Counter Culture

by JL Merrow

  It was, however, chilly, so he reluctantly pulled on a coat on his way out. It kind of ruined the almost-steampunk vibe he had going on, but he could take it off when they got to the convivial.

  It was really only a hop, skip, and a jingle from Wells Street to Verne Avenue. Robin knocked on Archie’s door ten minutes early, since hanging around in the front garden until nine on the dot would be weird and stalkerish.

  Lyddie opened the door wearing an enormous man’s plaid woollen dressing gown with the sleeves rolled up and the hem trailing on the floor. Her hair was so wild it might easily have actual birds nesting in it, although they probably had plans to move somewhere with a nicer postcode when they could afford it. She beamed at him. “Come on in, love. Aren’t you looking good today? You should wear jeans more often. And I love those boots.”

  “Thanks.” Robin stepped inside and was grabbed for a hug and a kiss, which was nice but embarrassing. “Is Archie ready?”

  “I’m sure he’ll be down in a minute. He was getting out hats, I think, or was it goggles? Maybe it was both. Or a pocket watch? I’ve always loved pocket watches. Nobody seems to wear watches these days.”

  “Well, apart from Archie. Do you ever go to steampunk events?” Robin asked.

  “Me? No. It’s his thing, isn’t it? He spends enough time here with me, I wouldn’t go cramping his style. Oh, here he comes.”

  The sight of Archie ambling down the stairs, tightly waistcoated and—yes—with a watch chain attached, made Robin’s own chest feel oddly constricted. Archie’s shoulders appeared even broader than usual, his waist trimmer and his hips . . . But now was not the time to be thinking about Archie’s hips. At least, not the sort of thoughts he’d been having. “You look amazing,” he said a little hoarsely.

  Archie smiled. “Hey, you too. Love the boots. Listen, this is in no way a requirement but I thought, you and me are about the same size, right? Do you want to borrow some of my stuff? A waistcoat, maybe a jacket?”

  “Um, yeah, thanks. That’d be great.” He’d be wearing Archie’s clothes. Robin felt warm at the thought. Should he casually suggest his shirt was too modern looking too? Maybe his underpants . . .?

  No. That would definitely be pushing it. Especially in front of Lyddie.

  “Okay, come on up and I’ll show you what I’ve got.”

  With an offer like that, how could Robin refuse? He followed Archie up the stairs, which creaked and clattered a welcome as he trod. They were bare of carpet, and showed the wear of countless feet, but the polished wood handrail felt good in his hand.

  Archie’s room was large, with a bay window that would overlook the street if they ever decided to cut the top two-thirds off the trees out front. It was probably cool in summer, but must need the lights on most days in winter. The furniture was an eclectic mix of styles, with the common themes of real wood and old. Robin felt a twinge of embarrassment as he compared it to his own furniture, which was literally cheap as chipboard.

  Archie had a nice big bed, Robin couldn’t help but notice. Currently, on top of the usual duvet and pillows, it appeared to be wearing enough vintage clothes to stock a reasonably sized gentlemen’s outfitter’s. “Wow, you have a lot of steampunk stuff.”

  “Uh, yeah. It kind of accumulates.” Archie rubbed the back of his neck. “And to be fair, that’s all I ever wear.”

  “Hey, that wasn’t a criticism. I think it’s great.” Robin picked up a tweed jacket. “Oh, this is nice. Can I try it on?”

  “Hang on a mo.” Archie rummaged through the clothing, coming up with a red woollen waistcoat that toned beautifully with the tweed. Robin made grabby hands.

  The waistcoat needed cinching in at the back—Robin revelling in the light touches as Archie adjusted it—but the jacket fit as though it’d been tailored especially for him. Robin gazed at his reflection in Archie’s standing full-length mirror, and preened. “Okay, you’ve sold me on this. I look like I’m just off for a day’s huntin’, shootin’, and fishin’. Except for the hair. Um, I probably shouldn’t have styled it as normal.” Yep, vanity would get him every time.

  “Not to worry. That’s what hats were invented for.” Archie tossed over not the expected top hat, but a brown felt bowler.

  Robin took it with misgivings. “Is this a reference to accountancy?”

  Archie laughed. “No, but I thought the style would suit you. Go on, put it on.”

