Hello from a wannabe author
Read the first chapter of my children's fiction story that I've shelved for the time being.
Hi all! Today I thought I’d share something different. I’ve been writing stories since I was old enough to write - I still have the stories I wrote when I was 5 years old in a folder at my family home. It’s been a massive passion of mine, and I hope one day I’ll write something worthy of being published.
A few years ago I wrote the whole first draft of my story “Kin Ship”, the first chapter of which I am sharing below. The story is one of three, maybe four in a series, set in a fantasy world. The story needed a good editor to get it to a good point (but that’s the job of someone clever when you get a book deal), but I had help from the lovely Holly Tonks to edit my first chapter for submission back in 2020. Across 2 years my book was pitched to publishers with a great response to my actual writing, but with no one wanting this story at the moment. I was asked if I had any other stories, but haven’t returned to the publishers with any yet…
Whilst it sits in my file system waiting to be rejigged and made infinitely better I thought I’d share with you this first chapter and see what you think. I believe this is the first time I’ve shared any substantial piece of my writing so it’s a little daunting to let it out into the world, so I hope you like it.
Izzy x
Kin Ship by Izzy Burton
Chapter 1
It was one of those days that Pie loved. One of those days when the wild wind roared in from the East and whipped down the streets, rattling awnings and whistling through small gaps in the shops and houses. The cobbled alleys and wooden walkways were glistening from the remnants of a storm and all the people walked with earnest, shoulders shrugged, coats and scarves wrapped up past their ears.
Pie was bristling with energy. The grey of the sky had brought out beautiful colours of rust in the old buildings of downtown Harbour and the constant creaking gave the impression that everything might blow away in an instance. Yes, Pie thought, these were the days that felt as if adventure could be around any corner.
Ducking low under an extruding beam, Pie disappeared down a steep, cast iron stairwell ignoring the signs that said “DANGER : ABANDONED BUILDING”. With every step Pie wound lower and lower, and the warming smells of freshly baked bread mixed with the less pleasant smells of fresh fish, smoke, and something Pie couldn’t quite put his finger on, grew stronger. After 172 steps exactly (which he had counted on multiple occasions, making sure to avoid the rusty step 49) Pie found himself dodging bustling citizens who were making their way around the underground market. Hundreds of makeshift stalls with colourful awnings spread out in front of Pie and rising above them a huge arching metal and glass ceiling. The glass was almost completely blackened so that the market had to be lit by smoky lanterns, but here and there glass panes had shattered, and the grey light of the afternoon filtered down, along with a spattering of rain. In the central arch the gold lettering that read Beaumont & White had long since blackened too, a fading reminder of grander days past.
Pie darted through the crowds making a beeline for the awning made from a patchwork of gaudy materials. Here he found Petunia, as he always did, stooped over a huge pot of soup, persistently stirring the thick liquid so that it didn’t separate and put off potential customers. Petunia’s skin resembled the wrinkled pieces of meat that swirled around in her soup and her grey hair was tamed back into a fuzzy ponytail, so tight Pie wondered if it held her whole face up. When she saw Pie she smiled, her sagging cheeks drew to the side like theatre curtains, and she raised her arms in welcome. Congealed liquid plopped from her raised wooden spoon back into the pot.
“Well, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes!” Petunia rasped and then coughed a little.
“You need to stop smoking!” Pie replied.
“Tssk,” Petunia said and rolled her eyes, her pipe hanging around her neck on a piece of string, “Where have you been?”
“The warden was being extra vigilant ... I couldn’t sneak out,” Pie huffed.
“You shouldn’t refer to your own mother like that,” Petunia said, raising an eyebrow.
“Tssk,” Pie imitated, and then gave the soup a sniff – this was the smell he hadn’t been able to put his finger on.
“You want some?” Petunia asked, sticking the wooden spoon in his face. The smell wasn’t unpleasant, but it wasn’t exactly pleasant either … just odd and Pie was pretty sure soup shouldn’t be THAT colour.
“What’s in it?” Pie inquired hesitantly, knowing full well Petunia’s reputation for creative cooking.
“Just a bit of this and that – whatever I could get from Old Man Faunton.”
Pie knew that meant any number of rabid squirrels, sewer rats or discarded fish waste could be swimming around in there.
