A Midsummer Night's Steampunk

by Scott E. Tarbet

  “And of course, you could understand them immediately, because they are in tune with you,” said Vicky.

  “They are in tune with what is right, as, I hope, I am learning to be. When each of two things is in tune with a third thing, they are in tune with each other, n’est-ce pas?”

  “C’est vrai!”

  “Mother, pardon the interruption,” put in Wilhelm, “but is it true that my brother Waldemar is here? That he was one of those whom Malieux was chasing around the city? May I see him? I owe him an apology.”

  “He is indeed here, and if I don’t miss my guess, is within earshot outside the door at this very moment. Isn’t that right, Wally?”

  Alex stepped through the door, looking a trifle abashed at having been caught eavesdropping. “Waldemar,” said Wilhelm, extending his hands, “we have been separated far too long.” Alex stepped up and took his brother’s hand. “You were always my favorite, you know, before I went away to school. I’m sure you were too young to remember.”

  “I remember your visits with great fondness.”

  “He always trailed you around like a puppy, when you were home,” said their mother. “We had a little replica of your school uniform made for him, including the sword.”

  “I remember that!” smiled Wilhelm. “There’s a photograph somewhere.”

  “Many,” said Vicky.

  “Wally, I must apologize for all you have been through in the last twenty-four hours. It was horribly wrong, and I sincerely repent of my part in it. If I had had any idea of your involvement, things would have been very different, believe me!”

  Alex snapped his heels and bowed.

  “Now,” said Wilhelm, “would you please sit here beside me and tell me the whole story? I imagine you have a lot to tell.”

  Wilhelm was alternately amused and horrified as the tale unfolded. He was fascinated by Alex’s experience with Jubal’s diamond flash. “The low power light conveys so much understanding that it feels like love?”

  “Indeed,” nodded Alex. “Even with the low dose I got, I felt like I could see inside Clemmie’s heart. Even when I knew that she did not share my feelings, I just felt . . . alone . . . without that feeling of complete understanding.”

  Lakshmi nodded. “Exactly. And the feeling faded within a few hours. Mostly.”

  “Mostly,” agreed Alex. “I still understand a great deal about her, and admire her. But what I feel—what I felt then—is not the love I feel for Pauline.”

  “Just so,” said their mother. “As you will recognize when you have time to reflect, true love is not finding the perfect person, it is learning to understand an imperfect person perfectly. With charity, forgiveness, and the desire to make that person happy.”

  Wilhelm was anxious. “And you are betrothed to this Miss Spiegel? What is being done for her injuries? No expense or effort must be spared! All three wounded must be taken to Heidelberg aboard the Bodensee immediately!”

  Only then did Alex break the news of the destruction of the Bodensee. Somewhat to his surprise, Wilhelm seemed to take no thought for the immensely valuable craft itself. “And the crew? How many were killed? How many injured?”

  “None.”

  “None killed, none injured? How could this be?”

  “Because your brother prevailed upon the captain of the Ganesh to force Bodensee down without loss of life,” explained Vicky. “The captain behaved in a very gentlemanly manner at a very precarious time.”

  “Well done! Well done, Wally!” Wilhelm clapped his brother’s shoulder. “I would decorate you for your actions this turbulent night—if I could ever acknowledge that they happened.”

  “There will be international repercussions from the battle at the workshop and the shooting down of the Bodensee,” noted Alex.

  “Not as much as you might think,” his mother said. “I have been keeping your grandmamma apprised of all that has been happening, and she has been passing along the messages to the prime minister. ‘Back channels’ all the way from the top.”

  “Handy,” said Alex.

  She smiled. “Given the outcome, all that has been told the newspapers is that there was an unfortunate fire in a Royal Navy warehouse that was too dangerous for the firefighters to approach because of exploding ammunition. Some nearby residents mistook these explosions for the sound of gunfire. Unfortunately, they had to allow the warehouse to burn to the ground. All evidence was consumed in the fire.”

  “And the dirigible crash?”

