The Steam Walker (Steam World Book 1), page 2
“But a wagon doesn’t walk on its own,” I told him temptingly. “And a wagon on stilts would be able to climb over things that a wheeled cart couldn’t.”
“Aye,” Jamie allowed, scratching his face the way our father sometimes did when he was thoughtful, “there’s that.”
Bessie, who was working on our dinner in the kitchen gave a small, despairing sigh. I winked at Jamie, nodding my head toward Bessie’s outburst. His eyes gleamed and he continued in full brogue, “Ach aye, sister, ye ken the way of things mechanical quite nicely!”
“Tut!” we heard Bessie splutter from the kitchen. She’d been born English and it had taken her the better part of a year to ken to our ways. She still spoke a bit different but there were many people in Edinburgh who spoke no better. I recall, just shortly after we’d rid her of lice, nits — and most of her hair — she’d exploded on me. “Why don’t you speak English?”
“I am,” I had said, feeling sore at her abuse. “Do you not ken what I’m saying?”
“What do you mean, ‘ken’?” Bessie had shot back. “And why do you see ‘ye’ instead of you? And what does ‘nae’ mean?”
“Och —” I said, shaking my head and putting up with another splutter from the blond-haired girl “— that’s just the way we speak here in Scotland, Bessie.”
“But I don’t know what it means!” Bessie said with tears in her voice. “And I don’t want to get it wrong and have you — have you —” and she broke down completely. I pulled her against me and patted her.
“We say ‘nae’ when we mean ‘no’ or ‘not’,” I told her in a soft voice. “We say ‘och’ when we are surprised or sorry. We say ‘aye’ when we mean ‘yes’ or sometimes ‘yes’ very strongly.”
Bessie had sniffed and wiped her nose as she absorbed the words, nodding slightly to show that she understood.
“We say ‘ye’ because we’ve been saying that instead of ‘you’ ever since I can remember,” I had added. I smiled down at her. “And I have to think that you, being far older than the baby I was when I learned how to speak, won’t have any trouble learning our language.”
“Your father won’t send me away because I’m English, will he?” She had then asked. I realized, then, that that had been the real reason for her outburst.
“Once I take you in, you’re mine,” I had told her, wrapping her tightly in my arms. That seemed to settle her and — aside from the occasional snort or ‘tut’ from the kitchen — we heard no more on the matter.
Ignoring Bessie’s latest ‘tut’, I pulled my sketches out of my sack and laid them in front of Jaimie.
“Look, here’s the steam engine,” I said. I showed him the drawing, explained the workings and let him ponder on them. I could see his face grow thoughtful — Jamie hadn’t my love of metal but he was just as quick in seeing how things moved as I was and I could see his excitement grow as he imagined how the engine moved.
“It’s not very efficient,” Jamie said and I grinned at him.
“Aye, it’s not,” I agreed. “Nothing a Scotsman couldn’t fix.”
“If ye had the right Scotsman,” he muttered doubtfully. I smiled at him and he groaned. “Not you!”
I pulled out my next sketch and just laid it under his eyes. I didn’t say anything, letting him follow the logic himself. I held my breath because Jamie was very clever and if anyone could find fault, it’d be he.
He pointed at the one plug that was left in my drawing. “This starts it and stops it?”
I nodded. He smiled. “Very nice,” he allowed. “Efficient.”
I said nothing but inside, I beamed.
Then Jamie shook his head. “So, it’s nice but what of it, Danni?”
I pulled out the next sketch and Jamie grunted in surprise. He picked it up and poured over it, followed the motions with his finger and went back and forth several times.
“Aye,” he said finally, “it’d work.” A moment later he passed the sketch back to me. “Pity.”
“What?”
“Well, sister, for what purpose do you think father would spend so much on something no one’s ever seen, let alone tried?” Jamie demanded irritably. I could tell that the sketch intrigued him and he was furious with me to taunt him so — he knew just as well as I that father couldn’t afford to build something for no purpose.
