Flyboys, Part Thirteen
Jul. 21st, 2006 10:42 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
jeriendhalThe second to last day of the Exposition dawned warm and fair, the light from the sun rising above the curved walls of the disused steam racer track. It had been built with great anticipation some ten years ago, when the steam cart racing frenzy was at its peak. Unfortunately it had also been the site where steam cart racing had met its end, when a track collision disintegrated a racing cart and sent its boiler flying into the stands, killing over a dozen spectators.
Despite this grim history, there was a substantial crowd in the stands, drawn by the curiosity of a new race, and by the perceived challenge to Continental Steam’s supremacy in the field of engine manufacture. A challenge that Viscount Brushtail’s well-honed skills at public politics had played up ruthlessly at every opportunity.
“What if CS doesn’t even bother to answer our challenge?” Rolas had asked Bom, after the portly noble had succeeded in getting a waiver from the Lady Mayor.
“Oh, they’ll answer it,” Bom had reassured him. “Their only alternative is to allow you to go ahead and show off your engine, undisputed by the supposed superiority of their design. Or worse, allow you to race against their few competitors, giving their legitimate rivals publicity.”
“We’re not legitimate?”
Bom laughed. “Oh, no. We’re sneaky pirates, trying to steal away their business. And you know how everyone loves a good pirate story.”
So now Rolas wiped grease out of his paws, having done a final check of the engine in the pits, while Rulfen settled himself down in the seat of the cart.
“Be careful going around the curves,” Rolas told him. “We never did strengthen the brakes, so you’ll want to disengage the throttle just before going in, and bring it back on the line just as coming out.”
Rulfen smiled. “Don’t worry, Rollie. I’ll have the advantage in weight. That steamer of CS’s is heavier and less manuverable.”
“But it’s got better brakes,” Rolas said.
“Go back to the stands, old bean. You’re starting to sound like Artie.”
“Now I know why Artie always complains so much. I though I was the one that was supposed to be overconfident.” Still, Rolas shook his brother’s hand and said, “Good luck, Rulf.”
“Luck hasn’t anything to with it,” Rulfen said, “we’ve got the better design.”
Rolas laughed at that, and headed back to the stands, where Artie, Bel, and Mister Sharpears waited. To both the brothers’ surprise, the old man had actually listened to their pleas to attend, saying, “Even if you lose, boys, I want to see me engine go against those CS bastards, just once, just to show them it worked.”
“How’s Rulf?” Bel asked, when Rolas had seated himself. To his mild irritation, Bel elected to sit on her father’s left side, leaving him stuck between the aging inventor and Artineth.
“Rulf is fine,” he reported. “Heard anything from the distinguished competition over there?” He nodded to where a knot of Continental Steam executives were sitting in the box on the other side of the Mayor’s own box.”
“We are being politely ignored,” Bel said with a sniff.
Artie chuckled. “Bastards (beg y’r pardon, Miss Bel) shouldn’t keep their noses so high. They’re going to miss t’ root that trips ‘em up.”
The traditional call of the hunting horn was sounded, and the Lady Mayor stepped up to the front of the viewing stand. Out on the track, the two cart pulled up to the starting line, as the horn continued its fanfare. Rolas found himself leaning forward in his seat, waiting for the Lady Mayor to give the signal to start the race. Master Sharpears was tapping his cane on the floor in nervous anticipation, as his daughter bit down on her tongue to contain her own excitement.
The Lady Mayor raised her baton of office, and the crowd began counting down. [i]Four... three... two... one...[/i] Then she swung down her baton, there was a great blast of the hunting horn, and the racers leaped forward!
Or rather, Continental Steam’s polished and gleaming cart leaped forward. The somewhat homely and practical brown cart the boys had so carefully crafted sat rooted in place at the starting line.
“Oh, no! What’s the matter!” Bel cried out. Rulfen sat in their cart, seeming not to notice at the CS racer pulled away, already climbing into the first turn. Then to the crowd’s amazement, he casually leaned back and stretched his arms behind his head.
