I have always hated masques, the giggling heiresses, the stiff heirs, the silently scurrying servants, the maliciously gossiping maids, the noisy bands, the stupid dancing and don't even get me started on the canapés! But as the heir of noble house Dutair I could never be seen to snub our traditional allies in house Fairbanks by forgoing the attendance of their first ball of the season. Even the head of the most ancient and honourable House Dutair (my very own father) was attending which meant that I couldn’t wriggle out of it even if I tried. Not that I did, for once in my life I wouldn’t just be slapping a blank smile on my face whilst pretending to listen to small people make smaller talk, I had a reason to be there. This fact did not comfort me.

My family’s steam-carriage rattled along through the damp foggy night, I knew the oppressive mist would be left far behind when we began to climb up the vast spiralling road towards Baron Fairbank’s famous manor but I was still fidgeting in my heavy dress all the same. Part of it was nerves I admit, what I intended to do tonight was quite likely to result in my execution if I was caught after all. However in my defence I will point out that a good part of it was that although my dress was of the finest silk and latest style (sea green with silver chasings) it was still rather hot and heavy. On top of that steam-carriages are notorious for not being particularly cool nor comfortable contraptions at the best of times and a damp night in the middle of the season of fire was most assuredly not one of those times. I imagine I was quite red in the face when we finally left the sweltering fog behind.

Sat there with the rest of my family (the highest family of my house being as we were the closest relatives of the house head) it was not hard to see a few signs of similar discomfort if one knew where to look. To my left was seated my insufferable sister Allegra dressed like a tropical Pijet[1] and fanning herself slightly faster than was decent with her silken fan. I remember examining her closely for any signs of anxiety and feeling slightly jealous that she looked so obviously at home curled up in her seat completely at ease like a gryshk[2] on hearth rug, her long silver-white hair gleamed in the moonlight and her acid green eyes shimmered with excitement. Despite her gossipy nature and irritating personal habits I have always thought she looks the very picture of a proper young noble woman. Some have claimed I only think this because we’re identical twins but I’ve always believed it is simply my responsible nature as an elder sister shining through and I defy anyone to prove otherwise.

To my right was my irritating younger brother Roland nearly lost within the folds of a two sizes too large suit that had once belonged to my elder brother, I felt a pang of sadness as I looked at him which I quickly hid. He was smiling so widely I briefly worried he would dislocate his jaw as his ever wandering eyes took in the shining well oiled mechanisms of our carriage’s interior. Whenever our parents turned away he even went as far as to stick his head out of the window to stare rapturously at the smoking steam engine and its smoothly sliding pistons protruding from the iron horse that drew us. I shook my head slightly as he once again strained his neck to catch a second’s glimpse of the pressure regulator letting out a great hacking cough of ash filled smog Boys I remember thinking.

Looking away from the antics of my sibling I fixed my eyes on the figures sat opposite us who somehow managed to exude an air of palatial grace whilst sitting entirely still. My father or more correctly his Excellency the High-Lord Octavius Clemente Ivan Goretti Dutair the current head of house of the ancient and venerable house Dutair, next to him sat my mother lady Aurelia Alfonsina Alina Buffone Dutair who was several decades ago lady Leyon of the... you guessed it... ancient and venerable house Leyon.

Both were dressed simply and expensively in black and silver[3] and both were apparently entirely unaffected by the boiling night air, clinging humid mist and the rough ride of the damnable invention which was juddering us through the dark streets of Prasus.

Roland leant forwards in his seat again; the only thing keeping his head inside the window was the icy gaze of High-Lord Dutair as he trembled with barely contained excitement and curiosity. I remember I started counting to myself under my breath and only managed to get to 4 before the dam broke.

“Do you think he’ll have Brass-Angels? I hear they got them working again and even carded them better after the... accident at noble house Molit, they might work properly soon can you imagine? Real servant automatons! Do you think he’ll have some jellesion[4]? Oh oh and maybe he’ll have an airship! I heard from Gus that....”

“Oh honestly father!” exclaimed Allegra in a tired voice. “Didn't you forbid him from talking with that little gutter runner anymore?”

“Gus isn’t a gutter runner,” bursts out Roland angrily. “He just lives in a district on the northern dock spur that's all and he was right about us getting a Steam-Carriage!”

“Only because he works in the kitchens and saw it being delivered,” snaps Allegra leaning around me to glare at our brother. “It doesn't take a Tickwright to figure that out does it?”

Roland blushes but continues as irrepressible as ever. “You’re just jealous that the only people you get to talk to are stupid girls who only want to talk about stupider boy’s sis.”

