This year’s fair promises to be an astonishing cavalcade of amusements. Take a gander at the performers engaged to entertain us – musicians, dance, sideshow, and theatric performers, and literary and academic guests. And oh my gears and garters, the shopping. You’ll wish you had a time-turner to see it all!

When Phineas and I attended the first Fair we quickly came to realize that we were at a music festival, with the most amazing shopping in the world, attended by thousands of fascinating, well-dressed people. Oh, and when you wander outside, there’s a circus.

Last time we were there, we took dancing lessons.

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Armed with our new ability to polk (as the Victorians would have said; we later folk have bunged up the language to the point that we now say do the polka), Phineas and I polked up a storm at many of the concerts we enjoyed the rest of the weekend.

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Humanwine provides awesome polking opportunities, but Professor Elemental is more of a grooving experience.

There were a few panels the first year. (I’m afraid I cannot speak to the second year. One of our friends thoughtlessly planned her wedding for the same weekend. Never again! If you want us at an event, do not plan it opposite Fair.) We attended a panel on cultural diversity and race issues in steampunk, facilitated by Ayleen the Peacemaker and a menacing fluffy panda. Discussion was focused and thoughtful, from the general crowd and steampunk luminaries Jake von Slatt, Jha Go, Lucretia Dearborn, Leanna Renee Heiber, and Emilie P. Bush.

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(And I ran into a dear friend I hadn’t seen since high school!)

Which brings us to the highlight of Fair for me – all the other people! So many interesting, amusing folks to talk to, so many ideas, so much information, fun, laughs, and fun! Whether or not beautifully dressed – you don’t have to dress up to go to Fair, just bring your brain and sense of humor.

There are, however, many beautifully dressed people. Interesting, intricate, clever, jaw-dropping outfits are everywhere, stopping traffic as festival-goers stop each other in the hall for photos every few feet.

I hope to see you at Fair! As ever, Phineas and I will host a salon in our chambers at the Embassy Suites hotel (one of two adjacent hotels hosting the ever-expanding attractions).  We won’t know when we will be entertaining until we get there and read the schedule (sorry, but nothing is coming between me and a Frenchy & the Punk show), but if you will follow our facebook or twitter feed during the weekend, we will broadcast an invitation during our live cast of the event. See you there!

Reaching the wall, Adolphus doubled back, creeping along the hedge until he was only yards from the guard’s back. He heard voices.

“Why can’t he speak for himself?”

That was the queen, shrill with excitement.

“My beloved Queen and cousin,” soothed an oily voice, “it is for your own protection. The magic is so strong in him that it slips out if he speaks above a whisper. Anything might happen.”

“Let him whisper to me!” She sounded petulant.

“Majesty! You as brave as you are beautiful,” the oily voice replied. “But I am sure your dedicated advisors-” He paused. “And all who love you must beg you to deny yourself that particular terror. Just last week, Great Lady, the Magician spoke too hastily into my ear, and turned all the hair on my head into snakes.”

Adolphus heard exclamations from the queen and a man. He deduced the gasp came from the chamberlain or some other functionary; the Capsicum Chief was too stoic to gasp. He did not recognize the oily voice, and harbored dark suspicions about the one who refused to speak aloud.

“He was able to restore me, of course,” Oily continued, “but not before one of them bit me.”

“If his magic is so dangerous, we cannot expose Queen Drysi to it.” Dash it! Adolphus recognized the voice of the Capsicum Chief.

“The Magician and I agree wholeheartedly, noble sir, and have devised a plan whereby my royal cousin may enjoy the benefit of magic without exposing her cherished person to danger. Majesty, if you will give the Magician a space to work here at the palace, he will produce objects imbued with his magic for you, like the knife he has already bestowed upon your protector. You will have riches and power beyond-”

Adolphus was grabbed by the collar and hauled onto his feet.

“Hello, could you help me?” He gave the guard his most charming smile. “My ball seems to have rolled into the shrubbery.”

The guard looked at the ground, nudging the ball with his foot. Adolphus had left it behind him.

“Oh there it is. Thanks!”

