The street was busy but Emily Rosen had practice weaving between the playing children, peddlers, and carriages neatly while still keeping her skirts up and out of the puddles that littered the cobblestone road. She walked smartly; she had to get back to the house with her supplies before noon, or she wouldn’t be able to help cook dinner and would get none of her own. Weaving around a game of clinkers and a woman walking her dog, she approached the grocer’s stall, barely pausing in front of it before she began filling her large basket with vegetables that were laid out on the table.
“Morning, Henry,” She said casually to the seller, not really glancing at the older man with the bushy moustache who was already preparing her bill.
“Ah, lovely Rosen! The usual, I suspect?”
“Add on three extra tomatoes, another bunch of carrots, and three heads of cabbage. Big House is having a dinner.”
“Ohoho!” Henry stroked his face. “Who will grace the halls tonight?”
Emily glanced up and leaned against the stall, able to pause for the first moment since she had stepped outside. “Who really knows? I’ve heard it’s the Prime Governor of Sussex, an actress from the Aussies, and the inventor of the gear. But it doesn’t matter, I won’t get to meet them any way or how.”
The beefy man laughed. “Always the practical gal, aren’t ya? Any other maid would stay here gossipin’ for at least a century!”
“Well, I don’t need gossip - just my bill.”
Henry sighed, and handed over the hand inked bit of parchment. “What, not gonna help break my boredom? Never gonna attract a nice lad that way, gal.”
Emily made a noncommittal noise in the back of her throat as she pulled out her small cloth purse. “It’s exact,” She said as she gave him a handful of thick silver coins.
“Isn’t it always?” Henry replied drily.
Emily gave him a slim, polite smile and began walking back the way she came.
“Oi, gal!”
Emily turned back, having only walked a couple paces. The flow of people continued to move around her, as if her abrupt stop had already been planned and accounted for.
“Don’t work too hard, y’hear?” Henry tossed an extra carrot high over the heads of the crowd. Emily gave him another smile, this one more wry.
“But Henry, then I’d be bored like you!”
She turned and walked smartly into the crowd, satisfied at Henry’s booming laugh fading behind her. He was a good sort. Most people gave up making conversation with her the first time they experienced her slightly brusque nature, but Henry continued to ask her about her day and even laughed at some of her odd jokes. He even teased her sometimes, and even though she was too busy during the day she laughed when she remembered his jokes as she was falling asleep. After working in the Big House, the home of the three richest families in all of the Angland, for three years most of the other maids didn’t converse with her much. She didn’t mind, though: Most of them were very silly, foppish girls anyways.
Rounding a corner onto a less busy street, Emily shifted her heavy basket to one arm and bit into the carrot, tasting sweet vegetable and gritty earth. She slowed her pace, after a glance at the large clock tower that dominated the skyline reassured her that she wouldn’t be late. She smiled to herself, knowing that her previous haste meant she could now take the long way home.
Turning away from the main streets and disentangling herself from the natural flow of people, she ducked through used furniture shop, and the cut across a horse yard to get to a part of Londen town completely different from the one she was in previously. Still chewing her carrot, she made her way to a slim alley street most people missed when they walked along one of the quieter and poorer streets of the busy city.
The moment she ducked under the ragged cloth that covered the gap between the street and the alley, she was hit full in the face with a burst of steamy air, blowing a few tendrils loose from her stern bun.
The alley was bursting with life, especially compared to the street from which it spawned off from. Little shops and stalls were crammed into the nooks and crannies, with each seller calling out to and teasing one another from their places. People were greeting each other as they walked, all frequenters of this little private space. It was full of men, women, children, elders, the poor, the rich, and everyone in between. But it wasn’t an area for social calls to be made: What everyone was focused on were the wares.
Sitting out on every table were small clockwork machines, made to perform household tasks or to amuse children. Men selling spare parts forged from junk yards or obtained illicitly from steam carriages parked on the streets were making small fortunes selling to every tinker to pass by. The one proper shop that branched off from the alley was a Mal’s Garage, where inventors could rent bench space for three coppers an hour. It was loud as bargaining, friendly chatter, and excited conversations about new ideas carried crackling and inviting as a warm fire.
Emily made her way through the crowd just as she had before, making a beeline for one particular store nestled in the back. The owner of this particular wagon of junk, Gil, was one of the oldest profiteers of the spare-part trade.
Spying Emily, Gil waved at her over his mountain of twisted metal. She twisted herself around a small crowd of excited youths and finally reached the old man’s cart.
“Whaddya got that’s new today, old codger?” Emily said, her speech pattern relaxing audibly as she adopted the more slurred, slang-filled tone of the lower-class Anglish instead of the proper tone she used at work.
“Managed to scrounge up this old flamer,” Gil said with a sly smile. Emily tried to contain her surprise. Flamers were quite expensive and hard to come by. They were able to shoot out a directed flame and were used to melt metal into any shape needed. It would cost a pretty penny, one she didn't have.
She pretended to be disinterested, gazing up to the balconies of the flats above where two boys were sending little toy zeppelins back and forth between their windows.
“And why’s that any better than what I can rent at Mal’s?
