Steampunk Fairy Tales (10 page)

“
We will also discuss new
household arrangements,” he continued. “You shall wear maid’s
clothing. It does not befit a young lady to wear a jacket and
trousers.” He pointed at my legs with his cane.

I couldn’t say much. Father always had the
last word in every argument, and I didn’t want to start one now.
But I couldn’t resist.

“
She didn’t steal that
hen!"

Father shook his head and climbed out the
carriage. He motioned with his cane for me to follow. The drab,
thick, fog smothered the street and Town Square. A large crowd of
men, women, and children had gathered.

As Father and I reached the centre, I
noticed the heap of sand lying there. Hooded monks and, behind
them, a row of nuns approached the mound. The procession floated
out from the cathedral gates on hover decks. I wanted to rush over
there, kick the sand away, and scream at the monks.

I watched in horror as electricity sparkled
in a static rhythm underneath the decks, following them in a
glimmering tangerine trail. The monks surrounded the heap, chanting
in an ancient language. Around one of the monks’ neck dangled a
locket. He opened it, exposed a polished green bean, and planted it
into the mound. A tremor sizzled through the square like butter on
a hot pan.

“
Leave her alone,” I
yelled between sobs. I thought I had prepared myself for this day,
but I couldn’t hold back the tears.


Mother had been clad in a rugged
sack. Her hands and feet were tied like a captured deer ready for
slaughter. Two monks dragged her through the drizzle of rain and
placed her onto the mound.

“
What will happen to her?”
I asked.

Father scowled. “She’ll
serve the Giants.”



“
How will she
manage?”



“
The matter is out of my
hands.”

The crowd cheered and applauded the morbid
display. Following tradition, a tall man in a black suit sold
steaming mince pies to the wealthier clientele. From a barrel
strapped on his back he served lemon tea. The smell of meat and
lemon made my stomach churn.

“
Why can’t you do
something?” I asked Father.


“
Enough questions!”
Father raised his cane and an umbrella extended with a swoosh,
shielding him from the rain. “It is about to begin.”




Tiny cracks appeared around us, blemishes on
a rough surface. The fissures popped like balloons through the
cobblestone, and raced towards the centre where Mother sat. The
audience’s cheer grew louder.

Rows of cavities surrounded the centre
mound. The ground vibrated. Then a crater opened next to Mother and
through the dirt exploded a magnificent stalk.

The plant grew to an
enormous size in one breath, reaching for the sky. It looked like
it would touch the moon. Gentlemen in the audience stared in
awe—one of them dropped his tea cup. People jostled in front of me.
I couldn’t see what the monks were doing, but I had brought a pair
of zoomers and took them out from my satchel.


Mother trembled in front of the
stalk. Her eyes were closed, and her long dark hair covered her
face like a dirty blanket.


“Mother!” I yelled at the top of my
lungs.

The stalk’s jagged leaves, branches, and
roots, ensnared her. They pulled her inside the mint green plant
like a thousand searching tongues. Amber sap dripped onto the
ground.

When the stalk had completely swallowed her,
silence reigned for a moment. Gentlemen in expensive leather coats
were still busy chewing their mince pies, dropping crumbs on their
ties. Then the monks and nuns lowered their heads and hummed in
unison, as if helping the plant to digest Mother. Through my
shaking zoomers I saw her silhouette fading inside the trunk. I
screamed for her again, but it was too late—she had been
devoured.

###

The following weeks, I slaved as a scullery
maid: cooking steaks, serving tea and scones to Father’s business
associates, cleaning rooms, and wiping floors. My room had turned
into an antiquities storage, and I’d been permanently moved to the
cellar kitchen, a hellhole of leaking pipes and stringy cobwebs
nestling in the ceiling.

My own place was under the kitchen sink. I
huddled inside at night, piecing together scrap metal into a
mechanical hen I called Pecky, remembering Mother’s desperate look
before she disappeared. I used Pecky to mend anything broken around
the house; more often than not the sink leaked, and I’d wake up
drenched in water and the latest nightmare.

