Juli D. Revezzo, author of the Gears, Cogs, and Puppy Dogs series and more

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One

May 1888

THE TEXAS SUN seared through the spring afternoon, only a few birds dared to hop out of the shade for their noon meal. In response, the neighbor’s cat went out to hunt, causing a flutter of feathers. The banging across the property drowned out the fracas pulled part of Vesta’s attention as she crossed the farm. A new house was going up across from the house she’d grown up in, but she ignored it for the moment to give the note one more perusal.

“Dear Mr. Bartlett and Miss Vesta,

I received your clockwork pet and I wanted to let you know my son adores it. As promised, it performs like the dogs my mother and father remember and—at least my mother loves it as much as my son does. If you have an extra on hand, I’m sure she’d welcome one.

My thanks and congratulations on your fine work. Johnathon, you raised your daughter well and I don’t mind saying, she just might give you a run for your money.

Your friend,

Toliver Aurelious

Lubbock Township, Republic of Texas

Smiling, she shaded her eyes from the sun’s glare and took in her property. Up on the roof of her home-to-be, she spied Henry nailing in shingles along with a small crew her father could spare.

Even now, the thought that he was building a home for them felt strange to her. They’d been friends so long, their love still felt tentative. Surely it didn’t warrant something so permanent.

Horses whinnied when Henry’s hammer fell, clattering to the porch. Vesta shook her head. I should be over there helping him not stuck here in the work shed. But she had her own work to do. Her latest creation waited inside the house; she only stopped to read Mr. Aurelious’ letter.

“What’s the poor fool boy done now?” Her father’s voice pulled her from her survey.

“He just dropped something, Daddy.” She entered the shop, stopping for a moment to hail the horseshoe over the door, points down so their luck may flow to her father’s smithy. “He’s doing fine.”

“Don’t look it to me. I wonder if I should let him marry you. The buffoon might have you sleeping in a tree, if I’m not careful.”

Her father doted, even as he teased, and Vesta was glad of it. She stood on her tiptoes to kiss his unshaven cheek. “He won’t. You know he’ll find space in his office for us to sleep, if need be.”

She was thinking about sharing sleeping quarters with her best friend! When would this dream end? Surely it was so. Henry was just her friend.

One whose touches she found herself longing for even now.

“Not if he doesn’t find said-office space.”

“He will.”

“I have faith he might.”

Might, not will.

“But Father, look what just came in.” She handed him Mr. Aurelious’s letter; her father leaned against the crank of a massive bellows attached to one side of the oven, to read the letter she handed over. “Well, well. I knew you’d succeed, my girl.”

“At least someone likes it.”

“Just look around town to find more.” He patted the bellows crank. “Are you ready to go back to work?”

She shoved the letter into her pocket. “Yes, sir.”

“I shouldn’t do this, but just to get you started. You remember what I showed you?”

Vesta tied a heavy, black apron over her yellow and blue gingham dress, but refrained from slipping on their work gloves. “Of course I do.”

“Don’t think about it too much. Just put the ingot in the flame. If you need it, I’ll give you a bit of air to help out.”

“I won’t need it.” She cracked her knuckles and picked up the cup of ingots, set it in the flame. Then she held her hands towards the fire. Heat licked her palms. You can do this.

Lowering her hands to the flames, she thought the spell. R’very Canine Verbemum. Picturing the flames melting the brass in her cup, she cracked one eye open. The cup did glow.

Joy tickled her. “I did it. Daddy, look!”

“Very good, princess.”

Ignoring a stab of triumph, knowing she might falter at any moment, she stepped back and snatched a small vial off the shelf. Blue and gold sparkled inside. She opened the top, releasing the tangy scent of aether into the forge shed. Taking a breath, she concentrated further and added three drops to the cup. Where the brass would’ve taken several minutes, with pure fire, this measure of brass melted and bubbled the instant the aether met the brass.

“Good girl,” her father said. “Keep going.”

Fingers shaking, she removed the mold from the fire. R’very Canine Verbemum.

The brass writhed within the mold, settled. Vesta removed it and plunged the shell of brass into a waiting bucket of water then set it on her anvil. The cylindrical lump of brass rolled on the anvil and her father stopped it with a skilled hand. “There now, that’s one piece.” He knelt down to study it closer. “And no maker’s mark this time. Good work, my dear.”

