What happens in this steampunk short story on the night the lamps flicker?

The lamps begin to shake

Mira was oiling a brass hinge in the lower market when the first lamp trembled. It was a small thing, a shiver in the flame, and nobody looked up. Then the second lamp shivered, and the third, and the long tunnel that ran down to the water wells went the color of weak tea.

Everyone in the market had heard the stories. Long ago the sky died, and the people went under the ground and built seventy-seven zones. The Great Engine kept them warm until the night it stopped. Most of the zones went dark that night and never woke. Only one still glowed, and it was theirs.

Keeper Dov and the old key

Keeper Dov found her at the foot of the stairs. He was older than the stairs, people said, and he carried a ring of keys that no one else dared touch. He did not ask what she was doing there. He only said, "If you can carry a lantern, you can come."

They walked down past the farms where the workers were already counting their bread, past the storage halls and the quiet smithies, until the air smelled of hot metal. Dov stopped at a door with no handle and pressed a key into a lock Mira had never noticed.

See also: the Great Clock.

The oldest gear room

Inside, a single huge gear stood still, taller than the market stalls. A thin line of light crawled along its teeth and faded. "The Great Clock can wake the Engine," Dov said, "but a clock is only a promise. Somebody has to turn it."

He handed her a crank. It was heavier than it looked. Mira set her feet and pushed, and nothing moved. She pushed again, and the gear shivered the way the lamps had. Dov put his hands beside hers and the gear gave a long, low groan.

Many hands

By the time the first workers came down the stairs, Mira's arms were shaking. They did not ask questions. A baker took the crank from her left, a rail rider from her right, and a pair of builders leaned their shoulders into the wheel. The gear turned a finger's width, then a hand's width, and a line of golden light ran all the way up the tunnel.

The lamps burned steady that night. No one made a speech. Mira sat on the floor with her back against the gear and watched the light climb the walls, and she understood what the old stories had been trying to say. A town does not keep its light alive alone.

See also: read and write fan stories.

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