Goggles, Gears, and Gremlins (SteamGoth Anthology Book 3) Read online

  SteamGoth

  Goggles, Gears, and Gremlins

  Edited By Jonathan David Baird

  Copyright 2013

  Crosstime Publishing

  This is the third in a series of SteamGoth anthologies presenting the darker more fantastic side of Steampunk. In this volume you will discover the darkest depths of the human soul, creatures from unspeakable planes of existence, and magic unleashed in new and terrible ways. Come take a trip back in time and across to a parallel universe to see the world as it might have been.

  Dedication - To all the geeks, freaks, nerds, and other strange and wonderful people who listen to the beat of a different drummer. We are the ones that created this world, everyone else is just along for the ride.

  So what is SteamGoth?

  That is a good question. The short answer is that it is a darker version of Steampunk. However that isn’t the final answer to this question. SteamGoth encompasses more than a darkness not found in regular Steampunk. SteamGoth embraces the magical and paranormal side as well. Where Steampunk is the science fiction version of the Victorian period, SteamGoth is the fantasy version. SteamGoth can be about vampires, zombies, werewolves, or just as easily about steam powered knights in shining Victorian armor. SteamGoth is dark but often it has that ethereal hint of neo-medievalism that was so very popular in the Victorian age.

  Veritatem Tuam Reprobo Et Meam Subpono

  About the Authors

  Jonathan David Baird is a professional archaeologist and writer from western North Carolina. He has a bachelor’s degree in anthropology from Western Carolina University and a Masters in humanities (English literature) from Fort Hays State University.

  Rebecca Barnhardt Rebecca was born and raised in Charlotte, NC. She attended UNCC and continued later at CVCC, in Hickory, NC where she studied fine arts and English literature. Inspired originally by early American literature, she is quick to admit that her lifetime passion of both reading and writing is thanks to her absolute love of supernatural fiction.

  Bruce Edward Blackistone is a retired National Park Service Employee, part time blacksmith, and seasonal Viking ship captain. He lives on his portion of a family farm, on land that has “been in and out of the family for over 350 years” in St. Mary’s County, Maryland, with his wife and youngest daughter. His best known work is the parody: Beowabbit. Mr. Blackistone presently serves as Sexton for the graveyard at All Saints’ Episcopal Church, Oakley Parish.

  Morgan Lane is a 25 year old laboratory analyst from Jones, Oklahoma. Apart from writing, she enjoys drawing, playing video games, and biology. Someday she hopes to get a novel or two published.

  Margaret F. Moose is a native North Carolinian. She attended the University of North Carolina at Greensboro where she studied anthropology and fine art and then she attended the University of Pittsburgh and did graduate studies in osteology and paleopathology. Margaret is currently a tattoo artist and painter working in the foothills of North Carolina. She draws her inspiration for writing from her deep southern roots, her travels and a lifelong love of literature especially science fiction.

  Evan Richard O'Connor is a student, who grew up in the small town of Suffield, Connecticut. Lives in a house with three cats, a dog, his mother, father and brother. Writing is one of his favorite hobbies and he's been doing it for six years while working at various jobs. Among his other hobbies are hiking, running, games of all sorts, biking and reading. He currently attends Asnuntuck Community College.

  Morgan Pasquier is seventeen years old and lives in Washington State with her parents, and 3 younger siblings. She’s been homeschooled all her life and has been writing fiction since a very young age. She enjoys writing short stories and novels, and dabbles in multiple genres and settings.

  About the Artist

  Joseph Boquiren started drawing around the age of seven. Not knowing proper format, he did it all wrong. He put the first panel at the lower left hand corner of the page and then built up the story- Tetris style- until he ran out of space at the upper right hand corner.

  As a young man, following his parents' advice he choose a 'respectable' career and practiced it for 15 years. During those years he continued to doodle in his spare time. In 2008 he fell out of architecture and started to create comics. He has been happily doing so ever since.

  Contents:

  The Bed Without Sheets by Bruce Blackistone page 11

  To Serve and He Provide by Rebecca Barnhardt page 38

  Smile by Morgan Pasquier page 48

  The Compact by Morgan Lane page 58

  Guardian of the Pit by Evan O’Connor page 77

  No Wereville by M.F. Moose page 130

  Mistress Katie’s Clock by Jonathan David Baird page 157

  INTRODUCTION

  You caught me, I give up.

  Can you stop waving that pistol around? I do love those new revolvers. Can I look at it?

  No, then can you point it away from me?

  What am I?

  What do you think I am? What kind of creature sits inside a clock and destroys it with a tiny hammer?

  Yes, I am a Gremlin. Merrimaus is my name.

  No, I do not always sit inside clocks half naked. It gets hot inside machines how do you expect me to unfix things if I am melting?

  Can I grant you a wish? I am not a Leprechaun, Sir.

