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 Page A

the admiral: two days to get him set right, so be here at dawn in two days’ time.”
    “What about the rest of our pay?” demands Beakman.
    “How do you think I know you’ll come back here? You’ll get your pay when my husband is safely aboard his ship again.” And there ain’t no arguin’ with that.

    ‘Tain’t hard to find a pub in Singapore. The wine’s different, but beer’s beer the world ’round. I was guzzling a good portion of my wages with the lads when one of those shiny girls comes walking in the door. Everyone in the place is givin’ her a ’preciative eye, and in behind her walks the biggest fella I ever seen outside a boxin’ circle. Folks stop lookin’, and more than a few realize they have other places they ought to be.
    He has a massive piece of metal where his left arm should be and a huge collar of brass round his neck. His left cheek is a brass plate as well, the skin around it puffed and puckered like a quilt, all pieced together. And there, smack in the center of his face plate is the admiral’s cogged elephant, its trunk held high, like it’s trumpetin’ a warning.  He might have been there in the admiral’s salon, and sittin’ among the rest of ’em. Too many bolted and plated for him to stand out there, but standin’ here like Goliath in that doorway, can’t help but see him.
    The lady walks to the bar, and whispers to the barkeep who nods emphatically and goes about his business. I’ve got a mind to head back for the ship and see how the other lads made out with the cargo, but that big fella is still standin’ at the door lookin’ like no one is leavin’ without his say so.
    The shiny lady walks up to our parcel with a bottle of wine and cups enough for the table, but I knows better than to touch libations from strange women with fingers what clink against the glass of the bottle like that.
    “You are Dashwood’s men?” she asks as she sits herself down. Her accent makes the words sound like fish goin’ back and forth in a pool o’ water, quick, then slow.
    The lads and I just nod and try not to look as nervous as the big guy makes us. I shoot another glance his way and the lady sees where my attention is.
    “He is here to protect me, not to harm you,” she assures us. “I am Whipsnake.”
    “Whipsnake?” Martin says, chucklin’ like a fool.
    She brings her arms up and flexes them twice. Each of her silver, pointed nails begins to grow to nearly four inches and then is followed by a tether of silver cord. Ten lethally-tipped whips hang from her hands, and her statement ’bout needin’ the big fella’s protection is seemin’ less likely.
    “He names us as we are built,” she says. “I do not even remember what my first name was, but then, I was very small when he bought me. He will do the same to each of you. That is why I am here.”
    She flexes her wrists again, and the cords work slowly back into place, and I can see the slither of them just beneath the flesh of her arms and the silk of her sleeves.
    We’re watchin’ her, so it takes a minute for the five of us to get hold of what she’s sayin’. When it strikes me, my eyes must open to the size of the moon rising out of the water.
    “Captain wouldn’t let that happen,” insists Martin.
    “Perhaps not,” Beakman says, “but Dashwood might, if it meant the captain gets what he needs.”
    Whipsnake just nods.
    We sits there stunned at the revelation that we’s been sold like barrels of cargo.
    “What’ll he do wid us?” Beakman asks, the only one of us with the courage, or maybe he just wants more reasons for belly-achin’ like he do.
    “He will drug you, so you do not feel or struggle. Then he will decide which pieces of you should go. Sometimes,” she hesitates, “sometimes he just takes what he needs for what he calls ex-per-ee-ments. He did not become as proficient at what he does by going to a physician’s school. Here in Singapore, they call him the Elephant Butcher.”
    The