style clothing, and was on an important journey. I don't remember much else, but I started typing
it and to my surprise, a story began to take shape. Now I wouldn't pretend that it's a great work
of fiction, but it really was a shock to find a story unfold, and once again I have a small cast of
characters who seem to be taking on a life of thier own.
I have no idea where the story is leading, but so far I have about 4,500 words of it, and I feel that there is more to come.
I used to hate writing in the past, and would find it a struggle to write a letter home when I was
at sea. Now it seems that the words are pouring out and I don't even have to think about wha
to say.
If you are interested, read on for the first two chapters of the work, and keep checking back for
more.
Steam!
The doors hissed open and a fine mist of steam and water drops entered the carriage, Horis was stood by the door, ready to disembark and the spray from a poorly maintained seal soaked his trouser leg and made it stick to his calf. Muttering to himself he jostled his way onto the platform, dragging his cases and Ministry bag through the unyielding throng. The air smelt of coal dust and unwashed humanity, a different smell to the well-scrubbed human odour of the capital. But the coal smelt the same, and the steam was the same, and the sun shone more strongly through the clearer sky. And where he normally shrank from large crowds, due to his small stature; the urgency of his mission made him bolder as he elbowed his way to the exit.
Reaching the barrier, Horis showed his Ministry pass to the collector, who touched his grimy cap with a set of tobacco stained fingers and waved him through. There was a queue for the omnibus, but Horis made his way to the mobile stand and soon found himself settling into the velvet seats of a steam-mobile. The machine vibrated with an alarming motion as the pressure was vented from the boiler, ready as a racehorse to do his bidding. The driver, masked and leathered sat outside holding the controls; he turned to Horis and grinned, showing a set of metal teeth that shone, “Where to Guvnor?”
“Provincial Hotel Good Sir” Horis answered, and was immediately swept back into the deep cushions of the seat as the machine accelerated away, scattering the begging children that always waited around Rail-Ryde termini.
Out of the window, Horis could see the mountains that encircled the town of Aserol, mountains that were covered with tall trees, and which contained the reason for his visit. The summons had come the day before, and as the most junior in the Ministry of Coal, he had been singled out for the job. In truth it was close to a public holiday, and none of the others had wanted the disruption, as Horis was single he had been everyone else’s choice for the journey.
As he was carried along the cobbles, the mobile bucked and rattled and Horis thought of his breakfast, Haddock and boiled potatoes, and he silently prayed that it would not make a re-appearance. After what felt like an hour, although it can only have been a few minutes the mobile wheezed to a halt outside a somewhat faded building that was barely clinging onto past grandeur.
“Provincial Hotel, Hope you enjoyed the ryde, the old girl does her best, but spares is hard to come by”
It was fine”, gulped Horis, still fighting gravity for control of his Haddock, he looked at the clockwork and rummaged in his pocket. Handing the driver half a Sol, he muttered “Keep it” and started to drag his belongings from the mobile onto the pavement. The mobile shuddered and spluttered, dripping steaming water into the drain ditch.
“Bal blesses you Sir, and I hope you enjoy it here in Aserol”.
“I’m on Ministry business”, he replied, but the machine had gone; only a wisp of steam remained.
Close up, the buildings were grey and dust stained, with pock marks in the brickwork, Horis knew that the coal dust and water made an acid that ate bricks, it was a constant job to repair in the cities, there were gangs of convicts out continuously with their buckets and trowels, here it seemed that the job had not been done for a long time.
A porter, in a tired uniform, came slowly toward him, the man had one arm missing, the sleeve of his jacket pinned to his chest. He had a row of medal ribbons over his heart, all faded and greased stained, but he held himself tall and there was life in his eyes.
“Good Morrow Sir, and Welcome, let me help you with those”. He hefted one case and jammed the other under his arm, “This way” he led Horis into the Hotel.
The corridors were lit by Coal gas lanterns, the wicks needed trimming and the glasses were covered with oily stains. The whole effect was to throw shadows and leave the corners in darkness, although the room was in general well-appointed.
A stern looking woman manned the reception desk; she eyed Horis as all large women do when faced with a small man. “How may we help you?” Her voice rose at the end of the sentence, as did her eyebrows. “I have a room booked by the Ministry of Coal” Horis squeaked “in the name of Strongman”.
She grinned, trying to associate him with the name and deciding that it was Bal’s joke on the poor wretch. Consulting her ledger she made a note and reached for a key.