Father put a plate with leftover scones
outside the sink every evening after his guests had left. My
appetite had completely disappeared, and I only frowned when I
spotted the scattered crumbs. They always smelled of stale tobacco
smoke, and the plate had red wine stains.

Prominent British businessmen were invited
tonight. With a deep sigh, I gathered plates and spoons on a silver
tray and removed a lemon cake from the delivery box; the guests
wanted their dessert. With slow steps and shaking hands I entered
the dining room, balancing the full tray. Four gentlemen sat and
talked around the table. Thick smoke puffed from their pipes.
Silver plates with half-eaten steaks, pateés, and scone crumbs
littered the tablecloth.

Closest to the door sat Father. He gave me a
grim look. “Why’s it taking so long? Our guests want lemon
cake.”

I recognised the man
sitting next to Father as one of the monks attending Mother’s
Ascension. A locket with the symbol of the Stalk dangled around his
neck. My heart nearly stopped.


The monk sized me up like a broken
spare part and said, ”My condolences. Your mother had no choice but
to serve in the World Above. A child bereft of a parent, however,
is always tragic.”



There had to be a bean
inside that locket. If I could somehow—



“
Aubrey!” roared Father.
“Bring dessert and tea.”

This was my chance. I bowed and raced down
to the kitchen cellar where Mother stored her recipes and herbs.
There had to be something that encouraged … sleep.

I needed chamomile and lavender. I also
needed cactus juice, oils, and a spoonful of sugar to sweeten the
concoction. With searching hands I turned the jars inside the
wooden cupboards until I found what I needed.

“
We are waiting!” rumbled
Father’s voice upstairs. “Don’t make me come down.”

The lavender needed to be ground. Where was
the mortar?

“
Aubrey! Now!”

I moved dirty dishes from one corner to the
other, took stock of drawers and cupboards, but to no avail. Father
would come any minute and punish me for not having the tea
ready.

The screeching of a moving chair came from
above. Heavy footsteps. I reached for Pecky and wound her up,
letting the hen pluck the lavender as much as possible while I
rushed and locked the cellar door.

A moment later, a bang came through. “Why
have you locked the door? The guests are waiting, Aubrey, and I am
becoming impatient.”


“
I’m preparing the tea,
Father, but I spilled it and need to change clothes.”

I returned to see how Pecky was doing; the
lavender stalks had been crushed, but it wasn’t enough. I mashed
the remaining ingredients with my palms and mixed them into a
bottle with chamomile, lucuan oil, cactus juice, and a squeeze of
lemon. The pungent odour twisted out of the bottle.

I prepared the cups on another tray,
together with a porcelain pot for the tea. Father banged on the
door again, startling me, and I dropped a spoon on the floor.

Holding the tray in
unsteady hands, I unlocked the door. Father adjusted his monocle
when he saw me, his frown relaxing. “We will discuss your attitude
in the morning,” he mumbled. “Bring the tray
upstairs.”



“
Yes, Father.”

Inside the dining room again, I poured tea
to each gentleman, making sure the monk received a few extra drops.
They needed to sleep long enough for me to reach the Town
Centre.

Father appeared in the
doorway, a long black pipe sticking out of the corner of his mouth.
A dark shadow played on his face, moving between his chin and eyes.
“My Aubrey needs to learn manners,” he sneered. “She behaves too
much like her mother.”



I lowered my head. “Your tea is ready,
Father.” The sooner he’d drink with the others, the sooner I could
escape.

Within minutes, Father and his guests
slouched on the leather sofa, pipes dangling from their slack jaws.
I snatched the monk’s locket, grabbed my satchel from the cellar,
and dashed out onto the street. Horse carriages clattered past me,
and strolling gentlemen eyed me with scowl in their eyes: my escape
had already caught too much attention. I hurried into somber side
streets, and dreary alleys where stinking fish racks lined the
crummy walls. A factory whistle blew somewhere.

