A Steampunk Story of Triumph, Disaster, Inventors, Insane-asylum escapees, and American Frontiersmen with guns. They are not thieves, merely lady and gentlemen members of the Acquisitions Bureau.
Theodore Thaddeus Thatch the Third...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"UP YOU GET, RUNT!" The growl was accompanied by a kick in the ribs from a man the boys simply acknowledged with 'Yessir'.
Rusty curled up tighter in his bundle of coarse blankets in response to the jarring awakening. His backbone caught the next blow, and he was pulled from the heap by a large hairy fist. A fist, which was attached to a large hairy man by a large hairy arm. He was dragged, blinking, across the damp floor. His feet slid under him as he tried to find footing on the flagstones slick with a green substance, which resembled pond scum in almost every particular excepting the sour smell. It dripped from the ceiling and down the wall of the dank cellarage turning all the mortar lines sickly shades of gangrenous black and green. After a short interval of being towed along, Rusty found himself blinded by the light in the next room.
Before he could rub the sleep from his eyes, his master was shouting again. – a mine collapse had left him half deaf – "CUTTER! I'VE GOT A MACHINER'S BOY!" The hairy brute bellowed. "THAT CLEVER ONE WITH THE GYPSY MUM!"
"MMMmmf Mmmmrrgh." Came the reply. Ribbons of metal caged Cutter's face. They bit into the skin, and clamped his mouth and eyes tight shut. The scoundrel stretched out a hand in his blindness and felt around until he came to find the shoulder of the poor little boy. He seized his collar with an iron grip, and examined the child with his hand. Finding his stature lacking, Cutter shoved the boy away, mumbling curses from under the mask.
"HE'S A YOUNG ONE," the hairy kidman conceded without dropping his tone "BUT HE'S GOT THE SPARK." He thrust the child back toward the ensnared criminal.
"Yessir" Master Rusty muttered through his drowsiness. He'd left his fancy new hat in his rag pile, and very much wished he had been wearing it so the rather nasty bloke he was tasked with assisting would think him taller and older. "If you 'old still I can take it apart, mister." Rusty assured him. "It's only springs n' gears n' such." He took hold of the trap and twisted at it in effort to remove the panel that kept the ratchets, gears and cogs from showing. This caused the wires to pinch Cutter's face further, until he lost his temper and lashed out at the boy, cuffing his head sharpish.
Rusty rubbed the ear that had been boxed. These were not the usual sort of mechanics he'd set his hands to, and what's more, it would have to be carefully removed if he was to avoid bearing a whipping or three. After a thorough examination of the device's exterior, a slot for a hexagonal key was discovered. "...Sirs..." Rusty began in a cautious tone of respect "This one ain't standard. It's got a lock on it."
"Fuugh" Cutter growled.
"DAMMIT BOY!" The Kidman shouted, "PICK THE RUDDY THING THEN!"
"Yessir, I'd have to see inside it." Rusty explained, "Or It might squeeze the squishy bits out the top of his head. Or I need the key, sir."
"NONSENSE!" The kidman declared. He gripped the contraption and pulled with all his might, nearly breaking Cutter's neck in the attempt.
Cutter screamed, and tried to articulate that if it hadn't worked before it wasn't about to work now. He also commented on the kidman's lack of intelligence and hygiene with vulgarity that I hesitate to repeat.
