The two men looked respectable. Not at all out of place in the club that occupied the old stone building on Canterbury Street, not more than a short carriage ride away from Buckingham Palace. They were dressed in the fine clothing, and possessed the fine manners that defined a gentleman wherever he might be.

They were not, however, in any way respectable. They were in fact two dastardly fellows of the worse sort, and the men around them would have been quite shocked to realise that a pair of cads like them could so easily occupy the same social strata as them.

One of them, a tall, slightly effeminate man, dressed in a fine, dark-brown, tweed suit, who was removing his gloves, was named Thomas Simeran. And it was on his request that the meeting had taken place.

The other was a slightly shorter man, who was dressed in a much more formal suit of a blue so dark it was almost black. He did not remove the black leather gloves he wore, though he had placed his top hat and cane aside. His long hair hung loose about his face and his eyes were hidden by a pair of dark glasses. The hair and the glasses were needed for Gaislyn was of the Daoine Sidhe, but he had no intention of letting anyone else know.

They were approached by one of the club’s waiters. “My I get you gentlemen something,” he asked politely.

“A scotch, neat,” Thomas said.

“Just a cup of tea,” Gaislyn said in a smooth voice that was like velvet, and then added, “we are not to be disturbed.”

“Of course sir,” the waiter told him.

While they waited for the man to return with their drinks the two engaged in talk of no consequence, saying nothing more than might be spoken by any other gentleman in the club. Once the waiter had come back with their drinks and then left the real reason for the reason for their meeting was brought up.

“I understand that you have many useful contacts,” Thomas began. “I wish to make use of them.”

“Oh? And for what purpose?” Gaislyn lazily stirred his tea.

“I need to have my sister kidnapped and held.”

“Why?”

“I don’t think that is your business.”

“I regret to disagree with you Mister Simeran. Your request puts me into opposition with your sisters and any friends she may have. This of course opens me up to a certain amount of risk. I have a desire to know why.” He took a drink of his tea. “You need not worry about be sharing this information. I am quite circumspect and treat all matters with my clients with complete confidentiality. You may think of me as your confessor if you choose.” He smiled.

Thomas took a gulp of his scotch, feeling it burn down his throat. “I would never have a confessor, but if that is part of the price then I will pay it.” For a moment Thomas thought to utter a threat about what he would do were Gaislyn to betray his word, but he did not. “My sister has been a thorn in my side since we were children, and insufferable woman that she is she has made it her goal in life to oppose me at every turn. In a short time some associates of mine will be embarking on a very profitable enterprise, but should Gwendolyn learn of it, or one of her companions learn of it and bring the news to her, she will certainly act. And that she knows me so cursedly well, she is certain to use that knowledge against my associates and myself.”

“And who might these associates be?”

Thomas smiled. “That I will not give you, but as one of them gave me your name, I’m certain that you could guess.”

Gaislyn’s smiled in answer. “True enough. I take it that your associates requested that you deal with your sister and the threat she represents?”

Thomas nodded.

“So, why not simply have her killed?”

Thomas scowled. “Would that I might, but such an option is denied to me.”

“So the stories of the Simeran are true,” Gaislyn said with a hint of amusement in his voice.

“I do not know which stories you may be referring to sir,” Thomas replied with a cold formality “but there is a curse about me concerning my sister. If I am to cause her demise in anyway, I can be certain of my own.”

“You think.”

“It is not something I am about to put the test.”

“Of course. Kidnapped and held. For how long?”

“As long as possible. I have little concern if the spend the rest of her life in a cell somewhere, just so long as she dies of old age, or by her own hand,” he said vehemently

Gaislyn thought for a moment. “You’ve tried this before.”

“Yes, but she is clever, I’ll give her that. She has arranged to escape, or her companions have aided her. I need her detained for at least a month.”

“Anything else?”

“No. Wait. Yes. I wanted her humiliated. Broken if possible. Let her friends save her if she will be useless to them.”

“I see. I believe that I can help you Mister Simeran. Of course, the price may be high.”

Thomas smiled. “I am aware of that, and price is not an object.”

“My price is not simply monetary.”

Thomas was still smiling. “I am aware, and price is not an object,” he said once more.

Gaislyn nodded. “Then let us finish this.”

