A Midsummer Night's Steampunk

by Scott E. Tarbet

  “Good day to you, sir!” Bottom puffed, accidentally blowing the man’s hat off his head.

  “Carefully, lads! Carefully!” cautioned Quince. “Folks ain’t used to seeing us out and about.”

  The little group drew up in front of the Golden Gear. “Now, mind you all be careful not to knock anything about,” warned Quince. “This is the Artificer to the Queen. The queen! Bottom, breathe through your nose. And you, Snout! No offense, mate, but best you just shut it.” Snout looked crestfallen.

  To their surprise, the door of the shop flew open and a young lady bounced out, closely followed by two young men, one of them a soldier—an officer by the looks of him. Instinctively, the Army veterans from Bethnal Green snapped to attention and offered their salutes, long-ago training asserting itself. The young officer appeared surprised, then accepted the salutes. “Good morning! I am Lieutenant Churchill of the Queen’s Own Fourth Hussars. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  He then offered his hand to each man in turn—even those that didn’t have human hands to speak of—and asked his name. Flute, in particular, drew back when the officer reached to grasp his bristling handful of steel weaver’s tools, but Winston was quick and insistent. He pumped his hand enthusiastically, and Flute finally relaxed and returned Winston’s smile. “And the young lady is Miss Pauline Spiegel.”

  Pauline followed close behind. “Good day to you, sir! And you, and you!” She too went around the group, shaking each man’s hand. “I am so pleased to meet you all!” Alexander hung back, his hands laced behind his back.

  “And we you, Miss,” said Bottom. “We come from Bethnal Green to see you, Miss, on account of you being the Artificer and all.”

  “To see me? All the way from Bethnal Green? Whatever for?”

  Behind her, Alexander cleared his throat. He stepped forward. “May I ask what your industrial functions are?”

  “You see,” explained Pauline, “my friend disapproves of the refit process. He is concerned that the whole thing will come to no good, that it will be used for evil purposes.”

  “Just so!” Alexander said. “I have nothing against you men if your functions are peaceful. But I distrust those who talk of making soldiers and policemen mechanized.”

  “Oh, we do, too, young sir!” Bottom agreed. “We are old soldiers, sir, but not since the Zulu War. There was a doctor there who did our refits. We was some of the first, if you takes my meaning, sir. And now that same doctor is operating on them poor, mad blokes at Bethnal Green madhouse. When something goes wrong with one of us what we can’t fix ourselves, like poor Robin here, we sometimes has no other choice than to go to him. And it never turns out good. That’s why we’ve come, sir—to see the Artificer.”

  “So, what are your functions, then?” insisted Alex.

  “Tradesmen all, sir,” said Quince. “Metalworkers, woodworkers, textile workers. No police or soldiers, sir.”

  “Truth be told, sir,” put in Flute, “there is rumors coming out of that madhouse about refits to them poor buggers—pardon my French, Miss—turning them mad sods—pardon again, Miss—into what them what works in the madhouse calls ‘Enforcers.’ And they are bad. Bad to the man. The maddest and most violent of the lot.”

  “But that is just awful!” cried Pauline. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “The very doctor what refitted us all, Miss. Doctor Malieux.”

  “Truly? We just had one of his messengers here to pick up parts for refits. Surely his work has blessed many lives!”

  “Oh, yes, Miss. But not all of us was asked. They mistook with me, as I never was a metalworker before. But now . . .” Quince held up his tongs and pneumatic hammer, and bounced the hammer off his anvil chest with a sharp clang.

  “What was your trade before the war, then?”

  “I was in service, Miss. A gentleman’s gentleman. No gentleman would have me attend him now, if you take my meaning.” He looked wistfully past her at Alexander and Winston.

  “Things change,” pronounced Winston. “Perhaps one day . . .” He offered Quince his hand, which the mech took gratefully, and ever so gently, between his fire tongs and his hammer.

  “Please,” said Pauline, “won’t you come inside?”

  “Yes, Miss! Thank you very much. We wasn’t entirely sure we would find you in the shop today, it being a holiday and all. We’re very happy to have found you in.”

  “Many of our patrons like to come browse the music boxes and toys and automatons on a holiday. We’re glad you came. My father has stepped upstairs for a moment, but I’m sure he will be down shortly.”