“Hm…” She picked it up and dried it off, turning the cylinder. A bump shone in the metal. “No, no maker’s mark, but see here?” She tapped the lump. “I ruined it.” With a scoff, she tossed the cylinder onto her reject pile. “I’m never going to get this right, am I?”

Her father retrieved the piece. “Nonsense. This piece looks like the beginnings of a fine fat canine to me. Finish it up and we’ll set it with the others to go to the queen.”

“Not this one. It’s for Running Cloud’s boy, remember?”

“Even better.” He patted her shoulder and setting the piece down, took a hammer off a hook on the wall. “The boy’s bound to add his own lumps to the puppy’s derriere, sooner, rather than later. It’ll be good practice for making toys for Elise’s boy.”

“When you bring her home, I’ll have one ready for you.” She smacked the hammer against the brass. “Maybe I’ll even make the two of you some wedding rings while you’re away.”

Her father scoffed and kissed her forehead. “Think about making your own, although, I’m sorely disappointed with Henry that he hasn’t bought you one yet.”

Vesta’s gaze strayed to the house her beloved was busy raising. “He is building me a house.”

“You can’t wear that around town to show he’s yours and vice versa. I will be reminding him before I leave that he doesn’t want those tavern wenches getting their hearts too set on him.”

She tapped the hammer against the hull. “Daddy, they won’t.”

“No?” Her father took the hammer from her and added a bit more force. “You forget, my outfit included many Irish and British boys.” That was how he’d met Henry’s father. George, as a young man, visited Charleston for some adventure and the fool—not having paid much attention to the particulars of the sides in the war—almost signed up with the Confederate army. Johnathon directed him to the Union, and though her father ended up enlisting in Sherman’s army, he’d talked George into not signing on the dotted line. Instead, he’d sent him out here and between them, found what was to become this ranch. Eventually, Johnathon sent George home to Nottingham where he belonged. “I’ve seen the way girls look at foreign boys.”

She hadn’t, much. She hadn’t much choice; when they were toddlers, their fathers—drunkenly, she thought—made their pact when her father said, “You’re lucky, George. You’ve sons to leave your property to.”

“If our children marry,” George had said, “you’ll not have that worry.”

And so the betrothal was struck.

Vesta was glad, now, that she’d been able to alter the agreement. “You might be remembering wrong.”

Henry cursed from outside, drawing Vesta’s attention. “I’ve forgotten how hot Texas can get.”

“You’ll get used to it.” Tools filled the bench and the wall of the shed and her father stood there, looking them over to select a new hammer.

“Did you come up with a new design, darling?” Henry asked.

“Not yet.” Why, she didn’t know. She liked no idea she hatched. Maybe she was thinking too much about the plans for the day she and Henry married. The day was only a few weeks away.

Henry approached and kissed her. “What can your clockwork pets do about the heat?”

She wrinkled her nose playfully, and thought he’d need a bath before the day was out. “Would you like to get on the airship with Daddy? Acton must have use for you, back home. I’m sure he won’t mind if you don’t clean up, much.”

Her father had his own thoughts on the matter: “More likely, your brother needs your help.”

“You’re probably right.” Henry pushed the bandana into his back pocket, but Vesta noticed she still had his full attention. “Are you in the middle of a project? I thought we were going out tonight.”

Which reminded Vesta and she looked to the angle of the sun.

“It’s a bit late for shopping.”

“He’s right.” Leaning against one of the shop tables, he glanced at the silver pocket watch her father had set there, open, but out of the way. “It’s four forty-five.”

Was it so late?

“The general store may not be open much longer.”

Her father stepped between them. He didn’t need to; she saw plenty of space next to Henry for him to reach for a different clamp. “You’ll be looking for wedding rings, I hope.”

“Among other things.” Vesta kissed Henry’s cheek. The scent of working, sweaty man made her wrinkle her nose. “Clean up, first.”

As Henry went to the well and poured water over his head, she swept dust off the anvil and siphoned it into a bottle, then put her work away. Ducking into the house, she placed the anvil dust in her father’s charm cabinet, washed her face and hands, and changed into a pearl pink walking dress.

