Corsets & Clockwork

by Trish Telep

  "All this, all this to keep my heart going?"

  "All this. I'd have done more if I had to."

  I looked at him. I didn't know what to say.

  "You saved my life."

  "Well," he said leaning in toward me, "you did save mine first."

  I laughed a little, but it hurt, so I stopped.

  We both looked down at the corset once more. The clockwork pieces ticked in perfect order, a moving work of art. And now my permanent fashion statement.

  "You'll need to know how to take care of it," said Rafe. I could hear the excitement in his voice now that he was getting the chance to explain how his creation worked. "The most important thing to remember is to wind it once a day. Otherwise ... well, otherwise, all will have been for naught."

  I looked at him. He was still examining his work closely, and I smiled.

  "I don't think I can do that," I said.

  He looked up at me in surprise.

  "You know me, Rafe. I'm all here and there whenever I feel like it. It's hard for me to keep to a strict schedule."

  "Imogen, you have to," he said in disbelief.

  "I just think I'd rather have a professional do it, if you don't mind."

  "A professional?"

  "Someone who knows how to properly wind clocks. There's an art to it, and I just fear I will never quite get it."

  Rafe's expression finally reflected his realization.

  "But that would mean you'd need someone to wind it every single day," he said slowly. "That's quite a commitment."

  "One I'm willing to make, if such a person was also willing."

  He took my hands in his. "Then, Miss Imogen, may I offer my services as your personal clock winder?"

  "For as long as we both shall live? Because, you see, my life does depend on it."

  "I fear my life rather does depend on it as well."

  I smiled.

  He smiled.

  We kissed.

  I loved how many times I'd already gotten to kiss him. How many more times that were still to come.

  * * *

  There are promises we make in moments of passion. Never to grow up. Never to go to war. Never to die. We can't keep them all. The son of the clock winder and the girl in the clockwork corset made many such promises to each other over the years. Impossible ones. Some were never fulfilled. But the most important of all was kept. Not just the practical one of winding a machine to keep a heart beating, though that was rather necessary. But the other one, about being there for each other. For as long as they both shall live. And, thanks to a remarkably well-designed undergarment, that was for a very long time indeed.

  The Airship Gemini

  BY JACLYN DOLAMORE

  FAITH AND I had performed all over, but we'd never had an engagement like the Airship Gemini. Seven times now we'd crossed the Atlantic, fourteen times we'd taken the opulent dining room stage, but this would be our final voyage, and I would miss it. The Gemini felt special. Not just a mechanical wonder, but a being with a soul, a silver floating whale. It was unearthly to see something so bulky, yet so light. The very sight of it made me think of freedom, something I could only dream of.

  The airship was operated by a branch of the Royal Academy of Mages, providing luxury transportation for the world's magical residents, whom were often looked at with fear and suspicion by the rest of the world--just like us. They had thought it a great lark, clearly, to engage Siamese twins to perform on a ship named after the twin constellation, and we had been happy to accept. For all the places we'd been, we'd never ridden in the clouds before. Auntie was terrified of heights, but she couldn't refuse the money.

  Our quarters consisted of a small bedroom that had no windows and opened to the interior of the ship--Auntie preferred to spend her time here--and an equally small sitting room with windows that opened to the view, although we weren't allowed to open them until the ship was off the ground. Auntie didn't want anyone to get a free look at us. This is where Faith and I liked to sit, sneaking peeks between the curtains at all the people waving goodbye and gaping at the ship, which was longer than an ocean liner.

  Auntie spent much of our passages looking ill and keeping to bed, which was ridiculous considering the airship was as stable as the ground itself, but it was always nice to have her out of the way. We'd rather spend time with the "Lizard Boy" any day.

  For most of our lives, he was the only man we'd really known. Auntie didn't usually like us to associate with other "freaks," but he had managed to charm her and had been our opening act for many long years, and our French tutor besides.

