Welcome to the official Blog Tour for David D. Levine's Arabella and the Battle of Venus, the second book in the Adventures of Arabella Ashby series! We are thrilled to kick off this blog tour and to launch this new release with some fun stuff to give readers a sneak peek into the book! On our stop today, we have a cool an exciting excerpt AND a tour-wide giveaway to share! Plus, there's a book trailer! So... Check it out and grab your copy today!
Follow the tour, HERE!
Genre:
Young Adult
Science Fiction Adventure
Series:
Adventures of Arabella Ashby, #2
Publish Date:
July 18, 2017
Publisher:
Tor Books
Synopsis:
The thrilling adventures of Arabella Ashby continue in the second book in Hugo-winning author David D. Levine's swashbuckling sci-fi, alt-history series!
The swashbuckling Arabella Ashby is back for brand new adventure in the ongoing story of her life among the stars.
Arabella’s wedding plans to marry Captain Singh of the Honorable Mars Trading Company are interrupted when her fiancé is captured by the French and sent to a prisoner-of-war camp on swampy Venus. Now, Arabella must find passage to an enemy-controlled planet in the middle of a war, bribe or fight her way past vicious guards, and rescue her Captain.
To do this she must enlist the help of the dashing privateer, Daniel Fox of the Touchstone and build her own clockwork navigational automaton in order to get to Venus before the dread French general, Joseph Fouché, the Executioner of Lyon.
Once on Venus, Arabella, Singh, and Fox soon discover that Napoleon has designed a secret weapon, one that could subjugate the entire galaxy if they can’t discover a way to stop Fouché, and the entire French army, from completing their emperor’s mandate.
The swashbuckling Arabella Ashby is back for brand new adventure in the ongoing story of her life among the stars.
Arabella’s wedding plans to marry Captain Singh of the Honorable Mars Trading Company are interrupted when her fiancé is captured by the French and sent to a prisoner-of-war camp on swampy Venus. Now, Arabella must find passage to an enemy-controlled planet in the middle of a war, bribe or fight her way past vicious guards, and rescue her Captain.
To do this she must enlist the help of the dashing privateer, Daniel Fox of the Touchstone and build her own clockwork navigational automaton in order to get to Venus before the dread French general, Joseph Fouché, the Executioner of Lyon.
Once on Venus, Arabella, Singh, and Fox soon discover that Napoleon has designed a secret weapon, one that could subjugate the entire galaxy if they can’t discover a way to stop Fouché, and the entire French army, from completing their emperor’s mandate.
*Excerpt*
“Absolutely not!” Michael fumed, his eye fixed firmly on Arabella.
At this moment, she thought, her brother resembled their late father more strongly than ever before . . . but with an admixture of their mother’s intransigence. Yet she knew what she must do, and she would not be stayed from her course.
They were alone in Michael’s office. Father’s collection of automata still adorned the high shelf behind the desk, all tidily dusted and polished, but hardly ever wound— a fact which caused Arabella some pain. Michael had never participated in the passion for automata which she had shared with her father, and now that the office was her brother’s demesne those meticulously crafted devices stood motionless, nothing more than expensive knickknacks. The automaton dancer, in particular, whose mainspring Arabella had broken in an excess of zeal as a young girl, seemed to look down in silent rebuke.
Arabella knew just how valuable a properly designed and maintained automaton could be. If not for Aadim, Diana’s automaton navigator, she might not be alive to- day, and certainly would not be engaged to be married.
“I will not be dissuaded,” she replied, returning his stare evenly.
“In the first place, we are very nearly in a state of war with France. For all I know, war may already have been declared! For you to take ship at all under these circumstances, let alone to the disputed territory of Venus, is sheer folly!”
“The air is very large. On my last voyage, as you know, we were also at war, and Diana encountered only one French privateer, which we defeated.” It had been a very near thing, to be sure, but she saw no need to mention that.
“In the second place, you are needed here.” He gestured impatiently at the stub of his leg. “You know that I cannot survey the grounds and supervise the caretakers as I should.”
“But you are improving every day! Dr. Fellowes assures me that you should be sufficiently recovered to ride huresh- back in a month or less. Until then, Markath can be your eyes and ears on the grounds. I know that you trust him implicitly.”
