by Amy Braun
Two precious crates of vodka were bashed open, uncorked, and sampled in order of rank, with the general declining his portion with a flick of his head.
Maravich raised the index finger of his remaining hand and silence immediately blanketed the war room and the adjoining thousand-seat command complex. He stood as straight as he could and regarded the room for a long moment.
“Comrades!” he bellowed. “Alert the rocket carriers and unmuzzle the Storm Huskies. Tonight we launch the dogs of war!”
A Steampunk Garden
by Wynelda Ann Deaver
Mrs. Medlock stood in front of Lord Archer’s desk, shaking with fury. “She’s an unnatural child, she is. That…that…that girl broke every one of the dolls you bought for her!”
Archer shook his head. He’d been gone for only a few weeks, hadn’t he? How had the addition of one girl add so much hysteria to the household in such a short time?
He had plans to go over, experiments to conduct. Letters to the Queen to be written. Ten thousand things large and small to occupy his attention, and now this.
“I thought you said she was too old for the dolls anyway?” Hadn’t he received an aether-gram regarding that? She wasn’t a ten-year-old girl. Instead, his new charge was a seventeen- year-old young woman. That had been discussed, hadn’t it?
The rod in Mrs. Medlock’s back became even straighter at that. “That girl willfully destroyed her room, making more work for the staff…”
“I thought you’d mentioned locking her in the room, and not allowing anyone else entry, as well? How did she manage so much damage on her own?”
Mrs. Medlock was either losing bits of her memory, or was hiding something. He narrowed his eyes at the woman. She ruled his home absolutely in his absence—he had to be able to trust her. Could he?
“I allowed her to keep one of the mechcani-mans.”
Perhaps it was time for that to change.
“Send the girl to me. At once.” Archer bit out the words, wanting to curse at the woman. Gentlemen didn’t do that, but the temptation to give in to unreasonable anger was about to overwhelm him. Deep breaths, old boy. Deep breaths.
#
Mary ignored the glee on Mrs. Medlock’s face when the old battle axe came to fetch her at Lord Archer’s command. A glance around her room determined that everything had been, in fact, tucked away nicely. It was so easy to fool the woman, it almost wasn’t worth it.
“Come, Flit,” she commanded. The mechani-man rolled forward to follow behind her to the study.
Mary halted in front of the desk, Flit whirring softly behind her. Lord Archer sat behind the desk, staring at her. She reciprocated. He wasn’t as old as she’d thought he would be. Nor as…infirm in the head as her parents had been.
Of course, he hadn’t spoken yet. But if he were, in fact, as smart as he looked—
Goodness, she was going to have to work at keeping things rolling along to her satisfaction here.
“What happened to the clicking in that mechani-man?”
He surprised her with his first question. Odd, that he would recognize Flit as having been fixed. Or having made the clicking sound to begin with.
“I repaired it.” She kept her voice neutral, her face like stone. No use giving him anything to use against her. Or telling him how minor a repair it had been. Or that there were the other adjustments she had made.
“Mrs. Medlock informs me that you destroyed several things of value.” He kept his gaze locked with hers, looking for any flicker of emotion, she was sure.
She would not give him—or Mrs. Medlock—the satisfaction of a reaction. “Yes, I did.”
“Why?” His voice was soft, gentle. As if he cared.
Mary watched him, chewing her lip. Tell the truth? How far could she trust this stranger who was in control of her life ? Mayhap just a bit of the truth?
She turned to make sure the large oak door was shut firmly and Mrs. Medlock was on the other side of it. “There was some sort of listening device in one of them.”
He leaned forward on his desk. “How did you know of it?”
Mary fidgeted. In for a penny… “The sound of it irritated me beyond reason. It was poorly-made. I-it… whistled.”
“Is there one in here?”
Mary cocked her head to the left, held her breath. Nothing near the desk. Slowly, she walked around the room until she was sure there were no unaccounted for listeners. She shook her head no.
