Gears of a Mad G.o.d:.

A Steampunk Lovecraft Adventure.

By Brent Nichols.

Chapter 1 a" Grim Tidings.

It was ironic, Colleen Garman reflected, how often a clockmaker could lose track of the time.

She was up to her elbows in bra.s.s gears and grease, thoroughly enjoying herself, when the grandfather clock in the corner began to chime. In moments half a dozen more clocks joined in, and she straightened, suppressing an unladylike curse. Six o'clock! Roland would be picking her up at seven, it would take half an hour to get home, she needed half an hour to scrub the smell of grease from her skin, and then there was her hair-!

She left her tools sticking out of the clock cabinet, not the way her father had taught her at all, but this was an emergency. Then she raced around the workshop, turning down gas lights and making sure the windows were shut. She pulled a jacket on over her coveralls and paused in the doorway, looking over her domain.

Everything was squared away, aside from a few wrenches. Dad would be proud.

If she'd known how long it would be before she saw her workshop again, she would have stayed longer. Instead she turned away and locked the door.

The evening shadows were long, and at first she didn't notice the tall man in the long, dark coat, striding across the lawn. Her workshop was one bay in a long block of warehouses, so she didn't pay any attention to him. He was undoubtedly on his way to see one of her neighbors.

She jogged across the gra.s.s, and he saw her, and veered toward her. Something in his face disturbed her, a look of dark intensity, and she jogged faster, heading for the lights of Spadina street a block away. The warehouse district got short shrift when it came to streetlights, a fact that usually didn't bother her, but tonight she was nervous.

Feed thudded on the gra.s.s and she looked over her shoulder. The man was running after her, and Colleen broke into a run as well. She dashed up Treadwell Street, a growing anger fighting with her fear. What right did some clown have to chase her, to make her run? Of course, she was late, after all. She decided that was reason enough to keep going. If she turned and taught this man a lesson, she'd miss her date with Roland completely.

He was gaining on her as she reached the intersection with Spadina. It was a much busier street, with shoppers strolling between stores and businessmen leaving their offices. She was thinking about stopping, turning to face the guy, when she saw a streetcar just ahead of her. She decided to run for it instead, and picked up the pace.

The man behind her sped up as well. He was no more than a dozen feet behind her when her stretching hand caught the rail on the back of the streetcar and she pulled herself on board.

She stood panting, staring back at him, ready to hammer on his fingers if he grabbed the railing. But he was too far back. He was quite determined, the long black coat flapping around his legs as he sprinted, but he quickly began to fall behind.

Colleen stared into his face. It was an ordinary face at first glance, long and thin, a clean-shaven man somewhere between youth and middle age. But there was a disturbing intensity to his features. As the streetcar pulled away from him there was no frustration in his face, no disappointment. Just a grim focus as he stared after her.

Colleen shivered and hoped she'd seen the last of him. The next time she worked late, she decided, she'd tuck one of her larger wrenches into her pocket. If he came after her again he'd get the surprise of his life.

Home for Colleen was a rattletrap row house on a steep hill with a view of Lake Ontario. With her parents gone the dark house often depressed her, but tonight she was too distracted to be troubled. She trotted up the front steps, then paused to pluck an envelope from the mailbox at her front door.

Inside, she turned on the lights and tore the envelope open. She was distracted, thinking of Roland, thinking of how she could be ready in time, but the words on the page hit her like a blow. It was a telegraph form, the message succinct, blunt, and brutal.

Very sorry your uncle Roderick pa.s.sed this AM in Victoria.

Colleen stared at the rectangle of paper for a long minute, then walked to the nearest chair and flopped herself down. She kept staring at the sheet in her hand, but she was no longer seeing it. Uncle Rod was dead?

By the time Roland arrived she was packing. She told him about Roderick in distracted bursts as she darted back and forth across her bedroom, gathering her possessions. She took no more than she could fit in a suitcase. A steamer trunk was more traditional, but it would be a nightmare to move, and Colleen liked to be mobile.

