Gears of Brass

by Jordan Elizabeth

  The walkways here defy description. From a distance, they seem to glance the rooftops, but when you get closer there’s more of a parallel relationship: the walkways join the roof terraces, and the sights you see are heavenly. Finely dressed people emerging from finely dressed gardens, and all so much grander than me.

  It’s getting quite dark now. There are guard vehicles patrolling. One of them just loomed out of the shadows alongside me like an airship. I was sure my time was up, certain they’d be upon me, seeing through me, bombarding me with questions I can’t answer, but they’ve glided away. My heart is still hammering.

  The Alexandra is higher still, higher than the walkways. There it is, nestling in the clouds. Rich people live and travel high. I climb what feels like ten thousand steps up to a huge glass door. I give Anthie’s name to the doorman and tell him she’s expecting me, and he lets me into the vestibule. I wait. I stand as close to the inner door as possible; my nose isn’t quite against the glass, but it’s not far away. I stare inside, and what I see takes my breath away.

  I know the food halls of the rich are vast, but I’ve never imagined anything like this. They say some of these kitchens are as big as my whole department block, and they serve dining tables the length of small ships. I can see a long, long table, and it groans with opulence. Candelabra, silverware, bowls and platters piled high with unrecognizable foods. Musicians play on a high platform along one wall, but I can’t hear their music, and neither can I smell anything but the perfume from the flowers festooning the vestibule.

  At last I see Anthie. She’s coming out of a side door carrying a pale, feathery confection on a silver platter that looks closer to spun moonlight than solid food. I smile. Anthie’s in full uniform—triumphant white, frothy at collar and cuffs, with black beneath. The doorman says something in her ear and our eyes meet, but only for a second. She’s shaking her head. She’s shaking her head at the doorman, and she doesn’t look at me again.

  My whole body trembles now. The doorman comes back, and I know he’ll show me out of the vestibule. I shrink against the glass.

  he iron carriage teetered as my stepmother leaned forward to grasp her latest courter’s hand. She stepped down, the slight train of her fancy gown clinging to the floor by my feet as though unwilling to follow. With a firm grasp, she tugged the fabric, willing it into submission. It instantly spilled onto the cobblestone behind her. She wished me well with an exaggerated wave of her hand, even blew me a kiss before accepting the man’s arm. She’d been seeing this one for a while, which was somewhat impressive. I gave her a warm, loving smile, but all was just for show. I had a job to do, and the only well-wishing she was giving me was the threat that I must succeed or else.

  My view of them was abruptly replaced with the interior of the door, leaving me with the clicking of her corset-laced boots against the cobblestone and the cackle of her giggling to claw at my nerves.

  I leaned my cheek against the cool copper interior and absorbed the crank and shift of the steam-powered engine reengaging. Slowly, the metal-clad steed tugged the carriage away from the curb, its mechanized hooves soon gaining a rhythmic trot, easing my thoughts. The leather seat squeaked as I shifted weight; its clean aroma a brief comfort.

  Normally, being on the streets without a male escort this late at night would be unheard of for a girl my age. Fifteen and naïve—a young lady waiting to be officially presented to society a few months from now, but that was before Papa died. Since then, I’d been deemed a mere peasant imprisoned under the control of my late-father’s wife, who squandered his fortune away.

  My eyes darted up at the loud whoosh of steam releasing—probably an airship hovering overhead. I drew the shades on both side windows and shouldered out of my floral dress, letting it pool at my feet. Kicking it aside, I leaped up and lifted the leather seat—the convenient place for my change of clothes. I tugged on my fitted trousers and shimmied into my black blouse and corset vest. I made two pigtails with my blonde hair and piled them on top of the red hair covering the rest of my head. A sleek top hat finished it off as did my favorite boots with the timing gears; those were already on my feet.

