Gears of Brass

by Jordan Elizabeth

“The magic shows your deeds.” Ainsley shut the playroom door and flipped the lock. The gun didn’t shift from his body.

  Jane’s handwriting covered the door, the words scrawled in chalk. Don’t touch what I love, Robert. That writing had to be old. It couldn’t be fresh.

  “You escaped past Lynn.”

  “There are secret passageways all over this house. The laundry basket in your bathroom has a false bottom and leads to one of them. The toy box has a false bottom as well.”

  Lynn had claimed to take her eyes off Ainsley only when she used his water closet. “You’ve been moving the dolls. You wound the house.”

  She smiled. Why had he wanted a reaction from her? The smile sent the hairs up on his arms.

  “I know everything you did, Uncle.” She cocked the pistol. “You killed my grandfather, so you could take over as governor. You decided he wasn’t doing a nice enough job of it. Then, you killed my father because you didn’t think he was proper enough for my mother. You drowned her after she had the audacity to bear me.” Ainsley smirked. “Actually, I’m forgetting someone. My grandmother. You poisoned her because she wasn’t perfect.”

  Robert tried to swallow, but his mouth was too dry. “No one has proven those.”

  “Everything for you has been about twisted manners and greed.”

  “Who told you any of that?” Those he’d hired couldn’t know.

  “Mother’s magic.” Ainsley pulled the trigger. The shot rang off those shelves he’d always hated. Fire bloomed in his chest and darkness bombarded his skull.

  Ainsley pushed the stone panel aside and escaped from the tunnel into the Pendelton family catacomb. The seamstress, Jane, waited beside the iron gate, her father’s tomb beside her. A stone statue of him lay atop his sarcophagus.

  “We both did well,” Jane said. “I had hoped I would be able to hide under his nose long enough. I’m proud of you.”

  “Thank you.” Ainsley squeezed her mother around the waist and pressed her face into her shoulder. She’d yearned for that revenge ever since Jane had first whispered his deeds against the family.

  “I would’ve drowned,” she’d said, “if not for that air-breathing device your father had made me once. Robert had never cared for those inventions.”

  Flames crackled within the Pendleton mansion. Jane had built fire-powered bombs throughout the cellar and secret tunnels. Each point would go off slowly, allowing the mansion’s occupants to escape. The wood interior would burn.

  “We’ll go to your father’s family now. It’s time.”

  Ainsley held out her hand to reveal two dolls, the Jane one and the Ainsley one. “For all of us.”

  The fire brigade picked through the smoldering rubble. Some flames still leapt from patches, encased by the stone walls. A few rooms still remained, those Jane’s father had reinforced to be fireproof: the office and the old workroom, where he’d created a playroom for his daughter.

  In that room, clocks still ticked.

  The Robert doll lay next to the man he’d been modeled after, both a governor and murderer, but never a real uncle or brother, both on their backs with their faces turned toward the ceiling.

  The dollhouse gears took their final turn and then everything lay still.

  ain again? “Why must it always rain here?” Edward mumbled. He stomped the water from his best riding boots as he stepped into the inner sanctum—his brother’s workshop—though Peter called it a laboratory. Edward jumped back when something struck his foot.

  “What the…?”

  Two small nozzles at the end of snaking hoses shot out of the wall at the floor line, spit air onto his boots, and then retracted back into their compartments.

  Dryers? Really? Peter must be going over the deep end. A little obsessive-compulsive perhaps. Maybe Dora was right—our older brother works too much and plays too little.

  With a slight hop out of the doorway, leery of other looming inventions, Edward allowed his eyes to adjust. The skies outside were gray, but this place was dingy. The only light came from an oversized fireplace, the Bunsen burners under several beakers that bubbled on the worktable, and… sparks? Whatever Peter’s latest creation was, his back was turned, and he was bent over a welding device that sent sparks like shooting stars over his helmet-covered head.

  “Peter!” Edward called, but his brother either didn’t hear, refused to acknowledge, or was “as usual” too engrossed to know there was a world beyond his own.

