Gears of Brass: A Steampunk Anthology Page 4

  A horn blew a short distance away. Someone shouted, “Over here!”

  The bushes rustled and out stepped a woman carrying a bow in one hand and an arrow in the other. Grateful to see a friendly face, Edward pulled Dora toward the beautiful huntress emerging through the trees.

  “Diana!” Dora waved.

  Edward called, “Ho, there, Di!”

  The young woman, only slightly older than Dora, walked closer. The leather jerkin showed off her form while men’s riding trousers could not mar her perfection.

  “Oh, dear,” she said, seeing the carriage, then the broken metal bird. “Are there more of them? Are you injured?”

  Her first words weren’t the ones Edward longed to hear. He would have preferred, “My darling, I am so happy to see you.”

  “No,” he replied. “Just the one bird, and we’re fine. You’ve arrived at the right moment, as always.”

  Diana laughed as she returned the arrow to her quiver. “I do have impeccable timing.”

  Dora took Diana’s hands and the two women kissed air on one cheek and then the other. Edward closed his eyes and puckered his lips.

  “Come on, we’d better go. Our hunting party spotted your horse, and your father is waiting.”

  Edward, pouting, opened his eyes as Dora draped herself carefully on his injured arm and Diana took the other. Edward bit back the pain from the slash on his shoulder. No kiss, but at least I travel in style. He bounced a little as they walked. Two beautiful women in the forest. Poor Peter and his Bunsen burners.

  Edward’s thoughts were broken as Dora leaned into his ear and whispered, “How did the bird get so big? It was smaller when it left the chest with the others.”

  Edward raised an eyebrow, but only replied, “Later.”

  It wasn’t long before they reached a clearing in the forest and Edward saw the hunting party. There were the usual body servants, doctor, and the dog-handler. A supply wagon sat nearby. Edward’s lathered horse was being brushed by one of the servants. He felt his sister’s arm slip from his as soon as Zeus came into view. The old man embraced Dora, then rubbed a smudge of dirt from his daughter’s cheek, giving Edward a glare with his good eye.

  Edward was distracted long enough not to see his father’s dog-handler lose his grip on Cerberus’ leash. The enormous mastiff flung itself at Edward, whimpering with joy at seeing his one-time master. Edward tried to stop him, but too late. He screamed with pain as the two-hundred-pound animal placed both paws on his shoulders. They fell backward, Edward trying to protect his torn shoulder while Cerberus licked his face.

  “Oh… uh… good boy… uh, not the kiss I wanted… uh stop.”

  “Father, his arm!” Dora shouted, rushing toward her brother at the same time Diana bent over laughing.

  “Just be glad he doesn’t have three heads! What a slobbering that would be!”

  “Oh, make him stop, Diana,” Dora said. “His arm is injured!”

  Now both Diana and the handler tugged at the dog’s collar. Edward finally caught his breath between the pain and his own laughter.

  “What have you been feeding him? Peasants?” Edward asked as Cerberus—tail wagging wildly—was removed.

  They pulled the dog off to one side and replaced its leash.

  Put a spike on that tail and it would be a killer.

  “Sorry, sir, we have been trying to train him.” The handler was red with embarrassment. “He was getting much better at not jumping…”

  The sound of whirring gears and rhythmic clicking from Zeus’ mechanical leg cut the handler’s words short. Edward sat up as his father walked toward him with his personal physician—Zeus never traveled without him.

  “Get out of my way.” Zeus shoved the handler aside. “What’s this about your arm?”

  Standing over Edward, Zeus studied him with his good eye while the one Peter made with polished crystal rotated toward the doctor. Zeus waved his hand, and the man quickly knelt beside Edward to examine the wound. In the meantime, Diana explained how she had found Edward and Dora near the rubble of their broken carriage. Edward made out one sentence, “…some strange metallic bird.”

  “Well?” Zeus asked the doctor. “Will he keep it or lose it?”

