Summary: By David Steffen Read by Emma Newman Discuss on our forums. An Escape Pod original! All stories by David Steffen All stories read by Emma Newman Rated 13 and up Marley and Cratchit by David Steffen STAVE 1: THE MARVELOUS MACHINE In those days Jacob Marley was full of life and vigor. His smile shone so that anyone who saw him soon smiled widely in return. A moment in his presence would make one’s worst burdens seem lighter. His optimism and generosity brought out the best in others, catching easily as a torch in dry straw. Those were happy, hopeful times. Ebenezer Scrooge, the pinch-faced and greedy miser, would not weigh on his mind until many years later. In those later years the two men’s appearances matched as twins, and their customers would often confuse one for the other. But in every other manner they were as different as two men could be. I will speak further of Scrooge, but not yet, for this is not his tale. In these days long gone, Jacob Marley was a portly man, neatly dressed and neatly groomed, with hair black as pitch and never a whisker on his face. Marley entered the shop on that momentous day in the manner with which he was accustomed, swinging the door wide and exclaiming “Hallo!” to his business partner in a sonorous voice that any Shakespearian actor would envy. His jowls swung with the force of his entry, and wobbled like a custard for quite some time after. His clothes were not of the finest material, but were fine enough for a man of his young age, a sign of the moderate inheritance left him by his father the year prior. The front office held two desks, one tidy and one covered with heaps of paper and mechanisms. Behind the cluttered desk Bob Cratchit looked up with a quiet smile. Where Marley was expansive and memorable, Cratchit was small and quiet and utterly forgettable. He was a pleasant man, so pleasant that I have only ever known one man to ever speak crossly of him: Scrooge, that nasty old miser who spoke crossly of everyone, regardless of cause. Look! He has intruded again upon our story where he is not wanted. I will speak of him no more until his presence enters upon the story. Although Cratchit was a pleasant man, and earnest, he was easily forgotten, apt to leave no lasting impression on the memory. In fact, even I can no longer bring his features clearly to my mind. All I can say of his appearance is that he was exceedingly ordinary in every respect, and he was of an age with his partner, both old enough to have earned their own reputation, but young enough to hold wild and optimistic musings of their future. Cratchit’s forgettable appearance suited him well enough, because people made him unaccountably nervous, and he found even idle conversation to be terribly taxing. If no one remembered him, then no one would seek him out and he would be left to his alchemy. In those days he did little else, his efforts supported by Marley’s coffers in the hopes of finding something to build a business on. “I’ve finished it,” Cratchit. “I’ve finished my great work, the one which will make us our fortune.” “Oh! Why didn’t you say so!” Marley asked, with a slap to Cratchit’s shoulder. “To your feet, Bob. Jump with joy, shout from the rooftops.” “I am quite excited,” Cratchit admitted, still smiling his quiet little smile. “Would you like to see it work?” “Of course, of course.” Cratchit led the way to the workroom in the back where Marley hadn’t ventured for months, not wanting to disturb the alchemical processes. The workroom was but a larger manifestation of the cluttered desk at the front, packed from wall to wall with papers and metalwork, beakers and boilers. Cratchit’s newest and greatest work stood in the center of the room, looking like a shrine within its circle of clear space. It was an upright wooden hoop a pace in diameter, with strang[...]
