Gwyn lounged in the hall in her favourite chair, rats frolicking in her clothes. The game’s object seemed to be finding a titbit she’d hidden. One delved towards her sock.
“Clever boy! Hard luck, Algy.” She looked up. “If you’ve lost Grizzly, follow the racket.”
Now he tuned his ears, it was obvious. A warble sharpening to a screech, coming from the minstrel gallery. “Thanks.”
He took the central staircase to the second floor and went down the corridor. He pushed open the double doors and stopped dead. Taking up half the wall - he couldn’t understand how he’d missed it - was a custom built pipe organ. The pipes were like macabre black candles, dribbled all shapes and sizes.
Alfred sat at this curio, playing quick trilling notes. Josh laid a hand on his back. He raised a pair of bloodshot eyes. So much clicked into place. Alfred’s mood swings, his haggard mien. He was an alcoholic.
He might have been looking at Josh from the bottom of a well. “I told you to go home.”
“Yet here I am.”
“Thought bots couldn’t disobey orders.”
Josh nodded to the flask poking from his pocket. “You can’t claim the moral high ground.”
“Never said I was perfect.”
If it had been anyone else, Josh would have felt cheated. Part of him flinched. But another, the side that first brought him to Chimera, stood its ground. He wouldn’t be driven away.
Alfred turned his back. Josh pushed down a handful of keys. “As a matter of fact, it is my business. It affects everyone who cares about you.”
“Like who?”
“Gwyn. How do you think she feels?”
“She’s used to it -”
“She endures it. It isn’t the same thing.”
Alfred put his head in his hands and groaned. “What kind of cripple am I?”
“You’ll do. But you’ve got to stop.”
“If it was a case of pressing a button, wouldn’t I have done it by now?” He winced at the blunder. “Sorry.”
“People drink because they’re unhappy. We’ll start there.”
“How?”
“We’ll think of something.” Josh flipped over, playing from a head stand.
Alfred burst out laughing. “Sounds like an elephant in labour.”
“Or Fisk in the bath.” They made faces at the thought.
They composed a cacophony together, giggling. “Enough,” Alfred said, and tried to teach him to play properly. He was scandalised Josh didn’t know his composers. “Music makes life bearable.”
“What about books? Paintings?”
“All the arts. They’re marvellous.” Alfred rubbed his chin. “Thanks for cheering me up.”
“Thanks for letting me. I thought you’d dunk me in the moat.”
He nodded at Josh’s hand awkwardly. “I didn’t - it doesn’t -”
“It’s fine.”
“That isn’t me. Well, it was, but - do you see what I’m trying to say?”
“Dr Sugar says you should count to ten before you lose your temper.”
An expressive snort showed what Alfred thought of this advice.
“Think of something silly. A crocodile twirling around a parasol.”
“A what?”
“It was the first thing I thought of.”
Alfred chuckled. “You know, that might work?”
“See? You’ve a nice smile when you remember how.” Josh clapped a hand over his mouth. “Sorry, I don’t know where that came from.”
“I don’t mind. Same time in three days?”
Alfred often thought of the artificial while they were apart. It was time he had a hobby, though he didn’t know what to call it. Was there a robotic equivalent of anthropology? He liked the visits, liked Josh. Josh reciprocated, if he was any judge. Probably he made a refreshing change to all those brain boxes. At least he didn’t treat him like a halfwit.
“He doesn’t understand, you know,” some besom had said in a shop. Fuck that. Josh understood him better than most humans.
He’d come this close to wrecking it. The lad had looked so disappointed - he couldn’t let it happen again. Already the artificial was the exception to his sweeping generalisations about the world.
As MP for Langton, he was summoned to the Forum for the monthly Session. He’d zoned in and out - more exams, fewer signs, new Perversions - only to become aware of the PM clearing her throat.
“Langton? Would you honour us with your presence?”
He scrolled his mind back. Drinking in Sessions? (Everyone did it). The miscreant who kept screwing elms? (Get him to a tree surgeon). “Undoubtedly,” he said.
“You haven’t listened to a word, have you?”
