Clockwork Fairy Tales - A Collection Of Steampunk Fables

by Stephen L. Antczak

  The other Bowery Boys shouted their agreement in unison, hoisting their drinks to the ceiling in tribute to Mose and his stompin’ boots, while the reporter scribbled as fast as he could, visions of headlines swimming in his mind’s eye.

  Within days, thousands of National Police Gazette readers were introduced to “the Colossus of the Bowery,” a one hundred percent American-born-and-bred living embodiment of the ancient hero Hercules, complete with an artist’s rendering of Mose holding a bull elephant over his head with one hand while puffing on a cigar the size of a walking stick.

  One of the many who read of Mose’s exploits was none other than P. T. Barnum, the King of the Humbugs, who made a special trip to the Bowery Boys’ clubhouse to see if just a tenth of it was true. The showman was so impressed by the young giant he offered to make him the main attraction at his museum on Broadway, right on the spot. But Mose simply shook his head no and said people were welcome to come down to the Bowery and look at him for free, if they dared.

  One day, while Mose and the rest of the gang were busy polishing the pump engine in anticipation of an upcoming parade, a messenger boy arrived carrying a letter addressed to “Mose the Fireboy.” As Mose had never learned to read, he handed the envelope to his second-in-command.

  “‘My Dearest Mr. Humphries,’” Sykesky read aloud. “‘Please allow me to introduce myself: My name is Professor Erasmus Tolliver. I lecture at Columbia College, where I lecture on numerous scientific subjects….’”

  “I know who he is,” Mose said excitedly. “He invented the Automatic Man. But why is he writing me?”

  Sykesky scanned the neatly penned letter, skipping over the longer words he didn’t know. “He says he wants to study you. Take your measurements, look down your gullet—that kind of thing.”

  Mose thought about it for a long moment, then handed the messenger boy a silver half dime. “Tell Professor Tolliver I’d be honored.”

  “Yes, sir!” the young boy said, touching his cap in thanks before he scurried off.

  Sykesky scowled, perplexed by his friend’s decision. “You turn your nose up at Barnum offering you good coin, but you’ll let some quack feel the bumps on your head for free?”

  “Barnum ain’t nothin’ but a jumped-up carny barker,” Mose replied. “I ain’t about t’ be gawked at by some flash swells takin’ their gals out for a cheap lark, I don’t care how many dollars get thrown in my lap. But Professor Tolliver is different,” he insisted. “He’s a man of science. My ma thought very highly of him, and it would have made her proud to know a man of his position was interested in studyin’ her boy.”

  “I don’t trust fellows that think too much,” his second-in-command said sullenly. “All these fancy inventor fellows and their machines—all it done was force my people off their farm and into the mills.”

  “This is 1849, not the Dark Ages, Sykesky!” Mose chided. “If everyone thought like you, there wouldn’t be gas lamps on every street corner and steamboats on the Hudson!”

  “I still don’t trust ’em,” his friend grumbled. “And neither should you.”

  When Professor Tolliver arrived at the Green Dragon Saloon, he proved to be an older gentleman with outsized muttonchops and bushy eyebrows, dressed in a black frock coat with a high, stiff collar and ascot, and a pair of pince-nez glasses balanced on the bridge of his nose. Upon seeing Mose, he raised his impressive eyebrows in surprise and his glasses dropped from their perch and swung back and forth on the end of a satin ribbon tether.

  “I am very pleased to meet you, Mr. Humphries,” Professor Tolliver said, once he recovered from his initial surprise. “I have been reading about your exploits in the daily papers with great interest.”

  “The same here, Professor,” Mose replied, his huge hand swallowing the scientist’s far smaller one. “It’s an honor to meet the inventor of the Automatic Man.”

  “Ah, yes.” Professor Tolliver smiled. “He was what we call ‘a prototype.’ Granted, all he could do was waltz and play chess, but he was a beginning. A guidepost to grander things, if you will.”

  “What has me puzzled, sir,” Mose admitted, “is why would a man like you be interested in a fellow such as myself?”

