In a world of steamships and Progress, no one who sails due south across the Wild Sea ever returns.
No one knows why.
Dale Mortensen intends to solve the mystery. With the help of an old sailor and a reformed playboy searching for his missing sweetheart, he locates a captain and crew ambitious—not to mention crazy—enough to undertake the journey across the Wild Sea.
The Infinity and her crew sail south, but the truth of what really lies on the other side of the horizon is more amazing—and terrifying—than anything they can imagine.
It’s the adventure of a lifetime—and it may just get Dale and his friends killed.
Find out how this Young Adult steampunk adventure unfolds chapter-by-chapter every Thursday! Click here to start from the beginning. Or if you want to read it at your own pace, buy the ebook for $6.99 from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords or Sony, or get it as a trade paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Book Depository.
THE OTHER SIDE OF THE HORIZON
E. R. PASKEY
TWENTY-EIGHT
AT LEAST AS FAR AS OUTSIDE APPEARANCES were concerned, Rift City University sounded far grander than it was in actuality. The University occupied two connected sections of what Dale had come to realize was prime real estate on Levels 3 and 4 in East Middlesedge just a few blocks from the Square. It was the smallest university he had ever set eyes on before—and he had seen a fair number in his travels over the past few years.
Still, he thought as he crossed one of the bridges spanning the boulevard to connect both sides of Level 3, the population’s smaller here.
Entering the building, Dale paused only a moment to let his eyes adjust to the brighter light in the front lobby. Despite the early hour of the afternoon, it was fairly dark outside; rain continued to patter against the glass ceiling stretched from roof to roof. Most of the buildings he had passed glowed from lamps mounted on the walls, and the university was no different.
The lobby was painted a pale cream, which contrasted nicely with the dark woodwork and smooth dark floor. A wide staircase made of the same dark wood curved up to the second floor. Around the lobby, doors led off in various directions.
In the center of the floor stood a circular desk, behind which sat a reedy-looking man with a slight hunch in his spine. Despite wearing a monocle, he held a magnifying glass over a sheaf of papers and did not look up until Dale made his way to stand in front of the desk. Even then, it seemed to take him a supreme will of effort to tear his attention away from his task. “Can I help you?” he asked at last, in a wavering voice, looking up—and up—until he finally found Dale’s face.
Dale resisted the urge to twist his hat in his hands. “I’d like to sign up for language classes.”
The man blinked, his monocle making one eye appear overlarge. “Which language?”
“Demascenese.”
“Ah.” The overlarge eye blinked again. “Do you speak any Demascenese at all?”
“No, sir.”
“I see.” The old man rubbed his shaved chin with the top of the magnifying glass. “In that case, take the stairs up to room 203. You’ll want to speak to Professor Alec Hodge. He teaches Demascenese 101.”
“Thank you.”
The man turned back to his papers and Dale moved over to the stairs. They creaked under his weight, but later familiarity with the university would teach him that the stairs creaked even under the weight of a small child. He walked through the silent halls of the second floor, carefully checking the elaborate plaques mounted beside each door.
The door to room 203 was open. Rapping sharply on the doorframe, Dale poked his head inside. “Professor Hodge?”
A tall young man in a nice suit by Rift City standards sat behind a large desk, grading a stack of papers with flourishes of ink as black as his skin. His dark, curly hair stood out several inches from his head. As he wrote, he mouthed words, sometimes frowning and other times sighing.
“Professor Hodge?” repeated Dale, when the room’s silence continued to stretch on, broken only by the furious scratching of the professor’s pen.
Hodge started and dropped his pen. “Sorry. Sorry.” He looked up at Dale. “Please, come in.” He rose to greet Dale as he entered, pumping his hand enthusiastically. “I’m Professor Alec Hodge.” He grinned sheepishly. “But you already know that, don’t you?”
This professor was much younger than Dale had expected. He’s only a few years older than I am. Clearing his throat, Dale said, “My name is Dale Mortensen, Professor, and I’d like to learn Demascenese.”
Hodge beamed. “That’s excellent! It’s a challenging language—well, really, learning all the different extra characters in their alphabet is the tricky part—but it’s loads of fun.” He turned back to his desk and began sifting through a stack of papers. “Do you know any Demascenese?”
