by Lev AC Rosen
Violet sighed. “Well, first find a spring.”
“Right,” Jack said, and went off to the shelf of supplies. Violet uncrumpled the wad of paper still in her hand and smoothed it out on the table, lovingly. Women are not all meant to dance, she thought. Some are meant to do quite different things. She stared long and hard at the paper, and a smile crept onto her lips.
“I have springs,” Jack said, holding out two springs of slightly different sizes. “I think the larger one will work better, but I don’t want the contraption to be so large, it causes the child to fall backwards and be unable to right himself, like a turtle. What do you think?”
Violet stared at the springs. She had an idea. A very good idea.
“I think you’re probably right,” she said. And they began to work.
By the end of the class, everyone had produced at least satisfactory toys, and Violet was wearing Jack’s contraption and using it to pat him on the head. Lane and Merriman were watching and laughing. But, truly, Violet’s mind was elsewhere. An idea had stirred, and now all she wanted was to work.
Lunch flew by. Toby and Drew and Jack discussed possible ways of tormenting Volio with the letters, but Violet didn’t pay much attention. In her mind, she was building a marvelous machine. Not just a machine, but a dress. A dress for men and women alike, with marvelous long arms that stretched out farther than Violet was tall. A dress that would give anyone who wore it the same strength, strength enough to build carriages, regardless of gender or age. She imagined swarms of these dresses at the docks, run by women, assembling a ship with the ease of knitting a scarf. She saw women going to work each day with their male counterparts, being spoken to with respect, and then, all of them dancing together after work if they chose, as enjoyment, not as purpose.
But, most important, it would look like a woman. Her machine would be more beautiful than the loveliest mechanical dancing girl, but its purpose would be more beautiful, too. It would make women into a symbol of strength. And when Violet revealed herself as the inventor, she would make women into a symbol of intelligence. All notions of women as weak or dumb or made only to run households and give birth would be just memories. She would show the world—or at least the scientific world—that women were men’s equals in every sense.
Violet made herself eat because she knew she would need her energy in the lab that afternoon, and probably that evening, too. This project would be vast. She would have to work hard to finish it in time. And she needed to find a metal to make her engine out of that would degrade slowly, if at all, so that the incredible amounts of power her creation required would not destroy its power source. No shoveling of coal—that would make it nearly unusable. She needed constant energy, and that meant she needed her engine to work without degradation.
“I don’t think we can get him to kill someone,” Jack was saying. “And, besides, who would we want him to kill?”
Violet narrowed her eyes and refocused on the conversation. They were discussing what they hoped to put in the fake love notes to Volio. “No killing,” she said definitively. “Little things. Start small. Have him wear his hair a certain way. You must make him believe it’s Cecily. Otherwise Miriam will be in great trouble, and none of us wants that.”
“He’s right,” Toby said, leaning back in his chair, “though it was fun to think about.”
“I’m going to the lab,” Violet said, rising. “I’ll see you all at supper.”
The next few days were a blur. Violet threw herself into her project, building the shell of the machine out of curves of metal and wire, and paid little attention to anything else except class. She listened to Curio’s kindhearted words on the origins of modern chemistry, his loving description of new forays into cellular chemistry, and then his screams of rage at students who handled chemicals without gloves. She suffered Prism’s condescending stare through his multitude of lenses as he gave a monotone lecture on Babbage, his great machine, and the best way to use it. During meals, she half listened as the others plotted against Volio, engaging them only when she was not herself engaged in fantasies about her work. On Thursday night, Jack persuaded her to sneak out with them again. At the bar she watched Miriam glide her arm up and down Toby’s back, analyzed the way it turned and moved, and wondered how she could replicate that.
“Are you all right?” Miriam asked. Violet blinked and roused herself from her thoughts. She stared down at the untouched mug of ale in front of her. Toby and Drew were loudly and frantically explaining the concept behind Toby’s latest hangover cure formula. Drew was actually bouncing in his seat. “It’s just, you don’t seem very involved tonight.”
