Friday Flash - Angels of the Junkyard

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Image by John Uhri
Edits by me

Pot holes line the road to the Vertigo City Yard of Scrap Metal. I bounce around inside the hand cart whenever the front wheel finds a rut. Jones whistles a mournful tune as he cajoles the cart along the pitted track. The servant begged his master not to dispose of me, but Mr Pickard was not to be prevailed upon. I am not entirely surprised. What master would allow a servant to keep a battered and broken automaton found in the street near a known lair of the Meat Beast? Indeed, Jones made several impassioned pleas on my behalf, promising Mr Pickard that he could repair the damage. Yet here I find myself, riding in the hand cart. I fancy I hear a funeral dirge nestled inside Jones' melody.

A portly man in an ill-fitting jacket sits in a small booth beside the gate. A tiny pork pie hat perches on his bald head. He clutches a newspaper more than a week old inside his beefy fist.

"What've yer got?" he asks.

"An automaton," replies Jones.

"What's wrong wi' it?" asks the guard. He sniffs the air, looking for all the world like an overweight yet suspicious rabbit.

"A few dents, some scrapes...mostly its internal damage to the mechanism. It looks like he was thrown against a wall, y'see, and-"

"He?"

"Well, it. I've tried to repair it but Mr Pickard insisted I leave it here," says Jones. The threat of tears thickens his voice.

"Best place fer it then. In yer go," said the guard. He waved us past his booth with the ageing newspaper.

Jones leaves me lying in the cart as he opens the gate. The guard sits back in his booth, his bulk spilling over the waistband of his bulging trousers. Such a man is allowed to feast with impunity, and yet I am to be discarded through no fault of my own? Vertigo City was once a place of fairness, though this is no longer the case. I wonder when I developed the capacity to feel. My maker did not install such abilities.

The servant wheels the cart into the yard. Towering piles of rusting metal rise either side of us, threatening to blot out the sun. Forgotten machines of industry cluster near the gate, and piles of scrap rise and fall like rolling hills of twisted metal. Bronze arms and legs stick up among the junk, reaching for a saviour that will not come. I regard my own brass limbs with nostalgia. How long will it be before I too become buried, my arms the only part of me to witness the sun?

Jones pushes the cart a short way up a low pile. He pauses and tips me onto the slope. Toothless cogs grind against the metal of my torso, while rusting blades scrape my limbs. Jones looks down at my prone form and lets out a single sob. He turns and runs down the slope, hauling the cart behind him.

I lie on my bed of scrap, staring up at the sky. Bilious grey clouds loom above me, grumbling to one another in thundery tones. I longed to see the sky when I worked for the Resistance. I think of brick-lined tunnels far below the City, devoid of sunlight and air. I remember the savage attack of the Beast, and dragging myself above ground. I sought my maker, and salvation, yet I found only abandonment. A drop of oil wells up beneath the rim of my eye lamp.

A fat raindrop explodes against my exposed torso. Another hits my face, chasing the droplet of oil across my cheek. Raindrops hit my eye lamps and I curse the sky for her cruelty. The water will surely damage what circuits I have left, and I picture myself as an empty carcass, spotted with rust. I wish the Meat Beast had not so thoroughly destroyed my vocal mechanics. Without my voice box, I cannot beg for release.

A crash and a clatter disturb my silent prayer. I cannot turn my head to see but the splintering of glass and the rending of metal is enough. Something is coming for me, though I know not what. Is this to be the end of me? Oh, let it be so, for I cannot take this slow descent into decay and ruin.

Two figures lean over me, blocking the rain. One is a collection of scrap metal in the rough form of a man. Cogs stare at me in the place of eyes, and it stretches out fingers of pistons and spark plugs. The fading light streams through the other as it stretches multi-coloured wings of broken glass.

I do not know how much time passes but twilight streaks the sky when they finish their repairs. I sit up, and look around. The sea of scrap no longer looks as melancholy as it did. I flex my fingers, pistons hissing at my knuckles. Clockwork beats within my chest. My voice box is beyond repair, but I can move. I am myself again. I am Four.