  Voices from outside drew my attention. Lifting one shade to take a peek, I saw townspeople meandering by as though all was right with the world. Elegantly dressed couples gathered in front of Gatesworth, the hotel which housed some of the most elaborate parties this side of London Bridge—even Americans attended.

  My thoughts drifted at the scent of rose and gardenia perfume wafting past my window. Gentlemen in tailored suits puffed rings of cigar smoke into the air. I breathed it all in, clinging to a future I could only imagine. In reality, my nostrils were being assaulted by the ripe scent of oil throughout the cabin from the off-beat ticking of one carriage wheel. Listening more closely, I heard one spoke scuff against another. I smirked, easily recognizing the mechanical malfunction and thankful my father had left me with a useful skill. Mechanics were my fetish. Regardless, the stench was retched, sulfur and month-old eggs left under the beating sun.

  After a few more uneven lopes forward, the horse stopped. I crammed my fancy dress into the seat and sat. No gentleman pried the door open for me, nor would one come. I waited a moment longer, just because I was like that. And then it came.

  A hard bang on the side of the coach from the driver. “If yous don’t git out, I’z tell m’lady the price is goin’ up!”

  I almost laughed. His regular accent was a far cry from the proper one he instituted while taxiing around a man of wealth. Us common folk got his gibberish. I couldn’t blame him.

  Unbeknownst to him, he was a vital part in my step-mother’s ludicrous sham to convince a wealthy suitor to marry her. Beatrice had played out similar scenarios before. She would slip the driver a few coins, insuring my treatment as her beloved daughter in front of her courter. Once she and her courter arrived at dinner, the driver would deliver me to the Poppers Quarter and leave. From there, I’d make my way to the Spin Shop where I’d earn Beatrice money to keep up her charade. No wealthy suitor had panned out yet.

  The hinges creaked as I hopped from the iron carriage onto the dirt. The driver didn’t even wait for me to shut the door before spooking the horse into bolting. Apparently, he wasn’t fond of this part of the city; not many people were.

  I threaded my arms into my long, black trench coat, masking the beige gauntlet strapped to my forearm. It held most of my tools for work, and maybe a steel hairpin to use as a weapon if needed. It was the way my world was now.

  The pendant father had given me dangled over the ribbing of my corset. I clenched it in my palm; its warmth reminded me of him.

  Shaking off the intrusive pang of emotions, I tucked the charm beneath my vest and clipped the small aviator goggles Jensen had given me to my belt loop. Shades and shadows shivered along the alleyway lined with gas-lit lamps. The steam versions had recently blown too many gaskets, which was fine with me. They smelled awful, and the humidity raised the temperature by at least fifteen degrees. It didn’t need to get any warmer where I was going.

  I pushed off into a slow jog. It was time to spin.

  The vastness of Harold Head always got me, taunting me to chin-up in awe each night I arrived.

  “Are you going to stand here all night gawking at the building?”

  “Jensen,” I said, and welcomed his rugged hug. He always tried to treat me like a boy, but I knew differently. I could see it in his emerald eyes. “I still think the place looks like a five-headed elephant on stilts. I’m waiting for a giant trunk to explode off the front of it.”

  “Now, Lady Ringmaster, that would be a site.” Jensen tipped his hat, releasing his jet black curls to his shoulders. “I can see it now. Ferocious lions, dare-devil rope walkers, and the youngest woman to command the beast. Come one, come all”—he slashed the air with his make believe giant switchblade— “to the greatest circus on earth. Watch the young maiden take out one of its glassy-eyed windows or maybe cut it off at the kneec
aps of its steel legs.”

  “You’re making fun of me.” I hid my laughter behind a deadpanned expression.

  “I’m laughing with you, not at you. I’d probably be one of your clowns.” I chuckled. “Plus,” he continued, “You haven’t asked me for my visual opinion.”

  “And there’s a reason for that.” The hollow tapping of my combat boot filled the space between us. “Humor me.”

  “Those buttresses you see as legs, I see as miniature Eiffel Towers from Paris.” He tagged on a French accent at the end, which was surprisingly good.

