Gears of Brass

by Jordan Elizabeth

  “B-U-M-R-I-I-L-S-T-R-I-N?”

  Autumn Rose twitched her nose and squeaked. She scrambled across the parchment in a different spot, trying again.

  Stenson’s brow furrowed in deep concentration. “R-U-M-R-I-I-L-S-T-I-L-K-I-N?”

  Autumn Rose paced back and forth under the word, squeaking.

  “R-U-M-R- … is that an R or a P?” Autumn Rose nudged his hand. “I don’t know. I can’t read that one either,” he said and pointed to a letter that could have been an I or an L.

  Shouts and the sound of objects crashing thundered from above. “We’re running out of time!” Stenson pulled at his hair, desperately thinking of what this word could be.

  Autumn Rose scampered over to the ink bottle, knocked it over and dunked her tiny pink nose in the liquid. She went back to the parchment, darkening and clarifying the correct letters.

  The name jumped off the page. “Rumpelstiltskin!” Stenson waited for Autumn Rose to nod, and when she did, he patted her soft, little body.

  “Stay here,” he said and Autumn twitched her nose. “I’ll be back for you.”

  Stenson flew down the hallway and up the stairs to where Ivan and Fox were causing a distraction. He entered the room of flying boxes and white feathers, which came from a swan squawking in the corner. A sheen of sweat beaded Fox’s brow and Ivan was nowhere in sight. Stenson’s father stood in the center, cackling, holding a strange metal gun in his hand.

  “Stop!” Stenson yelled.

  His father turned to him. “Well, now this is interesting.” He glided to where Stenson stood.

  Stenson held his breath, eyeing the small device his father held, terrified and awed. Here stood the man he’d always wondered about. He could ask his father all the questions that haunted his dreams, instead he only asked one.

  “Will you, please, release Autumn Rose?”

  His father tapped a long finger against his stubby chin. “No, I think not.”

  Stenson’s shoulders sank.

  “In fact,” his father continued, “I think I shall add you to my collection. Oh, I’ll turn you both into turtledoves. I have the perfect cage!”

  “Get back!” Fox rushed towards Stenson, pushing him out of the way as his father pointed the metal gun at them, a beam of pale blue light blasted forth. She landed on top of him, shielding him from the blow. Her face cringed in pain.

  “Fox!” Stenson pulled her to a sitting position. “Are you okay?” Fox winced and then, POOF, a peacock strutted in her place. Stenson flinched in horror. His father grumbled and turned a dial on the gun, then pointed it at Stenson.

  Stenson closed his eyes and screamed, “RUMPELSTILTSKIN!”

  The room shook with a thunderous roar, shaking and knocking all the strange objects onto the floor. Rumpelstiltskin writhed in the center. “No,” he screamed, “no one knows my name…” The cry ended with a pop and he vanished.

  To Stenson’s right, the swan morphed into Ivan, and to his left, the peacock turned into Fox. “Autumn Rose!” Stenson charged out the door, down the stairs, and into the room he had left his beloved.

  There on the desk covered in ink sat Autumn Rose.

  Her lips curved down as she examined her dirty hands. “Oh, foo, foo,” she said and Stenson ran over to kiss away all the black ink off of her nose and lips.

  Autumn Rose sat on the throne, next to her father. When Lord Miller found out his wife had lied about her heritage as a noble and had traded his daughter’s life for wealth, he sent her away. He could have executed her, but for Autumn’s sake, he showed mercy.

  “You have done well,” Lord Miller said.

  Stenson stood before the throne, Ivan and Fox beside him.

  “For your diligence, the safe return of my daughter, and the removal of Rumpelstiltskin, I will grant each of you a favor as long as it is in my means to do so.”

  “Five hundred pounds,” Ivan blurted out.

  Lord Miller nodded and looked at Fox. “And you?”

  “Nothing, my lord.”

  Stenson stared at Autumn Rose, building strength from her rosy cheeks and warm smile.

  “And what of you, Stenson? What would you ask of me?”

  With his eyes focused on the floor in reverence, he said, “Autumn Rose’s hand in marriage.”