Allegra nostrils flared and she leant in towards Roland who quickly mirrored the motion bringing their screwed up faces to within inches of one other. Both were obviously ready to get down to a proper old fashioned shouting match the second their anger overwhelmed their restraint. I for my part simply sighed and leant backwards out of their way whilst casting a pained glance across at mother who understood and nodded.

“You two calm down.... now,” she ordered in her imperious tone. “We are nearly there and I will not have you shaming our house with your bickering.”

My two siblings turned away from one another with bad grace and settled back into their seats, Allegra staring out of the window and Roland glaring at his lap. I smiled gratefully at mother feeling relieved that neither had seen fit to test her patience that night of all nights. Thinking that, I pulled my shawl back into position; it was required that all ladies dress respectably of course and besides now that we had left the steam laden fog from the city's vast ticksteel[5] manufactures it was becoming noticeably chillier.

Roland looks up at me with an expression of puzzlement and suspicion on his young face, “you usually side with mother when we argue Delilah why are you being so quiet?”

Because I was here to rob the Baron of course but I would never tell my younger brother that, instead I just made an offhand comment about needing to rest my voice to shout at him on the way back that earned a few rye smiles from the rest of my family and made him pout.

It didn't take us much longer to arrive, our carriage sweeping through the last few tendrils of fog and past a pair of large black gates made from iron filigree as thin as lace and up along the driveway of the Fairbanks manor and eventually coming to a stop at the foot of the ancient marble staircase with admirable precision. The Baron was rumoured to employ his own personal lay priest of the Church of the Divine Mechanisms[6] to tend to his estate and I could believe it, I’d never seen a better configured golem beacon in my life by then; our door was aligned perfectly with the bottom step of the staircase and the golem hadn't even had to back up. Even knowing just what kind of person he was I still felt rather impressed at the time.

This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work.

As the carriage stilled our driver frantically flipped levers and smacked buttons on the footplate routing steam, venting pressure and cooling fireboxes after a moment the huge growling steam engine that hung from the back of our carriage like the thorax of some strange beetle spluttered, screamed and hissed as ice cold water was dumped onto it cooling the metal. Ahead of us the horse golem that the engine powered stilled in its steel reigns, the horse shaped body stamped its hoof quite convincingly before it became still, the life giving steam within it venting out of its ear mounted pressure release valves. At that signal of safety the various foot men festooning the outside of our coach like rather tasteless decorations leap from their handholds and flutter around the doors as an even greater wave of servants poor down from the manor bearing drinks, umbrellas and other sycophantic minutia.

Father and mother saw this as nothing but there due of course they stepped from the coach with measured grace projecting power and influence with every motion and cut a swath through the babbling servants with a single glance. They proceeded along the freshly vacated cobbles at a slow pace expertly chosen to allow us to vacate the carriage behind them and catch up without doing anything as undignified as hurrying. Father had always said that “running was for those who could not afford to buy time.” We were the highest family of the House Dutair, one of the richest noble houses in the great city of Prasus, we could probably have afforded a century or two. We could certainly afford to make the Baron wait for us.

I still remember looking up at the mansion and being grudgingly amazed. For all his faults (and Baron Fairbanks had enough of them to capsize a dreadnaught) he certainly had a superb architect his palace was a ancient masterwork, a huge pseudo-gothic manor covered in marble pillars in much the same way that cheaper buildings had pigeons, tall stain glass windows dotted the sides each shot through with veins of imported jade and its roof was a wondrous work of black shingle that curved and ran back on itself in pantomime of the sea. All in all it was a nearly unique example of ancient Prasian architecture which had been ruined as far as I was concerned (and infinitely improved according to my little brother) by a whole slew of recent technological renovations. Its centuries old stonework had had innumerable holes punched into it through which wound a plethora of brass pipes pumping steam, gas and oil into the houses various mechanisms. As I stepped out of our carriage I saw two rows of eerie blue gas globes burning on the marble stairs before me sat upon its polished gilt edged bannisters and in the distance I could make out a slowly stomping gardening automata peacefully trimming a rose bed. The golem’s finger shears trimming an errant bud or two in each bush which its vacuum neck devoured before it moved on again stomping peacefully across the grass lawn.

I reached out a hand without even looking and grabbed my younger brothers collar which was the only way to stop him from running off and trying to make friends with the walking wheelbarrow, using the leverage I dragged him (with as much subtly as I could which in hindsight I don't think was very much) after our parents and towards the figure standing atop the graceful marble steps surrounded by actinic blue gas globes and smiling with a barely disguised expression of predatory glee.