“It's the garret room, “Malony will take you”, clearly the choice of room revealed to her his importance, if only she knew the truth of it.
“Thank you madam”, meekly he followed the one-armed man toward the lift.
The room was simple and clean, if a little threadbare, and Malony put Horis’s cases gently down in the corner, “Will that be all?” He raised an eyebrow.
Horis passed him a tenth Sol, “Tell me Malony, How do I get to the Mines of Waster from here?”
“You can take the Omnibus Sir; it passes right in front of the hotel twice an hour, but why would one such as you wish to go there?”
“Ministry business”, he answered, keeping his expression bland.
“There's been rumours Sir”, said the porter, “about unnatural things found at the mine”
“Really, what sort of things?”
Well I call them kids stories, flying things and strange beasts, I don’t take no notice myself, but Mrs Malony she gets into one of her states Sir”
“Nonsense man, I’m here from the ministry for an inspection, purely routine, now please excuse me whilst I sort myself out, twice an hour you say”.
When Horis left his room to return to the lift, his appearance had changed completely. Gone was the smart suit with the woollen waistcoat and gold chain, replaced by workmanlike overalls of brown cotton, clean and pressed but obviously well used. His feet were encased in sturdy boots, shined to a mirror polish and he had a pair of stout gauntlets tucked into his belt.
The water powered lift deposited him in the reception area, where the stern woman had been replaced by a younger, friendlier faced woman of perhaps twenty-five years. Her Green eyes surveyed Horis beneath a tumble of reddish curls, escaping from a bone ornament on one side of her head.
“Good afternoon madam, may I use your speaker?” he enquired, she passed him the instrument on its long wire.
Horis cranked the gearing furiously for a few seconds, lifted the handpiece and waited:
“Exchange” came the crackling voice.
“Waster Mine please, Mr Obley”
“One Moment”. Horis looked up from the speaker, to find himself the subject of scrutiny. Blushing he looked away, but could feel the green eyes burning into his very being. The Speaker squawked again “Obley” came a voice.
“Mr Obley, I am Horis Strongman from the Ministry, I have arrived in Aserol and would like to come down to the mine as soon as possible”.
“Very well, I am glad that our pleas have been so quickly answered, we are at a loss how to proceed and will be grateful for official guidance” Obley sounded relieved at the possibility of being able to pass responsibility to another. “Do you wish us to send a mobile for you?”
“That won’t be necessary sir; I can get the omnibus directly”
“Very well, we will expect you” The line went dead and Horis replaced the handset. “Thank you” he said to the woman.
“I’m Grace, Sir, and if there's anything (she emphasised the word) that you need, you just ask”.
Horis could feel himself flush, people here were different to those in the city, he could tell that much, even though he had been told that he was bad at reading emotions her meaning was clear.
The omnibus was steam powered and ran on tracks laid over the cobbles. It was crowded with children, all in uniform, attended by several teachers as part of some sort of educational trip. The teachers were explaining the structure and workings of the various machines that they passed; all were variants on the steam generator that had been common in Norlandia for several generations. Fuelled by the plentiful coal deposits that were the basis of the country’s wealth, the power of boiling water had been harnessed for many purposes. Mechanical devices almost beyond counting used the power; either from their own generators, or by piped supply, enabling ever more complex applications. Coupled with the gas lighting of towns, society had advanced quickly, with smaller and more efficient generators being developed in quick succession. Apart from the need to add coal and water at intervals, a lot of manual labour had been removed from man’s daily struggle.
There were only two things, Horis thought, that still needed to be achieved, to make society perfect, one was to remove the steam from the system, to find some way of getting the power to the devices without the bulky generators and the constant wetness, and the second was ……………… well maybe the second would be solved by what he expected to find at the Waster Mine.
The omnibus deposited Horis at the entrance to the Waster mine, a set of imposing wrought iron gates on stone columns. A dun coloured brick wall extended away in both directions, topped with rusty wire. There was a guard post beside the entrance, manned by a one-legged man in miners overalls, Horis suspected that he had probably given the job after an accident. On the road a steady stream of Lorries thundered by, laden with coal.
“I’m Strongman, from the Ministry, to see Mr Obley” Horis announced. The miner consulted a stack of flimsy papers on his desk. “Ah yes you are expected. It’s a bit of a step up to the office, mind the road, it gets wet and slippery”. He moved a lever and to the sound of clockwork the gates opened.