  “Because I believe that you are the ultimate, living example of the perfect fireman,” the Professor explained. “Since you have arrived on the scene, your volunteer fire brigade has broken every record in regards to response time. You’ve saved five times the number of unfortunate souls than your closest rival, with a fraction of the injuries normally associated with your profession. Mr. Humphries, I firmly believe that if every city in this great land of ours had a firefighter like you, America would be the safest country in the world. A study of your anatomy and physical stamina will help me immensely in realizing this goal.”

  “Well, if there’s one thing that a Bowery Boy is above all else, it’s patriotic,” Mose said as he took off his coat and tossed it across the back of a chair, revealing a brocade vest adorned with a sterling silver watch fob with links as thick as a man’s finger. “If takin’ my measurements will help my country, then go ahead and break out the yardstick.”

  Professor Tolliver proceeded to measure and weigh every aspect of Mose’s physical condition, from the circumference of his cranium to the length of his inseam. He also had him run up and down a flight of stairs over and over carrying a piano on his left shoulder and a full barrel of beer under his right arm. Finally, having filled his notepad full of scribbles, he thanked Mose for his contribution to science and the betterment of his fellow man, and hurried back to the safety of his college classroom before the sun set on the Bowery.

  Following the visit from Professor Tolliver, the Bowery Boys continued to do as they always had done: drink to excess, traffic in stolen goods, brawl, and put out fires. Given the conditions on the Lower East Side, rarely did a day go by when there wasn’t a need for their services. Thanks to Mose’s massive strength and extraordinarily long legs, the gang had an iron lock on everything from the Battery to the Flatiron Building, much to the resentment of their rivals.

  The Bowery Boys responded to a fire one afternoon, only to find, instead of a burning building, a bonfire made from old crates and mattresses set in the middle of the street. Suddenly every window in the surrounding buildings flew open, revealing a gallery of jeering youths, all wearing the Chichesters’ trademark green jerseys. A storm of brickbats rained down on the firefighters’ heads, knocking more than one of them senseless. The bombardment ceased as the rival gang came pouring out onto the street—all of them boasting red battle stripes painted across their chests and shirtsleeves, each crimson line indicating a kill in hand-to-hand combat. As they surrounded the badly outnumbered Bowery Boys, beating them with shillelaghs and axe handles, Mose gave a mighty bellow that rattled windows all the way to Park Avenue and grabbed a nearby streetlamp, yanking it free of the sidewalk like a farmer yanking a turnip from the ground. A tongue of flame shot skyward, taller than the surrounding buildings, as the enraged giant used the iron lamp stand like a mace, bashing in the heads of his attackers. Within seconds of suffering Mose’s furious counterattack, the Chichesters retreated from the battleground, dragging their injured comrades back to their rookeries.

  That was just one of countless run-ins the Bowery Boys had with other street gangs, but thanks to the amazing Mose, they always gave better than they got.

  It was some months after Professor Tolliver’s visit that Sykesky came hurrying into the Green Dragon Saloon, carrying a broadsheet he’d torn from a wall. “I told you that professor was trouble!” he exclaimed heatedly.

  Mose frowned at the poster, which was printed in the florid type usually reserved for circuses and political rallies. “What’s it say?” he asked as he eyed the illustration depicting a man in a frock coat and glasses standing on a stage, pointing to a bulky, square-shouldered giant who was wearing a suspiciously familiar stovepipe hat and carrying a fire axe in one hand.

  “‘The Esteemed Pro
fessor Tolliver Will Be Demonstrating His Automatic Fireman to All Interested Parties This Thursday Evening at Campion Hall at Eight O’clock,’” Sykesky read aloud, contempt dripping off every word. “‘See the Automatic Fireman Extinguish an Inferno! See the Automatic Fireman Perform a Rescue from a Great Height! Marvel at the Future of Automatonic Firefighting! The Automatic Fireman Is the Greatest Firefighter of This or Any Age! Greater Than Even the Famed Mose the Fireboy, the Colossus of Broome Street! An Educational and Edifying Evening Is Promised to All Who Attend! Admission Is One Half Dime.’”

  “It says what?” Mose exclaimed, biting his cigar in two as if it were a piece of cheese. He snatched away the offending broadsheet and pushed his stovepipe forward so that the brim dipped down onto his brow. “We’ll just see about that!”