  “An unfortunate training accident. There was no loss of life, just some very wet, frightened sailors. The nearby warehouse was still burning, there was still exploding ammunition, which some mistook for machine gun fire from the sky. Simple.”

  “Ah. Propaganda.”

  Vicky smiled. “It’s an art form.”

  “One that you will see a lot of, brother,” announced Wilhelm. “From now on, I want you by my side, to help in the governing of the Empire. You have studied political science long and hard. You’ve apprenticed with Grandmamma. Now it is time to put all that learning to work for the good of the German people.”

  “As it should be,” nodded their mother, “especially with the upcoming union of the Houses of Hanover and Hohenzollern. You will love Pauline, Wilhelm. She is already a credit to the family, and will help cement the bond between the two Empires.”

  “The most important thing that I can do with the remainder of my life,” said Wilhelm, “is to work to guarantee that bond continues into the coming century.”

  “Indeed,” Vicky affirmed. “There are good people in the governments of both empires who understand the hazards we have averted, and will rejoice to learn of your change of heart.”

  “I know many of them,” Wilhelm said. “I will work hard to earn their trust. There is much to be done.”

  “One such is my friend Churchill,” Alex told his brother. “He will soon stand for Parliament. I have a feeling he will be a force to be reckoned with for a long time to come. I would like you to meet him.”

  Winston, Clemmie, and Jennie were shown in and introduced.

  At Wilhelm’s urging, they filled in parts of the story that Alex had not known. “Masterful handling of your detachment, Lieutenant,” exclaimed Wilhelm. “Well done! What does the future hold for you now?”

  “I hope to serve in government, as did my father before me,” answered Churchill. “Public service is in our blood.”

  “That it is!” Jennie affirmed. “Ever since he was a small boy, half the things that come out of his mouth sound like they were written for a parliamentary debate. He already has an aphorism for every occasion.”

  “I predict a lofty future for you,” said Wilhelm. “I hope you will be a strong voice for peace between England and Germany.”

  Winston nodded solemnly. “Of course I will, Your Highness. Peace through diligence."

  “See what I mean?” said Jennie. “An aphorism for every occasion

  ~*~*~*~*~

  Alex awoke slowly, struggling to remember why he was in an easy chair, not in his bed at Buckingham Palace. The red glow of the setting sun gleamed around the edges of the curtains, and some kind soul had covered him with a crocheted comforter during his long summer’s nap. The amble through the city, the encounter with the blue light, the infatuation with Clemmie, the interment in the coal bin, the fights, fear, and flight through the warehouse, all came back in a tumbling rush.

  The horror of descending into the Tyburn sewer and finding Pauline so twisted and in pain, the airship . . . “Ach du Lieber!” he exclaimed, jumping to his feet and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. Pauline!

  He spun around and found that he was standing at the side of her hospital bed, where he had dozed off waiting for her to be brought from surgery.

  She smiled up at him from the bed.

  “You’re awake!” he exclaimed.

  “So are you! Finally! I’ve been awake for hours. You were thrashing around a lot while you napped. Bad dreams?”
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  He smiled. “Horrible! I dreamed I was buried alive in coal, that mechanical men were after me with guns, and a mad Englishman was chasing me through the rafters with a sword. Oh, wait . . . all of that really happened . . .”

  He brushed a stray lock of hair away from her eyes and kissed the crown of her head. “How are you feeling?”

  “I’m excited!”

  “Excited? Aren’t you in pain?”

  “Oh, some. But it’s manageable.”

  “So what are you excited about?”

  “Look!” She held up the large drawing pad that had been covering her lower body.

  Alex took the pad and examined it closely. Page after page of sketches of mechanical . . . legs? Comprehension came slowly, and he lowered the sketch pad. He looked first into her eyes, then down at the counterpane that covered what was left of her legs, then back into her eyes. “How bad?” he finally managed to ask.

