“Tier 4,” Mrs S told us.
“What does that mean?” asked Holly. “All these tiers – they make me think of wedding cakes, but that’s not it, is it?”
“No Holly,” Mrs S smiled. “I know it’s confusing. Basically the virus is spreading very fast in this area and we are advised to stay home except for essential outings.”
We all sat around looking pensive as we nibbled at mince pies and sipped that organic cassis that’s kept us cheerful during our quiet Christmas. Were trips to the post office to ship our items around the world essential? Should we use couriers who would collect directly from Steampunk-Shrunk Towers? Should we give up and close down altogether for the time being? It was really Mrs S’s call. We, after all, rely on her to do the posting, since she is the only one of us not shrunk to 12th size.
“The way I see it is this,” she said, finally. “We’ve had an amazing autumn and winter – higher sales than ever before, working 12 hour days, piles of parcels to ship almost every day, and I for one am exhausted. I’m not in the first flush of youth – in fact about 10 weeks off reaching ‘clinically vulnerable’ according to this website I’ve been reading. Every journey, whether by me to a post office or by a courier to here, is not – in the strictest terms – essential and is adding to the risk of further infection spreading.”
“So we’re furloughed?” asked Serge. “I didn’t even make it into the shop!”
“Yes, Serge. I’m afraid so,” she sighed. “We will use this cold, dark time to create some new lines – items that can be posted in the postbox I pass on my essential exercise walks, we will stay open to sell all the smallest things to UK customers and of course the digital stock. Perhaps you have some ideas?”
“I was in five people’s baskets,” said Iris the Fortune Teller, wistfully. “Although how that was possible, when there is only one of me, I don’t fully understand.”
“They’re etheric baskets,” Henry explained. “Etherically you can easily be in 5 places at once – and here.”
“Oh I see!” she laughed. “Thank you, Henry. I more than anyone should have known that. Well then, if people are keen to buy esoteric items, let’s make some trays or little shelves with crystal balls, tarot decks, candles, pendulums and so forth.”
“Excellent idea,” agreed Charles. “I’ll go and find some wood stain.”
Keep watching the shop, dear friends! We are working to extend our range and adding to it all the time. However more time is being spent in quiet contemplation, on crisp winter walks in the Somerset countryside and on resting after the busiest season we have ever had.
I’ve written before about the day I answered a strange advert on a local noticeboard, offering ‘a flock of clockwork birds’. It was several years ago but I clearly recall the vendor reaching into a box of mouse-shredded newspapers and pulling out one of the little mechanisms for my inspection. It seemed to be composed of brass, steel and rust, in more or less equal quantities, with a plastic section to one side which housed a rubber diaphragm. With the sort of smile a favourite uncle gives at children’s parties before performing magic tricks, he took a brass key from his pocket, began to wind the motor and with a loud snap, the spring broke.
Charles decorated the stages, creating backdrops, curtains, wings and so forth. I set to work with copper wire, coffee stirrers, cocktail sticks and pins to create the movement. Soon we had several little theatres with beechwood sliders to move Lucy’s figures across the stage, rocking swings and even a metal balancing beam for a tumbler to turn around on.
The good people of Clockton-upon-Teas and all the inhabitants of the Towers came to watch our performances. Ava found some splendid musical renditions to play on her phonograph and while Charles and I moved the sliders back and forth and twiddled the knobs, the audience gasped and applauded in a most gratifying manner.
Her project for the last few weeks has been the long-forgotten Backgammon Garden. It was almost completed several years ago, but a leaning orangery and broken lawnmower meant that it lay forgotten while other tasks took precedence. Finally, she opened the vintage box once more and shook her head sadly.
“I think I can fix Draig, Penelope,” she told me. “The blades just need to be remounted.” (Draig, for those who may be wondering, is the metal dragon lawnmower who patrols the garden, keeping it neat.) “The pond will be fine with a bit of adjustment to the fountain. The standpipe needs a touch of distressing to get the patina right, but what can we do with that orangery?”
A selection of bamboo skewers, polystyrene balls, greenery intended for model railways, mock oranges and epoxy putty was assembled, together with various paints and glues, and at last the clipped orange trees were ready. Slightly unconventional, perhaps, but maybe it isn’t the only outbuilding that is held up by its trees.
Imagine our delight, then, when Molly hit upon the idea of opening her Literary Emporium to one of us each day. It is an exceedingly small establishment, so social distancing does not permit more than a single individual to enter the building at any time. Each of us has been issued with a card stamped with the dates for our visits and everyone is thoroughly enjoying the opportunity to peruse the many fascinating volumes available.
Only one thing marred our pleasure. Several upstanding and usually trustworthy members of our community mentioned catching glimpses of a tall, shadowy figure skulking around the Emporium. Rumours abounded as to the identity of this personage. This lockdown seems to make everyone a little jumpier than usual and some had claimed it was a creature conjured up by Dr Kopp, our resident mad scientist, who was recently seen taking an extreme interest in certain passages in the ancient 
“You there! Halt at once and reveal yourself!” I cried, in my most imperious tone, hoping earnestly that he wouldn’t misinterpret my hurried command.
It all started with tea. Hardly surprising – our little hive of fairly pointless but hugely enjoyable industry runs largely on tea most of the time. Not, I hasten to add, the sweetened, milk-infested mud-brown builders’ variety. We are partial to fascinating infusions – green, white, herbal – with 
More tea was imbibed, more empty boxes found, and interesting paint or paper applied to every surface. That clear plastic box in which the tea bags had arrived was pressed into service to make arched windows. Curtain rings, cocktail sticks, drinking straws and various beads were gathered. The extensive stash of adhesive tapes – metallic, decorative, double-sided – was raided. Gradually a rather wonky, rust-toned, multi-towered building emerged.
“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.”
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.
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.
Drill a hole in the top of the box. Fig 2 shows the template for the hole, usefully placed on the back of the motor. Check bus
Check fit of motor in box and pack spaces but check mechanism works OK. Don’t fix it in place yet.
I think the pictures (figs 6 to 10) work better than words for attaching the bird. Very fiddly and you may need to adjust position of motor to get the arm moving freely. Lots of trial and error!
A true artisan would have crafted a wooden box and screwed the motor into it. Me, I’m happier with glue, so here’s a picture of where you can safely spread glue without gumming up the mechanism.
Fig 12 shows the finished all-singing all-dancing bird. You can buy the kits from our Etsy shop at this link 
Steampunk - Shrunk! 