Murmurs - “I thought his sister invented the things,” “Black sheep in every family,” “Did you read that article? Spleen everywhere.”
“Prime Minister?” Alfred raised his voice above the din.
“Yes, my learned friend?”
“Were we talking about robots?”
She rolled her eyes. “Give the boy a biscuit! Yes. Any thoughts?”
“The launch?”
“Not the phrase I’d use, but yes. CER’s bleeding the taxpayers dry.”
Growls like a kennel of toothless bulldogs. Lady Masefield regurgitated her old mantra: “Not the world we lived in as children, oh no.”
“I’m going,” Alfred announced. “As guest speaker.”
The room fizzed.
“But you’re so anti -”
“Where’s my invite?”
“Do they let their enemies picket?”
The PM waited for the questions to break. “Explain yourself.”
How could he say it without sounding twee? “I’ve got to know Josh. The artificial. He’s sort of become my friend.”
Questions, speculations. Pros invited him on board, antis turned up their noses. The PM gave him a disappointed toss of the head before moving on to the Century Games.
***
The launch was in two days’ time. Josh couldn’t wait: at long last he could say goodbye to this cloistered life and do something!
The day he went to see Alfred, he cannoned down the banisters before anyone could stop him. He spent the journey to Langton in a happy bubble. There were mutters that he should go in the last carriage with the luggage, but nobody said it to his face.
Soon it was time to disembark. A sprig of blossom floated to the platform - he picked it up, sniffed it, then tucked it into his pocket. He set off on the road to the estate, hoarding impressions. A duck taking off from the river, five others in pursuit. The bells striking the hour, one a beat behind. Somebody was cutting the grass in the fields; he could smell treacle tart. A ladybird landed on his hand.
He passed into the light and shade of the woods. He glimpsed the squirrels’ sly faces, watching him - and then he was walking up the drive to Chimera. To think he’d once found the house ugly! Yes, it would never be harmonious, with all those spikes and clashes of style. But there was grandeur, history and romance - things you couldn’t accuse CER of having -
He was knocked flying. Something snapped close to his ear, breathing raw meat into his face. Puss.
“Idiotic animal!” He made out Alfred, holding something behind his back. “Don’t move.”
“Can I do anything else?”
“Miaow! Not you, dummy! Play dead.”
Josh made himself limp. Puss batted him with a huge paw. Out came a canister of water. Alfred pressed the nozzle. “Naughty!”
She fled. Alfred helped Josh up. “She used to pounce on guests when they were in the bath. Give her time to get used to you.” His eyes dropped to Josh’s arm. “That looks sore.”
A chunk of skin had been ripped away, showing a gash of metal and oil. “I didn’t feel a thing.” The oil flowed astonishingly fast - it had soaked Alfred’s cuffs. Now a patch was forming on his shirt front. “Your shirt -”
“Blow the shirt.” One hand stemming the oil, the other in t
he small of Josh’s back, he supported him. “Let’s get you inside.”
Josh insisted he was alright but Alfred wasn’t having it. He pushed at the nearest door.
“Oh, my days!” Josh gasped.
“The library.” He detected a note of pride. “The forty second Earl shot herself by the fireplace. There’s a phantom bloodstain. Sit tight.” He vanished.
Plugging the wound, Josh sat in a green winged chair and looked around. Books rose from the floor to the ceiling, a staircase spinning around the outside. Off to the left, close to the haunted fireplace, was a fabulous writing desk. He wanted to investigate but knew it’d be unpardonably rude.
The door whipped open. Alfred carried a first aid box; tipping it onto the desk, he found a length of bandage. “We’d never pass a health and safety check.”
“I’m accident prone.” Josh held out his arm and watched it disappear.
“Trouble magnet, that’s you.” Alfred admired his handiwork. “Better?”
“What’s this butterfly?”
Alfred looked embarrassed. “Gwyn was always bashing herself. You get used to making them.”
“He’s lovely. Sorry about the shirt -”
“Shut up.” Alfred rubbed his chin. “Nanny’s putting something special on for you. We’ve got to keep out of the way.”
“For me?”
