I recall that last time I penned an episode of my adventures as a one-twelfth scale explorer, inadvertently lodged in the year 2017, my normal sized assistant and myself were pondering a method of combustion for the steam engine we were building, to allow me to power up my Machine and escape to my own dimension – in every sense of that word.
By a piece of great good fortune, I myself was able to solve that particular conundrum. It occurred when I noticed, in a nearby city, an establishment named Whitherspoons. It had a most favourable external aspect and, hoping that I might have stumbled upon a high quality gin palace, I eagerly made my way towards it. No sooner had my foot alighted on the threshold, however, than I was pushed backwards by a person carrying a cage almost as large as himself and being propelled from the building with considerable force by a burly and irate landlord. The language which passed between them convinced me that this was in no way the kind of establishment I had anticipated, so I turned my attention instead to the evicted individual.
“Honessly,” he was mumbling, “it was only a puff o’ smoke. Nuffin’ to make a fuss about. This no smokin’ rule is ridickilus.”
I assisted him to his feet and righted the cage which, I then noticed, contained a greenish yellow reptilian creature with a baleful expression.
“It’s ‘er fault!” the man said angrily, gesturing towards the animal. “Reached out an’ grabbed a bit o’ coal from the scuttle by the log burner, didn’t you!”
The creature attempted to slink further down the cage and averted its gaze.
“All I wanted was a quiet pint! Wos a bloke s’posed to do, eh?”
“What manner of creature is it?” I enquired.
“She a fire starter,” he replied. “Twisted fire starter. Best sort. They fit better in the cages, see? Cost me an arm an’ a leg, she did. But that’s the nature of the beast, innit? Give ’em a bit of coal and they start a fire, don’t they? An’ when they go nickin’ coal that’s been left lyin’ around in scuttles, well, stands to reason she’s gonna start smokin’, don’t it? An’ wot wiv pubs all bein’ no smokin’ hestablishments these days, little madam only been an’ got me slung out, didn’t she?”
“I understand your predicament,” I responded.
That was when I had my enterprising idea.
“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to allow me to take her off your hands, would you? I can promise her an excellent home and plenty of coal.
He regarded me solemnly. “Well,” he began slowly, “Like I said, she cos’ me…”
At that moment, though, the door of the inn opened and two exceedingly merry gentlemen emerged, bringing with them a distinct odour of cheap ale. The temptation was too great for my companion to resist.
“Go on then. Take ‘er, an’ welcome. Jus’ don’t feed ‘er unless yer want a fire startin’. She’ll try anythin’ to get round yer. ‘Arden yer ‘eart, mate. Don’t say I didn’t warn yer.”
And without further ado, he handed me the cage and returned to his beverage, while I headed back eagerly to my assistant’s cottage with my new acquisition.
Henry’s Engine Room, including the twisted fire starter, will be on display at the Steampunk-Shrunk! stall at Glastonbury Town Hall on Saturday 25th March 2017.
“It’s a battery tea light,” she continued, as if all should then become clear to me.
Should you wish to become better acquainted with Henry, do visit him at the Steampunk Dolls’ House. He’d enjoy the company. 
The good lady looked only mildly taken aback when I informed her that I would need an engine room – at 1/12 scale, naturally – in order to generate enough steam power to re-calibrate and start the Machine. She rummaged in a cupboard and produced a small valise of suitable dimensions (although quite UNsuitable design). Once I had persuaded her to redecorate it in a more suitable manner, though, I decided it would do very well.
“About that size and shape,” I said.
Now this is the technology I feel most comfortable with – the glorious make-do-and-mend in which quite humdrum objects are cunningly combined and formed into wondrous contrivances (in time-honoured steampunk style, I feel).
As for contrivance, well don’t let her know that I’ve shared this information with you – heaven knows what she’d say – but the stick of her parasol was fashioned from a cotton bud stick, covered in copper tape (sold to gardeners as a slug repellent). The shade itself was moulded over the cap of a roll-on deodorant – lace and garden wire struts stiffened with PVA glue, before being covered and trimmed with fabric and lace. A few beads were added top and bottom, and her accessory was complete.
The lovely Alice can be found at this link: 
“Mongolia?” repeated Mercurius, his eyebrows almost vanishing beneath his flying helmet.
“There’s no need to squawk in that manner, young man,” Algy responded. “Your advertisement in the Gentleman’s Weekly stated that you would carry any cargo to any destination with no questions asked. Yet you pester me with questions!”
Somewhat unwillingly, Mercurius picked up the casket and attached it to the lanyard beneath his greatcoat. He hung the key beside it. Algernon handed him the envelope stuffed with banknotes.
As the door closed behind Mercurius, Algy picked up his Device and cradled it fondly in his arms.
Lucy Etherington was a legend at the Academy. Her classes were always full; her lessons were endlessly surprising and – while her teachings were sometimes frowned upon by the more conservative members of the college’s governing body – her successes were indisputable. Many of her former students were now world renowned explorers, inventors and scientists.
The visitor gave a tinkling laugh, not unlike the sound of tiny metal bells.
Eve nodded and gave her tinkling, slightly mechanical laugh once more.
“I was impressed – and intrigued – by this hat you sent me, Mr – Lars?”
“I am wearing my invention upon my head,” Lars said, almost casually. “Far from wasting your time, Mr Robertson, I have the means here to free you from it altogether and to give you complete control over it.”
“It works through steam power,” Lars continued. “Steam, as of course you are aware, has great power. It is composed of water. And water, you may also be aware, has – memory.”
William’s eyes bulged. He tried to take in this information, to sort it in his mind, to work out the implications and possibilities of using such a machine. Quite suddenly he wheeled round and faced Lars, his eyes blazing.
“You are NOT to pay for the device,” Lars cut in. “You are to pay for the information it provides. I can tell you all you wish to know of any event, at any place or time where the smallest amount of water is, was, or will be present. You will be able to foretell the future! You will be able to make a fortune based on knowing how future events will fall out. You will be able to solve riddles of the past. But you will not own the device. I alone know how to use it and no instructions are written down.” He paused and added, “If you tried, you would merely scald yourself a little.”
Perhaps you recall the airship traveller who accosted Alex, asking to know about the device he carried. Perhaps you formed an opinion of her – saw her as an interfering busybody? Nothing could be further from the truth.
For Katherine, too, is an inventor – and an adventurer. As yet, she lacks her friend’s courage and tenacity and her tutor’s assured and confident manner. Yet she is their equal in brilliance of mind and innovation.
As he boards the airship, though, there is many a raised eyebrow. His backpack – is it steam powered? What do the dials measure? And that metal tube protruding from the top – what is its purpose? Most of all, though, his fellow travellers’ attention is drawn to the device he cradles in his hands.
“The astrolade, I believe it’s called,” a sandy-haired man in a bowler hat ventures.
Steampunk - Shrunk! 