“Not a whit.”
“Looking to broaden your horizons? Expand your career options?” Hodge sent Dale a knowing look over his shoulder that belied his general air of youthful naïveté.
“Bit of both, I think.” Dale twitched his broad shoulders in a shrug, jamming his hands into his pockets. “I’ve only been in Rift City for a couple of weeks now.”
“Really?” Hodge’s head popped up again to regard Dale with frank curiosity. “Are you a sailor?”
“Was.” Dale shrugged again. “Nothing to be done here.”
“That’s true.” Hodge finally found the papers he was searching for and slid them across the desk to Dale. “I hold beginner’s classes twice a week—on Tuesdays and Thursdays. We’re already two months into this session, but you’ll be able to catch up if you apply yourself.”
“I’ll only be able to come every other week.” Disappointment rippled through Dale, but he shrugged it away. “I work on the Platform.”
“Ah.” Hodge sounded disappointed too. “Well, it can’t be helped.” He picked up his pen and handed it to Dale. “This top sheet of paper is your enrollment form. The university only charges you for classes you actually attend.”
He detailed the rest of the papers—a class syllabus and a class schedule. “And you’ll need a book.”
Dale looked up. “Where do I get that?”
“I keep copies on hand for just such an occasion.” Hodge moved over to a cupboard with lanky strides and extracted a thick book.
Dale itched to get a hold of it. Other than the pamphlets Riley had left at the Hospital, it had been weeks since he held a book. “How much?”
Hodge named a sum—lower than expected—and Dale produced the money from his pocket. Hodge penned his name inside and Dale accepted the book almost reverently.
“You’re a reader, aren’t you, Mr. Mortensen?”
Dale’s gaze flicked back to Hodge, whose initial exuberance—coupled with nervousness, Dale suspected—had settled as he discovered possible common ground. “Yes.” He ran a calloused finger over the book’s rich red cover. “Lost all my books when the Infinity sank.”
“That’s terrible.” Hodge hitched a hip on the corner of his desk, nearly knocking over a stack of papers in the process. “Tell me about the Other Side.” His voice held an eager note that made Dale think of how he must have sounded when asking questions about the Wild Sea.
Dale shrugged. “Not much to tell, other than it’s much bigger, it doesn’t rain all the time, and you don’t have worry about Streamers.” He did not want to talk about the Other Side; he wanted to discuss learning Demascenese and getting his hands on more books.
“My parents were from the Other Side,” said Hodge. “Arrived here as newlyweds. My mother sometimes talks about how much she misses the sun.”
The sun. Dale felt another pang of loss.
“Anyway, I look forward to having you in my class.” The professor cast a rueful glance at the stack of papers awaiting his attention. “I’d love to hear more about the Other Side and what you think of Rift City, but I’ve got to finish these papers.”
“Perhaps another time,” said Dale.
He signed the university contract to have his name put on the roster of students and Hodge initialed it. He then nodded to the door. “I handle the book money, but Rupert downstairs in the lobby handles class payments.”
“Thank you, Professor.” Dale extended a hand to him and they shook.
“See you tomorrow, Mr. Mortensen.”
Dale reversed his steps to the lobby, his new language book tucked firmly under one arm. Marching up to the front desk, he showed the old man, Rupert, his piece of paper. “I’d like to pay for this week’s classes.”
“Very well.”
The requisite number of coins changed hands and then Dale exited the University.
~oOo~
THREE hours later, having visited the library and found it sorely lacking, Dale left the bookstore carrying three more books, fewer coins, and a heavy heart. He was not entirely sure what he had expected of Rift City, given their near-isolation from the rest of humanity, but even those modest, half-formed expectations had been too high.
It appeared few books were actually published in Rift City. Maybe this side of the Rift only had a few authors. All Dale knew for sure was that the shelves of the library and the bookstore had been stocked with a fraction of the books he was accustomed to seeing back home. They were divided into four sections, with the two predominate languages having larger shares of both books and space.