Of course, I’d thought of that already. I’d had a long time to think on the walk back from the port. And I had an answer.
“What if it were on a wager?” I said, raising my eyebrows challengingly. “What if MacAllister were on the other side?”
Jamie was silent for a long while, his expression growing more cheerful as he considered the notion. Finally he swotted my hair, saying, “Aye, it’s not for nought that you’ve that hair, red Danni!”
I didn’t know then how right he was.
#
“A steam horse?” my father spluttered the next week as he staggered home from the local pub. “Can you imagine a steam horse?”
“What, father?” I asked, all innocence. I had been hoping to hear him say this — had been hoping to hear it over all the tavern talk of ‘the King Over the Water’ — James Edward Stuart — and the exploits of his dashing son, Prince Charles. The one that everyone called “Bonnie Prince Charlie”; the one who’d landed in the north of Scotland, raised the banner of rebellion and had brought the Highland clans together under his standard. Who, even now, was reputed to have his eyes set on Edinburgh and then, later, to restore his father to the combined throne of England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales — displacing the current German King, George II.
Everyone knew that the Scottish King, James VI, had become James I, King of England back when the English Queen Elizabeth had died. And we all learned early on how his grandson, Charles II, had been deposed and replaced. His family had escaped and his son, James Edward Stuart, sought the restoration of his monarchy. Indeed, he’d led a rebellion in 1715 that had been crushed by the English King. Now his son, Charles Edward Stuart, was fighting to put his father back in his ‘rightful’ place. ‘Rightful’ as some had thought it.
I’d nearly despaired of ever hearing a peep about my steam horse. In the end, I cooked up a plan.
#
My plan had taken no time to put into practice. Fortunately, Samuel Cattan had been more than willing to play his part. Poor Sam was one of MacAllister’s apprentices and a more miserable young man you couldn’t imagine. Och, he was a handsome lad in his own right but he was sore used by MacAllister — as were they all.
So it was no problem at all on my part to plant the notion with Samuel. It was easier still because I was one of the few girls Samuel Cattan ever saw and for some reason he liked the look of me.
Samuel posed the question late one night when the master was in his cups. As MacAllister was often in his cups, there was nothing particular strange in that. The trouble was to get him to remember in the morning and for that Sam had to take a beating — for MacAllister never liked being told what he’d said the night before, nor challenged on his word.
“A steam horse?” MacAllister’s below could be heard as he stormed up to our forge late the next morning. “Walker, have ye ever heard the like?”
“Pardon?” my father asked, his eyes narrowing as he spotted the forlorn look on Samuel Cattan’s face.
“This — this —” MacAllister smacked the back of Samuel’s head “— excrescence had the nerve to suggest that I’d said I could make a steam horse last night!”
“And could ye?” my father asked, scratching his chin thoughtfully. “Ye’d use that Newcomen engine, then?”
“What?” MacAllister said, brought up short in his tirade. “Ye think I’d try something that mad?”
“Well, no,” my father said. “I ken that ye’d not, Hamish. And I don’t doubt the wisdom in it, either. ‘Twould be a fierce expense and for what reward?”
“Expense?” Hamish said, brows waggling. “Are you trying to say I’ve not the money for such a venture, Daniel?”
I got my name, Danielle, from father’s, if you’re wondering.
“I wouldn’t be one to know your finances, Hamish,” my father said easily enough, “but I could certainly understand your reluctance to engage in such a frivolous adventure.”
“Yeah,” Hamish said, turning to look at his apprentice. “’Twould be mad, it would.”
“Perhaps not mad,” my father said now, having thought on the notion for a bit just as I’d guessed he would. “You’re talking about a steam-powered wagon, are ye?”
“Something like that,” Hamish said slowly, his lips turning down into a frown as he once more faced my father.
“It’d go longer than a horse,” my father said. “I expect they could use it down at the docks, maybe even in the mines.”