Henry met her again a quarter of an hour later, and helped her into her father’s cart. “I have something for you.”

“You do?” What could he have done in fifteen minutes?

He reached under his seat and pulled forth a trio of wildflowers—crushed. Color tinged his cheek. “These are for you, my love. I was going to say you’re as pretty as they are, but… I didn’t think about how they’d look.”

He cursed and raised his hand. Vesta thought he might toss them over the side, so she grasped at them. “They’re pretty.” She kissed his cheek. “And you’re adorable. I love you for trying.”

Someone cleared a throat. Vesta looked back to see her father staring at them. He raised a pitchfork and leaned on it. “Stop trying to buy my daughter out of her dress, Colchester.”

His warning forced a surprised laugh from her. “Daddy!”

He helped her chaperone, Miss Della Grimes, into the cart and Vesta drove them into town. They parked in an open field where many others left their carts for a day’s shopping trip, and strolled through the dusty town street to the general store. Fliers posted on walls and posts proclaimed the upcoming Queen City Annual Puppy Race.

She sniffled. “I wish they wouldn’t use the word puppy.”

Henry laced his arm around her. “When we don’t have puppies anymore, it doesn’t make sense. It sounds like fun, though. I can’t wait to see it.” He read over it a moment, “May twenty-eighth. You know, that’s not too far from our wedding, but gives you enough time.”

“Time for what?”

“Why don’t you enter one of your puppies in the race?”

“My puppies?” She waved a hand in the direction of her father’s farm. “You mean my automatons?”

“Those. Why not?”

Shaking her head, she tugged open the door to the general store. “Don’t be silly, besides, they’re not mine. You know they all belong to the queen.”

Miss Grimes pointed out a set of drapes on a display. “My word, Miss Vesta, don’t you think those will be lovely in your new kitchen?”

Henry nodded but Vesta thought his agreement was a little more vapid than Miss Grimes hoped. He led her away to show her more substantial furniture, a chest, a table and chairs. “What do you think of this? The fellow tells me it’s something called Florida pine.”

Vesta studied the slats whose fine filigree cutouts reminded her of hearts. “It’s a little too frilly for me, I think.”

“You don’t like excessive decoration, miss. I understand.” The shopkeeper led them to another shelf. “Here is a plainer design.”

“I don’t know.” Henry placed his hand on Vesta’s arm. “Would you happen to have any with vials of aether etched into them?”

“Excuse me?” The shopkeeper turned back from the shelf.

Vesta squeezed Henry’s hand.

“I meant to say gear designs. Like wee wheels.” Henry patted her back. “If I know my bride, she’ll like that better than any other design.”

His bride. She was marrying her best friend. For a moment, she couldn’t breathe.

The shopkeeper offered his congratulations. “Ah, yes. Wheels. That design is most popular. I don’t have any in stock right now. But I can order some from Austin for you.”

Henry stepped back. “I don’t know…”

“Wait.” The shopkeeper held his hands up. “I know of a woodworker in Dallas. He may take a special order.”

“If you might contact him for us, I’d appreciate it.” Henry paid an installment, and for the supplies he’d come for, and once again drew the shopkeeper aside for a private word. When they finished, Henry led she and Miss Grimes outside.

Here, they found two girls, one surely sixteen waiting impatiently for a sister younger than herself who ran after a brass-skinned dog, no taller than her ankle. The girls saw them and the youngest waved. “Thank you, Miss Vesta. I love my puppy.” She looked down at the brass dog. “Go on, girl. Go say hello.”

The automaton paused, then trotted up to Vesta and knelt down at her feet. Vesta smiled and patted the solid brass head, the small spines of brass that made up its fur tickling her palm. “Good afternoon, Moonbeam.” She looked to the little girl. “You decided to name it so, if I recall, Miss Shafer?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“And no problems with your pet?”

“None at all,” the girl said.

“Though,” her sister said, “Daddy wondered what to do if the tank goes empty.”

Vesta pulled a small pad from her reticule. “I’ll send some of its fuel over to you.”

Miss Shafer curtseyed, and ran off, the dog at her heels. Her older sister dipped her head. “I’m sorry my sister bothered you.”

