by Lev AC Rosen
A loud, horrible shrieking noise arose from the doors as they tried to close. One of them seemed to twist from the inside, and began to fall forward, off its rails, onto Cecily. Cecily screamed, and Violet tried to run around the doors to get to her in time, but when she got there, Cecily was already safely out of the way, with Miriam’s arm around her waist. The crushed door fell to the ground with a clang. In the back of the lab, Violet saw Volio leering at her failure and snickering. She resisted the urge to spit at him.
“Sorry,” Violet said, “I’m so sorry. That should have worked.”
“It’s all right,” Cecily said. “Worse has happened. And Miriam saved me. Thank you, Miriam.”
“Mon plaisir,” Miriam said, brushing dust off her dress. “But next time, stand a little farther back, please?”
Violet let her shoulders shrug, and felt tears pricking at her eyes. She was not used to failure. “I’m really sorry, Cec,” she said again.
“It’s not your fault, Ashton,” Cecily said, laying a hand on Violet’s arm. “There was an error. It happens. I should have stood farther back, like Miriam said. No need to be so upset.”
“It’s just been hard, what with being up so late,” Violet said, and yawned. “But I’m going to finish it in time. I know I will.”
“Why have you been up so late?” Cecily asked.
“We’re mapping the basement,” Violet said, not really thinking. Miriam coughed loudly and shot Violet a look. Violet realized what she had just said.
“After hours?” Cecily asked.
“You won’t tell, will you?” Violet asked, looking up.
“Of course not,” Cecily said. “How could you think I would? We’re friends. And I keep my friend’s confidences. Have you found anything interesting down there?”
“No,” Violet said with a sigh, “nothing yet. The wall of gears, is all. It’s a huge basement. Nearly bigger than Illyria proper, I’d wager.”
“I remember you said your initiation was frightening.” Cecily said, “I can understand the need to map the cellar, though. If my cousin knew, he might actually be pleased.” Violet looked at her anxiously. “But I won’t tell him, don’t worry.” Cecily smiled and batted her eyes brightly. “Anyway, I’d best be off. You have lots of work to do, and I think the wrench I made from the formula should be ready by now. I hope it works.”
“I’m sure it will,” Violet said, turning back to her work. She was so very tired.
“Good-bye,” Cecily said.
“Bye, Cecily,” Violet said, and nodded at Miriam, too, whose lips were pressed tightly together in a look of mild annoyance.
* * *
“YOU shouldn’t have told her about the map,” Miriam said to Violet that night in the basement.
“I know,” Violet said. “I’m very sorry. I just wasn’t thinking.”
“Well, I think she’s in love with you enough that she won’t mention it to anyone. But she does like to talk.” Violet and Miriam were leading, Miriam with torch in hand, Violet with her light-box around her neck, while Toby and Jack walked a bit behind, still making jokes about perfume testing. They were exploring what Miriam had said was the western part of the basement.
“I’m really very sorry, Miriam,” Violet repeated.
“You were tired and distracted,” Miriam said. “I know a bit about that.”
Miriam stopped as they came to an intersection and shone her torch down each passage. Violet saw something reflect down one of them. “There,” she said, pointing. Miriam headed toward the reflection.
As they stepped into the room, the air around them changed, their footsteps echoing differently. Miriam’s torch traced the object. It was the train. They were in the station as before, but the lights that were on earlier in the year had died out, leaving the station dark. There was a faint sound of rushing water from the tunnel beyond the train, but the train blocked the way, fitting the entrance to the tunnel like a key in a lock.
“The train,” Violet said, making a note on her map.
“I didn’t imagine it was this big,” Miriam said, shining the torch around. The station was huge. Violet had forgotten how huge. Their steps echoed in the emptiness of it, and the air was chilly and smelled of water.
“Think you can make it work?” Jack asked.
“Do you think I should?” Violet said. No one answered her, but they all silently headed for the train. It was beautifully designed, like a smooth cylinder of copper, with benches along either side, lined in moldy red velvet. There were windows and chairs facing out both ends.