“She likes you. We all do.”
“Thanks. Tell you what -”
“Yes?”
“May I have another look at the machine? Please,” Josh added, remembering his manners.
Alfred did a low, courtly bow. “Your wish is my command.”
They sneaked upstairs like kids playing truant. Alfred chuckled as he unlocked the door. “You see to the knight. The dragon’s getting rusty.”
Throwing Josh a chamois leather, he busied himself with a can of oil. Coating his fingers, he applied it to the automaton’s plated back. He rubbed her down, humming as he worked. Engrossed as he was, he didn’t forget Josh; he asked about the demos, laughed about the people he’d seen. “Never got on with eggheads. Take themselves far too seriously.”
Josh dusted the knight. “How long have you been working on this?”
Alfred considered.“Two years, five months, ten days.”
“It must mean a lot to you.”
“On a good day, yes. It bucks me up when it’s going well.”
“On a bad day?”
“Can’t stand the sight of it. Sometimes I don’t touch it for months.”
“Maybe you’re too critical.”
“Says the lad whose hair caught fire!”
Josh mimed spraying him with a canister. “Naughty!”
“Could’ve done with that then, that’s for sure.”
Within the hour it was scarcely recognisable. The knight challenged, mace in hand; the vine leaves twined. And of course the dragon, ruby eyes squinting down her long snout. Alfred patted her fondly. “It’s a bugger, but it’s the best thing I’ve done.”
“Have you never given it a name?”
“Machines don’t need names.” He knuckled his eyes. “Sorry.”
“I’m not offended.” Picking a name from the book he was reading, “Swanhilda?
“Ugh! Thingummy’ll do.”
“Can I have another go?”
Alfred’s eyes returned to his arm. “Are you sure?”
“I can feel it mending.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn him,” he confided in the dragon. Josh giggled. “You’re out of your tree.”
The Thingummy thrummed into life. They took everything it chucked at them. The knight tipped over, legs spinning. The vines slipped through their fingers; they ducked the nooses. When the dragon gave her hot, tarry roar, Alfred whipped a throw from the sofa and smothered it. They landed on the polar bear skin, out of breath.
“Three minutes ten,” Alfred panted. “Must be a record.”
Josh felt his clockwork buzz beneath his ribs. Glancing at Alfred, sweaty and elated, he contrasted him with the brusque, angry man of four weeks ago. How much had changed!
“Why don’t you patent Thingummy? It’s better than the boring gyms humans use.”
“I’ve got one of those boring gyms,” Alfred said. “I like having something that’s just mine, if you see what I mean.”
“I do.” It was how Josh felt about his visits to Chimera.
The door nosed open. “’Lo, Grizzly.” Gwyn didn’t acknowledge Josh. “Nanny says it’s ready. Wants us to dress up.”
“Must we?” Alfred groaned.
“You can’t be a hermit forever.”
“I’ll be down in fifteen. Can you show Josh the best guest room?”
Josh didn’t want to get up but knew a dismissal when he heard one. He followed Gwyn into the hall. He amused himself by looking at the portraits, particularly one of Alfred in a ceremonial skirt and a hat with feathers.
“Here,” she said, showing him through a door.
The room beyond was wonderful: based around a turret, it was dove tinted with a sea green four poster, a rocking chair and a wardrobe with the sun, moon and planets painted on it.
“Oh, I like this!”
“He thought you would. See you in the Function Room.” She vanished without further ado.
Josh opened the wardrobe, expecting the launch suit. While it was there, in all its glorious parts, there were a further three, ones he recognised from the shop. A gong sounded. Careful not to budge his bandage, he unhooked a cream suit with a sky blue shirt. There were shoes as well - two tone, his size.
It was only when Josh had taken the wrong turning twice, ending up by the same stuffed swordfish, he realised he had no idea where the Function Room was. His sense of direction fogged at Chimera.
“Has my wicked niece left you in the lurch?”
Alfred leant over the balcony on the landing above. Josh had never seen him in dress clothes. They were a few years out of date, perhaps, but still stately. He came downstairs gradually, obviously uncomfortable.
