THE MARVELOUS MECHANICAL MAN
By Rie Sheridan Rose
Steampunk/Adventure/Romance
The Marvelous Mechanical Man is the first book in a Steampunk series
featuring the adventures of Josephine Mann, an independent woman in need
of a way to pay her rent. She meets Professor Alistair Conn, in need of
a lab assistant, and a partnership is created that proves exciting
adventure for both of them.
Alistair’s prize invention is an automaton standing nine feet tall.
There’s a bit of a problem though…he can’t quite figure out how to make
it move. Jo just might be of help there. Then again, they might not get a
chance to find out, as the marvelous mechanical man goes missing.
Jo and Alistair find themselves in the middle of a whirlwind of
kidnapping, catnapping, and cross-country chases that involve airships,
trains, and a prototype steam car. With a little help from their
friends, Herbert Lattimer and Winifred Bond, plots are foiled,
inventions are perfected, and a good time is had by all.
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I was debating just what I should do next when I heard the sound of a key in the front lock. Hurrying back to the laboratory, I was just in time to see Alistair Conn step inside.
“Professor Conn! Am I glad to see you.”
He set the bundles he was carrying down on the counter.
“What is it, Miss Mann?”
“Your mechanical man...can it walk on its own?”
He frowned, glancing quickly at the rear door and back.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I rolled my eyes.
“We don’t have time for shilly-shallying. Yes, I know I didn’t have your leave to look in the back rooms, but I did. I saw the automaton, or statue, or whatever he was, but when I opened the door to the hallway this morning, the door to the storage room was ajar and the man was gone.”
“Gone?” All the color fled his face, and he pushed me aside, practically running down the lab to the rear door. He threw it open and darted to the storage room. “No...no! This is impossible! How could he be gone?”
“That’s what I was asking you.”
“He can’t move on his own, Miss Mann. He has no power source. He’s just a big metal doll without his heart—and that doesn’t work yet.” He wiped his hand across his lips then turned and ran back to the lab, searching furiously amid the items I had so carefully arranged—apparently to no avail—on the counter. “It’s gone!” he cried. “They got that, too? Oh, this is disastrous, indeed.”
“Got what?” I asked, following him back to the lab, where he seemed determined to destroy all my neatening efforts of the day before.
“The heart, Miss Mann, the heart! I showed it to you yesterday morning—it’s an oblong machine, about so big….” He held up his hands about six inches apart. “You asked me what it did.”
I stepped over to the counter and opened the drawer beneath it. Rummaging in the back, I withdrew the silk-wrapped package I had placed within it the night before.
“Is this what you’re looking for?”
He practically snatched it from my hand.
“Thank God! Oh, that was most clever, Miss Mann. Most clever.”
I decided there was no need to tell the man it was only chance that had protected his precious...whatever it was. Let him think it had been foresight.
“You say that’s the statue’s heart?”
“Well, it will be, if it ever starts working. This little object will provide the power necessary to move the automaton’s limbs, to let him think. He will be a true mechanical man.”
“But it doesn’t work.”
He sighed.
“Not yet.” He set the oblong down on the counter. “I’ve done everything I can think of, but I just can’t make it do anything.”
I looked down at the funny little machine. I couldn’t tell him I had played with it and added things. He would never forgive me.
Something looked odd about the assembly. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what, so I put my finger on the machine instead. There was a tiny lever half-hidden by the new gear assembly. It shifted under my fingertip, and suddenly, the heart began to beat.
Kate Winslow pulled her hat
brim low to shade her eyes. It was always difficult making a shot into the sun,
but this time she had no choice. The varmint who was trying to take her ranch
was holed up on the other side of the ridge, and she had one chance to rescue
Pa and save their range land. If she could shoot a hole in the water tank
rising above the stock pen, perhaps she could start a stampede and draw the
varmints away from the house long enough to get inside and free Pa.
She had never expected to
find herself in this position as a child. Ma and Pa had made sure she learned
to read and write and cipher—Ma wanted her to be a schoolmarm when she was old
enough; and until she was twelve, she’d expected that was how it would be.
That year Ma caught scarlet fever,
and Kate and Pa were left alone to run the homestead. Instead of planning
lessons, she’d learned to shoot and ride like a Comanche, and swear like a
wrangler. Smart as a whip and strong as a horse, Kate earned a reputation for
hard living and equally hard loving. She wore men’s trousers and had been known
to tip a few in the local saloon.
But what she really longed
for was a man that could stand at her side, run the ranch, and make her feel
like a woman….
— Garrett Goldthwaite — Calico Kate and the River of Gold
Chapter 1
“I did not lie to you, sir! I am Jo Mann. I am here…”
I heard my voice creeping up
toward a shout, and forced myself to take a deep breath. What would the heroine
of one of Garrett Goldthwaite’s dime novels do in a case like this? I had found
that question served me well in similar cases where I was at a loss for what to
do.
It didn’t take but a moment
to decide. She would stand her ground. Of that, I had no doubt.