  He was not really a boy, but a man past thirty, with a taste for gaudily colored waistcoats and expensive port. His body was covered in fine gray-green scales, with little spines rather like whiskers around his mouth, and explanations for his appearance ranged from "magic curse" to "his mother was attacked by a crocodile while pregnant." He'd never told us the real reason, but we sensed it was sad and never asked.

  We called him Uncle Marcel. Of course he wasn't our real uncle, but then neither was Auntie our real aunt. And at least we loved Uncle Marcel.

  Today, however, he was the unfortunate bearer of bad news. "So, it appears the most illustrious mage in all of the civilized world is on the ship today," he said a bit sarcastically.

  I made a slight, choked sound while Faith went rigid and gripped my hand. "Not Dr. Connell? Why would he be here?" she asked.

  It really wasn't unreasonable that Dr. Connell should be on the airship; he was a prominent mage and an investor in the line, but thus far our beloved Gemini had never been tainted by his presence.

  "I just met him in the hall. He boarded at the last minute. He said he hoped he would surprise you." Uncle Marcel spoke gravely; he didn't like Dr. Connell any more than we did.

  The last minute.

  Now the beautiful ship was lifting off the ground, and the walls suddenly closed around us like a prison. For almost three days, we would be trapped above the Atlantic with Dr. Connell aboard.

  "I know that Miss Weber"--So he called Auntie--"is all for this plan for him to separate the two of you--"

  "He sees us as an attractive publicity stunt," Faith said. "Performing risky magic and unfounded science, claiming to do it for our well-being when it's obviously for his own glory. I'd rather die than let him separate us."

  "I might be a man with the face of a lizard, but he is a pig with the face of a man." I always thought insults sounded more scathing with Uncle Marcel's slight French accent.

  "Why was he speaking to you, anyway?" I asked, suddenly realizing how unusual that was. Dr. Connell referred to Uncle Marcel in such terms as "that horrible thing" and "that reptile creature"; he certainly didn't talk to him.

  "I suppose he's realized you trust me. He told me that if I convinced you girls to agree to this separation, he'd shapeshift me, too. Make me into an ordinary man."

  "Can he do that?" Faith cried.

  "Well, he is the most skilled shapeshifter in all the known lands." Uncle Marcel's sarcastic tone was back, mocking Dr. Connell's own words. Dr. Connell was quite fond of superlatives.

  How quickly this wonderful voyage was turning into a nightmare.

  * * *

  I had hoped this would be the trip where James proposed--a fitting end to our lighter-than-air summer on the Gemini. James had needed to travel a great deal this year, and the Gemini was his favorite conveyance, thanks to my presence. I didn't know how he managed it when ordinary humans weren't supposed to board, but he was charming that way. It was easy to sneak out of our room in the middle of the night to meet him while Auntie snored away. The presence of Dr. Connell, with his threats and promises, would make things somewhat more complicated.

  We peered out the crack in the curtains, watching the people on the ground grow smaller, shrinking into the green field around them, but I was conscious of Uncle Marcel there, the ice in his drink rattling as he finished it off.

  "If the man had a heart, he'd hel
p you even if we didn't agree to be separated," Faith said softly.

  "I'm not telling you this so you'll help me," Uncle Marcel said, although I detected pain in his tone. "I'm only warning you. I'd rather you hear it from me than him, before he gets you to agree to something you don't want."

  "If Auntie really wants him to separate us, won't we have to let him?" Faith asked.

  "Maybe not." Uncle Marcel looked fierce--and he was hideous when he was fierce. "All these years, I have stood by in silence because you were children. I am powerless to help you before you turn eighteen. But that time has almost come. You must only put up with Miss Weber's rules a little longer."

  We always did as Auntie said. How could we not? Our own mother had given us up, and Auntie was the only replacement we had known. But she didn't treat us like the kindly mothers you read about in stories. She had no qualms about subjecting us to medical inspections that would be published in the newspapers for money, nor did she hesitate to lash us whether we were naughty or not, leaving us to hold each other, console each other--two strange little girls in a world that seemed nothing but hungry eyes and snarling teeth, nipping off tiny pieces of our flesh. Somebody always seemed to want something from us.

