Steampunk Fairy Tales

by Angela Castillo, Allison Latzco, Ashey Capes, Chris Champe, Daniel Lind, David Allen, Heather White, & Leslie Anderson

  The last box was so large that his father had to help him open it. Inside was a fine tea-bowl and two chopsticks.

  "And your ship, to carry you to adventure," his father said, his voice gruff with emotion.

  Issun saw the tears in their eyes. "My own ship, so I can go and come back."

  He had meant for his warm words to comfort their hearts, but their frowns only deepened.

  "The current is strong, son. You'll find travelling upstream impossible."

  Setting his jaw, Issun stormed to their workshop. "I won't leave like that."

  For three days he worked in secret, only to emerge on the fourth with a broad smile. "Come look!" he called, waving for his parents to follow.

  Flanking the bowl were two small turbine-like wheels that attached to a mechanical fan. "See?" Issun laughed. "The current is strong, which will let this fan power the engine."

  His parents smiled and told him how clever he was, and the moment was so full of joy he thought his heart might burst. They shared one last breakfast together, reminiscing about the past and making excited guesses about the future, until his mother laid her hand on the table. "It's time, son."

  Issun stepped onto her palm, then was gently placed in the tea bowl and carried outside. The townspeople had gathered around the river, waving banners, ready to send him off.

  "This river will take you to Sapporo," his father said as he lowered Issun's bowl into the gently moving waters. "Take care, son."

  "Ganbatte!" the townspeople yelled, wishing him luck.

  Issun navigated the river, using his chopsticks as oars. He peered out when passing villages, keeping an eye out for the Sapporo skyline he'd memorized from staring at a woodblock print hanging in his parents' home.

  Soon the surge of the river gave way to the sounds of steam and stone, and the forests thinned to reveal the brick factories that made the appliances he had spent his life repairing. The waters became choppy as steamboats docked and unloaded passengers and goods.

  Issun, worried about the traffic near the dock, steered further downstream before turning toward the riverbank. With the edge of his little boat touching land, he climbed over the side, but quickly realized he lacked the strength to pull it from the water.

  "Maybe someone will help me," he muttered, looking around for a friendly face, but the only people nearby swarmed the docks. The shuffling of feet, the churning of wheels, and the spray of water made him think twice about approaching. It would be too easy to be squished.

  With a sigh, he sat at the edge of the river. His adventure had barely begun, and he'd already made a mistake. How would he ever get home? Watching the water, he waited for inspiration to strike, but instead his attention was turned to a bit of rope that was anchored to the ground and stretched into the water.

  He frowned. It had to be a trap. He hated them, having once been caught in one himself. Grabbing his sword from the boat, he stormed over to the rope-which was thicker than his arm-and began hacking away. It took a few minutes, but eventually each fiber split, and the rope disappeared into the water.

  "Be safe, fishies!" Issun cried, before realizing that had been his first act as a samurai. Embarrassed, he instead struck a pose and nodded solemnly.

  A luminescent white splotch-unearthly bright, especially from underwater-moved toward him. Trying to control the hammering in his chest, he waited with his sword at the ready. Perhaps the trap hadn't been without merit.

  Two bulbous eyes emerged from the water, followed by a flat head and a wide mouth. A flash of terror surged through Issun: he rarely saw frogs that big. To it, he might look like a tasty snack.

  Unwilling to abandon his vessel, he raised his katana. "Go away!"

  One of the great white frog's eyes blinked, followed a half-second later by the other. "Have you no request of me, little one?"

  Issun half-lowered his weapon. "Huh?"

  "You have rescued a river-spirit; it is only fitting that I return the favor."

  "Oh." Issun scratched his chin. "Could you help me with my boat?"

  The spirit-frog turned to look at the tea bowl, but remained silent.

  "I'll need it later, but I don't know where to keep it safe."

  "I know of such a place. When you need your vessel, return anywhere along this riverbank and call my name: Suijin. But be careful of the forest; I have spotted from the banks a steam-warrior possessed by an oni, and he loathes trespassers in his domain." The spirit-frog extended a large, webbed hand.

  Issun retrieved his shield and sack. Awestruck, he watched the frog disappear downstream. Not even a day into his journey of being a samurai, and he had saved a river-spirit.