The guard smiled in return, but it was more a nasty smile than a charming one. The firm and despised voice of the Capsicum Chief boomed through the shrub wall.

“Bring him in, Braith.”

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“Her Majesty will hardly welcome an interruption from us!” Rhodri’s natural fear contradicted his claims of importance without hesitation.

“We don’t have to interrupt,” Claire said. “We just want to listen.”

Rhodri goggled. “Spy on Her Majesty the Queen?”

“Why not?” Annabelle snapped. “She has you spying on us!”

Rhodri colored dark green. “No, no! Enjoy your company! Showing you the lay of the land, making you at home in Court, just, just-”

“Listen to me, Rhodri,” Claire said, “this magician is the man who kidnapped us away from our parents. We escaped from him, but now he’s found us he will hurt us any way he can. You don’t want us to get hurt, do you?”

“No, no, not at all!” Rhodri’s eyes flicked to Bettina. “I don’t want you to be hurt, Claire.”

“Then you should help us. We’re not acting against the Queen. If we get caught you can tell her the whole thing.”

“In fact,” Annabelle added, “the Count is a bad, bad man, and may be a threat to the Queen. It’s your duty to help us. To help us help her. She’ll thank you.”

“No,” Rhodri mumbled, “she won’t.”

#

Gerhardt ran through the maze-like hedges with no idea which way to the palace. He was short for his age and couldn’t see over the shrubbery, and there was no sun overhead by which he could get his bearings. He darted down a left-hand passage and spied a group of yellow and red peppers at the end of it. Panicked, he dove through the privet. He rolled out the other side just at the feet of a running Mirabelle, who toppled over him in a spray of mulch.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” he gasped.

Mirabelle scrambled to her feet, head craning around, looking for danger.

“What’s chasing you?”

He sat up. “Nothing. Avoiding some peppers.”

Mirabelle stopped dusting off her dress. “Capsicum?”

“No, just people. People peppers.”

“Honestly, Faintheart, get a hold on yourself!” She helped him up. “You know what we should do? We should just walk right into the palace, as if we were going to our rooms, and see how close we can get to you-know-who.”

Gerhardt mumbled, “You were running, too,” but his sister ignored him. They made themselves relatively presentable and strode on their way.

#

Adolphus jogged back to where he and his brother had seen the Capsicum Chief trying out his new knife. The lawn was deserted but for sliced, hacked, and gouged squash bits. He started circling the palace. The Queen was sure to have her own entrance to the grounds from her private chambers behind the throne room. Adolphus reasoned that an uppity, full-of-herself vegetable like her wouldn’t walk through all those corridors to get outside like she makes everyone else do.

He spied a discarded ball and stick beneath a shrubbery and picked it up. He proceeded around the palace walls, tossing the ball and catching it with the stick, which had a net at the end for that purpose. When he saw a guard standing at attention outside a section of hedge-wall, one of the points that made the five-petaled flower shape of the palace, he jogged by without looking, keeping his footfalls heavy. Making a game of tossing the ball over his head and spinning around to catch it, he checked on the guard every few yards. When he was well past, the guard became absorbed in something he pulled from his pocket. Adolphus arced towards the wall, moving more quietly.

“Montesanto!” Mirabelle exclaimed. “Is he here?”

Annabelle kicked the Queen’s fountain. “As if we weren’t in enough danger from that crazy tomato head!”

“We haven’t seen him,” Adolphus said, “just a metal knife that may or may not be his – but I don’t see how it can be anyone else’s.”

“We didn’t see him with the Guard. Maybe he dropped it out there somewhere,” Gerhardt waived a hand at the land outside the royal compound. “The Guards might have found it on patrol, while they’re out bullying the peasants.”

“We’d better find out,” Mirabelle said. “Split up and search, but don’t let him see you.”

They heard a scuffing in the path. It had to be Claire – whichever of them was saddled with Rhodri made as much noise as possible, to give the others warning.

They ran, all in different directions, but Annabelle’s way was blocked by a capsicum guard some fifty feet down her path. She stopped, turning slowly and strolling back towards Claire, Bettina, and Rhodri.

“Hullo chaps,” she said, as casual as can be.

“There you are,” Rhodri said. “We’ve been looking all over.”

