OCR is Not the Only Font

The Fantabulous Clown Machine of London Superior

Challenge #9: Write a story that includes elements of Steampunk, where one of the characters is a Femme Fatale, where one of the themes is whether the ends justify the means, and one other writing convention of your choice (genre, character, theme etc.). One is to be inverted, one is to be subverted, one is to be lampshaded, and one is to be played straight. Today is our birthday (we’re a collective of one). If you’re interested in an additional (though entirely optional and completely meaningless) challenge, try to include a cake somewhere in your story.

The suited gentleman entered the office with that particular swagger that could only suggest pockets bursting with money. Sillywig Stevenson hurriedly set aside his paperwork: customers like this didn’t know the meaning of the words: “just a minute.”

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Mmmmmm, I very much hope so.” With a flourish of his cigarette holder, the gentleman sat down and folded one gangly leg neatly over the other. “It’s my nephew’s birthday and naturally my brother would just have to go out of town. Inevitably it falls to me to organise the little blighter’s party: streamers and cake and all that. I had heard that your business would be the one to visit for the entertainment. That you had some sort of…clockwork humour device.”

“The Fantabulous Clown Machine of London Superior.” Stevenson stood up, moved to the corner of the office and pulled away the oily canvas covering his masterpiece. “Capable of inflating thirty-eight balloons per minute and with a repertoire of sixty-four theatrically distinct pratfalls. The hand painted porcelain face is also one hundred percent pie-resistant.” He hoped that this customer would not notice the large and conspicuously absent R-valve of the left knee piston.

“Oh my,” said the gentleman. “It does look rather…unsettling.”

Stevenson twanged one of the spring-mounted eyebrows. “That’s entirely the point. Clowns are supposed to be scary, and there’s no better clown than my Fantabulous Clown Machine.”

“Well,” said the gentleman. “If that’s the case, I’m sure little Francis Franklin-Melville will be most pleased with it.”

“When are you holding the party?” asked Stevenson.

The suited gentleman took out a very ornate silver pocket watch. “In…almost twenty minutes. Let’s say a quarter past three.”

“Twenty…” Stevenson glanced at where the R-valve wasn’t. “I’m er…I’m not sure…perhaps…”

“I know it’s short notice,” explained the gentleman, placing a hand on Stevenson’s cheek. “But if you could arrange this I would be very grateful indeed.”

“You mean like…you’d pay double?”

The man took his hand away. “Oh. Yes, I suppose that would be reasonable.” Disappointedly, he took out a notepad and wrote out the address. “Be here in…seventeen minutes and I’ll make it triple, just to be fair.”

As the door jangled closed, Bignose Bennie stepped in from the side-office. “That guy was weird,” he said.

“Who cares?” said Sillywig Stevenson. “He was rich. Triple our regular fee? This’ll be the biggest break in the history of mechanical clownery!”

“Not without that R-valve, it won’t.”

Stevenson’s face fell. The thought of all that money had pushed all the less pleasant thoughts out of his head. “Blimey,” he said. “You’re right. Bennie, you must get one.”

“But the shops aren’t…”

“You must get one,” said Stevenson, forcefully, “by any means necessary. I’ll lug the Fantabulous Machine to the party and you can meet me there.”

But the traffic on the high-rise streets of London Superior was as bad as ever that day, and Stevenson began to worry that, whether or not the R-valve got to the party, the clown would never make it. Taking a short detour, he came to a station for the steam monorail and shoved the wobbling Clown Machine through the doors. He double-checked the bit of paper with the address on it. What luck! There was a station virtually next door.

But though the steam monorail reached the station, it did not to do so quietly.

“Stop that man!” shouted the conductor. “He’s stolen part of the train! Hundreds will be late! Dozens will be stranded!”

Recognising Bennie, and the R-shaped lump of brass clutched in his hand, Stevenson booted the Fantabulous Machine out onto the platform so his colleague’s escape would not be hindered.

“Fantabulous work, Bennie,” said Stevenson. “Took the monorail and took part of it to boot.”

As they rushed towards the swanky house, Bennie took a sad look back at the engine, wheezing pitiful puffs of steam, and at the R-valve in his hand. “But was it worth it?” he said, glumly. “Was it worth wrecking the monorail just for this party?”

“Who cares,” said Stevenson. “That guy’s rich, and we’re here in time for cake.”