Town Square loomed in the distance. Someone
shouted my name. I spun round and spotted three monks on decks,
hovering towards me. One held a sack in their hands. With a wild
flutter in my chest and no time to think, I sprinted towards the
Square, nearly tripping over on the cobbles.

The sound of my heartbeat
thrashed in my ears as I opened the locket and removed the bean. My
fingers trembled as I placed it inside the new mound and stepped
back. The angry voices and the decks’ humming came
closer.


Within
seconds, the mound sprouted emerald and jade. Leaves and sharp
thorns sprawled from the ground. A plant emerged from the cracks
and grew in size until it reached the clouds.

“
Aubrey, I forbid you to
Ascend!” echoed Father’s voice.

Thorny branches grabbed and twisted my waist
from behind. With one swift motion, the plant drew me inside its
belly.

###

I stumbled out of the pod and fell onto soft
ground. Sap drooped from my ripped garments in long strands across
the cloudy surface. The chilly air stung my bare arms.

A floating plume,
shimmering in lilac, approached me in a pirouette and wrote
Your name?
in the
air.



“
Aubrey,” I answered with
a cough, spitting out leaves.

The quill searched for my
name on a parchment hanging in the air. I didn’t understand what it
wanted and must’ve looked confused; the quill pointed its sharp end
at me and scrawled
NO SUCH
NAME
.

“
You’re a funny one,” I
said. “I’m not here to serve. I’m off to the Giant’s castle.” I
tapped my satchel twice, and Pecky poked its head out and
chirped.



Follow the
footsteps
wrote Quill and hurtled towards
an emerging stalk in the distance. A trail of indented footsteps
appeared, leading into the horizon.

The Giant’s castle was an enormous
construction, nothing like I’d ever seen in the World Below. Its
front towers were curved patchworks of rustic copper and steel,
with spiny wires and massive cogwheels keeping everything together.
I examined the castle wall: a hodgepodge of metal bolted together,
as if a child had thrown together a toy house in a hurry. Steam
billowed from rusty pipes, sticking out from the walls like pins in
a cushion. It had several gaps, large enough to squeeze through. A
row of pennants waved at the top of each tower.

“
Mother’s there. Why don’t
we take a look?” I removed Pecky from my satchel, wound her up, and
released her. The hen’s olive eyes lit up, and she wobbled through
a gap in the wall.

The castle courtyard looked more like a
scrapyard. Bundles of metal in all shapes and sizes littered the
ground. Bolts and screws, big as boulders, lay on top of the metal
heaps. The castle entrance was blocked by an assortment of planks,
but one of the towers looked good enough for climbing.

The ascent to the top was more difficult
than I’d expected. The metal plates were sharp, cutting into my
legs and hands and scraping my cheeks whenever I rested my head on
them. I bit back a scream and lost my grip, nearly tumbling down.
At the last moment I clung to a pole and pulled myself up. Fear
splintered my heart, but I couldn’t give up now.

I dragged myself through
the open window and collapsed on a wooden floor. A musty smell of
old garments hung in the air. A bed that would room twelve grown
men stood empty in the corner, along with an unpolished mirror
hanging on the wall. The ageing dresser had a thin layer of grease
and dust covering its knobs and handles. No sounds came from
outside.



“
Are we in the right
castle?” I asked Pecky inside the satchel.

I searched for a crack in an oversized door
and found one I could squeeze through. My expectation to find
servants and cleaners bustling around the castle like busy ants was
wrong. Pecky chirped and bounced inside the satchel, so I took her
out and placed her on the floor. The corridor was ornamented by
exotic animal heads hanging on the wall.

The hen wobbled forwards,
and I edged behind it. We arrived at the end of the hallway to a
set of two enormous doors, one of them ajar.



“
Is there someone inside,
Pecky?” I whispered.

The spacious throne room had a lush carpet
stretching in all directions, and a table made out of polished wood
stood in the centre. A Giant hunched on a marble chair with a dozen
buttons and metal levers attached to his seat.