“He is very good,” Michael acknowledged. “But he is only a Martian, and your par tic u lar skills— your rapport with the servants, your methodical care with the books, a thousand other things— are invaluable in the running of the estate.”
“You flatter me, dear brother, but you and I both know that Khema is ten times as valuable as I.” Khema had been Arabella and Michael’s itkhalya, or Martian nanny, when they had been children, and had taught them the ways of the desert and all things Martian. She had been instrumental in quelling the rebellion, and now served as the plantation’s majordomo. “Nothing whatsoever would be accomplished on this estate without her. In fact, during the rebellion, when she alone was responsible for the estate, everything ran smoothly . . . despite the violence all around! I dare say that neither you nor I could have done as well.”
Michael pursed his lips, neither conceding her point nor offering anything to gainsay it. “In the third place,” he said after a time, “even if I were so foolish as to allow you to travel to Venus, what could you possibly accomplish there? Surely the assistance of one young woman, even one so formidable as yourself, cannot make any difference against the massed might of Bonaparte’s forces.” He drew himself heavily from his chair and clumped across the floor with his crutch, then took her hand gently in his. “The captain is brave and very resourceful for a man of his race.”
Arabella glared at her brother. Although he had acceded to her betrothal to Captain Singh, he had never been completely comfortable with the captain’s color, accent, or religion. “For a man of any race.”
He acknowledged her correction by ducking his head and raising his hands, palms spread. “All the more reason for us to be certain that if anything can be done to affect his release, he will do it. Nothing can be gained by you risking your life in such a foolhardy manner.”
Arabella straightened. “I have been reading the Naval Chronicle, in which are accounted the experiences of many English officers who escaped Napoleon’s European prisons during the recent land wars. Though many brave men managed to depart the prison itself through their own resources, most were recaptured before they reached neutral territory. Most of the successful escapes— those in which the escapees actually returned to England— were made possible only through the instrumentality of paid agents in the neighboring villages, on terms arranged by the fugitive’s friends at home.”
“I fail to see how this is relevant.”
“Let me put it to you plain: successful escape from Napoleon’s prisons requires help from outside— local guides, accommodations, forged papers, and, if necessary, even bribery. During the European wars, locals opposed to Napoleon were well known to the English, and payment and instructions for their ser vices had only to be conveyed over the short distance from England to France. But in this case, our knowledge of the situation on Venus is extremely limited and the distance is very much greater. To obtain the equivalent assistance would require months and months— months Captain Singh does not have— and the chance that payment and instructions would be intercepted en route is very great. To ensure success I must voyage to Venus myself, and as soon as possible, in order to arrange and fund his escape from close at hand.”
“You have done your research,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “But I still cannot countenance such an adventure.”
“I am sorry,” she said, and cupped Michael’s hand in both her own, “my dearest brother, but this is a thing I must do.”
Michael drew his hand from hers and turned to the window, where rank on rank of khoresh- trees marched to the horizon. He stood in that contemplative pose for a long time before turning back to her. “You are a most vexing young woman, you know.” But his face bore a slight, whimsical smile.
“I know,” she replied, feeling her own mouth curve into a matching expression.
He blew out a breath. “As your brother, I could forbid you to go. But you and I both know that, even if I did so, you would do whatever you wish regardless. I suppose I have no choice but to accede to your request.”
She embraced him then, but her inward feelings bore no taste of triumph . . . rather, her sentiments combined concern for her captain, love for her brother, and anxious anticipation over events to come. “Thank you,” she breathed in his ear.
They held each other a moment longer; then he straightened awkwardly, nearly dropping his crutch in the process, and stumped to the desk. “You will require funds,” he said, seating himself and bringing out the ledger- book from its locked drawer. “I will instruct our banker to furnish you with a letter of note. Will five hundred pounds suffice, do you think?”
The astonishing figure made her breath catch in her throat, emphasizing as it did the gravity of the task before her. It was, she knew, a very substantial fraction of the plantation’s income, and equivalent to a year’s living— a very comfortable year’s living— for many a smaller landholder. Yet she knew from her readings that passage, paraphernalia, and influence— bribery, to be blunt—were all necessary for a successful escape, and could be extremely expensive. “I should hope that it would be,” she said at last. Then, considering, she added, “Be sure to instruct him to make certain that it is payable at Venus.”