  The group filed in through the door, followed by Pauline and Winston, with Alexander trailing behind.

  “So, tell me,” she said, when all were inside, “how can we help you?”

  “Y’see,” Bottom explained, “our friend Robin, here”—Starveling pulled his forelock—“is a tailor mech. And he ain’t sewing so good. We have a . . . a friend . . . who says that there’s an Artificer here who is goddaughter to the queen, and she can fix him up right.”

  “There is certainly some confusion,” said Pauline. “My father is the Artificer, as was my dearly departed mother. And to my knowledge, my father doesn’t work on industrial machines. Nor is anyone here goddaughter to Queen Victoria, though we happily serve her needs as we may. Who do you say gave you this information?”

  “Cobweb, Miss,” put in Snug.

  “Cobweb?” Pauline turned and looked at the other mechs. “I don’t recall one of you named Cobweb.”

  “Oh, no, Miss,” said Snug. “Cobweb is a cricket.” He looked about. “And I don’t know where she has gotten herself off to.”

  “A cricket?”

  “Yes, Miss, a cricket.” The other mechs all nodded their assent.

  “After all, Miss,” pronounced Bottom, “why should we be surprised that an insect can be made to think and talk and fly, when men can be made to have hands and teeth and chests and legs of steel?” He looked around at his friends, who nodded their confirmation.

  Alexander muttered, “Pauline, these blokes are having you on.”

  “Oh, no, sir,” Snug assured him. “There ain’t no jest.” As if on cue, Cobweb flew in the window, done with her dancing and ready to get back to work. She circled the room, alighted on Snug’s shoulder, and started to sing. Snug listened closely. “Ooh!” he exclaimed, turning to the others. “This young lady, here—begging your pardon, Miss—is the Artificer what Cobweb spoke of. She’s the goddaughter of the Queen. Miss Pauline, this here is Miss Cobweb, Friend of the Queen.”

  Pauline stood with her mouth hanging open, staring fixedly at Cobweb.

  “Pauline—” Alexander began.

  “Miss Cobweb,” Pauline said, “I am delighted to make your acquaintance, I’m sure.” She held out her hand, and Cobweb flew to her, settled on her outstretched fingers, and sang a greeting.

  Snug translated. “She says she is very happy to make the acquaintance of the Artificer. And so’s there be no mistake, she weren’t meaning Her Majesty Queen Victoria; she were meaning Queen . . .” He paused, and addressed Cobweb, “I don’t know how to say that in English. She says a name that ain’t from here. It’s from India. The Good Doctor. The wife of the Bad Doctor.”

  Comprehension dawned on Pauline’s face. “My godmother,” she stammered, “whom I have not seen since I was a small child, is Doctor Lakshmi Malieux, wife of Doctor Oberon Malieux.”

  “Oh, thank you, Miss,” confirmed Snug. “That’s the name. Latch-Me.”

  Pauline lifted Cobweb up for a closer look. “Miss Cobweb, I am ever so sorry to have doubted you. And you really are quite pretty.”

  “She says thank you kindly and same to you, Miss. Much of the pretty came with the light from the Queen, she says. She is much improved.” Cobweb spread her wings for Pauline’s inspection. “Them are new,” said Snug. “Didn’t have ’em before the light.”

  “Amazing,” said Winston. Alex could only nod.

>   “Begging your pardon, Miss,” said Flute, “but we has come on an urgent errand.”

  “And I will help in any way I can, you may be sure,” Pauline replied. “Show me.”

  Starveling held up two scraps of cloth sewn together with what was usually his smallest and most precise stitch. He pointed out to Pauline the frequent extra-long stitches, sometimes the length of two or three normal ones, where all should have been tiny and regular. “It just ain’t right, y’see, Miss,” Starveling said. “I takes pride in my work.”

  “May I?” she asked. Robin quickly assented, and soon Pauline had opened his chest and removed several tiny steel parts that had reminded Bottom of crooked little bones. She looked at each closely, then ran her fingertips delicately over one in particular. “Here’s your problem, Robin. Do you see this tiny spot where the needle has nicked the looper arm?”

  “Ah,” said Robin.

