Boots for the Gentleman

by Augusta Li

  “I’m glad I’m not one of those guards,” Querry said.

  “What’s this Neroche place?” the doll asked.

  “It’s nowhere you’d want to go.”

  “How long has it been there?”

  “Nobody knows,” Querry said. “Nobody remembers it not being there, not that it’s ever in the same place. Some people will tell you it’s not there at all. Maps still show Hawthorne Street continuing right down to the riverbank. Lord Thimbleroy’s the worst sort of fool if he thinks he can do anything about it, either.”

  “I don’t like this Lord Thimbleroy,” the doll said decisively. “Look at his silly, curled-up moustache! And here’s another article! ‘Decadent fey frolic captured by daguerreotype in churchyard near the palace’.”

  Querry looked at the blurry image of gamboling sprites, faerie gentlemen, and girls in nightshirts. A long list of suspicious disappearances followed. Below it was an ad for a self-heating hair-curling iron.

  “Frolic,” the doll said, as if the word contained layers of mystery and meaning. “Do you think I can be called Frolic?”

  Laughing, Querry said, “Really?” Others would have certainly tried to dissuade the doll from this improper choice, but the thief could see no harm. “‘Frolic’ it is.”

  The doll smiled, and his eyes returned to the paper. “What’s this laundry powder?”

  “Well, you—” Querry began, but just then he saw Reg emerge from the great double doors of the Archives in a hound’s-tooth cape and bowler hat. He stood, tapped Frolic’s shoulder, and went to meet his friend at the foot of the steps. The man who’d been watching them followed their progress. He observed the trio a few moments before melting into the crowd.

  At first, Reg looked at Frolic with terror. Eyes darting back and forth, he hissed, “Querry! What are you doing? You can’t bring a faerie out of Neroche; you’ll be arrested! Haven’t you heard the news?”

  “This is Frolic,” Querry said. “He’s not a faerie. Frolic, Reginald Whitney.”

  “Hello.”

  “Querry, what—” Reg scowled, his intelligence insulted. Querry supposed Frolic did sound a little like a faerie name.

  “Is there somewhere we can talk?” Querry asked.

  “There’s a pub around the corner where lots of us who work here like to stop. Or there’s a little coffee shop where we go to play chess.”

  “That won’t do,” Querry said. “We need somewhere we can’t possibly be heard.”

  Querry and Frolic followed Reg down a corridor between the Archives and the building next to it, across a desolate round courtyard, then finally through an iron gate. Beyond it, a concrete bench sat beneath a birch tree. The backs of the buildings enclosed a little triangle of high grass. Querry brushed the yellow leaves aside and sat down. Frolic sat next to him, the sun through the branches striping his face, but Reg just stood with his arms crossed. Wondering where he should begin, Querry said, “I went to the doll maker’s house.”

  Reg threw up his hands. “I knew it was you! Lord Thimbleroy came into the Archives in a rage yesterday, demanding to know if anyone else had asked about the house. Then he requested dozens of records, everything to do with the doll maker and his family. He insisted that I scour everything written the year the clock tower was built, and personally deliver every mention of it straight to him. I heard he has teams of men, carting away everything that was found in a cellar there: tons of metal scraps. He doesn’t seem satisfied, though.”

  Querry spent the next quarter of an hour relaying his adventure to Reg in as much detail as he could remember. When he came to the part where he’d found Frolic, though, he stopped.

  “So,” Reg said, “you broke in and saw some half-finished toys and clockworks. I don’t understand. And who is he?”

  “Reg, don’t you get it? A doll maker—”

  “You can’t mean—He’s a clockwork?” Reg eyed Frolic suspiciously.

  “It’s amazing, I know,” Querry said, fondness insinuating into his words. “But the only explanation is that Frolic is what Lord Thimbleroy has been looking for.”

  “Me?” Frolic gasped.

  “But what could the Grande Chancellor possibly want with a doll?” Reg said, tearing a sliver of his thumbnail away with his teeth. “I mean, his children are grown and married!”