“I’ve got to save myself for dinner ... Sunday roast,” Pie smiled, patting his stomach.
“Sure,” Petunia rolled her eyes again and then turned to serve a person covered in a strange, almost luminescent, green powder. The green person didn’t seem to care if rabid squirrels were in his soup and had almost finished the lot before he’d handed over his coins. Pie didn’t bat an eyelid at the green person, unusual folk were ten a penny in the market, but his manner of eating made him feel a little sick.
“Anything been going on?” Pie said, hoisting himself up onto a barrel behind Petunia’s serving station as she continued stirring the soup.
“Just the same old. They’re still threatening to flatten the lot,” Petunia waved her spoon in the direction of the rest of the market flinging bits of soup out into the crowds.
“They can’t though, right?” Pie said worryingly. The underground market was home to him, but it was common knowledge that none of the vendors were supposed to be there. The building had been an old music hall once upon a time before the city had built up and it had been devoured by the slums. The owners, the famous architects Beaumont & White, had just left it here, doing nothing with it. Every few months, for the past few years, government inspectors had turned up and walked around with clipboards making notes, noses in the air complaining about the awful smell, hoping that something would render the place structural unsound so they could claim it as unsafe and get rid of it once and for all.
“They can’t do anything yet, but who knows how long we have,” Petunia sighed.
The heat from the stove was stifling and Pie fanned himself with a paper plate. Petunia, on the other hand, was wearing at least four jumpers, fingerless gloves and a large scarf that looked like it was several scarves stitched together. All the knitwear hung off her frail frame and it was a mystery as to how she wasn’t melting.
“Have you seen –” before Pie could finish his sentence there was a guttural animal screech from the other side of the market and everyone turned to watch as people began to frantically disperse, tripping over one another in their haste.
“What the?!” Petunia said.
As the people fled, pushing past Petunia’s stall, the culprit of the mayhem was revealed. A vacero with a crazed look in its eyes was coming their way. Spit and slobber were flying from its open mouth and its protruding eyes were rolling wildly in their sockets. With its long white tusk like teeth and its shaggy red coat, the vacero was not only one of the most comical creatures in Harbour, but also one of the largest. It knocked several stalls flying as it searched desperately for an exit.
Pie managed to pull Petunia up onto the barrel he was on, and out of the path of the charging vacero, just in time. The large soup pot went flying and one of the vaceros tusks managed to snag on Petunia’s awning, ripping it from its posts and covering the vacero’s head. Now blinded by the patchwork material the vacero sped up. Unfortunately, Petunia’s awning was tied to that of her neighbours, and her neighbours to their neighbours, and so on, so that as the vacero continued on its path of destruction it did so with a trail of colourful fabric.
Rushing past in hot pursuit was …
“Kasia!” Pie yelled. Kasia did a little pirouette on hearing their name, gave an exasperated expression and continued on their pursuit.
“That good-for-nothing ragamuffin!!!” Petunia yelled, brandishing her spoon with anger.
“I’ll go help! See you later!” Pie yelled as he jumped over a river of soup slop that was spilling out all over the floor.
Though they were fast, it wasn’t hard to work out which way Kasia and the vacero had gone. All Pie had to do was follow the trail of discarded debris through the narrow streets and listen for the occasional gruff squeal in the distance.
Slowly the streets climbed, and as they did the cobbled roads filled with potholes and the houses became more ramshackled. As the bowing roofs began to fall away, Pie could make out the hazy silhouettes of skyscrapers in the city centre. Before he knew it, he was rushing through a gate and up onto the open expanse of moorland that sat above the city.
He paused, hands on thighs, to catch his breath and saw the vacero silhouetted, now stationary at the edge of a treacherous looking cliff, a small figure sat upon its broad neck, leaning down and stroking its head calmly.
As Pie approached, Kasia put a finger to their lips as they continued to stroke the vacero’s head. Slowly, Kasia unlooped Petunia’s awning from the vacero’s tusks and handed it down to Pie who bundled it up under his arm. Pie should have known that Kasia didn’t need his help – Kasia’s vacero herding techniques were questionable, but always worked out in the end.
Kasia swung their legs down and jumped into the long grass. They patted the vaceros hindquarters softly and the vacero trotted off, as if nothing had happened, to join the rest of the herd that was grazing on the hilltop.