  Pauline ducked through the curtain and quickly returned with her tool kit, which she unrolled on the counter. She fitted a jeweler’s loupe in front of her eye, and in short order had filed, sanded, and buffed away the imperfection. She deftly refitted the parts, and Starveling ran a couple of scraps of cloth through his mechanism. The stitches were tiny, tight, and regular once again.

  “Is that all?” huffed Bottom. “Robin, you sorry sod! You should have seen that yourself! Get your eyes checked!”

  “Nothing wrong with me eyes,” murmured Starveling.

  “Robin,” said Pauline, “would you please hand me that pin I dropped on the floor in front of you?”

  He looked down at the floor, then back up at her, a blush spreading over his cheeks. He dropped to his knees on the slate floor and felt around for the pin. His friends were very quiet as they watched.

  Pauline hurried to him and gently lifted him up. “Robin, there is no pin. But you can’t see that, can you?”

  “No, Miss,” he choked. “No I can’t.”

  “Have you tried spectacles?”

  He pulled a pair from a small compartment in his chest and held them up. “These helped a little for a while, but now even they does no good. I don’t see colors so well anymore, either, and things right in the middle of my sight is downright fuzzy.” Everyone was silent again for a moment.

  “Robin,” Quince asked softly, “are you saying you’re going blind?”

  A tear rolled down Starveling’s cheek. “Aye,” he answered even more softly. “And what is to become of a blind mech?”

  Cobweb chirped.

  “She says,” interpreted Snug, “that the Queen fixes eyes.”

  Pauline nodded. “My mother often spoke of her dear friend Lakshmi, the crusading doctor and inventor, who sought to bring sight to the blind. If only she were here.”

  “Oh, but she is, Miss. Or very near. Her dirigible is moored at Victoria Station.”

  Cobweb chirped happily.

  “She says she was sent by the Queen to bring us to you, and you to the Queen.”

  “But how could she know . . .?”

  At that moment, a hummingbird flew in the open window. Cobweb lifted off to meet her, and together they danced around the room. Cobweb quickly settled back to Snug’s shoulder and chirped excitedly.

  “Something evil this way comes!” Snug interpreted over Cobweb’s ongoing song. “Doctor Malieux himself is coming here, and will arrive within moments. Cobweb’s sister, Mote, was shadowing him and brings the news.” Mote darted back out the open window.

  “Oh, Miss! Young sirs!” exclaimed Robin. “The doctor would be most upset with us, what with us away from Bethnal Green and all, and consulting with an artificer other than hisself. Might we bother you to leave your fine . . . erm . . . extablishment . . . by the back way?”

  “Better still,” said Winston, “I will lead you up the stairs to the family quarters until he has come and gone.”

  With a great deal of clanking and squeezing, the group quickly crowded through to the workshop and up the stairs. And none too soon.

  Again the bell tinkled, and Shaka’s enormous bulk filled the doorway as he ducked to enter. Only when he had carefully scrutinized the room did he step aside for Malieux to enter.

  He found Pauline standing behind the counter, Alex perusing the displays, and no one else in sight. Pauline smiled.

  “Good morning, sir! How may we assist you? A music box for your lady, perhaps? An automaton to amuse at your club?”

  Malieux regarded her levelly. “Come now, Miss Spiegel. You needn’t play the ignorant shop girl with me. You know who I am, just as I know who you are.” He removed his hat and gloves, handed them to Shaka, and took a seat. “Would you be so kind as to inform your father of my arrival, and that I have a business proposition for him?”

  With a curtsy, Pauline disappeared through the curtain and up the stairs. Only a few seconds elapsed before Herr Spiegel stepped into the room, closely followed by his daughter. To Alex’s surprise, he appeared entirely unruffled by a turn of events that had, in the last five minutes, seen him invaded in his apartments by a cavalry officer and a delegation of mechs, and being summoned unexpectedly by one of his most profitable customers.

  Spiegel bowed from the waist. “Herr Doctor! An unexpected surprise in a day of unexpected surprises. You come in person to my humble shop. I am honored. In what may I assist you today?”

  Malieux managed a smile that failed to reach his eyes. “Ernst, we have known each other a long time, have we not? And we have done a great deal of business together, over the years. Despite the estrangement between my wife and me, through our wives we are almost family, n’est-ce pas?”

  Spiegel acknowledged this with a tiny bow.

