Mechanicals

by Jordan Stratford

  MECHANICALS

  Jordan Stratford

  Mechanicals

  Text copyright ©2012 Jordan Stratford

  Cover art copyright Aly Fell

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.

  Stratford, Jordan

  Mechanicals / by Jordan Stratford

  ISBN 978-1-894981-31-6

  First edition, 2012

  www.jordanstratford.com

  THE WORLD OF MECHANICALS:

  (These dates and events are historical, not fictional)

  1800 - Volta invents the battery; The first submarine, the Nautilus, makes several successful dives, armed with torpedoes.

  1804 - Freidrich Winzer invents gas lighting; Napoleon crowned Emperor.

  1809 - Humphry Davy invents electric lighting.

  1812 - Napoleon invades Russia; War of 1812; The United States invades Canada, and the first military submarine sinks in battle.

  1814 - George Stephenson invents the steam locomotive.

  1815 - Waterloo ends Napoleonic Wars; Thomas Johnstone builds a 100 foot submarine.

  1825 - William Sturgeon invents the electromagnet; Nicolas I crowned Tsar of Russia.

  1826 - Russo-Persian War; Persian Empire reclaims territory from Russia.

  1831 - Faraday develops the electric dynamo.

  1833 - End of slavery in the British Empire.

  1835 - Babbage invents a "mechanical calculator" – the first programmable computer; The Texas Revolution.

  1836 - Samuel Colt's revolver is developed; The Alamo.

  1837 - Morse invents the telegraph; Queen Victoria assumes the throne; the first diving-suit is produced, enabling men to work underwater.

  1839 - Goodyear introduces vulcanized rubber; Mexican War cedes south-western territory to the US; Abdul Mejid I becomes Sultan of the Ottoman Empire.

  1847 - Ascanio Sobrero creates nitroglycerine.

  1848 - California Gold Rush begins; "Hydesville Events" of the Fox sisters.

  1849 - Abbas I becomes the Wali of Egypt under the Ottoman Empire.

  1851 - London's Great Exhibition.

  1852 - Henri Giffard builds an airship powered by the first aircraft engine; Napoleon III becomes Emperor.

  1853 - Crimean War begins as Russia invades Turkey; Franklin Pierce becomes US President.

  1854 - March 27-28th: Britain and France declare war on Russia.

  PRELUDE - LONDON 1851

  A manicured fingernail tapped the glass walls of the tube in hopes of eliciting a response from its contents.

  The tube, no longer than the man's index finger, terminated in a gleaming brass cap, and a fine silver wire. Inside the tube was a flat blade of what seemed to be whalebone; and of course, there was the leech.

  While the leech was the sole living occupant, it was accompanied by its fellows in identical upright tubes around a kind of tiny carousel, each tube and silver wire leading to a central spoke, and a halo of delicate bells.

  Leaning on his black lacquered walking stick, hands interlaced as if in prayer over its large brass knob, Avery admired the ornate craftsmanship of the device, and sympathized, briefly, with the plight of the miniature horrors which were so imprisoned.

  "Ah!" said a voice behind him, which seemed slightly hoarse from what must have been its hundredth Ah! of the day. "You've taken an interest in my little circus, I see." Avery turned to discover the voice belonged to an elderly gentleman, perhaps seventy. A medical man by profession, according to his appearance and manner.

  "I must confess a certain curiosity," Avery replied.

  The doctor noted Avery's dress.

  "Apologies, Reverend! I'm quite honoured to have the company of a member of the clergy in my modest display."

  Avery's eyes darted up to the soaring palace of gilt, crystal, and red velvet banners. It hardly struck him as modest by any definition.

  "Doctor George Merryweather, Reverend, at your service." The doctor offered his hand. Avery took it, and seemed to weigh the man for an instant. Confident, steady, groomed and without callous, the skin only recently beginning to discolour with age, no taint of tobacco on the fingernails. A teetotaller, by the clarity of his eyes and the fineness of the blood vessels in his face.

