Steampunk Tales, Volume 1

by Ren Cummins

  Rom sighed, pushing her bowl away and laying her forehead down on the table. “’s’not the same,” she mumbled.

  Her innate connection to animals marked itself as a prominent skill, but the nature of its revelation to the other children, combined with the uniqueness of her appearance, only served to further alienate her from the rest of the orphanage. In response, she had learned to fight back. Additionally, while visits from prospective adopting families were rare, the few who did pass through the orphanage were less inclined to consider at the peculiar white-haired girl who rescued flies from spider webs while apologizing to the spiders.

  A chime in the main hall sounded, sending all the children to their feet. Rom stood slowly, suddenly not as enthusiastic about the possibility of meeting Milando and crew in the hall.

  Kari placed Rom’s bowl in her own, and put the two spoons together. “It’s my turn to pick up the room,” she nudged Rom. “Wait for me on the stairs,” she said, walking off to collect the other forgotten or ignored bowls scattered around the tables.

  Nodding to Kari, Rom looked down at her shoes, and noticed that the laces were untied again.

  “Stupid boots,” she grumbled. She looked down at them as if seeing them for the first time. Didn’t I already tie these, she thought?

  By the time she was done tying them back up, the stairs were mostly cleared out, with no sign of Milando or the others. Kari would be another few minutes, and the Matrons shooed Rom out into the hall.

  Life was simple enough for an eleven-year-old orphan in Oldtown. She and the other children were awakened as the sky began to shift to blue, and they were given a short period of time to clean up and get dressed for breakfast. They had morning classes until late in the morning, calisthenics for two hours, ate lunch, and then spent the rest of the afternoon doing chores for or around the orphanage. Following the evening meal, the children had free time, provided they were all ready for bed by the time of the Matrons’ evening prayers.

  On each of four days per week, the children sat through a single topic for study, but on the fifth day – today – their classes were generally a hodgepodge review of the material they had covered all week: Agriculture, The Trades, Philosophy, and the Arts. On all their minds and driving them all to succeed was the promise of apprenticeship.

  Apprenticeship for any of the children of Oldtown-Against-The-Wall meant leaving their homes to study either with the Professors in one of the colleges or with a craftsman in their shop. For children who already had been raised in a home of their own, it meant taking a step towards adulthood and their life’s work. But for the children who had no home or family, it meant so much more; it meant letting go of the hope of a family’s welcome and replacing it with the power to affect their own destiny. It meant, in a sense, freedom.

  Rom paused on the mid-floor landing of the stairway to look out the enormous windows onto Oldtown. It was a high enough vantage point that she could nearly see the western mountains above many of the single-story buildings nearby. The taller buildings several streets over eventually blocked the view, but it was the best she had. She leaned close to the glass – so close that she could almost pretend the building had faded away, leaving her alone to fly among the buildings, leaping across the billows of steam that rose in irregular columns across the dimly-lit silhouette of the skyline. For a few moments, she wasn’t a forgotten orphan in a facility that the rest of the town was more than willing to turn their collective backs on. She was something more; something graceful, like the angelic Shepherds the Matrons spoke of in their religious teachings. Flying, she thought. Flying meant something too, didn’t it? A low rumble seemed to sound in the distance. Thunder? In a clear sky?

  Classes were held in the larger rooms on the second floor of the main building; the dormitories were one floor above that, leaving the downstairs rooms for visitors and for the dining hall. To the south, the courtyard separated the main building and the chapel, where their weekly services were held. Whatever purpose the courtyard had once held, the large grassy area was now employed as recreational space where the children could run and play with a reduced fear of injury.

  Visible through the windows which lined the stairway, the grass looked brilliant green and soft – a marked contrast to the stone statues which lined the walkways along its perimeter. Romany’s eyes flashed briefly to the columns and statuary on interior wall of the courtyard. She wondered what kind of gods the people had prayed to, when this was all a temple, and before homeless children came to live here. Were they powerful gods, with their swords and shields and fantastic armor and gowns? Although the Matrons practiced their faith more out of a traditional sense of reverence to the ways of their ancestors, it no longer carried substantial weight among the people of Oldtown. Few things could make them leave the fields for a full day, especially not when there was a harvest to produce.

  For the enduring people of Oldtown-Against-The-Wall, tradition generally provided more comfort than miracles. As a saying among the smiths went, “Hope don’t fill the pipes.”

  Eventually, Kari joined her on the stairs, wiping her hands on the sides of her dress. Rom looked at her, smiling. Kari took her by the arm and the two girls traipsed up the stairs to attend their classes. The thunder was gone now, replaced by the oddly happy feelings inspired by familiarity and thoughts of her best friend.

  Chapter 4: The Most Important Thing

  Routine is the key to a smoothly-running system; this was a philosophy taught by the scientists in the colleges, and one enthusiastically embraced by the Matrons in the orphanage as well. The structure was simple enough to be retained by the children from nearly the time they were able to dress themselves, requiring a substantially diminished need for supervision. This was crucial for the Matrons, as their numbers were dwindling steadily.