The deal the two made at that time might have been called diabolical by some.

Later, as Gaislyn stepped out into the foggy streets of early evening, he considered what to do. The kidnapping would be easy enough, but hold her, that would take some though. He could, if he chose, taken her to Faerire where she could be kept for centuries as some lord or lady’s pet. But, he did not have the time to look after her, and he could not trust anyone the fickleness of some other Sidhe. He would not risk breaking his deal with Thomas.

So, he would need a human jailer. And someone who would not harm her. That was difficult. He did know a number of people who would be happy to ensure she stayed locked up, but they would also see her as a test subject.

And then there was the whole humiliation thing. He could think of many that would enjoy the chance to break the spirit of someone like Gwendolyn Simeran, but their entertainments might kill her. And a woman like Miss Simeran was certain to fight back, increasing the chance she might meet with an unfortunate end.

He found himself in a rather difficult situation.

And then he had it. He knew who to contact, whom to hand Gwendolyn over to. It would provide Thomas with what he requested, exactly. And, if the research ever bore fruit, it would not hurt for Gaislyn to have an acquaintance with the person in question.

Smiling, he set off at a quick pace, his cane tip tapping out a jaunty rhythm on the cobblestone street.

Gwendolyn Simeran was a very attractive woman. She wore a silk, afternoon dress of a dark green that matched her eyes. And as she walked, collecting many an admiring glance, she held her skirts just so, showing off her expensive, lace petticoats with each graceful stride.

They saw a beautiful woman, and not the secret agent of Her Majesty’s Secret Service.

It was not that Gwendolyn had ever thought to become a player in the Great Game: quite the opposite in fact. She had in fact thought to marry well and raise a family. Unfortunately her brother, who was quite a cad, early on threatened the name of Simeran. Gwendolyn’s actions to stop him were quite self-serving at the time. If he ruined the family name, she would never marry well.

All things considered, it was an odd way for the young daughter of a minor, impoverished noble family (her aging father was Baronet Simeran) to enter the world of intrigue and adventure, but it was how it had happened.

At the moment, as her brother was laying low, so she thought, Gwen was in Paris it look into the mighty Verne Cannon that the French so pinned their defence on. The mighty cannon, guided by Babbage Calculation engines, could fire shells hundreds of miles.

England was concerned about what uses the French might put such a weapon to in the future, and certainly had an interest in acquiring the technology for themselves. So Gwen came to France to see what she might learn for future operations that Her Majesty’s Secret Service might launch on the continent.

Because she was sure in her cover, and because she was on a mission that was very low threat, Gwen was not really giving her surroundings the attention she might had the situation been more threatening. However, even if she had, she would not have been able to spot the threat making its way towards her.

The Sidhe lord, cloaked in Glamour, walked right up to her and blew a handful of sleeping dust in her face. He caught her up as she collapsed and walked away. No one on the street was aware than anything untoward had happened.

As Gwen awoke she became aware of several things in order. She was chained to a wall, her arms above her head, her feet just touching the floor. She was in a dark room, made entirely of stone. It was surprisingly warm and dry, which was odd since dungeons tended to the damp and cold side.

Many a person who might find themselves in her position would be prone to panic. Not a surprising thing really. Gwen on the other hand was not most people. She had a brother who hated her and was absolutely terrified to harm her in anyway lest she might die. That meant waking up, finding herself imprisoned, was not something that she was unfamiliar with.

The first thing she did was reach up to feel the manacles about her wrists: Heavy iron, with a ratchet to tighten them to different wrists and a simple lock, nothing out of the ordinary really. She had a set of lock-picks hidden in her dress that would make short work of those. All she needed to do was swing her body up so that she might use her teeth to get at them. All quite easy.

Unfortunately it did require that she was alone to do it, and as soon as she started to shift about she realised that she was not.

“I see you are awake,” a woman said as she stepped out of the shadows, un-shielding the lamp she held. “I am so glad. We can now begin the tests.”

Gwen looked at the speaker, and noticed three more forms in the shadows behind her. As the ones in the shadow did not look as if they were planning on making themselves seen she turned her full attention to the woman.