“Oh.” Vesta waved a hand. “It’s no bother at all.”

The elder Miss Shafer nodded again before departing with a polite, “Good day, Miss Bartlett.”

When she returned home, she handed her father the race flier. “I think I could win this, don’t you?”

“Are you going to keep one of your puppies back from the queen?”

Looking to their forge, she considered. Can I? No. “No, I can’t. I promised her fifty.”

“You’re right. She wouldn’t be happy with you if you send forty-nine.” He pulled out a carton where they kept their ingots. “I guess you’d better make one more.”

****

Ignoring the far off buzz of an airship pottering by overhead, Vesta picked through their molds, a cat, a miniature whippet, and another small mutt of indiscriminate breed. There, that one might do for the race. It was one of the first puppies she made for her meeting with Queen Victoria’s men. It pleased them well enough. How will it do in the Queen City race? The race was only a few weeks away; she’d have time to test it to find out.

She picked up the ingots, centered herself and summoned up her magic. A tingling sensation tickled her fingertips. A symbol formed in her vision.

Vesta frowned. If you please, do not mark my piece. Months had passed since she’d last left her mark on a clockwork body but she still had trouble keeping the symbol from her mind. When the power flowed into the metal, she poured the brass into the mold, let it settle, then gave it a brush of her magic. The brass instantaneously solidified.

Leaving it to cool, she forged gears for its legs and ears then donned her gloves again and took up tongs to lift the body from its mold. Several more minutes past before she attached the legs with her choice of screws and bolts and even more as she inserted gears. All the while pounding sounded in the distance and she glanced up to see Henry again hard at work on their house not far from the barn across from her, its porch—or where she hoped the porch would be—facing the eastern side of her father’s ranch, away from the pencil company but still with a view of her father’s house. The porch would extend to the south to give them a view of the open prairie that was part of the Bartlett ranch lands.

Playing out there had long been one of her best joys and now, her mind drifted and a new child played while she stood back watching. A light touch brought her out of her reverie.

Henry’s. “What are you dreaming of?”

Comfort replaced fantasy as she put her work down and stepped into his embrace. “You, playing with our son here one day.”

“Is that so?” He kissed her hand.

“One day a son? Her father spoke behind them and Vesta sprang away from Henry. “Boy, you’d better underscore that ‘day’ and put it far in the future. I’m not ready to be a grandfather yet.”

Vesta shuffled a little further away from Henry. “Daddy, I thought you’d left.”

“I was about to but then I saw I needed to defend your virtue first. The airship terminal won’t run out of tickets before I get there after all. I can wait a bit.” He slid an arm around her and looked to her work table. “Is this new, princess?”

She handed him the piece.

He studied it, turning it over several times to take in its hull. “I think it will do nicely for a racing animal.”

“It’s got the disadvantage of being an automaton though. I’m not sure the board will allow it.”

Her father set it down. “You won’t know until you apply.”

“It’s not ready.” Though the cool brass showed no sign of her maker’s mark this time there was more to do. “I’ve still got to fill its innards.”

Henry picked up and set down the little cups of gears. “That shouldn’t take long.”

Her father stepped between them. “I hope it will take hours and hours, and with your help so that you keep your hands where they belong until the wedding.”

Henry’s smile was all mischief. “Jonathan, what do you think I’m going to do while you’re gone?”

“Since I was a child-man like you once, I shudder to think.”

Warm heat flared in Vesta’s face.

Johnathon kissed her cheek. “Be good and I will give you another acre of my property when you marry my daughter properly.”

“Don’t worry, sir,” Henry said, “I’ll keep her out of trouble as if she’s already my wife.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

That afternoon, when her father left for the airship port, Vesta stepped back into Henry’s arms. “Just wait until he brings Mrs. Blinkhorn here.”

“I look forward to it. Maybe then he’ll stop interrupting us.” Henry leaned in, as if to kiss her—until Miss Grimes exited her father’s house. Seeing her, he stepped away. “I’d better get back.” Henry headed off to the construction site.

Miss Grimes stepped off the porch. “Miss Vesta, I’ve a pot of tea ready. Will you show me, again, where you’ve hidden your honey?”

