Clockwork Fairy Tales - A Collection Of Steampunk Fables

by Stephen L. Antczak

  “Well, you better do something to change your attitude, ’cause your ma and me can’t keep you anymore. Got yourself kicked out of school, so now you have to work like the rest of us. You get kicked out of here…and you’re on your own.” His face seemed to soften, his eyes growing damp, and then he was all business again. “You hear me, boy?”

  He pulled me roughly back to the doorway where the manservant was waiting. He grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and said, “You do the professor right, you hear?”

  I could only nod. A painful lump in my throat kept me from speaking.

  Da gave me a slight push toward the door and asked in a hard voice, “When does he get paid?”

  “Every Saturday, five o’clock,” the manservant said, taking a step back and holding the door wide.

  My father nodded again, then looked down at me. “I’ll be back Saturday to collect your wages.” He kept his hard gaze on me until something got into his eye and he had to blink and turn away. “Make us proud, lad,” he said in a thick voice. He pulled on his cap as he stepped down the walkway. “Your mother,” he said over his shoulder, “will miss you.”

  I watched him heading off toward town as if he had somewhere to be. He didn’t look back.

  Finally the manservant said, “Well, come on, get yourself in here, then. We’ve got things to do.” I wiped at my eyes and sniffed once as I looked over my shoulder toward the retreating figure of my father, then stepped into my new life.

  “All right, then,” the manservant said as he closed the door, “come along. I’m Jarvis. No mister, just Jarvis. I run the house and I don’t like little urchins tramping dirt and metal filings all over my clean floors, so wipe your feet. The others have been out in the workshop since sunup.”

  I followed him through the big house, which, although cluttered with stacks of books and papers, rolls of large charts and drawings, and clockwork contraptions of all sorts, was nonetheless clean and polished and smelled of lemon oil.

  We walked out into a small garden and down a winding path until I heard the sounds of clanking metal and the hiss of steam.

  As we came around the end of a tall hedge, I saw the workshop. It was a building the size of a small warehouse, with windows all along the sides and skylights in the roof. The clamor of noise grew as we approached, then burst out upon us like a wave as Jarvis opened the door. The morning sunlight slanting in through the windows cut through clouds of steam and glinted off the polished brass and copper piled and stacked around the shop. A handful of boys, all older and bigger than me, were busy banging and clanging away at worktables, forges, bellows, boilers, presses, and cutters. The place smelled of sweat, hot metal, and steam. It was wonderful.

  The manservant led me over to an older boy who looked to be around fourteen working with some copper pipe. “Corbin!” the manservant yelled above the racket. The boy looked up, then scowled when he saw me. He put down the pipe and tools, wiped his hands, and came over and frowned down at me. He had a face like a bulldog and flaming red hair.

  Jarvis leaned over so Corbin could hear him better and said, “Here’s the new boy Professor’s been wanting. Try to keep him alive and out of trouble until lunch.”

  Corbin nodded. The old manservant watched me as I stared around wide-eyed at all the wonderful machines. Suddenly he burst out laughing again, then turned and headed back toward the house.

  Corbin crossed his arms and gave me an appraising, disgusted look and then yelled, “Name?”

  “Donny,” I said through cupped hands.

  He rolled his eyes, then waved me over to the worktable. A copper pipe and a flair tool lay on the table. “You know what this is?” he asked, pointing at the tool with his thumb. The incessant clamor and banging made it hard to concentrate. I nodded. “You know how to use it?” I nodded again. He stepped back and said, “Show me.”

  I had been helping my father with his work since I could walk. We had repaired all sorts of plumbing and small steam engines and such, so I knew how to flare out the end of a copper pipe.

  The worktable was so high I had to pull a wooden crate over to stand on. Once up to a more comfortable level, I grabbed the flaring tool and clamped the bar around the pipe, adjusted the yoke, and started turning the handle on the feed screw until the pipe had a nice smooth flare at the end. When I finished, I showed it to Corbin.

