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    The Flame Owl
    The Flame Owl
    The Flame Owl
    Ebook53 pages45 minutes

    The Flame Owl

    By Louise Stanley

    ()

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    About this ebook

    Stefan Mlynarczyk took refuge in Lowe Road workhouse. An impromptu concert amongst the men of his dormitory causes extraordinary pain to a dying woman. When the warden, intervenes to quell the disturbance, Stefan turns a proud face towards authority - and everyone gets more than they bargained for.

    A novelette set in the magical Insulan Empire, where the spirit world is just one small step away from the mundane world, this is the second in a series of prelude stories to a grand steampunk-fantasy epic.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherLouise Stanley
    Release dateAug 14, 2014
    ISBN9781310290459
    The Flame Owl
    Author

    Louise Stanley

    Louise Stanley lives in Hampshire, UK. The Insulan Empire is the 19th century world of Tolstoy and Dostoyevsky, Dickens, Sherlock Holmes and Emile Zola with a sprinkling of magical faery dust to bring it to life as an exciting new fantasy series.

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      Book preview

      The Flame Owl - Louise Stanley

      THE FLAME OWL

      A short story set in the Insulan Empire

      Louise Stanley

      Published by Louise Stanley at Smashwords.

      Book and cover illustration copyright © 2014 by Louise Stanley

      All rights are reserved to the author. No part of this ebook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

      This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

      To Jeremy. Thanks to Sarah Woods and the staff at BHFT, and the members of the /r/fantasywriters subreddit.

      www.louise-stanley.co.uk

      www.facebook.com/ninelivesofmichalpiech

      Smashwords Edition, License Notes

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person,

      please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your

      favorite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      Table of Contents

      I

      II

      III

      IV

      V

      VI

      VII

      VIII

      About the Author and Series

      Other Titles by Louise Stanley

      Connect with me!

      I

      "Darliiiing Luuucindaaaaa…your eyes when we fiiiirst meeeeet…"

      Stefan Mlynarczyk pulled his blanket around his shoulders, scratching at a stubborn itch on his arm and then pulling his fingers as far as he could inside his pyjama sleeves. The mattress was as lumpy as bad flock in a tattered casing could be, and he wriggled his bottom until he could find a comfortable niche.

      The singer, Kevin Leach, bellowed out another few bars of the bawdy music hall ballad; then his voice wavered and fell silent. I thought I might get a few more joining in. I know we ain’t got the time or money even to go an’ sit in the cheap seats, lads, but surely you’ve ’eard it on the street corners. Come on! Altogether now…

      He raised his hands like a conductor. As he began the song again, a few timid voices cracked open the general silence.

      The convent bells chimed the tenth hour. At Lowe Road workhouse, the door should now be locked and the men in the dormitory settling down to sleep. Instead, they carried on with their fun and games. Even the dormitory steward – in other words, the trusty – Roger Crossland had got tired of the drudgery of putting oneself to bed at ten; it was he who had decided to organise a concert, since their dormitory played host to a singer like Leach.

      Mlynarczyk cleared his throat and tried to follow the words. He still struggled with sung Breston, so he hummed along with the melody when there were words which taxed his powers of cognition too much. Eventually, the song absorbed him and the others, lustier and more confident in their native language, buoyed him.

      Leach had a tremendous voice. His face, however, bore the tell-tale broken blood vessels of drunkenness that the former first footman Mlynarczyk had seen on his own master, and of course here they were in a public ward living off the charity of the ratepayers rather than in their own homes or a cosy nip drinking the night away. After Pan Tomasz Kopinski, the man to whom he had been first footman and eventually hoped to assist as a valet, had gambled away his estate and shot himself, the new owner of the townhouse

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