Blind Speed Dating #50

Title: THE GEARS OF WAR

Genre: YA steampunk

Word Count: 61,000 words

Query:

I’m seeking representation for THE GEARS OF WAR, a multi-POV steampunk set in fantasy versions of China and Japan.

Ever since his sister died in an airship bombing raid, Kiyoshi has

been keeping his grief-maddened mother stable by masquerading as his

deceased sister, clothing and mannerism including. When his mother

unexpectedly dies, he’s left a very gender-confused teenager.

Determined to find the man within himself, Kiyoshi heads to the war

front as the pilot of a mechanical steam weapon. His plan is hindered

by a samurai who, believing that Kiyoshi is a girl in disguise, is

intent on protecting ‘her’ from both the enemy and their fellow

soldiers’ attentions. Kiyoshi is unable to discern if the attraction

he feels for the samurai is real or a product of the years he spent

pretending to be a girl.

Kiyoshi soon learns that the enemy has been sacrificing their own

people to animate war golems with their souls. He meets a runaway

golem on the battlefield, a former human girl named Jiao who managed

to free herself from the magic that keeps golems bound to obey their

master.

Together they embark on a quest to find a dragon to grant their

deepest desire. Jiao wants to be a human girl and Kiyoshi is starting

to think that’s what he wants to be, too.

First 250:

Every morning, Kiyoshi rose from sleep as a boy with messy hair, a

slim frame and, usually, an urge to pee.

Every morning, he rolled up the futon and knelt before the shrine

honoring his sister’s memory, gazing at her sunny face and burning

incense for her. Aiko, the name on the picture said. Aiko, meaning

beloved. Beloved of an entire family, jewel in the eyes of her parents

and role model in the eyes of her little brother.

Every morning, he brushed his long hair until it lay straight and

still against his back, dipped fingertips into bowls of cosmetics to

outline eyes and lips and slid into one of his sister’s kimono.

Every morning, Kiyoshi entered the kitchen as a dead girl.

“Aiko!” her mother said, waving her chopsticks. “You’ll be late for

work again. Hurry and eat.”

“Yes, mother. Sorry.” Aiko’s lips were always quick to smile with

infectious cheer; they spread now in sheepish apology and the smile

was returned.

Kneeling at the low table across from her mother, Aiko began her

assault on the feast spread before her: miso soup, steamed rice, a

rolled omelet, a bowl of fermented soybeans and various pickled

vegetables. She ate as if to fill a bottomless hole, wielding her

lacquered chopsticks like a weapon to slay her breakfast.

“Eat, eat,” her mother said. “You’re a growing girl and you have a day

of hard work ahead.”