  “Peter!” he called again, but still no reply. Edward dropped the heavy, iron-banded chest on the table, and then moved nearer the fire and shook off what was left of the rain dripping from his coat.

  The sound of the chest landing on the oak table echoed in the hollow corners of the room, and Peter turned with a start. Wolf-like features of the welder’s mask cast an eerie shadow on the laboratory’s stone walls, making Edward shiver. Edward couldn’t see his brother’s eyes behind the heavy glass shield of the mask. Apparently Peter hadn’t see him since he turned back to his work. Edward sighed and shook his head. If not for the key he carried in his pocket, he would still be standing outside in the downpour. He was glad he “borrowed” it last time Peter summoned him for tea.

  Turning with a smirk at his own cleverness, Edward flopped into the high-backed chair his brother used for reading the many dusty tomes lining the fireplace walls. He raised his feet and held the soles of his boots to the fire—not too close.

  Ahhh. Nice leather. No, make that the best leather. He admired how his boots shone. At least the puddles washed off the mud.

  Edward loudly cleared his throat, which coincided with the end of Peter’s welding, but still his brother didn’t acknowledge his presence. Or did he? Edward cocked his head.

  Yes, Peter actually said something.

  “I am very busy today, brother. What do you need?”

  Hah! Peter did see me.

  Peter had emphasized the word “need.” Edward cringed. It was true, he usually only came there, to that dark place, when asked or if he needed help. This time it was neither.

  “Your chest is broken,” Edward replied. After a moment of silence, Peter’s back straightened, and Edward added, “Well, actually, your chest is empty.”

  Empty. It almost described the room as he spoke it. Even his soul felt a little empty at the moment. Peter reeled, throwing the heavy welding torch. It crashed into whatever was being built at the other end of the room. Edward leapt from the chair as his brother took three huge steps to stand in front of the chest on the table. His right hand ripped the welding mask away. He growled and turned. His eyes cut through Edward and ripped the life out of him—or so it felt—as Peter asked one simple, damning question, “What have you done?”

  Peter’s eyes were on fire, and Edward was unable to find his usual sarcasm. “I… we… it was Dora.”

  He didn’t mean to let it slip. He meant, up until he saw Peter’s face, to protect Dora from the blame. Yet, really, she was responsible. Oh, maybe he teased her just a little and maybe he even tempted her, but he never really thought their sister would open it.

  “I tried to stop her! She was too fast. She’s very curious, you know.”

  Edward raised his fists to meet the blow that never came. All the color left his face as Peter fell into a chair, his head bowed.

  “Get out.” Peter sounded more hollow than the echo.

  “Don’t you have some kind of invention to make me?” Edward tried to lighten the moment. Wrong choice. Peter’s eyes were not trifling.

  “Now.”

  Peter grasped a thin, flat bar from the end table beside the chair. Edward just made out a set of buttons on it. A rumbling shook the floorboards. The beakers on the table rattled with such force that one vial spilled a green, viscous liquid that sizzled as it sent noxious steam rising. Covering his mouth and nose with his coat sleeve, Edward hastened toward the door. The entire floor rose beneath him. A massive wooden gear with cogs the size of a man’s thigh spun him toward the do
or and spit him into the cobbled alley beyond. The door thundered closed behind him.

  Edward’s palms slammed into the brick wall of an opposing warehouse, halting his momentum. Catching his breath, he held out a reddened palm—at least the rain had stopped. Then he glanced down the alley to where his carriage still waited. It was fortunate that Dora had not gone in with him, but Edward knew Peter was right to be angry. The contents of the chest were out there someplace. Doing… something. Something that could change everything.

  Peter threw the remote controller after Edward. Hearing it break against the door, he shook his head in regret.

  Why must he always do things without thinking? Without planning? And why did I trust him with the box in the first place?

  Replying out loud startled him. “Because Edward may be a spendthrift and womanizer, and even though he’d do it just to unravel me, he’s too lazy to look in a box that hasn’t got anything in it for him. And…” Peter drifted once more into quiet thought.

  He knew what was in there. And why Dora? Why, why, why? This is a waste of my time.