  His father didn’t mince words, and Edward knew better than to say anything until addressed directly by him. It was hard to keep his mouth shut, but he did. Oh, don’t get your hopes up, Father. I won’t be another of Peter’s clever experiments. Yet Edward had to admit, Zeus was lucky Peter put him back together after the battle. Most men didn’t fare so well when shrapnel ripped them apart.

  “It’s deep, but no damage to the muscle or tendons. A few sutures should do it. And some rest for the arm.”

  The doctor scowled at Cerberus’ handler and the man removed the mastiff back toward the Mount. They were finished hunting for the day. Finally the moment Edward was waiting for—his father spoke to him.

  “Seems we have some things to discuss.”

  “Yes, we do,” Edward replied calmly. “I trust Peter hasn’t been here yet?”

  Movement from behind his father’s supply wagon caught his attention.

  “Oh, I’m here, brother. I just felt Father should hear it from you first.”

  Damn you. How did you make it here so fast? You trapped me again. Edward would not have approached the subject so abruptly. Now he was on the spot. Thankfully, Zeus was the sort of man who preferred civility. They would only talk after everyone was clean, rested, and fed. And then, Edward hoped, maybe enough brandy would calm them all.

  Surrounded by trees on three sides and vineyards on the other, Mount Olympus, the name Edward and Peter had given their father’s estate, rose gradually from the river.

  When their father married, he built this mansion on the crest of the hill after having workers move earth to flatten it. Zeus always joked as the boys grew that he would “move the earth” for Hera. Sadly, she was less amorous toward him. It took three years to fully complete the structure and another five for Hera to fill it with costly decorations. Then, as soon as Dora was born, her mother laid the tiny infant girl on a nearby boulder hoping the wolves would take her, packed a few personal belongings, and left to build another empire someplace else. All this crowded Edward’s thoughts as the hunting party, plus three, neared the entrance. Edward took Dora’s hand and kissed it. I will always protect you, sister.

  The mansion was centered on the hilltop. A straight stone-paved road led directly to the door. Edward recalled his father’s lesson about that. The road of life runs from birth to death, but don’t forget the lovely things along the way. Edward marveled at how much thought Zeus put into the design. The road to the mansion was no more than one hundred yards long, but every twenty paces or so, alternating on each side, a path meandered off into a hedge-maze, flower garden, or pool, or a small personal shrine under an arbor. Mature poplars lined the road, halting within ten yards of the main door.

  Edward was tempted to pull Diana on the path leading to the Temple of Love, but at the moment, they were at opposite ends of the column of travelers. Diana walked in the lead with Dora and Zeus. After them were a handful of servants. Edward managed to drop behind the supply wagon. He needed the extra space to think. And Peter? He placed himself at the back of the entire group. Edward was certain it was to keep him from running, which he had no intention of doing. Somebody had to be there for Dora.

  The main entrance door stood twice as high as the tallest man in their party, nearly twelve feet high. Imposing, Edward thought. It was meant to be. No man should enter another’s home without thought of his intentions—another of his father’s lessons. Other lessons were blatantly chiseled in stone above the eight pillars that supported the entranceway—Eight Pillars of Wisdom: Humanism, Excellence, Moderation, Self-Knowledge, Rationalism, Curiosity, Freedom, Individualism. Well, at least I can count a couple for myself. Peter and Dora have the rest.

  “Oh, look!” Dora’s voice rose suddenly above the sound of Zeus’ le
g, the horse’s hooves, and rattling wagon wheels. Until then, anyone who was speaking did so in whispers.

  Alarmed that they might be under attack from another of Peter’s inventions, Edward pushed his way to the front of the line. But it wasn’t concern that made his sister cry out; it was wonder. Dora hurried ahead of the rest to see beyond the door that seemed to open on its own. Edward called for her to wait, but no use, she entered.

  “No need to worry,” Diana said, sidling up to him. “Your father made an addition since you’ve all been gone.”

  “I don’t doubt he’s made many. It has been five years.”

  Diana jabbed an elbow into Edward’s ribcage.

  “What was that for?”

  “For dwelling on the past. Just go see what he’s done.”