“What did you do with the device?”
“Flit, come.” Mary waited until the little mechani-man rolled to a stop between her and the desk. Made to look like a small snowman, she pressed lightly on his third button. With a swish, a panel opened revealing the small aether-tube device.
Lord Archer’s face hardened. “Is there anything else you would like to inform me of?”
Mary looked him dead in the eye. “If Mrs. Medlock ever slaps me again she shall require a mechanical appendage.”
“Is there anything else you require?”
Mary stood still, feeling the air around her. Her heart beat loudly in her ears. Oh yes, there was something she required. Something she wanted more than anything else in the world.
Deep breaths.
“Might I have the walled off garden? The one with the cottage?” A place of her own—with no interference. A place where she could experiment and build with no one trying to peer over her shoulder, or bothering her about food and bedtimes. She was a woman grown, not some idiot child just because she’d had the misfortune to be born female.
“To live in?”
A short, sharp burst of hope. “Yes, a place of my own.”
He shook his head and her spirits deflated. “Walk with me in the gardens.”
She dropped a minimal courtesy. “Yes, Lord Archer.”
#
Mary had to practically run to keep up with Lord Archer’s brisk pace. Soon, they came to the walled-in garden with the small cottage. He went unerringly to a spot in the ivy, pulling it away to reveal the door. With a quick look around, he produced a key and let them into the garden. “I wonder where the gardener has gotten to?” he mused.
She stared around in wonder. It was perfect. She had never been inside before, just able to see the roof and chimney from the main garden paths. A gravel path meandered through beds filled with flowers. A trickle of water flowed through part of it, a tiny creek perfect for warm days. Trees shaded the house, which resembled a witch’s hut. Lord Archer went straight for the cottage door, motioning her to follow him inside.
“I have a proposition for you,” he began.
Mary drew back, startled.
“No, no, nothing of an improper sort. Except, well…” He dragged a hand through his hair. Mary maintained her silence, waiting. “I have a spy in the house. As well as plans for Her Majesty’s Naval Fleet…”
“Plans for what?” Mary looked around the cottage, noting where her work table and tools would go.
“For an airship.” His voice was bland.
“Why? There are already thousands of designs, I’m sure one of them would work.” She moved around him, to the small sitting room.
“There are none that will bear the weight of both armor and heavy artillery.”
A large low table occupied the middle of the room. The sort of table that invited one to sit on a pillow and make their designs. “The problem isn’t with the ship. You need lighter weapons. And possibly a different sort of armor. Are you trying for metal? No…that would never be practical for air troops. What about—?” She began tracing in the dust on the table.
He watched over her shoulder. She could feel his presence, right there, behind her. His breath tickled her ear as he whispered “That’s amazing. I’ll have to copy this…”
“Mmmm…bring Flit. He can take an aether-impression of it.”
“Flit?”
“The mechani-man I repaired. You left him on guard duty in your office.” She ignored the receding footfalls and the soft cli
ck of the door as he left. Finally, she was free to dream mechanical with no thought of her parents or Mrs. Medlock interfering.
Lord Archer returned way too soon, Flit rolling behind and both carrying supplies. She listened as coal clattered into the stove, and a tea pot was placed upon the stove.
Mary stood, stretching her back. “Flit, come. We’ll need more light, Lord Archer.”
He quickly complied, lighting all the lamps and candles in the cottage.
The round mechani-man rolled to a stop next to her. “Impression protocol, Flit.”
A small scope popped out of his head, allowing her to focus on the area of the table where the diagrams she’d been playing with were.
“Thank you, my girl, you have saved us valuable time. Now to find the turncoat in the house.”
“It’s Mrs. Medlock.” Mary kept her voice flat, devoid of emotion.
“She’s been with me for years!” His outburst was funny, really.
“Why else was there a listening device in my room? Why is she so angry that I am not a child that is easily controlled?” Mary began ticking reasons off on her fingers.
