Beruflich Dokumente
Kultur Dokumente
Kirsten Weiss
OF MICE and
MECHANICALS
A steampunk novel
of suspense
Chapter 1
San Francisco, California Territory. March, 1849
The drum beat folded into the clatter of construction, a
counterpoint to the scrape of saws, the pounding of nails. Inside
her workshop, Sensibility Greys grip tightened on the
screwdriver. She preferred the rumble of construction to the
damnable parade outside, but neither were conducive to her
work.
But she would not fall behind schedule. She glanced at her
friend, Jane Algrave, frowning at a damaged mechanical pinioned
to the wall. Sensibility bent her head to the array of gears fitted
together on the table.
A shot rang out, and her shoulders twitched, her gaze flicking
to the paned windows. They had cost her a small fortune, but
she loved the natural light they provided.
The tops of flags and banners bobbed past the glass. Her
spine stiffened, better conforming to the lines of her stays.
Inhaling the scent of freshly cut wood, her grip on the tool
relaxed. She was in her own workshop hers! and all would be
well. Flasks and glass condensers and retorts lined the shelves.
Metal tubes, gears and coils of wire lay stacked in wooden boxes.
Partially assembled mechanicals hung, gleaming, from the walls.
She touched the copper pocket watch dangling from her
waistcoat. This was where she belonged. As long as she could
work, it did not matter what went on outside in boomtown San
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Francisco. And if the skin beneath her eyes was the color of a
bruise, and her gowns fit a trifle loosely, what of it? She was
young and would recover from the long hours caused by this
excess of employment. Never again would her stomach pinch
with hunger. Never again would she depend on the charity of
others. Never again would fear of the future be her constant
companion.
Never.
Her friend raised her voice above the din. Its been nearly a
year, and all weve got are a few prototypes that dont work for
more than a minute or two. Jane paced the length of the
workshop, her blue-satin skirts swirling in a froth of crinolines at
each turn. Her chestnut curls bounced beneath her delicately
cocked hat. My superiors are beginning to think youd be more
productive back in the States.
But not nearly as prosperous. Frowning, Sensibility shoved
the gears aside. She bent over her latest plans for a mining
mechanical, laying the screwdriver on one edge of the wide paper
to prevent it from curling. The violet-colored apron skirt that she
wore over her leather trousers slipped lower on her hips.
Shed once seen aether technology used to control a
mechanical remotely. But thus far, shed been unable to replicate
it, and the problem was driving her mad. Without remote
control, her new design would require a man inside to manage
the excavators angle of descent. Not only would that expose the
operator to hazardous conditions, but space for him was a
problem. A tremendous steam engine would be required to
power the device and as it stood, the mechanical was simply too
unwieldy. Without the remote control, shed need to develop a
more efficient compression device
Are you even listening to me? Jane asked.
Yes, yes. Sensibility waved her hand, dismissive, and
noticed a new chemical stain on the hem of her white sleeve. She
rolled it up, hiding the umber blotch. Your superiors in
Washington are disappointed that I havent progressed on my
late fathers aether research. Though I might point out that Ive
gone further than any of their scientists in the States. And you
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KIRSTEN WEISS
KIRSTEN WEISS
No, it is not.
What is this? Jane lifted the ball of putty to the light. Dust
motes floated around it. It feels like rubber.
Just a toy Ive been working on.
Oh? Does it bounce? Jane pitched it to the floor at her feet.
No!
There was a muffled explosion, and clouds of pink smoke
engulfed Jane.
Sensibility pressed her face to the crook of her elbow, and her
friend collapsed in a graceful, rose-tinged heap.
Dash it! Handkerchief to her nose, Sensibility ran to the
windows. Her booted feet tangling in her apron skirt, she shoved
one open, then another. The skirt slipped to the floor, unnoticed.
She regarded Jane, snoring on the floor. The corners of
Sensibilitys mouth curved, trembled. No, this was by no means
amusing, and under no circumstances would she laugh. She
pressed the handkerchief to her mouth more firmly, stifling a
cough. As a spy, Jane should appreciate this invention, with its
defensive capabilities. Or at least, she would when she awakened.
If she didnt kill Sensibility first.
Striding past a wall lined with tools, she opened a closet and
stepped inside. She lit the wall sconce, illuminating a narrow cot
and short bedside table.
Her hand drifted across a knothole. It hid a switch that would
open another, secret room behind her makeshift bed. Crawling
over the cot to get to the hidden door was inconvenient, but
getting locked in a madhouse would be even less convenient.
And if others knew the secrets behind that wall, they would think
her mad. Because her father had believed that the key to aether
was magic. Of course, magic was just another word for a
scientific principle which had not yet been understood. But not
even Sensibility could call the incantations and formulas locked
on the other side of that door science.
She grabbed a pillow from the cot. Jane would be furious
when she awoke, but at least the agent could sleep comfortably.
Dangling the pillow from one hand, she gave a last, longing look
at the wall and backed from the tiny room.
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KIRSTEN WEISS
Her stomach churned. Why had Jane picked now of all times
to lose consciousness? And what would these men do if they
found her friend, helpless? My pet pug. Its terribly noisy. But
that is neither here nor there. I have no agent, I have no order
from you, Ive never heard of you before, and I have no idea
what type of mechanical you claim to have purchased.
His face reddened, and he stepped closer.
Sensibility turned her head from the invisible cloud of garlic
and tobacco and stale beer.
Claim? He roared. Theres no claim about it. Now if you
dont give us what we want, well take it.
Sensibilitys hand fumbled on the closet latch behind her. It
snicked open. Perhaps if you return later and give me some
time to better understand exactly what has happened? She
turned.
Something struck her in the head. A crack of red, blazing
pain. A sense of movement, and then all went black.
KIRSTEN WEISS