  Gasps came from the nobles present. It was a large favor, one Stenson wasn’t sure would be granted, but it was the only thing he wanted.

  Silence filled the space, and Stenson counted his breaths, not daring to look at Autumn Rose or anywhere else.

  “Kneel, all of you.”

  Stenson, Ivan, and Fox knelt before Lord Miller, their arms rested on their knees, gazes casted down.

  “From this day forth you shall be knights of the realm. May you protect it with your lives.”

  A smile spread across Stenson’s face. He was a knight, a feat he never thought possible.

  “I have heard your requests,” Lord Miller said, “and all shall be granted.”

  Autumn Rose squeaked and Stenson wanted to run to her; instead, he met her joyous gaze and dragged his finger across his chest, letting her know they would finally be together, forever.

  y father stares at his pocket watch, letting it tick and wind for over a minute. It’s what he does when he wants to be intimidating, so I humor him. I know there isn’t anything he can do to me at this point; I’m already on the ship and, however miffed he might be, it’s not as if he’d throw me off. I try to look plaintive as I sneak glances around his office. I’ve only been on his ship a handful of times, but never long enough to truly look around to see what the Captain hides away in his tiny office. The answer, it seems, is maps and books. The books are strewn around the room opened to more maps and pictures of islands, trees, lakes, and deserts. Plants hang from the ceiling, a touch of outside in his cramped space, and navigational tools, all brass and chipped, sit haphazardly on his desk.

  “Does your mother know you’re here?” he says finally, bringing his hands together beneath his nose. The ship jerks over a wave, but he doesn’t move an inch. Practice, I guess. I steady myself and try to remain dignified.

  “She will once she gets my letter,” I explain. “Have we crossed the flight line yet?” I hid my letter so well she wouldn’t find it until about that time. Outside, the gears crank and grind, and I wish he would hurry this up, so I can go out on deck. After we cross the flight line, the ship can make the change. Today is the day the shells come up on the sides of the vessel and the sails become wings. Today is the day we start soaring above the sea instead of gliding upon it. I’ve heard the crew speak of this the whole time I hid in the bunks, and I shall be quite put out if I miss it.

  But, he continues, “Did this letter, by any chance, explain that I asked you to come on this voyage to further your education and that leaving immediately was crucial to success?”

  “You know me so well,” I say, trying to deliver a winning smile.

  “I do,” he agrees, “but I also found this.” He pulls out a letter from his desk with my handwriting—my attempt at his handwriting—on it. The letter for my mother—did it never make it to her? After all my careful planning, did I really forget to place the letter before I stole away from the house? My heart starts pounding. I had wanted to escape, yes, had wanted to show my mother that I needed more than what she had planned for me, but I had never wanted this. I had never wanted to make my mother worry.

  “Oh, no,” I say, “she’ll have heard from Miss Frid by now… she’ll know I never went back to finishing school… she might think I’ve died or something! I didn’t want her to worry; I never wanted her to worry.” When I look at my father, his eyes are softer, but his expression remains firm. “We have to go back.”

  “I really am sorry,” my father says, and I can tell he’s sincere, “but we’re already lifting off. There’s just no way.”

  September 9th, 1888

  My Dearest Melinda,

  Please forgive me—I would have sought your permission,
but we are out of time. I have taken Samantha to accompany myself and my crew on our voyage to find the Floating City of Zephyris. I have reason to believe I have discovered the exact coordinates this time, and we must be off before the skies grow too cold for travel. While I know Samantha has finishing school to attend and duties at home, I am certain this voyage will accentuate her education immensely. Unfortunately, we must leave with no delay to take advantage of the prevailing winds. We will return to England in two months’ time with treasures and stories beyond your wildest dreams, and Samantha will be the better for it.