The gates of the junkyard screech open. The angel of broken glass gestures to the freedom beyond. I shake my head, and delight in the new range of movement. I cannot leave. I will remain here, a guardian of the junkyard. I will protect the angels, and help others. I will save as I have been saved.

* * *

If you've read my steampunk story, The First Tale, then you'll already be familiar with this particular automaton. If you want to know more (and find out exactly how he got here) then The First Tale is just 99c from Smashwords and Amazon.

Friday Flash - Festive Felicitations

Tweet "Caleb, I found the box you were looking for."

Liss held up a small wooden crate. Uneven letters spelled out the word 'Festive' along the side in black paint. She looked across the room. Caleb balanced on a ladder near the door. Two stood below, holding the branch of a fir tree above the window. Caleb swung a hammer, hoping to knock in a few nails to keep it in place.

"What in the name of sweet Vertigo are you doing?" she asked.

"Putting up the festive decorations. Two wanted to help," replied Caleb.

"Why is Two covered in holly garlands?" asked Liss.

"I assume it's because he's overcome by the festive spirit. Go on, Two. Go and see Liss, maybe some of it will rub off on her."

The automaton shook its head, gesturing to the branch that hung from the wall. Only one nail held it in place so far.

"I'm not overcome by the festive spirit because I still don't know what we're celebrating. All my life, everyone has insisted on dragging trees inside and hanging up poisonous berries or eating their own bodyweight in mince pies, and I just don't get what all the fuss is about," replied Liss.

"Oh come on, Liss. You know the stories as well as I do."

"Yeah but they're exactly that - stories. It seems a bit of a waste of time and effort to go to all this trouble over a fairytale," said Liss.

"You're such a grinch," said Caleb.

"Well why don't you tell the story anyway? You know how much Two loves to hear it, even if I think it's folkloric hogwash," said Liss.

"Two, would you like to hear the Festive Story?" asked Caleb.

The automaton nodded. The small antenna at the base of its torso wagged enthusiastically.

"Very well then. Come on, Two. I think that'll hold."

Caleb climbed down the ladder and crossed the workshop to the fireplace. He settled into the armchair in front of the crackling flames. The automaton thudded across the room. The pistons in its knees hissed as it lowered itself to a crouched position.

"Back in the days of feudal rule, long before a single building of Vertigo City had been built, two powerful lords saw the potential in the land. They could farm here, and the river would provide good fishing. But instead of sharing the land, or dividing the land using the river and each claiming a bank for themselves, Lord Oakenstaff and Lord Hollybrough wanted all of the land, and they came to blows," said Caleb.

He looked at the automaton. Two gazed at him, its twin eye lamps focussed on his face. Caleb sneaked a glance at Liss. She stood by the window, pretending to be engrossed in catching a spider. Caleb could tell she was listening by the tilt of her head. He grinned at Two, and continued the story.

"The lords had a mighty battle, and in the end, Lord Hollybrough was beaten. He took his men and left, although he vowed to return one day. Lord Oakenstaff decided to claim the land immediately, and began to build a citadel. He named it Vertigia, after his mother," said Caleb. "Lord Hollybrough did return, but he found the beginnings of a great city where the fertile land had once been. They struck a truce, and took it in turns running the city. Each lord would take a holiday and travel the world while the other was in charge. Every 21st December since then, we have celebrated the great battle that saw the birth of our city."

"How do you explain all the greenery that people bring indoors then?" asked Liss.

"It symbolises the greenery of the land that they originally fought over," replied Caleb.

"And the mince pies?"

"Vertigia's baked delicacy."

"The roast turkey dinner?"

"Turkeys were the only birds that would live in Vertigia."

"Giving presents?"

"Well it's a birthday, isn't it? We're celebrating the birth of the city."

"So why don't we give things to the city then? We could give time, to do things that need doing around the city, or we could give money to the new charities..."

"I didn't make up the rules, Liss. I just celebrate them," replied Caleb. "I know you don't believe in anything, Liss, but a lot of people believe in this story, so stop trampling on their faith just because you don't understand it."

