Sitnalta on Earth

[Fort]

This is something I did late at night, and edited - also late at night. I'm not sure if I'll continue this story or not - that depends on everyone's reaction. Either way here's the introduction, and I hope you enjoy it.

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"More flame!" came the erruptive bellow of Sir Vivan Spring - coarse hands gripping firmly onto that filthy top-hat he was so key-bent on wearing. With an abruprt movement he looked over the side of that ill-woven wicker basket, those green eyes flashing with possibility and exploit.
There was a time Sir Spring wasn't so bound to unannounced trips in his Hot Air Baloon, but those days were quite over, with an iron-will he traveled the world on his greatest venture yet - entering Sitnalta, the floating city of rust! The city bobed there, on the skyline, for all to see - on the edge of every horizon of South Asia and Eastern Europe, no one could deny its magnificance, and all were in in awe of its impossible existance. To describe the structure - one would tell you, with it lights sparkling brightly - even in twilight, would be impossible to justify. An eerie glow surrounded those rocket-like structures, and if you could ever get close enough you could hear that magnificent ticking clockwork of complicated cogs and pulleys underneath Sitnalta's very bow; this impossible contraption of gears and appendages had a function no-one could quite work out, and was christened only as the Under-machine; the Under-machine of Sitnalta, a marvel to behold, and the very bane of the engineers of our very own Mother Earth.
Even now in the twilight, off the edge of the Air-balloon, the city hung there on the horizon, defying all who tried to reach it. Sir Vivan Spring, not on his first trip of course, stared upon that supernatant city with fire in his eyes, "More flame!" he roared again, raising that loathesome blackened cane he enjoyed to carry and point at things with ill-feined interest. The cane was once a magnificent polished mahogany, and was the only surving relic - albiet one in bad shape - of Sir Vivian's magnificent mansion, now lost in a great fire.
There were happier times, Sir Vivian's man-servent reflected with ill-ease, pumping the bellows and feeding the engine more coal. The man-servent had been with the excentric millionaire for years, watching that vast fortune grow and become the very mountain everyone for miles around everyone wanted to climb and be a part of - but those "good ole' days" were over, the fortune was gone, Master Vivian's only posessions were the clothes on his back and that dowdy, threadbare Balloon in which he stood. Old Sharpé the retired Morris Dancing Man-servent stayed because he was loyal to the old Master, that, and the fact that he too harboured some deep feelings to discovering the weightless city's vast and sought-after secrets. With skillfull hands Old Sharpé fed the hungry furnace, keeping watch carefully to make sure that the near-exhaunsted coal pile was going to be rationed to its full extent, while at the same Old Sharpé had to keep up with Sir Vivian's bellowing demands for more fuel. The Man-servent wiped his brow with a sleeve that - which by the looks of it - may well have acted also as a coal scuttle.
Sir Vivian inhaled deeply, there was the strong smell of smoke, the feeling of heat upon the back of his exposed neck, - but also, something else - Vivian was sure he could smell Victory, he was sure he had discovered a way to reach Nirvana itself! He was positive that this, the third time, his third venture to the rusted floating tresure in the sky, was the charm!
"Now Sharpé," the Master warned gravely, with a hint of childish excitement upon his voice, "don't release the sandbags until I'm SURE I'm under the exhaust vent, I can not stress that enough!" a sad smile etched itself mockingly upon his lips, "we don't want to end up like the Retford party do we?"
The Retford party of which he refered, was a group of six pioneers, a mixture men and women inside a large "company balloon", not a grand hot air balloon like Sir Vivian's, but an airship. With the Retford party was the latest technology in "instant photo taking", and upon the top of their immense craft was stuck the fabled camera with an array of lighting to brighten the under-machine's dark surface. The plan of these six enthusiasts was to take pictures of the entire Under-machine, mapping together and cross-referencing the entire structure. However disaster stuck the party, the balloon in its massive entireity was found floating in the sea, all six dead and bloated with fish pecking out their eyes, all tied up and trapped within the knotted rope. The camera was immediately taken and examined of course, the Scientific community - as all would tell you - were very eager to get the film out of the ruined mash, but alas all too obviosuly it was ruined by the saltwater and festering corpses.
The damaging catastrophe that fared the Retford Party's airship was later discovered to be a large and ungainly puncture in the upper hemishere of the company's dirigible. This gruesome mystery was immediately put down to the airship getting too close to the impossible clockwork of the Under-machine; "a stray cog or piston punctured the airship" was the overall verdict, but still, there are some that would say Sitnalta was angered at their disrespect and lashed out.
So now, Sir Vivian Spring's hot air balloon hovered below the great bulk of Sitnalta at a careful transit, the coal powered balloon -the first of its kind - was designed for great heights; the drigible would obviosuly be the first choice for "flying high", but was too ungainly and large for Sir Vivian Spring's plan to enter the floating city's rusted and old exhaust vent. This pipe that would mark Sir Spring's entry was shaped much like a Tuba - the bottom end tapering out and curving up, but it was a thousand times as big as the instrument it resembled, and it seemed to be seething - almost breathing down upon the puny transport ship that was but a spec in comparison.
"We did it..." Old Sharpé said in amazement, craning out of the orafice-like basket to get a better look at the inky blackness above.
Sir Vivian's green eyes flashed with that same intense gaze as before, looking fondly at the coal burner he had installed, it was worth the investment tenfold, truly. With that Loathsome black cane he pointed up into the blackness above, having to roar above the breathing of the Under-machine that overpowered his own voice, "On the count of three, Sharpé, release the sandbags! We make our decent up and into the unknown!" Sir Vivian inhaled for breath, savouring every second the moment, "three! Two-!"
Disilussion lasted scarce-a-blink. With a heaving force the balloon was suddenly sucked up into the oversized exhaust pipe unceremoniosuly, it was certainly not Sir Vivian Spring's nor Old Sharpé's hand in this decent. No, this was the floating city sucking them up into the unknown, into the underbelly of the carnivorous machine! There was no time for buckling oneself-in or grabbing onto the sides as the great force brought the basket crashing into the balloon itself! The Envelope's leather fabric ripped easily when assulted by the boiler's jagged frame - something may well have caught fire had not the vaccum destroyed any chance of a naked flame!

There was some screaming. Then nothing. Somewhere off the south coast of the British controlled Lakshadweep Islands, a fisherman noted the tide came in slightly late.

[3kul]

A very interesting story Fort, I enjoyed reading it quite a bit

Sitnalta seems like quite the sinister place, I started reading somewhat curious and now I really want to know what's inside

I hope you do decide to continue it, as I'll certainly read it if you do.