  Where this building had once been a fully-staffed and busy center for the faithful in generations past, there were now less than a half-dozen ordained Matrons to care for the grounds and administer in the rituals and ceremonies of the old religion. It was just one more example of the mutually beneficial arrangement of having the children cared for in this place. In the mornings the children would have several hours of educational instruction, followed by a pair of hours of recreation in the central courtyard, and, after their midday meal, they would spend the rest of their day cleaning and caring for the spacious and venerable building.

  The Matrons seemed to attend to their care of the children in the same manner in which they cared for the old faith: with attention to ritual and repetition and with a preference for detached impersonality and efficiency over affection and empathy. Clearly, there were exceptions, but for the most part the children quickly learned the daily schedule and followed it without question.

  Kari pulled Rom along with her up the stairs, her friend only offering mild resistance. When they reached the landing, her hold on Rom’s arm changed from her general cheerfulness to nearly painful enthusiasm.

  Wincing momentarily at her friend’s grip, Rom looked ahead of them into the opened door of their classroom and rolled her eyes. Behind the makeshift desk she could see a tall man wearing a light grey smock, with hair that reminded Rom of the thick dark shocks of corn in the fields at harvest time. It looked as if he was constantly upside-down in the way his hair stood straight up, like every hair was struggling to reach the sky. Some of the other children had even teased him for this, which had always resulted in his half-hearted effort to run his fingers through it – an action which lasted only until he was distracted by some other fact or theory he wanted to share with the class.

  His name was Professor Theremin, a scientist from the college of Atmology. Known colloquially as “Steamsmen”, they dedicated themselves to the development and maintenance of the primary technology of Oldtown, from the network of high-pressure vapors that powered the town’s various neighborhood generators as well as provided heat in the cooler months to the individual motor-driven systems used to make their lives more effici
ent.

  Though considered by many to be ancillary to the more common basics of magic that protected and cared for them all, the degree to which science had kept the culture of Oldtown functioning and operational could not be denied. And though it seemed to challenge the esoteric nature of magic, the Matrons showed their tolerance for science by allowing weekly classes to be delivered to the children by various representatives from the different schools of thought. The schools responded by using this arrangement as an opportunity to recruit potential initiates into their ranks.

  Rom endured them all with the same amount of excitement she reserved for cleaning the lavatories, but Kari had enough for both of them. Of all the schools represented in their weekly classes, however, Kari enjoyed Atmology – the study of water vapor – the most. Or, Rom supposed, it might have something to do with Professor Theremin himself.

  Rom groaned. “This is why you’re in such a good mood,” she said.

  Kari didn’t need to answer – her excited grin was more than sufficient.

  The professor was examining a large wooden box which sat in the middle of his desk, distractedly greeting the children as they walked past. The box was thickly coated in a dark varnish, and held together at the corners with brass fittings. As they walked past the table, Rom could see a series of circular dials embedded what she assumed was the front of the box, encased in glass.

  Kari attempted to place her satchel on one of the desks in the front of the room, but Rom passed her and pulled her towards the back of the room by the collar of her grey dress.

  “Good morning, Profess - - - uurk!” she choked a bit on the last syllable and was forced to follow Rom rather than struggle for air.

  “But I – uuurk!” she protested.

  Rom’s only response was to pull her more urgently. Kari was forced to grab her bag and move along, certain her friend would just as likely drag her unconscious body along the grey wood floor. Kari blushed an apology to the Professor as they walked to their usual seats at the table near the back of the room. Each table sat four children comfortably, but, as always, Rom and Kari were left to sit at theirs alone.

  “This is why the others think you’re weird,” Rom chided in a whisper. “Nobody likes Science class but you.”

  Kari rolled her eyes. “I’m not the only one who likes Science class,” she said defensively. She wasn’t entirely sure she believed it herself, though. “But they think I’m weird because of my weird friend,” she teased, elbowing her friend lightly.

  The two girls laughed, taking their seats. Kari laid her shoulder bag at her feet and pulled out a small wooden box, which she laid on the table in front of her next to the clean piece of slate. She opened the box, and, after inspecting each one, selected a piece of chalk and laid it alongside the slate between it and the box, replacing the lid. Romany watched all this with bored fascination – one inevitable fact of Kari was the fastidiousness and repetitive precision with which she did things.

  Rom reached into several of the pockets of her dress before she located one of the nubs of chalk she’d been able to find – in a corner beneath her bed – before going downstairs that morning. She’d thought the chalk had been longer before, until she found the other half of it in the same pocket. She held up the two pieces close to her face and found the break. Pressing them both together snugly, she tried to will the pieces to fuse back with the power of her mind. Unfortunately, that sort of thing was impossible.

  “Oh, your piece of chalk broke,” Kari said sadly.

  Romany arched an eyebrow. “No, now I have two pieces of chalk.” She held them both up side by side as if she’d planned it all along. “Two.”

  Kari sighed, reached into her supply box and pulled out a fresh piece of chalk and laid it next to Rom’s two smaller pieces. Flipping her black ponytail back over her shoulder, she managed to keep from rolling her eyes as her friend growled softly.

