The Wild Adventure of Jasper Renn (The Steampunk Chronicles) by Kady Cross Page A

The traffic was similar to New York, with many fine gentlemen and ladies passing by in gorgeous carriages—both steam driven and horse drawn. Beautiful buildings lined the streets, some of them hundreds of years old, others more modern in their appearance. It was noisy, and smelled strange, but it was very, very grand.
    “Be needin’ a cab, miss?”
    Cat turned her head. Beside her stood a young man with carrot-red hair and bright blue eyes. If his coloring didn’t give him away as Irish, his speech would have for certain. His expression changed when he saw her face. Saw her skin.
    “Aye,” she replied, falling easily into her father’s accent. “I would.”
    The boy hesitated, then grinned, all teeth and freckles. He’d been all set to distrust her because of how she looked, but her voice won him over. Prejudice was such a strange thing.
    The boy let loose a shrill whistle that immediately brought a black cab hauled by an automaton horse to the curb. The “animal” was flat black with gleaming brass. Intricately carved swirls decorated the black parts, making it a true work of art. A real craftsman had made this beast.
    Her ginger friend took her pack and set it inside the coach before holding the door for her. She handed him a shilling for his help.
    “Where to, miss?” he asked.
    “The Continental,” she replied just before he closed the door and relayed the address to the driver. It was a new hotel. Upscale, but she could afford it. It was close to Mayfair, which was what made it all the more desirable. Mayfair wasn’t just the neighborhood where Jasper lived, but where she believed her sister now resided, as well.
    She saw two women with skin like hers as the carriage pulled up to her hotel. One had to be the other’s mother. She had the arm of a handsome blond man, who also had the arm of the younger girl. People looked at them, but not with the same degree of surprise or disgust as she sometimes saw in America. Slavery had been abolished here half a century before the States finally put an end to it. She wasn’t naive enough to think that everyone in London would treat her in a manner that had nothing to do with her skin, but she hoped it wouldn’t be held against her. That sort of thing made her angry, and when she was angry she had a tendency to hit people. The only person who made her feel as though they were truly equals was Jasper, damn his eyes.
    Cat paid her driver, slung her pack over her shoulder and walked into the hotel. No one paid much attention to her. There were many people coming and going, of all shapes, sizes and colors, and all of them seemed far too busy to concern themselves with a tall girl whose clothes were a little wrinkled, but clean, and whose hair was pinned up under a wide-brimmed hat.
    She approached the desk and gave her name. An Asian man who was shorter and thinner than her took a punch card from a slot on the wall and asked her to follow him. He led her across the marble-floored foyer with its Grecian statues, automaton shoe-shine station and young girl trying to sell leaflets on things to do while in London. He led her into the lift, closed the iron outer gate and then the inner brass cage. He inserted a punch card in the slot and then dialed the floor number on the wheel beside it. He didn’t speak, which was fine by her.
    The lift stopped at the sixth floor. Her escort opened the gates and led her to a door that had the number 606 etched on a shiny brass placard. He opened the door and held it for her. As she crossed the threshold he offered her the punch card. “Your key. May I be of any other service to you, miss?”
    “No,” she said. “Thank you very much.” She tipped him a shilling. He didn’t seem insulted, so she relaxed a bit.
    He gave her a stiff bow. “Enjoy your stay.” And then he left her alone in the most opulent room she’d ever seen.
    A huge bed sat in the middle of the back wall, draped in beautiful gold brocade that matched the drapes.