  Dubiously, Robin did so. When he checked his reflection, he was pleasantly surprised. “Huh. That’s actually pretty cool.”

  Archie nodded. “You’ve got to remember, for most of the Victorian era, the bowler was the working man’s hat of choice. It was popular for a reason, and not just because it’s practical. Tall hats aren’t for everyone. Right—time to add the finishing touch.” He came over with a pair of vintage welding goggles, and fitted them carefully onto the brim of Robin’s bowler. “Oh yes. Much more steampunk.”

  Robin grinned at himself in the mirror. “I love it. Now I look like I’m off for a day of inventin’, tinkerin’, and airship piratin’.”

  “You’ve been reading up on the subject again, haven’t you?” Archie’s smile was warm. He strapped on some sort of one-shoulder leather armour and slung a small box sporting weird dials and a strangely familiar bit of copper wire around his neck. Then he took a tall top hat from a shelf, gave it a brush off with his sleeve, and popped it on his head. Instead of the welding goggles, there was a single, brass-rimmed lens on its brim—a monoggle?—with a couple of extra, moveable lenses on little arms. To finish, he shrugged on an overcoat.

  “Wow.” With the long coat, the leather, the hat . . . Archie looked about six million feet tall and very, very cool. Robin had never had fantasies about steampunks before. He was starting to suspect he was never going to fantasise about anyone else ever again. “I have got to take a photo of you. Hold still.” He took a couple of quick snaps with his phone, which Archie posed for in epic fashion, serious expression and all.

  When he’d finished, Archie pulled out his own phone. “Let me take some of you too.”

  Robin did his best to strike a pose that was both dignified and implied he dressed like this every day.

  The journey to Ely passed without incident, unless you counted the group of beer-drinking lads on the train who made up a song about Archie’s and Robin’s hats. And the three times they were stopped and asked where the fancy dress party was. Plus the number of people who snapped surreptitious pictures of them on their phones. And the group of Japanese tourists outside the cathedral, each of whom asked them politely if they’d mind posing for photos.

  “Do you think they’re planning to troll their friends and family with stories of how this is the way English people dress all the time?” Robin whispered through his best smile. “Oh, wait—this is how you dress all the time.”

  “To be fair, the goggles and gadgets are only for proper steampunk days,” Archie murmured back. “Right, I think they’re done. Come on. The pub’s not far.”

  Archie had had a few last-minute misgivings about taking Robin to his first-ever steampunk event via public transport—it wasn’t always easy to be visibly counterculture when surrounded by normal people—but Robin dealt with the public reactions like a total star. It’d never fazed Archie to have people taking such an interest, but he knew other steampunks sometimes felt like they’d been attacked by paparazzi.

  Robin took it all in stride, happily posing for photos and seeming to get more confident all the time. And he’d been asking Archie about gadgets and accessories, mentioning stuff he’d seen online, and just generally seeming into it all. Archie was on a total high. Not that it’d necessarily have been a deal breaker if Robin hadn’t wanted anything to do with steampunk, but . . . yeah, okay, it would’ve made it all a whole lot harder. And less fun.

  The Rabbit’s Revenge, where the convivial was held twice a year, was a traditional old English pub with high ceilings and horse brasses on the walls. Robin glanced up at the
painted sign outside, which showed a rabbit with a shotgun. “Was this place named before or after the hunting ban came in?”

  “Not a clue, but they do a great range of vegetarian food.” Archie pushed open the door.

  “Nobody ever thinks about the poor, orphaned baby carrots,” Robin said sadly, and stepped inside. Then he stopped dead, leaving Archie holding the door. “Uh . . . there’s a lot of people in here. And by people I mean steampunks.”

  Archie put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Yeah, they’re pretty well attended, these events. Think we’d better move on in, though. We’re blocking the doorway.”

  “Oh—sorry.” Robin made his way further inside, dodging around a cluster of chatting convivialists and a table where an earnest game of Jenga was in progress.

  Archie followed him, giving a smile and a nod to people he knew as they passed. “Drink? Or do you want to have a look around first? There’s a function room upstairs where the rest of the traders will be, and the bands and other acts.”