  “P-p-please, sirs!” the usher said, holding up his hands in a feeble attempt to halt the angry wall of young men bearing down on him. “You can’t enter the lecture hall without paying admission!”

  Mose’s response was to grab the usher’s shirtfront with a hand the size of a Virginia ham, lift him off his feet, and deposit him to one side of the door as easily as he would move a potted plant.

  The audience turned as one as the doors to the auditorium slammed open and a battalion of angry soaplocks poured across the threshold, yelling at the top of their lungs. Upon seeing the swarm of uncouth, working-class slum dwellers, the gentlemen in attendance shouted in outrage, while several ladies dutifully fell into swoons.

  Professor Tolliver stood on the stage, addressing the crowd from behind a lectern. Standing next to him was a massive metallic figure, ten feet in height, that was, at least in its general dimensions, an exact replica of Mose fashioned from copper, right down to his signature beaver hat. However, although it shared the Bowery Boy’s height and bulk, its jointed metal right arm ended in a fire axe, while its left arm was made of a corrugated metal tube. It had a face similar to those found on the mannequins at the wax museum, save for its eyes, which resembled the large, circular lenses found in telescopes, but with mechanical irises. A series of canvas hoses were connected to the automaton, with the farthest ends attached to a small pump engine and a leather helmet fitted with strange goggles and a large metal box covered with levers and dials, affixed to a heavy leather vest. Both of these unusual articles of clothing rested atop a table next to the podium.

  “Here, now!” the professor said sharply, his pince-nez dropping from his nose. “What is the meaning of this interruption?”

  “You know why we’re here, Professor!” Mose replied. “When I agreed to let you study me, I didn’t know you were plotting to replace me with a damned windup toy!” Upon hearing the collective gasp from the audience, the gang leader turned and tipped his gargantuan hat. “Please pardon my French, my dear ladies.”

  “Mr. Humphries,” Professor Tolliver replied icily, “I most distinctly recall informing you of my intention to make available to every municipality in America its very own Mose the Fireboy. You never asked me how I proposed to do so. And as for my Automatic Fireman being a ‘windup toy’—I’ll have you know he is the latest advance in automatonic technology, combining clockwork, steam power, and hydraulics in one package.”

  “It’s still backstabbin’, whatever you call it!” Sykesky growled. “You’re tryin’ to put us out of business!”

  “As well he should!” shouted a man in the audience, his face red with indignation. “Fighting fires is far too important a task to be left to gangs of toughs looking to line their pockets at our expense!”

  A couple of the Bowery Boys stepped forward to beat an apology out of the man, but Mose waved them back into line. “Now, that’s gratitude!” he spat. “We risk our lives every day: Hogleg Jack got burnt up in the South Street fire just the other day; Scotty Brown had a roof fall on him; Soapy Miller lost a leg when he dropped through the floorboards cartin’ an old lady out of a fire on Delancey. All we ask for our efforts is an honorarium from the insurance companies. But you act as if we set the fires ourselves!”

  “Sometimes you do!” the angry man replied. “And then you steal half of what you ‘save’ from the fire!”

  “Perhaps the Dead Rabbits are low enough to resort to arson to drum up business, but I assure you, my good man, that the Bowery Boys do not stoop to such methods!” Mose said firmly.

  “I’m not looking to put you and your compatriots out of work, Mr. Humphries,” Professor Tolliver explained. “I’m trying to make your job easier and safer. You yourself just stated how hazardous firefighting can be. My Automatic Fireman can do anything you and your men can do, without fear of losing human life or limb. In this day and age, there is no need to recklessly endanger the welfare of humans if a machine can be made to do the same job.”

  “That’s what they told my grandfather when they brought in the spinning wool-carders,” Sykesky said bitterly. “Machines be damned! My boss can best that clockwork man of yours! Ain’t that right, Mose?”

  Mose nodded, folding his apelike arms across his expansive chest. “I’m willing to put myself up against your Automatic Fireman, but not as part of no two-bit dog-and-pony show. If you want to prove your Automatic Fireman is up to snuff, it has to be during a real fire.”

