Lost Worlds (my sci-fi short collection)

Steampunk Spy

Author's Note - Written for Tevun Krus 3 competition - steampunk flash fiction featuring a spy (500 words exactly - not counting this note!)

Bertram stood on an upside down crate and peered through a hole in the fence, his hands cupping his face, his greatcoat brushing his ankles. 

A large horse was being lead around the enclosure by a lad. As far as he could see, it was a fine animal, but nothing out of the ordinary, nothing to warrant the rumours of an unbeatable winner. 

Hastily he stood down, kicked away the crate and walked on.  

It was evident that he would need to change his tactics; casual observation wasn't going to be enough, he needed to infiltrate the stable. 

He allowed a sneer to cross his face at the thought. Horses. How old-fashioned, even obsolete. In this new golden age of steam, where zeppelins floated through the skies in regal splendour and steam trains roared underground, who needed horses? 

Even racehorses would be replaced soon by the steam carriage. He had heard rumours of a new model that could travel at more than thirty miles an hour! Not as fast as a train of course, but still! He could hardly wait to get his hands on one. Maybe when this job was finished he would have enough money to buy one. 

"Good afternoon, Lord Bascombe." The stable owner welcomed Bertram inside with a fawning smile. "I understand you are interested in investing in my new venture?"  

"Perhaps. If I like what I see, my good man." Bertram could see the owner's sharp eyes weighing up the value of the gold fob watch he wore across his embroidered waistcoat, the silk cravat at his throat, the brass cane he carried. 

"Of course, my lord. This way if you please." He led the way to a large shed at the back and ushered his guest inside, unexpectedly locking the door behind them. 

Uneasy now, Bertram plastered a supercilious expression on his face and looked around. To his surprise, the shed was lined with steel. There were no windows, only what appeared to be an air vent in the roof. In the middle of the floor was a huge cloth-draped object, surrounded by scaffolding.  

"May I ask how you heard of my little venture?" asked the owner, smiling. 

"Oh. 'Fraid I can't recall exactly, probably at one of my clubs, don't you know." 

"Nevermind, you're here now." He pulled a handle on the wall and the cloth fell away. "You're the first to see the finished product. I call it, Trojan Terminator." 

Bertram stared at the silver machine in front of him. It did bear a slight resemblance to a horse, he supposed, if a horse had a rivetted metal barrel for a body, with four gleaming pistons for legs.  

"Let me show you how it works." 

The man turned a handle at the back of the machine, where a horse's tail would have been. In a few moments steam billowed forth from the creatures nostrils, and its eyes glowed a fearful red. Pistons pumped furiously and the creature leapt forward. 

Bertram screamed once.