  Now it was Dr. Connell and his quest for fame.

  "But ... how could we manage, if Auntie was angry? What if she turned us out?" Faith asked. She seemed a little stunned. Uncle Marcel had never said such things before. We had always assumed we'd travel the world with Auntie as long as we lived unless we could find a husband willing to support us.

  "You are dear girls. Someone will love you and take you away from all of this." Uncle Marcel's voice turned slightly rough, and our hearts broke for him. It couldn't have been easy to be known for your resemblance to a reptile. I never thought of Uncle Marcel as someone who could fall in love, but now I realized, like us, he must have sometimes looked out into the crowd and seen a face of beauty. He must desire to be loved just like everyone else.

  "Dear Uncle Marcel," Faith said, dropping her hand over his scaled one. "We know you love us."

  "Of course I do, but you know that is not what I mean."

  "Uncle Marcel," I whispered. "What if ... there was someone ..."

  "Yes?"

  "A young man ... who cared for me?"

  He looked at me for a long moment, and said, "This theoretical young man ... how long have you known him? Has he any prospects?"

  "He's a writer and a journalist. He speaks many different languages. Very clever. He's not rich, but he has a respectable income."

  Uncle Marcel smiled. "I think a learned man would be a good match, very good. And what do you think of him, Faith?"

  "Well, he is theoretical," Faith said. She smiled. "He's kind. A little soppy for my taste, but just fine for Patience."

  "Does he seem fit to marry one half of a united pair? If you don't agree to Dr. Connell's operation, I suppose that you will remain conjoined." The medical doctors had declared we would need a magical separation by a very skilled mage if we were both to live.

  I lowered my head, blushing fiercely at the thought of James, of how much I wanted to feel his lips on mine. "We don't want to be separated."

  "We've always had each other," Faith agreed. "I don't mind if Patience marries James. I'll be fine. I just worry about you, Uncle Marcel."

  I worried about more than Uncle Marcel, myself. I didn't think a man like James would engage in secret meetings with me while Auntie slept unless he had serious intentions, but would he ever propose? I had already expected him to half a dozen times, but I was still waiting. He'd never even kissed me, and I wondered if it was because we'd never really be alone, with Faith forever at my side.

  I stopped at the sound of the door opening. Any hope that it might be an airship steward was quickly dashed as Auntie's ample frame stood in the doorway. She had grown rather fat, just over the past few years as the growing popularity of our act brought in more money, but current fashion flattered her lace-bedecked bosom. No fashion could flatter her face, however--the deep frowning grooves around her mouth, the small weary eyes, the fair hair slowly turning a hard shade of silver.

  "Mr. DuBois, if you'll excuse us. I don't think we will be having any French lessons on this journey, busy as we shall be now that Dr. Connell is aboard." Uncle Marcel left, with a flash of a reassuring smile for us.

  She shut the door behind him but remained pressed against it. She wouldn't get near the Gemini's windows for anything. Even sharing a room with them made her pale. "Now, girls, after your show tonight, Dr. Connell has asked if we might dine with him."

  We sat very still and well-mannered, but Auntie frowned as if we had spoken out of turn. "You must promise to be on your best behavior. It's a great favor he's offering. Do you want to be exhibiting yourselves until your dying day?"

  We were silent, sometimes breaking away from her gaze to stare out the window at the industrial landscape below us--a river winding through a shantytown, with factories belching smoke in the distance. The shadow of the Gemini fell on the treeless land like a stain.

  "Do you want to be attached forever?" Auntie demanded. "It isn't natural."

  She had raised us, but she still didn't understand us any better than the staring crowds. She didn't understand what it was like to be so close to someone that you didn't even need to speak most of the time--you just knew their thoughts. So close that you said "we" more often than "I," except when you talked to a certain young man ...

