Tesla: A Teen Steampunk/Cyberpunk Adventure (Tesla Evolution Book 1) (2 page)

“Please,” Isabelle said, “sit and talk to me.”

He sat down on the chair closest to the door and fiddled with his napkin.

“Are you staying around the village this summer?” She had a look of hope on her face.

“No, I’m off to the academy.”

“Shame. I think some of the children would like it if you were around. Will you go every year?”

“I think so, at least for the foreseeable future. The place is literally exploding with new ideas. There’s so much we’re learning. It’s a pity we lost so much knowledge after the reck—” He cut short his sentence and looked at Sebastian, who was busily drawing and appeared not to be listening to the conversation.
 

The two adults discussed the various problems of the area until Isabelle dished the food onto the plates. All three sat and chatted until they eventually got around to one of the hot topics of the playground.

“What do you make of the body they found out by the lake?” Isabelle asked Mr. Stephenson.

“I managed to inspect it. It looked unlike any person I’d ever seen before.” He took a mouthful of bread. “He was dehydrated to a critical level. It appeared he hadn’t had any fluid for a week. Then when he fell in the lake his body went into shock. He was killed by the very thing he was craving.”

“Did he look dangerous?”

“His skin was slightly thicker than ours, and he wore a kind of black armor. Not like ours. I doubt it would stop an axe. But it had no rust on it. And on one arm he had a long black tube. I’d be worried about what came out of that.”

“Do you think there’ll be others?”

“Good question. Are they like cockroaches, in other words? There’s obviously more than one, but where are they? As they’re an unknown quantity, it might be wise to be prepared. Do you still have the …”

“It’s hidden downstairs. Frankly, it scares me.” She folded her arms and glanced out the window at the fading light.

“You shouldn’t be afraid of it. Other households have similar ones.”

“Not like the one you created.”

He nodded. “Keep it well oiled, so it’ll work as designed if you do require it.”

“I don’t like the idea of living in a time where we must store weapons. That’s not why I came here.”

“Anyway, enough of this depressing talk.” Mr. Stephenson reached over to his old leather case and flicked it open. “My latest creation.”
 

He flourished a small box, a few centimeters high, then removed the base and revealed a tiny figurine of a ballerina. He placed it on the table and extracted an equally tiny key from his pocket. He waggled his eyebrows as he inserted the key into a small hole on the side of the base and twisted. The tiny clicks echoed around the large room.
 

He flicked a small switch underneath the dancer. Nothing happened. He looked puzzled and gave it a small shake but still nothing happened.

He took his toolkit from his pocket and extracted a small adjustable wrench. Slowly, and with a high degree of concentration, he released the bolt from the base and placed the securing washer by his plate, before carefully extracting the mechanism and giving it a gentle blow. He wobbled one of the wheels and pushed firmly until it clicked, then gently closed up the base.

“Now where did that washer go?” he said.

Sebastian looked down and saw the washer by his teacher’s elbow. “It’s here.” He picked it up and handed it over.
 

Mr. Stephenson gave him a suspicious look. He slid the washer into position and placed the box back on the table. He flicked the switch and the tiny dancer began to pirouette. Then music quietly seeped out of the small box, a melodious little tune that brought a tear to Isabelle’s eye.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered. “It’s so small and delicate. How did you make it?”

“I’ve devised a micro-furnace for some of the smaller workings, but all it takes is time and a steady hand.”

She turned it in her fingers. “And a beautiful imagination.”

“You have it, please.”

“Oh, no. It’s too pretty for me.” She put it down and pushed it back toward him.
 

He noted how Sebastian’s face fell in disappointment. “If not for yourself, how about as inspiration for young Sebby? We need some fresh minds at the academy.”

Sebastian’s face broke into a huge grin. He gave his mother his best pleading face, which eventually had her sighing in resignation.

“Very well,” she said. “But don’t disassemble it and leave the parts scattered over the floor where bare feet can tread on small sharp corners.”