  “Paris? You’re still dreaming of it with your little sister and all?”

  “That’s exactly the reason I dream of it. My mother needs too much help taking care of my little sister now; I’d never be able to go. But my imagination can see the beautiful countryside I could paint there.” He was a marvelous painter. I wished he could go. “You need to dream more.”

  A dainty guffaw tightened my chest. If he only knew the dreams I held in my heart.

  A deafening squawk ripped through the sky above our heads. Before I could register the sound, Jensen wrapped me in his arms and twirled our tangled bodies into the shadows of Harold Head. The concrete was hard against my back.

  My nose fit neatly at the nape of Jensen’s neck, his boy scent of musk and tang swirled around my head. I chose to ignore the grease stank that surely came from oiling up some motor or gear shaft. A link of his chain necklace snagged the lace of my corset. I waved my eyelashes a few times, trying to steady my heartbeat. Being this close set off all sorts of alarms inside me. I pulled away from his chest, but he didn’t let me get too far. His grip tightened around my waist as he laced two fingers across his lips and then pointed upward.

  Tipping my head back, I saw three Watchers—London’s supposed new guardians, peace keepers of order and yada… Bah. Their only contribution to the city was to scare the wits out of common folk with metal wings pointed into spears. Each came fully loaded with timepiece rifles and air boosters strapped to their backs, giving a bird’s eye view of whatever or whoever they wanted. This area was highly patrolled. Often, working kids were mistaken for hoodlums, pillaging the righteous. Of course, we weren’t, but we needed to be careful. Watchers shot first and asked questions later—if you were still alive to answer them.

  A ladybug landed on Jensen’s shoulder. Flimsy wings fluttered weakly powered by a small motor on its underside. My finger grazed the bug’s hard outer core and it immediately flew away. I clenched my jaw and shrugged out of Jensen’s grip.

  No more distractions. My personal circus awaited me. I ambled away to meet my night, my long coat fanning behind me.

  Jensen rushed ahead of me and opened the cumbersome door. “Someone seems anxious to spin.”

  “I need money,” I said, knowing he probably needed money more than I did.

  “Hold up.” He leaped in front of me. “Did something else happen?”

  He was well aware of my current family status. “No, I just…” His eyes were soft, caressing my cheeks as they drifted to my lips. I bit those to keep them from quivering. A sweet sensation speckled the skin of my forehead from where he brushed away a strand of my runaway hair. We stood in our mental embrace for I didn’t know how long. Moments like these were happening more often between us. I wondered if they affected him as much as they did me.

  “Yarn will not spin itself with you two gawking at each other all night!” the foreman cried from a landing above us.

  Jensen ignored him. “You miss your father.”

  I quirked my lips sideways. “Not so much now that I’ve rid myself of Queen Mother for the night.”

  My chuckle loosened the tension, and he went along with it.

  “Ooh, so Mummy’s making nice with some poor wealthy gent, huh?”

  “More like prowling. No”—I shook my head— “hunting.” That made him laugh.

  “Get moving, you two!” the foreman bellowed again.

  This time we listened and trudged to our stations.

  Once we’d dodged the steam turbines keeping this place lit, Jensen climbed aboard his spinning wheel as I stood behind mine. I hadn’t worked here long enough to earn a seat.

  Jensen patted the metal edging of his wheel. “Come on, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “You talk to that thing like it’s a horse.”

  “Hey”—he slid his round goggles over his eyes—“she might look like inanimate pieces of wood, copper, and iron to you, but to me, she lives!”

  I bit back my grin. “Ode to Dr. Frankenstein.”

  “Dr. Frankenstein,” a slimy voice echoed behind me.

  “Not sure about sounding like the good ‘ole doctor, but Jensen sure looks like him,” spoke another. “Weird and a bit crazy.”

