“What have you been doing all this time?” he wondered aloud, and Mira glanced at him over the dunes.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” he called back, “what do you do all day? Swim, eat fresh fruit, drink fresh water, swim some more, have a nap? It sounds so boring. Restful, maybe, and relaxing, but boring.”
Mira stopped poking the lock with the knife and gave him a hard stare. “Is that what you think I do?” she demanded.
His expression shifted immediately to contrition. “No, I mean, I just . . . I have no idea,” he shrugged helplessly. “But I’m curious.”
“When we came here, my father brought books,” Mira began. “A great many books, in fact. I have read them all, some of them twice, some of them ten times. I know the names of the stars and constellations, I know the names of the plants and animals on this island, and some that aren’t here, too. I know the history of Alejandra the Great, and Djengos Con, and the story of Homer’s Oddity. I know how to cure minor ailments with herbs, and treat a snake’s bite or a jelly sting. I build things and take them apart and build them again, but differently.”
She glanced at him. “I understand that the Earth is built on hot magma and stone, and that the oceans are bigger than any one piece of land, and that we revolve around the sun, thanks to Capricornus’ model. I have read that airships are the height of technological and military advancement, but yours was the first I have ever seen so close. There are terrors beyond this island that I cannot fathom from so far away, and there are wonders, too. So I read, I consider, I observe, I annotate. I build, I seek, I understand. I swim and climb and run and hunt and study. I wait. Someday, I will leave this island and walk the entirety of the world.” She looked down, lightheaded as a young bird fallen from its nest. There was a pause.
“Walk the whole world?” Ferran teased.
“And fly, and run, and swim, and sail,” she added. “Did you know that when some fish are kept in a small place, they only grow as big as the space will let them grow? That is why some fish are enormous. Because they have the entire ocean to grow into.”
“Whales are quite large,” admitted Ferran.
“Whales aren’t fish,” said Mira quietly, looking at him with her head tipped back a little. His expression shifted as though he wasn’t clear if she were teasing him or not. Mira lowered her chin to meet his gaze more squarely. “They breed live young. So do dolphins.”
“How do you know that?” Ferran sounded intrigued.
“I’ve seen them. They sometimes come to the edge of the lagoon to birth in shallower water. It helps the babies, who are prone to not understand which way is up when they’ve first come out. The others gather and push them up to the surface to breathe.” She indicated this process with her hands, one palm down, the other sliding in underneath it to push it upward in the air.
Ferran gave a stunned sort of laugh. “Extraordinary,” he muttered.
“I’m surprised you didn’t know that,” confessed Mira, taking up the knife again to pick at the lock.
“I told you, I don’t study much of the natural sciences these days,” Ferran said defensively. “My father put me on a political track. Theology, philosophy, and the strategies of war.”
“You sound as though you don’t like that much.” Mira cut her eyes sideways at him. He was staring out at the water, probably thinking of his father again. She studied his expression, noting the mixture of regret, shame, and grief that formed on his face every time his father was mentioned.
“No,” agreed Ferran, moving to stand in the shade again, leaning on the roughened bark of a tree. “ ‘All knowledge is worth having, but some things are more worthy than others.’ That’s what he would always say when I told him I wanted to travel abroad, study more languages, explore.” He kicked at the sand halfheartedly. His boots, undoubtedly made of very fine leather, were already beginning to look decades older from the salt, sand, and sun.
“We share that,” observed Mira, focusing her eyes on the lock. “That longing, wanting to learn.”
“I feel like a caged animal.”
Mira looked up at this. She recalled several sketches in a naturalist’s journal her father had, drawings that depicted a tiger, a peacock, and an elephant in some Anglish king’s menagerie. In each illustration, the animal in question was housed in an elaborate cage embellished with curlicues and jewels, and each animal had its mouth open in a cry of protestation.
“I have never known a cage,” she replied, at length, “except for this island.”
Ferran furrowed his brow in sympathy. “And now it’s my cage, too.”
