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Tag Archives: Jane Austen

Last day of City of Lights Tour: Interview at Oh, for the Hook of a Book!

12 Friday Apr 2013

Posted by Melika Dannese Hick in Fun Stuff, News

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1894, 2002, 2003, 2013, 25 of our 50 states, addiction, affinity for the islands, Agatha Christie, Air Jaws, Alexandre Dumas, Amy Bruno, and Hungary, and Sarah Rayne, Austria, background, Belgium, Blog Tour, bloggers, blood, Books In My Belfry, breaching, breaching great white, breaching sharks, brilliant, brutal and lawless world, C. S. Lewis, Cabarets, Camille, Can-Can, Caribbean islands, Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine, Cecil B DeMille, Charlotte Bronte, children's performing group, City of Lights, city of lights: the trials and triumphs of ilyse charpentier, classical, classically trained, Colette, corcitura, Count Sergei Rakmanovich, Creative, Currer Bell, dance of romance, Daphne Du Maurier, demimondaine, director, Discovery Channel, Downton Abbey, dystopian, email, England, entertaining, Eric Bradburry, Erin Al-Mehairi, Facebook, family saga, female vampires, Fin de siècle, first novel, Florida, forbidden love, fourteen, France, Friendship, Galop Infernal, genre hop, Georgette Heyer, Germany, Goodreads, Great White Sharks, Greece, Hanging by a moment, Hawaii, Hawaiian, Hawaiian blood, historical fiction, Historical Fiction Virtual Blog Tour, Home Rule, Hotmail, hybrid vampires, Ian McCarthy, Ilyse Charpentier, Incisive, Insightful, inspiration, Interview, Ireland, J. R. R. Tolkien, Jane Austen, Jane Eyre, JAWS, Jean Plaidy, Jurassic Park, King of Kings, life, life interruptions, Lifehouse, London, Louisa May Alcott, Magical, Manon Larue, marine biologist, marine biology, Maurice Charpentier, Meg Giry, Melika Dannese Lux, Mr. Whitey, Music, musical, Nigel Marvin, novels, obsessed, Oh for the hook of a book, operetta, original, Orpheus in the Underworld, P. G. Wodehouse, parents, Paris, personality, Phantom of the Opera, piano, Pic 'n Save, play, posters, POVs, Prague, pure magic, Quint, riveting novels of psychological suspense, Romania, Romanovs, Russia, Sea World, Sergei Rakmanovich, setting the scene, Shannon Hale, Shark Week, Sharks, shattered innocence, siblings, singers, soprano, South Africa, species name, St. Augustine FL, steel helms, Stefan Ratliff, stratified society, Switzerland, T-Rex, the Czech Republic, the inside story, The Painted Girls, Tollers and Jack, true love, Twitter, undead, unusual sharky abilities, Upyr, vampires, Venice, VHS, Victorian, Victorian literature, Violin, Vladec Salei, Vrykolakas, Wales, werewolves, wild card, Wilkie Collins, Wordsworth, writing, youth symphony orchestra, Zigmund Fertig

Morning Everyone!

Our whirlwind tour for City of Lights comes to an end today…with a bang! 😀 Many thanks to the multi-talented Erin Al-Mehairi of Oh, for the Hook of a Book! for featuring me and City of Lights on her blog, and for asking such incisive and awesome questions! 😀

Best wishes,

Melika

Exclusive and Magical Interview with Talented & Creative Melika Lux on Much More than Her City of Lights Novel

Today, we have a special treat because we have an exclusive interview with a very talented and sweet person, author Melika Lux. You can read my review of Melika’s book by clicking CITY OF LIGHTS. Our interview is VERY in-depth and you will marvel at Melika’s original personality, including how a trained stage soprano has such an addiction to Great White Sharks!!

I am pleased to have you stop by for a visit today, Melika! You sound like a fabulously creative person. How are you? Melika

Melika:  I am great, Erin, and thrilled to be here!  

Erin:  So happy!  Let’s move on and learn more about you and your writing! Q:  When did you first begin to write? What gave you the inspiration?

A:  My love for writing grew out of an early love for reading.  I think what led me to this point, what essentially caused the inspiration to germinate, was that my mother started reading to me when I was in the womb, and my father told me wild, not-exactly-verifiable tall tales while I was still in the cradle.  I remember writing little stories and vignettes when I was a very young child and also staging my first play (an adaptation of King of Kings) when I was eight years old.  The budget was nonexistent, so my family was conscripted into the production, with my dad and mom playing six parts each.  I think that was when the writing bug first reared its head and bit me squarely on the heart. I felt a little like Cecil B. DeMille after that.  There is a VHS of the play floating around somewhere.  It is one of my first memories of writing.