“Monorail,” Violet said, looking around. They had all piled inside it now. An open arch was the only exit onto the platform, and it didn’t have a door attached. In front of the back chairs were a series of levers and switches. Violet handed the light-box to Jack and sat down at one of them. Miriam shone her torch on the console while Violet examined it. Like the train, the design was smooth and beautiful. The switches looked as though they were incapable of rusting. But Violet couldn’t figure out what the power source was. There was no engine she could see, no place to feed coal, no key to turn. She tried one of the switches and the lights in the train went on, flickering a little. The train was now lit from the inside.
“That’s something,” Toby said.
“Electric,” Violet said, impressed. The train was old. Electricity was just being experimented with when it was made. An electric motor seemed highly unlikely, but the lights suggested that it was possible. Violet stood and examined the floor for a hatch or panel, hoping to find an electric motor underneath, but there was nothing but wires and tubes. She went outside the train, looking for an external power source. The others followed her in silence. She could not find anything to make the train go.
“Ashton, it’s really late,” Jack said. “You’ve been at this for two hours.” Violet looked up at him, confused. Had it really been that long?
“We should go,” Miriam said, nodding. “We’ll take tomorrow off. You need your sleep, Ashton. I’m sure you’ll be able to figure this out when you’re rested.”
“Yes,” Violet said. Her eyes did feel tired. “Of course.”
She turned the lights in the train off, and they left the station, Jack leading the way, Violet half-asleep. Their footsteps echoed in the train station.
They had walked about ten minutes, and were probably only another ten minutes from the lift back to the college, when Jack stopped dead in his tracks and hissed, “Listen.”
The rest of them stopped, Violet swaying with exhaustion on her feet. A faint stomping noise could be heard, growing louder and louder.
“The automata?” Miriam whispered. Toby nodded. The echoing of the halls made it hard to tell where the sound was coming from, so they froze in the middle of the passage, moving their torches back and forth, looking for the source of the noise.
“There!” Jack shouted, catching sight of metal reflecting off his torch. The first of a line of at least six automata marched down the hall toward them with frightening purpose and speed.
“Run!” cried Toby, and darted down the hall away from the marching metal soldiers. The others followed, but Violet was dizzy, her energy spent on exploring the train, and she lagged behind. The others were ahead of her, and she was frightened. Her heart was pounding, but not fast enough to lift the great weight of her feet, and the automata were gaining on her, their talons out in front of them and gleaming.
And then she tripped. She felt her foot catch on a loose stone in the floor, and she fell forward and to the side, crashing into the wall of the hallway and rolling down it, so she lay against the edge of it. She was stretched out and vulnerable, and the first of the monsters was upon her. She would be gutted like a fish. A taloned hand would reach down and tear her open from her gut to her chin, slice through bone and all the major organs, and the automaton wouldn’t even need to stop moving. It would be bloody, painful, and over in moments. She took a deep breath and flinched as the line approached her.
> But nothing happened. Violet squinted as the line marched by her in perfect unison, apparently taking no notice of her. She counted the pairs of gleaming metal feet—a dozen. All of them marched by her and continued down the hall.
“Ashton?” came a voice. She pushed herself up and looked for its source. Jack and the others poked their heads from around a corner a few yards down the hall. The creatures had passed them by, too.
“I’m okay,” she said. They ran to her, helping her up. “Just bruised, I promise,” she said. “They didn’t hurt me. I don’t know if they even saw me.”
Jack propped Violet’s arm around his neck and his arm around her waist so she could lean on him and walk.
“They were marching,” Miriam said. “Military formation.”
“But they ignored us,” Toby said.
“Practice,” Miriam said. “Drills. My husband used to march like that. Ignore everything, march forward, prepare for war.” Her words hung in the air, silent except for their ragged breathing.
“They’ve never acted quite like that before,” Jack said.