  Feeling confident, he turned and headed away from the busy docks, then walked inland. Dodging feet, wheels, kicked stones, and the occasional dog left him panting by the time he found a small park. He rested beneath a bench, where he ate the seaweed-wrapped rice grains his mother had packed for him.

  His brief respite was interrupted by the attention of a girl-perhaps his age, but normal-sized-dressed in a red shibori kimono.

  "Hello," she said, sitting on her knees. Issun stood up and struck a pose, using his 500 yen coin shield and sewing needle katana. The girl giggled and clapped.

  "I'm Yuki Suenaga," she said, pointing at her nose.

  "Suenaga of Suenaga Industries?" Issun asked. He had seen that name a thousand times, stamped on the numerous appliances he had repaired.

  Yuki nodded, confirming she was a daimyo princess. "Who are you, tiny warrior?"

  Issun sheathed his sewing needle. A god and a princess in one day. His would be the best samurai story of them all. "I am Issun Boshi, and I'm seeking a samurai apprenticeship."

  Yuki tilted her head as she considered this. "I can take you to see my father, young ronin."

  Issun rode on her shoulder, standing with a hand on his hilt, imitating a stance he thought was befitting of a samurai. Yuki entered a brick building in the Suenaga factory complex. Issun inhaled the scent of linseed oil and traced the root-like system of pneumatic tubes, in which messages were flying every which way.

  Yuki passed the secretary and burst into a rococo office, the interior of which was finer than any Issun had ever seen. A man sat behind a large desk, wearing a black suit.

  "Father, I've found a little ronin!" she said, interrupting him as he spoke into a brass horn.

  "It's my daughter; we'll have to speak later." Mr. Suenaga flipped a switch then stood. "Yuki-chan, what are you talking about?"

  Yuki gestured at her shoulder. "See, father?"

  Mr. Suenaga took a closer look at Issun, who was standing as still as a statue. "Where did you find such a doll?"

  Issun bowed, startling the daimyo, and then spoke. "Suenaga-sama, I am Issun Boshi. I hail from a small village north of Sapporo. I'm in search of a master, so that I can train to become a samurai. I have already rescued a river-spirit, and I know even greater trials and successes await me."

  Mr. Suenaga put his monocle in place and took a closer look. "I've never seen anything like this before. You say you're from up north ? are you a Koro-pok-guru?"

  It was not the first time that Issun had been compared to the tiny people in Ainu mythology. The difference was, they were a myth; he was real.

  "No, I am Japanese."

  "Fascinating." Mr. Suenaga stroked the graying stubble at his chin. "I don't know that we have a position for a samurai right now."

  "Father ?." Yuki pleaded, warming her father's heart.

  A warm heart was not enough, though-business is business. Mr. Suenaga considered how little space the three-inch-high samurai would require, and how little he would eat. "My daughter has a way of finding herself in trouble; she could use a guardian. Yes, Issun Boshi, I will accept your service, but your rent and food will come out of your salary."

  Yuki hugged her father, putting Issun awkwardly close to the man; he merely held his samurai stance. She skipped away, leaving Issun to fall, clinging to her shoulder.

/>   Issun woke early, every morning, to train in the sunlight streaming through Yuki's bedroom window while she slept. To improve his technique, Yuki took Issun to borrow samurai books from the library. He walked across the sentences as he read about techniques and history.

  His life was not all exercise and studying. Yuki was a playful girl who loved him dearly. One time, with his permission, she placed him in a capsule and sent him zipping through the pneumatic message tubes. Issun, unaccustomed to travelling at such speeds, got sick inside the capsule. Their adventures became tamer after that.

  Issun did his best to describe his experiences. Yuki was always curious about how he saw the world, and he was happy to have someone close to his age to talk to.

  As the shortening days hinted at winter, Yuki fancied a walk. Issun, happy to follow Yuki's lead, sat on her shoulder as she boarded a train. It wasn't until she descended the steps at the next station, her path leading them perilously close to the forest, that Issun realized her destination and recalled the river-spirit's warning.

  "We shouldn't go into the woods," he said solemnly. "It's not safe."

  "That's why I have you," Yuki replied with a laugh.

  Issun frowned but didn't respond. They walked, her chattering about the fresh smell of the woods, the beauty of the leaves, and the pleasing sound of the stream, while he remained silent.