She looked to be a few years older than Gwen, about average in height, weight and appearance. She wore a simple dress that was dark grey in colour and stained in places with what looked like grease or oil. Her hair was done in a tight braid, and she wore no cosmetics on her face, but on her cheek was a smudge of some dark material. To confirm her suspicious Gwen tuned her attention the hand holding the lamp. Hands smudged with grease, and nails in bad condition.

Gwen sighed loudly.

“Let me guess,” the chained woman said. “You are a scientist of some sort, with a goal to conquer the world and now that I have,” and at this point she sighed one more, “fallen into your hands you will use me to test your nefarious devices. Also, I’m certain you will tell me your plan in great detail, so that I might appreciate your genius.”

The woman looked taken aback. “What, but how…”

“I’ve seen your type before Doctor, it is Doctor, isn’t it?”

“It should be! Those fools at the Vienna University were never comfortable with a woman in their halls of learning, and they thought my theories mad!”

“Did you tell them that they would rue the day they forced you out?” Gwen asked in a bored tone. She really had dealt with too many of the mad genius and had a hard time taking them as seriously as she should.

“I did, and they will. You may call me Doctor Edenlace.”

“Even though you are not a doctor?”

“Quiet.” She turned to look back into the shadows. “Bring her to the prepping chamber.”

The three forms in the shadow came forth, with a quiet whirring and a slightly jerkiness to their movements that allowed Gwen to identify them as clockwork automatons. She had seen such devices before, but had to admit that Dr. Edenlace’s were the most ascetically pleasing.

Their female forms were clothing in the black dresses, white aprons and mobcaps of a domestic. Gloves covered the hands that grasped her wrists, softening the steel beneath to something that almost felt human. They even had faces, with a permanent expression that she could almost call friendly.

For all that they were tools of her enemy and she did try to fight them. Not that she had any luck.

Two had grasped her wrists tightly as the third unlocked the manacles. Then, when Gwen tried to kick, the third grabbed her legs. All three of them held her with unbreakable grips. She could do nothing to stop them from carrying her out of the dungeon as they followed after the Doctor.

Up through stone, and then into the wooden paneled warmth of the upper house, they carried her up three flights of stairs, down a corridor, and then into a large room where Dr. Edenlace awaited.

Gwen looked about, taking in the cleanliness of the room, the neat and ordered cabinets, the large mirror on one wall, the strange steel frame mounted on an array of pistons and wheels, other things she could not identify, and the large boiler that made the room even warmer than the rest of the house.

“Secure her,” Dr. Edenlace ordered.

The clockwork automatons took her to the steel frame that was standing perpendicular to the floor. The one holding her right wrist lifted her hand to the corner of the frame and then secured it with a wide band of strong material that was lined with fur. Her left wrist was then similarly secured, flowed by both her feet.

She was facing the mirror, she suspected by design, and looked at herself, secured spread eagle in the frame. She pulled at the bindings, uselessly, as she had expected, but she had to at least give it a try. It was obvious that she would not be going anywhere.

The three clockworks moved away from her, going to stand silently by the door. Dr. Edenlace moved so she was standing directly in front of Gwen.

“I suppose you are wondering what this is all about?”

Gwen’s first impulse was to make a smart remark, but decided to be somewhat polite about it. She had certainly heard the mad scientists speech before, but there was nothing to be gained by antagonizing the woman further. “I will admit to being curious.”

Dr. Edenlace smiled. “As well you should be. You see Miss Simeran, I am a great lover of humanity and of peace, and yet my fellow man does not feel that way. They seem to be intent on destroying each other.”

“I suppose that is part of the human condition,” Gwen answered her, giving a futile pull on the bindings that held her wrists. If she could just managed to free one hand she could reach a number of rather clever devices hidden on her person. Then she could seriously work on escaping.

“It may be so, but I have decided that it must stop. Others may have tried, and failed, but that is because they chose to use the same tactics as those they fought against. You cannot use violence to stop violence.”

Gwen stopped struggling for a moment. “That is true.”

“Yes. So I have decided that I must move the people of the world back to a more innocent time, a time when they are easier to handle. You see Miss Simeran, I have come up with a device that will allow me to turn the world’s population into children!”

“You are mad,” Gwen said, which was the standard answer to such a speech, but she had to admit, Dr. Edenlace was probably crazier than most.

