The Epicyclic Heart is a 2,320 word short story originally written for the Verdant Owl 2026 writing competition on WritingBattle.com using the prompts: Steampunk (genre), Locksmith (character), and Construction Zone (setting).

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Steam hissed from the iron pipes as Emmett wrenched levers into position on the control box bolted to the floor of the ancient dome. Metal groaned, and gears clicked as large lenses swung into position on the five mechanical rings, finally locking in proper sequential order with a thunderous, reverberating Thrum! He was one step closer.

When the dome was discovered by a construction outfit excavating subterranean slums, they knew it was old. Constructed from softer limestone and sascab mortar, the dome was precisely fifty-two feet in diameter and height. It was made on purpose, but they had no idea what its purpose was.

It was an enigma. The outer shell and floor were smooth as glass. Inside: five immense mechanical rings of increasing size, only half visible above ground, the first standing at twenty-seven feet in the air, each one five feet above the previous. Implanted in each ring was a thirteen-inch round disc of transparent obsidian, paper-thin. Overlapping the edges of each disc were three concentric multi-stage epicyclic gear trains, each holding twenty small, five-inch-diameter discs spread across their surface. They resembled an optometer—the instrument eye doctors use to measure the human eye.

It was a massive, ancient marvel that felt out of place no matter what time it was dropped in, and here it was in the 19th century. The mayor wanted to know why.

Unfortunately, it did not work. Too ancient. Whatever its power source, now gone. The mayor invited the city’s brightest and boldest to understand what it was for, let alone where it came from. Even he was smart enough to know not to put the proverbial cart before the horse. Among the invitees were: Reed, an antiquarian; Amelia, a philomath; Barnaby, a Fellow with the Royal Astronomical Society; and Emmett, a horologist and locksmith. Watching them work was like watching a choreographed dance.

Reed, naturally, was astounded at the dome’s physical makeup. The fact that the structure used limestone pointed him to ancient Egypt, Greece, or Mesoamerica as the creator. It wasn’t until Amelia, after much measuring and mathematics, pointed out that the structure was built (very accurately) using the vigesimal base-twenty system, which narrowed their focus to Mesoamerica: home to the Olmec, Maya, and Aztec. Barnaby ran with that knowledge. Knowing their obsession with the heavens, he compared the machine to their knowledge of the sky, surmising that the five discs were the planets the Mayan followed with their naked eyes: Venus, Mercury, Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. It wasn’t until Emmett discovered the symbols that everything locked into place.

While examining the smaller glass discs with a lantern, he noticed they bore curious markings when backlit. Dots and dashes, he called them, no doubt a reflex from his military background. The group took note: definitely the vigesimal system. It was irrefutable: Mesoamerican, most definitely Mayan.

While the others were debating it being a simple orrery, Emmett’s background allowed him to see the truth: it was an advanced lock. True, he didn’t know what it unlocked yet, but he knew a tubular tumbler lock when he saw one. The dome itself was the lock housing. The central shaft containing the rings: the lock cylinder. The five obsidian discs were the pins, and the smaller discs were the tumblers. This was all theoretical, but all of science is until proven true.

“It isn’t hard to believe that this is nothing more than an ancient orrery,” Reed said, holding up a hand-drawn diagram comparing this device to the known solar system. “Barnaby will clearly agree with me on this.”

Barnaby nodded and hummed his agreement.

Amelia held up both hands. “I’m not saying it’s anything more, but we can’t discredit anything without proper numbers.”

“Oh,” Reed scoffed, “here’s the philomath talking about numbers again.”

Amelia feigned injury, “Oh, the antiquarian connects old rock to the oldest region of the world, and we’re supposed to take it as gospel, but when the philomath gives actual, verifiable proof, we treat it like heresy.”

Barnaby hummed his amusement.

Reed jumped from his seat, “Emmett, old chap, what say you?”

In the center of the dome, Emmett peeked out from behind a large contraption of glass and brass. “Well, it is an orrery of sorts, I suppose.”

Reed gave a victorious laugh in Amelia’s direction.

