“You don’t deserve Scarlet as your sister,” the young, tinkering girl pandered as she closely tailed Ella’s hurried march down the corridor.
“Good. Because you’re not my sister,” she replied.
“But Mrs. Peterso- Mom said he was both mine and your father.”
She stopped and proceeded to face her with a duly heated expression.
“I know what Mrs. Peterson said. But that doesn’t mean I have to believe it.”
Scarlet, unintimidated, drew a grin that seemed to spread the entire width of her face.
“Did you know, that in one of the last Scarlet adventure novels, she learns that her arch nemesis, Mad Hilda, is actually her distant cousin?”
“Fascinating.” She turned away, walked several paces, stopped, and turned to face her again. “And why are you following me? Shoo!”
“Scarlet needs to know something?”
“What is it? And be quick about it. I’ve had a long day. If I have to see one more filthy raider, I swear-”
“Ella,” Scarlet interrupted in a markedly more serious tone. “If it is true that we share the same father, who do you think our real mother was?”
Ella froze, then sighed as she laid he hand on top of the girl’s head.
Taken aback by the sudden affection, she gave an involuntary hiss.
Emboldened by her reaction, Ella teased her all the more by ruffling her hair, then said, “look, we both have a lot to think about. Maybe this is the sort of talk that’s best saved for later.”
Ella opened the hatch to her room and proceeded inside.
“So this is Mad Hilda’s nefarious lair.” Scarlet peered inside with a look of mischievous intent.
Ella gave a sharp push at the hatch.
“Goodnight Scarlet,” she said, then slammed it shut.
“Scoundrel!” Shouted a muffled voice.
Ella sighed again and made her way towards the washroom.
Neat and orderly, the décor of the room was as practical as any person passioned by her hobbies could hope for. Shelves lined every exposed wall where mechanical objects of every size and of questionable purpose sat proudly displayed; each one a momento from prior salvage runs. A lonely, single porthole peered into the infinite expanse of the tattered world beyond, while moonlight beamed through a plate-sized lense that hovered over the glass and amplified its effect to better illuminate the interior. Beneath the porthole lay a work bench; its every scratch, dent and scrape a testament to the love and attention given to its tireless use.
Ella bent over the sink, undid her bandages and washed out her wounds. Depoisoning water took a significant amount of effort, as the tedious act of boiling and reboiling consumed precious resources to an extent where careful rationing was a daily priority. So Ella was careful to clean what only needed to be cleaned, with perhaps a bit left over to refresh herself with a quick splash to the face.
Looking down, she felt the weight of the object, hanging by a leather strap around her neck, press down on her chest all the more.
Scarlet was adamant about taking the mysterious box for own, claiming that her “collection” needed another addition. But Ella hardly protested as the precious gift it offered, now in her possession, was all that was needed to carry out the task instructed by the mildly affectionate recording of her supposed father.
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THE STEAMCHILD CHRONICLES PRESENTS: CHILDREN OF THE CLOCKWORK SKY
Teen FictionA rompous Young-Adult Steampunk tale of absurd gadgetry, adventure and daring deeds, with larger-than-life characters in a post-apocalyptic Victorian world. Ella Marshall never saw the cities fall to ruin, nor the life torn from the once lush and vi...