  "Reverend Avery, doctor, and," he gestured to the statuesque young lady standing immediately behind the doctor, "my niece, Miss Theodorou."

  Awkwardly, Merryweather turned in the confined space of the cordoned display booth to greet the woman. Avery enjoyed both the doctor's response and its masking – Celeste always had the effect of slightly unsettling men unfamiliar with being unsettled. Unconventionally beautiful, dark-browed, and long limbed, she exuded an intelligence and a quiet nobility. Her discrete and conservative costume of silver-grey was a testament of calm against the now-gaudy-seeming backdrop of crimson and gold. The lady's silhouette was modest compared to the voluminous gowns of the torrent of Englishwomen at the Exhibition; her suit–bustle excepted–was almost mannish, her hat practical. Merryweather took it all in and composed himself immediately, taking her gloved hand and bowing smartly.

  "Again, apologies, Miss Theodorou. I do so find these crowds challenging to the maintenance of one's civility. But one must admit, exciting, no?"

  It was exciting. Half of London was here, from every corner and class, craning and gawking at ancient bronzes and modern marvels; things which ratcheted to life and belched steam, bellows spontaneously inspiring and gasping into valves which bubbled and frothed the new and arcane language of industry. Celeste had noted that it was movement, or sudden plumes of flame and smoke, which most delighted the assembly, but it was the discrete and intricate indices which tended to engage Avery.

  "Think nothing of it, doctor, and I'm of course very pleased to meet you. And yes I must confess that I do find all of this overwhelming."

  "No doubt, my dear young lady, no doubt! And yet you see, my little creatures here remain entirely unperturbed."

  "May I enquire as to the nature of the device?" she asked.

  "Ah!" again. "This, Miss Theodorou, is the Tempest Prognosticator, and, I think, promises to be the saviour of as many souls as the good Reverend here. Not from the torment that awaits the wicked, no, but from the darkest might of Nature herself, who tears the sons of England from the bosom of her navies and fishing towns."

  "Fascinating," noted Avery, who had returned to his close examination of the mechanism. "However does it work, if I may ask?"

  "Leeches, sir! For just as the tempest rains down destruction to the sailor, so too does it signal its advance to these the lowliest of the Almighty's creation. The animals seem to sense the changes in the atmosphere, which agitates them. They seek to shelter themselves in the narrower part of the tube, here, formed by the whalebone trigger. This," as he traced a line with his finger, "puts tension on the wire, here, against this pulley there, and up here at the topmost, a miniature hammer against the bell."

  At this he strummed the circle of strings like a harp, and a chorus of tinkling was discernible over the dull roar of the throng.

  "I have documented their behaviour to up to two hours before the landfall of a storm. It is my hope to have stations of such devices all across the coastline, to warn of impending danger as well as to amass sufficient information that an accurate almanac can be the result. Think of the lives that could be saved!"

  "Indeed," mulled Avery. "It speaks too, to an interest of mine. It does seem there is a certain… totality to the systems we inhabit – the weather, the traffic of streets and markets, our instincts and inclinations. And that we are just now beginning to realize the implications of
such intricacies."

  "Very much to my manner of thinking, I must confess, Reverend."

  "Pray tell, doctor," interjected Celeste, "how do the animals survive, enclosed thusly?"

  "Well, you see my dear, without incurring unpleasantries, this work is my very lifeblood, so to speak."

  "I understand, doctor. You'll find me no shrinking violet in such matters, particularly in the pursuit of science. I have no doubt that your…sacrifice, shall indeed be most welcome by the loved ones of lives you shall save."

  Merryweather flushed at such flattery and understanding by such a peculiarly attractive young lady. Her age was impossible to determine, her skin flawless and kissed by bronze, as though she had returned from holiday on the Continent.

  "Mere pragmatism, Miss Theodorou. If you'll permit me, may I enquire as to the heritage of your name? Kindly correct me if I'm mistaken, but it does seem to be Greek, if I have it right."

  "You do indeed, sir."

