Thick gray fog lay over the streets of London, the dense tendrils creeping around buildings like bandits. The night sky was pitch black, the moon hidden behind a bank of clouds. The only illumination the city found was in the gaslit lamp posts that dotted the cobblestone sidewalk. Quinn pressed her back against the curve of a brick bridge as the sound of carriage wheels and horses hooves rumbled over head. A pair of officers, in trim uniforms, walked past, their boots pounding against the street, their movements in sync with each other. They were the ever present reminder that there was a war going on and no one was safe. No one could be trusted.

Quinn didn't breathe until their footsteps had faded away.

In the distance she heard the faint tolling of a clock, ringing out the late hour. Every nerve was taut with tension. Her body screamed out for some way of distilling her frantic nerves, but she didn't move. Movement meant noise. Noise was not something she could let happen. Not now. Not here.

The chill and damp of the air seeped in to her bones and slipped beneath her coat, but she didn't shiver. The cold was nothing new. The air smelled of kerosene from a nearby lamp. Slowly, so she made no sound, she turned her coat collar up and pulled her cap lower. From the shadows of her hide away she could make out the tall brick houses that rose out of the mist like ship sails. Faint dots of lights from parlors and bedrooms looked like lone ship lanterns.

She cocked her head, her muscles tensing at the sound of footsteps. In the quiet of the night the sound seemed to echo around her. The sound grated on her frayed nerves. She slowed her breathing and forced herself to stand as still as possible. She slipped one hand into her pocket and gripped the handle of a knife.

The footsteps grew closer.

The tap tap tap on the cobblestones rang in her ears and kept time to the pounding of her heart beat. From the mist a figure appeared, wearing a top hat, coat, trousers and boots. The outfit that Quinn wore, except for the top hat.

He stopped just beyond the reach of her tunnel. He looked around and then pulled back his coat reaching for his pocket watch. Strapped to his belt was a pistol, fitted with an additional chamber so it was capable of holding double the amount of bullets. The man pulled out his watch and clicked it open. Projected from it was a display of the time, the golden light bouncing off the fog. In the stillness, Quinn felt she could hear the ticking of the cogs. The man snapped the watch shut and moved to the lamp post. He gave the empty street a quick glance before tapping something metal against the base of the post.

Though it pained her, Quinn waited for a full minute before emerging from her hide out, certain no one had heard or cared about the sound. She walked with a lightness that kept the silence of the night intact. The man had no warning of her approach and started when she whispered.

"Behind you," she said, trying to keep her irritation at his delay in check.

He spun around, his eyes furtively glancing about them.

"Quick, out of the light," he said.

He moved to take Quinn's arm but she stayed beyond his reach and moved before him. They slipped back into the shadows of the bridge, cloaked in darkness and mist.

"You're late," Quinn said.

"A matter that can be debated later," the man said, his voice a low, purr despite his words. "Here."

He pulled from his coat pocket a locket made of a dull metal, that hung on a silver chain. Quinn stretched out her gloved palm and he rested the necklaces inside. Instantly, she tightened her fingers about it. She slipping it into a pocket on the inside of her coat.

"You understand that this must meet no other hands then your father's," he said, the purr gone from his voice, in its place a harsh note of command.

"Of course," Quinn said.

Though half of her face was cast in shadow, the man still stared into her green eyes, as if to make certain she knew the weight of his words. Satisfied at what he saw, he pulled away.

"Very well. You must hurry now," he said.

The words were barely from his lips before Quinn darted around him and took off running. Her footsteps pounded on the sidewalk, her footing quick and sure. Every inch of this city was known to her. Every corner, alley, street, dead end. It was the reason she was sent and not her brother. When she spotted officers coming down one street, she ducked into an alley, never losing her course.

The smell of dirt and kerosene was heightened by the damp of the night. The odor was only broken by the faint whiffs of flowers and grass as Quinn raced past stately manors. Many of the homes lay silent and dark, their occupants long since taken by sleep. Though these streets were more open, they were less heavily guarded and assured a quicker route. Black iron fences lined the road, keeping unwanted visitors from doorsteps. The only lights that still shone were from the high end gambling house. Even from far off the sound of deep men's laughter and voices could be heard.