“At the docks?” Hamish’s eyes started to gleam.
“But I don’t know if it’d be worth it,” my father said. “You know how they are down there, slow to try something new.” He shook his head firmly. “No, you’re best off without it, Hamish. It’d be too much to try.”
“Are you saying I couldn’t do it?” Hamish said, his eyes starting to smoulder with anger. “And would you like to put some money on that, Mr. Walker?”
“I don’t think I would,” father said. “Either way, it would be money for no purpose and I’d not like to take it off you.”
“Take it?” Hamish boomed. “And what, Daniel Walker, makes you think ye’d take that money?”
“I said I wouldn’t bet you Hamish, so the question is moot,” father said.
“Ye’re afraid, aren’t you Walker?” Hamish said, bringing up a thick finger and pointing it in father’s direction. “Ye’re scared that I’ll make it before ye and reap all the profits.” He shook his head. “Don’t think I can’t see what ye’re thinking, laddie!”
“Hamish —”
“Ten guineas!” Hamish said. “Ten guineas says that my steam horse will move before yours!”
Father’s eyes suddenly gleamed. “My Walker over yours, is it Hamish?”
“Aye, ‘Walker’,” Hamish said, extending a hand. “And no money if ye’ve nought before the year’s end.”
My father nodded slowly, extending his hand in return. “Hamish MacAllister, ye’ve a bet.”
#
“Father, I’ve got an idea,” I said later that night as we sat at dinner. My sack with my sketches was close to hand.
“And why, Danielle Walker, am I not surprised?” my father said in reply. He gestured toward my sack. “Pass it over and I’ll have a look.”
Jamie shot me a quick look, half-warning, half-encouragement but I paid him no mind as I passed my father the first drawing.
“That’s the engine, is it?” father said as he poured over the drawing. “Jamie, bring the light to the table, I can hardly see.”
Jamie brought the lamp over and father sat it beside him, leaning forward to pour over my sketch. After a moment he leaned back and looked at me. “You were at the docks?”
How did he know?
My father smiled at my look. “You’re too skilled, Danni,” he said, pointing to a spot at the top of the drawing. “You sketched in the skyline.”
“Yes, I went to see the engine,” I told him.
He looked at me for a long moment. “I’ve seen Samuel Cattan looking at you, lass,” he said. “The way that boy looks at ye, he’d do a lot for a smile.”
Jamie squirmed nervously in his chair. Father glanced his way, then back to me.
“Would I be right in guessing that Hamish was encouraged to this wager?” My father said, gesturing for the next drawing.
Turning red, I passed it to him. He placed it over the first and bent down to look at it. He scanned it only a moment, then said to Jamie, “And this would work?”
“I think so,” Jamie said, surprised that he’d been asked his opinion.
“And the last, then lass,” father said, stretching a hand for me to pass him my last sketch. I smiled as I did and he smiled back but his look faded when he’d stretched the paper out over the other two sketches and examined it. He was silent for a long while. Finally he looked me in the eye and said, “And whatever has Hamish MacAllister done that you to want to short him of ten guineas?”
“He looks at her funny, father,” Jamie spoke up. Father glanced his way and he added, “I don’t like it when he looks at her.”
My father sat back in his seat. Finally he said lightly, “Jamie, do you honestly think that our Danni would ever allow herself to be charmed by Hamish MacAllister?”
Jamie shook his head. “But —”
“Well,” my father cut across him, “I know that our Danni won’t ever have a man she doesn’t want.” He smiled wanly as he added, “I doubt there’s a man in all Scotland who could put his will against hers.” He shook his head and leaned forward again, peering at my drawing. “And how, Danielle Walker, are we to build one of these engines?”
“I’ve got the plans, father,” I told him.
“And so you’d steal some other’s work and claim as your own?” he asked, his dark brows drawing together thunderously.
“Och, no, father!” Jamie said, rushing to my defense. “She’s got a better design than that stinkin’ old Englishman’s!”
