The Marriage Machine

The Marriage Machine

  The Londo Chronicles I

  Patricia Simpson

  A Steampunk Novella

  25,000 words

  Copyright 2011 Patricia Simpson

  Lucky Publishing

  United States of America

  Chapter One

  Elspeth Shutterhouse pedaled fiercely down the rain-slick alley, dodging puddles and potholes in the dark as she searched the lane for landmarks. It was difficult locating an address in the rain, and dangerous to be out in the dark alone. But the alley route was part of the instructions she’d been given an hour ago. Cycle to 17 Charing Cross, don’t let anyone see you, and don’t stop, eat or sleep until the repair job was finished.

  As she sped through the rain, the silver envelope she’d received earlier that day and stuffed in her chest pocket jabbed the top of her arm. She ignored the stab just as she planned to ignore the social obligation the envelope held.

  Black door, brick archway, freight delivery door. She had arrived at her destination.

  Elspeth jumped off her cycle, stashed it behind a stack of crates, locked it to a pipe, and splashed to the door she had been told to use.

  She knocked and then chafed her frozen hands together. Her leather jacket and leggings had kept her warm during the ride through Londo City, but her hands were like icicles.

  Light oozed through the crack under the door as someone approached with a lantern. Elspeth swung her heavy backpack off one shoulder and down her arm, just as the door opened. A tiny man with a bald head peered up at her through lenses set in a pair of brass goggles. He reminded her of a lizard she’d seen in her great aunt’s ancient and totally forbidden Encyclopedia Britannica text, Volume G-H, entry Galapagos Islands.

  The man lifted the lantern to get a better view.

  “SteamWizards,” Elspeth announced, pulling out her badge to display her credentials. “Citizen Shutterhouse.”

  “Right this way,” the man swung open the door and motioned her in. His leather robe failed to conceal his thickening middle. Economic sanctions would be coming his way if he didn’t do something about his physical condition.

  Overindulgence today starves the infant on its way.

  Elspeth shut off the dogma. She had always scoffed at the indoctrination of her childhood and did her best to live under the radar of the Overseers, but sometimes the slogans seeped into her psyche anyway.

  She followed the man down a shadowed hallway, hoping she would be given a glass of ale after her ride, but the man made no such offering and ushered her through a door on the right. He reached for a control on the wall and turned up the gas lamps. Light bathed the huge bay beneath the house, illuminating the lines of a monstrous juggernaut of metalwork and gears, topped off by a fantastic filigree of wrought iron vines surrounding a sculpture of two gilt swans set beak to beak.

  Elspeth stopped in her tracks, thunderstruck.

  “It’s the Marriage Machine!” she gasped.

  She rarely ever gasped.

  The bald head rotated her way, and the goggles found her face. “Never mind what it is. Can you fix it?”

  Of course she could fix it. Elspeth could fix anything. That’s why she had been singled out for the job. She might be young, but she had a special knack when it came to mechanical objects. Her father had noticed her aptitude early on and had taught her as much as he could before his untimely death.

  She edged closer. “What’s going on with it?” she asked, as she surveyed the complicated mass of wheels and belts.

  “We have no idea. It won’t start up. We’ve sent word to the manufacturer, but apparently the owners of the patent are the only ones who know how to fix the machine. They hail from the Outer Islands. It’s a long journey. And with the holiday the cyclones always start, you know. So it’s hard to predict when someone will actually get here. That’s why I called the SteamWizards.”

  Elspeth had quit listening to his chatter at the first mention of the term “owners.”

  “A Ramsay?” Elspeth stared at the small man. “Is coming here?”

  “You know of them?”

  She nodded. Of course she knew of them. In a household of mechanics, you either loved or hated the plutocratic Ramsay family. She hated them. To her way of thinking, the Ramsays were responsible for the numbing and dumbing down of the entire female population of Londo City—and had made a profit on it in the bargain.

  She studied the machine in which the “lucky” women exchanged marriage vows with preselected strangers and were never the same again. The Marriage Machine was usually displayed as a wedding bower, with its inner passage draped in velvet and fringe, its outer workings concealed with silk ferns and orchids, and its dark influence invisible to all who ventured inside.

