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    City Sidewalks
    City Sidewalks
    City Sidewalks
    Ebook56 pages46 minutes

    City Sidewalks

    By Jeremy McNabb

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    About this ebook

    Cage Donnagan is working late on Christmas Eve, or he would be if visitors would quit dropping in on him to pester him with stories of Christmas past, present, and future. Will Constance the gremlin help him rediscover the joys of being pestered at the holidays, or is he doomed to a future of productive but lonely Christmases?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherJeremy McNabb
    Release dateDec 5, 2011
    ISBN9781465866417
    City Sidewalks
    Author

    Jeremy McNabb

    Jeremy McNabb is a steampunk author, youth director, and speaker.

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      Book preview

      City Sidewalks - Jeremy McNabb

      City Sidewalks

      Jeremy McNabb

      Copyright 2011 Jeremy McNabb

      Smashwords Edition

      This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

      ***

      The sidewalks outside my door were cold and calm. The gentle whistle of the wind at my door, ever present but usually drowning under the sound of hooves and wagon wheels, could be heard without impediment. It was almost eight o’clock at night, and I thought I finally had the workshop—the whole street, in fact—to myself.

      Just then, someone shouted through my door. Merry Christmas!

      Oh, yes. There was that. It was also Christmas Eve.

      My writing hand was tied up in a lambskin-and-steel contraption that followed the motion of my hand as I annotated my ledger and transferred it to a marionette armature, which copied them onto a second ledger. I gave the man a polite wave with my free hand and turned back to the ledger on my workbench.

      "Merry Christmas to you, sir!" the man shouted again, apparently dissatisfied with my initial reaction.

      Grumbling to myself, I untangled my hand from the duplicator, stood from my bench and stalked over to the door. When I got there, I found a chumbly fellow in a threadbare suit grinning at me from the other side of the word BLACKSMITH, painted across the window of my door.

      Since it seemed he wasn’t going to go away until I explained the difference between a dismissive goodbye wave and an invitation to chat, I opened the door and did my best to look hungry and angry.

      Mr. Donnagan, it’s good to see you! I’m sure you’re anxious to get home to your family, so I’ll be brief. I’m collecting spare change for the orphans of St. Hedwig’s orphanage, and I was wondering if I could bother you for a donation.

      We’ve passed that point, I’m afraid, I mumbled, stepping back from the door.

      Excuse me?

      Nevermind. I looked back at the register. I’ve already cleared today’s receipts, I’m afraid, and I haven’t any petty cash on me.

      That’s very well, sir. I understand it takes a few minutes to open the safe once it’s closed for the night. I don’t mind waiting. But would you care if I stepped inside? It’s nippy out here.

      Ye’ gods, they’ve sent a man impervious to hinting.

      I’m in the middle of something, I said.

      His face took on the absent anticipation of a well-trained dog that had just been given a command in gibberish. There was something to be done, he seemed certain of it, but I imagine he was at a loss as to what that something might be.

      I opened the front door even wider and stepped towards him, hoping that my approach would help him to understand that he wasn’t welcome.

      He didn’t move, and never in my life had I wished as hard for a steamroller as in that moment.

      Sir?

      Have a good evening, I said. There was a moment of awkward recognition before he stepped back out into the cold.

      I swung the door shut.

      Merry Chris—

      Slam.

      Now where was I?

      I had no sooner taken my seat and gotten my hand strapped back into the duplicator when there was another knock at my door. I stabbed my quill into the inkwell and the marionette tried to replicate the action, only to throw itself off balance. It

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