  I could tell Faith was close to speaking out against her. People thought Faith was the "stubborn twin"--sometimes advertisements for our shows even said so--because she couldn't hold her tongue. The trouble was, Faith gave in as soon as Auntie slapped her, and I usually got the back of Auntie's hand too, even if I'd said nothing.

  Faith knew I didn't want her to speak, but she spoke anyway. "You didn't seem to mind, all these years you've made money off of exhibiting us."

  "Because I had to do something to keep us all fed!"

  "Oh, and to buy yourself furs, I suppose."

  "Was that reptile putting these ideas in your head?"

  I couldn't stand to hear her slight him like that. "Auntie! How can you say that about Uncle Marcel? He's been so kind to us!"

  "Kind? Well, of course. Who else would be so kind to him as we are? Who else could he hitch his wagon to? Who in the world would want to look at him?"

  I thought of Dr. Connell making Uncle Marcel into an ordinary man. We were silent again, but I suppose Auntie didn't like the way we looked at her. She finally left her place by the door and came at us, her voice low so no one would hear, but furious as a shout, "I should never have let you get so close to him. Now he thinks you're old enough he can fill your head with foolish ideas. Is that what he's been doing? Filling your head with trash?"

  "No, Auntie, he just ... He said nothing! You've ... you've always liked Uncle Marcel," Faith stammered.

  "Well, I've been thinking we've outgrown him. Your French is quite good. And if Dr. Connell will separate you girls, we can settle down in England and have some peace and quiet for once."

  "England? So Dr. Connell can parade us all over the country and boast about himself and his skills?"

  I knew that would set her off, and it did--she slapped our cheeks, one with each hand, a move she had perfected. I always got it on the left cheek and Faith on the right. "He's a wealthy mage." She spoke through her teeth. "Don't forget, your own mother didn't want you. She gave you to me. I could have put you in a home for the simpleminded and infirm. You'll agree to his offer ... or I'll agree for you."

  * * *

  We had first encountered Dr. Connell following a performance just outside New York City. The tall, dark figure with the refined British accent had approached us after the show with a handful of flowers. He told Auntie he had been so impressed by our sweet dispositions in the face of such adversity. She had heard all of this before, but then someone whispered his identity. He was Mitchell Connell, one of England's
greatest sorcerers--a shapeshifter. Like all human mages, he could only work his magic on others, not himself, and a glimmer appeared in Auntie's eye before Dr. Connell even mentioned his plan.

  He asked if he could examine us, and of course Auntie agreed. So we were made to stand before him in plain dresses with our connecting ligament bared, while Auntie watched and a man from the New York Herald made notes. Dr. Connell didn't use needles or tools like other doctors--he merely touched us, his fingers light. And Faith and I were frozen, trying to block out his presence, to merely endure this intrusion until it was over, as we did with all the rest.

  I noticed the man from the paper--a very young man, with dark red hair and pale skin dusted with a few freckles on the nose--giving me an oddly sympathetic look. Just me, not Faith, even though we were identical and most people looked at us as a pair, and not as people at all. He smiled faintly when I met his eyes, and got back to scribbling.

  "It could be done," Dr. Connell murmured, and then more confidently, "I have the power to separate them."

  We had been told all our lives that we should only be separated if one of us was dying, for both of us might not live through the ordeal. But now here was Dr. Connell giving us a choice, and sometimes choice is the most terrifying thing one can have.

  Or worse, maybe it wasn't a choice. Dr. Connell and Auntie went off to the next room to murmur. The man from the paper approached us.

  "I'm sorry. Did I introduce myself? I'm James Martin." He shook our hands. "This wasn't supposed to be my story to cover, but my colleague has a bad fever, so they asked if I'd step in."

  "Oh." We were both startled. James--well, I thought of him as Mr. Martin then--talked to us as if we were any two ordinary girls. We'd never been alone with a man besides Uncle Marcel. Any moment, I was sure Auntie would hurry back in and send James away, but she must have been so enthralled with Dr. Connell that she hardly cared what we were up to.