  Elspeth had always wondered how the Marriage Machine worked. And now she was about to find out. She could actually discover what made the Marriage Machine tick.

  And then she could destroy it.

  Talk about perfect timing.

  Elspeth placed her backpack on the floor, and the tools clanked as they settled upon the wooden planks of the stage where the machine had been installed. Then she straightened and placed her fists on her hips. “I’ll need to see the schematics,” she said, sure that the Ramsays guarded the secret of their machine from all but their inner circle, but hoping she might get her hands on a diagram if she bullied her way forward.

  “I don’t have any,” the bald man said. “The machine’s been operating for nearly two hundred years. My predecessors didn’t keep the documentation.”

  “Parts list?”

  “Nothing.” The man shrugged. “It’s never had a problem until now. It’s got a lifetime guarantee.”

  “Whose lifetime would that be?” Elspeth walked around the chassis of the machine, sizing it up, looking for leaking valves and broken lines. It took about five minutes to see that a hole had been poked in a slider valve supply line. She could repair such a problem with her eyes closed.

  “I have ten weddings lined up for tomorrow and twenty more on Friday. I can’t tell you what a travesty this is. It’s the holiday season. I could lose my job.”

  Elspeth frowned and shook her head. “I don’t know, citizen—“

  “Davies. It’s Citizen Davies.”

  “I don’t see anything wrong right off the bat, Davies,” she lied as she reached for a lever topped with a black onyx ball. “Is this how it’s turned on?”

  “Yes.”

  Elspeth yanked the brass arm downward. She heard a burst of air, a wheeze, and then nothing.

  “See?” Davies motioned toward the machine. “That’s all it does.”

  Elspeth crossed her arms over her chest as her future closed around her like a dark tunnel. She had decided long ago that she would rebel against the preordained future if she ever received a silver envelope. Well, she had received the dreaded envelope just that morning. But this Marriage Machine development had increased the implications of her personal rebellion a hundredfold. She had more than just her future in her hands now. She held the future of all the women of Londo City.

  If she decommissioned the Marriage Machine, her career would be ruined. She would be ostracized from society, and would probably be sentenced to life in the work camps. But the authorities would have to catch her first. And whatever freedom she knew on the run, even if was only a handful of days, would be worth it. This was her seminal moment.

  But finding the key to complete system breakdown would take some time.

  “I need to perform a series of diagnostics.” She reached inside her pack for an apparatus she had made for herself, a portable light she could hold in her hand, with a powerful beam produced by a magnesium ribbon. It was only a prototype, hel
d together with a clumsy set of clamps and topped by a crude lens, but it was perfect for small dark spaces. That’s where she usually worked.

  “What is that thing?” Davies asked, peering around her elbow.

  “Something I’m developing. I call it a hand-torch.” She switched it on. “Now if you don’t mind, Citizen Davies, I prefer to work alone.”

  “Of course.” Davies backed away. “Summon me if you need me. I won’t be able to sleep anyway. The PneumoSpeak is by the door.”

  As soon as the man disappeared, Elspeth ducked into the chamber of the Marriage Machine to begin her search for the heart and soul of the beast.

  The block clock tooted out twelve blasts muffled by fog just as Elspeth found the heart of the Marriage Machine. She had labored six hours disassembling countless housings and gears, all arranged in neat rows behind her in the order in which she had unfastened them. By midnight, she was exhausted, and had begun to wonder if sabotage was even possible. But at the last stroke of midnight, the beam of her hand-torch found the innermost secret of the machine, and all fatigue vanished.

  “Helloo!” Elspeth whispered, awestruck.

  Suspended at eye level in a frame of brass was the largest ruby Elspeth had ever seen. In fact it was the only ruby she had ever seen. Respectable citizens didn’t wear jewelry or colored fabric or anything that could be considered superfluous adornment. In these hard times, there were more important things to concern oneself with—like merely surviving.