Disappointment weighed heavily on Dale’s chest as he recalled the sadness in the bookstore owner’s face. The man had been born in Rift City, but grew up listening to his father talk of the books on the Other Side. This was just how things were in Rift City, he had said. Only one printing press and a backlog of books waiting to be approved and printed.
He made his way to the bank on Square and endured the process of opening an account. He would not receive a paycheck until the end of his first Platform stint, but his token provided all the identification the clerks required.
Upon returning to Mrs. Yunker’s, Dale sat down to dinner with his fellow boarders. Sam Withers greeted him with a smile; even Reese nodded to him.
“Welcome back,” said Withers over a basket of rolls. “We were beginning to wonder what had happened to you, but Mrs. Yunker assured us you’d been assigned to the Platform.”
Silence fell over the table as everyone turned in their direction.
“That’s right.” Dale took a roll and passed the basket down the table.
“Seen any Streamers?” asked Reese with a sneer.
“No.”
“It true that Platform workers get five days off?” inquired one of the younger men at the table.
“Of course they do.” Withers sent him a mild look of reproach. “Makes up for spending nine or ten days on shift.”
The man shuddered. “I’ll take the copper mine, thanks. You couldn’t pay me to work on that thing.”
“It’s reinforced with glitterglass.” Dale shrugged. “Seems sturdy enough to me.”
The men at the table exchanged sober glances that sent a trickle of unease sliding down his spine. He turned to Withers, who shrugged almost apologetically.
“Those reinforcements were recently replaced. There was…an incident a year or two ago.”
Dale lifted his eyebrows. “An incident?”
“Yeah,” said Reese belligerently. “The kind where men died. Get that through your thick skull.” Shoving his chair back from the table, he stood and stomped away.
“Don’t mind him,” advised Withers. “He’s got a—”
“—pickax handle shoved up his rear. I remember.” Dale polished off his roll in three bites. “He’s seen a Streamer, hasn’t he?”
Surprise flickered across Wither’s face, before he nodded. “Swears he saw a man torn apart two years ago.”
Dale’s next mouthful stuck slightly in his throat. That would explain a few things.
As they left the dining room after dinner, Withers pulled Dale aside. “You strike me as a man of few words, but watch what you say about the Platform. No one wants to work there, but some envy the men who do because they have a week off.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
~oOo~
DALE spent most of the next day studying the Demascenese alphabet and reading the first few chapters in his language book. At first glance, it all seemed rather overwhelming, but he doggedly stuck with it. Slowly, very slowly, the strange characters on the page began to take on a familiar cast.
By the time Dale had finished dinner that night and departed for his lesson, he was sure of one thing: he was in for a challenge.
He set off into the humid Rift City air toward the University. The Rail operated at all hours of the day and night; he had not been surprised to learn that the Lifts did as well. Granted, they were on a skeleton crew; for every Lift that had an operator, another Lift remained dark for the night. That was understandable; Rift City lacked a nightlight sufficient to require that everything remain operational.
A small, but steady stream of people flowed down both sides of the walkways toward the University’s entrance. They were an eclectic bunch, ranging from miners and shop girls to businessmen and well-dressed women. Dale joined them and filed into the lobby, passing Rupert, who kept one eye on the incoming stream of students and his monocle on the book propped up in front of him.
Once past the lobby, people began to split off in different directions. Some headed through a door beyond the stairs. Others, like Dale, traveled up the stairs and splintered off into different classrooms. For his part, Dale made his way back to Professor Hodges’s room, his book tucked firmly under his arm. He had a few sheets of paper pressed inside it, and a pencil in his pocket.
His heart thudded in his chest from excitement and anticipation. Having never taken a language class before, he had no idea what to expect. His sheer size made slipping unnoticed into the room difficult; though it was still a few minutes early, the bulk of his fellow students had already arrived and settled into their customary seats. Some sent him welcoming nods, others curious looks.
Feeling very awkward and out of place, Dale scouted about for the best place to sit. There were a few empty seats scattered around, though one or two people gave him looks that quite clearly stated they were expecting seatmates to arrive. He would have preferred to sit in the back, but all of those seats were taken. Swallowing, he approached one of the few remaining available spaces toward the front.