Gil scoffed. “You know perfectly well anything is better than his naff bit o’ machinery. Can barely light a cigar, much less bend metal!” he grinned widely. “Don’t try to bluff, gal, I know ya’d kill a man fer one o’ these.”
Emily looked at him, still a bit sceptical. “Prove it works.”
Gil picked up a useless old spring that had lost its sprung in one thick-gloved hand. He pressed a button on the gun-shaped machine where a trigger would have been, and out shot a jet of bright golden flame.
Emily jumped back at the sudden heat the machine threw off. She had expected Gil was exaggerating, trying to scam her as he had tried when she had first ventured into the alley. But when the old man carefully stuck the thick piece of metal under the jet of flame, Emily could see it turning a glowing red and becoming softer. Then, hands in thick leather gloves, he pulled on the ends of the spring, pushing bits in and out until it was shaped like a heart and dunking in in his water bucket to kill the flames
“Only the best for the fine lady,” Gil jested, holding out the cooling piece of metal to her.
Emily took it carefully, touching only the bit Gil held when he heated it. The once-tarnished metal shone like new, and it looked as fine as any metal wreath an rich gentleman would buy for his sweetheart, albeit undecorated.
She looked up at him, all attempts of bargaining for the flamer gone from her mind.
“Whaddya want for it.”
Gil laughed at her resigned tone. “Actually, this being a special piece, I have a bit of a special asking price for it.”
“Don’t tell me I have to fix your stove again,” Emily shuddered. She usually did odd jobs for the old man to pay for the things she bought on her days off, but that had been the worst of it. She spent the entire day covered in grease with her head inside the lit oven, trying desperately to get the proper gears to turn the turkey-spit. By the time she had finished her back ached, her clothes were ruined, and she went back to the Big House and almost slept through her next work day.
Gil twitched. “T’weren’t that bad,” he muttered.
“Oh yes it way, you sly old man. And all I wanted was one itty bitty wrench…”
“That was an incredibly fine wrench and you know it.”
Emily was about to argue back when a lad in a fine embroidered vest and pageboy cap came up next to her. “What do you have today, Mr. Gilbert? Something new, I see?”
“Clear off,” Gil said angrily. “Can’t ya see I got a deal goin’ through?”
“I’ll pay you double what she is,” he said excitedly, pulling a silk drawstring purse.
“Bah!” Gil flapped his hands at the youth. “Clear off, young ‘un! Respect yer elders!”
The young boy fled, looking shocked and perturbed. Emily turned back to Gil, and incredulous look on her face. “You’ve never said no to extra money before,” she said, now suspicious. “What’re you playin’ at?”
Gil shifted uncomfortably.
“And why’re people calling you Mr. Gilbert now?!”
Gil started rubbing the back of his neck. He wouldn’t meet Emily’s eyes. “Yer just a gal. Y’don’t understand how things’ll change as ya get older.”
“Gil, I swear, don’t give me any of that cryptic shite.”
The old man closed his eyes. “Just.. I’m tired. I’m old. I got no kids to inherit th’ shop. I was thinkin’ I’d be wantin’ an apprentice t’ take the stuff when I start to go barmy. I was gonna give ya th’ flamer if ya agreed t’ do it.”
“Well, that’s not as bad as I thought.”
Gil’s eyes popped open. “Y’aren’t offended?”
“Why in the name of that god-awful hammer you sold me once would I be offended?”
“Cuz’… Yer a lady! Ye should be wantin’ t’ settle down and ‘ave little ‘uns and…”
Emily laughed. “I’ve never cared about any of that? I’m too young for it anyway. I’d like nothin’ more than to come work here with ya.”
“Ye’ll have ta quit the Big House.”
“Bollox on the Big House. It’s a bunch of useless work for people I’ve never actually spoken to.”
“Ye’ll have to move near here.”
“I’d like nothin’ more. This is possibly my favourite place.”
“Ye… Ye won’t get benefits!”
“Do ye’ want me t’ work here or not.”
“…Yes…”
Emily smiled, triumphant. “Good. I’ll see you as soon as I can get away from that place. But now… I have to go back to that place.”
Gilbert smiled too. “If yer sure… Yer flamer will be here fer ya.”
“Keepin’ my first pay check? Sneaky old man!”
Again Emily departed a marketplace to the sounds of booming laughter. She ducked under and around the crowds back onto the street and started heading back to the Big House at a near run, slipping the metal heart into her basket as she dashed back to the main street. She was excited, and happy that Gil trusted her enough to want her to take over his stall. Her secret passion had been inventing, just making little metal devices that amused her mostly, but it was the craze. All of the empire had become obsessed with the Gear Trend, as it was called, ever since it was discovered that carriages could be powered by steam instead of horses. Now every house worth mentioning boasted as many steam and gear devices as they could, and every young person had dreams of getting their device sold in a store like Gremlins or made en mass by a company like Steelworks. Everyone thought they had something to offer. But for the average person, it wasn’t a realistic goal. However, now there was a possibility for her. She had a chance to get involved in the beautiful, strange, gear trade.
She just had to figure out how to get out of her indentured servitude first.
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