  The only thing Peter knew for certain was that he had to tell Zeus, and that meant Olympus. He almost had a better chance with what was in the box than with his father. What a joke. The nicknames Edward and he had given to their parents suited them so well—Zeus, condescending, and Hera, pretentious to the core. Their given names, Robert and Elizabeth, must have been a mistake. Peter always dreaded visits to the mansion. “Olympus” would be his someday, but he didn’t want it. It was a constant reminder that he had to set a good example, be on his guard, work hard, and watch what he said.

  Peter’s fingernails dug into his palms as he clenched his fists as tightly as his teeth. He threw his head back and let loose his frustration. “Gods!”

  It was only now that he realized Edward had covered his face against the fumes. Peter coughed and gagged until he found the welder’s mask where he had let it fall. The glass wasn’t broken. Too thick to break. He gratefully placed it on his head and searched for some leather gloves. Now, instead of continuing to build the ship, he had to clean up this mess. He admitted it was his fault, but he blamed Edward. Or did he blame Dora? No, Edward. He knew his brother had goaded their sister into it. Sweet, innocent, childlike Dora would never think to go into someone else’s things without asking. Edward had managed to corrupt the incorruptible. What was Zeus going to say about that?

  After donning protective gloves, turning off the remaining burners, and cleaning up what was supposed to have fueled his new project, Peter glanced longingly at the copper hull he’d been welding when Edward brought the world down around him. Even in his current state of despair, Peter smiled. He caressed the metal body, imagining how the sun would shine off his ship as it sailed across the sky. He wondered… Can I make it gleam in moonlight? Will earthbound creatures see it as a star, or better yet, a planet? With the balloon that would carry it already finished… Suddenly, he remembered Olympus. How could he wander the heavens and still manage an estate? And, before any serious thought of a life with meaning, he had to go to his father. Now.

  Making sure everything was secured, Peter hurried from the laboratory to his private rooms through a smaller, wooden door that was hidden in shadows. There, he met the challenge of unkempt hair and nails and the need to dress himself for his father’s benefit. Peter floundered like a fish on dry land when he was out of his workshop. But duty called, and he was miles ahead of Edward when it came to duty.

  Dora sat holding the reins when Edward climbed into the carriage.

  “Hope it wasn’t too uncomfortable waiting for me?” he asked.

  Edward was glad to see her legs covered by the soft wool blanket he’d put there before he left. In fact, except for the carriage being moved, she didn’t seem to have changed position at all.

  “I couldn’t move,” she said before he could ask. “I didn’t want to make any mistakes.”

  Edward groaned and placed a hand on hers. He took the reins.

  “I know. Please don’t…”

  He hardly knew what to say to her. She had opened the chest, but only because of him. He hated when his sister’s light went out. She was usually so joyful. It broke his heart, so he changed the subject.

  “I’m glad you stayed dry, but I have to know, why did you move the carriage?” he asked.

  Dora smiled. “The vegetable man. He needed to pull his wagon past.”

  “You did well.” Now he saw that little spark in her eyes. “That’s my girl, always thinking of others.”

  Edward gave the reins a shake and clicked his tongue. He didn’t tell Dora where they were headed, but Edward turned their cab toward Mount Olympus. They needed to get there before Peter.

  Edward couldn’t hide it for long. Once they passed the Abbey, Dora knew where they were going. Her reaction was more pleasing than he thought it would be. Instead of begging to go home, his sister spoke joyfully of how wonderful it would be to see their father. It had been too long. Edward exhaled.

  “I’m really glad you’re excited Dora, but this is business.” He wondered if he should say more, but she had the right to know. “Peter is on his way, too. Father has to know everything that happened or he can’t help make it right again.”

  Edward peered at Dora while keeping his eyes on the road. The horses knew the way, but this stretch of forest could be tricky with its unmanaged branches and tree roots. Dora bit her lip, and he knew she was worried.

  “Is Peter terribly angry?” she asked. “He understood, didn’t he?”

  Oh, Peter understands all right—he understands that we made a mess that he and the old man will have to clean up. But to Dora he said, “Don’t fret. Father will make him understand.”