“Why?” Annabelle asked.

“What?” The boy’s pale green cheeks colored darker green. “Oh, ah, no reason.”

Annabelle looked at Claire, who rolled her eyes. Bettina ignored them all. She had a wooden hoop, the sort one chased about with a stick, hitting it to keep it rolling. It was just taller than she, so rather than hit it, she walked inside it rolling it with her steps. She held her netted ball-game stick in her hand, saving it for smacking Rhodri when he got too close.

Annabelle eyed the spy with close consideration.

“Well I’ve been looking for you,” she improvised.

“What?” Rhodri gaped. “Why?”

“Because I’ve heard a rumor. Since you’re in the know around here, you can tell me what’s really going on.”

“Oh, oh yes, I am, really.” He addressed himself to Claire, puffing up his chest. “I’m quite well-connected, you know. Mother is related to the Capsicum Chief on her father’s-”

Annabelle interrupted him. She had heard the complex and distant genealogy before.

“Is there a visitor at court? Tall man, dark hair, nasty smudgy mustache?”

Claire’s eyes widened.

“Well, actually, Her Revered Majesty is interviewing a court magician today. Perhaps that’s the fellow you’ve heard about.” He looked thoughtful, which he seldom did. “Funny, isn’t it, how you lot show up talking of magicians and then one shows up. Is it your father, do you think?”

“No,” Claire said, “it isn’t funny. And it isn’t Father. Where is the Queen interviewing the magician?”

“ACE loves the idea of imagining a present or a future that is different because of choices we could have made in the past. In that spirit, we will present pairs of works, each exloping the re-imagination of some musical or artistic feature…poetry will be “reimagined”, the composer will be “reimagined”, the concerto will be “reimagined”! Ultimately, we will question where we fit into this ever more digital world, while we make the case that making things with your hands…especially music…is an essential part of art and life!”

The central piece called Steampunk by British composer David Bruce.

APRIL 7th, 8:00PM
Gallery 5
200 W. Marshall St.
Tickets – $10, $7 students
Dress: STEAMPUNK ATTIRE ENCOURAGED!!!

To Adolphus’ great satisfaction, Rhodri would not tell his mother what happened to him. The von Hedwigs, without trying very hard, heard snatches of argument, accusations, and pleading questions, but at no point did Mr. Annuum come next door for words with Adolphus.

“Did you thrash him?” Annabelle demanded with envy. “I want to thrash him.”

“You can do it next time,” Adolphus said. “I think he felt bad about the servants at least. It was awful.” He drifted off, and for once his sisters waited quietly. “He told me…”
“What?”

“Nothing. Never mind. I’m going to get a bath while they’re still at it.”

Mrs. Annuum checked on them at meals, and managed to intercept them in the hall nearly every time one of them left Lady Aubergine’s chambers, but left them alone otherwise. She wanted them to stay in chambers all the time, but Claire insisted that they play in the garden every afternoon. It was healthy, she argued, and they’d go stir crazy without. And besides, she hadn’t given up on finding a weak place in the hedge wall.

They fell into a melancholy routine, moping in chambers in the mornings, feeding the few finches that had not flown away when Eglantine released them. (Annabelle snuck into the Annuum’s  rooms and spread rice on their pillows so the birds would feed there, which cheered them all briefly.) In the afternoons they would go out and play accompanied by a subdued Rhodri who trailed them at a distance. Nothing happened for days.

One afternoon they split into teams to search for gaps in the hedge wall. Claire and Bettina drew Rhodri with them. After a couple of hours, the boys found Annabelle and Mirabelle in a sheltered nook in the hedge that they favored. It contained a bench and a burbling fountain fed by a cold spring. The fountain itself was carved of wood in the shape of a woman they supposed to be the Queen, standing in a basin with water pouring from her cupped hands. The twins had quite liked the fountain until Claire pointed out its resemblance to Her Lycopersic Majesty. They were put off the nook until Adolphus drew a mustache on the statue. Then it was all right.

Adolphus came running up on his longer legs with Gerhardt jogging behind. He threw himself on the bench.

“You’re never going to believe this!” he proclaimed.