  As always, Jensen ignored Caesar and Elliot. He exercised much more self-control than me when it came to these local thugs. Both had dropped out of any formal education during their elementary years. I guess their fisherman father decided to utilize their farm-boy sizes, offering their services to shady characters within the underground of London’s astute population—big businessmen who were less than upstanding.

  “Caesar,” I said, “why don’t you dunk your head in a bucket of—”

  “Such the tough girl.” Caesar coiled his finger in one of my pigtails.

  I slapped his hand and both boys fake flinched, their attentions drawn to the foreman calling for them.

  “Emma,” Jensen whispered, “you can’t talk to them like that.”

  An exaggerated huff rumpled my lips as I jerked my elbow backward a few times and pressed my boot against the foot pedal. The frayed end of my pull cord on my wheel was no match for me tonight. Not now, anyway. My engine fired up, billowing steam around me. Jensen watched me for a moment and then let his one-sided conversation die. I refused to discuss this again and he knew it.

  “Don’t think you’ll beat my quota tonight.” Jensen forced his words over the clatter of our wheels.

  “You scared of a girl?” I kidded as I threaded my first cotton fibers over my empty spindle. “I’ll show you up despite my machine missing its main timepiece.”

  He stopped spinning. “It doesn’t make sense they haven’t put you on a different machine yet.”

  “You say that like anything ever makes sense around here.” I smirked without looking at him. “Stop distracting me so you can win.”

  Soon I was on autopilot. Over, under, push the pedal. Over, under, push the pedal. The shadows made by the gas-lit lamps dangling over our heads didn’t bother me anymore. When I’d started working here, the rumors that the factory was haunted definitely spooked me. Some folks claimed to have seen spirits ripping each other apart, fighting for another soul. To this day, I had no idea what that meant, only that I’d gotten over my fear. Kind of.

  The continual hiss from the lamps soothed me into a subconscious rhythm of output. It didn’t keep me from glancing up at the rafters, though. They bowed outward in an intricate railway of paths. I liked to imagine them as the crown timbers protecting the Church of England herself. And Jensen didn’t think I could dream.

  A dark figure appeared on one of the highest landings. Tall and slender was all I could make out. I wondered if it was a Watcher, but something down deep told me it wasn’t. Suddenly, my wheel jerked to the left. Charcoal smoke billowed from both sides, and one of my levers heated up. I lifted my goggles to my forehead, bunching up my red bangs. There was no way I could hide this from the foreman. Finally, my machine let out a huge clunk and went silent.

  “Uh, seriously.” I wasn’t asking. “Must everything in my life fall apart?”

  Jensen cut his wheel from spinning without shutting the engine fully and hopped down to help me.

  “Did you see him?” a pint-sized girl giggled as she scurried past us.

  “He’s quite handsome,” said the girl with her. “Too bad he’s only a worker.”

  I sighed, unsure if it was more for me or the po
or sap who was apparently starting to work here. The main thought of most girls around here was finding a husband to better their status. Having to depend on a man my entire life was not my idea of living. My situation since the death of my father was proof of that. But I had to be honest. The fact they noticed this new guy despite his social status had me intrigued.

  Before I knew it, Carrageen—the only foreman I liked—strolled toward me with a boy I’d never seen before. Those girls had been spot on. He was handsome with wavy blond hair that fanned out beneath his leather fighter helmet. Some sort of geared mechanism splayed over one side of his black leather vest, which housed his broad shoulders yet thin stature; he had time to grow into them. Beneath that was a gray shirt with sleeves rolled up, exposing a tattoo on each forearm. I couldn’t make out the images, only that both looked detailed. A pocket watch swung like a pendulum from his belt.

  As intriguing as his attire was to me, it wasn’t until my glance rode up his chest to meet his face that I found an element more drawing—his sapphire eyes, each glowing in speckles of gold. They captured me. I tried to break free because Jensen’s stare was practically burning a hole in my face. He’d never let me live this down if I didn’t come up with a diversion. But then, the boy spoke.