The trio heard the ritualistic screeching of the fruit bats flooding into the dwindling remains of the day. Isabelle ignited the wick in the large gas lantern hanging above the table, which flared into life and bathed them in a soothing golden glow. Soon she made Sebastian prepare for bed.
 

Grudgingly Sebastian retired to his bedroom. He could barely make out their voices through the wall. He heard the scratching of a pen as one of them wrote on some dried-out paper his mother kept in the kitchen cupboard. Their voices receded until they were just echoes in his mind. The last thing he heard before he drifted of to sleep was the front door clicking closed.

*

A week later and school had finished for the year. Much to Sebastian’s disappointment, Mr. Stephenson had left the day after. In an effort to take his mind off his teacher, he had spread sheets of paper over the kitchen table and was drawing the mythical beasts populating his imagination during the day and his nightmares at night. Idly, he drew a great machine that floated in the air, firing large blunderbusses at the creatures below and defending his village.

Distracted, he watched his mother with one eye. “Is anything wrong, Mom?”

“I-I,” she stuttered. “I don’t feel …” She gazed out the window at the mountains on the horizon. The rain was coming. “What was I saying?”
 

She swayed, but managed to catch herself by the kitchen counter. She took a couple of deep breaths and steadied herself. She raised a hand and stared at it. It was shaking. Her legs buckled beneath her and she collapsed to the floor. She reached out for her son, trembling from the weakness draining her body.

“Help me,” she croaked before losing consciousness.

2

SEBASTIAN SAT IN his hiding place in between the walls behind his mother’s bed and listened to the adults talking.

“I doubt she’ll survive the night,” said a deep male voice.

“What about the child?” said a female voice. Sebastian recognized his aunt’s whining tone.

“You’ll have to look after him.”

“Me?”

“You’re the nearest relative.”

“I don’t have the space to look after his filthy bones.”

“I’m sure no one would mind if you moved in here. There’s the matter of the estate to manage until he comes of age.”

There was a pause. “It would be particularly unkind of me if I wasn’t to offer a guiding hand at this time of trouble. It’s the least I can do for my dearest nephew.” There was another pause. “I shall arrange for my possessions to be delivered immediately.”

*

Sebastian watched his mother being lowered into the ground on a sultry winter’s day, with a solitary tear rolling down his face. He had watched her fade from an angel to a fragile shell.
 

He woke from his nightmare crying heavily. He got out of bed and padded to his mother’s room. She was breathing gently. He crawled into the bed and held her tight.

*

He woke in the morning soaking wet. His mother had been sweating and had saturated the sheets. Her lips were chapped and her skin was flaky.
 

He ran to find the doctor, who grumbled and complained all the way back about the earliness of the hour.

The doctor looked at Sebastian’s mother and sighed. “There’s nothing I can do for her. Her time is up.”

“There must be
something
you can do.”

“I could take her to the hospital at Toowoomba. It’s the most advanced in the region. But I don’t know if she’ll survive the journey.”

“Please take her. I can’t watch her die.”

“It’s hardly worth the effort. Really, you have to grow up and face the facts.”

“I’ll pay you.”

The doctor paused in his tracks. Greed flashed in his eyes. “How much?”

“One hundred dollars.”

“That is a most generous offer. I shall collect my things and take her forthwith.”

Within half an hour, the doctor had returned with his ambulance cart. Sebastian helped his mother down the stairs, but she had lost all bearing on the world. Her head lolled and her eyes stared vacantly ahead. They lifted her into the cart. She was so light Sebastian thought he could have lifted her on his own.
 

He wrapped blankets around her and placed her favorite pillow under her head. He wiped his hand over her forehead, mopping away the sweat. He started to clamber into the front of the cart next to the doctor, but the way was blocked.

“You cannot come. There is insufficient space. And by the way, I’ve arranged for your aunt to come and be your guardian.” The doctor pushed Sebastian, who fell off the cart and landed heavily in the dirt.

His mother stirred in the back.

“Now look what you’ve done, foolish child. You’ve upset her.” The doctor cracked his whip and the horse started to trudge away.
 