Quinn was rushing around a corner, headed for the seedier part of the city, when she collided with someone. Despite her speed, she was the one who was sent to the ground. Her back crashed into the stones, the force sending her cap falling and releasing her thick black hair. The young man she had run into stumbled, but quickly righted himself. With one white, gloved hand he brushed off the front of his coat, frowning.

"Watch where you are-" the harsh outcry was cut off as he looked down on Quinn.

Expecting to see an urchin or beggar, he was startled to see a girl, no older than seventeen. From the light of a nearby lamp, he saw a pretty, round face, straight nose, luminous green eyes and long black hair. Though she had the face of a lady, her attire suggested that of a run away.

The man stepped forward and stretched out his hand. As he did, he moved into view and Quinn was met with a handsome face, blonde eyebrows that arched over dark brown eyes, thin lips and a fine jaw that ended in a point. He removed his top hat, revealing a head of pale blonde hair.

She hesitated for a moment. He bent further and she accepted the hand. Strong fingers gripped hers and easily pulled her to her feet.

"I apologize, I did not see you," he said, his voice deep and melodious.

Quinn barely gave him a look as she turned, looking for her cap. The man stepped around her and retrieved it. He held it out. Quinn went to snatch it, but he pulled his hand back at the last second.

"Are you in trouble?" he asked.

"If I stay here, then yes. Please give me my hat," she said, stepping closer to him.

"Maybe I can be of assistance," he said, something about her face and choice of clothing sparking his curiosity.

"There is no need for that. I am fine. My hat, if you please?" she said, an edge of annoyance creeping into her voice.

"Your hat for your name," he said.

The sound of officer voices drifted to them and she glanced quickly back. They were out of sight in the fog, but she knew they would be upon them shortly. When she turned back to the man, only a few years older than her, he had one eyebrow raised in question. Quinn's eyes darted to his top hat. In the blink of an eye, she stole the hat from his hand and took a couple steps back.

"I'll keep my name and you can keep the hat," she said.

She turned and ran, the man still staring after her in surprise. She ducked around a corner into a darkened alley. With one quick movement she twisted her hair up and tucked it beneath the top hat. The hat was too large for her head but she didn't bother to spare it a second thought as she made for the docks.

The smell of fish and dung, alcohol and vomit reached her before any sight of the harbor. The lights of the boarding houses and bar rooms were lit as sailors and officers wasted away their time and money. Course voices and harsh, gruff laughter spilled from open windows and down onto Quinn. The pounding of boots and the stomping of glasses on wood added to the chaos. A loud bellow rang out as a man let loose a string of curses and battled a fellow card player, his lack of luck and intoxication getting the better of him.

Quinn rushed through the maze of buildings, unconcerned with a noise, the sound as familiar to her as the snapping of a ship's sail. She stopped as she came to the final corner. Before her the harbor stretched out. A mixed assortment of ships lay before her. Some ships, with large balloons suspending them, bobbed in the open air, their ropes tethering them to ground, keeping them from drifting off into the sky. Other ships lay in the water, anchored down. The docks lay quiet, the men on board asleep as their comrades spent the night gambling away their lives.

A set of officers marched by. Over one eye they wore a single lens, searching the darkness for signs of blockade runners. Searching for someone like Quinn. She moved back into the shadows and sank low in a doorway, waiting for them to pass. The mist crawled around her and shrouded her from their view. When they were further down the docks, she moved to the edge of the building and peered around. Nothing moved.

Her gaze darted about and stopped when it landed on a sailor, crouched beside a stack of wooden crates. He watched the surrounding area with a hard face and narrowed eyes. His lean body was rigid, as if at the slightest noise it would spring into action. His black hair was unkempt and fell across his face. Quinn gave the docks one last glance. The officers far enough away they wouldn't see her. She raced towards the sailor.