  WHAO NOW, stop poking at me with that pistol. I will tell you what I can do. I can tell stories. Gremlins know all the best stories because we are always untinkering with the most interesting objects. If you find my stories entertaining and I promise to leave your clocks alone will let me go?

  Deal…

  Buyer beware…

  The Bed Without Sheets

  © 2013, Bruce Edward Blackistone

  (Dedicated to L. & T.; my favorite hybrid clones.)

  It was at one of my fortnightly visits to the Grisly Gannet pub that I first heard mention of the “bed without sheets” from Professor Wilkinson.

  “Now, that’s an odd phrase,” I thought, and moved a little closer to his animated conversation with a stranger.

  “Well, of course we have to be practical about these things;” the Professor continued, “what good is all of this work, all of this science, all of these new discoveries if we don’t do something practical with them? Steam gives us the motive power to transport tremendous cargoes and passengers from place to place by rail and by sea. New steels enable our navy to safeguard commerce all over the globe through better ships with better guns. The science of optics enables us to look into the heavens with great accuracy for better navigation, or, with a humble optician, to be able to read and continue to learn far into our senior years. Our chemists and mechanics work constantly on new engines and machinery.

  “Well, yes, of course, the inevitable human progress of a civilized society;” replied the stranger, “but where are the great breakthroughs in the biological sciences that you claim are possible? You folks go around and catalogue, catalogue, catalogue plants and animals and slime molds; and Pasteur has done some brilliant work with those nasty little germ thingies, but for the most part if you can’t eat it, drink it, build with it or smoke it, I feel like you are wasting our time. Lots of little bits; but nothing very brilliant, really.”

  “Excuse me; Professor Wilkinson” I interjected “I do not mean to barge into your conversation, sirs, but I could not help to notice that biology and breeding animals is of great interest to me. May I join the conversation?” />
  “Ah, Mr. Dent; I saw you sidling in from the side there.” The professor smiled at me. We had some past acquaintance both from the church on Sundays and on a livestock breeding project that I had once attempted. “May I introduce you to my companion, Mr. Reynard?”

  “How do you do sir?” He stood to shake my hand. He was man of middling height and a full mustache, but very well dressed; the latest from London, I supposed, by the cut and his speech.

  “Mr. Dent owns a farm some miles north of here;” Professor Wilkinson said by way of introduction and explanation “and is very interested in breeding. He’s probably one of the only gentlemen up this way who shares my interest in the science, instead of the old customs and traditions, of breeding.”

  He turned to me an explained: “Mr. Reynard is one of the more successful merchants in London, and seems to be quite adept in turning fortunes with stocks and other financial instruments. I was hoping to involve him in my latest project in hybridization.”

  “Well, yes, um, that crossbreeding thing that you do. All very interesting, yes, but where is the big payoff? All of your progress seems to be incremental; how do you intend to leap ahead?” Mr. Reynard raised an eyebrow behind his wire-rimmed glasses. “Just where do you think it will lead to?”

  “Actually” I interjected; “we have been carefully breeding animals for desired results for hundreds, maybe even thousands of years. The wool in your coat; which has a very trim cut I might add” (wanting to keep him on Professor Wilkinson’s good side) “may have come from one of my sheep, which I, my father, and grandfather have bred for the quality of the fleece.”

  “And dogs, for instance, may well have been wolves, once…” (Mr. Reynard snorted at this) “…but look at all the breeds we have, mastiffs to guard, collies to herd, bulldogs to fight, and yet they are all dogs.”

  “And the linen in your shirt,” the Professor added “made possible by the careful ‘unnatural’ selection of flax plants over the centuries.”

  “You’re not one of those Darwin fanciers, are you?” asked Mr. Reynard with a hint of suspicion.

  “Oh, I’ve gone far beyond Darwin; I’ve studied the works of Mendel, my Uncle having a contact through the Church of Rome to some papers that he wrote, fascinating work, I must say; and I’ve gone beyond that as well.” He replied.

  “Ah; Mendel!” I responded, to stay engaged. “He’s that Austrian monk you were telling me about.”

  Mr. Reynard’s head swiveled toward me like the turret on a new ironclad. “Now it’s Papists, as well as Darwin? What next?” He turned back to the Professor. “Where is the payoff?”

  “Well, the problem with breeding livestock, or even plants, is that it takes a long time, and you’re limited within a species as to what breeds with what. But, what if you could remove those bounds, and say, breed a cat with a dog, so that you would have the looks of a cat, but the temper and obedience of a dog? And you could produce offspring in days instead of weeks or months?”

  “Or,” I added, “what about a draft horse, the size of a Suffolk Punch, but with a fleece? You could shear him for his fleece in the spring, and then use him for plowing!”

  “Don’t be absurd!” muttered Mr. Reynard. “He would drop dead of the heat when you tried to work him in the autumn. It sounds like a case of that nasty disease where you end up with long hair on a dead horse.”