“Oh, come on,” she said. “What does the horologist know? Or is this the locksmith talking?”

Barnaby hummed his disapproval.

Emmett stood, waving his spanner, “I’ll have you know, an orrery is nothing more than a clock on a different scale, Amelia.”

Barnaby hummed his agreement.

Amelia gave him a dirty look, “Oh, don’t take his side.”

“Admit it,” Reed chuckled, “this is just an ancient race’s dedication to the stars.”

“Explain this to me,” Amelia grabbed a world map, pinning it to a corkboard. “How did a civilization from the Yucatán travel to England before the means existed, and build this advanced structure here?”

Reed paused, then shook his head. “I don’t have a theory for that, yet.”

Barnaby was silent.

“Maybe it wasn’t the Mayans,” Emmett spoke up.

“All proof points to Mesoamerica,” Reed stated.

“The proof only tells you what you want to see.” The group stared at Emmett, waiting. “The trail of proof leads back to Mesoamerica because science deems it so, but what if it goes further to those who gave them the knowledge?”

Barnaby hummed curiously.

“Who?” Ameila asked. “Aliens? God?”

Emmett shrugged.

“Fantasy,” Amelia stated.

“Do you have a better answer?” Reed asked.

“Bear with me for a moment…” Amelia started, “There’s some fringe mathematics that people much smarter than I am are working on that describes physical objects being able to live in two areas at one time.”

Reed and Barnaby stared silently at each other. Emmett just scratched his head and went back to work.

“What if,” Amelia continued, “this object was one of those?”

“Enough of this,” Reed interjected. “We’re running in circles and introducing fantasy into reality.”

Amelia looked actually hurt at his dismissal.

“Let’s call it a night and come back with fresh heads.”

Barnaby hummed his weary approval.

“You coming, faithful locksmith?” Reed chided.

“Not yet,” Emmett said as he laid out copper-laced conduit. “I want to get a bit more done tonight.”

“At least the detractor didn’t get to us all,” Amelia said dismissively, already walking to the exit.

Reed clicked his tongue, “Don’t be too long. We all need to have clear heads tomorrow.”

Emmett nodded as Barnaby tipped his hat and exited.

For once tonight, the dome was silent. Emmett heard the rumble of an airship’s engines flying the red-eye pass overhead, then nothing. He was in the heart of the city, but he felt as if he were in a different world. He took a breath, peppermint was in the air, clutched his pendant, and then went to work.

Flipping levers on a control box, he watched the rings swing into place, then tossed a lantern and a bundle of rope onto a hydraulic scissor lift, pushed it to the center of the dome, and connected it to the conduit. He tied one end of the rope to the large lantern he had constructed, climbed aboard the lift, and flipped a switch. The machine sprang to life, spewing steam and clicking gears as it ascended to the ceiling. Tonight was the night.

He already figured out how to operate the machine. While the others debated its origins, he worked its systems. Emmett theorized it was built above ground, using sunlight and water as its main power sources. Since neither was currently an option here, he converted the dome to use steam and a man-made light source. The latter was in place; all that was left was the sun.

Running the rope through a ring he had installed in the ceiling and using the lift to help raise the heavy lantern into position, he lit the coal in the fount. Let there be light…

The room was flooded with a blinding glow bouncing off the limestone surface. He dialed in the control knobs, which sent the dome’s rings into motion. Emmett pulled the lever to descend, but the lift was too slow—the rings were on a collision course. Grabbing a large spanner, he grit his teeth and swung at the steam conduit. It broke loose. The lift plummeted, slamming onto the ground with a whomp! that threw Emmett to the ground.

The rings swung violently as he dragged himself toward the control box. With considerable effort, Emmett pulled himself up, turning knobs and wrenching control levers. Thanks to the others, he knew the positions of the planets, the math for tracking them, and how to convert those numbers into the Mayan base-twenty system. He input the data, pulled one final lever, and collapsed. The rings began to slow, ticking into position.

Tick… One after another.

Tick… The lenses aligned.

Tick… Focused on the artificial sun.

Tick… Emmett’s eyes slowly sank.

