It was, not surprisingly, young Molly who found the book first. She’d read her way through everything in the Steampunk-Shrunk library – even the Suffragette newspapers – and had been on the lookout for something new.
“Excuse me, Lady Cholmondeley,” she said, dropping a pretty curtsy to Josephine, “But do you think your husband, seeing as how he’s the Lord Admiral of the High Fleet, could take me on one of his sky ship machines to Brasston? They’ve got a perfectly splendid aerodrome and I’m sure they’d allow him to dock there. Let me show you the pictures. They’re in colour!”
“Why I’ve never heard of the place, my dear. Are you sure you’ve got the name correct?” smiled Josephine.
“Oh yes, Your Ladyship, Ma’am. I think it must be very famous. It won the ‘Most Cosmopolitan City Award’ in 1850.”
Josephine started to look through the book – a most difficult process since, unlike the inhabitants of Shrunk Towers, this book had not been shrunk to one twelfth of its original size. She had to obtain assistance from several other members of the community and they in turn became mesmerised by the splendours of Brasston.
“Good lord!” Barnaby Balsover exclaimed, “There’s a chap there having his shoes polished by a clockwork automaton! Quite remarkable!”
“Certainly,” agreed Ava Brassfeather, “And it says they do tours of the clock factory and provide cake and tea.”
“I believe it says you have to pay extra for cups and saucers, though, Ma’am,” Molly whispered, jumping in alarm when Ava made a loud tutting sound.
Molly wasn’t sure whether this was aimed at herself or the facilities available at the works, but she didn’t venture to speak again.
When Algernon returned from a successful raid on a troublesome bunch of sky pirates who had been terrorising the airways above Penge, he was met by a mass of pleading faces.
His wife took his arm, gazed alluringly into his eyes and purred, “My dearest…”
“Hmm,” he said finally, once he’d had a strong cup of gunpowder tea and an opportunity to peruse the book. “I strongly suspect that this is a work of fiction, created by this rather splendid gentleman on the back cover, Mr Ashley G.K. Miller. I’m not convinced that the city exists.”
“Well if anyone can find it, it’s you, Old Boy,” announced Lord Horatio Backgammon, and the others joined in a chorus of agreement with his Lordship’s sentiment.
And so, as I write, the entire group is busy packing and preparing for an epic journey in one of the fleet’s most capacious dirigibles, while Algy is earnestly poring over his charts, in search of the city of Brasston.
Should you wish to discover this remarkable location for yourself, dear reader, I suggest visiting Mr Miller’s Facebook page, where you will find all the details you need.
I’d more or less given up, when I opened a draw and found some of these little creatures, bought in last year’s January sales, peering hopefully up at me.
Idly I began twisting wire around needles to form coils and threading them with whatever came to hand – vintage beads from an old necklace, cog wheels and watch parts, bells, charms and even miniature teapots. 
The copper coils were bent and twisted at crazy angles and the weird, dangling objects that emerged were hung from lengths of ribbon.
So I was staring at this gorgeous picture on Instagram – yes, this one here – and thinking how much I’d like to create something like it. Now I don’t have a soldering iron or any other metal-working skills or equipment. My woodworking ability stops at cutting up coffee stirrers and lolly sticks with a junior hacksaw. In fact, I’m strictly a glue-and-cardboard person if I need to make anything rigid. It didn’t look particularly hopeful.
First there was much measuring, pattern cutting and trial and error with some nice brown card I had lying about. Next each piece was lined with card-backed fabric in a subdued floral pattern and the centre part of the body was glued in place. It looked roughly the right shape.
It was at around this point that the vehicle’s name came to me. In Shakespeare’s A Winter’s Tale, there’s a character called Autolycus. He describes himself as ‘A snapper-up of unconsidered trifles’ and that is exactly what this vehicle was becoming. A spring from a ballpoint pen, the stick from a cotton bud, several small rubber washers, along with beads, chains, charms and jump rings from my junk jewellery collection all went into it. So The Autolycus it would be.
Obviously it lacks the beautiful clean lines of the vehicle that inspired it, but I’m not unhappy with the overall result and I’m sure the ladies and gents at Steampunk-Shrunk will be rather interested in this strange vehicle, despite the fact that it’s the steampunk equivalent of a smart car and only the skinniest and most agile contortionist would be able to get inside and steer the thing. 
Freddy Huntington-Groff casually selected one of the silver-handled screwdrivers from his breast pocket and lifted the bonnet.
