Hello, everyone. I would like to introduce the first volume of a new Steampunk series, The Conn-Mann Chronicles, for your consideration. (I am attending WorldCon this weekend, so I may not get to pop in until later in the day, but I will gladly answer any and all questions left for me — and one lucky reader will receive a piece of my Steampunk jewelry.)

Here is the first chapter for you:

“I did not lie to you, sir! I am Jo Mann. I am here”””

I heard my voice creeping up toward a shout, and forced myself to take a deep breath. What would the heroine of one of Garrett Goldthwaite’s dime novels do in a case like this? I had found that question served me well in similar cases where I was at a loss for what to do.

It didn’t take but a moment to decide. She would stand her ground. Of that I had no doubt.

Straightening my back, I looked down my nose at the odious little toad in the wrinkled shirt who was staring back at me through bulbous eyes. “I am here to apply for the copy reader position that was advertised in last evening’s paper.”

The toad blinked myopically. “But you aren’t qualified.”

“The advertisement said the only qualification is an ability to read and write. I assure you, sir, I am most qualified in that area. I have been doing both since I was five.”

“But you are a girl.”

“That has nothing to do with””!” I was beginning to screech again.

Deep breaths…deep breaths. I tried once more.

“I am fully aware of my sex, Mr. Greenstreet. However, it has no bearing on whether or not I am able to read and write. These are the only listed qualifications for the position.”

“But you are a girl. And a little slip of a thing at that. A newspaper is no place for a lady.” He obviously was trying to be kind as he tapped together my papers and handed them back to me, but it did nothing except irritate me. I knew what he saw when he looked at me””a short female with too many unruly curls and too few pounds on her slight frame.

And not much chance to get any fatter if I didn’t find a job soon. There were five one dollar bills tucked into the sole of my boot, but that was all I had left in the world, and two of those were due the landlady on Monday.

I swallowed any pride I had left and tried a final time. “Mr. Greenstreet, sir, I realize that I would be an unconventional choice for the position”””

Any kindness that the gentleman had felt was rapidly deteriorating””I could see it in his eyes. I’ve always been good at reading people.

“Look, Miss, I wish you the best of luck, but there is no work for you here. Why don’t you see if Father Murphy over to the church across the street can suggest something? Maybe one of his parishioners is looking for a governess or some such. Good day.” He handed back my papers with an air of great finality.

Stifling a sigh that I feared would lead to tears if I vented it I stuffed the carefully prepared papers into my reticule with no further concern for their well-being. Fat lot of good they’d done.

Whirling on my heel, I slammed into a hard surface and bounced backward. It was sheer luck that I did not fall flat on an unmentionable body part. Rather winded, I opened my mouth to protest””and, for once, found myself at a total loss for words.

The “surface” in question turned out to be a young gentleman dressed in most peculiar clothing: natty tweed trousers and neat brown boots, but a collarless shirt with undone vest in a vile green plaid that didn’t match the trousers. Over the entire ensemble, a long white coat with many pockets bulging in interesting ways and several noxious stains in lurid colors. Not bad looking in an academic way””dark hair worn a bit longer than fashionable and the most brilliant blue eyes I’d ever seen behind round wire spectacles.

I am enough of a typical female that I felt a frisson of pleasure run through me at the sight.

“Oh, excuse me!” the gentleman murmured, reaching out a steadying hand stained with splotches of some chemical. “I didn’t see you standing there.”

“Obviously not,” I sniffed. It would never do to show the man that I thought he was rather handsome. It would just encourage him.

Men didn’t need any encouragement to be obnoxious.

“Are you alright, Miss…?”

“Yes. I’m fine. No thanks to you, I must say.”

“I am terribly sorry. If there is anything I can do”””

Mr. Greenstreet stepped from behind his desk. “The young lady was just leaving, Professor Conn. Have you brought your advertising copy?”

The young man glanced down at a grimy piece of paper clutched in one hand as if he had never seen it before. “Oh. Yes. Yes, here it is. I would like to run the advertisement for one week in both the early and late editions””unless we have a favorable response, of course.”

He handed the scrap of paper to Mr. Greenstreet. “I believe you said that would be fifty cents?” He fumbled in his vest pocket and pulled out a coin.

The newspaperman took the coin and glanced down at the paper. “Wanted, lab assistant. Hours expected: 10 am to 4 pm””occasional night work may be required. Pay twenty dollars a week””oh my, Professor Conn. That is a mistake, surely. You mean twenty dollars a month, don’t you?”

