice it to say it's not ready.
At any rate, I'm going to post a snippet from Chapter Four. A little background, Payet Weaver is in a strange city, staying at a cheap inn called the Lonely Duck. It's festival night, and she's out seeing the sights of the city-wide masked ball. Hope it's even slightly enjoyable!
The crowded atmosphere quickly got the best of her as she found it increasingly difficult to breathe. Glancing around to get her bearings, she discovered a low rooftop where she could watch the parade without the risk of fainting or being trampled. She pushed her way through the crowed, getting stomped on, yelled at and pinched along the way until she reached the building she’d spied out. As she’d guessed there was a spindly set of stairs along the side which she climbed cautiously after peeling off her too-small shoes.
Even though she panted heavily when she finally reached the top, the view was more than satisfactory. She now had a bird’s-eye view of the hundreds of girls, the empty town square guarded by burly soldiers and on the opposite end of town, rows of men dressed in coal-black suits and masques of varying colour. She found a seat near the edge of the flat rooftop just as the music crescendoed and the parade began.
Having never been to a parade before, she was surprised when the floats were not papier-mâché delights, but instead airships of every variety. Early among them was the same burgundy ship she’d seen earlier the day before, with its gleeful residents assembled on the decks waving at the crowd.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a voice sounded behind her. She was getting very tired of people sneaking up from behind her. Couldn’t they greet her with a ‘hello’ like normal people?
“Indeed,” she answered sharply without turning around/
“Have you had the chance to ride it yet?” the voice asked again. Payet sighed as she turned her gaze to find a young man wearing a sharp black suit with a violet masque and bowtie. Far from seeming gentlemanly, his dark brown hair was long and shaggy and his face roughened with stubbled facial hair.
“I’ll take that as a no,” he said, flashing a handsome grin complete with missing tooth. “It’s called the Regal 12,” he continued, wandering toward the edge. Beneath the masque his eyes were a startling green, “it’s mainly used by friends of the royal family for cocktails and drole conversation,” he articulated with a snooty expression.
“What are you doing here?”
“I might ask you the same question, miss,” he replied.
“Too hot down there,” she blurted. How attractive she thought to herself.
“Ditto, then,” he replied. He pointed her gaze up to the sky where the fireworks were just beginning. Far from your standard fare of celestial explosives, Trithena’s fireworks show included images of fruit and books which lead to horses and men walking to a finale filled with so much light it brought tears of amazement to her eyes. Embarrassed, she wiped them away quickly before her companion noticed.
“Welcome, Trithena, to Festival Night!” a loud voice sounded from the centre of the square. The crowd erupted in cheers.
“I won’t keep you crazy kids any longer, go out and have fun!” The man shot a pistol into the hair, plugging his ear with his other finger and squinting his face. At the sound of the shot the police lifted the barriers and both the men and women rushed into the square. It looked like a nosebleed waiting to happen. However, like clockwork, the crowds paired off into couples and the music sounded to begin much dancing and reverie.
“And chaos turns to order,” the man murmured beside her.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked curiously. He stared off for a moment as if pondering his answered, then shook his head, smiling and taking her hand.
“Would you like to dance?” he asked instead.
“But I don’t even know your name,” she protested.
“Ah, but those are the rules of Festival Night. At midnight we remove our masques to show our true selves, but for now we bask in the unknown. So what do you say?” he asked again, eyeing her expectantly.
“Could we stay up here?”
“Sounds marvellous.”
Smoothly he wrapped an arm about her waist and gently took her hand in the other. Cautiously she placed her hand on his strong shoulder and to her surprise he began to lead her in a graceful pattern, a much better partner than Adele had ever been growing up.
“Wow,” she let escape. He merely smiled, whirling and twirling her around the rooftop, the stars their only witnesses. She couldn’t help but grin as he lowered her into a dip, head-back viewing the world upside down. The colours blended as one as he brought her upright slowly, closer to him until their faces were barely inches apart, those green eyes boring into hers.
Then the ground exploded, causing the buildings to shudder and peels of shrieks to escape from the square below. She spun around to view the scene with horror as multiple bombs went off beneath them, couples scattered everywhere and bodies littering the explosion sites.
“What’s happening?” she gasped.
“It’s an attack,” the man replied, but she couldn’t read his emotions behind the masque as his eyes scanned the town. Amidst the riot a man dressed in black stepped onto the deserted stage.
“Citizens of Trithena, you have been warned,” he said, his voice amplified, “Your King is missing and yet you dance and play, forgetting your loyalty to your country. This is a disgrace, and should not be allowed. Return to your homes where you belong. Mourn your King, for when you find him, he shall be dead.”
“Someone do something!” Payet shouted, but the man had already disappeared into the chaos. She turned to her companion, who appeared tense underneath his calm exterior. Was he afraid?
“What do we do?” she exclaimed, wanting to scream and huddle into a ball on the ground.
“Relax. I’m going to take you home,” he replied, not an ounce of fear in his voice.
“Through that?” She pointed to the mess of tangled bodies running through the streets.
“No,” he answered. His eyes were focussed on the series of gabled rooftops lined up before them.
“Oh, no,” she said, eyes wide and backing away. There was no way she was jumping rooftops in this dress. Instead he approached her quickly and lifted her over his shoulder, her legs kicking in the air.
“Put me down!” she growled through her teeth.
“Only if you want to fall.” She shut her mouth and squeezed her as shut.
Instead of plummeting to their deaths, it seemed they were rising above the buildings, floating on air. She opened her eyes and saw that the man was holding onto a small contraption that resembled helicopter blades which was whisking them over the city.
“Wha-“she began.
“-Mini-heli,” he said, cutting her off. She was about to ask where he’d gotten it when they descended into the courtyard of The Lonely Duck, landing with a thump.
“Here we are,” he said, brushing dust off his suit.
“Wait a minute,” she said, pointing a finger at him, “I never told you I was staying here.”
“You’re right. I’m afraid I followed you when you left. I apologize. I found you quite interesting,” he admitted sheepishly.
“Oh,” she said, wondering if she should feel offended or very flattered. “Well, goodnight.”
“Wait. Could I escort you to your rooms to ensure your safety?” he asked in earnest. She pondered for a moment, but the crack of another explosion made up her mind for her.
“Only to my door and then we say good night,” she agreed. He took her arm in his and walking her in through the back door. The Inn was empty except for Fran, who winked at her approvingly as they walked up the stairs. Payet rolled her eyes as soon as they were out of sight.
“This is insane,” she murmured as they reached her room. She stood awkwardly in front of the door, raising her eyebrows expectantly.
“Keep safe, my lady,” the man said, bowing deeply. Upon his rise, he removed his masque, revealing kind and weathered eyes. Taking he cue she removed hers as well, feeling quite naked without it.
“Goodnight. Wait, what is your name?” she asked.
“Keat. My name is Keat.
“Goodnight, Keat,” she said again, then turned to open her door. As she twisted the handle she realized it was unlocked, and her keys were nowhere to be found in her pockets. Swinging open the door, she saw Dempsey, the girl-thief from the market seated on a hair in the middle of her room holding a long, twiny rope.
“Welcome home, princess,” she snarled. Behind her Keat closed and locked the door, giving her a menacing grin.