One turning point I can recall was when I was about eleven or twelve.  I wrote a very short story along the lines of Jurassic Park.  It was about a brother and sister being chased to the edge of a cliff by a T-Rex.  The kids gave the Rex the old “one-two-jump!” fake out and the dinosaur tumbled over the cliff.  End of story—happily ever after for everyone except the Rex. But the point was that it was fun! I had actually finished something I’d set out to write! It was great, even though it was only six pages long! You have to start somewhere, right?

Q:   What inspires you currently in your overall writing?

A: What began to stand out more and more to me as the years wore on, and what I think was the real reason I truly grew to love writing so much, was the freedom it gave me to be able to get lost in a different world.  I love creating characters and their individual stories.  Everything that a person experiences in his or her life affects the person they become and how they react to situations, so being able to explore this with my characters is something I am always eager to do—uncovering what motivates them, what drives their worldview, why they would make a decision in a particular situation, what makes them tick, etc.  It is thrilling when characters develop so fully that they essentially start to write the stories themselves.

Currently, I’m most interested and inspired by trying out different storytelling mediums and POVs. My preferred method of telling a story is first person, but in my latest works, I’m using third person limited and also third person omniscient, which presents a whole heap of challenges! I’m also experimenting with short stories. You would think this would be easier, but I’m finding it an exciting challenge to tell a complete and gripping story in 40 pages or less rather than having a broad canvas (my last novel, Corcitura, was 700 pages long) on which to paint, essentially, the characters’ lives.

My last two novels were primarily historical fiction, City of Lights: The Trials and Triumphs of Ilyse Charpentier being an historical fiction/family saga set in Paris in 1894, and Corcitura  being an historical fiction/supernatural thriller, complete with hybrid vampires, which takes place over the years 1888-1895 in locales across Europe and in Gilded Age New York. I have felt very comfortable writing in this era due to the fact that I read a tremendous amount of fantastic Victorian literature during my high school and college years and fell in love with the period. However, I am now transitioning into dystopian, horror, comedy, and fantasy. Talk about freeing! I no longer have to worry about when a word came into the vernacular! Huzzah! Besides that added bonus, I love to genre-hop and not confine myself to one particular time period. It keeps thinks exciting.

Q:  Did your musical background play any part in your writing? Also, explain your musical background for our readers.

A: Definitely. I’ve been surrounded by music since I was born and have been singing, dancing, and playing the violin and piano since I was three years old. I was part of a children’s performing group for most of my childhood and was also a member of a local youth symphony orchestra from the ages of 8-18. In addition to singing throughout my community and state, I also performed the role of Meg Giry in a college production of The Phantom of the Opera. What a blast!

In regards to my writing, I draw a lot of inspiration from certain pieces of music, especially movie soundtracks and instrumental numbers, which I love to have playing in the background as I write. Currently, for the dystopian/fantasy novel I’m writing, I keep epic music/soundtracks looping at a low volume in my ear buds. It really spurs my imagination and helps when trying to strike the right mood in battle and intense scenes, especially when there are “creatures” involved.

For City of Lights, Hanging by a Moment by Lifehouse was a huge inspiration and a song I kept looping in the background as I wrote the novel:  http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ESWjziG5B54

To me, this song epitomizes Ilyse and Ian’s love story, and remains a favorite of mine to this day.

Q:  Have you ever danced or been on the stage? If so, explain and if it helped in the writing of your book. What inspired you to write about a Parisian chanteuse in City of Lights?

A: Yes! As I mentioned above, I was part of a children’s performing group from the ages of 3-11. Additionally, I am a classically trained soprano. My most recent performance was in February 2012, at the Cathedral Basilica of St. Augustine, FL. You can view the entire concert or excerpts of my solos by clicking on the following link: https://booksinmybelfry.com/music/

Music has always been inextricably linked to City of Lights. The entire novel was actually inspired by a song. One night in December 2002, I was puttering around in my room when I suddenly started singing verses of a song I had made up in that moment.

“Tonight’s the last time that I’ll see your face, my love. This dreadful moment has finally come to be. Tonight the passion ends for you and me, my love. I’m traveling to a place where life will be hell for me…good-bye.”

My mind exploded with questions. Who was this girl? Why was she being forced to give up her love? Why would her life be so awful?

From that song, City of Lights: The Trials and Triumphs of Ilyse Charpentier was born. The song became Tonight, the lyrics directly inspiring the novel and making their way into a pivotal scene toward the end of the book. Now, the only thing remaining was a setting. I’m a singer, a Francophile, and a devotee of fin de siècle culture and literature, so the idea of Paris, a cabaret, forbidden love, and the added tension arising from my heroine being estranged from her brother (her only living relative) was too exciting not to pursue.

My grand plan all along was (and still is) for City of Lights to be a musical.  In addition to Tonight, I wrote eight other songs that inspired further chapters and the overall story arc, the lyrics of those songs also being adapted into dialogue and scenes. Even though the musical is still on the distant horizon, the spirit of the songs thread through the entire novel. And in case you were wondering, the recordings are securely stored in an undisclosed location, waiting for the day when they will see the light once again. 