“A malfunction?” Toby asked hopefully. “I mean, they’re not invading Illyria or anything.”
They looked around at each other and silently walked to the lift. It was empty. The automata were nowhere to be seen.
“Not a malfunction, maybe,” Violet said, leaning on Jack. “Maybe just patrolling the area. Could be that’s what they were designed for originally—keeping the basement safe.”
“Then wouldn’t they have attacked us?” Miriam asked.
“It’s not how they behaved before,” Toby said. “And I don’t like it.”
“Should we tell someone?” Jack asked.
“What, that we’ve been sneaking into the basement and we found some marching mechanical creatures?” Toby said. “People would just laugh—say that’s part of Illyria, and what were we doing down there, anyway?”
“I need to go to sleep,” Violet said. She could feel herself falling asleep on Jack’s shoulder. “My brother says we all think better after we’ve slept,” she said, and closed her eyes.
“Brother?” Miriam asked.
“He means his cousin, I’m sure,” Jack said. “He’s like a brother.” Violet wanted to open her eyes, but she couldn’t. There was silence.
“Sleep, then,” Toby said. “We’ll come back to work on the train later, maybe. And if we see the automata again … we’ll figure it out then. Maybe it was just a fluke.”
“J’espère ainsi.” Miriam said, and helped the mostly sleeping Violet onto the lift. “But in any case, let’s wait awhile before coming back—at least until Ashton is recovered enough.” Jack and Toby nodded, and they all went to their respective rooms. Violet fell asleep almost immediately, but the rest of them stayed awake awhile longer, staring into the individual darknesses of their bedrooms.
XXVII.
BUNBURRY was quite pleased with the way the first-year students had been progressing thus far. They were all quite clever, but more importantly, they worked well together. Well, with the exception of Fairfax. But Bunburry chose to ignore him, much as he often seemed to ignore Bunburry. Ashton, who was clearly the mechanical specialist of the group, assisted his classmates, but he didn’t just do the work for them. Rather, he helped them to figure out how to do it themselves. Mostly, anyway—he sometimes indulged Jack, but Bunburry tried to put a stop to that. Ashton would probably make a good professor one day, but was also probably too brilliant to be satisfied with such work.
Yes, the year was progressing nicely. His shopgirl had let him take her to supper twice in the past month. Her name was Jess, and she was Irish. She had an extraordinary accent, and probably an extraordinary mind … though he wasn’t entirely sure, since when she got very excited, he sometimes found it difficult to understand her. But she smiled at him often, and didn’t seem to mind that he had to bend at his waist for her to kiss him on the cheek.
Today, though, he was a bit worried. He was really pushing his expectations for the first-years. They were to construct serving automata. It was a general assignment, meant to test their creativity and ingenuity: What sort of serving would each automaton perform, and how? But it meant large scale, which meant large pieces of metal which occasionally flew about the room.
Bunburry tried to observe from a safe corner, but it was difficult. After twenty minutes, he didn’t feel as though he would be worthy of being called professor if he did not go out among the students and look at their work. They were all doing surprisingly well. Ashton had a barrel-shaped clockwork-powered table with an arm that poured drinks and handed them out. “I would have made it steam-powered,” he said, “but that would heat up the drinks.” Bunburry nodded, impressed.
Jack Feste had made a set of arms meant to tighten a woman’s corset. “What’s this on the front?” Bunburry asked.
“A place for a camera, to take photos,” Jack replied with a smile.
But before Bunburry could respond with a disappointed sigh, the accident occurred. It was, unsurprisingly, Merriman’s fault. He was trying to make a steam-powered cart that would water a row of flowers, consisting of a simple waist-high bronze box to hold water with a hose out the top. But as he was attaching the first side of the device, a sharp-edged sheet of bronze, to the steam-powered gears on the bottom, he lost control of the creation, and the brake came lose, sending the sharp, metal L-shape flying at Bunburry’s bottom, edge first. Bunburry jumped, but not quickly enough, and suddenly felt an odd breeze on his behind.