  Diana nudged Edward forward and now he saw what excited his sister. Diana joined them in the anteroom.

  “Well, what do you think?” Diana asked.

  “I am truly amazed.”

  “Good. You need to be sometimes.”

  Edward ignored Diana. He would figure out what that statement meant later. Right now, he was too busy taking in the glorious marble fountain filling the center of the main entrance hall.

  Water flowed over a marble wall beneath it and cascaded into two tiers of statue-encrusted pools. Each statue portrayed one of the children. There was Peter playing with a building set while Edward threw a ball for a very young Cerberus, and Dora stood in the center in a ballet pose she had just learned. The other smaller statues showed the children asleep in their beds or reading on a servant’s knee, and an assortment of other daily routines.

  Dora mimicked her dance pose. Zeus applauded and the servants followed suit. Peter joined in, taking his sister’s hand to spin her around and around. Edward just scratched his head. The scene almost looked like family. More miracles?

  Their merriment was interrupted as Zeus’ deep voice filled the hall. “You must all be tired and”—he frowned at Edward—“in need of a bath. The servants will show you where to go, and we will all meet later in the dining hall.”

  Dora pranced up to her father, leaned forward and kissed his cheek. The crystal eye rolled upward in pleasure.

  “Thank you, Papa.”

  “Go on, now. We can visit later.” Zeus gave her a pat on the head as he had when she was very little.

  Edward wondered at how Dora brought out something in Zeus he never could, something like “humanism.” His father exited, and servants took his sister and brother off in the opposite direction. Another led Edward to his room.

  Peter paced in the sitting room. Dinner was over and he was eager to put an end to the day. Where were they—Dora, Zeus, Edward? Maybe Edward had once more managed to go behind his back and talk to their father without him. What lies was he telling at that very moment? No doubt making up some lame story that placed the entire blame on him instead of where it belonged. He could imagine it. “Peter created them and put them in the box. Therefore it is Peter’s fault.”

  It wasn’t that Peter cared if Zeus entrusted the estate to someone other than him. He did, however, care about the funding for his laboratory. It took him so long to convince his father to give him early inheritance money, so he could continue his work. If Zeus found out that some of that work didn’t turn out as expected and had now been unleashed on the world, possibly bringing life as they knew it to an end… well, he would cease funding it—period.

  Finally, the door swung open with Edward holding it for Dora. Peter eyed his brother as Edward helped himself to a drink, went to the most comfortable and strategically placed chair, plopped into it, and swung his left leg over the arm.

  No finesse. No manners.

  Dora broke the silence. “Wasn’t dinner delicious? I especially loved the roast goose with orange sauce. And dessert… Peter, what a fun way to serve it. Wherever did you get the idea?”

  “I’m glad somebody appreciates my talent,” Peter said as he neared Dora, taking his hands from his pockets, all but ignoring Edward. “It’s really a very simple observation. I’ve noticed that it takes a long time for the vendors in the city to walk from one end of the marketplace to the other. I wondered whether or not there was a way to make life easier for them.”

  Edward coughed.

  “Something stuck in your throat?” Peter asked.

  “Oh, no. I am so sorry. Please continue.”

  Peter knew his brother’s cough was intentional. Edward would never believe he had a heart for anything beyond his inventions, but he was wrong. Peter took his sister’s hand.

  “I do care about others as our dear Dora has taught me.”

  “Far be it from me to disagree,” Edward added.

  “Well, as I was saying,” Peter continued, “the idea came to me to make a cart that would fit over some kind of track that ran from one end of the market to the other, allowing vendors to move their wares quickly without personal strain.”

  Dora squealed, “Oh, brilliant! Isn’t it, Edward?”

  Edward mumbled something Peter couldn’t make out.

  Never mind. Edward is a twit.

  “What we used on the table was my model for the track cart. Once the ship is finished, I plan to go right to work on welding a full scale track.”

  Edward raised his hand as if in a classroom.

  Ignore him.

  But Edward would not be ignored. He blurted out, “A ship? Is that what you are building in your workshop? Sorry—your laboratory?”