In May 2003, at the age of eighteen, I began writing Ilyse’s story. Eight months later, City of Lights was complete, and another four years later, it was published. Now, it has been given a new look and is being made available to an entirely new readership!

City of Lights: The Trials and Triumphs of Ilyse Charpentier

Q:  Myself, I love books and information on the late 1800s to early 1900s in Paris. The entire ballet scene and its behind the scenes drama can be an infuriating tale to tell. Apparently, women still endure the dealings of men pulling their strings so to speak. What interests you most about this time period? Any further thoughts on the performance industry?

A: I’ve been interested in the fin de siècle for as long as I can remember. I think I first became cognizant of how exciting this time period was when I was about 8 or 9 and had just learned to play Orpheus in the Underworld with my local youth symphony orchestra. The Galop Infernal in that operetta became, of course, the Can-Can theme. That piece stayed with me over the years and led me to do research when I got older. As I learned more about France and the culture surrounding the cabarets and dancehalls, I was hooked and became a confirmed Francophile. Since writing City of Lights, I have become increasingly interested in that whole milieu and have since read Camille (A brilliant and tragic novel about the lives of the demimondaine—highly recommended!) and a few novels by Colette. I’m always on the lookout for new reads from or about that fascinating time period when securing the right patron could either make you a star or confine you to the gilded cage, as was the case with Ilyse.  

As for the performance industry, the main facet that I culled and incorporated into City of Lights was favoritism. Ilyse, although she is talented and the best singer to have graced the Parisian stage in years, is Sergei’s favorite. He “plucked her from obscurity” (a fact he never lets her forget) and made her a star. Without him, she most probably would have starved or been forced into a life of squalor, but given how controlling and suffocating Sergei’s hold over her is, accepting his patronage is a choice Ilyse regrets almost immediately.

Q:  I read the biography on your website and laughed to myself because in high school I decided I was either going to school to be a writer or a marine biologist (same as you)!!! I decided I was not cut out enough for the math and just loved the ocean and animal cause, so I went to college for Journalism instead so I could write all about all the many things I love. I came away also with English and History degrees. That all said, besides being afraid of sharks, what really did pull you towards your creative pursuits as compared to science? How do you feel about your decision?

A: Haha, what a coincidence!!! I’ve been obsessed with sharks from a young age. I remember going to Sea World as a three-year-old and spouting off names of all the sharks in the little pond outside the Shark Encounter ride. I also literally started watching Shark Week at the age of two during its inaugural season 26 years ago (dating myself here ;) I still remember them flashing the poster of an enormous Great White shark with a Bermuda-shorted surfer inside its gaping mouth. Fun stuff! 😉     

Then came Jaws—the movie, not the book. Let’s not even go there in regards to the book. I’ve never been more disappointed with a reading experience in my life! But I digress… I became fascinated with Jaws around the age of five when I went to Pic ‘n Save and saw the movie poster. What is it with me and posters? Anyway, I now make it a point to watch the movie twice a year, once on my birthday and once on the last day of Shark Week.  You probably wouldn’t want to watch the movie with me because I know practically all the lines and usually say them in the same voices the characters use. My favorite, obviously, is Quint. “I’m talkin’ about sharkin’!” I sing his little sea shanties with him, too. 😉 

What made me consider a career change, however, probably had something to do with Nigel Marvin and the premiere of Air Jaws around the year 2000. The fact that sharks could rocket out of the water was a paradigm shift for me and sort of tilted my world off its axis. Breaching sharks! It was a literary goldmine! Not to mention that it scared the wits out of me to think that I could be quietly minding my own business in a nice safe boat when Mr. Whitey would suddenly decide to go airborne and take me along for the ride. So that was when I knew I’d have more fun writing sharks into my stories instead of sharing the water with them. Strangely enough, though, a small insane part of me would still love to go cage diving with them in South Africa. We’ll see…

As far as creative pursuits in comparison to science, I still love the minutiae of marine and ocean studies, but I now find it much more exciting to be able to do the research or incorporate what I know about sharks and their behavior into my writings. In the dystopian epic I’m working on, white sharks play a huge role as one of the main antagonists (technically, a race of antagonists, because there are a lot of them!) of the story. They have their own species name, stratified society, unusual sharky abilities, and rather wicked roles to play in the oppressive world I’m creating. They are the toothed enforcers of the realm and have a symbiotic relationship with the undead soldiers who train them. They also get to wear steel helms and are so fierce you honestly can’t help thinking they are just a little bit awesome, as all Great Whites generally are. If I say any more, I’ll be giving away the plot, but suffice it to say that sharks are fascinating in real life and in literature, so I’m having a tremendously fun time giving them their own personalities and storylines and writing about their undeniable appeal in the new book. By the way, I’m a bit of a shark snob, so pretty much the only species of shark I’ll ever write about are Great Whites—my favorites. I tend to view every other shark as a poser. 😉 

As a side note, I recently took the Discovery Channel’s shark personality quiz and was matched with, you guessed it, Carcharodon carcharias. I always had a feeling… 😉  

Q:  What do you feel was an interesting or important point in history in regards to women and women’s history?