Liss looked at the floor, casting her gaze downwards to hide the embarrassment clouding her amber eyes. A thought crossed her mind, and she looked at Caleb again. A wicked grin played around the corners of her lips.

"Still, it's better than that claptrap that visiting preacher was going on about, isn't it? What was he saying? That the festivities are really about the birth of the son of some invisible being that controls the world?"

"Oh I know, that one really was a bit far-fetched, wasn't it?" replied Caleb. He chuckled.

“Festive Felicitations, Caleb,” said Liss.

“Festive Felicitations to you too, Caleb.”

Two wagged its antenna. Liss and Caleb smiled at each other.

“Festive Felicitations to you, Two!”

Quantum Steam Theory - Part 5 of 5

Tweet The men taunted her, staying several paces behind. In Vertigo, she could call for a Weimar patrolman, or a district lawman. Selina saw no reassuring badges of authority here. The footsteps behind her quickened, and Selina broke into a run. A cart trundled out of a side street, blocking her flight. Panic gripped her, and she threw herself sideways into a dark alley. Clambering over piles of rubbish, Selina plunged into the gloom ahead.

Selina collided with a figure hunched over a heap in a doorway. The figure let out a shout as it fell to the ground. Selina rolled off the man, and scrambled to her feet. She looked down and saw a bloodied knife in his hand. Her eyes flicked between the knife and the motionless heap. Legs streaked with mud stuck out from filthy skirts pushed up to the waist.

“There she is!” shouted one of her pursuers.

Selina took flight, rushing headlong down the alley. She couldn’t stop to think about the heap, or the knife.

What kind of place is this? she thought.

A commotion erupted as her pursuers ran into the man with the knife. One of them shouted a curse, and scuffling filled the air. Cries of ‘Murder!’ echoed around the alley. Windows flew open and heads poked into the darkness. Selina ignored it all, and the fracas grew faint as she rounded the corner. Relief flooded her mind as her pursuers forgot her.

Selina’s foot caught the edge of an abandoned cart and she stumbled forward. The book slipped out of her grasp, and fell open. Selina just had time to notice the starry void opening beneath her as she dived headfirst into space.

* * *

Selina woke up on the floor of the library. Cold flagstones supported her back, and a thumping in her skull told her she hit her head when she fell. She parted her hair and felt a lump. The black leather book lay open on the floor, just beyond her grasp. Blank pages stared up at her, telling nothing of her adventure.

Selina picked up the book and closed it with a thump. She pushed it back into its slot on the shelf. Selina shoved it onto the shelf as far as it would go, and the shadow of its neighbouring tome fell across the shiny golden lion.

Dusting herself off, Selina dabbed at the mud splatters on her boots with a handkerchief. Taking her time, she walked back to her table in the reading room. Quantum steam theory suddenly didn't seem so boring after all.

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4

Quantum Steam Theory - Part 4 of 5

Tweet A handful of prostitutes drowned their sorrows with cheap gin at the bar. Toothless men in filthy clothes huddled around battered tables, nursing pints of pale beer. Selina half expected to see Enrique behind the bar; the pub smelled just like Enrique's basement dive. Instead, a rotund bald man stood polishing chipped glasses.

“Excuse me, could you tell me where I am?” asked Selina.

“Ain't from round 'ere, eh?” asked the barkeeper.

“No, no I'm not. I'm not familiar with this part of the city at all and I was wondering if you could tell me what it's called,” said Selina.

“This is Whitechapel, love,” replied the barkeeper.

“Whitechapel? I never heard of it. In what part of Vertigo is that?”

“Vertigo? What do ya mean, Vertigo? You're in London, love.”

Selina stared at the barkeeper. The unfamiliar place names buzzed in her ears.

“What's that ya got there? Is that a Bible?” asked the barkeeper.

He gestured to the black book she still clutched to her chest.

“What's a Bible?” she asked.

“Exactly who are ya, and what are ya doin' in my pub?”

“Um...sorry to have wasted your time...I just remembered, I have somewhere else I need to be...”

Selina backed away from the bar. She threaded her way between the tables and burst out of the cramped pub.