  The chirping of cicadas hushed suddenly, and Issun's budding samurai instincts surged. Gripping the eye of his needle, he leaned forward. "Something is wrong."

  The trees rustled, shuddering at the banshee screech of hydraulics. Above the woods rose a cloud of smog. A high pitch whir accompanied the spinning sawmill blade cutting through the dense foliage, exposing the sight of a monster that looked more like the demons he'd seen in wood-block prints than a mechanical warrior.

  Two eerie, green eyes glowed from this monster's lumpy iron face. Just above each painted eyebrow was a short, golden goat horn. From ear to ear spanned the jaw, filled with serrated silver teeth and boar-like tusks. The red body paint had scraped off in places, and the shoulders were dented from knocking down trees. One clawed hand was clutching a marble club; the other arm ended in the saw blade. About its waist was a shiny tiger-print iron loin cloth, which moved like platemail.

  "What-Have-We-Here?" emitted its voice.

  Issun could feel Yuki trembling. How small she looked, compared to this monstrosity! Issun, who was accustomed to looking up at everyone, was less intimidated. Holding his sword and shield in position, he puffed out his chest. "I am the samurai Issun Boshi!"

  The mech's telescopic eyes zoomed in. It laid down the marble club to hold its clawed hand to its brows to block out the sunlight streaming through the canopy. "Who-Said-That?"

  Issun scaled down Yuki's body and stepped before her, flashing his sewing needle katana. "It was me: Issun Boshi!"

  "Ha-Ha-Ha," came the single pitched laugh, followed by the sound of a dozen tiny motors sculpting its face into a sneer. "I-Had-Not-Seen-You-Little ? Samurai!"

  Issun had not been laughed at since he was two inches tall, when the other kids were still callous and ignorant. His knuckles whitened as he gripped the needle's eye.

  The iron creature stooped down to reclaim its club. "You-Are-In-My-Domain! What-Gift-Have-You-Brought-Me?"

  Issun steeled himself. "You deserve nothing, lump face!"

  The saw blade whirred, and the telescopic eyes twisted to refocus. "Then-The-Girl-Will-Be-My-Prisoner-And-You-Will-Be-Crushed!"

  Issun dashed forward. The saw arm came down, cleaving tree roots where he had been just a second before. The mech raised a clawed foot and stomped, narrowly missing Issun, but providing him purchase to climb.

  It lifted its leg and bent down, searching to see if it had squashed the little samurai. Taking the opportunity of the monster being unbalanced, Yuki ran forward to knock it down, but its mass was too much for the hundred-and-twenty pound girl. The mech smacked her aside with its club.

  "Yuki!" Issun cried, though even in his fear he refused to give up. Heaving his katana over his head, he slammed it into the hip joint. The iron giant dropped the club and, using his claws, picked Issun up by the collar of his shirt. He just managed to grab his sword before being dangled above its stiff, smiling face.

  Issun's heart dropped at the clicking sound accompanying the opening mouth beneath him. He kicked and squirmed, freeing himself from his shirt before the jaw was ready to close.

  Darkness enclosed him as he fell through the mechanical throat onto a rotating cog. His shield clattered from his arm and fell into dark guts of the demon. Disoriented, Issun sat, spinning, while his eyes adjusted to what little light that entered the pinpoint gaps through the metal skin.

  The interior was far more complicated than anything Issun had ever repaired, but some parts were familiar. He lost his balance as the platform lurched; the mech was walking.

  "Where-Are-You-Girl?"

  "Yuki!" Issun's shout echoed. The cogs continued to spin and, remembering that burnt grain of rice that had broken the entire food steamer, he drove his needle into the intersecting teeth. The mechanics came to a halt, for a short time, until the force was too great and the needle snapped.

  As the mechanics resumed, Issun frantically crawled through the steel guts, seeking something to wedge between the gears. Light reflected off a familiar shape: his shield! Issun scrambled toward it, hugged the coin to his chest, and began climbing. The mech lurched, breaking Issun's grasp and again he fell. Spots danced before his eyes, but he still clutched the coin.

  When his vision cleared, he spotted another set of gears only a few inches above him. He carefully climbed the mechanics and, bracing himself, fit the coin between the teeth of the gears.

