Nervous, us? Do we look nervous? Well maybe Penelope, slightly – but the rest of us will take good care of her.
We’re leaving the delights of rural Somerset, with its green leafy lanes and pretty stone cottages, and heading for a similarly leafy place in the middle of England somewhere. Unfortunately, though, we don’t have a single method of transportation between us and need to use a mixture of buses, trains and something called a tube to traverse London in order to get there.
Mrs S is being very upbeat about it all. She’s carefully packed us, the room boxes and all the little pieces she makes into a large suitcase and an equally large carrier bag. There’s plenty of padding, so we won’t be knocked about too much. She’s spent hours on the phone to find the easiest route across London – with no staircases. She insists it will be a breeze.
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.
Some of us may even find new homes to go to. Lord Horatio became rather angry at that.
“Like being at Battersea Dogs’ Home, waiting for an owner,” he growled.
The rest of us would love it, though. So if you happen to live anywhere around this Buckinghamshire place and are free on Saturday 23rd September, do come along to and call by the Steampunk-Shrunk stall.
We’d love to meet you.
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.”
I’m delighted to inform you that The Case of the Missing Chapter 
“Oh such adventures are just fine for a young fellow like yourself, my dear Harvey. Nothing to hold you here, no family or obligations to consider. I’m delighted for you, old boy. Wouldn’t do for me, though. There’s this old pile to keep up, the staff to consider, all the horses… and I couldn’t ask Josephine to up sticks and adjust to such a difficult climate.”
There is a mystery in the library: The Case of the Missing Chapter.
Alas, dear reader, you will have to make up your own mind on this subject, since a person or persons unknown have neatly removed this vital chapter from the book. 
It all started with The Case.
This book, I decided, needed to have a story that started one way and ended somewhere very different because of a surprising plot development in Chapter Four. However this vital section would be missing, so the mystery would be to work out what had happened in the main character’s life to change things so completely.
I searched in my stock box for the most insignificant and unhappy-looking male doll I could find. Here he was. It would take all my skill to transform this sad little man into someone splendid, but I love a challenge!
Next a smart uniform, befitting his new status. Why, he positively swaggered as I pinned that medal to his chest!
If anything, these words made me more apprehensive than I had previously been. As I alighted from the contraption and the smoke from its boiler began to clear, I saw a figure who could only be Lord Horatio standing beside a rusting collection of gears and machine parts. Despite my determination to maintain a calm demeanour, I have to admit that I gasped – or possibly squealed slightly.
His words were friendly enough, though it was difficult to read his expression, since the vast majority of his face was covered, either by his enormous moustache or by the huge monocle he wore.
“What do you think of that?” he demanded, his voice bursting with pride as he threw open the door.
Blades are razor sharp, though. My gardeners tell me the cut he gives is second to none.”
It’s a tiny room – just 8 inches wide by 6 inches high, and a mere 3 inches deep when the case is closed. As it’s at 1:12 scale, that equates to the same number of feet in our measurements.
She has persuaded one of the gardeners to tutor her in the rudiments of welding and metalwork, and by patiently dismantling clockwork machinery, she is teaching herself to build simple gadgets. The lamp was one of her first. It’s simple, but effective, switching on when the attached clock shows that dusk has fallen.
Hello. It is me, Bjørn again. I was telling you in 
“If you ver villing, though, zis could be altered. Wat if I ver to offer you a new heart and a new brain? You have seen ze marvels I can do. It would be ze most glorious experiment, in ze name of Science! If you ver villing, you could become a showcase of mein art! Your mechanised brain and heart on display for all to see ze vunders of ze clockverk body. You could achieve anything once zese adjustments had been made. You’d be as great as me. Maybe greater…”
Eagerly I agreed. My weak heart, which had almost killed me once, would be replaced with a dependable clockwork mechanism, encased in a glass dome, so that all could wonder at its strength, and at my master’s skill. I would be a walking advertisement for his abilities. He explained less about the alterations to my brain, but I was led to understand that my ability to learn, to reason and to imagine would be considerably enhanced.
Certainly now my mind and heart are stronger, keener than they were. I can work harder, faster, better and I hold information and make deductions at lightning speed. All this, the Doctor expected. Perhaps he feared it slightly. Yet he found a way to maintain his dominance.
I am Bjørn. People call me Heart of Glass. People pity me. Or they are fearful. Or disgusted. A few show curiosity tinged with admiration.
I encountered Doctor Kopp when he saved my life. I was a boiler-man on an icebreaker in the Northern seas. For long, long shifts I shovelled coal into the great, ravenous furnace that powered the ship. The owners worked me hard and my body – always thin and long and rather weak – was close to breaking point.
Steampunk - Shrunk! 