“Mad am I?” she demanded. “Hardly so! When the world is full of children, all cared for by my clockwork nurses, there will be no more war! The worse violence we will have to face is hair pulling and biting, and that will be easily dealt with by putting the guilty parties to bed with no supper. All of mankind will live in peace, happily cared for by my mechanical servants.”

“You cannot be serious.”

“I can, I assure you I can. Already I am able to regress people, but it takes time. I need to prefect my device so it might work in minutes instead of weeks. And I will reach that point, in time. Still, there is much to do before that, and you will help me Miss Simeran.”

“And how will I help you?” Gwen asked as she pulled against the bonds.

“By allowing me to test out my methods to break the spirit of course. You see, even once I’ve filled the world with toddlers, there is a chance, remote of course, that they might be able to act in concert to thwart my overall plans. I have to make certain that their adults’ will and minds are made into that of a child’s. That is how you will help me.”

Gwen wanted to call her mad, but she had already said that and did not like repeating herself. “That is diabolical. You will never get away with it!”

“Oh, I think I will.” She looked over at the automatons. “Do the rest,” she ordered.

Gwen watched in the mirror as the three clockworks crossed to the cabinets and removed various things. She spotted several knives in the mix and that got her worried. They prepared things, some of which she could see, some of which was obscured. Dr. Edenlace stood where she was, arms crossed, watching.

Then they came at her, two holding knives, one holding a pair of scissors. The first came at her, and Gwen watched as the slashed out with the knife behind her. She should hear the material of her dress rip, and felt her corset loosen as the stays were cut. The other one with the knife slashed at her skirts, which the one with the scissors cut at her sleeves.

Sharp metal whirled about her, and every second she was certain that she was going to feel a blade cut into her skin. Pieces of her clothing drifted to the floor like leaves, and soon tresses of her long, red hair was following it. There was a thump as the derringer she carried hidden in one of her sleeves fell to the floor.

She watched in the mirror as she was rendered naked, her hair cut short, in a style more suited for a child, and all the small devices that she had used countless times before to escape from similar situations were exposed on the floor about her.

Dr. Edenlace approached as the three automatons withdrew. She bent down and picked up a chamois holster that held a derringer and a stiletto. “You see, this is the world we live in, where everyone carried an arsenal of weapons and gadgets on them. You should thank me for what I am going to do. You will be able to have peace.”

“I suppose you will understand if I do not choose to offer my thanks at this time,” Gwen told her, chin raised in defiance.

“Of course.” She smiled.

One of the clockworks came back, and suddenly Gwen was falling back as the entire frame rotated so it was parallel to the floor. She lay there with her feet pointed towards the mirrors, suspended by the webbing that held her wrists and ankles.

Another clockwork carried a steaming towel to her and then placed it between her legs. It was rather hot, and the area sensitive, so Gwen yelped, more in surprise than any real pain.

The third clockwork carried over a tray that it clipped to the frame. Gwen watched with trepidation as the automaton poured what looked to be boiling hot water into a small bowl. Then it picked up a razor brush, plunged it into the bowl and began to whisk it about. Soon a thick foam rose above the rim.

“No,” Gwen said, suddenly aware at what was going to happen. It was an affront on her dignity she would not allow, if only there was a way to stop it.

Her outburst did not sway the clockworks, one of which removed the towel from between her legs as the other picked up the bowl. It used the brush to begin applying the thick, warm foam over her sex.

Gwen thrashed about, trying to break free, but she stopped when the third of the clockworks moved in, carrying a straight razor. While not long before she had been given a demonstration of the skill with which they could use blades, the thought of a razor, so close to her tenderest of skin, scared her.

The automaton flipped the razor open and the moved in so at to begin shaving her. Gwen held her body rigid as the blade scarped over skin, removing the foam and her red pubic hair as it passed. Its movements were quick and precise, and in no time at all the hair of her womanhood had been shorn away.

As the warm towel was used to clean away the last of the foam Gwen was amazed at how sensitive her skin now felt. With the silky, fine hair gone everything between her legs felt amplified. At another time she might have felt aroused by it.