“I have an idea,” Violet said, “for my final project. It’s possessing me. I’m sorry if I’m being rude.”
“Oh, it’s not that. Everyone here is rude. I just like to make sure my boys are all right.”
“Your boys?”
“Well, Toby’s boys. Toby’s and mine. But Toby wouldn’t know a thing about caretaking, so, really, my boys. He just finds them for me.”
“Like Drew?”
“Drew, yes, though there’s little I can do for him. Last year, there was a senior, too—Daniel. Very smart and a little shy—like you—but Toby took a great liking to him right away. Toby can always spot the clever ones. I mean, in that place, they’re all clever, but the really clever ones.”
“I’m not shy,” Violet said, taking a drink.
“No?” Miriam asked, smiling slightly and bringing a mug of ale to her lips.
“No. I’m just preoccupied.”
“With your project.”
“Yes.”
“And what is this project?”
“It’s a machine. Like an automaton, but not. One wears it, and it enables great strength.”
“The duke forbids the making of weapons, you know.”
“Oh, no, it wouldn’t be a weapon; it would be a tool. For construction, I think.”
“You’d best be careful, nonetheless. There was another student years ago—my first year working for the duke—who built automata with working pistols for hands. The duke was so furious, he tried to expel the boy, but it was near the end of the year, and the Minister of Defense heard about the situation. So he stepped in, confiscated the automata, and convinced the duke to let the student finish the year and graduate. No one really knew all the details, so it didn’t look bad to the outside world, but the duke was humiliated. He’ll talk of expulsion if your creation seems even slightly like a weapon.”
“Well … it won’t. But I’ll keep it in pieces as long as possible then, so he won’t know what it is. Thank you for the advice.”
“The duke inspects all the labs most nights after supper. You should hide anything that looks too dangerous by then.”
“I will. I suppose it might all be for naught, anyway.”
“Why?”
“I need a new substance for the engine. Something strong that won’t wear away over time. It needs to be slippery.”
Miriam laughed.
“What’s so funny?”
“Cecily told you what she was working on, didn’t she?”
“A substance that would harden in molds?”
“Yes. And be both light and very durable. You should speak to her. She’s nearly got it, I think.”
Violet pursed her lips and took a drink of her ale, then regarded Miriam. “Does it ever bother you?” Violet asked.
“What?”
“That Cecily has full access to the school, the labs, and the education and you don’t? That she can be both woman and scientist, a right that’s denied to you?”
Miriam looked down and then up again. She was smiling. “I’m not a scientist,” she said. “I have some interest in the sciences, but I don’t have the patience to attack them as you, all of you, do. Cecily does. She is une fille futée—very smart—and I think her having access to Illyria is for the betterment of everyone, regardless as to whether or not she inherited that right. After all, her bein
g a woman in Illyria isn’t what prevents other women from entering.”
“I suppose not,” Violet said, looking down at her ale.
“So, no, I don’t envy her. I respect her, though she does still often act like a girl of sixteen. She is very taken with you, you know.”
“She is?” Violet asked, worried.
“Most of the students would be flattered.”
“I try not to get distracted by such things.”
“Ah,” Miriam said, and drank more of her ale, looking sidelong at Violet. They sat in silence. “Well,” Miriam said, “just be careful of your creation and its potential for weaponry. You don’t want to end up like Ralph Volio, depending on the Minister of Defense to come to your rescue.”
“Ralph Volio?”
“Yes, the student I mentioned. Malcolm Volio’s elder brother, Ralph.”
“Ralph Volio—why else does that name sound familiar?”
“He works for the Ministry of Defense now. Very high up, as I understand it, designing weapons. Meets directly with the Queen. It was the oddest thing: The duke caught him making just part of one of his automata—the rifle. But then, less than a month later, after the minister had convinced the duke to let Ralph graduate, he marched two dozen of them out to the Crystal Palace for the Science Faire. No one knows where he was keeping them all. It infuriated the duke, which was probably Ralph’s intention.”