“Rulf, you fool! What are you doing?!” Rolas cried out. The CS racer finished the far straightaway and was rounded through the second curve by the time Rulfen deigned to turn his head around to look at the competition. The CS racer was already past him and heading into the first turn again by the time Rulfen casually reached down and released the handbrake.
“We’re a lap behind!” Yorrie Sharpears yelled. “That young fool ruined us!” The old man looked like he was about to cry.
“No, Father, look!” Rulfen had guided the boys’ racer through the first turn already, with the CS cart just two thirds through the first straightaway. By the time the steam cart crossed the starting line the second time, Rulfen had closed the gap between them to less than half of what it was.
The crowd went made with cheers at the end of the third lap, when Rulfen and the CS racer zipped across the line almost neck and neck. By the end of the fourth lap the race was a foregone conclusion, with the boys’ internal combustion racer two thirds ahead. By the time Rulfen guided their homely little cart across the finish line, he’d succeeded in gaining a full lap on the other racer, and Rolas, Artineth, and both the Sharpears were cheering themselves hoarse.
Together they ran down to the finish line, where Rulfen was being borne out of the cart by well-wishers.
“Oh, hello, Rollie,” he greeted, finally getting his feet under him as Rolas grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Blessed Goddess, Rulf! What did you think you were doing down there, putting on that show!” Rolas shouted.
“Oh hush, Rollie. I thought it was a wonderful way of showing up those Continental Steam fellows,” Bel said, then impulsively wrapped her arms around Rulfen and gave him a kiss. “You were absolutely wonderful, Rulf!” she told him.
“Thank you, Bel,” Rulfen said, grinning like a schoolboy. “Let’s hope the Viscount thinks so, eh?””
“Yes, wonderful,” Rolas muttered quietly, unheard over the roar of the crowd.
“Hello, boys!” Bom boomed cheerfully, wading through the crowd. “I was just speaking to one of my good friends on the Trans Oceanic board. It seems that like to have a chat with you two and Master Yorrie, at your earliest convenience. Imagine that!”
That news set the elder Sharpears to weeping, causing his daughter to abandon Rulfen. Rolas, deciding on the better part of valor, just smiled and gave the old man a pat on the back in congratulations.
Despite this grim history, there was a substantial crowd in the stands, drawn by the curiosity of a new race, and by the perceived challenge to Continental Steam’s supremacy in the field of engine manufacture. A challenge that Viscount Brushtail’s well-honed skills at public politics had played up ruthlessly at every opportunity.
“What if CS doesn’t even bother to answer our challenge?” Rolas had asked Bom, after the portly noble had succeeded in getting a waiver from the Lady Mayor.
“Oh, they’ll answer it,” Bom had reassured him. “Their only alternative is to allow you to go ahead and show off your engine, undisputed by the supposed superiority of their design. Or worse, allow you to race against their few competitors, giving their legitimate rivals publicity.”
“We’re not legitimate?”
Bom laughed. “Oh, no. We’re sneaky pirates, trying to steal away their business. And you know how everyone loves a good pirate story.”
So now Rolas wiped grease out of his paws, having done a final check of the engine in the pits, while Rulfen settled himself down in the seat of the cart.
“Be careful going around the curves,” Rolas told him. “We never did strengthen the brakes, so you’ll want to disengage the throttle just before going in, and bring it back on the line just as coming out.”
Rulfen smiled. “Don’t worry, Rollie. I’ll have the advantage in weight. That steamer of CS’s is heavier and less manuverable.”
“But it’s got better brakes,” Rolas said.
“Go back to the stands, old bean. You’re starting to sound like Artie.”
“Now I know why Artie always complains so much. I though I was the one that was supposed to be overconfident.” Still, Rolas shook his brother’s hand and said, “Good luck, Rulf.”
“Luck hasn’t anything to with it,” Rulfen said, “we’ve got the better design.”