A: I’ve often wondered how I would have fared as a woman writer if I had been born a few centuries ago. When I think about this, the person who always comes to mind in regards to the restrictions on women and how they were looked down upon for being writers (as were women who chose to go on the stage; the horror! Remember the scandal with Nell Gwyn?!) is Charlotte Bronte and how she originally signed her name to Jane Eyre as Currer Bell. I know the novel had been rejected many times and she was listening to the advice of Wordsworth and others, who claimed that “novel-writing wasn’t the proper pastime of a lady,” but it must have been infuriating to not be able to lay claim to your own work, especially a work as brilliant as Jane Eyre. It’s infuriating to me nearly two centuries later! In my own writing, particularly in the first book of my fantasy duology, I have a character who looks down on his fiancée because she reads too many novels. Can you imagine that kind of attitude today?! So, as far as women’s history goes, I believe that when we started to take charge of our writing careers and not care what men and other women (who could be just as spiteful and controlling, if not more so) or society thought of our chosen profession, this was a giant leap forward and an important advancement, at least to my thinking, for the suffragette movement and ensuring the right to vote.

Q:  Do you feel women should “schedule” time for themselves as writers? Do women sacrifice too much instead of pursuing the muse inside them?  How do you make time for writing?

A: I think it depends on your situation in life. If you’re single, of course you should have more time to write, or at least I would hope so! If you have family and job obligations, however, it becomes much more difficult to carve out pockets of time, but still not impossible. If you’re driven enough and passionate about your writing, though, you can find time to write in just about any instance, even if it’s only a few seconds to scribble down ideas on the corner of a napkin. I’m speaking from experience here. 😉 

I do think, however, that women should try to set aside some quiet time (easier said than done!) where they can be alone and just let inspiration flow onto the page. I have a friend who designates specific days during the week where she will not take any phone calls or make appointments and just dedicates those set times to writing, so you can make it work; you just have to be creative about it. I try to carve out writing time at least every day. Sometimes I’ll have a span of maybe four or five hours in the evening, and sometimes weekends are totally devoted to writing. It depends on family obligations and other things that are going on, those so-called “life interruptions” that can be so detrimental to letting the muse have its day!

Q:  Where are some grand places you’ve traveled, or would like to travel? And why?

A: To date, I’ve been to Switzerland, England, Wales, France, Belgium, Germany, the Czech Republic (visiting Prague was a great help in setting the scene for the latter part of Corcitura), Austria, and Hungary. In addition, I’ve been to several Caribbean islands and 25 of our 50 states, my favorite being Hawaii, which I had the opportunity to visit eleven years ago. I do not have an ounce of Hawaiian blood, but my first name is Hawaiian (it means Melissa), so I’ve always felt an affinity for the islands.

I would love to visit Ireland and also Russia one day—Ireland because my paternal grandmother’s family is from there and I’ve always been fascinated by the country (most recently by the entire Home Rule debate—thank you Downton Abbey! 😉, and Russia because I’ve been a Russophile since I saw the animated movie Anastasia when I was twelve. The viewing of that film also engendered in me a fascination with the Romanovs that continues to this day.

Q:  Do you have some favorite authors? Some authors who have mentored your thoughts?

A: Yes, several! Some of my particular favorites would have to be P. G. Wodehouse, Jean Plaidy, Georgette Heyer, Daphne Du Maurier, Agatha Christie (I can never get enough of her mysteries! So entertaining!), Alexandre Dumas, J. R. R. Tolkien, C. S. Lewis, Jane Austen, Louisa May Alcott, and Sarah Rayne for her riveting novels of psychological suspense! Wilkie Collins is my wild card in there, too, and I also love everything I’ve ever read by Shannon Hale. Her novels are pure magic. 

As far as mentoring, it would have to be Dumas for his amazing ability to write action scenes, Wodehouse for showing me the trick to making people laugh in fiction, Jane for the effortless way she writes the “dance of romance,” and Tollers and Jack (Tolkien and Lewis) for being the standard by which I measure all fantasy and motivating me to always be original.

Q: What other writings have you done? What’s next for you?

A: My latest novel, Corcitura, was published last year. Here is everything you need to know about the novel in a nutshell: Two vampires…one victim…endless trouble. Beginning in London in the year 1888, Corcitura tells the story of best friends Eric Bradburry and Stefan Ratliff, two eighteen-year-old Englishmen who are experiencing their first taste of freedom by setting out on a solo, grand tour of Europe. But what begins as the adventure of a lifetime, quickly explodes into a twisted untangling of centuries-old secrets as our protagonists are forced to flee from people who turn out to be much older—and somehow possess alarming otherworldly powers—than they originally appear. I am talking, of course, about vampires, and the two progenitors of the Corcitura are the stuff of nightmare: a half-wolf, half-vampire Vrykolakas and a five-hundred-year-old Upyr with an uncontrollable desire to create a hybrid creature to use as his own personal agent of destruction.