  “It can’t be something as simple as wanting a toy,” Querry mused. “Certainly he’s exquisite, surely the only one of his kind in the world, but there must be something else.” He turned to the doll. “Frolic, can you remember any important information your creator might have left with you?”

  Looking forlorn, Frolic said, “All I can remember is that dark room.”

  “Can you remember the man who created you?”

  “I’m sorry, Querry.”

  “His name was Archibald Lesh,” Reggie offered. “Born 1714, died 1792.”

  “Impossible!” Querry said. “The mechanics to create something as complex as Frolic didn’t exist back then! Nothing this advanced even exists now! There’s nothing even close!”

  “Maybe,” Reg said. “But the clock tower was completed in 1791 and dedicated at the turn of the century.”

  “Built by a crazy genius and whole teams of wizards and craftsmen! And it stopped working five years later! Frolic is still functioning perfectly after almost a hundred years.” Realizing what he’d just said, Querry held the doll’s hand and said, “Oh God, Frolic.”

  “I slept most of the time,” the doll said, forcing a smile.

  Reg glared, envy rising from him like steam from the river. “What do you plan to do with it, Querry? Sell it?” he snapped.

  “No! I’ll keep him with me for now.”

  “For what?”

  “To try to find out what’s going on.” Frolic looked shattered, betrayed, so Querry added, “And I like his company.”

  “It’s a machine,” Reg said.

  “Reg, you can’t deny what you’re seeing with your own eyes. Frolic has perception, memory, and emotion.”

  “Not possible.”

  “A lot about this seems impossible,” Querry conceded. “And yet here we are.”

  To this, Reg seemed unable to make a suitable reply. He spat the shard of fingernail into the grass. He wouldn’t meet his friend’s or Frolic’s eyes, but stared off between the buildings, toward the sunset. Finally he said, “You know, if Lord Thimbleroy wants”—he paused, scowling as he said the word—“Frolic, he’ll find a way to have him.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  Exasperated, Reg raised his voice. “You have to accept that there are things you can’t stand in the way of, Querry! He has resources you can’t even imagine: investigators, soldiers, and thugs, even wizards!”

  “Wizards are illegal,” Querry stated calmly. “Driven off over fifty years ago.”

  “Why?” Frolic wondered.

  “It was before our time,” Reg explained curtly, “but I understand they got too powerful. With some of the innovations in industry, in weaponry, ordinary people finally stood a chance against them, and they took it. It was either magic or machines in their minds, but not both.”

  “Either way,” Querry said, “the magic-users are gone from Anglica.”

  “That’s just it,” Reg said. “Thimbleroy is powerful enough to get around it. You don’t think he’ll find out that you were the one who beat him to that cellar? You don’t think he’ll find you, take the clockwork by force? He’ll likely have you killed!”

  “I can take care of it, Reg.”

  Clearly infuriated by Querry’s confidence, Reg strode over and took hold of his shoulders. He shook Querry twice and said, “You have to be careful! You don’t live among these people like I do. You don’t understand them. I can’t stand it if anything happens to you!”

  “Reg,” said Querry, softening and touching his friend’s burning cheek. “I understand them better than you think. And I’ll be careful. I’ve managed all these years. You don’t need to worr
y over me. But if you find out anything more, you must let me know. If we could understand what connects Lord Thimbleroy and the faeries and the clock tower and Frolic, we’d be better able to protect ourselves.”

  “You think the clock tower has something to do with this?” Reg asked, curiosity replacing his frustration.

  “I don’t know,” Querry admitted. “But it’s his other obsession, along with being rid of Neroche. But how could Frolic help him with either of those things? It doesn’t seem possible that Frolic could be what he’s after, now that I think about it. Maybe the thing he wanted from that house is already gone or was never there in the first place.”

  The three of them sat in silence as the birch’s lengthening shadow cast them further into darkness. The bells of the city’s many cathedrals marked the hour. Querry’s stomach growled, and he placed a hand over it and said, “Why don’t we all go for some supper?”

  “Speaking of the devil,” Reg said, “I’m to accompany Lady Butterwell to a ball at Lord Thimbleroy’s house tonight. He’s raising funds for his little repair project.”