Roland listened silently, only sympathy on his face. He was dressed for the night of dancing he had promised her, and he looked devastatingly handsome in a brown suit that showed off his height and his broad shoulders. Colleen looked at him and felt a pang of regret for their missed evening, and a rush of affection for him. She had ruined his evening completely, and his only thought was how he could help.

He carried her suitcase down to the front door, went to the corner drugstore to phone for a taxi, then came back and looked her up and down. "I hope you're not travelling in that," he said.

Colleen looked down at herself. She was still in her coveralls, hardly suitable attire for a young lady in public. She frowned in irritation. Skirts were frankly a pain, and she would be travelling for at least a week. Well, there was nothing to be done. She thought about packing her dirty coveralls just in case, but it hardly seemed likely she'd wear them.

She changed quickly, pulling on a blue dress and grabbing a bonnet, and ran back downstairs. "I'll come with you to the train station," Roland said as the taxi pulled up. "I could even go with you to Victoria."

"Don't be silly," Colleen told him. "You haven't packed. And you don't want to pay for a taxi to come all the way back from the station. I'll be fine."

"I don't know," he said, and she smiled at the concern on his face. She stood on tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek. "Thanks for understanding," she said. "You're very sweet. I'll see you as soon as I get back."

He insisted on carrying her suitcase to the taxi. He opened the back door for her, then took her hand, his face serious. "We need to have a talk when you get back."

Colleen nodded and climbed into the taxi. She watched him through the back window as the car pulled away. She had a feeling he was planning to propose to her, and the thought put a flutter of excitement in her stomach, but they had a few issues to work out first. Roland had some fairly narrow views about how a proper young woman ought to behave, and they didn't involve wearing coveralls and working with hand tools.

But she'd been shaken by the news of Uncle Rod's death. He was her last living relative. She was truly alone now. Marrying Roland, being part of a family again, coming home to a house full of light and life and love, would be hard to resist.

She lugged her suitcase into the station, found a ticket window, and bought a return ticket to Vancouver, wincing at the price. She wouldn't have long to wait. Her train was leaving in less than ten minutes.

She was on the stairs, the suitcase b.u.mping her legs with every step, when some instinct made her turn. A man was sauntering across the lobby behind her, and he lifted a newspaper to hide his face as she turned, but he was a moment too slow. Colleen felt her stomach turn to ice. She knew that thin face, that dark coat, those burning eyes.

It couldn't be a coincidence. He was following her. But why?

Not for any good purpose, she was sure.

She kept moving, down the staircase, her eyes scanning the station. She was safe enough for the moment, but what if he boarded the same train she did? She had a sudden vision of going to sleep at night, wondering what he might do as she slept. Or she might confront him, teach him some manners, and maybe get herself thrown off the train.

A group of sailors stood at the bottom of the stairs, half a dozen rough-looking young men talking and laughing loudly, and Colleen instinctively edged away from them. Then one man's words caught her attention.

"I'm telling you, it's been stolen."

"You lost it," the man beside him said. "Check your pockets again."

"I don't have that many pockets," the first sailor retorted. "I'm telling you, someone nicked my wallet."

Colleen stepped closer and said, "I think it was him."

"Huh? What?" The sailors stared at her, and Colleen, her heart thumping, let go of her suitcase with one hand so she could point up the stairs. "That guy in the black coat, with the newspaper. I think he took your wallet."

The sailors looked where she pointed and Colleen quickly moved away before they could ask any awkward questions. She hurried to her platform, not turning her head when she heard raised voices behind her, followed by the sounds of a scuffle. She allowed herself a small smile as she handed her suitcase to a porter and boarded her train.

Chapter 2 a" Dragon Alley.

The trip from Toronto to the coast took three days. At first Colleen distracted herself by examining the hardware of the train, from the straightforward mechanics of the steam locomotive to the complex, cutting-edge pneumatic brake system. She watched the scenery, and chatted with her fellow pa.s.sengers, but by the second day all of that began to pall.

She brooded over her shattered family. Her mother was a distant memory, just a face in a photograph and faint images of warmth and love and a golden smile, so long ago that she wasn't sure if she was remembering or imagining.