  “Let’s look around,” Robin said almost before Archie had finished speaking, then he flushed faintly. “Um, unless you’re desperate for a drink?”

  Archie shook his head. “I’m good. Let’s see who’s here.” He spotted Dora almost immediately; her stall was in prime position, in between the bar and the stairs to the function room. “Come and say hi to Dora. She’s another Hitchworth steampunk. If you can imagine it, she can crochet it.”

  He led the way over to Dora’s stall, which was well-stocked with Lovecraftian Elder Gods, Krakens, and three-headed dogs, plus a few wearable items like shawls. “Hey, Dora. How’s it going?”

  She looked up from whatever she was currently crocheting—a spider? There weren’t enough legs yet to be certain—and smiled only slightly manically. “I’m calm, I’m calm. I got here on time, I didn’t bring the wrong stock, and I’ve sold two pairs of spats already today. They said crocheted spats couldn’t be done, but I’ve proved them wrong, hah! How are you? Is this a new member of AETHER?”

  “This is Robin,” Archie said. “Not sure if he’ll be joining AETHER, but he’s from Hitchworth.”

  Robin beamed. “I love your outfit. Where on earth did you get it?” Dora had on a beautiful deep-green velvet ensemble today and could have stepped straight out of A Christmas Carol.

  “Made it. Used to be a pair of curtains. Found ’em in a charity shop.”

  “That’s amazing! And you make all these too?” Robin gestured, wide-eyed, at the crocheted what-nots.

  Dora preened. “All my own work. Can I interest you in a familiar?”

  “A . . . what?” Robin was clearly baffled.

  Archie laughed. “It’s his first convivial, Dora. I haven’t told him about familiars yet. We’ll come back, okay? Once we’ve had a look around.”

  “Ah, I see. Steampunk virgin. Don’t let him spend all his money on plastic tat.”

  “As if.” Archie took Robin’s arm and led him towards the stairs.

  “Come to the Christmas market!” Dora called after them. “I’ll be trading there too! With all new stock!”

  “Sorry about the aggressive sales tactics,” Archie murmured as they made their way up the stairs. “Dora’s . . . well, Dora.”

  “That’s okay. I’m used to all that kind of thing. Er, what’s a familiar? Has she got a basket of kittens under that table for sale to witches?”

  “Similar concept, as it happens. But steampunk familiars are generally stuffed toys. You’ll see a lot of people carrying around plush octopuses, maybe the odd dinosaur or raven . . . I’ve even seen a rat. It’s a good icebreaker, actually. You’ll often see people who get chatting about their familiars. Well, you can’t talk about outfits all the time. Although that is a popular topic. Top marks for admiring Dora’s seamstressing.”

  “It really is amazing. I wish I could sew. Mum and Dad were never that keen on me learning.” Robin’s mouth turned down. “They made me go to football instead.”

  They’d reached the top of the stairs and could hear the music coming from the function room, but Archie lingered on the landing, wanting to finish the conversation. Wanting to know everything there was to know about Robin, and where he’d come from. “Big on the old gender stereotyping, were they?”

  Robin nodded. “Although to be fair, I think they were also pretty keen on getting me out of the house.” He stepped aside to let a lady in a crinoline past.

  Archie winced. The more he heard about Robin’s mum and dad . . . “You could always take an evening class. There are bound to be some starting up in January.”

  Robin brightened. “That’s true. And now I’m not living at home anymore . . .”

  He didn’t have to add, I won’t get stick about it from my parents. Archie had it on the tip of his tongue to ask Robin why he bothered with them, but he bit it back. Not his family; not his business.

  He wouldn’t mind it becoming his business, though.

  Robin leaned a little towards the doorway, as if trying to hear better what was going on inside. “I was thinking of looking for a ukulele group too.”

  “You play?” Archie’s eyebrows shot up and he completely forgot to move, even as a couple of guys in full military parade uniform marched past, one of them grazing his shoulder with an epaulette.

  “Yeah.” Robin shuffled his feet on the carpet. “I mean, I know it’s not a classical instrument, but—”

  “Are you kidding me? It may not be classical, but it’s classic steampunk. It’d probably be quicker to name the acts that don’t have a ukulele in there somewhere.” Archie couldn’t believe it. This guy was perfect. “Hey, do you sing at all? Preferably about tea?”