“Well little Gweni,” Dr. Edenlace said in a patronising tone, “we’ll get you dressed and put down for your nap soon, but we still have one more thing to do.” The automatons had gone off, and were now wheeling one of the odd devices over to her.

“You see,” Dr. Edenlace continued, “I like to make sure all my new guests get in the proper mindset right off, and I find nothing helps more than a good spanking.”

The frame was suddenly spun about, leaving Gwen facing the floor as the device was moved over her now exposed bottom.

“I built this so my clockwork nurses would never have to spank one of their charges.” There was a loud clicking sound as she did something to the machine. “I want the children to look on the nurses as delivers of comfort, not of pain. But pain will be required!” she snapped, and there was a grinding sound.

“Seeing as little Gweni has been playing with so many inappropriate toys, she is going to get a very hard spanking.” With that Dr. Edenlace engaged the machine.

It was a rather simple device. A paddle mounted on an arm. There were a number of gears, counterweight and springs, all required to make it work. Dr. Edenlace had spent a good deal of time coming up with it, ensure it could cause maximum pain, and yet cause no real damage, perhaps beyond a bit of bruising.

Gwen of course did not appreciate that as the paddle slapped across her buttocks, immediately raising a blush of read across them.

As the spanking continued Gwen did her best not to cry out. She had, after all, been shot, cut, beaten, once almost drowned and hurt in a number of ways in service to her country and in the quest to keep her brother from destroying the family name.

The spanking really was not so bad. Truthfully it did not hurt nearly as much as other pains she had taken, but that not the only thing. She had been stripped naked, shaved, made helpless, and was now being spanked, by a machine, like some naughty little child. It was more than she could bear.

So after the fifth time the paddle landed across her bottom with a loud ‘smack’ she let out a small sob. The eighth time tears began to come with the sobs. As the paddle fell upon her the sixteenth time she began to cry like a little child.

“I want you to know,” Dr. Edenlace said over the sound of the spanking, “that this machine is only used for adults. It would never do to use it on actual children.”

Gwen was not really in the right frame of mind to appreciate the Doctor’s concern.

Gwen was too exhausted to pay much attention to the new room she was wheeled into. She spanking had taken a lot out of her. Her bottom felt like it was on fire, her eyes were itchy from crying, and her nose was dripping. It was not one of her finer moments.

As she was spun around in the frame she took some notice of her surroundings. It looked quite a bit like a child’s nursery, which was of no surprise to her. She did note that Dr. Edenlace was not present and wondered if she might take advantage of her absence. Nothing presented itself to her tired mind.

She was wheeled over a crib like piece of furniture, but it was blockier, with solid sides, and much larger of course.

One of the clockworks put a harness like arrangement over her. It went over her arms, crossed over her chest, and locked; she heard the ominous click, in the back. Another put a collar about her neck. A cord from the crib was snapped onto the collar, again locking with a click. The material was odd, feeling silky, and thick to her skin.

Two of the clockworks held her by her shoulders as the third undid the restraint holding her wrist. While this freed a hand, the strength of her machine captors was far too much. Her arm was moved across her chest and secured to the harness about her shoulders. The process was repeated for her other hand and then they lowered her shoulders onto the mat in the bottom of the crib. The mat felt much like the collar and harness.

Leaving her there for a moment, they scurried about, and then returned to stand about her. One of them had a bottle of scented oil, which it applied to her, smoothing it between her legs and onto her bottom. She flinched when the clockwork’s hands touched her red buttocks and whimpered in spite of herself.

Then a cloud of talc settled about her, sprinkled from a canister another clockwork held.

Of course the nappies came next. Thick, cotton cloth, several layers, folded to fit around her, encasing her, muffling areas usually covered in silk. She felt it on her painful bottom and on her shaved sex. Large pins were pushed through the material, clicking closed, holding the cloth tight about her.

Her ankles were released from the frame and she was lowered completely into the crib. The thick cotton cushioned her bottom slightly, but it still hurt as her weight came down. She could not close her legs, she realised, the material pushing them apart.

There was a rustling sound as one of the automatons shook out what looked like a large pair of pantalets, but the material seemed too thick. With two of the clockworks holding her legs, her feet were put through the leg holes and then the garment was drawn up her legs. The material felt much like that of the collar and mat.