Tick…

A deafening crack echoed through the dome, snapping Emmett awake. Steam spewed from pipes as rivets shot across the room. In the center, where the beams of light converged, a pinprick of blue energy was pushing everything away, as if a container had sprung a leak. Anything not bolted down was sent tumbling. Emmett was one of those things, but he didn’t tumble long.

Another crack as the pinprick burst into a swirling vacuum, sucking everything in. Emmett grabbed the lift, but it groaned and tipped. Peppermint. His pendant pulled. His fingers slipped as he fell into the void and into silence.

Emmett’s eyes were clenched shut as he waited for pain, but all he sensed was weightlessness, then peace. He slowly opened his eyes, and his mouth fell open. The dome was gone. In front of him were stars. He was swimming in space.

“What?” His words were muffled in his ears.

“What’s happening!” Emmett shouted, in part to see if he could, but hoping someone out there would wake him from this dream.

Hello, Emmett.

Emmett spun around. There wasn’t any place for a person to hide, but he felt someone with him. “Who are you? Where are you?”

I am who I am, Emmett. The voice spoke with a clear, calm certainty that put Emmett at ease. I am here.

Emmett felt like he had gone insane. One moment, he was in the dome; the next, he was floating in space talking to a disembodied voice. He unlocked the Mayan puzzle. All the science led here?

“Why am I here?”

A warmth surrounded him. Happiness.

“What?”

Are you happy?

Emmett pursed his lips. “I have a good job. I make good money.”

Are you happy?

“Well, it keeps a roof over my head and food on the table.”

Are you happy?

“I survived the war. I’m content with my life, I guess.”

That is surviving, not living.

The smell of peppermint. Emmett’s hand grasped his pendant.

Who is she?

“Octavia Summers.” Memories began to rush forward, like water from a broken dam. “She’s the only lock I couldn’t solve.”

Emmett had known Octavia since childhood. Her family lived in an old house outside of town. He was timid and focused; she was energetic and curious. Opposites attract, and they became close. When the war struck, he did the noble thing and signed up to protect her and the country. However, he came home a broken man. Upon return, he couldn’t understand why the pieces didn’t fit. He just wanted to turn back time. He started studying horology, thinking there may be a way, but couldn’t find it. He turned to locksmithing to unlock the secrets to happiness. They weren’t there. He couldn’t see the forest for the trees.

She fixed up her parents’ homestead, wrote poetry, and waited. He moved to the city in search of answers.

Do you understand?

“What?” Emmett was in tears. “I unlock the hardest lock known to man, only to be reminded that I failed to unlock the only thing that mattered?”

You already unlocked the lock. You failed to walk through the door.

Emmett shrank at the realization.

“Why do you taunt me?”

Go to her now.

“She has a life. I can’t just show up and complicate her life.”

She’s still waiting.

His hand clutched the pendant.

After all this time, do you remember her favorite poem?

Emmett took a breath. “What lips my lips have kissed…” He shook his head, “Millay?”

The choice has always been yours.

On opposite sides of Emmett, two portals opened. He stared at them; the words of her favorite poem graced his heart.

What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why,

I have forgotten, and what arms have lain

He knew one portal led back to his current life.

Under my head till morning; but the rain

is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh

Maybe it goes back to the dome that brought him here.

Upon the glass and listen for reply, 

And in my heart there stirs a quiet pain

Perhaps the group will be waiting, though they’d never believe his journey.

For unremembered lads that not again

Will turn to me at midnight with a cry.

Maybe it led back to his shop, where his cold tools hung on their hooks, waiting for the next client.

Thus in the winter stands the lonely tree,

Nor knows what birds have vanished one by one,

Perhaps it led back to his solitary house with its single bed and solo dinners.

Yet knows its boughs more silent than before:

I cannot say what loves have come and gone,

The other portal led to her.

I only know that summer sang in me

A little while, that in me sings no more.

Emmett took one last look around and smiled. He clutched his pendant, then moved through the portal. Peppermint filled the air, and the summer sang once more.

Photo by Alexandr Popadin on Unsplash

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