Twilight skulked outside. Selina looked around, still desperate for a familiar sight. She watched a thin boy in faded tweed help an older man light the gas lamps lining the street. Drunkards made impromptu beds on benches in the yard outside the grand white building.

Selina noticed movement out of the corner of her eye. A gang of four young men loitered by the door to the pub. Their overalls looked like those worn by the dockworkers in Vertigo City. Streaks of dirt clung to their gaunt faces. They stared at her, a predatory look in their eyes. These were not men from whom Selina would get directions.

“Who's a pretty bird, then?” said one of them.

Selina said nothing.

“Not gonna talk to us, darlin’?” asked one of the men.

“I'm sorry, gentlemen, but I'm late for an appointment,” said Selina.

“Gentlemen? Lord preserve us, she calls us gentlemen!” said another of the men. They hooted with derision.

Selina hurried down the street away from them. She wove her way among gaggles of people heading back to their dosshouses after a day's casual labour. Selina threw glances over her shoulder. The four young men followed her. She looked around, hoping to find a friendly shop or tavern where she could find shelter.

“You not gonna stop and play with us, chicky?” called one of the men.

“If you don’t stop, we’ll have to make you play,” shouted another.

Part 1 : Part 2 : Part 3

Quantum Steam Theory - Part 3 of 5

Tweet She expected to land on her face on the cold library floor. Instead, she lay face down on wet cobblestones. A hackney cab careered past, the thundering hooves of a black stallion inches from her outstretched left hand. Selina scrabbled to get to her hands and knees, and crawled out of the gutter onto the filthy pavement. The book lay open, and mud from a passing cart splattered the empty pages.

Selina leaned onto the cobbles to grab the book. She stared at it in amazement. She flicked through the pages again, trying to find the void. Empty and muddied pages flicked past, with no sign of stars or space.

“'Ere, clear off, you! This is my patch, and I ain't sharin' it with no newcomers!”

A strident voice screeched in her ear. Selina looked up into the pinched face of a middle-aged woman. Knotted red hair hung about her shoulders, and she wore a faded green dress. White face powder settled in the wrinkles around her cruel blue eyes, and two angry red circles of rouge burned on her cheeks. She looked like one of the prostitutes on Commercial Street.

“Sorry, I didn't mean to intrude,” said Selina.

She stood up and looked around her. The woman looked like a Commercial Street whore, but this was not Commercial Street. A muddy gash cut down the street between the uneven pavements. Crooked buildings crammed together around narrow alleys and filthy courtyards. Dirty windows gazed down at her. Scrawny children played in the gutter, oblivious to the degradation around them. Even the Vertigo City slums didn't look like this.

Selina hurried down the street away from the harridan. She clutched the book to her chest. She passed more women in gaudy clothes. Some of the younger ones exposed their chests to the passing carriages, hoping for trade. Selina looked down at her own pale grey shirt and dark grey jodhpurs tucked into knee-high black leather boots. She felt over-dressed. The men stared at her, and the women threw curses, afraid she might steal their business.

The street opened out onto a wider street, an imposing white building on her left behind tall railings. Thick pillars held up a grand portico, while a pointed tower rose from the roof like an accusing finger. Two lengths of stone topped the tower, forming a cross. Selina had never seen such a building before. The architecture of the portico reminded her of the grand buildings of the former Council district of Vertigo, but she couldn't guess as to the purpose of the cross.

A pub stood on the street corner to her right. Gold lettering spelled out 'The Ten Bells' above the door. Light spilled out of the door onto the broken pavement outside. Selina darted across the street between two carts and slipped inside the pub.

Part 1 : Part 2

Quantum Steam Theory - Part 2 of 5

Tweet Ancient books lined the shelves along the corridor. Rotting leather clung to faded tomes, the cracked spines shoved at awkward angles. A sharp smell of neglect and decay permeated the space, and moss bloomed on the exposed brickwork. Selina looked up to see cobwebs looped across the low vaulted ceiling. A large brown spider covered in black stripes sat in a web. It watched her as it unwrapped a dead fly from a silken shroud.