  Robin gave him a long look. “I can do ‘I’m a Little Teapot,’ but I’m not sure anyone would pay to hear it. I’m not big on the singing. I just like to play the music.”

  That struck a chord. “Wait a minute. Do you play . . . ah, what’s it called? I was down your street a while back and heard someone playing this song.” Archie hummed a few bars.

  Robin turned bright red. “‘Mr. Lonely.’ Yes. Um, shall we go in?”

  Christ, he was adorable. “Yeah. Sorry. Let’s go. But I really liked your playing. I’d love to hear it again.” Robin muttered something incomprehensible and if anything, turned even redder. Charmed, Archie resisted the urge to take his arm as they walked into the room. They weren’t like that, were they?

  Yet, his inner devil whispered, and twiddled its moustache.

  Inside the function room, they were setting up for the first act, so the music was recorded for now. The seating area in the centre of the room was almost empty, most of the steampunks milling around the stalls at the edges of the room, or standing around in groups chatting and comparing their finery. Archie snuck a glance at Robin and had to suppress a laugh at the wideness of his eyes.

  “Where do they even get cogs that huge? And how did they get them up there? Oh my God, I love the inflatable airship.”

  Huh. After all the convivials Archie had been to here, he barely noticed the décor these days. It was pretty impressive, actually. “Dan made the cogs. He’s the DJ. They’re polystyrene, I think. And yeah, the dirigible’s cool. Fell on my head one time and knocked my goggles off, but mostly they’re good about tying it securely.”

  Robin stopped so suddenly Archie nearly walked into him. “Can you see a plague doctor over there?” he asked in a strained voice. “In a long, black robe thing, with a mask like a bird’s head?”

  “Oh— Yeah. Didn’t know he was coming today. I’ll introduce you. Better warn you though, he never breaks character.”

  Robin still didn’t move. “So he’s not, um, a ghost?”

  Archie cracked up. “Sorry. Shouldn’t laugh. But no.”

  “What does he look like under all that stuff?” Robin seemed fascinated.

  “Not a clue—he never takes off his mask. Come on, let’s go and say hi. Unless you’re scared?” Archie added with a grin.

  “Of
course not!” Robin marched towards the plague doctor, who was leaning on the wall, customary pint-with-straw in hand.

  Archie caught up with him as he reached the Doc. “All right, mate? This is Robin.” He had a momentary qualm as to how to introduce Robin, and decided in the end to leave it at that.

  The plague doctor pointed his massive beak at Robin. “Lepers, sir, are required to utilise a bell at all times to warn the populace of their approach.”

  “Er, sorry?”

  The Doc turned to Archie, and asked in a sympathetic voice, “Is the poor creature afflicted also with deafness, or merely idiocy?”

  “Just suffering from a bit of culture shock, I think,” Archie said over Robin’s spluttering.

  “Ah. An innocent. We shall treat him kindly. But I must leave you, good sir. I spy a soul in need of succour.” He swept off in a flurry of swirling robes.

  “Wow,” Robin said breathlessly.

  Archie frowned. “Oi, do I need to be jealous?” Then he wondered if that was going a bit far. They hadn’t said this was a date, had they?

  “No. Really not. No jealousy required.” Robin gazed into Archie’s eyes with such an open, heartfelt expression that Archie’s heart melted.

  “Good,” he said, giddy and off-balance in the best possible way. “That’s good. To know. Um. Shall we go and do the bits we haven’t seen yet?”

  “I’d like to,” Robin said, and maybe Archie was simply hearing what he wanted to hear, but he didn’t seem to be talking about just the convivial.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do that.”

  Of course, five seconds later Robin was off again. “Is that a whole steampunk family? Oh my God, they’ve got mini-me outfits for the kids! That is just so adorable.”

  It totally was—and not just the kids. Archie’s heart swelled as he smiled at Robin. “Yeah, they come here a lot. Oh, hey, here’s some more people from AETHER. Robin, this is Lord Peregrine and Lady Edith Bressingham-Steam.”

  Robin turned to the stately couple approaching them, his eyes now as wide as his goggles. “Oh, wow, your outfits are incredible. Should I curtsey? I feel like I should curtsey.”