He paused, tapping the pen upon his chin. “What currency do they employ there?”
“I . . .” She swallowed. “I do not know.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, both very much aware of how many unknown considerations stood between Arabella and her captain.
Then he took out a sheet of paper and began to write.
At this moment, she thought, her brother resembled their late father more strongly than ever before . . . but with an admixture of their mother’s intransigence. Yet she knew what she must do, and she would not be stayed from her course.
They were alone in Michael’s office. Father’s collection of automata still adorned the high shelf behind the desk, all tidily dusted and polished, but hardly ever wound— a fact which caused Arabella some pain. Michael had never participated in the passion for automata which she had shared with her father, and now that the office was her brother’s demesne those meticulously crafted devices stood motionless, nothing more than expensive knickknacks. The automaton dancer, in particular, whose mainspring Arabella had broken in an excess of zeal as a young girl, seemed to look down in silent rebuke.
Arabella knew just how valuable a properly designed and maintained automaton could be. If not for Aadim, Diana’s automaton navigator, she might not be alive to- day, and certainly would not be engaged to be married.
“I will not be dissuaded,” she replied, returning his stare evenly.
“In the first place, we are very nearly in a state of war with France. For all I know, war may already have been declared! For you to take ship at all under these circumstances, let alone to the disputed territory of Venus, is sheer folly!”
“The air is very large. On my last voyage, as you know, we were also at war, and Diana encountered only one French privateer, which we defeated.” It had been a very near thing, to be sure, but she saw no need to mention that.
“In the second place, you are needed here.” He gestured impatiently at the stub of his leg. “You know that I cannot survey the grounds and supervise the caretakers as I should.”
“But you are improving every day! Dr. Fellowes assures me that you should be sufficiently recovered to ride huresh- back in a month or less. Until then, Markath can be your eyes and ears on the grounds. I know that you trust him implicitly.”
“He is very good,” Michael acknowledged. “But he is only a Martian, and your par tic u lar skills— your rapport with the servants, your methodical care with the books, a thousand other things— are invaluable in the running of the estate.”
“You flatter me, dear brother, but you and I both know that Khema is ten times as valuable as I.” Khema had been Arabella and Michael’s itkhalya, or Martian nanny, when they had been children, and had taught them the ways of the desert and all things Martian. She had been instrumental in quelling the rebellion, and now served as the plantation’s majordomo. “Nothing whatsoever would be accomplished on this estate without her. In fact, during the rebellion, when she alone was responsible for the estate, everything ran smoothly . . . despite the violence all around! I dare say that neither you nor I could have done as well.”
Michael pursed his lips, neither conceding her point nor offering anything to gainsay it. “In the third place,” he said after a time, “even if I were so foolish as to allow you to travel to Venus, what could you possibly accomplish there? Surely the assistance of one young woman, even one so formidable as yourself, cannot make any difference against the massed might of Bonaparte’s forces.” He drew himself heavily from his chair and clumped across the floor with his crutch, then took her hand gently in his. “The captain is brave and very resourceful for a man of his race.”
Arabella glared at her brother. Although he had acceded to her betrothal to Captain Singh, he had never been completely comfortable with the captain’s color, accent, or religion. “For a man of any race.”
He acknowledged her correction by ducking his head and raising his hands, palms spread. “All the more reason for us to be certain that if anything can be done to affect his release, he will do it. Nothing can be gained by you risking your life in such a foolhardy manner.”
Arabella straightened. “I have been reading the Naval Chronicle, in which are accounted the experiences of many English officers who escaped Napoleon’s European prisons during the recent land wars. Though many brave men managed to depart the prison itself through their own resources, most were recaptured before they reached neutral territory. Most of the successful escapes— those in which the escapees actually returned to England— were made possible only through the instrumentality of paid agents in the neighboring villages, on terms arranged by the fugitive’s friends at home.”
“I fail to see how this is relevant.”
