I slipped into the chair.
“Your dinner is served,” he said, removing the golden dome.
Underneath was a beautifully prepared meal. A rosy red lobster, delicate mushrooms in sauce, and delicious baked bread awaited. I stared down at the feast then at the gold-plated flatware, including a golden cup and saucer. The footman brought wine and poured me a goblet. The wine cup was made of crystal and trimmed with gold filigree. Such expensive items had a royal flair. I was suddenly reminded of my clockwork sculpture of the dining table with the flatware that wove and danced in tune. Of course, now it was at the bottom of the sea.
“I am sorry, mistress, that the offerings are meager, and we cannot provide the proper courses. We, as you can guess, do not need such replenishment anymore and have to make due with what the island provides.”
“No, no,” I said. “This is beautiful, and it smells divine.”
“Then please, eat. You are our guest here.”
“I wish your lord—as he fashions himself—felt the same way,” I said as I sipped the wine. The vintage had a mellow, fruity flavor.
“Fashions? No. He is our lord. That is certain. He has always come across as the brooding sort, but time has darkened him, I’m afraid.”
“Darkened him?”
Missus Silver turned toward the footman, and a series of distinct clicks emerged from her chest.
“Yes, Missus Silver, you’re quite right,” Mister Flint said then bowed to me. “I’ll return in a time with a dessert for you, mistress.”
“Thank you,” I said, eyeing Missus Silver skeptically. What had she signaled to Mister Flint? I wanted to puzzle it out, but my stomach rumbled. I lifted my fork and took a bite of the mushrooms. They were heavenly. They’d been fire-roasted with fresh herbs. The flavors melted on my tongue.
I had eaten lobster a few times before, Papa and I laughing as we made a mess of the entire dining room, much to Martin’s bemused horror. Trying to be a bit more refined—well, as much as possible—I worked on removing the lobster tail. I still failed in my feminine duties when a bit of lobster went flying across the dining room. I was suddenly very glad the lord was not there to give me a metallic sneer.
“Lost a bite,” Missus Silver said with mirth in her voice.
“It’s tough to eat this properly,” I said with a smile.
“Yes. I know. Miss Hawking, I understand you were in the garden today.”
I nodded, my mouth full of bread. I lifted a finger, asking her for a moment, took a sip of the wine then swallowed. “It’s a lovely and unexpected place. Quite enchanting, really. The architect must have been a tinker of rare talent.”
“Rare talent? Yes, well, that is one way of putting it. But you should have seen it long ago,” she said with a sad sigh. “It was the most heavenly place in the world.”
I raised an eyebrow at her. “Indeed? It’s held up remarkably well in the weather. You all must take excellent care of it. I haven’t seen even a spot of rust.”
“We look after it like we do all things here.”
I eyed the mech. While I knew her programming was all analytic machine, ethics boards, and an aether core, there was something very human about her manner. Sadness hung heavily on her. Surely I was reading more into her than was there. I broke off a bit of bread then looked out the window. It was dark outside. The sky was absolutely full of stars.
“The forest beyond these walls,” I said, motioning, “is magical beyond anything I have ever seen. And, I think, has some history.”
“Oh, yes. This small island was sister to Ynys Dywyll, as it was once called.”
“Ynys Dywyll—the Isle of Anglesey?”
The mech nodded. “You’ve been outside the walls. Perhaps you saw the stone rings and standing stones?”
“I did,” I said then cracked open the lobster claw. Considering there was no one around other than Missus Silver, I set aside my golden fork and took a bite. Much easier. Working with my hands, I began to dismantle the crustacean.
“Our lord once told me that back in the ancient times when the Romans invaded, they destroyed the Druids’ shrines and decimated Anglesey. Those who survived retreated to this island.”
“Druids? Well, that would explain the standing stones. And in the woods, I’d swear I felt something magical.”
“The woods here have many eyes and lots of memories.”