This was Baron Augustine Fairbanks, controller of one of the largest cartels of food merchants in the great city of Prasus and the current head of noble house Fairbanks. He was well known amongst the nobility for his unparalleled understanding of countrywide financial markets, his adaptability to economic change and his utterly ruthless ambition and it was this last that had caught my attention and led to my visit here today. The serfs of his house were taxed very highly the Baron took over half of all that was earned in his houses various lands (mostly housing districts and docks but also large swathes of arable land on the islands surrounding the city which were sometimes jokingly called the grain collar) but that apparently wasn’t enough, black hooded soldiers prowled the streets of his boroughs late at night stealing all they could and beating those who resisted. The rumours went that the Baron had a singular ambition, a seat on the senate; the advisors and yes-men of the Arch-Doge[7] himself there was no small amount of competition for seats however the only way onto the senate was at the Arch-Doges request which is why the Baron had secured an ace. A priceless clockwork egg from the workshop of Des’Lunt herself it was a masterwork even by the highest standards of the finest Tickwrights of the Church of the Divine Mechanisms.

Inlaid with a thousand polished gems and cast from solid gold it opened and sang a different tune on the hour every hour and supposedly would never repeat itself. It was an example of the finest ticksteel ever forged of the same quality as the Arch-Doge’s personal golem bodyguards or the vast Brass Bastion of the Tribunal. It had cost millions of gold Lire[8] more than even a noble house could readily afford which was why Baron Fairbanks had sent his household guard out to steal from his own serfs and that gentle reader was why I was here to take it from him

Is that everything? I believe so. Come then and let me show you how I stole it and where and more importantly to whom it led me.

As I said I was standing on the marble staircase before the Fairbanks manor slightly behind my mother and father in the cold cloud free air one of my hands still firmly gripped my younger brothers collar and my sister stood to my side gazing at longingly at the manor no doubt already fantasising about dance and gossip. I for my part stared up at the man I was about to rob. I remember that just for a second he looked both cold and angry before he hid the expressions with well accustomed ease. I think I smirked ever so slightly; we had as house tradition demanded being fashionably late.

“Lord Dutair!” oozed the Baron unctuously taking my father’s hand and shaking it vigorously. “And Lady Dutair; you do me such a great honour by attending my humble little soiree.” His words dripped pretension like an assassin's dagger dripped poison but my parents are true nobility and play the game well, the disgust I am sure they were feeling was invisible even to their own daughter standing by their side.

“Lord Fairbanks,” murmured father stiffly but graciously affecting an air of ancient creaking courtesy with the ease of a life-times practise, “we are honoured by your invitation,” and then a flicker of fire was allowed to escape. “And that you so graciously waited for us.”

As I expected the Baron chose not to rise to this little conversational spar instead deflecting it with ease. “Oh but for my House's most ancient allies how could I do anything else?”

“We do hope the houses of Fairbanks and Dutair can continue their long and profitable alliance; our close cooperation can only serve to benefit both our houses.” Said my mother slowly and calmly the water to the fire. My parents knew one another’s preferred political gambits of old; it was a true pleasure to watch them work.

“Oh of course lady Dutair of course, allies must always stay ready to aid one another especially in these most... trying of times” he paused and looked around with well judged pageantry.

I remember reminding myself that I mustn’t underestimate any noble no matter how cruel or foolish they seemed; all the stupid ones were long dead. “Just last cycle[9] an Inquisitor passed by my manor and asked to check my serfs over, she implied one of them had been found in a routine check on the house Lanin and they were stepping up the searches... I was ever so grateful to see her of course and gave her the full hospitality of my house, it was the least I could do after all,” he turned away and raised a hand to his eyes dramatically. “The idea that a blasphemous mage might have been hiding amongst my most loyal workers... it makes me feel quite faint.”

My father nodded solemnly at the Baron storing that useful tip bit of information away, then as propriety demanded he half turned to gesture at me, “You have never been introduced have you? This is my first born Delilah Dutair,” I smiled as best I could as my father lied, “This is my second born daughter Allegra Dutair and,” he paused then sighed. “...that over there is my son Roland Dutair attempting to befriend your gardening automaton.”

Too late far too late I looked down at my hand realising that I had half felt him slip away but the rush of old memories had overwhelmed the sensation.

The Baron laughed and waved a hand dismissively. “They’re all the same at that age aren’t they Lord Dutair fascinated by all the mysteries of steam dare I say we might have a new acolyte of steam on our hands?”

Father, obviously appreciating the Baron’s graceful acceptance of the breach of etiquette, laughed politely. “It is possible, the clergy calls to some after all and the Order[10] is always looking for more initiates.”

Mother strode as fast as decorum permitted over to my younger brother and began to hiss in his ear as the Baron advanced on me hand outstretched.