  Edward’s timing couldn’t have been more serendipitous. At the very moment he tried to console Dora, something launched itself from a nearby branch and landed on the carriage roof. Dora lurched forward as one razor-sharp talon slashed the canvas over her head. Edward pushed his sister’s chin to her knees as he pulled in the reins, but to no avail. The horse spooked and was not about to stop running. The carriage tilted one way and then the other. Edward released the reins and let the horse have its head. He grasped at the knife sheathed at his side. Another talon tore into the canvas.

  “Stay down!” Edward shouted at Dora, who was desperately trying to keep her balance as the carriage careened off the path and through the trees. Branches whipped at Edward’s face. A red welt formed on his cheek. “Cover your eyes!”

  Edward grabbed the handrail and threw one leg over the side, lifting the other onto the carriage-step. The creature screeched as it continued to shred the canvas top until streamers of the fabric whipped about as wildly as the tree branches. Now that Edward stood on the side of the carriage, he could see what was attacking them. It looked familiar. It should—Peter named it.

  Edward brought up the knife and then realized it would be useless. No blade he carried could cut through those metallic feathers. He let it fall as he pushed himself onto the roof. The Stymphalian bird screeched again as it turned away from Dora to lunge at Edward. He dodged the bird’s bronze beak. Great gears projecting from its sides whirled as it fired one of its feathers, just missing Edward’s left ear, but grazing his shoulder. He nearly fell as the shock of pain loosed his grip for one split second.

  Edward didn’t see the tree until the carriage wrapped around it, throwing him clear of the wreckage. The Stymphalian, with its death grip on the carriage roof, was not so fortunate. It turned its head toward the tree just in time for the sharp beak to pierce deep into the trunk, like a sword into a wooden shield. If Edward had not been thrown so far and had been a warrior holding that shield, one twist of the creature’s neck would have ended the battle. Instead, the bird beat its wings violently in an attempt to free itself. Bark peeled from the tree as it used its talons in the struggle. Edward was at a loss what to do next, and then just as suddenly as the attack had begun, the bird’s head broke off
and the body fell with a metallic clang into the mangled carriage below.

  Edward gathered his wits and limped to the tree. His heart thumped as he imagined his sister’s twisted body. Maybe, he prayed, her bent position spared her the full brunt of the collision.

  “Dora!” he called. “Dora, are you all right?”

  “I think so,” she replied.

  Edward pulled away what was left of the torn canvas and noticed that the carriage frame formed a cage around his sister. She was pinned, and dirty, but didn’t appear injured. Edward could only move so much of the tangled frame, but finally was able to overturn it. There sat Dora, still on the carriage seat, covered in metallic feathers and a broken bird body.

  “Are you sure you’re not hurt?” Edward asked as he tried not to sound panicked.

  Dora pushed the metallic bird’s remains from her lap. “Yes, but…” She bit her lip. “I think the bird is dead.”

  A sudden rush of relief ran through Edward, The absurdity of his sister’s statement, and her prim demeanor—even when disheveled—made Edward burst into laughter.

  “You better let me help you out of there,” Edward said, offering Dora a hand. He looked her over once she was on her feet. It was a miracle she wasn’t injured, or worse.

  Dora smoothed her crumpled crepe skirt, so it once more covered her knees. Edward found the remains of the small, green velvet cap that sat so neatly atop his sister’s head earlier and put it back in place. He did his best to tuck in the wisps of hair that had fallen from her hairpins.

  “I’m afraid the bird is not all that died in the crash,” Edward said, sheepishly holding up the ostrich feather that once graced her cap. Even as he held it, the top flopped over limply, making them both laugh. But when Dora saw the blood on Edward’s coat, she gasped.

  “You’re hurt.”

  Dora opened his collar to see the wound, but when her hand grazed his arm, he winced.

  “It’s not that bad,” he said. “I’ll take care of it when we get to Olympus. And that’s a problem of its own.” Edward pointed at the broken shaft that had once held the horse’s hitch in place. “We’ll need to walk.”