But vampires are just one facet of this story. Not only are the vampires horrifying, and their trickery something I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy, but they have fascinating backstories that are inextricably linked with one of the main protagonists and his family—especially his sisters, who have a crucial role to play in how this story works itself out. If you love seeing female vampire protagonists having a major role in the outcome of the story, then you will love the two in this book. Let’s hear it for the girls! They have enough history and chutzpah to fill volumes more—which is my intended plan. They also happen to be werewolves. And if that duality doesn’t intrigue you, I don’t know what will!

My current project is the book with the sharks that I was talking about before. It is a complete revamping and reworking of my original first novel that I began at the age of fourteen, but abandoned for school, life, and other projects. I have been working on it since July of 2012 and have been totally transforming it into a dystopian epic set in a brutal and lawless world. The entire theme and outcome of the story have changed drastically (the sharks were always there, although they are a much bigger part of the story now), but all the exciting bits (mythical beasts, hidden identities, battles, political intrigue, and some truly horrifying and treacherous villains) are still part of the fabric of the story. With the passage of years, however, everything within the story seems to have more meaning and gravitas to me now. It is definitely not the same book I would have written as a fourteen-year-old, so I am very happy I put the novel on hold.

Additionally, I am mapping out and reworking my fantasy duology (which I’ve also been writing since 2003—that was my banner year for creative ideas, it seems!) and am currently finishing up a collection of short comedy/fantasy/horror stories set in Eastern and Northern Europe in the 1800s. It has been an exciting challenge to essentially create mini-novels in 40 pages or less for this collection.   

Q:  How can readers connect with you?

A: I would love for readers to connect with me on any or all of the following sites:

My website:  http://www.booksinmybelfry.com/

Goodreads:  http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/950456.Melika_Dannese_Lux

Twitter:  https://twitter.com/BooksInMyBelfry 

And if you want to contact me directly, here is my email: booksinmybelfry@hotmail.com

Erin:  Thank you so very much for sitting down and talking with me today. We wish you much continued success in all your creative pursuits!  It was so nice to get to learn more about you.

Melika:  This has been so much fun, Erin! Thanks for letting me share a bit of myself and my work with you and your readers! 

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Corcitura Excerpt #1: Meet the Lads

06 Wednesday Mar 2013

Posted by Melika Dannese Hick in Excerpts, Fun Stuff

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Corcitura, Chapter 1, Beggars at the Gate