“What?”

He made a show of wiping his brow and catching his breath while Gerhardt caught up.

Mirabelle folded her arms. “Well?”

“He has a-” Gerhardt began, but his brother cut him off.

“You know the Chief Guard, the nasty one who’s always with the queen?”

“Yes?”

“He has a-” Gerhardt tried again.

He’s in the gardens now, practicing maneuvers.”

“So?”

“He has-”

“He’s trying out a new weapon.” Adolphus paused for dramatic effect, inadvertently giving his brother the chance he’d been trying for.

“A knife!” Gerhardt burst.

Annabelle eyed her older brother. “Not a stone knife?”

Mirabelle answered for him “They wouldn’t make such a fuss if it were a stone knife. What kind of knife?”

“Not a very big one,” Adolphus admitted. “He’s cutting up a bunch of squash with it – slashing them. Making a big show.”

Gerhardt jumped up and down. “Where’d he get it? That’s the question!”

Annabelle gasped. “Did you drop yours?”

Both boys dipped hands into pockets, producing their pocketknives.

“We never had one. We’ve still got our screwdrivers and spanners.” Mirabelle pulled a bundle out of her pinafore pocket. Her tools were wrapped in rags to keep them from making noise, a precaution the twins had taken at the farmhouse. “Did Claire?”

Adolphus shook his head with great satisfaction. “You’re forgetting someone,” he said. “We all forgot him.”

Both girls gasped. Gerhardt vibrated with the excitement of the revelation.

“The Count!”

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This art springs into life when you look at it through 3-D glasses. It’s awesome.

Despite her declaration, the Queen showed no interest in taking care of the children, and ignored them completely as soon as Lady Aubergine was away. Addfwyn Annuum from next door fussed over them, invading Eglantine’s chambers as though it were a maternal duty instead of a gross imposition. She kept them in chambers all the next day in case her Majesty should send for them, but the call did not come.

The punishment of the servants began at midday. Adolphus, pale but determined, wanted to witness it.

“It’s my fault,” he told Claire. “It should be me, not them.” They spoke quietly so Bettina wouldn’t hear. She was never far from tears this morning, and the others were distracting her with games and stories.

“That pepper won’t let us leave.”

“Oh yeah? I don’t see any guards.” He turned and stalked down the hall. Mrs. Annuum gave a nervous shriek and ran after him, calling. Claire heard her pleading but did not hear Adolphus respond. She found herself bouncing up and down, considering stratagem. Finally, she screamed. Mrs. Annuum ran back to chambers, breathless.

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong?” Her features were pinched in distress, and her hand fluttered over her heart.

Claire shrugged. “You wouldn’t leave my brother alone.”

Mrs. Annuum let out a little panicked shriek, an utterance which occurred with increasing frequency the more time she spent with the von Hedwig children.

Adolphus sat, arms wrapped around his knees, partially obscured by shrubbery. He could see the field where the servants knelt in rows, waiting their turn in the muggy, sulfurous afternoon. Capsicum guards paced the rows, whipping one shirtless back and then the next and the next. Clear sap ran from striped wounds and the victims moaned or cried out or were silent according to their nature.

Adolphus swore he would watch them all but he could not. He forced himself to watch, to feel their hurt as his own, but he felt no lash, only miserable shame, and hid his head again and again. Nearly a hundred people were beaten. It took hours.

Long after they had been dismissed to treat each other’s hurts and prepare the Court’s feast, Adolphus sat, sunburn on his bare neck. He heard a rustling nearby but it stopped sharp and retreated quickly. Too quickly. His head snapped up in time to see a tall green figure slip away. He jumped up in pursuit, catching up to the older boy at the kitchen fountain.

“Rhodri!”

When the boy turned, Adolphus punched him in the mouth. Surprised, he staggered back, falling over the bench and into the pool. Water splashed around him from a bamboo pipe; the carved pillar had been taken away. Adolphus jumped onto the bench.

“Get up! Get up you coward! I told you I’d thrash you now get up.”

Rhodri sat up in the water, squinting up at Adolphus.

“Did you watch? Did you see what you did?”

Rhodri got up, dripping. “I saw.”