“Oh my,” Bunburry said. It had happened in less than two seconds.
“Professor!” screamed Ashton in a high voice. Ashton always did have such a high voice when he was excited, Bunburry thought, turning around. And there, on the floor behind him, like a chop of meat, was his left buttock. And part of his pants.
“Oh my,” Bunburry said again.
“Someone get the duke!” Ashton screamed.
Bunburry didn’t mind losing his left buttock. Of all the things to lose in that general area, the left buttock was really his least favorite. He even preferred the right buttock, because it had a lovely star-shaped birthmark of which he was quite fond. But his pants had been cut up, too, and that was probably inappropriate; and besides, he seemed to be losing blood, and he felt quite light-headed. Wait—was it the right buttock with the star birthmark? Or the left? He looked at the flesh on the ground. It was blank, aside from a few hairs. Bunburry smiled and passed out, his head falling with a clang next to his ass.
* * *
BUNBURRY opened his eyes to a white room and the face of the duke staring down at him.
“Oh, thank goodness,” said the duke. “I was afraid you might not wake up this time.”
“I didn’t lose anything particularly vital,” Bunburry said weakly, “though I suppose it was a comfort to have it. A comfort I took for granted.”
“You also lost quite a lot of blood. Young Mr. Adams was nearly in hysterics, trying to bandage you with the cloth that had been covering his machine.”
Bunburry blinked, looking surprised and grateful. “That was very kind of him.”
“The doctors say that you’ll have to remain lying on your side for a while, and they want to keep you in hospital. I’ve brought in a few of my own doctors, of course, to make sure you heal perfectly.”
“You’re too kind, sir,” Bunburry said with a cough.
“Not at all,” the duke said. “You’re part of Illyria. I’ll take over your classes for the rest of the trimester, if you tell me where your lesson plans are.”
“Same as where they are every year: far left-hand drawer of my desk.” Bunburry stared at the wall. He was lying on his side, and had begun to feel a thick and unpleasant pain behind him.
“Good,” the duke said.
“And, if I were to draw up some plans,” Bunburry said, “for a—well, a replacement for what I am now lacking—would you be able to construct it?”
“Of course.”
“The doctors aren’t sure when you’ll be ready to teach again,” the duke said slowly. “Certainly by next year, but…”
“You shouldn’t have to teach my classes for the rest of the year. I will not be offended if you bring in a substitute.”
“Anyone you recommend?” the duke asked.
“Not particularly. You have excellent knowledge of such things, sir.”
“Well, I will consult with the doctors and hope for the best, but I shall arrange for a substitute as soon as possible and teach your classes in the meantime.”
“You’re too generous,” Bunburry said. He wanted the duke to go. He wanted to take some morphine and go to sleep.
“Is there anyone you’d like us to tell about your accident?” the duke asked.
Bunburry thought for a moment, then coughed. “There is the shopgirl, sir…,” he began, smiling.
The duke left the hospital feeling a bit annoyed. Of course it wasn’t Bunburry’s fault, but the man always did seem to get himself hurt, and then Ernest had to teach, or find someone else to teach. It was an annual tradition, a yearly bother. But Bunburry was part of Illyria—Ernest had meant that, and he had affection for the broken man. A shopgirl, though. That was a surprise. Ernest grinned to himself and buttoned his collar against the cold February mist. He walked a block before seeing a cab, which he waved down.
He stopped off briefly at the department store where Bunburry’s shopgirl worked. She was a sweet, pretty little thing, with fair skin and round eyes that grew wet when he told her of Bunburry’s accident, but which did not spill over into tears. She thanked him for the news, and he gave her a little money for a cab to go see Bunburry when she was done at work.
When he was finally back at Illyria, supper had already begun. He took off his coat and went into the dining hall, which was murmuring, but quieter than usual. All eyes turned to him as he walked in.