  Her reply was matter-of-fact. “The left leg halfway between the hip and the knee, the right leg just below the knee. The damage was too severe, and the risk of sepsis just too great. They couldn’t save them. My godmother tells me that removing them was the only way to save my life.”

  “I . . . I don’t know what to say. I’m so sorry.”

  “Don’t be. It will be a great adventure to be the first artificer to build her own legs. All of the skills I have learned building automatons with my father and mother will come into play, all of the records Lakshmi will retrieve from Malieux’s workshop at the asylum. Look!” She leafed through the sketches. “Legs for ballet, others for the ballroom. Legs for riding. Legs for trekking in the mountains of Switzerland. Legs for running and playing football with my children.”

  She looked up at him with a gaze of frank inquiry. “Will I still have children, Alex? With you? I would not blame you in the slightest if you chose to shake my hand and part ways with me as friends, to build a family and a future with someone else—someone with two legs of her own.”

  He was silent a moment. “Correct me if I’m wrong,” he said, pointing at the sketches, “but these are your legs—not accidents of biology, but the creations of your own brain and your own hands.”

  She nodded, blinking back tears in spite of her previous determination to remain unemotional.

  “When you play football with your children, I want them to be my children,” he continued, a catch in his voice. “When you go trekking in the mountains of Switzerland, I want it to be with me.” He flipped several pages to another sketch. “These . . . these spring-loaded ones appear to be for sprinting, are they not?”

  She nodded. “And jumping.”

  “One thing only I ask of you: when you run, you allow me to catch you.” She nodded, a tiny smile peeking through the glistening tears.

  He sat beside her and took her in his arms. “There is a poem by the Irishman Thomas Moore that my mamma required me to learn when I was just a little lad. ‘It’s an important life lesson,’ she would say, and made me repeat it over and over, until I had it by heart. I never fully understood it until this very moment. Would you like to hear it?”

  Again she nodded.

  He held her, and she wet his shoulder with her tears as he murmured into her hair:

  “Believe me, if all those endearing young charms,

  Which I gaze on so fondly today,

  Were to change by tomorrow and fleet in my arms,

  Like fairy gifts fading away,

  Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art,

  Let thy loveliness fade as it will;

  And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart

  Would entwine itself verdantly still.

  It is not while beauty and youth are thine own,

  And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear,

  That the fervor and faith of a soul can be known,

  To which time will but make thee more dear.

  No, the heart that has truly loved never forgets,

  But as truly loves on to the close:

  As the sunflower turns on her god when he sets

  The same look which she turned when he rose.”

  He held her a long time as her sobs quieted.

  “Pauline, my love, my tender heart, thou art my beloved. You are without a doubt the strongest, bravest, most capable woman I have ever known. I can imagine nothing better than building a life and a family with you. You shall lack for nothing. Your workshop will be the envy of the world, and doctors and patients from all over will seek you out with their challenges.

  “I hope that in the midst of your triumphs, you will allow me the privilege of proudly telling the world, ‘she is my wife.’ ” He knelt beside her bed. “Pauline Spiegel, will you do me that honor? Will you marry me?”

  Nodding eagerly, she burst out in fresh sobs, as she pulled him up from his knees, drew him to her, and kissed him over and over. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

  Outside the improvised hospital room, there was a great clatter, as if a streetcar had somehow found its way into the Kaiseradler’s passageway. The chiding voices of several nurses accompanied the commotion as it drew closer, until it was immediately outside the stateroom door.

  “Good madam,” said a stentorian voice, “sorry to say I don’t speak not a word of German.” Bottom’s tones were unmistakable. The nurse’s reply was muffled, but even through the closed door, Pauline could tell she was unhappy.

  She smiled at Alex. “Our friends are here.”

  “Oh?”

  “I sent for them. They’ve been trying to visit for hours, and the nurses keep turning them away. But now that you’re awake . . .”

  Alex brushed the curtain aside and opened the door. The nurse, who blocked their entry with her arms folded, turned at the sound. “Sie können eingeben. Danke,” he told her, and she reluctantly stepped aside. Behind her, the broad frames of Bottom, Flute, Starveling, and Quince filled the passageway. Even in wordless retreat, the courageous nurse managed to convey stern disapproval.