“Call me Penniless!”
       Oh, yes, Eric, that’s lovely. And what are you going to say next? Which way to the Pequod?
       I flung Moby Dick aside. Obviously, there was nothing between the covers of that book that I could lift and modify to suit my purposes. Maybe if I’d read more than the first five pages, I’d feel differently, but that kind of logic was neither here nor there.
       Time for round two. I grabbed one of the other novels I’d strewn across my bed. I hoped I’d have better luck with this one.
       “A grand tour won’t be a grand tour unless we’ve got gobs of money to spend.” Hmm…a bit patronizing, that. Thanks for nothing, Louisa, I thought, tossing Little Women across the room. This filching of famous first lines had seemed like a fabulous idea when I’d thought of it two hours ago, but I could see that it was getting me nowhere fast.
       Deflated, I reached for the last novel, my final hope for inspiration. Ah, yes, here we were. Jane wouldn’t let me down. I could never go wrong with her. “Ahem…It is a truth youthfully acknowledged that a young lad in possession of little to no fortune should want infinitely more than the lot he’s got. I know I’ve never given either of you any particular reason to trust me with even five quid, but let’s put that unfortunate past history behind us, shall we? After all, you must spend a little to reap great rewards, right? Well, that being said, Mother, Roddy…how about you extend to me those three hundred pounds?”
       Botheration! Not even plagiarizing Jane Austen was going to get me what I was after. That tack was all wrong. Roddy was like clay; he needed to be pummeled till I got him into the right shape—the giving shape, which would take some work, since he’d always treated me more like a poor relation to be tolerated than a stepson.
       I swung the mirror back up and straightened my necktie, then thought better of it and mussed the cloth till it hung at a suitably dissolute angle. There was no need to look modish when I was about to go begging. I was deluding myself if I thought this was going to be easy. Even after practicing for months, the approach was still lacking, and I’d run out of ideas. I had no idea how we were going to convince our parents to give us the money, yet we had already gone too far to quit now.
       Seven months ago, Stefan Ratliff, my closest friend since childhood, had hit upon the scheme of using a grand tour as a cover for our own exploits. Educational pursuits were fine for the average man, but we two saw this as an opportunity to indulge in as many extravagances as possible as we tramped from one capital of Europe to the next. It would be a final lark before we said farewell to youth and became men of the world that fall, at which time Stefan and I would both become inmates at Oxford.
       Only now did I realize that Stefan had somehow passed the baton to me without my knowing it, putting the onus on me to prove the soundness of this venture to our parents. I was the one who had to do the coaxing. I was the one who would be offered up as the proverbial sacrificial lamb. Imagine having to tell Roddy that this grand tour was the best idea since the Reform Act of 1867. No wonder Stefan balked. Still, it was a rum trick if there ever was one. I’d make sure to get back at Stefan soon, once we were underway and far from home, of course. There’d be no sense in murdering him outright, not with all the scandal it would cause in the papers. I’d wait till we reached Paris, then do away with him in the Tuileries Gardens and blame the murder on the ghost of Robespierre.
       So cheered, I sat down on the edge of the bed and mulled over my misfortune. I wasn’t as preoccupied with getting my parents’ consent to travel abroad as I was with convincing them to lend me capital. Money had always been my chief problem.
       My association with Roderick Caldwell had begun ten years ago when my mother, Laura, took it into her head to marry the man. What possessed her to make such a hash of our lives, I will never know, but there was no denying that Old Roddy was well loved and loved just as ardently in return, where Mother was concerned at least. The picture of connubial bliss would have summed them up nicely. Roddy was a fine catch and Mother was the belle of her set, although a widow, but he was willing to overlook this trifling detail. If you were to poll the citizenry, the results would show that Sir Roderick Caldwell was an upstanding citizen, a model husband, and adored by all.
       Quite a lot of rot, that, but it wasn’t for the “fly in the ointment,” namely me, to say at the time. I was only eight years old and my job was to be neither seen nor heard, except when I was trotted out on special occasions to do my stepfather credit.
       There were times throughout the last decade when I had often wondered if Charles Dickens had used Roddy as the model for Ebenezer Scrooge, but I suppose, if I were pressed to admit it, that I was being too hard on the old man. He was generous to a fault with his own causes, but when it came to me, he suffered from what one might call extreme tightfistedness. Yet Roddy was by no means suffering from want. There was the house in Mayfair I shared with Mother and him, for instance, that was certainly not a hovel, and then there was his little villa in the South of France, not to mention the pension in Corfu, though he claimed that really was more of a business investment. Ha ha, it is to laugh.
       Still, none of this mattered when The Stepson reared his head. I remember once asking Roddy for tuppence to buy some Turkish Delight and receiving instead a lecture on the wastefulness of the English youth in today’s modern world. Not quite what the average school-age boy wants to hear when he asks Papa for some lolly to buy a sweetie.
       Things hadn’t changed much over the last few years. Though Roddy grew a shred fonder of me, he kept my allowance to a rather bare minimum, based on his opinion that I was a wastrel and would most assuredly spend his “hard earned” wealth on drink and depravity. I suppose he was still sore about the tuppence incident. His was an entirely baseless surmise, mind you, but, since he was Mother’s and my only means of survival, I was forced to bite my lip and keep trudging through life on two bob a week.
       Try as we might, though, the prospect of embarking on a grand tour was something Stefan and I were unwilling to give up without exhausting every option. Today was already the twelfth of June, and the time was ripe for us to seize our chance, carpe diem and all that palaver. We could no longer afford to keep putting the scheme off. I knew that if we were to have any hope at all of setting out before month’s end, we would have to act this very night, which was why we were planning to wine and dine The Older Set (on Stefan’s allowance, of course) that evening at the Café Royal.
       After the second course, I would rise from my seat, raise my glass in toast, and spout forth a torrent of arguments so convincing that by the time I had ceased and earned a round of thunderous applause, Roddy would fall to his knees and beg me to take the money off his hands. Maybe I was putting a little too much faith in my oratorical skills, but one must be optimistic. Besides, if I ever hoped to make it to those hallowed halls of Parliament one day, I could hope for no better person to practice on than the one-man Inquisition that was Roderick Caldwell. Compared to my stepfather, Torquemada was a cream puff.
       The clock on the landing read a quarter to eleven by the time I made my way downstairs. I was mentally re-rehearsing my arguments for the thousandth time and was so absorbed in my thoughts that I didn’t realize Stefan and our parents had already gathered until I was nearly halfway into the drawing room.
       I glanced at Stefan. He looked like a lit Roman Candle, his shock of red hair swept up into a Brutus style that had died out of fashion more than sixty years ago. I had a mad urge to grab the fireplace poker and jab him in the ribs. Anything to get him to show some emotion. His face was unreadable, so that I wasn’t sure if we were winning or had already been soundly defeated. The fact that he was avoiding my eyes didn’t do anything to calm my nerves, either.
       All four of our parents were silent. Mr. Ratliff was leaning over his tented fingers. Mrs. Ratliff idly stirred her tea. Mother sat up much too straight in her chair, and Roddy, well, Roddy was worst of all. He was standing with his back to the hearth. His eyebrows were raised, his eyes fixed on a water stain on the ceiling. I knew that look. And I knew what would happen if I didn’t do something to keep him from travelling down that moral highroad he was so fond of traversing.
       So I did the only natural thing. I started blubbering like an imbecile. “I, for one, think it would be a grave error in judgment to deny us this opportunity. Lord knows we are mature enough!” I piped up, my voice sounding like the squeal of a baby who has just been tipped out of its pram. “Think of the good this journey would do myself and Stefan. Why, we would come back practically self-sufficient men of the world, ready to take London by storm!”