“Even if it is true, we need proof.” His face was stern again.
She bit her lip to keep from laughing. “Will you give me this cottage for my own when I obtain it?”
“Yes. But you will have to be chaperoned. It would cause unwanted speculation for you to live alone at your age.”
“Beatrice. I like Beatrice.” Bright chatter, but left Mary’s things alone. Yes, Beatrice was a perfect fit.
“You will also have to make appearances in the manor occasionally, and at any dinners I may give.”
“Shake on it.” She held out her hand, squeezing his just a bit as they shook. Mary was gratified by the slight wince.
Tools built strong hands.
“Here’s what we will do…”
#
Mary resigned herself to life—temporarily—without Flit. It was amazing how much she had come to rely upon the small mechani-man, but he was needed in the office.
Lord Archer had the staff move her things into a more adult chamber, with Mrs. Medlock glaring all the while. All she needed now was for everyone to go to sleep so she could sneak up to the nursery and steal back her tools.
Her nightgown was laid aside, replaced by work clothes. Trousers, a large, soft man’s shirt, and a vest with multiple pockets. A small leather satchel sat on the floor at the foot of her bed.
A clock chimed the hour, night had turned to morning. Time to go.
Mary crept down the hall to the stairs, a hand on the wall for guidance. Her foot was on the stair to go up to the nursery, when she stopped. A whisper of sound, a woman’s giggle— accompanied by a man’s voice, a door opening and closing. Mary sat down on the stairs, in the shadows, praying she was well hidden.
She remained, still and quiet, until finally she was rewarded with Mrs. Medlock’s retreating back. There was no sign of the gentleman.
No time like the present. Taking a deep breath, she stood with her satchel and fled up the stairs to the nursery. Mary worked for a few hours before making her way back to her new rooms just before sunrise.
Once there, she collapsed on her bed, chuckling. Tomorrow was looking to be very promising indeed.
At breakfast, she served herself from the sideboard, filling her plate with sausage, eggs and toast. And marmalade. Such a lovely accompaniment to toast. Lord Archer came in and served himself before sitting across the table from her.
Mary waited, a bit cruelly, for Mrs. Medlock to come into the room before asking, “Did we have company last night, Lord Archer?”
“No, none that I recall.” He raised his brow at her and continued plowing through his heaping plate.
“I went to my old rooms last night to retrieve something I had forgotten, and I could have sworn I heard voices in the hall by your office.” Mary primly sliced her sausage as a large crash sounded behind her. She bit her lip to keep herself from showing any sort of reaction. “If you don’t need me, Lord Archer, I believe that I shall take a stroll in the gardens.”
“See me before leaving the house, please.” He waved to Mrs. Medlock, catching her attention. “Have Beatrice go down to the village and bring Dickon up.”
Mary quirked her brow. Dickon was Beatrice’s brother, just returned from his service in the Air Navy. Whatever could Lord Archer want with him?
No matter. They would have their answers and she would be free, and soon!
Once in her rooms, Mary paced, fighting a yawn. Obviously, Lord Archer had taken her clues.
What he did with them was up to him. For Mary though…she had to plan what to take out to the cottage today. Later, she would bring everything over in the open. But for now she had to hide herself, who she truly was.
Not so much difference between now and when her parents were alive. Except, perhaps, there was. Someone liked her abilities, admired them. He didn’t make fun of her. Maybe there were others in the world like her.
A sketchbook and pencils. Appropriately lady-like. Smiling, she whirled down the stairs and out into the gardens.
The crunch of gravel behind her.
A rag, smelling sickly sweet…
Darkness.
#
Mary woke to a blinding headache and nausea that was not helped by a slight rocking motion. If she had slept last night, she wouldn’t have been taken so easily!
She was laid out on a wooden floor, her morning dress still covering her trouser-clad legs. She moaned, licking dry lips.
Where was she? Who had taken her? Mrs. Medlock didn’t have the strength.