  One by one, the Musketeers fitted themselves carefully into Pauline’s stateroom, as anxious and solicitous an assortment of uncles as she could imagine. “How are you, then, Miss?” Flute whispered.

  “You needn’t whisper, my friend,” said Pauline, smiling up at him. “I’ll be just fine.”

  All four seemed to exhale at once. “A great relief, that,” said Quince.

  “We hear as how you gets a new pair of legs,” blurted Starveling.

  “Git!” said Bottom, and gave him a clonk. “That’s not sensitive!”

  “No, he’s quite right,” said Pauline. “I get to make them myself. I get to be one of you.”

  The friends beamed.

  “And there’s other news. Alex and I are to be married!”

  Amid the exclamations and congratulations, Robin Starveling stood mute, his face downcast. “Robin, mate, what’s wrong?” asked Alex.

  “It’s Snout and Snug, sir,” said Starveling. A pall fell over the room.

  “But they’re going to be fine,” Pauline assured him. “They are receiving the best of care, and will both make a full recovery. It will just take time.” Starveling brightened.

  “Too sad it won’t be in time to save the play,” Bottom said.

  “Save the play?” said Pauline.

  “The short and long of it is that our play is preferred. They want us at the palace. But how can we, without Snout and Snug?”

  Pauline hitched herself up higher against the sloping back of her bed. “Gentlemen,” she said, “it’s time for a council of war. Fetch me Lieutenant Churchill.”

  ToC

  The play’s the thing

  Wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.

  —Hamlet, Act II Scene II, by William Shakespeare

  Chapter Twenty-six

  The Play’s the Thing

  “For the love of heaven, Quince! Stop pacing,” snapped Ganesh, exasperated. “I am not the Bodensee. I was built for Queen Lakshmi to travel in speed and comfort,
not to have six hundred pounds of anvil and sledgehammers pacing back and forth across my centerline. All this rocking about is making me seasick, and believe me, that takes a lot. And if it’s making me sick, just think of everyone else onboard.”

  “Oy! Sorry, mate,” Quince muttered, leaning against a bulkhead and absently running his fingers through his hair. “But just think: here we are floating through the bloomin’ air again, with nothin’ between our feet and a thousand-foot drop but a few planks. And to make it that much worse, in three hours me and the lads will be performing our play for the queen. The queen, God save her!

  “All my life, I’ve seen her portraits and read her speeches and toasted her birthday, but tonight I’ll be in the same room with her. I’ll be close enough to breathe the same air she does. And I have to recite. And the lads all have to be perfect, too. Oy! Oy!” He forgot himself and started pacing again.

  “Peter, did you ever eat a bad piece of fish that made your stomach churn and roll? Well, that’s how you’re making me feel. Now give it a rest, or I’ll pop open a hatch, drop you in the Thames, and you’ll never make it to Buckingham Palace.”

  “I almost wish you would,” Quince exclaimed, but lowered himself into a seat and put his head between his knees.

  Starveling poked his head around the bulkhead. “Lieutenant wants to be sure, did we bring the lion’s mane?”

  “Robin,” Quince replied, his head snapping up, “you’re the one as went up to Bethnal Green yesterday to fetch the trunk with all the costumes and props. Why are you asking me?”

  “You just said roll up to the workshop and get the trunk. You didn’t say look inside and take stock of what was there.”

  Quince jumped to his feet. “You didn’t look? Ye gods have mercy! Are you even sure you got the right trunk?”

  “Easy, Peter,” Ganesh urged. “Breathe! Breathe! You’re going to slip a cog.”

  “And Lieutenant wants to know does the lion’s head fit him, since it was made to fit Snout.”

  Quince took a deep breath and said with a forced calm, “Well, let’s just go look, shall we? After all, there’s plenty of time—almost fifteen minutes until we land at Buckingham blooming Palace!”