Release date: September 26, 2017
Subgenre: Steampunk
About Copper Cove:
Copper Cove, city of marvels powered by magic and steam, is abuzz over
the coming of the new rail line. Crafter Tabitha Miles would love to be
on the first trip of the Velessan Express, but there’s work to be done.
Staying awake past midnight to make ends meet, difficult clients,
runaway automatons, guild enforcers, all just another typical day for
her.
Tabitha’s latest commission seems like just another job at first but then she meets newspaper reporter Sophie Haverford and falls into a web of conspiracy and murder. Can Tabitha unravel the mystery, prevent a disaster, and win Sophie’s heart in time for tea?
Tabitha’s latest commission seems like just another job at first but then she meets newspaper reporter Sophie Haverford and falls into a web of conspiracy and murder. Can Tabitha unravel the mystery, prevent a disaster, and win Sophie’s heart in time for tea?
Excerpt:
Myrmidons were automatons crafted from armor that had once been worn by elfin heroes, with the purpose of serving as bodyguards for nobles. However, many elves had no feel for crafting, and rogue myrmidons were common. They usually caused no harm...unless they happened to be stampeding down a city street at lunchtime.
I saw that one elderly woman had fallen to her knees and dropped her cane. She was having trouble getting to her feet, fumbling for her glasses as the myrmidon headed straight towards her. “Cogs and gears,” I muttered as I reached for my toolbelt.
I had one tool with me that worked with devices that had gone out of control—a Tucker’s Reverberator, which bore some resemblance to a giant bronze filigree clothespin. I yanked it off my belt and sprinted towards the myrmidon. “Halloo! Tin head!” I shouted.
The myrmidon didn’t pause, which came as no surprise; it was probably crafted to ignore insults, especially my rather poor one. The woman on the ground looked up at it, mouth open, frightened beyond speech.
I jumped in front of the myrmidon as it stretched out an arm. I slapped the reverberator on its hand. As it raised its other arm to strike, I tapped the button on the reverberator and backed away quickly.
The myrmidon paused as the Tucker’s Reverberator started to shake, softly at first, then harder and faster, with an oddly tuneful hum. It dropped to its knees as bolts began to work loose. I crouched down to shield the elderly woman.
With several loud pops, the bolts that held the armor together flew off; I had to dodge one that shot towards my head. The myrmidon loudly collapsed in a pile of gears, screws and pieces of armor. The onlookers applauded, murmured appreciatively, and in one case grumbled over losing a bet.
I retrieved the old woman’s cane and knelt to help her up. “That worked,” I said to her with a grin, quietly thanking my lucky stars that it had. “Are you all right?”
“What have you done?” We both glanced down the street at the elfin noble that was marching towards us in a whirl of petticoats and parasol, followed by a quartet of nervous attendants. I recognized the oak and thorn crest on their robes from the Courant. I had managed to wreck a myrmidon that belonged to Lady Gladiola Greenbrae.
“Your pardon,” I said politely as I stood, “but—”
“It's ruined!” Lady Greenbrae screeched as she pointed at the pile of parts. “My beautiful myrmidon!”
“Yes, that was the point.” I yanked the reverberator, and the gauntlet I had attached it to, away from one of the attendants. “Someone was about to get hurt.”
“How could you do this? Who’ll protect me now?”
I glanced at what was left of the myrmidon as Greenbrae’s entourage started to gather the pieces. “You could always hit the crooks with a forearm or a breastplate.”
I saw that one elderly woman had fallen to her knees and dropped her cane. She was having trouble getting to her feet, fumbling for her glasses as the myrmidon headed straight towards her. “Cogs and gears,” I muttered as I reached for my toolbelt.
I had one tool with me that worked with devices that had gone out of control—a Tucker’s Reverberator, which bore some resemblance to a giant bronze filigree clothespin. I yanked it off my belt and sprinted towards the myrmidon. “Halloo! Tin head!” I shouted.
The myrmidon didn’t pause, which came as no surprise; it was probably crafted to ignore insults, especially my rather poor one. The woman on the ground looked up at it, mouth open, frightened beyond speech.
I jumped in front of the myrmidon as it stretched out an arm. I slapped the reverberator on its hand. As it raised its other arm to strike, I tapped the button on the reverberator and backed away quickly.
The myrmidon paused as the Tucker’s Reverberator started to shake, softly at first, then harder and faster, with an oddly tuneful hum. It dropped to its knees as bolts began to work loose. I crouched down to shield the elderly woman.
With several loud pops, the bolts that held the armor together flew off; I had to dodge one that shot towards my head. The myrmidon loudly collapsed in a pile of gears, screws and pieces of armor. The onlookers applauded, murmured appreciatively, and in one case grumbled over losing a bet.
I retrieved the old woman’s cane and knelt to help her up. “That worked,” I said to her with a grin, quietly thanking my lucky stars that it had. “Are you all right?”
“What have you done?” We both glanced down the street at the elfin noble that was marching towards us in a whirl of petticoats and parasol, followed by a quartet of nervous attendants. I recognized the oak and thorn crest on their robes from the Courant. I had managed to wreck a myrmidon that belonged to Lady Gladiola Greenbrae.
“Your pardon,” I said politely as I stood, “but—”
“It's ruined!” Lady Greenbrae screeched as she pointed at the pile of parts. “My beautiful myrmidon!”
“Yes, that was the point.” I yanked the reverberator, and the gauntlet I had attached it to, away from one of the attendants. “Someone was about to get hurt.”
“How could you do this? Who’ll protect me now?”
I glanced at what was left of the myrmidon as Greenbrae’s entourage started to gather the pieces. “You could always hit the crooks with a forearm or a breastplate.”
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About Robert Dahlen:
Author bio: Fantasy novelist, all-around wisecracker and penguin
aficionado, Robert Dahlen lives in Northern California with
lots of penguins, a tablet stuffed with e-books and works in progress, a
collection of Disney Infinity figures that is growing exponentially, and a very
nice hat.. He is hopefully working on more Monkey Queen stories (and other
projects) as you read this.
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