As he set his book down on the desk before him—too small to accommodate his larger frame, but it would have to do—a flicker of a smile crossed his face. Somebody might trade seats with me later because they can’t see through me.
They were waiting for Professor Hodges, apparently. Dale cast a curious glance around the room in the meantime—and met a familiar pair of wide brown eyes. Naya Azlynn, the girl he had bumped into, was also taking Demascenese 101. She looked about as startled to see him as he was to see her and promptly looked away.
One of the knots in Dale’s stomach loosened. Here, at least, was a familiar face. They’d only ever exchanged the two conversations, but they had met before.
Strangely, it made Dale feel a little less like an outsider.
Professor Hodge barreled in a moment later, a stack of books clamped under one arm, and sent the class an apologetic smile. “Sorry, sorry. Got held up downstairs.” He set the books on his desk with a thud and hitched a hip to perch on one corner of the desk. “Welcome back, everyone. We have a few new faces this week.” He nodded to Dale and to an older man slouched in a back corner. “This week, we will continue our study of the Demascenese alphabet and basic vocabulary.”
~oOo~
THE next two hours passed by in a flurry of strange words and the still-strange characters of the Demascenese alphabet. At the end of it, Dale felt overwhelmed, but in a good way. Excitement had ignited inside him, kindling a slow-burning passion for learning this language. I can do this.
At the very least, it would give him something to think about in his off-time aboard the Platform.
“If you have any questions,” called out Hodges above the rustling of his students gathering up their books and papers, “don’t hesitate to ask. Otherwise, I shall see you all back here on Thursday.”
Dale carefully extricated himself from the too-small desk and stretched a little to ease the strain in his back. Stowing his pencil in his pocket, he slid his papers into his book and closed it. Movement from Naya’s side of the classroom drew his eyes sideways; he watched her cross the room in a swish of red-and-brown striped skirts. His heart began pounding a little and his mouth threatened to dry up. He wanted to say something to her, even if it was only, “Goodbye”.
As though she felt his gaze, Naya turned her head and their eyes met. She offered him a tiny nod and Dale’s feet began to move, taking him down the aisle between rows of seats toward her. She waited for him, clutching her book to her chest and looking up at him with still-wide eyes.
Dale managed a smile. “Hello, again, Miss Azlynn.”
For a second, her face betrayed her shock at his remembrance of her name, but it passed and her expression turned considering. “You’re pretty brave, coming in here two months after the course has started.”
“Have to start somewhere. Figured I could catch up.” Dale shrugged and turned with her toward the door. His heart was still pounding. “Saved any more sailors from the river?”
As he had half-expected, Naya narrowed her eyes. “No. Most New Arrivals have the sense not go wandering where they’re not supposed to.”
“That you know of, anyway.” Dale smiled at her; he could not help himself. “Unless you have a habit of patrolling the river?”
A fine tremor shook Naya’s body and she shook her head. “Oh, no. You were a one-off.”
They were among the last few people remaining in the room now, though a fair stream of people from classes up the hall flowed past the open door. Dale cast about for something else to say—something that hopefully would not sound idiotic. “Do you speak any other languages?”
“Bits and pieces.” Naya shrugged. “I figured learning Demascenese might help me get a better post.”
Dale was about to ask her if he could walk her out when he caught a glimpse of a young woman with red-gold hair passing the doorway. Her face was turned toward him as she chatted with the young woman beside her—but Dale could have sworn he recognized her. He jolted. Is that—?
He looked at Naya with wide eyes. “Excuse me, Miss Azlynn,” he said hurriedly, and rushed out the door.
His height came in quite handy at this juncture, allowing him to see above all the other heads in the hall, and Dale easily picked out the red-gold curls that had caught his attention. Muttering, “excuse me,” and “pardon me”, repeatedly, he worked his way down the hall. Since Raphael had begged him to keep an eye out for any sign of Elena, he had seen redheads cropping up everywhere. The odds of this person being the right girl were slim, but he had to find out for sure.
She had just reached the bottom of the stairs when he called out, “Miss Mountebank? Elena Mountebank?”
