Gears, Gizmos & Gadgets

By Callum Pearce, Geraldine Borella and Tim Law

See the giant airships sailing through the skies hear the gears that run our worlds grinding together. Join a team of amazing authors from around the world and House of Loki for Gears Gizmos and Gadgets. You'll meet clockwork cats , dogs and even dinosaurs. Travel with Loki to exciting worlds and meet fantastic characters. Gears Gizmos and Gadge

• Language: English
• Publisher: House of Loki
• Release date: Mar 25, 2023
• ISBN: 9789189853010

Book preview

Foreword

Have you ever thought about Electricity? I mean, really thought about it? Have you ever thought about everything you do with it? You work, play, talk, and learn with it. In fact, you might even be reading this right now on a device that uses Electricity. And if you’re not? You might be using lights to see what you’re reading.

Crazy, huh?

Now. Next question.

Have you ever thought about your life without Electricity? What would that be like? What would it look like? And, most importantly, what would it feel like?

That’s what Steampunk is about… the question, What if we never used Electricity? What if we only used steam and gears to make things work? What would that look and feel like?

Gears move slowly at first, ensuring that they mesh well together. They engage and support each other to move forward. On a steam engine gears impel the pistons and the pump, powering the machine to move forward.

This anthology of steampunk stories came together like a well-oiled steam engine. Our brain cogs slowly turned and the ideas flowed. Ideas spun around between ourselves and Callum for the content and title. And then? Then, Gears, Gizmos and Gadgets emerged like one of the glorious machines you’ll see in this collection. More authors added to the machine, powering their glistening new gears with wondrous ideas and stories. And so, with each author’s story supporting, energizing, and pushing forward our machine, this fantastic collection of steampunk stories came into being.

Welcome to the world of Gears, Gizmos and Gadgets! Come on in! Give our gears a spin! See people in places far away and closer than you think. See robots and mechanical animals! Travel through both space and time! Wear fabulous hats and ride fantastic machines! And, most importantly, join our heroines and heroes doing their best to make their fantastical worlds a little bit better.

Ever your humble travel guides,

Lynne Phillips and Brian MacDonald

The Broken Boy of Frozen-Nose

By Geraldine Borella.

When she retold the story, she’d start with the part about finding Ari. Though deep in the chambers of Violetta Olsen’s heart—where secrets are stored and truths are tested—she’d come to believe it was Ari who found her. 

Regardless, the beginning remained the same. 

As Violetta put-putted around the bays and inlets of the island of Frozen-Nose in her steamboat The Water Strider, searching for treasures washed up by the tides, a glint of sunlight reflected off something shiny. It could be valuable, she thought. She and her father Erasmus were low on coin these days—the sea holding onto her fish like a king to his throne—and scrap metal in Felderstad could fetch a lofty price. Mechanics wanted it for boats, and surgeons made mechanical limbs out of it, replacing those of the fishermen attacked by The Kraken, the monstrous octopus of the deep. Violetta’s father never let her go beyond the shallower waters of Felderstad Harbour or the island of Frozen-Nose, to remain out of the way of The Kraken’s terrifying tentacles—a very sensible decision, considering Violetta’s mother, at the helm of the ill-fated Osprey, had been taken by it six years ago. 

Turning the bow in the direction of the bay, Violetta pulled on the lever to release more steam: to fire the pistons, turn the cogs, and power The Water Strider forward. Puffs of smoke plumed into the morning sky, like warm breaths on a cold day. She pulled her scope-goggles down over her eyes and focused on the beach. There was something metallic there, something big and covered by seaweed. A thrill ran through her. This could be a brilliant find. Maybe fetch enough money to buy chickens or a goat with? Or get a permanent fix to the hull of The Porpoise, her father’s fishing boat. She puttered into the bay, willing her engine to go faster. 

Despite its name, Frozen-Nose—an island off the coast of Felderstad—was green and leafy, lush with towering trees. Trickling streams fed into the sea, water wending its way from snow-topped mountains down through the forest, and sculpting the sandy beach into rivulets. A massive rock formation jutted out from the peak of the tallest mountain, like an aristocrat’s haughty nose, gifting the island its name. 