The sailor snapped his head towards her, his ears trained to hear the slightest sound. At the sight of the top hat he jumped into action.

"Flint, it's me," Quinn hissed in a whisper, before he could attack her.

"Quinn! Where the blazes have you been?" her brother growled.

She sank low beside him.

"Lance was late. And I hit a snag with my cap. It doesn't matter now. Let's go."

Flint took her upper arm, but didn't move towards the waiting ship.

"Where is your cap?" he asked, eyeing the silk top hat with a wary eye.

"Lost. Come on," she said.

She wrenched her arm free and hurried to the wooden docks. A single lantern glowed on a ship motionless as all the others. At the sight of Quinn and Flint making their way towards it, the ship burst into motion. Men who had been as silent and still as the grave one second before were moving with a fluidity of a machine. They climbed rope ladders and released sails, no words spoken or needed.

Quinn swung herself over the side of the ship and landed on the hard, worn wood. A door opened and a man with black hair, streaked with gray emerged. His black eyes landed on her. She hurried over to him, her hand already diving into the pocket of her coat. From it she pulled the locket. He didn't make a move for it, but instead looked to Flint.

"Cast off," her father said, his voice rough and gravelly.

Flint nodded and waved to the men, each of them moving quicker, as the noose of capture tightened around them once again. Quinn's father placed one hand on her back and ushered her into the long hallway. At the end was round cabin, with narrow windows that faced the docks and the lit row of houses. Across a long wooden table was a map with the boarders of England and France, marked in her father's precise hand. He shut the door and turned on Quinn.

"You have it?" he asked, his voice calm, as if what she had retrieved were not of the greatest importance.

Quinn handed him the locket and her father seemed to breath a sigh of relief. Quickly, he stepped over to a small chest and locked the necklace inside. He looked back at Quinn.

"Good work. Now we must leave before the officers spot us. Hurry, to the crow's nest."

Quinn nodded and rushed out the door. On deck the men scurried around, their faces tight with concentration, their eyes darting to the dock every few minutes, looking for signs they had been spotted.

The ship eased out into the water, with its load of smuggled supplies, as the sail picked up the gusts of wind. Quinn slipped in between men twice her size and with faces that could scare even the bravest of officers. With nimble hands, she climbed the rope ladders, each second growing further and further from the deck. Below her a sea of gray stretched out, the fog still thick over the water masking their departure. Waves crashed against the side of the hull, sending sprays of white foam into the air.

A gust of wind blew past Quinn and tore the top hat from her head and sent her dark hair tumbling free. The ship rocked as it moved further out to sea. She adjusted to the movement, her body accustomed to the swells and dips of the ship.

She climbed into the crow's nest, her boots settling on what passed for solid ground on the ocean. She turned her gaze back towards London, one hand wrapped around a line of rope, searching the shore line for any sign of alert. The mist still clung to the city and obscured anything from being seen. Quinn opened her coat and pulled from an inside pocket a set of goggles. She pulled them on and adjusted the lens, zooming in on the port. Slowly, she moved her focus over it, searching, her heart beat louder than the wind in her ears.

A sigh of relief was about to slip from her lips when from the gray a small ship emerge, coming straight for them.

Her heart plummeted to the deck.

*****************

Hiya!

Haha so I know I said I was done, but it's me and I find I think of new stories when I'm stressed or when someone says something interesting. So I probably won't ever be done.

This story with be about Quinn trying to save her father, brother and crew when they are captured by the British army. They pass her off as a prisoner so she isn't taken with them. It's her job to save them, before they can be hanged.

I got this idea reading Gone With The Wind, because Rhett is a blockade runner during the Civil War and I thought that was such a interesting thing to do. So from that came Quinn. Why Steampunk? Because why not? I love the genre and you can't have enough genres to write so I decided to make it steampunk.

Vote, comment, follow! Would love to hear your thoughts! Thanks for reading my crazy ideas!