  “He’s not being absurd, and this has nothing to do with diseases. Although, instead of a larger breed, perhaps a Dartmoor or Exmoor pony would be more accommodating; still, these hybrids could be worth a fortune to someone who would invest, or provide support for the science needed to make this practical.” said Professor Rutherford; “Think of the possibilities… think of the profits! Contemplate a horse that is productive all the time; when he’s not pulling or working he’s growing a fleece; or maybe tortoise shell for furnishings and grooming items.”

  “This is really too much; I could almost swallow a horse-sheep hybrid, but a mammal with a reptile; really that is preposterous! Why not a feathered turtle?”

  “Why not?” replied the Professor. “Why not plants and animals? With the new techniques that I’ve researched I would bet you that I can create a practical hybrid out of simple plants and animals, like mushrooms and rodents, that will provide a saleable product; and you, Mr. Reynard, will be…” he lowered his voice and leaned down confidentially, “…rich!”

  “Well!” replied Mr. Reynard; “That’s a big boast for an academic! I’ve made quite a tidy sum through trade and banking and not taking extreme risks. You expect me to invest in this nonsense?”

  Professor Wilkinson leaned back in his chair, and smiled without rancor. “It’s not nonsense, and I wouldn’t expect you to provide support without some proof of my theories. I would propose a wager. A simple experiment to display the practicality of the project. More than a gentleman’s bet- if I’m successful, you provide the seed money ; and if I fail, which I shan’t, I will have my uncle draft double the amount to reimburse you your expenses and reward you for your willingness to invest in my, um, enterprise.”

  “Then why do you need me at all?” inquired the potential financier. “Why not borrow it from your famous uncle?”

  I cut in at this point as the Professor sagged back a bit. “Possibly because the Archbishop could pay you without embarrassment, but it may cause a stir if he’s investing in a ‘Darwinist’ experiment. He could pay you on a bet, between gentlemen, but he certainly couldn’t be seen investing in something like this with all of the controversy over Mr. Darwin and his theories.”

  There was an awkward pause.

  “So, if you lose, the Arch… uh, your uncle pays me an amount equal to twice my investment; and if your experiment succeeds, I receive…”

  The Professor sat straight again, and leaned into the conversation. “You receive the right to a profit of 50% for every pound that you invest in my hybrid creations!” He turned to me; “And as for you, Mr. Dent, since we have worked together before, I will need an occasional assistant, and a place to house some of the experiments. I trust that you can segregate and clean up a portion of your barn, or several of the dependencies on the farm? We will need a discrete location, since we don’t want any wild stories floating about.”

  We all paused, and looked about; no one else was anywhere near our table.

  “Wild stories, or profitable opportunities.” added Mr. Reynard. “Are there any others working on this, um, line of work?”

  Mr. Reynard suddenly seemed less skeptical and much more interested.

  “Oh, some academics are vaguely interested, and folks are perfectly happy to argue the theology of Darwin or playing God” he paused, “but nobody, nobody, has advanced like I have in the chemical, the biological, the electrical aspects of this sort of project.”

  “Electrical?” He raised an eyebrow, “Surely you don’t believe in Galvani’s ‘animal electricity’ and that Shelly woman’s nonsense?”

  “No, not at all.” said the Professor, reassuringly, “We are far beyond all of that. I have no intention of reanimating the dead, nor have I any need to.”

  I cannot help but note a small feeling of relief on my part. I thought his science wonderful, but there are limits. This sort of thing could get out of hand, and I had no intention of digging up the dearly departed or otherwise playing Burke to his Hare. You can’t be too careful about where this sort of thing leads.

  “The key thing,” Professor Wilkinson continued in a quieter, but even more intense voice, “is that we keep this strictly secret. Whenever there is great profit to be had, based upon great discoveries, there are those who are more than willing to claim it for their own. Even minor strokes of genius are vulnerable to theft; witness Mr. Whitney and his cotton gin in our former colonies at the beginning of this century.”

  “The United States.” I corrected.

  Mr. Reynard snorted in dismissal. “He should have gotten better backers for his cotton processing machine. And as for their
little war; well, I found that very profitable between investing in a few successful blockade runners for the South, and buying contraband cotton through some agents on the Northern side. There is always a way of turning a profit, no matter the circumstances, or consequences. I am a practical man, and I frequently reap where I do not sow.”

  “Oh, I quite agree,” responded the Professor, “hence, this meeting. I felt that you, of all the Captains of finance and industry that my Uncle has dealt with over the years, would be ideal for such a project.”

  “Well, I really did not think that His Grace thought very highly of me and my practices.”

  “Oh yes; he has spoken to me at length about you, and you have made quite an impression upon him. You must realize that I disagree with my Uncle on a number of points. You have a certain ‘ruthlessness’ that will help me to see this project through, and branch out into commerce with my discoveries. But, as I said, secrecy shall be the essence, as well as speed once the initial demonstration project is done.”