Violetta longed to explore Frozen-Nose. She’d climb its hills and lay in its wildflower fields, build bonfires on the beach and swim in the crystal-clear waters of its bays. There’d be hidden wonders to uncover, she was sure of it, caves and waterfalls, wildlife and birdlife. Who knows what might be found on this magical deserted island? It’d be fun to explore it with someone, but scraping a living in Felderstad as a ragamuffin treasure hunter didn’t leave much time for fun, or to make a friend. 

Approaching the shore, Violetta pushed forward the lever to close off the steam, dropped an anchor, and jumped out into the knee-high water. Shifting her goggles onto her forehead, she surveyed the shoreline. She’d taken a punt on checking the eastern side of the island—being more protected, it was less of a dumping ground for scrap washed up by the tide—and it appeared her hunch might have paid off. There was definitely something salvageable there! 

She ran through a mental check of the gear attached to her belt and squirrelled away in the many pockets of her leather waders: a coil of rope, mechanical-retrieval arm, pocket-knife, spyglass, messenger-swift, compass, flint. Check!

What have we here? she said, clomping up the sandy dunes. The seaweed monster didn’t answer, so she knelt before it and pulled strands of slimy kelp away. It was about the same size as Violetta, big for scrap metal. Enough to buy chickens and a goat with, as well as fix The Porpoise! She couldn’t believe her luck. 

As she freed it of seaweed, something unexpected emerged: a metallic boy! What the jig!

From the waist up, the robot-boy’s torso resembled that of a human skeleton, with a chest plate, rib cage, arms and skull. Strands of seaweed hung from a curved spine which originated from a monocycle, the column of metal vertebrae tracking behind the ribs and chest plate to hold up a brass head. Violetta brushed dirt and sand away, marvelling at the machine’s puzzle-piece face. Brass plates were set in place forming cheeks, forehead, chin and sculpted nose. 

But how does it run? Violetta wondered. She poked her head around the back of the chest plate and spied a boiler. Ah, steam-driven. A tall brass cylinder reached the height of the boy’s shoulders with a fire chamber nestled underneath. Cables fed from the boiler into the spine at the base of the skull. As she inspected the robot-boy’s face, she noticed a dim turquoise-blue light shining from its right eye, so some residual charge remained. She checked the large, spoked rubber tyre of the monocycle—it was still inflated, though the tread was a tad worn.

He was bogged in sand, tipped at a precarious angle to lean against a rock. Violetta sat back on her feet in awe. She’d never seen an automaton before. She’d heard Mikael Kristiansen, Felderstad’s elected story-spinner, weave tales about them, stories meant to frighten young ragamuffins like her—of armies of robots invading towns and enslaving humans; of machine malfunctions causing havoc and devastation—but they were just stories and she hadn’t believed a single word. To see one out here on the beach though was something she never dreamed possible. 

What to do with it? She knelt forward, slipped her hands under its arms, and tried to lift it out of the sand. Nope, not gonna work. Far too heavy. She peered around the back of the torso to check the boiler, looking through a small glass window on the side. Hmm, not a drop of water left. If she filled the cylinder and built a fire in the chamber below, perhaps she might get it moving. Then, she’d command it to follow her into the boat. Huzzah! Easy as that. Imagine the coin she’d receive for a working automaton.

   Uh oh!

The unmistakable whir and intermittent puff of an airship approached overhead. It’d be Gunilla Gundersen for sure, piloting Sweet Sentinel, on the prowl for treasures such as this. Gunilla had all the high-tech gear—the scopes and heavy-lift retrieval arms, strong scrap-metal fishing electromagnets, and even a metal-detecting alarm. She’d float Sweet Sentinel (Sweet? Ha! More like sly!) over an item and snatch it before you could flick your chest with the elastic of your braces. She didn’t register the treasure hunter code of bagsing either and didn’t agree that the first person who found the piece legally held claim to it. And no one could challenge her on it, being Mayor Stefan Gundersen’s daughter. 

Perhaps more infuriating was that the bootlicking barnacle didn’t even need the scrap metal she found. Her family were the wealthiest in Felderstad. She just liked the hunt; even more so, the steal. Violetta wasn’t about to let her nab this treasure though. No way, manta ray! She rushed about replacing the seaweed she’d pulled off, wallpapering every inch of the automaton, and then perched herself on top of the whole slimy, sandy mess, hoping it was enough to prevent Gunilla’s metal detector from alarming.

