On the Isle of Sound and Wonder

On the Isle of Sound and Wonder
copyright © 2014 by Alyson Grauer

Published by Xchyler Publishing

an imprint of Hamilton Springs Press, LLC

ISBN-10: 1940810264

ISBN-13: 978-1-940810-26-3

eBook License Notes:

You may not use, reproduce or transmit in any manner, any part of this book without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations used in critical articles and reviews, or in accordance with federal Fair Use laws. All rights are reserved. For information visit
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Penny Freeman, Editor-in-chief

www.xchylerpublishing.com

1st Edition: November, 2014

Cover Illustration by Egle Zioma,
daywish.deviantart.com

Cover and Interior Design by D. Robert Pease, 
www.walkingstickbooks.com

Edited by Jessica Shen

Published in the United States of America

Xchyler Publishing

A Foreword from

Tee Morris, author of
The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences

I first met Alyson Grauer on Twitter in 2011. It was steampunk that brought us together; but the more we got to know one another, the more we shared in common. One of those many things—William Shakespeare. Once upon a time, I was terrified of Shakespeare; but then after being cast as “The King” and “Morgan the Interpreter” in James Madison University’s production of
All’s Well That Ends Well
, I needed to get over that fear. That was when my roommate sat me down and made me watch
Ian McKellen: Acting Shakespeare.

Yes, Magneto—getting his iambic pentameter on. Like. A. Boss.

Alyson told me some time ago she had begun work on her first novel, a steampunk telling of William Shakespeare’s final play,
The Tempest
. With all the stories that she and I have shared both online and (finally) in 2014 when we met, I can’t recall if I ever told Alyson of my emotional attachment to that play. I first read
The Tempest
in 1990 while studying in London. One year later, I went on to direct it. I still look back on my production fondly—an island stuck in the heart of the Bermuda Triangle, its fairies lost in time and space, music spanning decades providing a backdrop for intrigue, romance, and resolution.

I wonder if Alyson knew
The Tempest
is one of my favorites of Shakespeare’s?

She does now.

Alyson and I have only been friends for a brief time, but I have never known her to turn her back on a challenge. If she doesn’t embrace challenge, she leaps on a challenge’s back, wrestles it to the ground, and demands it to call her a pretty, pretty girl. She stepped up to the invitation of writing for
The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences
, and her short story “A Trick of Strong Imagination” stands as part of the Parsec-winning season of the
Tales from the Archives
podcast. She was then tapped to write for
Mechanized Masterpieces
. Her novella “Lavenza, or The Modern Galatea” leveled up the steampunk already present in Mary Shelley’s
Frankenstein
in such a way that, I believe, Mary Shelly would have given her a nod and said, “You go, girl.”

She made her professional debut as a writer with
The Ministry of Peculiar Occurrences
and drove the legend of Frankenstein even deeper into steampunk. Now, she was going to steampunk Shakespeare’s epic farewell to the stage, the play I hold so close and dear to my heart?

Of course she would.

When I read
On the Isle of Sound and Wonder
, I found myself on stage at JMU once again, undertaking the challenge to bring Prospero’s Island to life. Characters so very familiar to me emerge from the wings and take their places. Music becomes a tapestry woven specially for my players. The storm rises. The show goes on.

But these once-intimate friends are new to me, now. This island is not lost in time but lost in technology. Its music is a clockwork staccato against an omnipresent harmony of steam. I know this world so well, and yet I am a stranger here. I am not the sorcerer behind the storm this time. This is Alyson’s world, and I am rediscovering
The Tempest
all over again.

If you are a fan of steampunk, you will enjoy this lush tale of science and alchemy. If you are a fan of Shakespeare, you will enjoy this adventure of redemption, betrayal, and romance. If you are a fan of both—as I am—
On the Isle of Sound and Wonder
is truly the best of both worlds. Not only the worlds of steampunk and Shakespeare, but of literature and theatre. While Shakespeare once told us . . .

“These our actors,

As I foretold you, were all spirits

And are melted into air, into thin air:

And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,

The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,

The solemn temples, the great globe itself,

Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff

As dreams are made on, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.”

In the case of Alyson Grauer’s debut novel, those cloud-capp’d towers, gorgeous palaces, and great globe are all captured in a book. You can return to that world. Anytime.

Thank you, Aly, for this astounding trick of strong imagination.

1854

Water poured over the streets of the city, down every roof and every drainpipe into the cobbled walkways and curving arches of Neapolis, while the people huddled in their homes and pretended to sleep soundly. It seemed that days had passed in the torrential downpour and darkness, though it could have only been a matter of hours.

The rains had come, swallowing up the sun, and everything stopped as the city braced itself for a flood. The waves slapped and stung the shoreline, the winds peeled away at the city and its gardens, and even so, the midwife climbed from her home on the outskirts of town up the hill to the palazzo.

The child was coming, and it was coming much too quickly.

* * *

It had been a warm, careless day in spring when the opportunity came to the midwife’s door. She answered, one hand ever-closed around her tall and gnarled staff. A serving woman stood in the street at a safe distance, flanked by two of what must have been guards in semi-civilian dress—simple caps and jackets over plain-colored shirts and trousers. Nothing out of the ordinary, but somewhat too clean to be authentic. A second glance revealed to the midwife that they were mechanized men, which meant they served someone rather important, indeed.

“Good day to you, good-mother,” called the serving woman, who was not much younger than the midwife herself. Her voice was lush and gentle, her expression serene.

“Good afternoon,” replied the midwife, eyeing the mechanized guardsmen. The pale gold sheen of their skin betrayed them as more than human despite their haphazard peasant costumes and too-casual posture.

The serving woman clasped her hands loosely before her, her head lifted a little higher than the midwife would expect for one of her station. “I was told you assist in the birthing of children. Is it so?”

“Yes, of course. Are you expecting?”

The bluntness of the question caught the servant off-guard, and she squeezed her fingers together as though to keep her composure. “No, of course not. It is my lady who is with child.”

“Your lady?” The midwife’s gaze wandered to the servant’s shoes—plain, but very clean. Like new. The midwife took a step closer, leaning on the staff comfortably. “A wealthy woman, I presume?”

“Very wealthy. She will pay you handsomely for your advice, your support, and your wisdom.” Her gray eyes were pale against her olive-warm skin, her dark blonde hair neatly plaited over one shoulder in a single braid.

The midwife drew a slow, deliberate breath through her nose, smelling the warm sunlight, the drying mud beneath their feet, and a hint of exotic perfume, probably dabbed behind the servant’s ears.
Jasmine,
the midwife thought,
and . . . sandalwood? Expensive. Add on the hardly used shoes and the mechanical guards. . . .

“I would be happy to discuss the terms of service, my lady,” said the midwife, with a proper curtsey. “And please, don’t be offended. I know a highborn lady when I see one, though your disguise was likely necessary for passing through the city unmolested.”

The woman’s cheeks grew rosy, but she stood with her back straight, her chin tucked with humility. “Forgive the deception, good-mother,” she answered smoothly. “I hope you do not mind. I wanted to come myself. The selection of a . . . skilled midwife is not something one entrusts to a servant, after all. Not when there are matters of the heart and spirit involved. Do you see it as a spiritual process, midwife?”