Yes, tensions were building. Tobias had always viewed the car as his ‘Angel’ but now, with Freddy’s arrival on the scene, he appeared to have a rival.
Both men turned to look at her. It was difficult to look anywhere else when Josephine was in the vicinity.
Tobias and several other members of the Steampunk – Shrunk community will be joining the others there within the next few weeks, while Freddy, Josephine and The Angel will remain with those of us who visit craft fairs, steampunk events and miniatures sales.
This is how Tobias looked when he first arrived at Shrunk Towers. I think his name was probably Paul or Richard.
After a bit of Steampunk-Shrunk magic, he ended up looking like this – fine leather coat, hand-stitched black wool trousers, satin waistcoat, cravat and a serious facial makeover.
I’d barely started browsing, when I saw the car in a shop window.
Every spare minute was given over to The Angel during the next three days. Shiny gold and silver nail varnish covered the blotchy detail paintwork. Gold cord trim made the upholstery look neater.
Tobias declared himself satisfied with the result and, pulling down his goggles, climbed back into the driving seat for a photo-shoot.
Should the apostrophe come before or after the s there? We are not entirely sure whether we speak here of one or multiple philosophers. Certainly it may be the case that the esteemed authors of this tome were able to conjure this miraculous substance, but we are not telling. How stupid do you think we are? History will be able to judge whether or not we have been successful in our attempt to discover the source of eternal youth. Should this volume be published posthumously, or read in a time when one or both is no longer incarnate, then the reader may judge for himself our lack of success in this area.
Now since this book – which no one will be able to read in any case – is taking an inordinate amount of time to write, we will now do some judicious cutting and pasting. Kindly pass me the dagger and a pot of the boiled calves’ foot glue, Mr Aubrey, if you’d be so kind.
We hope you find the experience as edifying and instructive as you wish it to be. There are a few side effects, so if you should experience nausea, dizziness, ringing in the ears, or any other appendage, don’t attempt litigation. We – remember – are highly experienced time travellers and you will never catch up with us.
Nervous, us? Do we look nervous? Well maybe Penelope, slightly – but the rest of us will take good care of her.
When we finally arrive at the destination – a village called Haddenham in a place called Buckinghamshire – she’s promised us that we will meet other people of a similar size to ourselves.
Finally I’ve got a job! More than that, it’s the best job in the world, because I get to do what I love doing more than anything else in the world – reading.
I can’t wait to find out what happens next. Luckily, though, I’ll be able to read on, because Mrs Steampunkle said she’d like me to go with her to her market stalls and sit reading her books! That is honestly all I have to do for this job. She said when people see me so engrossed in her stories, they will want to buy them and read them for themselves. She won’t be paying me any wages, but it’s better than that, because in return, she is going to write and print MY STORY!
My pa made the bird. He’s Mister William Forsey and when I grow up, I’m going to be just like him – a tinker as well as a showman. My name is Rufus, by the way. I’m ten years old and I have a very important job. I run the Magical Mechanical Bird Show in the little fairground booth my pa built.
The ticket office is too small for Ma or Pa to get inside, but I fit just fine. When I grow too big, one of my brothers or sisters will have to take over and I’ll get on with learning my pa’s craft. Pa’s proud of me. He wrote ‘Wm. Forsey & Son’ on the poster, so I’d be part of the company. Some day we’ll have a whole load of automatons and people will come from all over the world to watch and wonder at them.
First thing I have to do is wind up the machine and check that it’s all working smoothly. Pa says I’m a natural when it comes to knowing where a lick of oil should go or what bolts to tighten. You see? I’ve got tinker’s blood in me veins. I’ll make wonderful contraptions when I’m older.
Next I pull the curtain across, so the bird’s hidden and go out the front to tout for business. All the ladies love me and they beg their beaus to buy a ticket. Ma says it’s on account of my fair hair and big eyes. I think it’s more likely my witty patter that draws ’em in.
Anyhow, once I’ve got a good crowd, I go into the ticket office and sell them all tickets to watch the show. I have to keep the office locked all day, so no one will steal our takings. Ma took the chain from Grandpa’s old watch and fixed the office key to it, so I can wear it on me waistcoat, just like a toff! Real silk, that waistcoat is, and me trousers are pa’s old moleskins cut down. They’re a bit on the roomy side, but I’ll grow into them.
I call out, very loud, “And now, Ladies and Gentlemen, for your delight and delectation, the Magical Mechanical Bird will come to life before your very eyes and ears.”
Steampunk - Shrunk! 