“How angry is Petunia?” Kasia asked, grimacing.
“She’s not thrilled,” Pie chuckled and Kasia laughed, pushing the hair out of their face.
“Don’t tell my dad, he’ll murder me if he knows I tried to take a short cut through the market again … I really tried this time to keep it calm, but some strange green man came out of nowhere. Vacaroes – so easily spooked,” Kasia put hands on their hips and stared out at Harbour that laid sprawled out below them. Evening was approaching, and though the sunset couldn’t penetrate the thick cloud it had dipped it in a candy floss shade of pink.
“At least your dad lets you out!” Pie sighed.
“Your mum keeping you in again?” Kasia asked.
Pie nodded looking down at his city in contemplation. As he traced the streets with his eyes, he grew more jealous of Kasia’s life. Kasia spent their days herding the vaceroes through those very streets, trying to keep the livestock up on the moor. It meant there were places Kasia had been that Pie could only dream of. Kasia had freedom to roam wherever they wanted... Except maybe there, out beyond where the houses ended, and the great gas sea began. The signature, rippling shimmer of the gas sea’s surface was the only way to tell it was there at all. Beyond those clouds were countless adventures; Pie was sure of it.
“Come let’s go get something warm to drink at The Coconut,” Kasia smiled, freeing Pie from his thoughts.
-
Halfway along Rotten Row, sandwiched between Curtin’s Coat Hookery and Fleming’s Pie Shop was The Coconut. With such an exotic name you may expect The Coconut to be a palm tree filled, pastel painted, ice cream parlour, but instead it was a creaky old pub that had been in Harbour for as long as anyone could remember. In fact, as the story goes, it drifted in on a summer’s breeze and came to rest here on Rotten Row, just like a lost coconut floating in on the tide from some distant, uninhabited desert island.
Children weren’t welcome in The Coconut. It was popular with the rougher types and trawlers who were looking for a nightcap after selling their wares in the marina – they weren’t looking to spend time in a “creche” as the landlord had so rudely told them one day. So, Pie and Kasia made their way in the usual route, via the cook’s basement entrance at the back of the pub.
The cook had his back turned, too engrossed in trying to salvage a piece of mouldy bread to notice two children sneaking in. They crawled through the kitchen regardless and then dashed up the stairs.
“HOLY PRETZEL!” a chiselled teenager yelled in shock, as they careered into him halfway up the stairs. The teen tried to rebalance the barrel he was carrying, whilst Pie grabbed Kasia’s arm to stop them from tumbling down the stairs.
“Everything alright?!” the cook shouted from the kitchen.
“Fine! Nothing to worry about!” the teen shouted back. “Just almost fell down the stairs.”
“Hi, Oakland,” Pie giggled in a whisper.
“You two!” Oakland whispered angrily. “Get in your hidey-hole before someone sees you. I’ll be back in a second.”
Oakland stepped to one side so Pie and Kasia could squeeze by him. They crouched behind the bar and slid into their spot – an empty shelf at the bottom of the counter. The best thing about their hidey-hole was that from a standing position no one would know there were two dirt covered children sheltering at their feet; so they could hide there even if Oakland was working the bar with someone else.
Pie and Kasia were arguing over whose feet went where in the tight space when Oakland returned. He was working the bar alone today, so squatted down without fear to chat to them.
“Right, you two rascals, are you done scaring the life out of me?”
“Sorry Oakland,” Kasia said innocently. “We just wanted to come somewhere cosy, it’s blowing a gale out there.” The pub windows rattled in response.
“Hmmm. And it has nothing to do with eavesdropping on my patrons?” Oakland raised an eyebrow.
"You’ve caught us,” Pie said, throwing his hands up in surrender.
“Well I haven’t seen you two in a while, so I’ll let you off. What will it be?” Oakland smiled his kind, handsome face softening beneath the scruff of auburn hair.
“Hot rosebud cordial,” the pair chorused.
“Two hot rosebud cordials coming up,” Oakland said, slapping his hand on the counter and getting to his feet. He tossed a tea towel over his shoulder.