The airship glided towards her, no doubt seeing The Water Strider, and pulled to a low hover. It was Gunilla alright. She leaned overboard, her black braids dangling, and cupped her hands over her mouth. What are you doing, Violetta? 

Nothing! Violetta lounged back and placed her hands behind her head, elbows winging out. Just enjoying the sun.

Oh yeah?

Uh-huh. It’s a cracker of a day.

Found anything down there?

Not a sliver.

"Well, I just snagged the hull of a shipwreck with my magnets! boasted Gunilla. Got a mega haul of scrap!"

Wow! said Violetta, without the tiniest bit of enthusiasm. Amazing. 

Gunilla hesitated, scanning the beach and surrounds. She thinks I’m lying. Crossing her feet at the ankles, Violetta sighed long and loud. Ahh, loving these rays. She tried to sound relaxed despite her heart hammering at a thousand beats per minute. Holy mother of pearl, please go, Gunilla. Please just go!

You want to be careful. With that red hair and pale skin, you’ll get sunburnt, you know, said Gunilla. 

Violetta shrugged. Whatever, Cabbagehead.

Gunilla continued, And I can’t imagine you have much time to laze about with only your father working these days. 

Whoa, low blow! Every muscle in Violetta’s body tensed, her face aflame. 

Gunilla looked down her pointy nose and waited, as though watching to see if her fish would take the bait. Violetta kept her mouth shut, biting the inside of her cheek to stop words from escaping and Gunilla snorted. Well, some of us like to keep busy. See you later, lazy bones. 

The airship propellers whirred and Gunilla took off. When she was out of sight, Violetta sat up and screamed in frustration. "That stinking sea slug! I hate her, I hate her, I hate—"

Do I... The automaton beneath her jolted about. ...look like... Violetta shrieked and jumped clear. ...a chair? Get off would you... 

Holy carp! she cried. You can talk?

The boy jerked his arms some more, torso moving about but said nothing. Violetta removed the seaweed, then ran to collect items from her boat—a jerrycan of water, dry tinder, coal and matches. When she returned, she pointed at the boiler. Mind if I...? The automaton-boy didn’t respond, and she took that to mean ‘go right ahead’. 

 Before long, she’d filled the boiler and built a fire, and while waiting for the water to boil, she dug the sand away from the monocycle wheel, clearing the deep channel where the boy had become bogged. They were simple fixes, and she hoped it’d be enough. 

And it was! The boy powered up, gears whirring and clanking, body jerking about. Straightening to vertical, both eyes glowing bright turquoise-blue, he brushed the remaining sand away. 

Thank you, he said, in a remarkable imitation of a real-life boy. That’s exactly what I needed. My name’s Ari.

You’re welcome. Violetta smiled and introduced herself.

He bowed his head. Well, good morning, Violetta Olsen.

Good morning, Ari. She wasn’t sure whether to bow in return. Would it be impolite not to? She nodded, hedging her bets. 

You’ve been most helpful, Violetta Olsen.

Please, I’m just Violetta.

Received and acknowledged, Just-Violetta.

"No, I mean just call me Violetta."

 He chuckled. Yes, I’m sorry, I was only kidding. Violetta was taken aback. He makes jokes? And while I appreciate you firing me up, I could’ve done without the slimy seaweed wrap. 

Oops! Sorry. I should explain. You see, I was trying to hide you from Gunilla Gun— Before she finished, Ari leaned forward, picked up a handful of slimy kelp and flung it at her. Hey! she cried, jumping clear. What was that for?

Not so nice, is it? he said, laughing and tossing more. A full-on seaweed fight commenced, the two ducking and weaving and lobbing strands at each other, until Ari said, Stop now, please. It’s time to ascertain situational awareness.

Huh?

I must calculate where I am in time and space, to work out where to go from here. His eyes glowed and dimmed as he said it, as though he were running some kind of internal scan.

You could come home with me if you like, said Violetta. She gestured down to the shoreline where The Water Strider rested in the shallows. Take a trip in my boat. She couldn’t look him in the eye when she said it. It didn’t seem right to trick him for her own gain. It felt like something Gunilla might do. But she needed the coin. It was as simple as that.  

I’d like that very much, said Ari. 