It was pulled over her nappies, the cloth that stuck out was tucked in. The waist and leg bands seemed to cut into her skin, not really painful, but in a manner that she could not easily ignore.

A bonnet was tied about her head, and bib placed around her neck. She realised that with the warmth of the room, as with the whole place, she did not really need much more clothing than she had on. The bib was probably the only concession to modesty she was to receive, and it was so brief it was more of an embarrassment to have it then it would have been to be naked.

That done, the three clockworks left and she was alone.

She tried to free herself, but her hands were nearly useless, and the leash holding her to the crib gave her very little freedom. She was able to get onto her knees, and could just begin to straighten up when the leash stopped her. She could not reach the top of the crib, and even if she could, she suspected she might hang herself if she were to get out.

Gwen settled back into the crib, laying on her stomach for comfort. Her actions had made her hot, and she could feel beads of perspiration on her skin. What was more maddening was the heat that had built up in her nappies. The cotton and the material of the outer pants seemed to conspire to keep the heat trapped, and it increased her discomfort.

After a time she managed to fall asleep. She was never quite certain if she was crying.

The call of nature woke her and she sat up, or tried to. Her bound hands and the leash all made it impossible, and with those things all of what happened was once again clear to Gwen. She was still secured in the crib, dressed in nothing but nappies, a bib and a bonnet, and now she had the demand of her bladder to deal with. About the only positive thing was the pain from the spanking had faded.

She knew that she was supposed to wet her nappies, that she would not be given the chance to use a water closet. The cool, intellectual side of her told her to get it over with as she had no choice and why be uncomfortable. The more emotional side was of the opinion that it would be far better to allow her bladder to explode—if such a thing were possible—than to give in.

After some thought Gwen decided that she really did not want her bladder to explode, but she was willing to deal with the discomfort, for a time.

As she lay in the crib, shifting about to try to ease some of the discomfort of a full bladder, and to stave off the wetting as long as possible, she looked about her as much as she could. There was not really that much to see. There were some cupboards and bureaus, some toys and such, but not much else. The room was lit by a few gaslights, and thick curtains covered the windows, so she had no idea what time of day it was.

It was all so boring.

Time passed, as it did, and she tried to fill it with thoughts of escape. Unfortunately she never got much further than the need for some sort of tool. She thought about the pins holding her nappies snug, and tried to twist around so she might get that them. It was during this attempt at contortion that her bladder let loose.

The cotton cloth wrapped around her waist grew hot and wet as the urine soaked into them. At least the thick material absorbed it all, and kept it from her skin, mostly. Still, as she lay there, with her ankles about her head, she decided that she did not at all like the sensation.

She pawed at the slick material that covered her nappies, noting that it appeared to be waterproof as her fingers pushed at the sodden material beneath. Unfortunately she had no luck. She simply was not flexible enough to do more than run her fingers over the crotch of the garment, and she only managed that because it was so thick.

Straightening out, she sighed. All that she had really accomplished was to make herself hot and sweaty again.

Sometime later the door opened and two of the clockwork nurses entered. They reached down into the crib and each grabbed her by an ankle, even as she struggled to keep them from doing so. The sides of the crib were lowered and then the covering for the nappies was pulled off first, and a cushion like pad was slid under her.

While one of the clockworks held both her ankles, the other went to get the changing supplies. It then unpinned the wet nappy, cleaned her off, oiled and powdered her, and then pinned new nappies in place. Then, together, the put the cover pantalets back on her.

All through it Gwen had been cursing them, trying to fight them, all for naught. Their grips were far too strong, she was restrained far to well, and her tormentors, as she thought of them, simply did not care what she said. Of course that was not true for all.

“What bad language Gweni,” Dr. Edenlace said as she entered the room. “You’ll have to be punished you know.”

She stepped aside and one of the clockworks wheeled a large box into the room, while another brought the spanking machine. When Gwen saw it she felt her stomach freeze, and whimpered slightly.

“Prepare her for punishment.”

The two clockwork nurses who had changed her nappies grabbed her and flipped her over onto her stomach. Straps were pulled over the side of the crib and wrapped around her knees, securing her, while another came over her back. At the same time another was positioning the spanking machine.