A strange silence passed between them, the words having lost their momentum, and Mira continued to fiddle with the lock and the knife.
“Mira,” said Ferran again. “How long can this go on before your father finds out I’m here?”
“A while,” she insisted, not looking up.
“Mira. There is so much you haven’t told me.”
She almost met his gaze then, so sudden was the concern and anxiety in his voice. She pressed the tip of the knife a little harder against the inner workings of the lock.
“Mira, I’m stuck here. Please. I need to know. You don’t have to tell me everything, but why are you so worried about your father?”
The lock clicked and sprang open, startling both of them. Mira almost dropped the knife in surprise. She glanced at Ferran as he moved closer.
“You’re sure this one isn’t yours?” she asked him. He shook his head.
“Might be my father’s,” he murmured, repeating his earlier impression. “I don’t know. It’s bigger than most of our regular trunks. Here goes nothing, I guess,” he added, reaching for the lid and pushing it up and back. The hinges creaked in protest, and the heavy lid thumped backwards onto the sand.
Mira stared, her jaw slackening. Inside the trunk was a man.
1846
“My ass is sore,” groaned Dante as he slid from the saddle and swung to the ground. His mount sidestepped, making him stumble on already rubbery legs as he reached for the reins.
“You’re the one who insisted on riding,” laughed King Alanno as he stepped out of the little cart, handing the reins to the boy who sat on the bench beside him. “Hold these still, Stephen. Can you do that?”
“Yes, milord,” answered the young valet. Stephen was a stout lad of twenty who wore the livery of a groom, but was really more of an all-purpose servant. “I’ll keep them still.”
“Good lad.” Alanno smiled and adjusted his wool driving cap. “Shall we inside to see what our maestro has made?” He rubbed his palms together eagerly.
Dante regarded the king with a wry expression. Although Alanno had just turned thirty a week ago, he still had the spritely blue eyes of a child, and his handsome bearing and fit form from his love of sport gave him a lean and youthful appearance. Despite being five years younger than the king, Dante always felt that he looked like the older of the pair of them, and more than once on casual outings such as this he’d been mistaken for the more important man in the room. Alanno thought it was funny, but it embarrassed Dante every time.
Dante tied his dark brown mare to the hitching post nearby, and she immediately dropped her head to graze at the sparse but bright green grass that grew within reach.
“Ah!” sighed the king loudly, stretching his arms wide. “I love the country!”
“No, you don’t,” Dante reminded him.
“Be quiet, Duke Fiorente! I am your king, and if I say I love the country, then so I do! Also, it is my birthday, and so you must agree with me.” Alanno’s voice boomed in the open air.
“It was your birthday,” Dante groaned, “a week ago! You’ve already got the whole kingdom over me, Alanno, give it a rest!” But he smiled as they walked up the lawn to the house. It was good to see Alanno in high spirits again. He’d been rather down the last few years, ever since the queen, Isabella, had hurt her legs. Alanno doted on her, but he feared that unles
s she was able to regain much of her strength and constitution back, their chances of producing an heir would be less likely.
“Doesn’t look much like the richest place in town, does it?” said the king, pursing his lips. “Have you ever seen him in person?”
“No.” Dante glanced over the property. “It’s cozy enough. I hope he’s not some kind of hermit.”
“Hermit? He’s a genius. You’ll see.”
If one had a task for the inventors of the kingdom of Italya, a task that one did not want shared or broadcast among the masses, one inevitably sent word to the village of Orologio. There, one could employ the nation’s finest clockmaker, architect, intellect, engineer, and scientific mind that could possibly be found, and all of these were but one man. His name was Alfareo Garriley, and he was the chiefest among thinkers and polymaths of the day.
It was widely understood that Garriley had been born in Pirano, but that, as he got on in years, he had abandoned his city life for the gentle countryside, and only rarely left his beloved Orologio. He had not quite achieved hermit status, but he was comfortably on his way to such a title as the number of social appearances he made lessened year after year.