  "Then I and my modest zoo are doubly honoured to have Helen of Troy herself among us today! Ah, forgive the transgressions of an old man in his appreciation of the classics. It is refreshing to have the brief attention of female company. Most ladies threaten to faint at the mere sight of these animals."

  "I'm sure, doctor, that it is merely the heat from the crowd, and no reflection on your noble work here."

  "You are too kind, too kind, Miss."

  "If I may, Miss, and you'll pardon me for overhearin'," came a voice from the other side of the velvet cordon, "Per'aps the Miss would like to witness a curiosity outside of all this ‘oi polloi."

  Celeste smirked slightly as Avery took his sum of the interloper. The priest was accustomed to young bravos seeking her attention in one fashion or another, but the station of the young man at present, not to mention the condition of his attire, made him exceptionally bold.

  "I say," harrumphed the doctor, disturbed, "this is no carnival for sideshow barkers!"

  Avery looked at Celeste, her bemused expression uninterrupted. For a heartbeat, her face went pond-still, and she shut her eyes for no more than a blink. When her gaze again met Avery's, she raised a lavender-gloved finger to briefly brush her eyebrow. A sign. He knew to trust her instincts implicitly.

  "Actually, dear uncle, if it's all the same to you, a change of air would I think do me the world of good."

  "Yes, certainly my dear. I was getting a bit peckish myself, and thought perhaps a spot of dinner might be in order. After, of course, this curiosity of which you speak."

  Appeased, the doctor stood down from his posture of being offended on the lady's behalf.

  "Right you are, Miss, and you, fine sir," gloated the grubby little man. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me, it's right 'round the corner, not two minutes distance."

  Avery turned to Merryweather.

  "Thank you so much, doctor. This has been most edifying."

  "Most delighted to make your acquaintance, Father Avery. And yours, Miss Theodorou. Good day to you."

  Celeste gave the man a smile as though he were a much beloved grandfather. Despite the yard between them, he could have sworn he'd been kissed on the cheek.

  "And to you, doctor. I do wish you every success in your most worthwhile endeavour," she said.

  Offering her his arm, Avery tapped his cane once ceremoniously against the marble floor. Their guide took this as a sign to lay on, weaving through the multitude with some haste. Broad paths had been laid out against the marble in red carpet, past caryatid columns of antiquity, immense canvases of art, and stuttering mechanical displays. Above the din could be heard the unpleasant twang of an American accent, presenting a lecture behind a vast, grey barrel-round, with metal tubes emerging, like a dozen rifles conjoined in a steel cylinder. Briefly, it reminded Avery of Merryweather's Tempest Prognosticator, although the monstrous lethality of the American contraption was evident as it revolved and clattered to the approving gasps of the audience. The whole thing made the doctor's blood-suckers seem beneficent in contrast.

  Distracted, Avery bumped into the red serge jacket of a young officer, a Lancer or Hussar, though Avery was unable to immediately identify.

  "Oh, I do beg your pardon."

  "Think nothing of it, Father. It is rather a bustle in here, isn't it?"

  "Quite." And with a nod, he and Celeste continued their pursuit of their escort.

  As they exited the vast glass cage of the Crystal Palace, the cool of Hyde Park in summer was welcome relief. Now outside, their guide had replaced a battered cap from his pocket, gave the brim a tug, and proceeded north to Bayswater. "Two minutes distance", of course, was nonsense; they wouldn't be clear of the park in under twenty. But still, it was an exceptionally pleasant day, and as the sun warmed Avery's companion her unique scent began to fill his senses, his imagination, and his memory of earlier that morning.

  "Niece", indeed.

  After a not-unpleasant stroll, with the constant reassurance of the grubby usher, they reached an unfashionable block of the city which had fallen into some disrepair. The narrow, crooked street caught no sunlight. Old, thin shops, their stones scorched by fire some decades prior, shouldered together like old women taking refuge from rain. Some were boarded, but most were mildly busy with some obscure occupation or another, doors creaking and shop bells chiming with some regularity. There were the commonplace sounds of horses distant, barking dogs, an infant wailing somewhere. Avery was perfectly confident in their safety, not only from his walking stick and its oversized brass knob that could quite cheerfully cave in the skull of an ox, but also in the knowledge of the eighteen inch stiletto blade secreted in Celeste's parasol. If their cicerone sought to lead them to harm, the misfortune would be his alone.