Straightening my back, I
looked down my nose at the odious little toad in the wrinkled shirt who was
staring back at me with bulbous eyes.
“I am here to apply for the copy reader position that was
advertised in last evening’s paper.”
The toad blinked myopically.
“But you aren’t qualified.”
“The advertisement said the only qualification is an ability to
read and write. I assure you, sir, I am most qualified in that area. I have
been doing both since I was five.”
“But you are a girl.”
“That has nothing to do with…!” I was beginning to screech again.
Deep breaths…deep breaths…
I tried once more.
“I am fully aware of my sex, Mr. Greenstreet. However, it has no
bearing on whether or not I am able to read and write. These are the only
listed qualifications for the position.”
“But you’re a girl. And a little slip of a thing at that. A
newspaper is no place for a lady.”
I realized he was trying to be kind
as he tapped together my papers and handed them back to me, but it did nothing
except irritate me further. I knew what he saw when he looked at me—a short
female with too many unruly curls and too few pounds on her slight frame. And
not much chance to get any fatter if I didn’t find a job soon.
The five one-dollar bills
tucked into the sole of my boot were all I had left in the world. To make
matters worse, two of those were due the landlady on Monday.
I swallowed any pride I had
left and tried a final time.
“Mr. Greenstreet. Sir. I understand I would be an unconventional
choice for the position…”
Whatever kindness the
gentleman had felt was rapidly deteriorating—I could see it in his eyes. I’ve
always been good at reading people.
“Look, Miss, I wish you the best of luck, but there is no work
for you here. Why don’t you see if Father Murphy over to the church across the
street can suggest something? Maybe one of his parishioners is looking for a
governess or some such. Good day.” He handed back my forged letters of
recommendation—a girl has to eat—with an air of great finality.
Stifling a sigh that I feared
might lead to tears, I stuffed the carefully fabricated papers into my reticule
with no further concern for their well-being. Fat lot of good they’d done.
I spun on my heel, nose in
air, and swept out of the room. Unfortunately, my exit was marred when on the
way out of the door I slammed into a hard surface and bounced backward; it was
sheer luck that I didn’t fall flat on an unmentionable body part. I opened my
mouth to protest—and, for once, found myself at a total loss for words.
The “surface” in question
turned out to be a young gentleman dressed in most peculiar clothing—natty tweed
trousers and neat brown boots, but a collarless shirt with undone vest in a
vile green plaid that clashed horribly with the trousers. Over the entire
ensemble, he wore a long white coat with many pockets bulging in interesting
ways and bearing several noxious stains in lurid colors. Not bad looking in an
academic way, he wore his dark hair a bit longer than was fashionable and had
the most brilliant blue eyes I’d ever seen behind round wire spectacles.
I am enough of a typical
female that I felt a frisson of pleasure run through me at the sight.
“Oh, excuse me!” the gentleman murmured, reaching out a steadying
hand stained with splotches of some chemical. “I didn’t see you.”
“Obviously not,” I said with a sniff of distain. It would never
do to show the man I thought he was rather handsome. It would just encourage
him. Men didn’t need any encouragement to be obnoxious.
“Are you all right, Miss…?”
“Yes. I’m fine. No thanks to you, I must say.”
“I’m terribly sorry. If there’s anything I can do…”
Mr. Greenstreet stepped from
behind his desk.
“The young lady was just leaving, Professor Conn. Have you
brought your advertisement?”
The young man glanced down at
a grimy piece of paper clutched in one hand as if he had never seen it before.
“Oh. Yes. Yes, here it is. I would like to run the piece for one
week in both the early and late editions—unless we have a favorable response,
of course.” He handed the scrap of paper to Mr. Greenstreet. “I believe you
said that would be fifty cents?”
He fumbled in his vest pocket
and pulled out a coin. The newspaperman took the coin and read aloud what was
scribbled on the paper.
“‘Wanted, lab assistant. Hours expected: ten a.m. to four p.m. Occasional
night work may be required. Pay twenty dollars a week’—oh my, Professor Conn.
That is a mistake, surely. You mean twenty dollars a month, don’t you?”
“No…no, I mean twenty a week, Mr. Greenstreet. You feel that’s
excessive?”
Mr. Greenstreet shrugged.
“It’s your money. I’ll just send this down to the typesetters.”
That was an outrageous
salary…it was as much as a governess would earn in a month! How hard could the
position be?
Nothing ventured, nothing
gained.
Heart pounding in my chest, I
snatched the paper from his hand.
“No need to trouble yourself, Mr. Greenstreet.” I turned to Professor
Conn. “Do you have a problem with a female assistant, sir?”
The gentleman in question
blinked at me.
“Well, no, I don’t suppose so. As long as she’s willing to work.”
“Then there is no need to place the advertisement.” I plucked the
coin from Mr. Greenstreet’s hand as well and handed it back to the professor.
“I’ll take the job.”
“Oh. Well, I…”
Poor dear, he seemed totally
out of his depth. Lacing my arm through his, I turned him back toward the
doorway.