Alanno had written a letter—in his own royal hand—to Garriley, asking for his keen mind to come up with something that could help Queen Isabella to regain her physical strength and mobility, insisting that money was no object in helping his wife grow strong and healthy again. The longer they went without an heir, the easier it would be for rival nations to try and take the crown. Garriley had not written back immediately, but had considered it at length, and at last sent the king a polite but brief missive inviting him to the villa in Orologio for a meeting.
Alanno, always eager for an adventure, had roped Dante into coming along. Dante, beholden to his king and his best friend, had reluctantly agreed, although he would have rather stayed behind to continue courting his own lady love, Sophia. They had made a great outing of it, the queen and their attendants lingering at some lord’s villa several hours’ ride away while the king and the duke trotted out to Orologio, in the middle of nowhere.
“We don’t even know if he’s agreed to do it,” muttered Dante with a shake of his head, as they stepped up the short stair to the villa’s door. It really wasn’t even a villa—it was much more of a small mansion.
“If he planned on refusing us, why would he have asked us to come all the way out here?” Alanno sounded confident, jauntily ringing the bell.
“I don’t know.” Dante suddenly felt uncomfortable about the whole thing. “We should have brought the guard. We shouldn’t have come all this way on our own, Al.”
Alanno put his hands in his pockets casually. “Relax. You are such a worrier, Dante. Everything’s fine, I’m sure. Besides, he’s the foremost in nearly every field you’ve ever studied as far as invention goes. Don’t you want to meet him face to face?” His blue eyes gleamed.
“Well, yes,” blustered Dante, “but there are so many rumors that he’s a crackpot.”
“I certainly hope so,” agreed the king, as the door latch unbolted and the knob turned.
“Your Highness,” said the man at the door, “My lord. Please come in.”
The king’s smile faded, and Dante’s eyes widened. The man at the door wore the plain suit of a country servant, neat and tidy, in rustic browns and grays, but his skin gleamed a most magnificent rosy brass color, like polished metal. At first glimpse, his hair was black, and so neatly combed that it did not appear to move in the slightest. After a moment, Dante realized the coif was molded to the man’s head. He did not appear to breathe or blink or shift in the way that normal people do, but stood perfectly still, holding the door open with one gloved hand and the other out to welcome them into the foyer.
“Sweet Jove,” breathed Dante, before he could stop himself.
“Please come in, Your Highness. Maestro Garriley is very pleased you’re here.” His voice had a faint echo to it, and his lips and jaw did not move, but the words came from somewhere within him.
Dante’s mind raced. He stared at the man before him, analyzing the materials, theories, raw observations, trying to make sense of what his instinct was telling him.
“Come now, let’s not keep the maestro waiting,” beamed Alanno. Dante shot him a look as they stepped over the threshold, and the gleaming servant bowed slightly at the waist.
“You little imp!” Dante exclaimed, thunderstruck. “You knew! You knew exactly who—what—who was going to answer the door, and you brought me all this way for this.”
Alanno chuckled, removing his hat and looking like the cat that got the cream. “Don’t know what you mean, old boy.”
Well, this wasn’t how I thought today would go, Dante fumed as the servant moved past them at a smooth but slow pace. Automatons aren’t just possible, now they’re apparently already in production! That’s the last time I place a bet against Alanno.
They followed the man-machine down the carpeted corridor into a sitting room, which was simply decorated, but for the shelves and shelves of books on all four walls. Alanno flopped into a cushioned chair with a grin, but Dante’s eyes were fixed on the servant.
“I will fetch him at once,” the servant intoned in a clear voice. It bowed slightly again and went out of the room.
“Dante, what on earth’s the matter with you?” Alanno beamed innocently at him.
“You know perfectly well what. That,” growled Dante, pointing to the now-closed door, “is an automaton.”