The young woman’s head snapped up and she glanced around to see who was calling her name. When she spotted Dale coming down the stairs toward her, her forehead crinkled in confusion. “Are you speaking to me?”
The young lady beside her, brunette and taller by a few inches, looked at Dale with a combination of curiosity and mistrust.
Dale ignored her to focus on the redhead. She was so tiny she reminded him of Gail, only with red hair and hazel eyes. Excitement stirred up inside him. Raph, I may have found her. “Is your name Elena Mountebank?” Please, please, be Elena.
The young woman lifted her chin; Dale noted with some amusement that she barely reached his elbow. “Who wants to know?”
“My name is Dale Mortensen. I’m a friend of Raphael Franco Avarez.” He watched her carefully for her reaction; she did not disappoint.
“Raphael—” The redhead’s eyes went wide, until they were so large they seemed to take up half her face. “You know Raphael?”
Triumphant satisfaction rushed through Dale. I’ve found her. “I’ve sailed with him for the past two years.”
A little of the color returned to Elena’s fair cheeks. “The Raphael I know doesn’t sail.”
“He does now,” said Dale dryly. “He’s been looking for you ever since your ship went off-course. He will be delighted to hear you survived the Rift.”
The brunette gasped in excitement. Elena started, seeming to only just now recall the other girl was there. She turned to her friend. “Mariska, would you excuse us for just a moment?”
Without waiting for an answer, she marched off toward one side of the lobby. Dale followed behind her, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason now. Elena whirled on him. “What do you mean Raphael’s been looking for me?” she demanded in a low voice.
“I met him after your ship disappeared,” replied Dale quietly. “He was a wreck, but he cleaned up once he realized he could look for you. In fact,” he continued quickly, before she could interrupt, “he’s here now. We both came through the Rift.”
“I beg your pardon? Raphael is here, in Rift City?” The color drained from Elena’s face, even as her eyes began to burn bright with something that could have been hope.
“Aye. He showed me a picture of you and asked me to keep a lookout for you.”
“I—I—” Elena gulped for air and looked around, as though expecting Raphael to pop up around her at any second. “I don’t know what to say. Where is he?”
“The Hospital. Doctor Carthage and Mrs. Weatherby refuse to let him out until his leg heals.”
“He’s hurt?” Elena blanched.
“Hurt his leg in the shipwreck, but he’ll be all right,” Dale assured her. “Do you want me to take you to see him?”
For the span of a heartbeat, Elena’s face lit up with joy. Then a wall shuttered her expression, turning her face to a porcelain mask and her hazel eyes cool and wary. With a sinking heart, Dale knew her answer before she even spoke.
“I apologize, but I don’t know you, sir. I’m here with a friend and my father will be expecting me.”
Tell him then, Dale wanted to say, but he thought he understood her hesitance. After all, she had not spent as much time with a repentant, heartsick Raphael as he had. “I understand. Do you have an address or anything I can give him? You don’t know how it will ease his mind to know you’re safe.”
Elena bit her lip, obviously torn.
“If it’s any help, Miss Mountebank,” said Dale gently “You’re all he ever talks about.”
Elena was too ladylike to snort, though the skin around her eyes tightened. “I’m sure.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m afraid I can’t give out my current residence, but—” she added quickly, seeing the dismay that had crossed Dale’s face, “I will come to visit him, if I can.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Miss Elena.” Dale paused and then added, “Raphael’s been telling everyone about you, including waitresses, barmaids, and anyone else who will hold still for two words.”
Elena’s eyes softened before she dipped her head. “Good evening, Mr. Mortensen. Congratulations on surviving the Rift.” Chin up, she walked back to her friend, who was hovering a few yards away, looking anxious and exasperated by turns. They disappeared out onto the boardwalk.
Dale moved that way himself a moment later, deep in thought.
Find out how this Young Adult steampunk adventure unfolds chapter-by-chapter every Thursday! Or if you want to keep reading right now, buy the ebook for $6.99 from Amazon, Apple, Barnes & Noble, Kobo, Smashwords or Sony, or get it as a trade paperback from Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Book Depository.
Copyright © 2013 E. R. Paskey