  “Maybe you’ll find something out!” Querry cried, leaping up. Frolic, alarmed, also hurried to his feet. “Maybe you could get into his study, if you can sneak away from your lady friend!”

  With a snort, Reg said, “I assure you, the buffet table will distract Lady Butterwell just fine. And the petit fours and custards and puddings. I bet I could sneak away.”

  “Now I’ll tell you to be careful,” Querry said.

  “Not to worry. Thimbleroy thinks everyone of common birth is half-simple. I’ll have no trouble convincing him I’m only lost.”

  “Then we’ll meet tomorrow night?”

  “You’re putting yourself in danger coming here,” Reg said. “And Frolic too. I doubt Lord Thimbleroy knows what he’s looking for, but even so, Frolic is hard to miss. I’d better come to you.”

  Querry nodded, glad to see Reg concerned for Frolic. Try as he might, Reg’s nature prevented his turning a hard heart against an innocent in trouble. “There’s a pub called The Bell and Badger. It’s just a block past the tanning plant. There’s a badger on the sign with a hat just like yours.” He winked, and Reg’s eyes danced with mirth for a second. “Will you come around nine?”

  “I’ll have to tell the Whitneys that I’m not feeling well. Surely they’ve arranged another meeting for me. But I’ll be there.”

  Querry and Reg stood facing each other, with Frolic a few feet behind. Reg looked over his shoulder, as if about to slip something that didn’t belong to him beneath his cloak, then hugged Querry tightly around the waist. For a few seconds Querry was too shocked to respond, but then he let his arms close around Reg’s shoulders. It felt so good to hold him, to feel the warmth of his body and breathe the scent of his hair. “Please be careful, Querry,” he pleaded. “Keep your wits about you.”

  “Of course,” he answered, and soon, too soon, Reg released him and went on his way.

  Turning to Frolic, Querry said, “You’d better stay close to me. You could be in more danger than we first thought.”

  Smiling, the doll answered, “Of course, Querry. I always want to be close to you. Where will we go next?”

  “Well, if you’re going to be with me—”

  There, I said it.

  “—then I’m going to teach you how to earn your keep.” They left the tidy little area where Reg worked and turned a corner. Droves of men and women were returning home from work or from the market, hurrying toward train stations or carriages, and soon the crowd, the twisting alleyways, and the increasing cover of night swallowed the thief and the clockwork boy.

  A FEW weeks past, Querry had been eating his supper in a tavern. A few tables away, a very drunk, old man sat muttering to himself about a glorious event that would occur at the end of the month. The thief had listened closely as he ate his greasy sausage and mash, and when he’d finished he went to join the man.

  “I can’t help but overhear what a difficult woman your mistress is,” Querry said to the man, who’d spoken of himself as a gardener by trade. “My sympathies.”

  “Harpy,” the gardener slurred, finishing most of his gin and slopping the rest down the front of his soiled shirt. “Day can’t come soon enough that she takes herself and those spoilt brats to the country house. Then the help will have some peace. Maybe even some time to get things done.”

  “Is it a very great house?” Querry wondered. “With many gardens?”

  “’S practically a castle!” the gardener replied, clearly pleased and astonished to have the company of a person who both found his work interesting and bought gin. “Takes my boys six days to prune the hedges alone!”

  “Amazing! There must be dozens of servants taking care of the house as well?”

  The man snorted and slapped the empty air, as if words failed to describe it. “The Lady takes most of them to the country house, ’course.”

  “’Course. Where does the family go on holiday?”

  “Somewhere up North,” said the gardener. “Wouldn’t know. All’s I do know is: I won’t have to listen to ’em soon now.”

  “How soon?”

  “End of September.”

  “I’d like to have a look at this grand house,” Querry said. “And of course its impressive and well-maintained grounds.”

  The gardener sat up a little straighter and told Querry the address. The thief spent another half an hour listening to scintillating tales of flower beds weeded and fruit trees trimmed. During that time, he presented the gardener, a man with the ironic name of Nathan Bloom, with enough gin to ensure he wouldn’t be remembered. When Bloom’s head slumped into his arm and he began singing a nursery rhyme to his elbow, Querry stood from the table and left unnoticed.