“Well enough, then lass,” my father said to me. “But how are we going to afford all this? We haven’t got ten guineas to lose, as you well know, you doing the books and all.”
“Ah, I have a plan for that,” I told him.
My father, bless him, looked heavenward for strength. “And am I going to be sorry to ask about it?”
I smiled at him.
#
A fortnight later, my work was done.
“What in the name of the Maker is that?” one of the little urchins asked me early that dark morning when I first prepared to fire up the beast.
“What, have you no seen a hammer afore?” a girl’s voice called from near the first voice. A lost Scots girl, from her way of speaking.
“The hammer I’ve seen,” the urchin allowed, “it’s all that it’s connected to that fashes me.”
“Help me lay the fire,” I said to the two them. I could sense their wariness. “Help me lay the fire and you’ll have a bite to eat before you leave and a place to sleep this evening.”
I near died when I saw the two skeletons that made their way out of the gloom, silhouetted by the last embers of our forge. If I’d known what sort of state they were in, I would have offered breakfast first — be damned the expense.
“There’s a barrow over there and you know where the coal is,” I said, passing the shovel to the girl. The boy reached for it but I snatched it away from him. “The barrow’ll be heavy enough for you when she’s filled it. Or you can take turns.”
The boy grunted and the girl grabbed the shovel, giving him a triumphant look. The barrow squeaked across the yard and soon I could hear the coal being shoveled in.
“More of your strays?” my father’s voice spoke in my ear, so startling that I jumped. He laughed. “Don’t make the mistake of feeding them out of our hearth and home.”
“I won’t,” I promised. “But it’s our Christian duty.”
“First it’s my duty to keep you fed, child, after that we’ll talk about others,” father said. I could hear him disappear back into the darkness as the two children scuttled back, the boy and girl each on a handle and straining mightily.
“Now go take the shovel and bring me some live embers from the forge,” I told the boy. He wiped the sweat off his brow and trudged back. The red glow of hot coals lit his way back.
I instructed him on how to lay the coals in the bottom of the boiler, then how to lay fresh coals on top. I checked to make sure that the grate was open and that there was a good draw of air.
“So the boiler’s going to make steam, soon,” I told them, explaining not so much for their ears as for mine — and perhaps God’s. Didn’t He look out for fools?
“The steam will push up the piston inside that cylinder and the lever will make the other side go down,” I said. “And then the plugs will turn and the cylinder will be cooled. When that happens, the outside air will push the piston back down, dragging the lever on the far side up. The cylinder will be emptied and then fresh steam admitted, repeating the cycle.”
“Yes, missy,” the boy said, feeling compelled to say something. He nudged the girl beside him and she piped up, “Very keen, miss.”
“Run to the kitchen, the back door and tell Bessie that I said you’re to be given something hot, oats if we’ve got it,” I said to them. As they scampered off, I called, “And don’t try to scam her, she’s sharper than your bones!”
On the far end of the lever, I attached one of old hammers and placed it over my old anvil.
The first thing an apprentice ever makes is a decent anvil and my first wasn’t that bad at all, even father admitted it.
Slowly the water boiled. It seemed forever, the sun was brightening the day, and then I heard motion. The piston was going up. I could see slack on the chain at the far side of the lever. I knew from my set up how much slack I should see before the valves would be switched and the lever start to rise.
Almost... almost... now! I started to breathe even as the sound of cool water gurgled around the walls of the cylinder. The Newcomen design had the water go in the cylinder but I figured I could just as easily let the water wash the outside of the cylinder — and I was right. The piston started back down, dragging against the lever on one side and raising it on the other. I stood transfixed watching my steam engine really work until —
Bang! I jumped and shrieked only to realize that the sound was the hammer hitting the anvil. It worked! By all that was Holy, it worked!
Bang! Again. And not long after, Bang!
“Danni, what’s that racket? What are you making?” my father called from the rear window over the kitchen.