Violetta’s breath hitched in her chest and she bit her bottom lip. Is he really going to come with me? Just like that? A pang of guilt followed. What are you doing, Violetta? Do you really want to take him back to Felderstad where someone will put him to work or pull him to pieces? 

I’ve always wanted to take a trip in a boat, said Ari. But not this day, for I’ve gained situational awareness, and now I must go. There’s much work to be done. 

With that, he rolled off in the direction of the forest. 

Huh? But wait! What do you mean there’s much work to be done?

Ari ignored her and kept motoring, finding a trail that led from the beach into the thick woods. Intrigued, Violetta followed, running to catch up. What work did he possibly have to do on this deserted island? 

She caught up, trotting alongside. Where are you going?

To complete my work and help Miss Millicent.

What? Someone lives out here? Who’s Miss Millicent?

Ari didn’t miss a beat. Miss Millicent is who I work for.

Yes, well, I gathered that. But what can you tell me about her? Violetta thought for a moment. Like...what’s her last name? 

Miss Millicent’s last name is Kettle.

Millicent Kettle, huh? Ari didn’t answer, as though the answer was obvious, and she supposed it was. What does Millicent Kettle do out here? 

 Do? What do you mean, do?

Well, is she a seamstress or a cook, a mechanic, a scientist, a doctor...? What does she do with her time?

Ari slowed for a moment as though processing the question. Ari is unable to determine if Miss Millicent is a seamstress, cook, mechanic, scientist or doctor. Miss Millicent eats food, reads books, knits socks, looks through her telescope, brushes her teeth and hair, reclines in her bed, and goes to a small room she calls the toilet several times a day where she—

Okay, I don’t need to know that! Violetta raised her hands and grimaced. 

But you asked what Miss Millicent does. He trained his bright blue eyes upon her. Was it her imagination, or did she see a slight twinkle there? A mischievous smirk?

Yes, well, you don’t have to be quite so... detailed.

Ari turned to focus on the track ahead. Follow me and you’ll see Miss Millicent for yourself. Come along.

The track wound through the forest, and crossed a small stream—Ari took the stream quickly, splashing Violetta with a watery wake, laughing to see he’d wet her—then it continued on the other side. Violetta remained in pursuit, struggling to run in her heavy waders. 

Could you slow down? 

Oh, are your leg-limbs malfunctioning?

Well, no...yes...a little.

He slowed the pace as they climbed a grassy hill and passed a reed-filled swamp to arrive at a patch of dense forest. Violetta looked up to see the tall towers of a massive, ruined castle slowly surrendering to the choking attack of weeds. A brass model of the solar system—she’d once heard it called an orrery—projected from a domed-glass atrium in a magnificent spire. The walls of the castle were made of copper and stone. The stone was cracked in places and was in urgent need of repair and the copper was turning green. A copper clock graced the wall above the main entrance and green-copper dragonflies posed as inaccurate clock hands. They pointed at nine and six. Half past nine? It was almost midday! With so much to see—turrets and arches, towers and spires—Violetta stopped to soak it all in.

What is this place? she whispered to herself. 

Ari turned to answer. This is Dragonfly Keep where Miss Millicent Kettle lives. 

A castle keep! On Frozen-Nose? Is Miss Millicent royalty? A queen or a princess or something?

Ari tilted his head. I’m unable to determine that. 

He continued on to the large metallic entrance door, then pulled a lever set in the stone wall to the side, while training his right eye upon some sort of reader. The door slid open and he turned on the spot.

You may not enter. You must wait here while I check the current well-being and intentions of Miss Millicent.

Oh, okay. The boy spoke formally at times, which Violetta found amusing, given he was so childlike at others. 

He motored away and the door slid shut. 

Violetta waited, throwing pebbles into the pond out front. What if Millicent Kettle was royalty? Imagine meeting a princess or a queen!

But the elderly woman who opened the door a good fifteen minutes later didn’t look much like royalty. She looked more like one of the old ladies that sold wild mushrooms down at the dock, her hands in fingerless leather gloves, clutching a gold cane. A top hat adorned with chains and small brass timepieces perched jauntily on her thick silver curls. She’d pinned the collar of her undershirt at the neck with a dragonfly brooch, and her black leather corset, decorated with purple lace, was cinched at the waist with a wide leather belt. Boots peeped out from under a