       All their faces still wore that vacant expression, although Mrs. Ratliff’s showed the most signs of life. She’d always liked me, I thought, so I ran to her first, divested her of her teacup, and shoved my hands into hers. “After all, we are the future of England, and let it never be said that the British were not magnanimous when it came to expanding the cultural and educational horizons of their youth.”
       Nothing had gone according to plan, but I was certain I had presented my points well…or as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. To my horror, Mrs. Ratliff began to laugh. It started out as a little melodious chuckle, one I had grown accustomed to hearing over the years, then burgeoned into something very near a guffaw. I looked around the room and saw that not only did Mr. Ratliff and my mother share in her mirth, but wonder of wonders, Roddy was laughing, too! This was indeed a day for firsts.
       “Mrs. Ratliff, I…”
       “Eric, you fool, please. Less is more.” The relief in Stefan’s voice made me suddenly hopeful. My brow furrowed in confusion as I looked at him, for he began to laugh, too. Why the devil was he laughing if all our plans had crumbled around our ears? I knew then that we had won, but our victory had been attained through no efforts of my own. Rather, it had been secured before I had even entered the room. And I had been a complete and utter fool to worry.
       “Oh, Eric, dear,” Mrs. Ratliff said, patting my hand. “I think this idea of a grand tour is marvelous. And I am so pleased that you and Stefan will be expanding your tour to include Romania, my homeland.”
       “Don’t forget Austria-Hungary, Mother,” Stefan chimed in, giving me a wink. This little extension of his was news to me. I began to wonder what else Stefan had promised our parents in order to get his way.
       “Of course, my love. Eric,” she said, rising.
       “Ye…Yes, Mrs. Ratliff?” I responded, rather groggily. I was still stunned by the sudden turn of events.
       “Your parents and Mr. Ratliff and I have been conferring, and we all believe that you and Stefan would benefit greatly from this grand tour. We will make all the necessary preparations for the two of you to set out on the twenty-first of this month.”
       I stared at the woman, and it would not be a falsehood to say that I gaped, for this news was beyond wonderful. How long I stood in this manner I cannot say, but when my mother brought me back to consciousness, it seemed as though I had been gone for at least half the day.
       “Close your mouth, you fool,” she whispered in my ear. I did as told and presently found that she had placed a small blue envelope in my hands. “This is from Roderick,” she said, looking intently at the little parcel, “please try to spend it responsibly. Lord knows it’s probably the most you’ll ever get out of the old skinflint.”
       She motioned for me to put the envelope away in my waistcoat pocket, then returned to her seat. But I couldn’t resist the urge to see just how generous Papa Caldwell had been. I slid my fingers beneath the lip and pulled out a stack of bills, which, after a quick, discreet count, I realized totaled four hundred pounds! It was an exorbitant sum. Obviously, that blasted pension must have been a much more profitable investment than I had given Roddy credit for.
       I fingered the bills, counting them again to be sure. My heart pounded faster as I ticked them off one by one, but I had not been mistaken.
       This generosity was beyond anything I had ever dared to hope for. I was not even expecting a hundred quid from the old blister and had resigned myself to being the “poor relation” of our duo, living off Stefan’s wealth for the duration of the tour, but old Roddy had come through in the end in a way I never thought possible. Gone was my resentment over the Turkish Delight. Nothing could mar my opinion of him in that beatific moment, not even the thought that he might be giving me such a large sum of money in the hopes that I would be suspected of robbing the Bank of England and end up getting locked away in some foreign jail. No, I would not countenance such evil notions. Roddy had changed—he was human after all.
       I stuffed the bills back into the envelope and looked upon Roddy in open adoration. Such unaccustomed attention from his stepson must have made the old coot uncomfortable, for he began to fidget and look behind him as if he thought my adoring gaze was meant for the clock above the mantelpiece.
       “My dear, dear father,” I said, clasping my hands about his. What was the world coming to? Not twenty minutes before I had been lamenting ever crossing paths with this gentleman of sterling character. Eric Bradburry, you’ve been a fool. I continued to shake Roddy heartily, all the while chuntering on about his generosity in a stream of words that I’m certain made absolutely no sense to his ears, much less my own.
       “All right, all right,” he said, extricating himself from my hold. “That’s enough of that. It is my sincere hope that you will use this money wisely and not waste it on frivolity.”
       “You need have no fear of that, Roderick,” I replied, in what I hoped was a sincere, man-of-the-world tone of voice.
       A chuckle from Stefan’s corner brought me to my senses. I cocked an eyebrow at my coconspirator. And that’s when I heard Roddy clear his throat.
       Oh, Lord. I knew that sound did not bode well for us. He must have uncovered a flaw, a chink in the armor. One word from him and our entire scheme would be shot to Hades.
       Ever since his brilliant success that morning, I had come to think of Stefan as a second Wellington at Waterloo, so it was unfathomable to me to even entertain the notion that he had not taken into consideration every objection my stepfather could possibly make. I was puzzling over just what these objections might be, when Roddy began to speak.
       “There is one thing that gives me pause, though. The absence of guides. Now, I could arrange…”
       “Oh, of course we will have guides, Mr. Caldwell!”
       Guides?! Since when had Stefan arranged for us to have guides?! Another shock like this and I would have to be taken to hospital. He knew full well we intended to take up with whatever local cicerone we could find, and that only when necessary. After all, going it alone was half the adventure, until the language barrier made guides a must. In truth, though, I doubted we would need the guides. My smattering of languages, not to mention my trusty Baedeker travel guide, would see us through France and Italy just fine, and Stefan’s native knowledge of Romanian would allow us to journey through the Eastern European countries as easily as if we had been locals. I was about to protest this plan, until I caught the warning glance Stefan shot my way.
       “Yes,” he continued, turning his attention to Roddy. “I took it upon myself to contact Father’s associates in each country, and they assured me that we will have guides waiting at our beck and call the minute we set foot on foreign soil. There is no need to worry about anything.”
       The speech was a little too confident and a trifle cloying, but it served its purpose.
       “Well, then,” Roddy said. He looked at my mother in bewilderment, then seemed to realize the futility of objecting any further. His shoulders sagged a bit, but he recovered himself before anyone else had a chance to notice this momentary display of defeat. “I suppose all that is left to say is Godspeed.”
       “Godspeed!” Stefan and I answered simultaneously. If our smiles could have been any broader at that moment, I believe our faces would have split in two. I slapped Stefan on the back, still unable to believe we had won.
       “How in the world did you pull it off?” I asked. “And since when did we decide to go to Eastern Europe?”
       He nodded toward the doorway and motioned for me to be silent until our parents had left the room.
       “That, my dear boy,” he replied, his eyes gleaming in triumph, “was the key. You know money was never a problem, my parents being millionaires and all. The real trouble was convincing them it was a sound venture. And that’s where good old Eastern Europe came in. I knew my mother would be absolutely giddy if she knew we were going to visit the country where she and I were both born. So I just happened to mention that we were thinking about stopping over in Romania for a day or two. And there you have it. Simple, really, don’t you think?”
       It must have been my day to gape like an idiot, for that was what I was reduced to once more. I stared at Stefan, his face triumphant, then burst out laughing.
       “Bravo, lad, bravo! A stroke of genius! Now, if I may make a suggestion? Let’s stop standing here congratulating ourselves and start packing for this grand tour!” And with that, I shoved him into the hallway and left him to his own devices. I still had a lot to work out before I could relax. I’d never been as cavalier as Stefan about life changing events. My head was still spinning from everything that had happened. It was so impossible to believe we had succeeded. But as I began taking the clothes out of my wardrobe, the truth finally sunk in.
       In nine more days, Stefan and I would set out on the grandest adventure of our lives.