  He gave a grudging nod, then pointed to a box of arm-length pipes on the floor. “Get started on these. Only one end for each. We’ll bend and cut them to length later.” He smacked me on the arm with the back of his hand and said, “Don’t mess this up.” Then without another word, he sauntered off to another part of the shop.

  I had been around boys like Corbin most of my life. To him I was nothing. He would talk to me only if he had to, give me only the barest of instructions, hoping I would mess up, and if he felt he needed to smack me around, he would. So I started right to work with no lollygagging or complaining. I did take a look over my shoulder whenever I got a chance, though. Even with all the noise and steam, the shop did not feel as oppressive as some of the big factories I had been in. The boys and men were not dancing or playing around, but neither did they look sad or overworked. Just guys doing a job.

  About an hour later, Corbin came back to check my work. He picked up a few pipes and looked them over, then without a word, headed off toward the other end of the shop.

  A moment later he was back and dropped an armload of pipe into the box and walked away. “Pleasant fellow,” I said, under the cover of sound, then began talking to myself. “Nice job, Donny. Here’s some more when you’re ready. I’ll smack you around later when I have the time.”

  All the noise and chaos around me seemed to fade away as I started on the rest of the pipes and became engrossed in the task. Whenever I got the chance, I would sneak a glance at the other boys around the shop. Some were working on a big metal press forming sheets of metal. Others would take the metal pieces and polish them on another machine. Another group were bending pipes of all sizes. And in the center of the shop, a huge boiler roared and hissed steam.

  Everyone was busy doing something; they weren’t rushing, but nobody ever just stood around. I was in my own little world of flaring tools and copper pipe when a steam whistle screamed loud enough to make me jump. The banging and clatter began to taper off as everyone stopped what they were doing and started heading for the door.

  I saw Corbin heading my way, but I knew better than to stop working before he told me to. He bumped me with his shoulder hard enough to almost knock me down, then yelled over his shoulder, “Lunchtime…Dummy,” and laughed.

  I sighed. I was sure he thought the change from “Donny” to “Dummy” was something new and creative, but I had been called the same and worse by bullies all my life. It still hurt, but not nearly as much as it used to.

  We walked around back to a small pavilion beneath the shade of a giant oak where a rough plank table was piled high with various sandwiches and fruit. A bucket of cold water and a dipper stood at each end. Soon everyone was sitting or lying in the shade, eating and relaxing, talking quietly.

  A tired-looking boy with straight dark hair and a splatter of freckles across his nose and cheeks came over to me. “You’re the new guy, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I said around a mouthful of food, “I’m Donny.”

  “Russell,” he said with a nod. “I guess you met Corbin, then?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He give you a name yet?”

  At first I didn’t know what he was talking about, but then I got it. “Dummy,” I said with an embarrassed smile.

  “Aw, too bad,” he said, shaking his head. Then he batted his eyelashes and made his own sickly sweet smile and said, “I’m Bustle. Funny guy, that Corbin, huh?”

  “Yeah,” I said with a snort. “He’s a regular card.”

  Russell nodded in agreement, then gave me a warning look. “Hey, uh, don’t cross him, though, okay?”

  I nodded and looked
down at my sandwich, knowing exactly what he meant. “He looks like he could be mean.”

  “Mean is not the word. Cruel bastard, more like. If the professor yells at him ’cause of you, then you’re shit. He put a kid in hospital last week. Broke his arm.”

  My face must have shown my distress because Russell nodded and said, “Yeah….”

  Russell chewed on a big bite of his sandwich, pushing it around in his mouth so he could talk. “Now, Algert,” he said, jerking his head toward the table where the others sat, “big guy with the bald head…”

  “Muttonchops?” I said, raising myself up to look.

  “Yeah, he’s okay. Talks gruff but he’ll treat you right. Go to him if you hurt yourself or anything. He’s like the professor’s partner or something. Professor makes the drawings, Algert builds it.”

  “Thanks,” I said.