“I hope to record those memories. Tomorrow, I shall return to the forest and make a note of the stones. Do you have a map of the island? Perhaps if I make a grid, I can ensure I don’t miss any of the menhirs. I’d like to sketch the stones and record the Ogham script thereon.”
“The forest is not safe, Miss Hawking. You should not roam outside the castle gates again.”
“Why not? What’s out there?”
The automaton clicked. “Wolves.”
I turned and looked at her. “Wolves? On an island?”
Even the most sophisticated mech cannot replicate human emotion with any precision, but at that moment, I could very clearly see that Missus Silver was lying.
“Yes,” she replied with false certainty. “Large, dangerous wolves. You must stay inside the walls. You may feel free to use the garden as much as you like, but you cannot leave the safety of the grounds. Do you understand?”
I frowned but said nothing more. Clearly, this was the lord’s message that she was delivering. Why was he so insistent I stay inside the castle walls?
Missus Silver busied herself with pouring more wine. If I had hadn’t known better, I would have thought it a nervous distraction. But now my curiosity was piqued. How much did the mech actually know?
“I thought, perhaps, you were concerned I would get hurt amongst the old mining equipment,” I said leadingly.
Missus Silver froze. She set down the wine bottle then turned to look at me. Her optics narrowed. A series of clicks rattled in her chest. “You...found the mine?”
I nodded.
“Miss Hawking, that place is very, very dangerous. I implore you, do not return there.”
“I found the place quite odd. It really didn’t seem like a mine at all. The opening to the cavern had carvings all around it just like on the standing stones. I noted Celtic designs and Ogham as well.”
“Miss Hawking,” Missus Silver said, her voice box booming so loudly that it echoed down the hallway which made the feedback from her voicebox screech. From somewhere within her body, I heard very loud ticking increasing rapidly. She set her hand on my arm. “Please, mistress. Please. For all our sakes, don’t go there again.”
“Why not? Missus Silver, what’s wrong?”
“Please. Please. You cannot. You must not. Please, don’t go there again. You must promise not to go there again.”
“Missus Silver?” The ticking inside the machine was growing even louder, and the automaton’s optics brightened.
“Promise, Miss Hawking. Promise. Promise?”
“Missus Silver, what’s happening?” I asked, standing. The mech’s eyes were flashing as her chest continued to click and rattle.
“Please, please, please, pleeeeease, pppllleeasssee,” she repeated, the ticking growing louder and louder until there was a terrible pop.
I smelled a whiff of sulfur then Missus Silver’s eyes went dim. She slumped over, bending at the waist.
“Oh damn,” I whispered.
Chapter 17: Almost Kind
Moving carefully, I lowered Missus Silver into a seat at the table. I studied her optics. There was still light flickering at the very back, but she had clearly damaged some of her circuitry. Looking carefully, I checked her body for signs of damage. Her back felt hot, and I saw a bit of scorching on the back of her shirt.
“Missus Silver, please excuse me,” I said then began to undo the small buttons on the back of her shirt. Sure enough, there was a panel between her shoulder blades from which I smelled sulfur and felt the heat.
Grabbing a knife to pop open the back panel, I looked at the circu
itry inside.
“Madame!” Mister Flint said, reappearing in the dining room. “What’s happening?”
“I believe Missus Silver overheated. Do you have a toolkit?” I asked, knowing full well I had seen the mech with the tools earlier that day.
The mech nodded then went to the cabinet at the side of the room. From within, he brought out the large wooden cabinet I had seen earlier that day. He set it on the table.
I pushed my hair away from my face then squinted at the small clockwork devices inside Missus Silver. I suddenly wished I had my magnifying goggles.
“Bring some light,” I said.
Mister Flint lifted a candelabra.
“Ah. There it is,” I said, seeing where a cog had come loose. I dug into the toolbox and grabbed the smallest pair of pliers I could find. Working carefully, I removed the broken pieces then set them aside. Grabbing a repair piece from the toolbox, I started to set a replacement cog in place.
Heavy footsteps thundered toward the dining room.