  Always yours,

  Harold

  Mother,

  That was, of course, the letter I meant to leave you. I thought myself so clever, mimicking Father’s turns of phrase, sneaking onto his ship instead of boarding the train for finishing school, and yet I missed the most important part of the plan and left with your letter still in my satchel. It must have fallen out when I hid that first day. I am so, so sorry. I truly thought I had left that letter behind, nestled into your second best jewelry box under that pin that looks like a scowling cat. I will write, though, I swear, and I will find some way of getting these letters to you, so that you know I am alive and well, and (once I rid myself of this worry) happy.

  Samantha

  Dear Mother,

  Sailing in the air, it seems, is much like sailing the sea—once the initial thrill of the ship actually lifting into the air is over, that is. All around us is the blue sky, dotted with clouds that roll in and break like waves against the sides of the ship while birds fly above and below us. Outside of this, though, there is less to do on an airship, fewer obstacles to dodge, or other ships to meet. We’re not the only ones in the air—I spotted a schooner yesterday, and I know Her Majesty’s ships patrol the sky just below us. Sometimes, I pull one of the old brass sight-scopes from the hull and try to watch below for them, but then Omar catches me and warns me not to lean too far over the side of the ship.

  I think the crew is getting used to me now. At first, they would scurry like mice when I came near, but I suppose they’ve realized they can’t avoid me for long. One particularly calm and beautiful day, they proposed a game, and I played along. Here’s how it works: Omar, Mikhail, and James would tell me something they’d seen on their travels, and I’d have to guess which of them was telling the truth. Omar, James, and Mikhail are all part of Father’s landing party—they disembark with him and bring back treasures and stories from all about the world. Here’s one, see if your guess is better than mine was.

  Omar said once they discovered an island on the sea, just before they had planned to lift off into the sky. On that island, they encountered a tribe of monster-hunters, who invited them to stay and dine and dance. They enjoyed themselves long into the night, only to be interrupted by a massive beast with four heads and giant, hooked tail. The tribesmen (and women!) slaughtered the thing on sight and went back to dancing with blood on their hands.

  James’ story was about a settlement of cats about ten feet in height who lived in the clouds. Their long tails draped over the side of the clouds, and you could hear them yowl if a ship caught one of them.

  Mikhail claimed to have once seen an exceptionally cold place, to have stepped out on a cloud with frozen pockets of dark, cold water, and to have broken one, only to cause a rainstorm below.

  Did you guess the cats were the lie? Then you are correct! Imagine fluffy Prudence, ten times her natural size, and imagine how cranky she would become if passing airships could not help but swat her tail! The picture makes me laugh even now.

  I do wish, though, that I was seeing more of what I’ve heard the crew describe: wild lands with plants I’ve not seen or heard of and creatures I could only imagine. Where we are now is mostly wide-open sky. We cannot deviate from Father’s quest to find Zephyris, the Floating City, the mythical bastion of ancient, steam-powered knowledge. The city might have sunk had they not learned to propel a whole landmass into the sky through steam power. Father speaks of nothing else, so sure it exists and he’ll find it this time. Do you believe in the Floating City? Did he speak of it to you when you were still happy, or is this obsession a new one? I’ll tell you a secret—the crew thinks it a myth. Mikhail told me he never believed in the Zephyris, truly, but he loves the sky, so it hardly matters. James said he was getting paid, and they were bound to find something. When I asked him what, if not Zephyris, he gave me a suspicious look and walked away. Omar said it would be nice, but he didn’t want to hope too hard. He told me some stories of the Floating City, too, prettier ones than what’s in Father’s books. In one, a beautiful goddess lived among her people, literally bringing plants to life, pulling trees up from underneath the ground, and controlling the flow of water. Doesn’t that sound wonderful? It brings to mind the garden we used to keep behind the house, where we would sit and plant things and watch them grow. Another story was about a lovely ancient princess who fell asleep in a temple built into the clouds. She slept so long that weeds and vines had completely covered the temple. Even now, he said, you wouldn’t know the temple to look at it; you’d think you were seeing a mountain. As for myself, I feel the Floating City isn’t real, but I find myself wishing it was because it seems a lovely place.

