Snippet of Steampunk Melbourne

I’m not sure what I’m calling my new novel, but here is a little selection of it, for you. From the Journal of Samuel Atterby, who is on an expedition into the centre of Australia to find the inland sea:

Being an Account of the Expedition of Discovery into Central Australia,

By Samuel Atteberry, 1839

One early morning several days later, I dragged myself, sandy-eyed, from the tent. My night had been punctuated by bouts of deep sleep, followed by half-waking states dominated by the Captain’s snoring and horrific dreams that the four horsemen had came upon us, their horses whinnying and breathing fire.

The sun was lost far away, hidden by a heavy fog and I could not see more than a hundred yards through the gloomy dawn. The trees around stood like ancient and twisted men, reaching to the sky with spectral arms. Fear rose in me, swirled around me like the fog itself.

The fire had burned itself out and I stood in silence for moment. The sheep had scattered into the woods. The horses were gone. Now I knew that the dreams of the horsemen were in fact the sounds of our horses as they fled the scene. Only the camel stood stock-still staring balefully back at me.

Patrick was nowhere to be seen.

“Alarm! Alarm!” I cried. There was rustling in the tents as the others staggered out half-dressed and holding their weapons. Together we stared at the ghostly scene and a deep sense of gloom settled over us.

“What happened?” asked the Captain.

None answered, but we knew well enough. We dressed quickly and readied ourselves to search for the animals. Beckman sat on the dray, his gloomy countenance staring into the scrub while Coleman and O’Malley went off together. I joined the Captain in the search for the animals.

The spectral landscape seemed to be from some gothic novel: the twisted gums reaching to the sky, strips of bark falling from their white branches like the rags of nightmare creatures; the chilly silence that hovered over everything. Where were the animals? The rifle felt slippery and cold in my hand. We treaded carefully and I was glad to be with the redoubtable Captain.

Between two of the large gums that dominated that area, I saw a dark shape move; there was the colour brown, and I caught a glimpse of white stripes. My hand trembled. Would I have the strength to fire?

We crept slowly towards the creature, which suddenly sensed us. It turned its lion-like body, and gave a hideous growl. No European can countenance that malign sound, both guttural and rasping — like that of a brush-tailed opossum, but deeper and more terrifying. As it growled, it’s mouth opened wide, showing its stubby front teeth and its powerful jaws. One could not escape the grip of a marsupial lion — thylcoleo carnifex is its proper name — once it took hold of you. Beneath that frightful creature lay the blood mess of one of our sheep, its stomach torn to horrid shreds.

I simply froze, but the Captain raised his rifle in one swift motion. The blast rang through the woods and the monstrous creature fled, its powerful limbs driving it away in but a moment. The Captain fired again, but the creature was gone.

We returned empty-handed. Patrick had not been found. We had also lost four sheep, though only found three carcasses. No one else saw a lion, for they were nocturnal hunters and soon the light broke through the ghostly fog and warmed our icy bones.

The Captain said, “There’s nothing more to do. Let’s be on our way.”

“We have to find Patrick though,” I said.

“He’s gone,” said the Captain. “Nothing will bring him back now.”

So in silence we readied ourselves once more and headed on, each thinking of Patrick and where he might be. What had happened to him in those dark hours of the night?

I found myself riding beside Eddy, who looked close to tears.

“I told him not to sleep,” said Eddy. “I told him.”

“It’s done now,” I said.

“It wasn’t the first time, you know. We’d already lost two more sheep,” said Eddy.

I was stunned. Had Patrick not understand the dangers we faced? Even if we was Irish, a race known for their lack of orderliness and self-control, there was no excuse on such a voyage.

Later that afternoon we came to the Broughton river, which was of considerable width. Wild fowl abounded along its rich banks, for the water was strong and steady. We were travelling between fifteen and twenty miles a day. We set camp and now Eddy and Coleman were given the job of guarding for the beginning of the night. They would wake us halfway through, when Beckmann and I would take the job. We all had a the feeling that a hundred eyes watched us, hidden among the Eucalypus trees.