“What’s happening here?” the lord complained as he strode across the room.
“Missus Silver broke down. Miss Hawking is making the repair,” Mister Flint answered.
“What? How dare you work on her without my permission?”
“Why don’t you yell at me after I restore Missus Silver?” I snapped. “Now, be quiet so I can concentrate.”
I heard a series of clicks pass between the lord and his servant, but no one spoke another word.
Using the tiny tools, I fixed the cog in place.
Exhaling, I stepped back. “Done. Now, how do you reanimate her?”
The lord pulled out his windup key, but the grip on his fingers betrayed him, and he dropped it. When he bent to retrieve it, I noticed he used the hand opposite the one his servant had attempted to repair.
The lord slipped a windup key into a keyhole right above the panel on Missus Silver’s back. He turned the key, re-winding Missus Silver, then pulled the key out slowly.
Missus Silver sat erect. At first, her words came out garbled then she stood and said very distinctly, “No, Miss Hawking. Please. Please don’t go there again.”
Everyone in the room stilled.
Missus Silver turned and looked around. “Oh dear! I do believe I malfunctioned.”
“One moment,” I told her then replaced the panel. The lord and Mister Flint looked away as I buttoned up Missus Silver’s shirt. “There you are, Missus Silver.”
“Miss Hawking, thank you so much. Yes, my analytics in that sector are working much better now.”
“It’s the least I can do. I’m sorry our previous conversation upset—”
“Think nothing of it,” she said, cutting me off. Clearly, she did not want to return to the topic with the lord present.
The lord narrowed his eyes, looking from me to Missus Silver. He frowned then said, “Thank you for fixing her. I believe we interrupted your dinner. Please sit. Enjoy your meal,” he said, pulling out my chair for me.
Eyeing him warily, I returned to my seat.
The lord nodded to his servants who then disappeared. Missus Silver and Mister Flint clicked to one another as they went.
He took a seat nearby. “May I ask what you were discussing with Missus Silver when she became so upset?”
I lifted the glass of wine and sat back in my seat. I was not in the mood for another scolding. “The woods.”
The lord looked carefully at me. “The woods here are dangerous.”
“So I’m told. There are giant, ferocious wolves out there, from what I heard.”
The lord’s metal mouth moved into an expression like a smirk. “Wolves? Did she think you would believe her?”
I smiled softly, surprised by his candor. “Yes, I think so.”
He smiled. “There are no wolves, as you no doubt already guessed, but the forest is not safe.”
“I mentioned to Missus Silver that I hoped to record some information on the standing stones I saw. I was hoping to sketch the designs and note down the Ogham writing.”
“Can you read the language?”
“Not yet. Perhaps if I had a key. But with a little time, key or no, one can decipher the language.”
“How?”
“Patterns, of course.”
“Patterns,” he repeated. “And if you study the patterns, you may be able to read the stones?”
“Yes.”
The lord sat back in his seat and stroked his chin where his pointed pickdevant beard in the Rococo style was arrested in metal.
“The eastern side of the island can be explored without excessive risk. There are a number of stones west of the castle. You may explore the western side of the island, but no further. Do not pass the castle to the east. Do you understand?”
I looked at him. I most certainly did not understand, but with my freedom hanging so tantalizingly in front of me, I didn’t dare say so. “Yes,” I replied simply.
He nodded. “Good. Ah,” he said, reaching for the bottle of wine. “I see they selected you a nice vintage.”
But when he grabbed the bottle, his grasp was loose and the bottle tipped.
Moving quickly, I grabbed it before it fell over.
When I did so, the lord stared at my bruised wrist.
“Thank you. I... The controls on my left arm are problematic. I injured the arm, and it hasn’t been right since. Miss Hawking, I really do apologize for what happened. I was taken aback by the unexpected appearance of you and your father on my island. In my alarm, I believe I was rough in tone and became careless regarding the crudeness of my mechanics. It is so very far beneath me and not of my character that something like that happened. Please, I hope you will forgive me.”