Sebastian lunged after his mother and grasped her hand. He felt it wrap around his, briefly, before she succumbed to her own darkness and let him go. He fell back again into the soil. On his hands and knees he watched his mother’s frail form being dragged from him. He folded his head into his arms and sobbed.

*

The doctor rode the cart out into the desert. He rode for a day. The next night, while making camp, he dragged Isabelle’s body off the cart and laid her down in a ditch off the main track. She lay there throughout the night as the dust and insects circled around her. When the sun rose she was alone. The day wore on. Heat and humidity started to edge toward extreme. The hum of life around her seemed distant, echoing from another land. She had ceased to sweat.

Two figures cast shadows across her face. She was too tired to open her eyes; she was too tired to even listen. She felt herself being raised up by a pair of strong but thin arms. She drifted in and out of consciousness as she was carried for mile after mile. She felt herself being lowered. She could feel cool water washing over her face.

*

Aunt Ratty turned up later that day. She instructed Sebastian to take her luggage up to her room. Its spaciousness and luxury pleased her, but she demanded new sheets and pillows be bought, and the old ones burned. She didn’t want infected linen cluttering up her new boudoir.

She sat on the bed and ran her hands over the soft sheets. She spotted an ornate jewelry box on a bedside table. She opened it and gasped at its contents. She extracted a set of delicate diamond earrings and clipped them to her ears. She moved over to the dressing table and slowly turned her head, watching her reflection as the light bounced off the fine diamonds.

“She never deserved such fine jewelry. It’s more suited to me.”

She noticed a small envelope in the box. She picked it up and read it carefully, then hid it in the base of the box, underneath the contents. She closed the lid, locked the box and hid the key in her top.

She knew the house well, but still wandered through it, rearranging the furniture to suit her requirements.
 

One day she opened the back door and smiled at the vista. She dragged a chaise from the far side of the room and positioned it so she could lie down and gaze out the door down into the fields below. The afternoon rain had emptied the pastures, leaving the wheat waving in the gentle breeze. A handful of farmers were making their way past the house, looking for shelter from the daily monsoon.
 

The Oakley boys passed by. Ratty smiled at them and twisted her long hair between her fingers. The eldest winked at her.

3

EVERY DAY BECAME routine. Sebastian rose early, trekked to the markets to collect the freshest food, prepared breakfast for Ratty and served her in bed. He was then required to clean the house as she showered and prepared for the day. He ran endless errands for her, collecting shiny trinkets and luxuries, as she sat around nibbling on various sweet delicacies from Mr. Baxter, the pastry artisan.
 

She refused to drink the water from the rain tank, and instructed Sebastian to collect clean, fresh water from the spring. She told him to get two buckets in case they had visitors; running out of water would be the height of rudeness. And so Sebastian struggled home each day with the heavy load in the sweltering heat and humidity. By nightfall each day his limbs ached, and his hands were blistered and raw from the work.

Ratty would kick the buckets over at the end of the night, ensuring the need for a new supply when the sun rose.

As the weeks unwound, he was given a new destination to add to his morning rounds: the portly, red-nosed distiller, Mr. Haeber. Sebastian returned home each day with an ever-increasing number of cider bottles clinking in the baskets. And always he was paying out money. It flowed through his fingers like water.

The Oakleys’ eldest son, Lincoln, started to turn up through the week and would stay late into the night. Both adults would get louder and louder as the night wore on, often accompanied by the clinking of the cider bottles. Sebastian would never hear the front door close.

*

Wearing her new dress, Aunt Ratty lay on her chaise by the back door with the grand view over the fields. She had bought many new clothes, as her old ones had grown too tight. She blamed Sebastian for washing them poorly. Now she watched the farmers toiling, their rugged and tanned bodies glistening in the sun. She cooled herself with one of Sebastian’s mother’s fans as he took food he had collected from the markets into the cool room below the house.

“Child.” Her voice was distracted and distant. “I wish to see Lincoln. Fetch him for me.”