Selina cast her curious gaze over the spines of the books. Some of them bore titles in a language she didn't recognise. She wondered how old they were, and where they were from. She ran her hand along the shelf, and flakes of cold leather drifted to the floor. Selina couldn’t see anything about weaponry. She at least expected Turpin’s Treatise of War or Bartholomew’s Guide to Ballistics.

“Well this was just a waste of my time, wasn’t it?” said Selina.

She directed the question to the spider. The arachnid ignored her in favour of its dinner. Selina shuddered. She could cope with the concept of an animal with eight legs, but as with quantum steam theory, concept and reality were two different things.

Selina turned to leave when a book caught her eye. The flickering lamp light danced across a golden lion embossed on the thick black leather spine. The book seemed out of place among the decaying remains of the other tomes. She pulled it from the shelf and ran her hand over the blank cover. The only clue to its contents was the embossed lion, but Selina had no idea what a lion signified. She wondered if it was the national symbol of whichever country the book came from.

Selina flipped open the book. She expected the same dense print that filled her quantum steam theory textbook, or at least engravings. Instead, the pages were completely blank. Tiny tears and watermarks bordered the pages, but no text marked the creamy white paper. Selina couldn’t even find a publisher’s note or a contents page. She flicked through, inhaling the dusty smell of old paper.

Selina felt a draught on her neck as she flicked through the book. Suddenly, the pages fell open to a black space in the middle of the book. She gazed into the space, seeing stars and distant galaxies laid out before her. A jolt passed through her hands and she dropped the book. It landed on the floor at her feet, still open at the universal void. A strange pull grasped her stomach, and Selina felt herself fall forwards.

Part 1 : Part 3

Quantum Steam Theory - Part 1 of 5

Tweet Selina Mothshaw sat at a heavy oak table in the Vertigo Central Library. The book in front of her lay open at a chart. Dense text covered the page around the graph. Selina tried to read the opening sentence for the sixteenth time.

“Quantum steam theory can, in effect, be described as the optimum state in which all matter resides, such matter being defined as that which is existent within the ordinary spectrum of reality as it is laid out in the Principles of Rumbaud, chapter 4, sub-section 23, paragraph 14. Quantum steam theory is to be applied to all such questions of existence as can be most commonly considered by the thoughtful member of Vertigan society. The theory...”

She pushed the book away. Selina tried to remember what prompted her to choose quantum steam theory when her classmates opted for molecular physics or steam philosophy. Her father's words echoed in her head, telling her that a quantum steam theory qualification could net her a job with the Weimar Corporation’s research division. Selina didn't want to be a steam theorist, but without a viable alternative, she had little choice but to follow her father's advice.

Selina stood up and paced around the table. No one else sat in this section, and the librarians had already cleared away the books and papers left by other students. Her footsteps echoed around the vaulted room, the sound of hob-nailed boots on polished wood sounding like an army on patrol.

Selina looked at her college work. The books lay unread, and doodles of automatons and weaponry cover her ledger. Selina thought she might apply for an internship with Weimar's arms division.

Selina wandered away from the table. A map of the library tacked to a bookcase caught her eye. According to the diagram, the section on weaponry lay at the very back of this floor. She pulled the map from the tacks.

Selina slipped between the stacks into the next reading area. A huge map of Vertigo City lay on the table. Hand-painted monsters lurked in the river, and pencil marks traced a route around Justice Park. A book on anatomy weighted down one corner. Selina wondered if another student was researching the Meat Beast.

She left the map behind and walked among the high shelves. She peeked into another reading area. Four boys sat around a table, flicking wads of chewed up paper at each other. A fifth boy sat apart, attempting to concentrate on a thick book bound in green leather. The other four boys ignored him.

Selina consulted the map. The weaponry section lay around the corner. Her route took her into a narrow corridor. The ceiling dipped, and wooden floorboards gave way to bare flagstones. A damp chill hung in the air. Selina shivered. Selina thought of her quantum steam theory homework, and considered heading back to the reading area. Half of an equation floated through her mind, and she grimaced. She ventured further into the depths of the library.

Part 2 : Part 3 : Part 4