“Let me put it to you plain: successful escape from Napoleon’s prisons requires help from outside— local guides, accommodations, forged papers, and, if necessary, even bribery. During the European wars, locals opposed to Napoleon were well known to the English, and payment and instructions for their ser vices had only to be conveyed over the short distance from England to France. But in this case, our knowledge of the situation on Venus is extremely limited and the distance is very much greater. To obtain the equivalent assistance would require months and months— months Captain Singh does not have— and the chance that payment and instructions would be intercepted en route is very great. To ensure success I must voyage to Venus myself, and as soon as possible, in order to arrange and fund his escape from close at hand.”
“You have done your research,” he acknowledged grudgingly. “But I still cannot countenance such an adventure.”
“I am sorry,” she said, and cupped Michael’s hand in both her own, “my dearest brother, but this is a thing I must do.”
Michael drew his hand from hers and turned to the window, where rank on rank of khoresh- trees marched to the horizon. He stood in that contemplative pose for a long time before turning back to her. “You are a most vexing young woman, you know.” But his face bore a slight, whimsical smile.
“I know,” she replied, feeling her own mouth curve into a matching expression.
He blew out a breath. “As your brother, I could forbid you to go. But you and I both know that, even if I did so, you would do whatever you wish regardless. I suppose I have no choice but to accede to your request.”
She embraced him then, but her inward feelings bore no taste of triumph . . . rather, her sentiments combined concern for her captain, love for her brother, and anxious anticipation over events to come. “Thank you,” she breathed in his ear.
They held each other a moment longer; then he straightened awkwardly, nearly dropping his crutch in the process, and stumped to the desk. “You will require funds,” he said, seating himself and bringing out the ledger- book from its locked drawer. “I will instruct our banker to furnish you with a letter of note. Will five hundred pounds suffice, do you think?”
The astonishing figure made her breath catch in her throat, emphasizing as it did the gravity of the task before her. It was, she knew, a very substantial fraction of the plantation’s income, and equivalent to a year’s living— a very comfortable year’s living— for many a smaller landholder. Yet she knew from her readings that passage, paraphernalia, and influence— bribery, to be blunt—were all necessary for a successful escape, and could be extremely expensive. “I should hope that it would be,” she said at last. Then, considering, she added, “Be sure to instruct him to make certain that it is payable at Venus.”
He paused, tapping the pen upon his chin. “What currency do they employ there?”
“I . . .” She swallowed. “I do not know.”
They looked at each other for a long moment, both very much aware of how many unknown considerations stood between Arabella and her captain.
Then he took out a sheet of paper and began to write.
Copyright 2017 by David D. Levine
The exciting sequel to Arabella of Mars!
(cover links to Goodreads)
~~~~~
**About the Author**
David D. Levine is the multi-award-winning author of the Regency interplanetary airship adventure novel Arabella of Mars (Tor 2016), sequel Arabella and the Battle of Venus (Tor 2017), and more than fifty science fiction and fantasy stories. Arabella of Mars won the 2017 Andre Norton Award for Young Adult Science Fiction and Fantasy, his story "Tk'Tk'Tk" won the 2006 Hugo Award for Best Short Story, his story "Nucleon" won the James White Award, and he has been shortlisted for awards including the Hugo, Nebula, Campbell, Sturgeon, and Locus. His stories have appeared in Asimov's, Analog, F&SF, Realms of Fantasy, Tor.com, numerous anthologies and websites, and multiple Year's Best anthologies, as well as his collection Space Magic from Wheatland Press, which won the Endeavor Award for the best SF or Fantasy book by a Pacific Northwest writer.
David is a contributor to George R.R. Martin's bestselling shared-world series Wild Cards. He is also a member of Book View Cafe, a writer-owned publishing cooperative, and Oregon Science Fiction Conventions Inc., a non-profit organization which produces OryCon and other SF conventions. He has narrated podcasts for Escape Pod, PodCastle, and StarShipSofa and the audiobook of Space Magic, and his video production "Dr. Talon's Letter to the Editor" was a finalist for the Parsec Award. In 2010, he spent two weeks at the Mars Desert Research Station, a simulated Mars base in the Utah desert.
David lives in a hundred-year-old bungalow in Portland, Oregon.
Stay connected with David D. Levine
~~~~~
***The Giveaway***
Giveaway Open Internationally | Must be 13+ to Enter
Blog Tour Organized by
Looks like a fun, adventuresome book! Thanks for the post!
ReplyDeleteIt sure does!!! No problem. I enjoy helping authors spread the word on their books!
Delete