  Since then, he’d strolled past the house, a Gothic-revival mansion that resembled a church more than a dwelling, complete with stained-glass windows, flying buttresses, gargoyles, and a bell tower, half a dozen times. Just as Bloom described, the huge staff always seemed to be rushing about: maids with laundry, governesses directing children, cooks hurrying to and from market with enough food for a fleet of sailors. Tonight, though, Querry and Frolic found the intricate corridors of rose bushes and sculpted hedges as quiet as a cemetery. The job would be an easy one. If any servants remained, they either slumbered below the stairs or took advantage of their employer’s absence and found their way to a pub.

  “Can you climb a rope?” Querry whispered to Frolic.

  “I’ve never done it, but I’m sure I can.”

  “Good.” The best way in looked like an arched door beyond a little half-moon balcony. The dark, arrow-shaped windows around it reflected the amber and black geometry formed by streetlights and leaves. Also, it stood around back, safe from the eyes of neighbors or people on the street. Querry squeezed the trigger of his bow-like grapple, and with a click of gears and a little puff of steam, the hook and the rope shot out with much more force than usual. Querry was nearly knocked backward into a pile of leaves.

  “What on earth?”

  “Oh,” Frolic said. “I took it apart and recalibrated the clockwork while you were sleeping. I was able to eliminate a whole set of gears and make it more efficient. And more powerful. I hoped it would make you happy.”

  “Well, thanks,” Querry said. He tugged the rope to make sure it caught, and then he started his way up, followed closely by Frolic. He could feel Frolic’s weight straining the rope beneath him, but the doll made no sound, as he’d been instructed. When they reached the oak door, he stood quietly as Querry picked the lock. With a creak, the door opened, and they found themselves in a lady’s sitting room. Portraits of matronly looking women hung on the rose-colored walls in gilded frames. Some velvet-upholstered chairs sat against the wall, round tables holding oil lamps or picture books between them. A writing desk stood in the corner.

  “I don’t see anything small and valuable,” Frolic whispered.

  With an approving chuckle, Q
uerry said, “Right you are. Do you remember what we’re trying to find?”

  Frolic lifted his hand and counted the items out on his fingers. “Coins, bracelets, earrings, brooches, necklaces, watches, cufflinks.”

  “Let’s go, then. Once you’ve had some practice, we’ll split up and cover houses quicker. But tonight you’d better stay with me.”

  He nodded once, a determined expression on his face, and they crept into the hall. A mixture of gaslight and moonlight allowed Querry to see without his goggles. Frolic easily followed, causing Querry to wonder if he’d been given vision superior to a human. Perhaps it had something to do with his unusual eye color. Together they scoured the second and third story of the manor without disturbing so much as a mouse. A little over an hour after their arrival, they stood on the balcony again with their pockets full. Much to Querry’s delight, the gentleman’s study had been decorated with fine, antique weapons and armor. From the wall between the bookshelves, he’d selected a rapier to replace the one he’d lost. The blade felt sharp and springy, and gilt and small jewels adorned the hand-guard and ivory grip. For Frolic he’d chosen a similar weapon with a slightly shorter handle and a guard made to resemble twisting ivy. The intricately cast leaves meandered up the blade in a natural spiral. The sword produced a barely perceivable hum, and when Querry slashed the air he heard a single, echoing chime. Possibly the sword was faerie-made, or forged before practicing magic had been outlawed. Frolic looked delighted, and Querry looked forward to teaching him to handle the weapon.

  They descended the rope and landed lightly in grass that sparkled with dew. The gardens were as extensive and lovely as Querry’s informant had claimed. Hedgerows formed both paths and outdoor rooms, many with iron benches and fountains tinkling softly at their centers. Querry and Frolic passed flower beds bigger than their room, though most had blossomed months before. The sky above them was clear, save for the wavering columns of smoke rising from the factories in the distance.