“Thanks for the -”
“Don’t mention it. I auctioned off this vase I’ve been trying to break for years.”
They trailed downstairs, Alfred demonstrating his slapstick attempts to wreck the vase. Josh felt affectionate exasperation. Why did Alfred, normally so talkative, shy away from this sort of thing? Just now, when Josh had said he looked “sumptuous”, he’d frozen.
“Don’t wander off!” A hand on his elbow. “This way.”
Nanny had done them proud. On ordinary days the Function Room’s main features were a swoop of velvet curtains and gilded mirrors. Not only was the grand piano topped by a buffet, she’d set the chandelier revolving so lights shimmered across the walls. A musicbox flipped disks as they watched.
“They always have dancin’ at these dos.” Nanny popped out from behind the chocolate fountain. “Thought we should teach you.”
“Dancing?” Josh exclaimed.
“It’s not that bad.” Gwyn ladled out servings of punch. ‘Dress’ in her case was a burgundy suit. “What’s a good track for a beginner?”
“Epiphany, I think.” Nanny padded to the musicbox. She wore her black bombazine. “You can’t beat an oldie!”
The querulous note of a clarinet, followed by a dreamy, out of focus band. She stuck out a stubby mitt. “May I have this dance, Alfie?”
They bowed. He passed her a yellow rose from a nearby vase and she crammed it into her cleavage. As the music swelled they started to shuffle.
“You dancing?” Gwyn mumbled.
“If you’re asking.”
“Then you’re dancing.”
“I haven’t done this before -”
“I’ll lead.”
It was the first time she’d smiled at him. She was pretty under all the surliness. She held out her hand, took his, and brought him close to her chest. “Copy what I do.”
He mimicked the lines of her arms, the sidesteps of her shoes. She executed a neat twirl, talked h
im through it. “See? Easy as pie.”
Her hands were on his waist, steering him round. It felt ticklish; he couldn’t help laughing. The song drew a last wistful sigh. Gwyn opened her arms and let him drop into them. As her hands curved around his back, she bent towards him.
A sound like cloth tearing. The disk was wrenched off its circuit.
“That will do.”Alfred’s mouth twitched. “Let’s get started on the buffet.”
Josh wandered the grounds with a plate of cheeses. He had a nagging feeling he was at fault. He went to sit beneath a tree, remembered the suit and chose a bench instead.
He always knew when somebody was behind him. They’d tested him: blackouts, blindfolds, switching off his hearing. Even unfamiliar cologne didn’t mask the sense impression.
“Hello, Alfred.”
“Hello, lad.” A musical lilt - had he been drinking? Turning, he saw that no, he was only upset.
They spoke at once. “I’m sorry.” Awkward laugh, then they did it again. “You first.”
“No, you.”
“Don’t be stubborn, Josh.”
“You’re one to talk. Gwyn’s a good girl.”
Undeniable pride. “She is. You couldn’t mistake her for anything but a Wilding.”
“She’s not like other girls.”
A quick, disquieted look. “No. She’s had a tough life. As her guardian -”
Josh caught something in Alfred’s tone. “Are you warning me?”
“I suppose I am.”
“You’ve nothing to worry about.”
“You’re not completely repulsive and her head’s easily turned. I hope you understand.”
Josh didn’t. Yes, he’d read Mandy’s romances, but they’d confused him more than ever. He only knew he wanted to put Alfred’s mind at rest.
“I would never hurt you. You’re the closest I have to a friend.”
Alfred looked away for a moment. Josh worried he’d spoken out of turn. When he did speak there was an odd quality to his voice.
“We’re overexcited. Frazzled, I expect.”
“Do you want to run through your speech?”
“Give me some room for improvement.”
The Launch
A night at the Palace. Now there was a thought to freeze the blood.
Alfred was lousy at these things. Ken used to cry off them, so he’d go as Gussy’s moral support. She linked her arm through his like a benevolent jailer, always knowing what to say. After she died he lost the knack. He stood in the corner, talked too much or too little, got drunk. When he was banned from the Palace he heaved a sigh of relief.
Love and Robotics Page 5