“I’m setting this to a setting that will take your nappies into account little Gweni,” Dr. Edenlace explained as she fiddled with the machine. “It will me a harder spanking than before, but you have some padding, it will also be longer.”

Gwen’s whole body tensed as the paddle came whistling down onto her bottom. It made a muffled smack noise against the nappies and their cover. It did not hurt as much as her earlier spanking, but it still hurt. And by the time it was finished she was once again crying like a small child.

Then it was over and the clockwork nurses freed her and then put the sides of the crib back up.

“Well little Gweni, I do hope that has taught you a lesson.”

Part of Gwen wanted to snap back with an insult, but a larger part of her did not want to risk the pain and humiliation of another spanking.

“Very good. Now let me explain to you what will happen. Right now I have set up my youth ray and I am going to have it used on you.”

Gwen lifted her head to see what Dr. Edenlace was talking about. What she saw was a strange, glass and steel box on top of a pole. It looked a little like the arc lamps that some scientists were experimenting with.

“Right now the process is very slow. It takes about a week of treatment to regress a person one year. I’ve made some improvements that I will test with you so I hope things will go a little faster. We should have you at about two years old in five months or so. Of course I hope you will be acting like you are two within a few weeks.”

Gwen said nothing as she looked at the device that was pointed at her. Could it really do as the Doctor had said? Surely such a thing was impossible.

“Now, a few rules for you to keep in mind. Inappropriate behaviour will be punished, as you have just experienced. You will have your nappies changed six times a day. I expect all of them to be wet, and you had better have soiled one was well, or you will again be punished.”

Gwen stated at her, wondering if she was crazy or just very cruel.

“I am sure that you think me a monster little Gweni,” she said, as if reading Gwen’s mind, “but this is important work. I am willing to go quite far in the name of peace. And remember, while you may be made very uncomfortable, you will never really be harmed.”

With that she turned on the device and the steel and glass part lit up with a golden glow that bathed Gwen in a strange warmth. She was surprised, amazed really, at how calm it made her feel, and also how quickly the pain of the spanking began to fade. In fact so caught up was she in the feelings that she was not even aware of the passage of time. She only came back to herself when the machine was turned off.

She shook her head and looked at the single clockwork nurse, which was dismantling the machine and packing it in the large box. There was no one else in the room.

Gwen lowered her head to her hands and wondered what had just happened.

There was a very regimented aspect to her life it seemed. She was changed and fed on a schedule. The food was terrible: Some tasteless mush that the clockwork nurses forced into her mouth, and warm milk from a bottle with a nipple on it. It was horrid, but she ate it, knowing that it was important to keep her strength up, and have no doubt that failure to eat it would result in punishment.

As Dr. Edenlace had promised, she came in, looked through the nappy pail and counted what was in there. “I’m very disappointed in you little Gweni,” she said as she handed the pail to one of the clockworks. “Only five wet and not one soiled. I did not pick those numbers arbitrarily you know.” She leaned over the side of the crib. “They represent a healthy amount of excretion.”

Gwen, figured that she was going to be punished anyway, decided she might as well be defiant when it would not cost her much. “I will not allow you to dictate my bodily functions!”

Dr. Edenlace shook her head. “You’ll learn Gweni. You will learn.”

And as Gwen was once again given a session under the spanking machine, this time on her bare bottom, she was considering the value of learning.

The next day she had still not produced the soiled nappy that Dr. Eden wanted to see. So not only was she given a spanking, but afterwards the Dr. Administered an enema before she was re-nappyed. She expelled the mess and then had to wait until her next change to feel clean again.

At that point she decided that she would do as he had been told, since she it would be forced otherwise. At least she could decide on when things would happen. It was not much control, but it was something.

She soon learned that her hope of getting out of the crib, and therefore maybe managing an escape, were fruitless. She was kept in it all the time; they were even able to bathe her due to a clever design feature that included jets of hot air to dry her and the crib.

Daily she was given a session in the strange golden light, and it always left her feeling better, but she did not know if it was working.

She was punished ever few days for some infraction, and shaved every few days as needed. It was all very routine, regimented and boring. The boredom was the worse, well, next to spankings and soiled nappies, but at least those things ended. The boredom was constant. She almost longed to play with the toys scattered in the room just for something to do.

