Free Mechanized Masterpieces: A Steampunk Anthology by Alyson Grauer, Anika Arrington, Aaron Sikes, A. F. Stewart, Scott William Taylor, Neve Talbot, M. K. Wiseman, David W. Wilkin, Belinda Sikes

crate on me shoulder and Dashwood in front blockin’ the view.
    We comes to another great door. This one has the cogged elephant on it, too. The smallish lady’s arm reaches up, pulls the elephant’s nose, and the cogs in the elephant’s back whirl and the door opens.
    “Come in, Margaret! Come, come, come!” says a most English voice. “I understand you have something for me.”
    “You know me, Admiral,” she says, and suddenly sounds nothin’ like our first mate. She sounds like the girlish thing that said, “I do,” to the cap’n all them years back. “I never ask a favor empty-handed.”
    He comes waddling over like some young fop, with spectacles on his face that make him look like a great fish. She allows this short, round little man in a white coat to kiss her hand, and I near drop the cap’n at such ladylike behavior. The other lads groan, and Dashwood remembers we been heftin’ him all through town.
    “On the table there, lads,” she says, and we stumble and drops the cap’n a little harder than we mean. This earns an eye from Dashwood the likes of which could kill a man, and I sees the mettle that makes her the first-mate in her face again. We’ll be pullin’ barnacles off the sides of the ship, and no mistake.
    “Well, let’s see, let’s see, then!” says the admiral, and he comes bustlin’ over. He tosses the lid off like a feather, and I’m wonderin’ how many gears he’s got on his own self under the coat and the simperin’. The captain moans and tries to sit up, but the admiral just pushes him back, cluckin’ like a mother hen. Then he notices the wrapped leg and gasps like a babe at Christmas. He unwraps the bindings at the bloody end and starts inspectin’ and pokin’ about.
    “I think I could reattach it, but the toes would have to be replaced,” he says, and I believe he could do it.
    “No, no, Admiral. We aren’t here to make the best of a bad job. The leg is the gift. He needs full hardware,” Dashwood insists.
    The admiral gets this simpery little smile on his face, like that’s just what he wants to be hearin’. He just chortles a bit and goes wanderin’ off to these tables of metal bits and instruments, and starts rummagin’ about.
    “I’ll need two days to get him outfitted properly, and the brass won’t come cheap,” the admiral looks up to see Dashwood’s reaction. He’s a man been cheated before and no mistake.
    “I’ll pay you half now, half on safe delivery.” she assures him.
    “Splendid!” the admiral gestures her over so they can haggle the price. I feel for him now. No one gets the best of Dashwood, ’cept maybe the cap’n from time to time.
    The lads and I are starin’ ’round the room, lookin’ at the hooks and chains coverin’ the walls, and some of ’em ain’t empty. Arms and legs lookin’ like they ain’t fit to be part of any person are danglin’ all around the workshop. The skull of a man, long lost to this world, half bone, half plated metal is smilin’ forever from a shelf above the admiral’s head. And all over the workshop I’m seeing that cogged-up elephant markin’ the admiral’s work.
    I realize now the cap’n’s off me shoulders I might get a look at that wee lady, but she ain’t nowhere to be seen. And I notice that great metal door is closed behind us, and I shivers a bit to be held up in such a place.
    “That’ll do just fine,” I hear the admiral pronounce, and I wonder what kind of deal could make him so happy.
    “Come on, lads,” says Dashwood, and she leads the way back up to the street. As we go, I don’t see the tiny lady nowhere, but there was plenty of others to watch us as we went. When we’re finally breathin’ air that don’t smell like kerosene and opium, she hands us each ten pound.
    “Captain Campbell will need strong shoulders to get him back to the ship, so don’t be too drunk when you meet back here to fetch him,” she says, stern as that storm that blew us here. “You heard