“How could you tell like that?”

“I didn’t think it would go that far,” he mumbled.

“Are you coming out or am I coming in?” Adolphus demanded.

“I’ll come out, and you can thrash me.” Rhodri sat on the bench at Adolphus’ feet.

Adolphus jumped off the bench in case it was a ruse.

“Do you know why my mother’s so nervous, von Hedwig?”

“Because she’s got a worthless son like you,” Adolphus snarled.

“I used to have a sister.”

Adolphus frowned, but he could not bring himself to fling an insult at that.

“She made up a funny song about the Queen. She was Gerhardt’s age, I suppose.” He looked Adolphus in the eye at last. “No one’s safe here. You do what you must.” He stood up, facing Adolphus. “I’m ready.”

Adolphus shoved him back onto the bench. “Well stop doing it to us. I sill have sisters.” He walked away.

However, there is a gap in steampunk lit. Nanny Aubergine spends her afternoons with a Gail Carriger novel, Philomena adores Cherie Priest, and Adolphus wishes he could start Scott Westerfeld’s Leviathan series all over again. The twins favorite is the Larklight series, and Gerhardt just discovered The Nine Pound Hammer. But what about Bettina? Why are there no steampunk picture books?

Fear not, youngest steampunks, Steamduck to the rescue! Or rather, Emilie P. Bush and William Kevin Petty with their charming picture book, Her Majesty’s Explorer: a Steampunk Bedtime Story. Readers follow St. John Murphy Alexander, Automaton of Her Majesty, on a mission of exploration, then home to his regiment, where he gets ready for bed with a routine that your child will relate to (even if they don’t have to unscrew their ears every night). Our automaton hero is adorable, the illustrations by Petty are enchanting, with plenty of detail to interest readers of all ages. The book comes with a bonus poem, an ode to Steamduck which leaves the reader with only one question – where can I get my own steamduck for the bath?

The Queen kept the children with her all the long day of Eglantine’s sentencing. They stood behind her on the dais as she passed further judgement. Her rival’s banishment did not end the matter. To the children’s horror she ordered that any servant who used the kitchen fountain be beaten. Adolphus could not stay quiet for that, and objected that the elderly tomato had testified that no one living had carved the pictures, so no one living could be blamed for them. In response the  Queen ignored him while the Chief Guard silenced him with one strong hand around his neck.

Then the children accompanied her Majesty to her chambers, where they did not even peek behind the grass curtain to view the indoor waterfall Rhodri had enthused about. They were allowed to relax and take refreshment while Drysi napped and bathed and ordered new gowns made up for herself. Later they accompanied her to an interminable feast, at which the servants were grim and speechless and the company near hysterical with forced gaiety.

During the third course Bettina could not take her eyes from the darkening sky.

“She’s not letting us say goodbye,” Annabelle whispered. “That’s part of our punishment.”

“Being with her is our punishment,” Mirabelle agreed.

Bettina stood and clutched Claire’s sleeve.

“Sick!”

“What?”

Bettina rolled her eyes significantly. “Sick!”

Claire snatched her up and bobbed a quick curtsey to the queen. “Beg pardon Majesty, my sister is ill.”

Queen Drysi glared at her. “Sit down and behave yourselves.”

Bettina gagged and heaved. The queen blanched pink and waved a hand in rapid dismissal. Once out of her sight they ran to Lady Aubergine’s chambers. As they approached they found a company of soldiers lining the hall. Claire slowed to a more decorous pace, whispering, “She’s still here,” as they threaded through.

They entered to a blur of motion and color, Lady Aubergine hidden behind a blur of wings. She had thrown open her bird cage, and was coaxing the last of the finch-like creatures out. Claire set Bettina down and she ran into the lady’s arms.

Eglantine knelt, enveloping her charge. They were still in the purple twilight.

“Oh, Claire, I’m so sorry,” Eglantine said. “You should not have to bear the weight of her madness.”

“We’ll be fine,” Claire said.

“Of course!” Eglantine sniffed. “You just shouldn’t have to.”