A few weeks after she had been brought there, she was again attempting to get at the nappy pins (she tried to exercise as much as she might) when she noticed the scar on her thigh—something she had picked up from a Prussian bullet—was gone. Shifting about she saw that all the scars she had picked up over the last few years were gone.

It was at that moment she realised that the Doctor’s machine was very likely capable of regressing her.

She redoubled her attempts as escape then, but with no luck. She was a healthy woman of twenty-three. That would mean she was no older than twenty, and the younger she got, the less likely escape would be. But still she was foiled by the fact she was so well restrained.

And then one day, just after a nappy change, she heard noises out in the hall. The two clockwork nurses seemed perplexed by this and turned towards the door. The noises grew louder.

Suddenly the door burst open and something bellowed loudly. There was a thunderous crack, and one of the clockworks went down, missing its head. That was followed by a crash, and a colourful curse, and the second fell as well.

Open-mouthed, Gwen stared at the apparition in the doorway. At almost seven feet tall, and often dressed in a bearskin cape, Sergi Valosko was an impressive sight, as was the cannon he called a rifle. Standing near the crib, and only about four and a half feet tall, but also four and half feet wide, the dwarf Basil was also an impressive sight, especially with the heavy iron wrench he often used as a weapon.

They were both companions of Gwen, and she was never so glad to see anyone before in her life. And then she noticed how Sergi was staring at her, and the flush on his face, and remembered how she was dressed.

Basil, more level headed than any of them, and not particularly concerned with the states of dress of humans quickly solved the problem. “Ya big, daft fool, turn about!”

Sergi did as he was told.

Basil turned his attention to the bonds holding Gwen. With the skill of his race he quickly opened the locks, allowing Gwen, for the first time in over three weeks, to leave the crib.

She almost fell as soon as she put her feet on the floor, it had been so long, but Basil was there to support her.

“Thank you,” she said.

He smiled and nodded, then looked towards Sergi. “Well take off that dead bear and pass it back so that the lass might cover herself.”

“Of course,” Sergi said in his deep, rumbling voice.

As Gwen put the heavy, and smell, cape about her, covering herself, she began to cry. She could not stop it, so frightened had she been, and so happy she was now was that rescue had come.

She felt Sergi’s big arms enfold her. “You’ll be alright Gwendolyn,” he told her in his thick accented English. “Nothing will hurt you now.”

Gwen actually smiled at that, and then began to laugh, thought it was tinged with a little hysteria.

As it turned out Dr. Edenlace had escaped. Both Sergi and Basil had seen a steam car head off shortly after they had crashed through the main doors. She had taken a number of her clockworks with her, and probably out of a perverse cruelty had left no clothing that Gwen or the others might use.

The others were five women and three men. Well, none of them were really women or men any longer, at least not in appearance, and all of them had been in Dr. Edenlace’s hands for longer than Gwen.

They made an odd sight as they left the hunting villa, dressed as small children as they were, except for a girl and boy who looked two, and using curtains or other bits of material to cover up as best they could.

The villa was a few miles outside of Cologne, not that Gwen was looking forward to entering the city dressed as she was. At least she would soon be able to get clothing and be back to her normal self. Looking back at the other victims of the Doctor’s plan she could not help but feel lucky.

And getting back to herself was vitally important. She, Sergi and Basil would soon be off to Egypt to meet up with their other friends in order to find out what Thomas was up to. She was determined to stop him, or as determined as she could be at that moment, waddling along the road in her thick nappies.




NOTES

Gwen is a character from a Castle Falkenstein game. Often a new story arc would start with her brother arranging her capture and imprisonment. Her friends would then find her, and the real adventure would start. It was something of a running gag and the Host would always introduce some off the wall evil genius/mad scientist/mastermind/ or kook for a bit of fun.

Dr. Edenlace did indeed make the speech about regressing the world’s population to children and then having her clockwork nurses care for them. When she ordered the nurses to prepare Gwen the scene was cut to the other players.

When Sergi and Basil burst through the doors they were told, ‘The room looks like a nursery, and in some kind of machine-crib you see Gwen, dressed as a small child.’

This story just sort of covers what might have happened in those weeks that were skipped over.