*

On the twenty-first of June, Stefan and I stood on the deck of the Erinyes, the ship that would guide us away from Dover and across the Channel. Our parents were somewhere down on the quay amongst the throng who had gathered to see us off. I peered down into the crowd, searching for their familiar faces, but all I could distinguish were dozens of arms waving handkerchiefs and flags.
       Stefan was about ready to burst from anticipation. He had given up looking for our parents long ago and was instead gazing across the opposite side of the ship toward where the coast of France was waiting to meet us. I smiled as I looked at him. I knew what he was feeling. It was a giddy sensation, setting out on your own for the first time. Here we were, Eric Bradburry and Stefan Ratliff, two intrepid young Englishmen ready for whatever life had in store.
       “Finally free. And about time, too.”
       “Sorry?” I asked.
       “I thought we’d never get away from them.”
       “That’s not like you,” I said. He’d looked nothing like his usual, jovial self when he’d said that.
       “Maybe it is and you just never knew it.”
       “What an odd thing to say,” I ended up saying to his back, since he’d turned and seemed to have forgotten I was there. Bother Stefan; he was being enigmatic again. He’d been acting like this a lot lately. I didn’t know why, but it unnerved me. Still, there was nothing I could do about it, and frankly, I didn’t want to. I was too excited to care about his changeable moods at that moment.
       A thundering blare erupted from the smokestack above us. I leaned over the rail and saw the gangplank being drawn up. My heart thudded against my chest. Now it was my turn to feel as though I would burst.
       “This is it!” I shouted above the din to no one in particular. “Paris awaits!”

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