  “Some years ago, our wives worked together on a bauble, an automaton,” he said, busying himself with a cigar case and cutter held for him by Shaka. “A thing of no consequence, really, but for its application to my ongoing research on advanced prosthetics. I wonder, then, if by chance you might have any of the old, useless drawings from that project that I might peruse? Why, I might even offer to buy them from you for a generous price, for old times’ sake.”

  “Ah, Doctor, if only I could! On Hermione’s instructions, upon her death all materials relating to that automaton were packed and shipped to your wife. I wish that I could help you with your prosthetics research, but sadly I cannot. I hope you understand.”

  Malieux methodically finished trimming his cigar and lit it. A cloud of pungent blue smoke filled the shop. He regarded Spiegel coldly. “Ernst, I am engaged in very serious work for the German Reich. His Imperial Majesty Kaiser Wilhelm himself has taken a keen personal interest in my prosthetics work. He would be most anxious that you, a good German, assist me in any way you can.”

  Spiegel shrugged apologetically. “Herr Doctor, I sincerely wish I were able to help. Perhaps if you asked your wife? Am I correct to understand from your man’s questions this morning that perhaps Lakshmi may even be coming to London?”

  Malieux stood abruptly. “Thank you for your time, Herr Spiegel. If you stumble across anything that might help His Imperial Majesty, I know you will notify me immediately.”

  “Of course, Doctor.” Spiegel ushered Malieux and his huge servant to the door. As soon as he had watched them safely away, he spun on his heel. “Pauline, Liebchen, very dangerous those drawings have just become. Malieux is in league with that Wahnsinnige, that madman, the Kaiser. Out of the shop we must get the drawings. Augenblicklich. Immediately.”

  “But Papa, why . . .” Pauline began, but Alex laid his hand on her shoulder.

  “Your father is right,” he said softly. “The Kaiser is not to be trusted. Nor his minions. He is absolutely ruthless.”

  Winston emerged from behind the curtain. In his hand was a long, fat leather tube. “These, I imagine, are the famous drawings?” He turned to Alexander. “Sir, you could be persuaded to take the drawings to the palace for safekeeping, could you not? I can think of nowhere less accessible to Malieux.”

  “I would be
happy to,” answered Alexander. “But surely walking through the streets of Knightsbridge to the palace with a tube of drawings is not the way to keep them safe and away from prying eyes.”

  “How would you go about it, then?”

  “It deserves careful thought. In the palace, I have heard talk of some of the Kaiser’s plans for mechanization, and I assure you that I will do anything I can to stop him. Miss Pauline and the plans are in grave danger if the Kaiser’s spies, including Malieux and his mechs, suspect she might still have them.”

  “Indeed,” Churchill said. “I hope they will not suspect her of having the plans, but if they do, she is indeed in danger.”

  “Here in the shop I will stay,” said Ernst. “Their attention I will draw to me, not to an unschuldiges Mädchen, an innocent girl, taking a stroll with her handsome companion.”

  “If I might, sir,” came Flute’s voice from behind the curtain, “we would very much like to be of help, sir.”

  “Certainly, Francis, certainly!” exclaimed Pauline. “Have you an idea?”

  Flute emerged timidly, followed by the others.

  “As you see, sir,” he said, “the spool for finished fabric on my back is part of my mechanism. We could wrap the drawings along with the cloth, and they would never be seen. We must visit Queen Lakshmi at Victoria Station to see about Robin’s eyes, and from there to the palace, and from there, home to Bethnal Green.”

  “I say, Francis, that’s a splendid idea!” Winston exclaimed. “Capital!”

  “Alexander,” said Pauline, turning to him, “since my godmother has invited me to visit in her dirigible car, I must go along to Victoria Station. Might you be so gallant as to accompany me for a fine summer stroll to the station?” Alexander brightened.

  “Splendid! Splendid!” exclaimed Winston. “We shall all have a wonderful stroll!” Alexander’s face fell.

  “Perhaps,” Winston continued, “we can call for our friend Clementine as we go, so that poor Alexander doesn’t feel the odd man out.”

  “A splendid idea,” answered Pauline. “We must be off immediately if we are to be home before dark.” Turning aside to Alexander, she murmured, “I rather suspect Clemmie will prove more of a distraction to Winston than she will to you.”