  “Oh, a ship, Peter? Will you take it out to sea?” Dora asked.

  Peter loved watching Edward squirm as Dora hung on his every word.

  “No, sweetness, this ship will sail the heavens.”

  Dora’s eyes widened. Peter could go on answering her questions all night, but anything more she wanted to ask would have to wait as the door opened—Zeus had arrived. He told his servant to wait outside and closed the door behind him.

  “What was that about heavens?” Zeus asked.

  Edward answered, “Our illustrious teacher was just saying that he plans to fly a ship in the sky and then make tracks to carry street vendors through the marketplace.”

  Always the sarcasm. Peter spoke up. “Actually, Father…”

  Zeus held up his hand. “All that is to come and can wait. You children did not come to talk about the future, did you?”

  He poured himself a brandy, offering a snifter to Peter, who declined, and a refill to Edward, who held out his glass. The mechanical leg whirred as Zeus took his seat near the fireplace. He had to hit the back of his knee to bend the leg. The crystal eye scanned all three faces.

  Silence.

  “Well? Should I begin?” Zeus asked.

  More silence.

  “Very well. I believe we should begin with why two of my children were nearly killed fighting off a metallic bird today. Does that seem like a good place to start?”

  Oh, gods. Peter shifted his weight. “The Stymphalian was my fault, Father. I admit it. But it was Edward, and his lack of forethought and consideration for anything important, who let it out of the box.”

  There. He said it. He did not mean to say so much—not about the box—but it was done.

  Dora now sat on the arm of her father’s chair. “It was my fault, Father.”

  The eye blinked on Peter, then Dora, then opened on Edward and remained focused there while the good eye closed briefly.

  “Didn’t Peter just say it was his fault?” Zeus asked.

  Peter leaned in as Edward began to reply to their father’s question.

  “While Peter did create the bird, he entrusted the box to me,” Edward said.

  Edward actually confessed? Peter was dumbfounded.

  “So now you are all to blame? Even you, my Dora?”

  She hung her head and nodded.

  The three took turns detailing what had happened, even though Peter sensed their father already knew much of the story. Peter explained that some of his experiments were imperfect�
��that was very difficult for him to own up to. Edward kept the box until one day, when Dora visited—he had teased her, knowing her vulnerability. He was ashamed of taking advantage of her. And Dora, so kind she wouldn’t scold the dog if it bit her, just couldn’t contain her curiosity and opened the box. The ugly, horrible creatures—some sharp and pointed, some miniscule, pustuled, flying or creeping, fiery and icy—could not be stopped before they escaped out windows and doors. Now, they were going to attack mankind, destroy every plant, and crush every joy until nothing was left but them.

  Despite the dark horror of their explanation, Zeus’ voice remained calm and unchanged. His elbows rested on the arms of the chair, forefingers pressed to his lips.

  “I see. Well, it seems I have but one choice in the matter then.”

  There it is. He is about to pull his funding from my laboratory and disinherit us all.

  “You three made the mess. You three must right it together. It is not my concern. It is your responsibility.”

  Without another word, Zeus’ court ended. He rose and left the room.

  His words compelled all three into silence. Peter wrung his hands, hoping the others would speak. They sat glancing from one to the other, waiting to see who would be first. Dora jumped to her feet.

  “Brothers, we have been given a quest. Don’t you see?” She threw one hand up over her head. “Three knights on a quest!”

  “Well, better make that two knights, and a Lady in the tower, Dora,” Edward said. “It is far too dangerous…”

  “For a girl? In case you haven’t noticed, Edward, I am a young woman now, and I was wrapped around that tree today just as you were. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream.”

  “She’s right,” said Peter. “She has a part in this. Not that we will put her in harm’s way, but she has a part.”

  For the first time in a long while, it seemed to Peter that he and Dora now formed a bond. It had always been Edward and Dora, right from the time he found her crying on the rock outside the Temple of Light where Hera had left her. Peter knew Edward was her protector, but maybe it was time for them to work out their differences and become… a family.