Free Captain Albion Clemens and The Future that Never Was: A Steampunk Novel! (Lands Beyond Book 1) by Kin Law Page B

junked junks, busted barges, and other rubbish loosely roped together. If an airship mistakes this floating spider’s web as a plethora of garbage, its crew would curse themselves and nine generations of their kin. This particular flying structure is the world-famous Straight Hook , the tavern of taverns, and favorite watering hole of air pirates across Europe.
    After I wrangled the exact circumstances of the Inspector’s arrival from Alby and sniffed him for remnants of perfume, he shared the details of his conversation with me. Claims of national monuments disappearing were outlandish, but the chatter over the ether spike had been building up to something big for days. From far Kyoto to San Francisco, ballooning brigands everywhere were all a titter.
    We decided the best place to start were the rumor-infested catwalks of the Hook . If anyone had news of the Leviathan in recent days, the airmen of the Hook would. Ostensibly, we came to look into the truth of Inspector Hargreaves’ tall tales of an airship legend come to life. Really, we tended to find ourselves at the Hook whenever we had a couple coins to rub together.
    On a scale of sad birthday clown to mid-air orgy, the place could only be described as epic. Her tiers of bustling bars, private rooms and cloistered cat-petting lounges were not only havens of inebriation, but also clusters of the best rumor and hearsay this side of Istanbul.
    Patrons still recall fondly the legendary Millbeard, he of the windmill in his beard, may your arguments ever be invalid, and the night he fell off the edge of a whisky lounge, landing four decks down into a gin palace full of naked wenches.
    I know for a fact this particular story is true. He tore my favorite fishnets on the way down.
    So where had the Hook come from? Who had lashed the first balloon to the first keg of ale? Not one of us knew. Occasionally one could see a glimpse of the real masterminds, with helium in their blood. They left marks scrawled on impromptu signage and pinned to cork boards: the Incognito- the true power of the place. Their signs slunk under and around everything, simultaneously a comfort and a caution to those in the know; they were legion, inescapable. The skulls, question marks, and masks were a reminder of the power in this place, and the unspoken credo passed from pirate to pirate in hushed whispers and grudging alliances. Yet, even they were only residents, denizens of a place that seemed to exist in utter defiance of all outside authority. The Straight Hook was a place truly neutral, since not a single person knew whom to blame for it.
    With the Berry docked, we found the splintery platforms full to bursting with other vessels- not only pirates, but freighters and other rabble. We recognized the pirates’ ships, some we knew from saucy knocking about, others for their barely disguised weapons.
    As for watering holes, there were the usual suspects, of course. The old commonwealth lines were well dug, with Tony Finnigan holding down the west side whisky joints and Maude ‘Momma’ Wilkes fielding gin palaces dawn side.
    Gypsy caravans bobbed far overhead, roped conveniently to an upper quadrant where hunters of romance could find game. Everywhere sprouted the usual oddment of characters: purveyors of all kinds, conspiracy nutters, feline fanatics. The unsavory lot generally stuck to the deep parts of the Hook, where the slaver ships, the politicos and the abattoirs clung by thin strands of hemp netting and tolerance.
    At our favorite pub somewhere in the periphery of the Hook, we soon discovered the reason for such an impromptu gathering. It was a bubbling cauldron of rumor, but not over what had happened at Westminster. The fact those few blocks of John Bull were gone was undeniable truth. We also learned the Eiffel Tower had gone, this time straight past the torched remains of the French dirigible defense, but it was through idle chatter, of no importance. Whodunit and for what dastardly