  She traced the gem with the tip of one finger as she studied the surrounding machine works. The jewel was at least six inches in diameter and glowed with an otherworldly luminescence. Light must be refracted through the gem’s faceted depths, passed through the human body, and was somehow able to affect a person’s reproductive system and mental outlook. She felt for the heavy nuts that held the frame in place on the backside of the jewel. She estimated it would take her a good half hour to free the ruby from the intricate frame, and would probably ruin her knuckles. She reached for a wrench.

  It was during the shredding of her knuckles that she came up with an even better plan than destroying the Marriage Machine.

  A door slammed and awakened Elspeth. She jerked to a sitting position, banged her head on a pipe and gawked at her surrounds—completely disoriented. She had fallen asleep in the bowels of the Marriage Machine. Elspeth rubbed her skull as she heard Davies talking to someone in the room outside.

  “A repair person has been working around the clock,” Davies sputtered. “We’re doing everything we can.”

  Elspeth struggled to her feet, ignoring her aching muscles and sore back. She was sure there was a pattern of rivets stamped into her butt. Trying to gather her wits, she pulled out the pocket watch she wore around her neck and squinted at it. Good heavens, it was nine o’clock in the morning. She couldn’t remember falling asleep or finishing the job for that matter. But a quick glance around the chamber told her that every gear and every nut and bolt had been returned to its place. No one would ever suspect what she had done during the night. As the two men talked outside the machine, she replaced the walnut panels and headed for the door of the bower.

  Elspeth picked up her backpack just as the door of the Marriage Machine was flung open with a clang.

  “And what have we here?” a voice boomed.

  Elspeth stared at the man staring back at her. She had never seen such a creature. He had to be over six feet tall. No man in Londo City was over five and a half feet. He wore a long leather traveling coat with rain flaps at the collar that failed to disguise his massive shoulders. But even more shocking was his hair. It was black. As black as tar. She’d never seen black hair before. Everyone in the LC had the same mousy brown hair—a product attributed to centuries of inbreeding.

  Elspeth threw back her shoulders. “Citizen Shutterhouse, SteamWizards.”

  “Sleeping on the job, were you?” the man demanded. His blue eyes raked her up and down.

  The man’s ingratitude infuriated her. He had to be one of the Ramsays.

  “A girl needs her beauty sleep.” She jumped out of the Marriage Machine and aimed to land on his right foot, but he stepped aside just in time to escape injury. She shot a glance at him, amazed that such a large man could possess quick reflexes.

  “She’s all fixed, Citizen Davies,” Elspeth announced, hoping the giant would back off once he knew his family’s precious machine was functioning—at least to the casual observer. But instead of smiling in relief, he glanced at the injured supply line she had fixed, as if doubting her claim.

  “That’s wonderful news!” Citizen Davies exclaimed, clapping his hands. “Oh, you’ve made my day. Remarkable work, Shutterhouse. Remarkable!”

  “Have you tried it?” the tall man broke off his stare. “Have you powered it up?”

  “Not yet,” Elspeth retorted. “But I’m certain it will work.”

  Davies skittered to the start lever and pulled it downward. The Marriage Machine sputtered, shimmied, and then chugged to a start. Davies’ goggles turned her way. He beamed. “Glorious!” he cried. “I am the happiest man on earth.”

  “And I’m the thirstiest, Davies,” the tall man retorted. “I’ve been traveling all night. Spare me a whiskey, would you? And Shutterhouse as well.”

  “Indeed!” Davies trotted to the door. “I have a single malt I’ve been saving for a special occasion. I’ll only be a minute.”

  “I don’t drink on the job,” Elspeth slung her backpack over her left shoulder. “And I really must be getting back to work.” She turned toward the door.

  “Not before you tell me what you’ve been doing here all night.”

  Elspeth paused and looked over her shoulder.

  “Citizen,” he drawled.

  His tone and his dark regard made her heart race with alarm. But she’d never let him see it. She planted a fist on her hip. “And why should I tell you? I have no idea who you are.”

  “I’m Ramsay.” He inclined his head stiffly. “Captain Mark Ramsay. I assume you are acquainted with the name.”

  “Not with yours particularly.”

  “With my family’s then.”

  “I’m not dead.”

  His eyes narrowed. “But you might wind up in that condition, if you don’t tell me what you were doing here all night.”