  Russell nodded again as he took another bite. “We get fed pretty good here,” he said with his mouth full. “Thirty minutes for lunch, unless the professor gets crazy about something.” Russell stopped suddenly and looked around. “And, uh, Donny?” he whispered.

  “Yeah?” I said, leaning in.

  “Don’t let the professor fool you. He talks all cultured and proper, but he can be as mean as Corbin when he wants to.” He looked over his shoulder again and then said in a more normal tone, “You probably should eat up—he’ll want to talk to you before we start back.”

  I chewed another bite of my sandwich. It was ham and cheese with leaf lettuce, and it was really good, but all the stuff Russell had told me about took the taste right out of my mouth. And now I was going to have a private meeting with the professor. Suddenly I wasn’t hungry.

  I swallowed my last bite of my sandwich and asked, “What’s he want to talk to me about?”

  “Oh, probably just basic stuff about keeping shop secrets—he’s real particular about keeping secrets; we can’t talk about nothing to nobody. He’s got something special planned for you, I think. He’s been waiting for someone your size for weeks.”

  My size? I thought. Why would he need someone as small as me? What kind of special job would he need me for?

  Russell finished his sandwich, stood up, dusted his hands on his pants, and said, “I’d take you to see the professor, but, uh”—he gave me a worried look—“it’s Corbin’s job and he might not like it.” He stuck out his hand and smiled weakly as we shook. “Guess I’ll see you after work. I’ll help you get settled in.”

  He wandered off just as Corbin headed over to me, a scowl on his face. “Come on, Dummy,” he said. “Professor wants you.”

  Corbin led me back into the workshop to a separate room off to the side. It, too, had windows all around so that the professor could keep an eye on the workshop, though many of them were covered by drawings and diagrams. Corbin knocked on the door and waited until he heard the professor yell, “Come in,” in a cheery voice.

  “Professor?” Corbin said as we stepped inside. His relaxed, casual manner changed and he stood straighter with his chest out. But he seemed to be a little nervous, too. “This is Dumm—uh, Donny. Just started this morning. I put him on flaring copper pipes.”

  A stout fellow with a full gray beard sat at a wide desk cluttered with papers. He took off his glasses and gave me a hard look, then asked, “How did he do?”

  “Not too bad, I guess.” Corbin looked at me sideways, daring me to contradict him. “But I’ll learn him right.”

  “Teach, Corbin. Teach, not learn,” the professor said, speaking each word in a clear, precise manner. Corbin mumbled something and the professor said, “Yes, yes, thank you. You may leave.”

  Corbin nodded, then gave me a final, dangerous look as he closed the door.

  “Well, Donny,” the professor said with a warm smile, “you seem to have impressed Corbin, and he is not easily impressed, I can tell you. He’s my foreman for all the boys here at the shop, second only to Algert as my most trusted employee.”

  The professor sounded just like some of the teachers I’d had, the way his voice boomed out so clear. It made me feel as if I were in school again. I didn’t know if I should say anything or sit down or keep standing or what. Da always told me that the best thing a man could do on any new job was to work hard and keep his mouth shut until asked, so that’s what I did.

  “Tell me,” the professor said finally, “how is it that you know how to flair the end of a copper pipe?”

  “M-my da taught me.”

  “And is your da a handy fellow?”

  “Ye-yes, sir. He can fix almost anything when he’s got the tools.”

  “Hmm, good. And you’ve been helping him since you were a wee tyke, I take it?” I nodded. “Have you worked on boilers and steam engines, clockwork gears, and such?”

  “Some,” I said, my mind racing ahead, trying to figure out where he was going, “but nothing like what’s out in the shop. I never—” I struggled to find the words to describe the wonderful things I had only glimpsed. “I’ve never seen such beautiful machines,” I said, and instantly became embarrassed.

  The professor smiled. “Yes, they are quite beautiful, aren’t they? You would be surprised to find that some people think that they are ugly, noisome contraptions.” He walked around his desk, his face practically beaming. “Ah, but each to his own.” He reached out to me and said, “Let me see your hands.”

