Lemonade and Larceny

By Alicia Peterson

Aether’s Edge floated demurely across the sky, but inside the dirigible manor’s private study, Kytt Windthorn’s language was anything but ladylike.

“Thomas Edison’s trousers!” Kytt swiped a curl out of her face and pressed her ear to the cold metal door of an Iron Guardian X99. They were finicky under the best circumstances, and Kytt was in a hurry. She had only six more minutes to crack the safe and get out before the lemonade break ended. After that, her next dance partner would come looking for her. If he didn’t find her, tongues would wag.

She blocked out the muffled sounds of the nearby party and focused on the quiet tic-tic-tic of the mechanism as she turned the dial.

Click.

She froze, hardly breathing—of course, in this corset, she could hardly breathe anyway. With a firm twist, she turned the handle and pulled the door open.

Inside, a black velvet bag sat nestled on a pile of banknotes. Kytt ignored the money; her family had more than enough. She opened the bag and withdrew a heavy brass disk covered in intricate symbols. Ptolemy’s Astrolabe: a marvel of artistry and engineering. A navigational tool rumored to lead to untold riches.

She smiled. “Hello, beautiful.”

“I’m flattered, my dear.”

Kytt spun around.

A man in a weathered greatcoat and trousers leaned against the window frame. He was not old, though the sardonic lift of his eyebrow gave him a jaded look beyond his years. A clockwork eyepiece covered his left eye.

Kytt’s stomach sank. Only one man famously wore such a device: the Fearsome Pirate Gearlock.

“How did you get in here?” Kytt played the scandalized lady, but in truth, she was a little nervous. Gearlock had a ruthless reputation.

“I could ask the same of you.” He sauntered closer.

Kytt clutched the astrolabe. Aether take it if another thief would claim her rightfully stolen prize! “I’m a guest of Mr. Sebastian Malstrum.” True enough, though she had yet to meet their reclusive host. “And you, sir?”

The man chuckled. “Malstrum would never have me as a guest.”

Kytt inched away. “I really must get back. Mr. Malstrom sent me to fetch this. If you’ll excuse me…”

“Nice try, but we thieves recognize our own.” He considered her. “You’re good. The X99 is a bugger to crack. Do I have the pleasure of meeting the Ghost?”

Blast! No point denying it. “The pleasure is all yours, Mister… Gearlock, I presume?”

“At your service.” He dropped into an elegant bow.

Strange. All the stories branded him a low-born ruffian, but this man had gentle manners.

Before she could decide her next move, the study door opened, and the butler entered. Kytt thrust her prize into the folds of her bustle. “Foggerty, thank heavens you’re here! This hoodlum just burst in!”

Foggerty looked at her with mild curiosity, then turned to Gearlock.

The pirate sighed and removed his eyepiece. “It’s under control, Foggerty.”

The butler barely shrugged. “As you say, sir.”

Gearlock opened a nearby wardrobe. “Did you need me?”

“Yes, sir. May I open another case of the ’78?”

“Thirsty crowd.” The pirate traded his weatherworn coat for a white vest and elegant black tailcoat. “That’s fine. Throw in a few bottles of the Glendalough, too.”

“Very good, sir.” Foggerty bowed and left.

Kytt found her voice. “You!”

The pirate paused in arranging his bowtie. “Yes?”

She pointed an accusing finger. “You’re Sebastian Malstrom. This is your dirigible. This is your party!”

“Correct.”

“You’re also the Fearsome Pirate Gearlock.”

He continued attending to his bowtie. “And you, madam, are Kytrina Windthorn.” He caught her eye through the mirror. “You’re also the thief known as the Ghost.”

She pursed her lips and held the astrolabe before her like a shield.

He arched an eyebrow. “Don’t give yourself the vapors, I’m not going to hurt you.”

Kytt huffed. “I never get the vapors.”

“I believe that.” He extended his hand. “May I?”

She gritted her teeth in frustration, but what could she do? She handed him her prize.

Malstrom considered the astrolabe. “It really is a marvel.” He glanced at Kytt. “Do you know how to use it?”

“Give me a week and I will.” No point in false modesty now.

“I confess I lack the patience to learn.” He held it out to her. “It’s yours.”

“What?” Kytt stared at the astrolabe like it had transmuted into a tangle of snakes. “No.” At his surprised look, she added, “I thank you, sir.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She cast around for a good reason. “I hardly know you. It would be improper!”

He smirked. “Forgive me, but you don’t seem like a person captive to propriety.”

She could hardly argue with that. “I didn’t earn it.”

“Earn it? You were about to steal it!”

“Yes, and I worked bloody hard to do it!” Her hand flew to her mouth. “Forgive my language.”

He barked a laugh. “You’ll have to try harder to shock a pirate.”

“I really must go. I assure you, your secret is safe with me.” Kytt bobbed a curtsy and hurried to the door.

“Miss Windthorn, wait.”

She froze. Double blast!

“We seem to be at an impasse.”

“Oh?”

He stepped closer. “You want my astrolabe, but you won’t accept a gift. I need a navigator, yet you wish to pretend this never happened. What are we to do?”

Kytt’s gaze swung to him. “You need a what?”

“A navigator. Mine just retired. Your skill at thievery is a fine bonus.”

“If you’re winding me up, I will haunt you until your dying—”

He raised his hands. “I am in earnest.” A grin stretched across his face. “What do you say, Ghost? Will you honor my crew by joining us?”

The strains of a waltz swelled from the ballroom. Kytt’s life, her future, was calling. She mustn’t keep her next partner waiting.

She smiled at Gearlock and reached for the astrolabe. “The honor is mine, Captain.”

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Alicia Peterson is a former librarian and lifelong nerd. Her hobbies include crocheting Doctor Who-themed ponies, reading all the informational signs while hiking, and playing the oboe. When she’s not writing flash fiction, she is working on Middle Grade and YA sci-fi/fantasy. She lives in Northern Minnesota with her husband, two young sons, one handsome but neurotic dog, and 29 accidental chickens.

---

More Stories | Author Website