“Hm,” Violet said. She shook her head. Perhaps Ralph had worked in the basement, and he’d just left the automata that he didn’t care for there as he marched the others out. But that wouldn’t explain the nagging familiarity the head of the one skeleton possessed, as though she had seen it somewhere before.
“Thinking of your machine again?”
“No. Something else.”
“Well, I’ll leave you to it, then. And thank you, Ashton. Toda. Merci. Toby says your cousin will help us to pull this trick on Volio. I don’t care much about what the return letter says, as long as I am not caught. I like my job. I like my life. I’d just rather not have it taken away by that sodding child.”
“Of course,” Violet said. “How could I not help? He is a villain. I shall be happy to help you defeat him.”
“You talk like a hero. You really are just Cecily’s type.”
“I very much doubt that,” Violet said, and took a long swig of her ale to hide her laughter.
XII.
THE next morning after breakfast, Jack, Violet, and the other first-years took the long winding stairs to the astronomy tower on top of Illyria. All the first-years were exhausted from the excitement of their first long week.
The astronomy tower was a large dome made of spotless glass plates and thick bronze beams. There were glass doors out onto the balcony surrounding it, which was punctuated by the moving statues on the clocks. Inside the dome were boards hung with star maps and tables covered with various astronomical tools that Violet recognized from her father’s lab. Idly, she picked one up and began to toy with it as she did when she was a child, flipping a lens this way, a switch that way. Bracknell was nowhere to be seen. The students stood about, confused as to what to do next.
“If he doesn’t show up,” said Lane, “what do we do?”
“Well, I’d imagine we get the day off,” Jack said
“But this is the one class I’d be good at!” Merriman said. “I don’t want to have the day off.”
At that moment, the loud clang of the door closing at the bottom of stairs echoed, followed by Bracknell’s muttering and heavy footfalls. “Fucking lift. It wouldn’t have been hard to have it go all the fucking way up here, would it? No, the buggers want me to walk.” Bracknell’s head emerged at the opening of the stairwell, red and sweaty. For a moment, he looked surprised to see the students all standing about, but quickly covered that surprise with annoyance. “Adams! Put that down.”
Violet swallowed and lay the instrument back on the table.
“Honestly, I’d think you of all people would know better. Isn’t your father that bigwig astronomer nutter? Doesn’t he teach you how to respect the tools of the trade? Or is he too busy trying to prove life on the moon?”
“Actually, sir, many scholars think that lunar life might be possi—”
“Do I look like I bloody well care?” Bracknell screamed, spit flying from his mouth. “You don’t touch anything in the room until I tell you you can, understood?” Violet nodded. “You’d best be careful, Adams, or you’ll bring shame down on your father and family. Though, considering the state of your father, I don’t know how much more shame is really possible. Everyone, sit down!”
Violet felt her face go hot, but sat down anyway. Jack gave her a pat on the back, probably trying to ease her anger. She clenched her fists. Her father was perhaps thought of as being a little odd, but most people also agreed he was brilliant. Everyone discussed his papers. Even the Queen had written him a letter. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She turned her focus from her anger, and thought instead of her invention, and how it would change the world.
“I don’t know why they insist on having this class during the day,” Bracknell said. “Seems a waste of time. But I’m to teach you the basic theory, and then you’re required to come up after sundown at least once a week to do your various assignments. I’m supposed to be here each night, too, but they don’t pay me for that, so I’ll just leave the door open and you can all come up and do your work and leave the place nice and tidy. If anything is amiss in the morning, I’ll have Curio up here to check for fingerprints, and then I’ll see to it that whichever of you is too good to clean up after yourself is expelled.” He glared pointedly at Violet. “Now. The lesson. Who can tell me which celestial bodies we should expect to see tonight, and at what times?” Merriman’s hand shot up. Everyone else stayed quiet. Violet tried to calculate the answer in her head—it was fall, so the stars would show Libra. Or was it Virgo? And what about the planets? “Only the fat one? Nothing from Adams-whose-father-is-a-famous-astronomer-so-he-can-handle-whatever-he-likes-in-the-tower? Fine, Fatty, your answer?”