A small sound to the right. Slowly, Mary turned her head—to see her nemesis tied up, with a gag. Tears streaked the older woman’s face, and her eyes were wide. Her hair was askew, the bun landing on the side of her head.
Mary stretched, gratified that no one had thought to tie her up as well. She rolled over onto her hands and knees, panting as the world spun around her. As everything slowly settled, she reached over to Mrs. Medlock and removed the gag.
The woman pitched forward, crying onto Mary’s shoulder. “I had no idea, miss. I thought…I thought…”
Mary patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. She preferred Mrs. Medlock full of fire. This gibbering heap would be of no use. “Hush, they’ll hear us.” And I must think.
This was a horrible situation. No two ways about it. Possibly Lord Archer knew she had been taken…but how far behind was he? Did he care enough to rescue a pouty, unnatural girl of a ward?
Yes.
He valued her mind, if nothing else. Still, it would be up to Mary and Mrs. Medlock to get themselves out of this.
“Your hair has fallen. Fix it,” Mary commanded. The woman held up her bound hands, which the girl quickly untangled. As Mrs. Medlock fussed with putting herself to rights, Mary got busy.
They were in a small hold room. They had taken her sketchbook, but not the pocket full of tools under her dress. Careless. Tiny, they were built to work on jewelry or intricate mechanisms. Still—damage inflictors.
Mary looked quickly to Mrs. Medlock. Her hair was straightened again, her shoulders back, tears drying. Good. Apparently, having her hair set to rights made all the difference.
“We’re going to have to rescue ourselves, Mrs. Medlock. Are you able to contribute?” Judging by the slap she had dealt Mary at the manor, she was more than able.
“That Ben—he came back different, treated me different. I thought…foolish thoughts for an old woman, I suppose.”
“Well, you can slug it out with him. After we get ourselves out of this mess.” Mary stood, wobbled briefly, and then nodded her head. The pain was still there, right behind her eye and exploding outward. At least she no longer felt like vomiting. “Do you know where we are and how many accompany us?”
The floor listed sharply, sending both women tumbling into the door. “Airship or water?”
“Air,” Mrs. Medlock groaned, holding her ri
bs.
They could be anywhere. If they were hovering at the cloud line, there wasn’t much they could do. Nothing for it, except to find out where they were and how far up. “Stay here,” Mary whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
The door was unlocked, a piece of luck she wouldn’t ask for twice. Creeping out into the corridor, she looked for the nearest porthole. Window? What were they called in an airship? There, down the hall.
Mary tiptoed, not even daring to breathe. Looking out, she saw a tree line close by—they’d be able to jump for it if they could find their way out. She turned to go back, and came face to face with Ben Weatherstaff. The gardener.
“What ho now, girl? Time to get back in your comfy cozy cabin. We’ll have everything to rights here soon…”
Mary backed into the wall as he kept talking in her face. His breath was sour with whiskey, and drool kept flailing away from him
“Ben, why am I here?” She did her best to look confused. “You must help me return home!”
He leaned in, brows close together, head all wobbly.
With a grunt, Mary brought her knee up as hard as she could, then punched him directly in the chin. He blinked at her, once. Then landed face first on the floor.
The door behind him was partially open, voices coming from inside. “We know Lord Archer didn’t come up with these plans. Who is the engineer?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re referring to.” Mrs. Medlock’s voice was hard, edged in steel.
“Who has come to the house lately? Have any of his friends suddenly paid a visit?”
Mary peeked around the door to see a man she didn’t recognize holding Mrs. Medlock by the shoulders and shaking her with every word.
“No one has come to Misselthwaite Manor, except Lord Archer’s ward. A nice, agreeable child, she is.”
Mary smiled as she looked around the room. Creeping quietly, lest he turn and see her, she picked up a length of pipe. A percussive boom rent the air right as she prepared to swing, and the airship shuddered and squealed.