Cities of Steam: The Floating Fortress excerpt (working title)

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Here's what resulted from my morning braindump:

Phoebe Bricklesworth was going on an adventure. At least, that's what she told herself, as she smoothed her gown. It was a soft dove-grey damask threaded with turquoise, is skirt and tight-fitting sleeves trimmed with silver braid. It was out of date, at least for the socialites, but it had been her mother's and was one of the nicest gowns Phoebe owned. She took the time to do up her hair just how her mother's portraits all showed her wearing it.

Phoebe studied her reflection, realizing she looked much more like her mother now than her father. She snorted. "That's because I'm in skirts for once and my face is actually clean." Her eyebrows had even grown back in properly, and just in time too. She had to look presentable for her father's meeting today.

Lifting her skirt so she could navigate, Phoebe left her room and made for the staircase that was about the only thing grand about the house she and her father lived in. After her mother's death six years ago, Phoebe's father had gone into a slump, just ill-timed enough for a competitor to swoop in and steal away most of his business.

Oh they were doing all right now, but the damage was already done. Between funeral arrangements and lack of creative inspiration- meaning her father wasn't producing enough, their finances had taken a hit. Only a few years ago, Phoebe had quit school and hung up her uniform to don a new one: a heavy apron, pants, plain shirts, goggles, and gloves. She entered her father's laboratory and demonstrated that while she had her mother's looks, she had her father's mind.

So it was that Phoebe had helped her father save their fortune, and now she was an inventor, just like him. They lived within their means these days, but extravagance was a thing of the past. It didn't matter; Phoebe had all she needed. She had her memories of her mother and she had Oliver Bricklesworth, her father. Her hand went to her mother's favorite cameo necklace, the one her great-aunt had tried to have Jessamyn buried in, but Phoebe had broken down, insisting that she keep it as a memento. It was one of the few times Aunt Myrtle had even lost an argument.

"Phoebe? Are you ready?" Her father voice called out from the front hall, which was grander in name than in truth.

"I'm ready," she replied, pinning on her hat and taking her father's arm as the headed out to the carriage. Even the carriage ride was something of a change. They couldn't afford to keep a drive on retainer anymore; this one had been sent by Lord Octavius Lidwell Chalton II. Phoebe had seen the Lord, and his son, a young man near her own age, only a few times and always from a great distance. They hadn't been invited to balls at Chalton Hall since their 'misfortune and hard times' as concerned folks like to say, clucking their tongues sympathetically at Phoebe as she picked her way through the less reputable parts of town, often heading for the junkyard.

Today was different. They'd been invited, and not even for a ball. Lord Chalton required her father's services. She knew why. Rumors were flying around that Oliver Bricklesworth had discovered the secret to electrical stabilization. It would mean a revolution in the invention business, from the small to the grandiose. Phoebe let herself daydream as the steam-powered carriage issued a cloud of mist and started its voyage to Chalton Hall. Imagine! If this carriage were electric, it could run much faster. It could carry more. It could completely revolutionize travel. Phoebe knew she was dreaming big, but she pictured herself and her father, traveling across countries via an electric train. The possibilities were endless.

But you had to crawl before you could walk, she reminded herself squashing down those big dreams for just a little longer. If they could get Chalton's sponsorship, then their worries would be over and that rosy future she kept picturing before she fell asleep at night would one day be a reality.

Please, Phoebe thought, clasping her lace-gloved hands as she sat beside her father. Please don't let anything go wrong today.

Well. We all know what this means. Something goes terribly wrong.