“No!” cried Alanno, as though insulted. “You’re overreacting, Dante, surely! Simply because he doesn’t blink doesn’t make him any less of a man!” But his eyes danced merrily as he tossed his hat back and forth from hand to hand. “I knew you’d be surprised.”
“Surprised enough. I’m not paying you for that bet, by the by. Alanno, what precisely did we come here for?”
“I already told you! My commission, silly.”
“You said it hadn’t been approved yet by the Mae—by Garriley.”
“Well,” said Alanno, hedging. “That particular commission isn’t the one we’re here to pick up. There’s another one.”
“Another? But what about Isabella?” Dante frowned.
The door opened and the metal man stepped back inside with a curt half-bow. “Maestro Garriley, your guests: King Alanno Civitelli, first of the Italyans to bear his name, and the honorable Duke Dante Fiorente of Neapolis.”
The maestro himself, Alfareo Garriley, stepped into the room, smiling a peculiar, knowing little smile. He was a small, slight man, but had roundish features that indicated a well-stocked cupboard and many long, lush meals over his lifetime. His hair and beard were white, but where his beard was neatly trimmed and well-kept, his wild hair was like a baboon’s crested mane. He wore simple country clothes: a shirt, waistcoat, and trousers in ordinary cotton and wool, and a longer, lightweight jacket like a driving duster that appeared to be faintly stained with old marks of oil, soot, and possibly blood. His eyes gleamed the same coppery hazel as the servant’s skin.
“Welcome to my home, Your Highness,” said the inventor, bowing at the waist. “And my lord duke.”
“Ah, Garriley!” Alanno beamed, lounging in the armchair while Dante stood surprised at his elbow. “Thank you for having us. It’s good of you to allow us to meet in private this way.”
“Certainly, Your Majesty. It is my pleasure entirely.” Garriley looked at Dante, his hands lightly clasped at his back. “Duke Fiorente has a lot of questions for me, I think.”
“Bosh,” said Alanno, waving his hand dismissively. Dante pressed his mouth into a thin line. “That can wait. First, is it done?”
The inventor inclined his head to the king. “Yes, Your Highness. It’s done. The first round of Royal Guard are complete and ready to ship.”
Alanno smiled widely. “Oh, most excellent. That is very good to hear.”
Dante felt his insides coil tightly with uncertainty. The cat has got the
cream after all, he realized, looking from Garriley to the king. “There is already a Royal Guard,” he said. “What do you mean, they’re ready to ship?”
Alanno stood up and straightened his own jacket, giving Dante a lofty, almost scathing look. “Yes, but our current guard are soft, permeable, and basic. They can be bettered, built upon. They can be improved.” His eyes gleamed, but the mischief and mirth was now gone, replaced with determination and pride.
“Alanno,” Dante ventured. “Why didn’t you tell me about this before? Why bring me here under different pretenses? Is there even a machine to help the queen?”
“There is,” interrupted the inventor. The king looked surprised.
“Is there?” Alanno seemed agitated.
“Of course, Your Majesty. I’ve built her a pair of leg braces that will renew her muscle strength and make her legs stronger. In addition to your ten Royal Guardsmen.”
“You’ll be paid extra, as agreed, if my wife recovers her movement.” Alanno’s mouth quivered a little, though his voice held steady.
“I wasn’t aware,” Dante interrupted lightly, “that our country’s technological capabilities were so . . . advanced as to include the completion of fully functional, speaking, and obedient automatons.”
Garriley inclined his head a little with a slight smile. “Your technology isn’t, my lord. But mine is.”
“I told you, he’s a genius,” breathed the king, pleased and reveling in his satisfaction.
“You are indeed widely regarded as truly excellent in your fields,” Dante admitted. “But you must allow a measure of skeptical concern at the significant promise you have made to His Highness.”
“Your lordship is truly a scholar. Would you care to view the guardsmen in my workshop before we adjourn for lunch?”
“An excellent idea,” agreed the king, nodding.
On the Isle of Sound and Wonder Page 13