  Samantha

  Dear Mother,

  I wish you were here now, so you could tell me what you see when you look at me. Perhaps I don’t look bold or brave. Perhaps I am too small and slight and not nearly strong enough, but once that wouldn’t have mattered. Once, a girl like me would have been expected to take care of the farm and the food and the animals just like a man might because there was no other way to survive. I used to help you in the garden—remember? When you kept that garden behind the house, I would pull weeds and dig holes and hold the heavy watering can for you. With our factories and servants and cities, the need is gone, I suppose? I miss being outside with you. It seems now all I am good for is to be a pretty decoration, singing prettily and sitting prettily, and perhaps using the lavatory prettily as well if a lady is permitted to mention such a thing. I feel as though I hadn’t been outside in ages before this journey, and I hadn’t seen you outside either—do you not miss it? The feel of the sun, dirt on your hands, life growing up all around you… I knew I wanted to escape before, but now I wonder how I even breathed without all this fresh air.

  There was a storm earlier today, a rough one with strong winds and buckets of rain… but there was no help I could give, not with the sails or steering, not on the deck. Stay inside, Father said, and when I wouldn’t, the crew asked for me to sing to them and refused to give me even a bucket to help bail out the deck. The storm is over, you’ll be glad to know, and the ship just fine, no credit to me. Tell me this: why finishing school? For what purpose should I learn how better to sing waltz, sew, and sit? Once I’ve learned these things, will I then be “finished”? What if I don’t want to be finished? I am on an airship now, hunting for mythical lands and treasures, and still I cannot help but think about the fact that I could not have had this if not through deceit. Once I’m home and finished at last, perhaps I’ll never have a chance like this again. I can’t help but be sad about that. What about you, Mother? Are there things you wish you might have done apart from marry Father and care for me and supervise our household? Do you feel finished?

  One bright side to this miserable day—I found a rope beneath a barrel just under deck and an old sail in my quarters and spotted one of Her Majesty’s ships flying directly below us. You may get these words sooner than hoped—I will find a way, prettily or not.

  Samantha

  Dear Mother,

  You will never believe this. I’ll start at the beginning, so you don’t miss anything. As you know (or will know when you read these, if you read them in order—try to read them in order!), I tried to escape the ship last night to deliver your letter. (You hadn’t realized? My apologies, I’m completely safe.) I found a rope and an unused sail and made a pulley for myself, thinking I woul
d lower myself down until I saw one of Her Majesty’s ships below and then use the sail to harness wind resistance to help me land on it. Apparently this was an awful idea for reasons Father and the crew told me after they were done swearing and yelling and pulling me back over the side of the boat and threatening to lock me under the floor until we reached the Floating City. Want to hear some? There might not be boats for miles, we’re too far up, there’s no way to make an accurate landing, and so forth and etcetera. The result? I still have the letters. Also, we flew quite some ways off course while the entire crew was struggling to pull me up, which for some reason is my fault. An airship, it seems, is different from a traditional ship in that if you let go for just a short time, the winds pick you up and send you on your way wherever they might please.

  But here is the good part. Omar interrupted Father to tell him there was something just north of us, at… I don’t remember the latitude precisely. Father immediately stopped, walked to the bridge, and we flew to the Floating City of Zephyris. A floating city, at least. How many can there be? If this is not Zephyris indeed, though, it’s where the myths come from. We hardly anchored the ship properly, we were all so anxious to get out and see the thing. To land we had to let the ship float vertically, practically grazing the landmass that floated next to us. Once we saw the sky again, we anchored on its edge and climbed out. I would hazard a guess that no one had lived there in a long time. The cold bit into me as soon as I stepped off the ship. It looked like a desert before us, a long stretch of barren, rocky land. There were mountains in the distance, and though I could see the ends of the thing, I could tell they were far off. Isn’t it incredible? This city, this land, truly floated above us all this time.

  There were no noises—no birds, no bugs, no lizards pulling themselves along the ground, no waves crashing nearby. After walking some way with nothing but the sound of our own boots against the ground, we spilt up—Mikhail with James, Omar with a crudely drawn map, and me with Father—and the hatchet. We continued north, figuring we had entered the south side of the island.