Big Teeth A Steampunk Fairy Tale by Katina French

Author:Katina French
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: steampunk, fairy tale, adventure, alternate history
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Granny frowned, dubious that anyone would see the steel monster battering her front door and do anything but run screaming the other direction.

“Cain’t imagine any o’ mah useless neighbors doin that. Cain’t imagine yer people bein willin to risk their hides, neither. So who ya s’pose it might be?”

“Yer wrong. They’re too far away fer it to be them, but Caravan folk take care o’ their own.”

“Well, that explains what happened ta mah Clara. She weren’t none o’ their own, I reckon. At least, not when it mattered.”

Lu dropped the rock back in the water and headed for the back door.

“What in the name o’ God are ya doin, girl?”

“Takin care o’ mah own.” Her hand was on the bar.

“Don’t be a fool! I won’t have yer death on mah head. Git away from that door!”

Lu paused. Did her grandma really think the Caravan, Pa included, had just deserted Ma? Did she really believe Ma had died abandoned? She almost wished she’d decided to try outrunning the wolf.

But she hadn’t. Now she was stuck in a cabin with a crazy old coot who made her think too much about her dead mother, and some mysterious character was dropping rocks down the chimney.

She came back to the fireplace, and fished the rock out of the water with some tongs, wrapping it in a cloth that lay nearby, and wiping the word off. She grabbed a piece of blackened wood from the dying fire in the hearth and used it to write “How?” on the flat stone.

She made a lever with a flat piece of wood and a bucket, placed the stone on one end, and slapped the other. The rock shot back up the chimney and rattled back down. It took several tries, but she finally heard it clear the top of the blessedly short chimney and clatter on the shingles.

That’s when they noticed the creaking, as if something large was on the roof shifting its weight.

***

Bill Woodmancy looked at the stone in his hand. “How?” was a very good question. He wished Squirrel had provided some guidance along with the painful reminder that the evil you turn your back on has a habit of following you home.

It hadn’t been hard to slip around the edge of the clearing and clamber to the roof of the cabin unnoticed. The wolf was occupied with the girl inside, and whoever was inside was occupied with the wolf beating and clawing against the door.

He’d pulled a smooth stone from his pack and written the only message that would fit with a small piece of charcoal. He wasn’t sure what would happen next.

Now the stone had returned, asking a question that was as short as it was unanswerable. He still didn’t know what would happen next.

Then he remembered the dynamite.

He’d been trading in one of the coal mine villages, and a man had offered it to him. His people used it near the south, where there were limestone cliffs. Good for building, especially on the borders where they needed sturdy forts, but it was difficult to quarry.

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