  She frowned. He had some nerve, threatening her. She raised her chin and sent him the most withering glare she could muster. “Is that the thanks I get for fixing your damn machine? Bloody hell!” She stormed toward the door, but he caught her arm, surprising her again with his speed. His large hand easily encircled her bicep.

  “A respectable citizen doesn’t swear.” He warned. “I could report you.”

  “And I could report you!” she shot back. “For manhandling a female. Let go of me!”

  “Not until you tell me what you’ve been up to.” His face loomed inches away from hers. He had amazingly white teeth. She could see his nostrils flare. His nose was large and sharp, and unnervingly provocative when in such close proximity to her.

  “What part of fixing don’t you understand?” she retorted, shaken by her reaction to him.

  He squeezed her arm. “It couldn’t have taken twelve hours to repair what was wrong with that machine.”

  “And how would you know?”

  “Just a lucky guess.”

  “I was tired. I fixed the Marriage Machine and decided to take a nap while I could.”

  “You’re lying.”

  “That makes two of us.” She struggled to break free. “Now let me go, or I’ll call out.”

  His grip relaxed as his wide mouth curled up at one corner, almost as if he were struggling to hide a smile. The smirk only infuriated her more. She wrenched her arm out of his grasp and brushed all traces of him off her leather sleeve.

  His blue eyes flashed down at her. She’d never seen blue eyes before either. Everyone in the city had brown eyes. Fascinated, she stole a second look, unused to col
or of any description in her foggy, monochromatic world. She imagined the sky had once been the color of his eyes. But she had only heard about such a sky in the tales of her great aunt.

  Then she noticed his eyes darkening to a deeper color, as if the sky were melting into the warmest and most cerulean of oceans. He must have noticed her studying his face.

  Elspeth flushed. She was gawking at a Ramsay, and daydreaming of a wonderland of color. What in the Name of Wanda was the matter with her?

  Ramsay gave a short laugh, as if he’d registered her mental lapse. “Since when did the power company start sending girls out to do their work?”

  “I’m not a girl.”

  “Really?” He cocked a brow. “Then what are you, pray tell?”

  “An ace mechanic who happens to be a woman.”

  His cool glance surveyed her figure a second time, but his expression remained impassive, unreadable, as if he took no pleasure from the view.

  Elspeth was only too aware that she hadn’t been blessed with feminine contours. Her aunt often chided her to eat more and work less, and maybe then her breasts and hips would have a chance to develop. But she’d never taken the advice. There were too many projects to work on through the night after her long hours at the power company, and too many diagrams to draw. Moreover, she hadn’t cared about the size of her breasts until she’d been sized up by Ramsay just now and obviously found lacking. If she had possessed ponderous breasts like her cousin Amelie, she would have unfastened her jacket and flaunted her attributes in Mark Ramsay’s face. She would bet his nostrils would flare then.

  Unfortunately, her breasts were not of the flaunting variety.

  “A woman?” He snorted. “You look barely old enough to wear a corset.”

  “I’m twenty-five, I’ll have you know. And was top of my class.”

  “In what—Advanced Impertinence?”

  “I’m not being impertinent!”

  “You stare. You don’t mind your tongue.”

  “It is my right to speak my mind.” She raked him up and down as thoroughly as he had surveyed her. “Just because you were born into the esteemed Ramsay family, and have every luxury at your disposal, doesn’t give you any more rights than me, citizen.”

  “If you believe that,” he sneered. “Then you are woefully naive.”

  Her flush deepened.

  Again, their glances locked, and this time his eyes flared with challenge. But before either one of them could say anything more, Citizen Davies whisked through the door with three glasses on a tray.

  “Days of cake and cream should be far and few between,” he said, smiling. “But I believe this is one of those days. I do believe it is.”

  Elspeth suspected that he had enjoyed more than his share of such days.

  Davies picked up a glass of whiskey and held it out to her. “Citizen Shutterhouse?”

  “Thank you, but I must be going.” At the door, she turned to look over her shoulder, sure that Captain Ramsay would be watching her departure with a triumphant sneer on his handsome face. Instead, he was sipping his drink and staring at the Marriage Machine, deep in thought.