  I thought he was looking to see if I had washed up before lunch. I hadn’t, and once again I got embarrassed. Ma would whack me a good one if it ever got back to her. But the dirt and copper didn’t seem to bother him. “Yes, yes, fine delicate fingers, but strong, too, I’ll wager.”

  He pointed at me with the first two fingers of each hand and said, “Here, squeeze them as hard as you can.” His request made me feel strange, and I hesitated.

  “Go on, squeeze.”

  Finally I reached out and took his fingers and was surprised to find that they were not at all soft and flabby as I had thought a professor’s hands would be. I had thought that he spent his days writing and drawing all his machines, but his hands were rough and calloused and strong just like my da’s.

  “Squeeze hard, Donny, and twist. See if you can rip them off!”

  I had always heard that the professor was a little crazy, but my da told me to do what I was told, so I started twisting and squeezing as hard as I could. After just a moment the professor yelled, “Ow!” He grabbed his own fingers and rubbed. “You nearly broke them!”

  I stepped back, horrified, afraid that I had done something wrong, but the professor was chuckling with glee. He walked around his desk to his chair and sat down. “I told Jarvis to find me a strong little lad and he did. Yes, I think you will do perfectly on the inside.”

  “Inside?” I asked.

  “Something special we’ve been working on. But first, we’ll need to get you accustomed to our routine, get you settled in, learn more about your abilities. I’ll get Corbin to assign you progressively more challenging tasks each day, and then perhaps after a week, you’ll be ready. But for now, I’m afraid, you’ll just be flaring pipe.”

  He looked down at the drawing on his desk and began to trace his finger along a line. “If you have any questions or concerns,” he said without looking up, “don’t hesitate to express them to Corbin. I know he can be tough at times, but I need someone tough to keep you rambunctious boys in line.”

  I nodded, a little worried about having Corbin looking over my shoulder, but excited at the possibilities of working on some of the shining machines.

  “Just one more thing, Donny.” The professor looked up and leaned toward me. “Can you keep a secret?”

  I nodded. I had kept secrets all my life.

  “Good. You see,” he said in a loud whisper, “we have several competitors in our business. Unscrupulous men who will stop at nothing to find out our secrets. I suspect they have tried to infiltrate our little workshop with their spies. It is of utmost importance that you talk to no one, not even your
own family, about our projects here. Everything—and I mean everything—that goes on in this shop is to remain our little secret, do you understand?”

  I nodded, my mouth open and my eyes wide.

  “If you dare”—his voice took on a dark, angry edge— “to speak about anything that we do or say here…well, I’m afraid things would go very bad for you. Do you understand my meaning?”

  From the look in his eye, I could only imagine that a beating from Corbin would be mild compared to what the professor would do.

  “If anyone asks you about your job, tell them that you…that you just flair pipes.” He gave a small laugh and was suddenly all smiles again.

  I nodded, my imagination running in every direction at once.

  “Good,” the professor said, holding out his hand. “Then welcome aboard, Donny.”

  In a daze, I managed to make it back to my workstation and finished out the day much as I had begun, flaring enough pipe to supply dozens of small engines. My mind, though, kept jumping from one thought to the next, trying to imagine what special project the professor needed someone small like me for.

  When the steam whistle blew later that afternoon, I was both surprised and thankful. My hands were smudged dark with copper residue and felt swollen and bruised from all the twisting and turning I had done. A slap on my back made me jump and I turned to find Russell grinning at me, his tired face looking bright for once. “Well, you made it through your first day. How do you feel?”

  “Tired and hungry,” I said.

  He pinched his nose. “Whew! And stinky, too.” He laughed and jerked his head toward the house. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up. I’ll show you where we bunk.”

  The next day Corbin moved me over to where they were building some kind of transaxle unit for a heavy cranelike apparatus. The axle itself probably weighed more than a ton, and I could only guess at how much the completed crane would weigh. I had to pack grease into the bearings and joints and then make sure everything was sealed up tight.