“No…no, I mean twenty a week, Mr. Greenstreet. You feel that is excessive?”

Mr. Greenstreet shrugged. “It’s your money. I’ll just send this down to the typesetters.”

Heart pounding in my chest, I snatched the paper from his hand. “No need to trouble yourself, Mr. Greenstreet.”

I turned to the young man. “Do you have a problem with a female assistant, Professor Conn?”

The gentleman in question blinked at me. “Well, no, I don’t suppose so. As long as she is willing to work.”

“Then there is no need to place the advertisement.” I plucked the coin from Mr. Greenstreet’s hand and handed it back to the professor. “I’ll take the job.”

“Oh. Well, I”””

Poor dear, he seemed totally out of his depth. Lacing my arm through his, I turned him back toward the doorway. “Now, why don’t we go next door to that lovely little café, and you can tell me all about the position over a nice cup of coffee and a cucumber sandwich?”  It was pushing a bit, but I was ravenous.

The professor looked a bit dazed, but he didn’t protest or hang back, which was a good sign. Mr. Greenstreet glowered at me as he moved back around his desk, but I didn’t care. I gave him a little wave as we stepped out the doorway.

I couldn’t help feeling a bit sorry for Professor Conn as I guided him back down the stairs of the newspaper office and shepherded him to the café. Marching him to the counter, I ordered two coffees and a plate of sandwiches. The young man behind the counter looked up at us expectedly””and I nudged the professor in the ribs.

He jumped a little, but reached into his wallet and paid for the food without protest. Steering him to one of the little tables with its bentwood chairs, I finally let go of his arm and plopped down on a chair. As he sank down across from me, a bemused expression on his face, I stuck out my hand. “My name is Josephine Mann. I go by Jo. I believe I’m your new assistant.”

He took my hand in his””calluses scraping the bottoms of my fingers””and shook it. “Alistair Conn. I teach three days a week at the University. The rest of the time I spend in my workshop. I’m a bit of an inventor.”

I waved away the explanation, cramming half a cucumber sandwich in my mouth. I was too hungry to be ladylike. I hadn’t eaten since the previous morning, and it was well after two in the afternoon. Gulping down the sandwich with a mouthful of coffee, I made an effort to be nice. “Just tell me where to be in the morning, and I’ll be there.”

Conn scratched his ear. “You aren’t what I was expecting in an assistant, Miss Mann”””

“Jo. Please.”

“””Jo, then. I was looking for someone to take dictation of my lab notes, to do some minor lifting, perhaps monitor some of the experiments while I was in class…”

“I can do all that. Maybe do your laundry too,” I mumbled around cucumber crumbs, with an eye to his mussed and rumpled clothing.

“I am not looking for a maid servant,” he replied stiffly. “I need a lab technician.”

“Yes, I know. I can do all that. I write a good hand, I read everything I get my hands on, I’m a good listener and a quick learner. I’m strong as a horse. And I need the money.”

“Well. You are direct, I’ll give you that.”

“What’s the point in beating around the bush? You need an assistant, I have rent to pay””oh, and about that…today is Wednesday. If you could see your way to pay me for the rest of this week in advance””” I stuck out my hand hopefully. Never hurts to try.

Conn reached in his wallet once more and pulled out ten dollars. He started to hand it to me then pulled it back. “This just feels a little sudden to me, Miss Mann. I’m not sure”””

“Please, Professor Conn, I really need this position.”

I’m not very good at feminine wiles, but I batted my lashes anyway, hoping he wasn’t used to being on the receiving end of them either and wouldn’t notice.

“I’m down to my last dollar. There aren’t many openings for women in these enlightened times of ours. England in 1874 may be ruled by a Queen, but here in good old New York City, it’s a man’s world. Unless I want to be a governess or a housemaid, all that’s left for me is settling down as some man’s wife, and I assure you, that’s not the life for me.”

“I see,” Conn said, looking a bit taken aback. “Well, you do raise some very valid considerations. I know something about societal expectations myself. We will give it a week’s trial. Or, half a week””shall we say? If we are both satisfied with the arrangement by Friday evening, we will consider a more permanent arrangement.” He handed me the ten dollars.

Two days for ten dollars? I could live with that. And Mrs. Milligan would be happy to have the rent on time for a change.

I stuck out my hand. “You’ve got yourself an assistant, Mister.”