As Oakland busied himself making their drinks and serving customers, Pie and Kasia tried to listen in to the conversations that were going on in the pub around them. Sometimes they heard stories of distant isles, or treacherous open sky crossings and monstrous creatures. Tonight they heard of the storms beneath the gas sea surface, great electrical storms that lit up the dark world beneath. Oakland said that most of the stories were just old myths and legends that the trawlers and sailors liked to tell to scare the new recruits, but Pie always secretly hoped they were true. Once Pie had stayed late at the pub, past the time when the patrons had slumped into deep sleep at their tables. He had tiptoed around the pub and peered over their huge shoulders at the maps they had been examining – maps that showed the furthest reaches of the world. Pie dreamt that one day he would take Kasia, Oakland and Petunia, and they’d go off and explore it all. Maybe they’d find some treasure, then they’d buy The Coconut and all live there when they weren’t exploring. They could have unlimited rosebud cordials and Petunia could be the cook, but with less questionable ingredients because the treasure would buy them whatever they wanted. He’d be free, he'd be with his friends all the time. But it was a dream, nothing more than a dream.
Oakland popped back down holding two steaming glasses of hot cordial.
“Why the long face?” Oakland said catching Pie in his daydream.
“His mum’s been imprisoning him again,” Kasia answered for Pie, slurping their cordial through the paper straw.
“Come on Pie, we’ve been through this, she’s not imprisoning you, she’s your mum. She’s trying to do what’s best,” Oakland reasoned.
“She’s not trying to do what’s best! She’s trying to ruin my life. All she does is sit there, the house is so awful and silent. I can’t bear it. You wouldn’t understand!” Pie spat with an upset that turned to anger.
“Because I don’t have a mother?” Oakland replied a little hurt but hiding it the best he could.
“I didn’t mean that,” Pie said his anger dissipating.
“Yes, you did. Maybe I don’t understand, but all I’m saying is that you should be grateful for having someone that cares.”
“Oakl–” Pie started but Oakland had already got back up to serve another customer.
“Well done,” Kasia muttered, throwing a look at Pie and shaking their head. Pie punched Kasia softly.
“You brought it up!”
“I didn’t make the comment though did I!” Kasia growled and shoved Pie back. Hot cordial sloshed out of Pie’s glass and onto his shirt. He jumped up in surprise, banging his head on the shelf above them. They both froze.
“JUST THE PUB CAT,” they heard Oakland saying loudly from above them as a patron peered over the counter curiously.
Kasia burst into a muffled giggle behind their hands as Pie rubbed his bruised head.
Pie put his cordial down and climbed out of the hidey-hole.
“Pie! Wait I was just playing!” Kasia whispered. But Pie was already gone, down the stairs, through the kitchen, not even bothering to sneak out carefully, so that cook began to shout at him in a foreign language, as he ran out the basement door. The bitter air hit him, knocking some breath from him and whipping the hot tears from his eyes. They didn’t understand. They were free to do as they wished. Free to go about this world.
-
It was dark as Pie headed home. He was hurt. They were HIS friends. In fact, they felt more like family than his own mother did. They were supposed to be on his side. He didn't get it.
Pie walked on, the houses getting grander. He stopped at a picket fence and stared at his home. Clamoak Linney the sign at the fence read. It had once been a boat, but Pie had never seen it move from the spot where it currently sat. It was well and truly lodged into the steep hillside that Harbour was built on; tangled clematis dissolved the seams where the boat became the garden. It looked wild and rough amongst the prim and proper houses – which made Pie hate it less. The house had been repainted multiple times over the years, but only in the places that needed it and each time in whatever colour Pie’s mother had found somewhere or other, so now the boat was a muted mess of weathered colours and rust. There was a light on in what had once been the captain’s cabin that was now his mother’s office – a place Pie was prohibited to enter. The curtains were drawn across the porthole windows so he couldn’t even see in from the outside.
The light was a good sign, it meant his mother had yet to leave her office and notice he had sneaked off. Pie sighed and wandered through the garden. He clambered up the clematis towards a porthole halfway up the house, where his bedroom was situated. He grabbed the porthole edge and pulled himself up, tumbling through onto his bed. He laid there where he fell, staring at the ceiling, tracing the familiar grooves of the ceiling beams with his eyes. He now had to endure yet another dinner for two, with a mother who was more ghost than human, a mother who would sit there and barely utter a word more than necessary. She didn’t get him, and now apparently his friends didn’t either. He was alone.
That’s all friends.
Speak soon x