  Shortly, they arrived at a grotty emporium relatively indistinguishable from its neighbours, but their escort beamed as though he'd presented them at court. He held the door open and made an invoice with polite but forced gaze. Avery handed the man a shilling as Celeste crossed the threshold.

  The shop was dim, due to both the clutter in the windows and the grime upon them. Bric a brac was strewn along shelves, and Avery breathed in the comforting smell of dust and old books, of rust and polite, domestic histories. He glanced at Celeste to see if anything caught her attention, but there was nothing but the curtain.

  It was once green velvet of some quality, but age and doorway traffic had rendered it a tatter, darker on side due to countless years of hands pushing it aside, sun-bleached in a small square where, for at least a part of each day in some season it saw light, however briefly. Celeste's eyes never wavered from the velvet.

  A shadow deepened between the curtain and the floor. After a brief rustling, an aproned and bespectacled proprietor emerged from the back of the shop. The baldness of the top of his head was countered by the shock white of shaggy eyebrows. He reminded Avery of an emaciated sheepdog. The man grunted, wiped his hands on his apron, and returned to the back while clearing his throat. He spoke as he wandered away:

  "I shan't bore you, Sir and Madame, with the detritus of my inventory, but I imagine that which you seek is to be found…back…here."

  Celeste's eyes swept the front room, noting the narrow stairs to the left which led to second storey. Gingerly, she brushed the curtain aside. The back of the shop was really more of an alcove, and brighter than the front due to a small, high window which looked upon cobbles, following the rise of the street behind the building.

  There was a small counting desk, ink-stained, with odd scraps of parchment and a modest stack of books, carelessly placed so that spines and pages crushed and interlaced. Opposite, a narrow console of dusty oak, with a quill and ink pot, and a carefully squared ream of blank pages. Behind this sat the mannequin.

  It was exquisite. It was in the form of a seventeenth century gentleman, although the size of a ten-year old boy. Its clothes were ageworn, but clearly of expensive cloth and cut. The hair was gold, and real, the skin some pale wood Avery couldn't identify. Fing
ernails and teeth were ivory, the fingers bearing miniature pegged joints of craftsmanship the equal of which the priest had never seen.

  "This is truly magnificent, sir. However did you come across it?"

  "Its provenance, Father, is layered an' mysterious. But its origin is in Siam, as I remember, a gift to the Viennese court. And it works."

  "It works?"

  "Indeed, sir, I primed the device this morning." With that he excused himself, inserting his arm between Avery and the wooden boy, and squeezed its shoulder firmly.

  There was no discernible sound, but there was certainly a difference, the way the temperament of a room changes when someone enters. Gracefully, the doll's fingers flexed and reached out to pick up the quill. It brought the nib back to his other hand, flexed it as though to inspect it, and dabbed it in the inkwell. In one movement, it reached out with its other hand to select a piece of paper from the stack, and drew it towards itself as it began writing. An elegant hand in flawless Italian. Dante.

  "Marvelous," Avery breathed.

  After a moment, the shopkeeper again cleared his throat, and reached forward to close his fingers around the automata's shoulder, although with a much lighter touch this time.

  The mannequin paused. Its painted eyes moved to hold Avery's gaze for a moment, before returning to the paper. It resumed its labours, although this time in Greek. The proprietor seemed pleased, and looked to his guests for some appreciation.

  Again, the tenor in the room shifted, and the doll's pen went from transcribing the Homeric epic which had previously occupied it, to drawing a perfect circle, then another within it. Within the outer ring it began to form Hebrew characters, and in the body of the glyph appeared curious geometries, lines and increasingly arcane sigils.