Like a Wisp of Steam by Thomas Roche (best reads of all time txt) 📕

introduces us to the Victorian era as it would have been without Victorian values, but no less rigid rules of social structure and propriety. "The Innocent's Progress" outlines the journey of a woman who refuses to let anyone else define her, from the point of view of one of her admirers. In "An Extempore Romance," by Jason Rubis, the Victorian age is coming to an end, and in its place is rising a world of almost alchemical science. Standing at the edge of an epoch, with her hatched maid at her side, is Amelia Lessington, lady writer and patron of a new sort of brothel. Part of their appeal is, of course, that you know they're not supposed to be doing things like this. For all of the differences between the lady of high adventure and the "angel of the house," one thing doesn't change: the corset stays on. The corset is the archetypal symbol of feminine repression in the Victorian landscape. Therefore, it is all the more delicious when some waif makes it into a uniform for rebellion.

After all, what it really all comes down to is rebellion. The Victorian era was one of incredible oppression and deep and wide class divides. The people below the wealthy middle class could not even dream of escaping the lives they led, so some read the adventures of people who were doing what they never could. Steampunk is the descendent of those tales.

Although Verne was always more interested in technological wonders and the hope they could bring, H.G. Wells was more realistic, using his adventure stories to decry some aspect of his world he knew was unfair. Every man and woman in these stories who dons the goggles or shortens the skirt is spitting in the face of the world that raised them. By taking to the skies or freeing the people of the streets, they use their extraordinary talents to bring grief to an establishment that would rather see them dead. It's moving, thrilling, and arousing. They are people we want to be. They are people we want in our beds. They are the stuff of pulp-fantasy of the highest order.

J. Blackmore

October 2008

The Innocent's Progress

Peter Tupper

After ten hours of incompetent performances, temper tantrums, crying fits, vomiting, and one or two death threats, the other two judges were ready to end auditions, but Ricar felt they were obliged to see one more. He called, "Next, please!"

The door to backstage, where dozens still waited for their chance, opened. A woman walked out onto the stage, her steps echoing in the nearly empty theatre until she stopped precisely on the chalk mark and faced the three judges in their armchairs.

Right away, Ricar could see a problem. She wore a simple blue and white dress, the costume of the Innocent, but it couldn't conceal her powerful shoulders and thighs, or the fact she was taller than most men. The effect was almost comical.

Chel, the choreographer and designer, gave a tiny snort of suppressed laughter at the sight, while Davis, the host and manager, just shook his head wearily.

Ricar professionally took stock of her appearance, the dress notwithstanding: perhaps thirty, good face, shapely body even without a tight-laced corset, legs a bit short but the right costuming could work around that. Too big for a Servant or Pet, too old for a Novice. She might make a good Beast or Fatale—with some exercise and training, perhaps even the Virago? "Your name, miss?" he said.

"Delyn, Alwyx sept, Yelwin clan," she said proudly. Her voice was clear and projected well, though Ricar could tell she spoke in a higher register than was natural for her.

"Your experience?" Davis asked, his fountain pen poised over his notebook.

"Two years in Diamond Dog company, one in Silken Cord, and one in the House of the Silver Fetter."

Surprisingly little experience for someone her age, but respectable, Ricar thought.

"And what will you do for us today, Miss Alwyx?" Chel asked, concealing her smile beneath her lace-gloved hand.

"The Innocent."

Ricar sighed. "What else can you do?"

"Well, Servant and Harlot, of course. Also Beast and Pedant."

"Can you do the Fatale?" Chel asked.

"It's not my strength." One of her hands reached for her dress buttons, then stopped.

Ricar rose from his seat and crossed the stage to the new hopeful. Up close, he could see that even in her demure white shoes, sans heel, Miss Alwyx was almost as tall as he was and probably heavier. "Let me see you do the Virago."

"I'm sorry, sir, but I never learned to do the Virago. Is there something else?"

That wasn't a good sign, he thought; he believed versatility was essential to a player. Still, he was curious to see what this woman could do.

"Very well. Let me see your Innocent." He fixed her with a stare. "Come here," he said in the grave tones of the Patron, one finger pointed before him.

She stepped forward hesitantly, hands clasped before her, face downcast but eyes upturned, showing a mixture of apprehension and hope.

"You live in my house now, child," he said, reaching out for her cheek in a way that could lead to a caress or a slap. "I expect proper respect from my charges."

Miss Alwyx crossed her hands at her waist and turned away, but tilted her head to one side so that her throat was bared to him, and to the audience. "I know, sir. Please forgive me if I seem ungrateful." Her voice quivered with anguish, her eyes showed despair. It was quite good, certainly better than most of the other auditions he had seen that day.

"Thank you, miss." Ricar walked away from Miss Alwyx and faced his colleagues. "Well?"

"Too big, too old," Chel said softly. "Let us break her heart and call it a day."

"We could use another Servant or Beast," Davis said neutrally.

It was down to him, then. Ricar turned back to Miss Alwyx, who waited, fidgeting with one of the buttons on her dress.

"Miss Alwyx, we'd like you to join the House of the Razor