We get all manner of diminutive characters appearing at the gates of Steampunk-Shrunk Towers. One never knows who will appear next. So I wasn’t surprised when a rather lovely young lady in a flowing sage green and dusky pink dress with a silk headscarf and dangling earrings arrived. Initially she introduced herself as Gladys from Glastonbury, but her professional name is – apparently – Psychic Sabrina.
“I thought of spelling it P-s-a-b-r-i-n-a, but I think that’s a bit much, don’t you?”
Yes, I did.
“So you’ll be wanting somewhere to work, um, Sabrina,” I said.
She nodded gratefully. “Just a very small consulting room. I could do with a couple of chairs and a little table, if possible, and maybe somewhere to store these.”
As she spoke, she was unpacking a trunk containing the tools of her trade – a dowsing pendulum, a pack of cards, a large golden teapot (“tea leaf readings, my lovely”), and sure enough a china cup and saucer.
“I was drawn here, you know,” she confided. “The cards told me to come. They showed me – I mean, I know it sounds a little clichéd, but it was so clear – that I’d meet a gentleman here who would be, well, significant in my life. Tall, dark haired, very good looking.”
I thought about our few remaining gentlemen. Most had left for America last month. George Entwistle has almost no hair and can only lay claim to being the 12th scale equivalent of 5ft 9 by wearing his top hat everywhere he goes. Hugo is certainly a distinguished-looking chap and may have been dark haired once, but he’s been grey for many a year. That only left oil-smeared Henry and his brother…
“Charles,” I called, “Could you give me a hand making a set of shelves for a little room I’m putting together? A stack of about three, to hang on the wall? A nice grungy but feminine paint or paper finish, please.”
Charles went to work at once, while I set about covering an old room box with some rather beautiful floral papers and painting oddments of furniture in a mix of brown, anthracite and bronze.
Psychic Sabrina, meanwhile, remained strangely unaware of what was going on around her as she unpacked crystals, a ouija board and a set of tarot cards, lovingly wrapped in a dark silk cloth. Next came various candles and a bottle of dried berries (“Rowan, for protection, dearie”). I hoped the shelves would be large enough.
The next day all was ready for Sabrina to move in. She was delighted with the room and spent some time putting up posters and charts, then began stacking her shelves and arranging the furniture.
It was only natural that Charles would drop by to check on his handiwork and to introduce himself to our latest resident. He came upon the lady as she was deeply engrossed in a tea leaf reading and his gasp was audible.
Sabrina finally pulled herself out of her state of deep concentration to find him standing there. She’s a professional, I’ll give her that. There was the tiniest flicker of recognition in her eyes, as she realised that this was the stranger she had come to meet, but she quickly regained her composure and greeted him with a friendly smile.
“Hello, lovely. Have you come to have a reading?”
I’ve never seen Charles lost for words before. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he could trust himself to speak.
“Ahem, well, I actually came to check whether the shelves were suitable for your needs, madam. A-a reading, you say? Are you some sort of a fortune teller or something? Never dabbled in such things before, but… Well, it couldn’t hurt, could it?”
Sabrina was clearly used to putting anxious customers at their ease. “Oh, so you’re the gentleman who built these splendid shelves. Why, they are just perfect for my equipment, thank you. What a craftsman you are! Yes, I can tell you about yourself, point you in the direction of the best paths to take for a happy and successful future and answer any questions you have. Shall we begin with a palm reading? You just come and take a seat. I’d like to give you a reading as payment for your hard work on my room.”
Charles nodded meekly and sat down. He answered Psychic Sabrina’s questions – his name, his circumstances – without once taking his eyes from her face. She smiled and nodded, studying him just as intently.
“Let’s begin with your right hand, then” she cooed, finally. “Just hold it out for me. Are you happy for me to hold it?”
“Oh yes, certainly,” Charles replied, a little too eagerly.
Me, I’m no clairvoyant, but I think the writing is on the wall as far as these two are concerned.
Just imagine our amazement when the infamous Dr Oskar Kopp and his ‘enhanced’ assistant Bjørn arrived. They had left us several years ago to accompany a reknowned storyteller and share their tales with her audiences. Now, it seems, the good lady is moving to another continent and asked whether she could return these gentlemen and their laboratory to us.
“But what about these small, er, devices of yours?” Mrs S enquired.
The very next day, Mr Coggleford the furniture restorer and young Jasper, his son and apprentice, told us that they intended to follow in Gus’s footsteps and would be taking one of the time machines as well as one of their finest cabinets with them.
Far off, in a deep meandering gorge in the Archipelagonian mountains, are the caves where the Time Dragons nest.
Here is Ruby, who moved away long ago. For her the Professor has chosen one of these delicate holographic scrying mirrors.
Young Henry, here, travelled to the East Coast of the United States some time ago and promptly changed his name.
Little Molly has, he knows, gone to an excellent new home in North Wales. However he has decided to send her some more books, as she can never have enough.
Poor Augustus. He looks very apologetic and slightly alarmed. He holds himself entirely responsible for the furious beeping and light-flashing, not to mention the broken crockery and so forth, but it really isn’t entirely his fault.
I used vast quantities of broken jewellery, charms and other pleasingly-shaped objects to create some of our 
Gus began to transform the motorbikes.
The smaller robots caught sight of Robot G on his gleaming copper and gold motorbike. Pandemonium broke out.
“But that means, ma’am, that I’ll have to leave you and the Emporium, and whatever will you do, ma’am, to get the visitors to come and read the books if I’m not there to encourage them?”
Molly clapped her hands in delight and agreed that this was a splendid idea. I then told her I’d found her ladyship’s partly written journal in a dusty corner of Steampunk-Shrunk Towers and asked Molly if she would kindly take it with her, so that Josephine could continue to keep a record of her adventures.
‘My dear Mr. Miller!’ exclaimed Josephine ‘What a surprise! – how did you get here?’
‘It seems to have worked- and here…’ Ashley rummaged behind the seat, ‘should be a miniaturised version of that very guidebook for you!’
“Well, young Jasper,” said Hugo Fforbes, in the deepest and most sinister voice he could manage, “If I pull my cape around myself just so, do you think I could pass for Count Dracula?”
We will be journeying through picturesque hillside villages in the Mendips and ending up on the esplanade of the delightful resort of Weston-super-Mare. Only Mrs S will be able to enjoy the scenery, of course. The rest of us will be squashed into that suitcase of hers. Even more annoyingly, she has decided to bring along Mistress Ectophemia Fleabane and her hovel. The smell is quite distasteful, to say the least. It is best not to know what she is brewing in that caudron.
Coggleford & Son are bringing along a selection of their beautifully restored furniture and there is a slightly alarming ‘spooky section’, influenced, no doubt, by you-know-who.
Steampunk - Shrunk! 