“Now, why don’t we go next door to that lovely little café, and
you can tell me all about the position over a nice glass of lemonade and a
cucumber sandwich?” This was pushing things a bit, but I was ravenous.
The professor looked a bit
dazed, but he didn’t protest or hang back, which was a good sign. Mr.
Greenstreet glowered at me as he moved back around his desk, but I didn’t care.
I gave him a little wave as we stepped out the doorway.
I couldn’t help feeling a bit
sorry for Professor Conn as I guided him down the stairs and shepherded him to
the café. Marching him to the counter, I ordered two lemonades and a plate of
sandwiches. The young man behind the counter looked up at us expectantly, and I
nudged the professor in the ribs. He jumped a little, but reached into his
wallet and paid for the food without protest.
Steering him to one of the
little tables, I finally let go of his arm and plopped down on a bentwood
chair. As he sank down across from me, a bemused expression on his face, I
stuck out my hand.
“My name is Josephine Mann. I go by Jo. I believe I’m your new
assistant.”
He took my hand in his,
calluses scraping the bottoms of my fingers, and shook it.
“Alistair Conn. I teach three days a week at the University. The
rest of the time I spend in my workshop. I’m a bit of an inventor.”
I waved away the explanation,
cramming half a cucumber sandwich in my mouth. I was too hungry to be ladylike.
I hadn’t eaten since the previous morning, and it was well after two in the
afternoon. Washing down the sandwich with a gulp of lemonade, I made an effort
to be nice.
“Just tell me where to be in the morning, and I’ll be there.”
Professor Conn scratched his
ear.
“You aren’t precisely what I was expecting in an assistant, Miss
Mann—”
“Jo. Please.”
“Jo, then. I require someone to take dictation of my lab notes,
to do some minor lifting, perhaps monitor some of my experiments while I am in
class…”
“I can do all that. Maybe do your laundry too,” I mumbled around
sandwich crumbs, with an eye to his mussed and rumpled clothing.
“I am not looking for a maid, Miss Mann,” he replied stiffly. “I
need a lab technician.”
I bit my lip. I was
irritating him already. Not a good start to a working relationship.
“Yes, I know,” I said, in my most soothing tone. “I promise I can
do all that. I write a good hand, I read everything I get my hands on, I’m a
good listener and a quick learner. I’m strong as a horse. And I really need the
money.”
“Well. You are direct, I’ll give you that.”
“What’s the point in beating around the bush? You need an
assistant, I have rent to pay—oh, and about that. Today is Wednesday. If you
could see your way to pay me for the rest of this week in advance…” I held out
my hand hopefully. Never hurts to try.
He took out his wallet once
more and pulled out ten dollars. He started to hand it to me then pulled it
back.
“This just feels a little sudden to me, Miss Mann. I’m not sure—”
“Please, Professor Conn, I really need this position.”
I’m not very good at feminine
wiles, but I batted my lashes anyway, hoping he wasn’t used to being on the
receiving end of them either and wouldn’t notice my lack of finesse.
“I’m down to my last dollar. There aren’t many openings for women
in these enlightened times of eighteen-seventy-four. England may be ruled by a
queen, but here in good old New York City, it’s a man’s world. I’ve tried all
the acceptable positions—shop girl, factory worker…but I never seem to land in
one place for very long.”
“I wonder why that is,” my new employer commented wryly.
I felt the heat rise to my
face. Obviously, I was already making an impression.
“To be frank with you, sir, unless I want to be a governess or a
housemaid, all that’s left for me is settling down as some man’s wife, and I
assure you, that’s not the life for me.”
“I see,” Conn
Ten dollars for two days? It
was a fortune! I could live with that—and, with careful budgeting—start to
improve my situation. Mrs. Milligan would be happy to have the rent on time for
a change, that was certain.
I stuck out my hand again.
“You’ve got yourself an assistant, Professor.”
Rie Sheridan Rose multitasks. A lot. Her short stories appear in
numerous anthologies, including Nightmare Stalkers and Dream Walkers
Vols. 1 and 2, and Killing It Softly Vols. 1 and 2. She has authored
twelve novels, six poetry chapbooks, and lyrics for dozens of songs.
These were mostly written in conjunction with Marc Gunn, and can be
found on “Don’t Go Drinking with Hobbits” and “Pirates vs. Dragons” for
the most part–with a few scattered exceptions.
Her favorite work to date is The Conn-Mann Chronicles Steampunk
series with five books released so far: The Marvelous Mechanical Man,
The Nearly Notorious Nun, The Incredibly Irritating Irishman, The
Fiercely Formidable Fugitive, and The Elderly Earl’s Estate.
Rie lives in Texas with her wonderful husband and several spoiled cat-children.
WEBSITE & SOCIAL LINKS:
Website: https://riewriter.com/ and https://theconnmannchronicles.com/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/RieSheridanRose
Thank you for the opportunity. I appreciate it.
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