Her father's death, 18 months earlier, was fresh and devastating in her mind. The two of them had been inseparable, working side by side in the workshop whenever she wasn't in school. She still woke up some mornings not remembering that he was gone, and was crushed anew when memory came flooding in.

She reviewed what she knew of Uncle Rod. He had visited on half a dozen occasions, always on his way to some exotic new location. He was rootless, Dad had said. Born to wander the Earth, seeking his fortune, seeking adventure, never content.

She remembered a broad-shouldered man, his stomach a bit bigger on every visit, his face a thicket of bristling whiskers. He smelled of tobacco smoke and peppermint and something else, a scent she'd never been able to identify. The first time Colleen encountered whiskey she'd been shocked to recognize the smell. She'd meant to tease Uncle Rod about it, but she never saw him again.

Six visits in twenty years. Oh, probably he'd visited when she was an infant, but six visits was all she could remember. They hadn't been especially close. This feeling she had, that she needed to drop everything and dash across the country, had less to do with their relationship than with the fact that he was all the family she had left.

Was this trip ill-advised? She told herself she was going to settle his affairs, take care of anything that needed doing. She told herself she was being responsible, but in truth it had been an impulsive decision.

She was plagued by questions, and it would take three days at least to get any answers. Meanwhile there were probably telegrams and letters stacking up at home with the answers to all of her questions. She sighed and read the one telegram she'd received for the umpteenth time.

The telegram was signed "Jane Favisham." Colleen had never heard of her. Was she a friend of Uncle Rod? A girlfriend? Whoever she was, she knew about Colleen.

On the morning of the third day some of her questions were answered. She found a Vancouver newspaper, four days old, in the dining car. She glanced at a lurid headline, dismissed it, and started to turn the page. Then a name caught her eye and she turned back, a chill spreading through her body as she read.

Madman Subdued in Victoria.

On Monday afternoon a near-tragedy was averted at a small public school in Victoria. A man with an axe entered Queen Elizabeth Primary School in the mid-afternoon. He apparently tried to enter the first cla.s.sroom he came to, but a quick-thinking teacher, Mr. Hainsley, pushed the door shut from the inside and held it, exhorting his students to flee by the window.

The attacker was attempting to batter the door open with his axe when he was apprehended by a group of teachers and a janitor. No students or staff were harmed in the attack.

The attacker was taken into police custody. He has been identified as Roderick Garman of Victoria. The motive for the attack is not known.

Colleen stared at the newspaper, baffled. Uncle Rod had taken an axe and attacked a school? She didn't know him well, but he'd always been gentle, amusing, and patient. It made no sense.

She checked the date on the paper. May 1, 1921. The day before the telegram. Uncle Rod should have been in police custody. How had he died?

She was exhausted and disgruntled when she finally walked down the gangplank of the Vancouver-Victoria ferry and stepped onto Vancouver Island. She had never been so far from home, but she was in no mood to enjoy the sights. She hoisted her suitcase and trudged down the dock.

"Colleen?"

Colleen looked up. A woman of about forty stood before her, smiling uncertainly. She had brown hair drawn up in a bun, and wore a modest blue dress and an uncertain smile.

"Yes?"

"Oh, it is you!" the woman gushed. "I knew it! Your uncle has- I'm sorry, had a picture of you in his house. I'm Jane Favisham. I was your uncle's friend."

"How do you do?" Colleen said automatically, and Jane shifted a parasol to her left hand so she could shake Colleen's hand. "How did you know I was coming?"

Jane smiled. "There's only one ferry each day from Vancouver, and I live quite near here. When I didn't get any replies to my telegrams I decided I'd come by each day starting today, for a few days at least. And here you are, on my very first day. You must have really hurried."

Colleen nodded. "Thank you for meeting me. I wasn't expecting it."

"Well, anything I can do. Rod was terribly fond of you, you know."

Colleen closed her eyes for a moment. She wasn't aware that she'd made much of an impression on her uncle. He had a picture of her? Oh, Uncle Rod, I never had a chance to properly get to know you.