I eyed him skeptically. Automatons were not supposed to be able to lie or deceive, but Missus Silver had just invented giant wolves. Could I trust this self-fashioned mechanical lord? He did seem sincere. Given what I had observed, it was an accident. It didn’t due to be angry with a machine.
“If you would like, it would be very easy for me to make the adjustment to your grip. As you have seen, I am an adept tinker.”
The lord considered. “Very well.”
I rose from my seat, grabbed the toolkit, then sat closer to the lord. I tried not to think about the fact that my lobster was cold and that I had an entire mini loaf of sourdough bread still waiting for me nor that fact that I was still hungry. At that moment, it felt far more important to help. In fact, it felt good. It felt right. The lord didn’t want to hurt anyone. There was honor in that.
The lord rolled up his sleeve and lay his arm on the table. Moving carefully, he opened the metal covering on his inner arm to reveal the clockwork devices inside.
I inhaled deeply, fighting off the wooziness too much wine on an empty stomach had caused, then stared at the mechanisms.
“Wiggle your fingers, please,” I said, watching devices work.
I nodded then handed the lord my golden teacup. “If you drop it, it won’t chip,” I said with a soft smile. “Please take it by the handle.”
He did as I asked, all the while watching me as I studied him. His latch around the handle on the cup was far too loose.
“Now grip the cup around its girth and lift it.”
When he did so, the cup slipped from his fingers and fell to the table. The thumb and forefinger were in better shape than the rest of the hand.
Nodding, I gently lowered his arm and looked within. To my surprise, the metal was as warm as flesh.
Ignoring the unexpected sensation, I eyed the configuration then spotted the problem. “Ah, there we are,” I said.
Fishing around in Mister Flint’s toolbox for a screwdriver, plyers, and torque wrench, I finally found everything I needed. I leaned over his arm and studied the gears. I lifted the pliers but paused for a moment.
“This may be uncomfortable,” I said, looking up at him as he studied me. “Is it possible for you to shut down until I’m done? If you give me your windup
key, I can restart you thereafter.”
The lord snorted, but not rudely. “I wish that was possible, Miss Hawking. I will have to stay alert.”
“Very well,” I said then moved a candelabra close to us so I could see better. Working carefully, I adjusted the mechanics inside. It took some time to get them all settled. I could feel the lord’s optics on me, watching me closely. I steadied my breath and tried to ignore him, focusing on my task. The clockwork mechanisms inside were really no more complicated than the sculpture I’d done of the birds on the branch. In no time, I had it. Setting the tools aside, I sat back. “Move your fingers, please.”
He did as I asked. The fingers worked in unison.
Picking up the cup once again, I set it before him. “The handle, to start.”
He nodded then lifted the cup. I watched as his fingers worked. They were steady, firm, and aligned.
“Now grasp it.”
Once more, he grasped the cup. This time, he didn’t drop it.
“Hold. Like this,” I said, setting my arm on my elbow, my hand extended.
Moving my chair closer to the lord, I carefully examined the grip of his fingers on the cup. It held in place without denting. His grip was neither too firm nor too soft. As I leaned to look, I heard a slightly audible tick coming from his chest that sounded like the beat of a heart.
He made a noise as if he was clearing his throat then shifted a little away from me.
Nodding, I pulled back. “I think we have it there. How does it feel to you?”
He set the cup down then lifted it again. “Very good. Thank you, Miss Hawking. The hand has given me trouble for some years. None of us had the skill to fix it.”
I smiled. “I’m glad I could help.”
The lord rose. “I have disturbed your dinner again. You must forgive me. My manners are rusty. Very literally.”
I chuckled then picked up my goblet of wine. “You are forgiven.”
He bowed politely. “Good evening, Miss Hawking.”
“And to you.”
With that, the lord walked out of the hall. He rolled his sleeve back down as he went, rebuttoning it at the wrist. Before he exited, he looked over his shoulder at me, an odd expression on his metallic face.
Beauty and Beastly Page 7