Dropping her head back, she sighed. “I’m never going to get anything done, am I? Maybe if I go somewhere else I can…” She took in her property and discarded that thought. There’s nowhere better than the Republic of Texas, and no town better than mine.

She set her hammers and molds aside and jogged toward her chaperone.

After tea, they returned to the general store; the shopkeeper showed them a small cabinet of rings he hid in the back, safe from possible bandits. Vesta chose one and they paid for it, and exited.

Walking the town, Henry hesitated outside the boarding house in which he stayed—for now. “If I take your ring in there with me …” A puzzled frown curved his lips. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s a nice place, but I know boarding houses.”

He shoved the ring back into his pocket, and Vesta thought he kept a watchful eye on the town citizens all the way back to her ranch.

Their ranch hand met her, carrying a box. “You’ve a package.”

“I do?” She angled her head to read the label: To Miss Bartlett, Queen City, Republic of Texas.

She was afraid to read the return address to see who sent it. When she did, she sighed for seeing the postmark. New Mexico.

With the sunlight illuminating her father’s parlor, cascading over his trunk, the simply-upholstered love seats and the polished end tables and tea cart, she opened the box.

Metal chimed.

“Did you order new parts?” Miss Grimes asked.

Vesta frowned. There were various parts she did have to purchase from outsiders, but for the most part, everything worth the metal she or her father made. The packing material flopped out onto the table as Vesta dug her hands into the box. Cold metal met her touch. Her heart sank as she lifted out a little, brass dog.

Miss Grimes’ breath smelled of mint as she leaned over to peer at the piece. “Isn’t that yours?”

Nodding, she lifted a note free and read,

Dear Miss Bartlett,

Our son went to be with the Great Spirit last

week and we no longer have need of your gift.

We offer you our thanks for the enjoyment it brought him, though not long enough.

Yours,

Running Cloud and Floating Deer

By the hand of William Jenkins, Reservation representative

Jemez Pueblo, New Mexico

“Oh, no.” Vesta lowered the letter. The clockwork dog blurred. A hand touched Vesta’s shoulder and she sniffled. “Poor boy.”

“If I were you,” Miss Grimes said, “I’d send them condolences.”

Vesta wiped her cheeks. “That’s a fine idea.” But first, she set the puppy on the mantle out of the way. Maybe one day she’d make use of it, but not today.

She scribbled the note and set it aside, wiping her tears away.

Henry entered, wiping his face on a dirty, dark blue handkerchief. “Well, it’s in.”

“It is?” Vesta nearly dropped her work in her excitement.

“The door, anyway.” Now he dug in his pocket and withdrawing it, dropped a key in her hand.

Vesta squealed happiness and hugged him.

“Good job, boy,” Miss Grimes said. “Now just finish the rest of it and you’ll be ready for your wedding day.”

He picked up her aether vial and added some to her new puppy’s reservoir. Only a trickle of the sparkling blue concoction drizzled out. Vesta frowned and took the vial, holding it to the light. “There’s not much fuel left.”

“Looks like it. Does your father have more?”

“He does but I thought we had more than that.” Though she disappeared into his room, and rummaged through his cabinet of vials, she found none. The last place she looked yielded a vial tucked in his gun safe. “This is all I have.” She looked to her automaton. “I’ll have to write our supplier for more. I’m sure it’ll be here in plenty of time.”

“Or you could use coal.”

“Coke,” Henry corrected.

Vesta smiled at him for remembering her words to Lady Deckvale. “This is better, you know.”

She wrote a quick note and set it aside, then went to her father’s bookcase and pulled down one of his alchemical books—Modern Alchemy, Ancient Elements by Edrard Sanjay. Every element she read about flowed through her mind.

“This what?” Miss Grimes blinked at her over her cup. “What’s better than coal?”

“Aether?” Henry winked at her. “But Vesta knows better than to break the law, Miss Grimes. I’m the rogue in the family, didn’t you know?”

“Surely Daddy can make something better than our usual fuel.” Vesta flipped a page in the book.

“If he can’t, you can.”

“You think so, do you? I’ll try.” She shut the book, and slipped her arm through Henry’s. A different kind of excitement lit her heart as he nuzzled in close and she led him across the parlor. “But first, I want to see my new door.”

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