The opening to my book: rewrite #127,890,723,412,529,838,296 (I think.) *** IN THE WORLD of Terúviel there lived a band of slightly honourable villains. They were known as the Brotherhood of Thieves, and thievery was their trade. A very good trade it was, too: there were always plenty of people to steal from and other people willing to buy. You could choose your own hours, rates were fair, and best of all, in their home country the long arm of the law was powerless to touch them. It had, in fact, gone stiff with arthritis. Members of the Brotherhood called each other Brothers, though very few of them actually were. I won’t pretend that they were any better than the common sort of thief, or that they were basically decent people. They weren’t. But there was one positive thing you could say about them: they only ever stole from the rich, and they gave most of the spoils to the poor. Kind of like our Robin Hood… except bows and arrows were rather old hat these days, and no self-respecting lawbreaker would ever be caught wearing green. Today was a special day. The Brotherhood were about to attempt their biggest heist yet. They were going to steal a princess. The Brothers liked to do things with style. And when it came to travel, nothing said ‘style’ like an airship. Their airship was called the Tarantelle. She was an odd one: a strange ship for a strange crew. Most airships were metal, but she had been cobbled out of various parts and pieces, and the body of an old wooden galleon. Her sails and masts had been taken away; in their place were fluted chimneys that belched pillars of smoke, and turbines that whirred and hummed. Three balloons half as big as houses lifted her, tethered to her sides by webs of rope and cables. Flocks of seagulls flapped about the Tarantelle and circled beside her as she flew. I imagine they thought she was a bird herself, though I doubt any of them thought she was pretty. Ninety feet long, she had all the things you’d expect to see on a wind-blown seafarer: a three-tiered castle at her stern, with furnished rooms and windows; long deck surrounded by iron railings; a hull garishly painted, to hide the marks of weather and age; and a curving prow with figurehead. This last was shaped in the likeness of a swan. Finally – somebody’s idea of a joke – she still carried an anchor, which no one, fortunately, had ever dropped.
Posted on: Thu, 22 Aug 2013 09:38:03 +0000
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