The lesson went on like that for some time, as Bracknell posed a series of questions, mocked Violet for not automatically knowing the answers, and then called on Merriman, whom he persisted in calling Fatty. By the end of the class, none of the students felt like they had learned anything, and even Merriman felt uncomfortable. “Do you want to sit by me next time?” he asked Violet as they walked down the stairwell. “I can tell you some of the answers. I don’t mind not being the one he always calls on. It might make him get my name right.”
“That’s all right, Humphrey. Thank you, though,” Violet said, smiling as much as she could.
“Surely we could report him for something,” Jack said. “Abuse of students, maybe?”
“I don’t think anyone would care,” Lane said. “Curio has called me far worse during his bad spells. I think it’s supposed to toughen us up.”
“He’s a brute,” Jack said. “I’m glad he’s just here for a year.”
“Maybe he’ll fall off the tower,” Fairfax offered in an unexpected moment of solidarity, which made them all uncomfortable. They walked in silence down to the lift and rode it to the dining hall. Violet felt hot and cold at the same time, angry and embarrassed, and most of all, annoyed that of all the people to make her worry about her venture again, it was Bracknell.
“You okay?” Jack whispered as they got off the lift. She nodded, and bit her lip. “Your father will never be ashamed of you,” he said, “no matter what you do.” She nodded again. She couldn’t let Bracknell break her. If he pushed her to a point of rage, she might give herself away, and that would be unimaginably horrible. Not just because Bracknell would surely expose her, but for what he might do to her before that. She shivered as she thought of him finding out her secret, of his hands grabbing and squeezing her sides and prodding at her body with a hungry, wicked grin on his face.
“Well, well!” called Toby, waving as they walked
into the dining hall and approached the table. “I’ve had a breakthrough! At least, I think I have,” Toby continued in a lower voice. “We’ll have to go out tonight and get very very drunk so I can test it in the morning.”
“Sounds good to me,” Jack said, “you?”
“Fine,” Violet said, too busy trying to shake off the unbidden images in her mind to listen. She tried to focus on what she was going to do during her lab time, and she half succeeded. By the end of lunch, she was conversing with Drew about the most flattering scents to add to his perfume, and she could smile. But she felt dreary, and during her free time in the lab, she worked sluggishly.
She was fastening together a series of gears to go on the bottom of the machine and enable it to move more easily, when a shadow fell over her work. Cecily had walked in.
“Hullo, Ashton,” Cecily said when Violet looked up. Cecily was fluttering her eyelashes and wearing a high-collared blue dress with a long line of buttons cascading down it.
Why did Violet notice the beauty of dresses only now that she could not wear them? It’s probably uncomfortable, she told herself, binding at the waist, and limiting to the stride. But Cecily looked quite content in it.
“Good afternoon, Cecily,” Violet said. “How are your experiments going?”
“Very well, thanks.” She stood there silently for a while. “I’m letting the most recent batch harden right now. I think I have the formula down. If it works, it could revolutionize the way things are made. Machines with gears made of my … I don’t know what to call it—paste? clay?—could be lighter, and run more smoothly.”
“It sounds wonderful,” Violet said. “In fact, that may be just what I need for my own machine. If you would assist me?”
Cecily lit up, then turned pink. “Well, of course,” she said. “I would be glad to help you in any way I can.”
“I need to find a substance that will not wear away. If yours is as hard and light as you say, then the gears shouldn’t wear as quickly.” Violet pulled out the sketches of her engine. “You see?”