  “Very well, Mr. Humphries,” Professor Tolliver replied with a confident smile. “I accept your challenge.”

  The clock was striking midnight as the Bowery Boys made their mad dash from their firehouse toward the ruddy glow on the horizon. The fire was on Ludlow Street, and Mose could already tell by the wind blowing fresh from the river that they were going to be in for a bad fight.

  Flames raged from the third-floor windows of the five-story tenement, illuminating the neighborhood for some distance. Disoriented parents, who had escaped the blazing inferno, roamed the street in nothing but their nightclothes, desperately seeking other family members, while terrified children called for their mothers amid the turmoil. Despite the lateness of the hour, the street was thronged with hundreds of spectators from the neighboring, closely packed buildings, who were fearful of remaining in their homes should the conflagration spread even farther.

  A cheer rang out from the crowd as they saw Mose’s strapping silhouette outlined against the flames. As he turned to instruct his men, there came a piercing wail, like that of a kettle on the boil, only a hundred times louder. Mose turned in the direction of the noise and saw what looked like a man wearing an octopus on his head, riding on a pump engine pulled by the Automatic Fireman.

  Billows of steam rose from the automaton’s stovepipe hat, feeding the whistle attached to its brim. A set of casters were affixed to the Automatic Fireman’s feet, allowing the machine to propel itself down the street like a skater gliding across a frozen pond. As the outlandish fire engine came to a halt, Mose realized the man on the engine was none other than Professor Tolliver, and what he had mistaken for an octopus was actually the Medusa-like helmet he’d glimpsed at the lecture hall. He was also wearing the leather vest with the control box mounted on his chest, its coils tethering creator to invention like a bizarre marionette.

  The moment the Automatic Fireman’s odd chariot came to a halt, a couple of young college students leaped down and quickly set about removing the rigid pipe that connected the automaton to the pump engine’s reservoir and replacing it with a lengthy canvas hose. Also riding along on Tolliver’s pump engine were a number of journalists, including the reporter from the National Police Gazette.

  “Are you daft, man?” Mose bellowed.

  “Au contraire, Mr. Humphries.” Professor Tolliver smiled, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead in order to look the Bowery Boy in the eye. “I have never been saner! This is the perfect setting for our challenge, don’t you agree? Tonight we’ll see which makes the better firefighter—man or machine!”

  “Just keep your tin soldier out of the way of my men!” Mose growled, eyeing the welter of canvas hoses that surrounded the automaton. “And if you got anything else to say to m
e, say it as an American, not a Frenchman.” Mose exchanged a disgusted look with Sykesky, but neither man had time to waste on the inventor. In order to collect their fee from the insurance company, their brigade not only had to put out the fire, but had to rescue as many personal belongings from the building as possible. “C’mon, lads! Break out the ladders! Sykesky! Get those brakes pumpin’! I want this fire out before it brings the roof down!”

  “You heard the boss!” Sykesky yelled. “Get to work!”

  Mose and his men aimed their hoses at the red tongues of flame that licked greedily from the windows of the building. The water from the pump engine made the fire hiss and sizzle like an ancient dragon, but it was only a drop in the bucket. A smaller number, dressed in heavy canvas coats with handkerchiefs tied about their noses and mouth, ran into the burning building to retrieve furniture and other belongings.

  Suddenly the crowd behind Mose cried out in horror. He turned and saw a woman, barefoot and dressed in nothing but a linen nightgown, standing on a narrow second-story ledge, while the window behind her belching clouds of black smoke. There came a strange whirring sound, and the Automatic Fireman came striding forward, its casters now retracted into its metal “boots.” Professor Tolliver twiddled a knob on the control box mounted on his chest while his students frantically pumped the brakes on the engine, and a set of spikes shot from the Automatic Fireman’s feet, anchoring it securely to the pavement, as its metallic legs telescoped upward. Within seconds the automaton was more than twenty feet in the air.

  The woman trapped on the ledge, already half mad with fear for her life, screamed as the Automatic Fireman’s flexible left arm shot forward and wrapped itself about her waist like an elephant’s trunk and yanked her off her feet. It then swiftly plummeted back down toward the ground, causing her to go into a dead faint.