Mechanized Masterpieces: A Steampunk Anthology by Alyson Grauer, Anika Arrington, Aaron Sikes, A. F. Stewart, Scott William Taylor, Neve Talbot, M. K. Wiseman, David W. Wilkin, Belinda Sikes
Authors: Alyson Grauer, Anika Arrington, Aaron Sikes, A. F. Stewart, Scott William Taylor, Neve Talbot, M. K. Wiseman, David W. Wilkin, Belinda Sikes
Tags: Cyborgs, Airships, Jane Austen Charles Dickens Charlotte Bronte expansions, classical literature expansions into steampunk, Victorian science fiction with classical characters, Jane Austen fantasy short stories, classical stories with steampunk expansion, steam engines in steampunk short stories, steampunk short story anthology, 19th century British English literature expansion into steampunk, Frankenstein Phantom horror story expansions, classical stories in alternative realities
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ridge, the bungalow in its path. In the deafening roar, the three seemed bound in a sinuous, serpentine dance about the lighthouse; and there, in the center of it all, perched on the edge of the cliffs, stood Bertha and Rowland, my brother.
The lighthouse door had never required securing. The thick stone walls had defied the tropics for more than one hundred years. It gave us hope. We secured the lines about ourselves to the iron staircase within, then ventured out toward our object.
Bertha had freed herself of her blouse and skirt. She stood shoeless, wearing nothing but wet leather. Her hair flew in great long black snakes, whipping about in the wind. Her contorted face completed the image of Medusa. She raised her hands high above her head and danced in the spray of the surf. She threw back her head and screeched at the heavens, reached toward the cyclones swirling in the near distance, as if she held them in her hands and ruled their motion.
Rowland appeared small and frail beside her, perhaps because she so easily threw off his attempts to control her. Both Julian and I understood. When the woman became so crazed, the most primal forces within her engaged and overcame men stronger than my brother.
In the face of such wind, I could not understand how he remained upon his feet. I motioned to Julian. He jerked his chin in understanding. We pushed off into the gale and pressed for the pair at the ledge.
Absorbed as Bertha was in her maniacal incantations, I managed to avoid her notice as I approached. Rowland leapt upon me, catching me unaware. We both fell hard onto the stone. Rowland raised his fist to pummel me. Julian pulled him off before he could strike.
Rowland fought against Julian. He could not hear reason. Bertha’s dance became more berserk. Rain and spray flew into my face with equal measure and clouded my sight. Bertha, wet and slick, slipped from my hands. She seemed intent not on escape, but in completing her insane ritual. I at last managed to grapple my wife, when again, Rowland assaulted me and wrenched her from my grasp.
The inexorable tide surmounted the cliff. With one relentless blast, it knocked us all from our feet, then sucked us toward the ledge as it drew back for the next wave. Bertha screeched and scrambled for some sort of hold. I lunged for her, but came up with naught but a fistful of hair. It was enough.
Secured by my line, I dragged her toward me by her tresses. Her last fall had rendered her unconscious. I preferred the dead weight to a continuous battle. I wrapped the rope about her, then struggled to my feet as the waves pummeled us. I pulled myself up our tether, my wife strapped to my back, until at last we reached the lighthouse. I stumbled over the threshold. We dropped in a heap on the floor.
I dragged Bertha up a few stairs and away from the encroaching water, then plunged again into the storm. I made my way down Julian’s taut line. To my great relief, he had managed to secure Rowland. Even so, my brother retained his consciousness and his loss of reason. He fought against all attempts at rescue, and Julian could not get back to his feet.
I returned to the lighthouse. With the next wave, when the line loosened, I looped it around a pylon in the lee of the thick stone, then began to haul.
As quickly as I could, I dragged the line through my makeshift pulley, betimes making great progress, betimes losing ground. I ignored the searing pain in my muscles, my throat, lungs, and eyes, burning with the salt of the sea. My serrated hands stained the rope red.
An eerie, gray-green light glowed beneath roiling black clouds, broken only by blinding bolts of lightning. The sounds of thunder, surf, and wind, like a locomotive bearing down upon me, became so much meaningless din. I concentrated on the growing pile of rope at my feet, and the line that went taut, then lax with each crashing wave.
I felt certain I had all but achieved my task. I wrapped the line about both my hands
The lighthouse door had never required securing. The thick stone walls had defied the tropics for more than one hundred years. It gave us hope. We secured the lines about ourselves to the iron staircase within, then ventured out toward our object.
Bertha had freed herself of her blouse and skirt. She stood shoeless, wearing nothing but wet leather. Her hair flew in great long black snakes, whipping about in the wind. Her contorted face completed the image of Medusa. She raised her hands high above her head and danced in the spray of the surf. She threw back her head and screeched at the heavens, reached toward the cyclones swirling in the near distance, as if she held them in her hands and ruled their motion.
Rowland appeared small and frail beside her, perhaps because she so easily threw off his attempts to control her. Both Julian and I understood. When the woman became so crazed, the most primal forces within her engaged and overcame men stronger than my brother.
In the face of such wind, I could not understand how he remained upon his feet. I motioned to Julian. He jerked his chin in understanding. We pushed off into the gale and pressed for the pair at the ledge.
Absorbed as Bertha was in her maniacal incantations, I managed to avoid her notice as I approached. Rowland leapt upon me, catching me unaware. We both fell hard onto the stone. Rowland raised his fist to pummel me. Julian pulled him off before he could strike.
Rowland fought against Julian. He could not hear reason. Bertha’s dance became more berserk. Rain and spray flew into my face with equal measure and clouded my sight. Bertha, wet and slick, slipped from my hands. She seemed intent not on escape, but in completing her insane ritual. I at last managed to grapple my wife, when again, Rowland assaulted me and wrenched her from my grasp.
The inexorable tide surmounted the cliff. With one relentless blast, it knocked us all from our feet, then sucked us toward the ledge as it drew back for the next wave. Bertha screeched and scrambled for some sort of hold. I lunged for her, but came up with naught but a fistful of hair. It was enough.
Secured by my line, I dragged her toward me by her tresses. Her last fall had rendered her unconscious. I preferred the dead weight to a continuous battle. I wrapped the rope about her, then struggled to my feet as the waves pummeled us. I pulled myself up our tether, my wife strapped to my back, until at last we reached the lighthouse. I stumbled over the threshold. We dropped in a heap on the floor.
I dragged Bertha up a few stairs and away from the encroaching water, then plunged again into the storm. I made my way down Julian’s taut line. To my great relief, he had managed to secure Rowland. Even so, my brother retained his consciousness and his loss of reason. He fought against all attempts at rescue, and Julian could not get back to his feet.
I returned to the lighthouse. With the next wave, when the line loosened, I looped it around a pylon in the lee of the thick stone, then began to haul.
As quickly as I could, I dragged the line through my makeshift pulley, betimes making great progress, betimes losing ground. I ignored the searing pain in my muscles, my throat, lungs, and eyes, burning with the salt of the sea. My serrated hands stained the rope red.
An eerie, gray-green light glowed beneath roiling black clouds, broken only by blinding bolts of lightning. The sounds of thunder, surf, and wind, like a locomotive bearing down upon me, became so much meaningless din. I concentrated on the growing pile of rope at my feet, and the line that went taut, then lax with each crashing wave.
I felt certain I had all but achieved my task. I wrapped the line about both my hands
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