She stood, picking Bettina up with her and embraced Claire. “I have become quite attached to you,” she said, “and Drysi knows it. That is why she settled for banishment, you see. If she had me killed, which was certainly her intent, then I should not have felt the pain of our parting. I am part mistletoe, on my father’s side, you see.”

“Mistletoe?”

“Yes. We develop strong emotional attachments, mistletoes, and I am quite, quite fond of you. Drysi sees love as a weakness, and values only strength. But then she longs for that which she pretends to despise.”

A guard stepped inside the door, looking almost apologetic.

Eglantine squeezed the girls again. “I am to retire to a small house by the acid sea,” she said. “It is the only estate remaining to my family, the only house she did not desire. It is four hours by carriage, south by southeast.” She released them, handing Bettina to Claire. Bettina buried her face in her sister’s collar, sobbing.

“I needn’t tell you to be brave or clever, for you always are. Do be careful, though. You must control yourselves.” She picked up a valise. “Because certain other people cannot.” With that she swept from the room, surrounded by guards.

Thanks as ever to the Clockwork Dolls for paneling with us and inviting us to tea and being excellent company.  And an enormous Huzzah! for the steampunk community at Katsucon! It’s always wonderful to talk with you and see your latest projects, and let me say, we have mad communication skills. We set a time for a steampunk photo shoot Saturday afternoon, and you spread the word in record time. I told maybe 10 people, and after that everyone I stopped had already heard! I was stunned and delighted by the efficiency of your communication.

We have two sets of photos up on Flickr. Please comment, and share them, and by all means, if you know the person or the character whom the person is cosplaying, please let us know in the comments. (I am dying to know if that fantastic big tongued demon dress is a character, or just a product of that young woman’s fevered imagination. Wow!)

Schöneluft Log, 1900.07.05

Ulrik Manfred Adler, acting Captain

I clung to the ladder, blown backward by the blast of the Mongol’s hydrogen. Each bag exploded in turn, but I lost count. The front of me was dry and the back wet, and I found that to be so funny I laughed out loud. Below me the ladder burned. This was interesting to watch, and so I watch it. I wondered if it would reach me, or if the rain would put it out.

I realized then that someone was speaking to me. I looked for the Khan, but his ship was falling, was nearly to the ground. I watched the impact before the voice again interrupted my thoughts. This time I remembered to look up. It was Chef.

“Ça va, mon brave bête?”

I thought what a fine and brave fellow he was, and an excellent chef. I grinned at him, and waved. He pulled on his mustache (which is a very fine one) and gestured at me to come up. Lightening struck again, but it was nearly a mile away, already heading out to sea. I laughed again forgetting all about Chef.

I lurched downward. I thought my ladder might have burned away, dropping me on my final flight, but I still held on. I came around a bit then. The lashing rain had extinguished the ladder fire a dozen feet below me. That had me grinning again, until something sharp hit me in the head.

“Ow!”

I rubbed at my scalp, feeling for blood. Someone was yelling above me again. One of the boiler crew leaned out of the hatch, screaming unintelligibly and waving a spanner. I looked around. No crewman (or lady) would throw a spanner unless it was important. They love their tools.

A lone Wing was approaching, flapping madly and gaining altitude. I fumbled at the rifle slung on my back, then in my pockets for shells. I searched the sky for others, but they were all far below. One determined Mongol dying to avenge his Khan, and damned if I only had one shot left!

I raised the barrel and aimed. As I squeezed the trigger something silver hit my rifle. My shot went wild. My last shot! What the Hell was that monkey playing at?

I drew my sword, knowing that the blighter would have an arrow through my chest and blow up Mein Herr’s ship before I could get in a single blow.

I looked for my iron-tipped fate. I saw instead … an accordion? The rider had no bow, no axe, but what appeared to be a concertina he was pumping earnestly as the wings flapped. And then I knew why I’d had spanners thrown at me. War Wings glide; they don’t flap. Mongol airmen don’t have adorable heart-shaped faces, a riot of curls poking out from their leather flying caps, or sparkling brown eyes behind their goggles.

I sheathed the sword and held out my arms. Philomena von Hedwig flew into them, accordion wheezing a protest in our embrace.

“Gosh it’s good to see you, Ulrik!”

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