"Do you have a place to stay?" Jane interjected.

"No. I guess I didn't plan this trip very well."

Jane patted her shoulder and smiled. "That's all right. It must have been a terrible shock. I know it was for me. I'm afraid you'll have to check into a hotel. Your uncle's house, well, it's been damaged. And I stay in a boarding house.

"The Empress is the best hotel in town. It's really something, but expensive, I fear. I recommend the Queen Anne. It's not too pricy, but it's respectable. The best part is, it's not far. My, that suitcase looks heavy. Can I help you carry anything?"

The Queen Anne Hotel was a two-story building a block from the docks. By the time Colleen was checked in the sun was setting and her head was spinning. Jane smiled sympathetically and said, "You look done in, dear. Why don't you rest, and I'll come see you tomorrow morning."

Colleen slept late and rose still feeling tired. She was finishing breakfast when Jane arrived, the parasol dangling from her hand. The sky was overcast. She would need the parasol more for rain than sun today.

They made small talk as they strolled through the streets of Victoria. Colleen was not an experienced traveller. She hadn't realized her country had so much variety before this trip. Toronto, she now realized, was a bastion of industry and commerce. She'd been surprised that the smaller prairie cities were so different, built of wood and sandstone instead of brick. Now she was in Victoria, the most elegant city she'd seen so far. The heart of the city was filled with elaborate Edwardian architecture and somehow felt distinctly British.

The buildings became less ornate as they walked. Soon they were on the outskirts of town, surrounded by clapboard buildings. Jane put her hand on Colleen's arm. "We're getting close to Rod's house. I'm afraid it's been burglarized."

"Really?"

"Yes, it happened right after the, that is, right after your uncle was arrested. I went by the house to pick up a few things for him and the door had been pried open. There it is up ahead."

Uncle Rod's house was a small, stand-alone structure with peeling paint and a sagging front porch. It was surrounded by similar buildings. Fresh, unpainted wood showed on the door frame where it had been repaired. Jane unlocked the door, then handed Colleen a small bra.s.s key.

"I guess this is yours, now. I haven't cleaned anything up. After Rod- after everything happened, I was just too upset. I called the police and got someone to fix the door, and that's all I did."

"Thank you for doing that," Colleen said. "Thank you for everything. For caring about Uncle Rod. For looking out for me."

Jane smiled, her lip trembling, and Colleen turned away, stepping into the house before both of them broke down in tears. She found a light switch on the wall and flicked it on.

The house was a shambles. Colleen stared around the front room, her hand over her mouth, aghast. Padded chairs had been slashed open. Tables were overturned. A hutch stood open, the floor around it covered in smashed dishes.

Colleen moved through the house, shocked at the destruction. Every shelf, every drawer, every cupboard had been emptied onto the floor. Uncle Rod's mattress had been slashed open, the stuffing strewn around the bedroom. She could barely take a step without treading on his shattered possessions.

She realized she'd been looking forward to this, to seeing where Uncle Rod had lived. She'd wanted to get a sense of who he was, what sort of life he'd led out here on the coast. To get a sense of connection to him, if possible.

Instead she was surrounded by rubbish and ruin. This was no longer her uncle's home. Colleen hurried from the house, and stood outside taking deep breaths, trying to compose herself. The street was mostly empty, for which he was grateful. A man was loitering on the far side of the street, but he looked away as Colleen looked at him, giving her privacy to blink away her tears.

Jane came out of the house and stood beside her, mute and sympathetic, patting her shoulder. After a minute Colleen locked the house.

They walked back to the hotel, silent at first, each woman lost in her own thoughts. Finally Colleen blurted, "I don't understand. What happened? Why was he at that school, with an axe?"

Jane pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I wish I knew. It was very unlike him. He was the gentlest man you'd ever want to meet. You know that."

Colleen nodded, although she didn't really know Uncle Rod well enough to be sure.

"I saw him the day before, and he was agitated. He kept going on about some book he'd read. He had a collection, artifacts and antiquities from around the world."