  Professor Theremin cleared his throat, getting the immediate attention of the children in the room.

  “Good morning, children,” he began, pausing long enough for the rest of the children to take their seats.

  “I realize it has only been a week since my last time with you, but my colleagues in the schools of Spectroscopy and Horography were otherwise detained, giving us another opportunity to delight in our mutual erudition.” This was the way with Professor Theremin. His voice – if it stood still for more than a minute – was possessed of a gentle baritone quality which could quite easily put the most hyperactive child to sleep. But once he began speaking – specifically in regards to the many topics he enjoyed – his voice danced around his words like dragonflies in the summer sun. Also, most of his sentences were so long that they took multiple breaths to finish. Rom thought he was crazy. Kari thought he was wonderful.

  He fumbled about in the pockets of his long coat, searching for and eventually finding his pen resting in its usual place above his left ear. He jotted down a few scratches of notes in his ever-present pad of paper and placed both towards the corner of the desk, then absently retrieved the pen and replaced it behind his ear. Rom and Kari exchanged smiles. It was a habit the Professor had, as ideas and thoughts would randomly occur to him. He often encouraged the children to carry pencils or note-taking items at all times. As he was fond of saying, “being as one is a slave to inspiration, one never knows when the Master will call”.

  At last, he searched the room for any remaining empty seats, and, finding none, smoothed out the non-existent wrinkles of his waistcoat and adjusted the spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose with his right index finger. To his students, this was more effective than Matron Suvanna’s shrill voice or the front hall bell for getting their attention. They all sat up straight in their seats and stopped talking amongst themselves. Rom looked at his hair and continued to think he was insane.

  “Thank you,” he said. “If we’re all ready to begin, I’d like to stray from our regular review session to share something new… and very exciting.” His voice trembled a bit at the end, making the words themselves nearly superfluous.

  His flamboyant style of discourse contrasted with most of his overall appearance. The long jacket, vest and bow tie matched to his faded brown slacks, and though dust frequented his black leather shoes, attention was obviously given to assure an otherwise glossy shine. But Rom’s eyes always returned to that tangle of hair. It made her think of the fields, and the open air, and everything about being outside the suffocating walls of the orphanage. It made her think of anything but science.

  Kari, on the other hand, was transfixed by these classes. She sat straight in her chair and listened to every word of Theremin’s often random tangential topics. Rom looked at her and sighed softly, hunkering down as low as possible in her chair in what she expected to be a futile effort to avoid the professor’s gaze. But at he spoke, she found herself moving her lips along with him, as if each word he said had been said before. Her mind usually wandered from his lectures from the start, and it had been a few weeks since he’d been here, so it seemed a curious thing to Rom that she could somehow either recall or predict what he was saying.

  He patted the wooden box in front of him gently, bringing the classes’ attention to bear on it. “Can anyone tell me what this is?” Rom noticed that his eyes fell to Kari first, but then scanned the rest of the room. Nobody raised their hands; a few – Kari included – shook their heads. Rom nodded once before stopping herself.

  Theremin nodded, smiling kindly. “No, I wouldn’t expect you would. This is a portable steamdrive – an engine powered by a compressed vapor cell – it’s quite ingenious, actually, if you look here,” he explained, snapping open a latch on the top panel and sliding the faceplate up and away from the box. Setting the plate aside, he gestured into the intricate maze of pipes and gears to a small cylinder positioned in the center of the device. He continued: “You can see the compression cell here – we create these by forcing large amounts of pressurized steam into the decidedly dense dime
nsions of this small sealed steel cell.” He paused, silently repeating the last few words and appearing to be amused by his own accidental alliteration. Looking back up at the room, he seemed to remember where he was and shook his head.

  Rom sighed, picking up the new piece of chalk Kari had given her. She looked over to see her friend staring in unfeigned awe at the machine, her hand high in the air. She sighed. If there’s anything Kari loves more than… anything, Rom thought, it’s this: science. She patently ignored it all while she slowly sharpened the end of her new piece of chalk into a small point against the top of their table, all the while continuing to move her mouth along with his words. It turned into a game, to see if she could move her mouth along even faster than he did.

  Theremin smiled and acknowledged Kari’s typical enthusiasm with a nod. “We’ll have time for questions in a moment,” he explained, eliciting a sigh of disappointment from Kari and sighs of relief from a few other children. “First, I want to review some of the basics of Science. Who can list the three Corners of Science?”

  He turned to the blackboard behind him and sketched a rough triangle before spinning back to the class. A few tentative hands were raised, but none with the alacrity or conviction of Kari’s. Half the children who did raise their hands saw Kari’s and dropped their hands back to their desks. Professor Theremin managed to suppress a chuckle as he called on her.

  He never required his students to stand – this was a fact that Kari alone disregarded. Practically leaping to her feet, she responded: “Air, water, and soil.”

  Nodding, he turned to the triangle and drew a pair of horizontal lines beneath the base of the triangle, parallel to the base; then drew a pair of lines outside each additional side of the triangle, again parallel to the respective sides. Finally, on each corner he drew a small circle.