  For a moment nothing happened, until the demon shook and a horrible screech grew and Issun had to cover his ears. Then the mech, and Issun with it, was falling, and in the darkened chaos all he could do was cover his head and pray.

  When the demon finally lay still, Issun braved a look around. A circle of light shone and he carefully picked through the broken machine. Once he reached the mouth, he stepped into the grass and looked around.

  Aside from Yuki's discarded kimono, he saw nothing but the devastation the monster had caused. "Yuki!" he called, running to her dress. It was torn, and a smear of blood shone sticky near the shoulder. Tears formed in the corners of his eyes, and a sob escaped him.

  "What troubles you, little one?"

  Issun turned to see a painfully bright-white fox trotting toward him.

  "You can bring her back, right?" Issun swallowed a gulp. Samurais didn't cry.

  The fox's brow arched as if confused.

  "Issun?" came a small voice. A bump in the fabric shifted.

  "Yuki?" he cried, charging across the kimono to the voice.

  Her tiny head and the top of her bare shoulders-one stained with blood-popped through a tear in the fabric. "What happened?"

  The spirit-fox flicked its tail. "That was no ordinary club that struck you, Yuki Suenaga," the spirit-fox said. "That was Uchide's club. It can shrink and enlarge whatever it strikes."

  Yuki peeked under the fabric and looked down at her body. A smile slowly formed on her face. "Issun, I'm your size!"

  "A ? a bit shorter, I think," Issun said, uncomfortable but not displeased with her exposure.

  "Give me a second," Yuki said, clutching a section of the oversized kimono around her body. "Um ? Issun ? can you turn around? You too, fox."

  Issun and the fox did as she asked. Issun heard fabric ripping behind him.

  "Ready!" she called.

  Issun turned to see her standing, two-and-a-half inches tall, in a makeshift kimono.

  She was beaming. "We can have so much fun! I always wondered what it was like, rocketing through the pneumatic tubes!"

  Issun's stomach tightened. "I ? I guess we could try that again. But it's going to take a while to get back to the train, given we're lost and neither of us is ? tall." Issun
frowned up at the fox. "Could you give us a ride back to the train station?"

  The fox shook his great head. "My power is limited to the forest."

  Issun remembered the frog he had saved months earlier. "What about the river? Could you take us there?"

  The fox smiled a foxy smile. "If that is your wish. You've done us a great service by ridding the woods of the fabricated oni."

  Issun smiled and turned to Yuki, taking her hands in his own. "How would you like to meet my parents?"

  "I'd love to." Yuki's smile matched his own, and with the beginning of a blush already forming, she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek.

  Together, they rode on the fox's back to the bank of the river, where Issun called for Suijin. The frog emerged from the water, along with a large bubble. Inside the bubble was Issun's tea-bowl boat. The bubble popped, and the bowl was perfectly dry.

  Issun lent Yuki a hand, then hopped in himself. He kicked on the motors, which were powerful enough to overcome the river's current. Issun and Yuki looked back, holding hands, and waved to Suijin and the fox-god.

  The Copper Eyes

  Allison Latzko

  Oliver was certain his mother was up to something horrid when his brothers disappeared into her workshop, a room no one ever entered.

  His mother-a brilliant inventor-had been acting peculiar for days, and as the evening lengthened and his older brothers helped their mother,?Oliver's curiosity grew. He waited outside with thinning patience as metal clanked and gears rattled in the other room. Plans and blueprints of mechanisms and engines crowded every nook and cranny of their cottage home, and on those pages existed complex and?brilliant designs. Oliver picked up a draft, running his thumb along the page before he set it down, wishing others could see the genius his mother was. Heaps of ideas and designs remained incomplete, and even more had been stolen from her, patented by other more recognized inventors.

  The clock above him chimed and Oliver realized it was almost midnight. Too much time had passed; his patience had expired.

  He crept up to the workshop door. A lock kept him out, but he was used to picking it from many times before. He nudged the door open and peered into the large room. Inventions occupied the floors and shelves and in the center of the room sat his mother's worktable, covered in contraptions-his family was nowhere in sight. He stepped to the table, picked up a pair of leather goggles, and examined them. Gold framed the amber lenses. His mother always wore them while she worked; she never finished anything without them.