Horis trudged up the slope toward the office buildings, which he could see in the distance. If he had known there would be a long, uphill walk, he would have accepted the offer of a mobile. Behind the buildings he could make out several large holes in the sides of the mountain, they must be the mine entrances, somehow he had imagined there to be holes in the flat ground, with lifts and winding gear, but there was none. Off to one side were rows of cheap looking houses and everywhere the boiler rooms that fed from the mine and returned power to it. A river ran by the side of the road, which would be the water supply for the boilers.
The day was bright and warm, with a few clouds scudding across the sky, driven by the brisk, Northerly wind. Leaves were starting to fall, a sign of summers end and a prelude to the cold snows of winter. But even though it hadn’t rained for many a day the road was wet, as the guard had warned him, it was unpaved, which seemed a little strange, as it must be busy, and was festooned with lumps of coal of all sizes, from fist to boulder and he had to pick his way carefully. There was enough coal here to last a family for days, and he wondered at the waste of it all. Then as he rounded a bend and passed through a grove of stunted trees, he saw women, breaking up then picking up the lumps of coal further up the road. They must be scavenging for their houses, he decided, maybe that was a right of the workers, a sort of extra on the wages. With winter approaching it would help them keep warm, for snow was a regular thing in this part of Norlandia.
As he approached the boiler sheds the vibration from the equipment could be felt in his feet, and the puddles of dirty water shimmered with patches of coal dust sparkling in the sunlight. Pylons strode across the yard, holding up rubber conveyor belts which carried coal to large openings in the roofs of the sheds, where it fell into hoppers. Clouds of steam billowed from the doors and windows, around the openings stood groups of workers, stripped to shorts and perspiring freely, streaked with dust in bizarre patterns on their torsos and legs. They wore gloves, goggles and thick boots to the knee, many also had leather caps and all of them showed scars and scalds. Most were smoking nicoweed tubes, a mild and semi-illegal narcotic which probably helped them cope with the rigours of the work.
Stokers, thought Horis, what a job, as he passed a hooter sounded and the men dropped the tubes, turned and moved back inside the buildings, seconds later a second group emerged for their break and stood, a copy of the first.
Through the clouds of vapour, Horis could see steam hoses coming from the walls and fanning out in every direction, throbbing and shaking under the pressure, joints whistling and dripping. He knew that these were the portable hoses, used for small appliances, safely underground lay the permanent pipes, huge metal things a foot across, pressurised to enormous levels.
The sign said “Office” and he entered a different vision of disorder. Leading from the hallway was a series of smaller rooms, all of which appeared to have been vacated in a rush.
Papers were strewn over every horizontal surface, including the floors, and there was the click of clockwork from adding engines, still working even though every room he passed was empty of human presence. Horis moved through the building and eventually came to a room from which a low muttering and rustling could be heard, putting his head round the door frame he could see a tall thin man, dressed in a frock coat, bent over and searching through a stack of papers on his desk.
He cleared his throat, “Hello, I’m looking for Mr Obley”.
“Are you the man from the Ministry, please say that you are and that I can hand all this over to you”, the man rose up and turned, his face pale. On seeing Horis he sighed” Oh they’ve sent the junior, the most important thing has happened and they’ve sent the junior”. He shook his head several times.
Horis felt slighted, the man knew nothing of him, apart from that he was small, “That’s as maybe sir, but as I am the man from the ministry, perhaps you had better explain to me what's happening here that’s so special.”
“Well look up man, and tell me what you see” the tall man, who Horis presumed to be Obley was so tall that his head nearly touched the ceiling. His movements were jerky, as if controlled by strings, and his gaze bolt eyed and maniacal. Horis followed his pointing fingers and saw what looked like several dark lumps on the ceiling, almost as if someone had taken sticky mud and flung it upwards.
Obley was gesturing wildly “Look at them, we found the first of these two days ago, what are we to do? You're the expert, the saviour of Waster mine, what are we to do.” The last words were more an anguished howl than a question, as if the fate of the whole world depended on Horis’s answer.
Taking a deep breath, and trying to see the significance of the situation, Horis hoped that by remaining silent and appearing confident he could calm this individual, his presence was making Horis feel nervous. He would not have been in the least surprised if Obley had vanished, or turned into some creature and flown away.
“I don’t follow” began Horis, but Obley reached up and scooped one of the lumps from the ceiling. ”Watch” he advised and threw the lump toward Horis. He moved to catch it, expecting it to fall, but to his amazement it ROSE, and stuck again to the ceiling.
“And what does the ministry think of that?”