Rolas laughed at that, and headed back to the stands, where Artie, Bel, and Mister Sharpears waited. To both the brothers’ surprise, the old man had actually listened to their pleas to attend, saying, “Even if you lose, boys, I want to see me engine go against those CS bastards, just once, just to show them it worked.”
“How’s Rulf?” Bel asked, when Rolas had seated himself. To his mild irritation, Bel elected to sit on her father’s left side, leaving him stuck between the aging inventor and Artineth.
“Rulf is fine,” he reported. “Heard anything from the distinguished competition over there?” He nodded to where a knot of Continental Steam executives were sitting in the box on the other side of the Mayor’s own box.”
“We are being politely ignored,” Bel said with a sniff.
Artie chuckled. “Bastards (beg y’r pardon, Miss Bel) shouldn’t keep their noses so high. They’re going to miss t’ root that trips ‘em up.”
The traditional call of the hunting horn was sounded, and the Lady Mayor stepped up to the front of the viewing stand. Out on the track, the two cart pulled up to the starting line, as the horn continued its fanfare. Rolas found himself leaning forward in his seat, waiting for the Lady Mayor to give the signal to start the race. Master Sharpears was tapping his cane on the floor in nervous anticipation, as his daughter bit down on her tongue to contain her own excitement.
The Lady Mayor raised her baton of office, and the crowd began counting down. [i]Four... three... two... one...[/i] Then she swung down her baton, there was a great blast of the hunting horn, and the racers leaped forward!
Or rather, Continental Steam’s polished and gleaming cart leaped forward. The somewhat homely and practical brown cart the boys had so carefully crafted sat rooted in place at the starting line.
“Oh, no! What’s the matter!” Bel cried out. Rulfen sat in their cart, seeming not to notice at the CS racer pulled away, already climbing into the first turn. Then to the crowd’s amazement, he casually leaned back and stretched his arms behind his head.
“Rulf, you fool! What are you doing?!” Rolas cried out. The CS racer finished the far straightaway and was rounded through the second curve by the time Rulfen deigned to turn his head around to look at the competition. The CS racer was already past him and heading into the first turn again by the time Rulfen casually reached down and released the handbrake.
“We’re a lap behind!” Yorrie Sharpears yelled. “That young fool ruined us!” The old man looked like he was about to cry.
“No, Father, look!” Rulfen had guided the boys’ racer through the first turn already, with the CS cart just two thirds through the first straightaway. By the time the steam cart crossed the starting line the second time, Rulfen had closed the gap between them to less than half of what it was.
The crowd went made with cheers at the end of the third lap, when Rulfen and the CS racer zipped across the line almost neck and neck. By the end of the fourth lap the race was a foregone conclusion, with the boys’ internal combustion racer two thirds ahead. By the time Rulfen guided their homely little cart across the finish line, he’d succeeded in gaining a full lap on the other racer, and Rolas, Artineth, and both the Sharpears were cheering themselves hoarse.
Together they ran down to the finish line, where Rulfen was being borne out of the cart by well-wishers.
“Oh, hello, Rollie,” he greeted, finally getting his feet under him as Rolas grabbed him by the shoulders.
“Blessed Goddess, Rulf! What did you think you were doing down there, putting on that show!” Rolas shouted.
“Oh hush, Rollie. I thought it was a wonderful way of showing up those Continental Steam fellows,” Bel said, then impulsively wrapped her arms around Rulfen and gave him a kiss. “You were absolutely wonderful, Rulf!” she told him.
“Thank you, Bel,” Rulfen said, grinning like a schoolboy. “Let’s hope the Viscount thinks so, eh?””
“Yes, wonderful,” Rolas muttered quietly, unheard over the roar of the crowd.
“Hello, boys!” Bom boomed cheerfully, wading through the crowd. “I was just speaking to one of my good friends on the Trans Oceanic board. It seems that like to have a chat with you two and Master Yorrie, at your earliest convenience. Imagine that!”
That news set the elder Sharpears to weeping, causing his daughter to abandon Rulfen. Rolas, deciding on the better part of valor, just smiled and gave the old man a pat on the back in congratulations.
