by Heidi Lang
Lailu blinked. Walton ducked a vicious swipe, then brought its own metal hand up and smacked an automaton to the ground, stomping down on its head.
Crunch!
Lailu shuddered. Seven more to go.
“Lailu, it’s not stopping!” Greg’s yell brought Lailu back to her own battle. He tossed her a spare pan, and she caught it, spun, and slammed it into the automaton’s torso with a very satisfying clang.
Click-click. WHIRR.
The metal beast rose up, its legs and arms extending, its body dented and twisted but still going strong. Lailu backed up. How could she kill something that wasn’t even alive? How could she stop it?
“Cut the wires!” Starling yelled. “Cut the wires in back!”
Lailu’s automaton twitched at the sound of Starling’s voice, then jerked back to face Lailu, but it ended up with a face full of skillet instead. As its head spun around from the impact, Lailu used the opportunity to slip her knife in between the metal plates on the creature’s neck and rip her blade through the barely exposed wires.
Whirr. Tick-tick . . .
Scalding hot steam shot out from under all the metal plates and joints on the automaton, and with a screech like a dying teapot, it fell over and was still.
Lailu saw the other heroes and chefs fighting the automatons around her. Despite being outnumbered, those creepy metal contraptions were holding their own. They never got tired, they never slowed down, and they had no mercy in their mechanical hearts. Still, Lailu was proud to see Master Sanford battling two at once, slamming a tray into one’s face and then slicing through the wires of the second with a meat cleaver. Even her mom was helping—
Lailu’s heart rose in her throat. Her mom was helping. Lianna didn’t have a weapon, but she spun and twirled around an automaton, confusing it, distracting it, then dancing away before it could attack. She was keeping it focused on her long enough for someone with a knife to sever the wires. Only, she was slowing down, and the automaton wasn’t.
It managed to backhand her just before a hero cut its wires.
Lianna went sprawling.
“Mom!” Lailu leaped over fallen automatons and moaning people, ducking between two heroes to get to her mother’s side. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine, I’m fine. Help me up.” Lianna reached a hand out, and Lailu hauled her to her feet.
The street around them emptied and grew silent as everyone who could get away cleared out. All the automatons had fallen.
All except two. One more rogue automaton . . . and Walton.
The unnamed automaton lunged toward Elister, and Walton sprang forward, knocking it back. They circled each other, metal joints clicking, their movements fluid and much too fast. Walton feinted left, then darted right, managing to slip behind its opponent and tear through the wires in back with one violent swipe of its hand.
The automaton fell, smoking and twitching. Walton stared down at it for a few seconds, then moved to stand at Elister’s side, its hat askew, its metal scratched and dented. It cocked its head toward Elister as if awaiting judgment.
Lailu couldn’t help but feel sorry for Walton. It had fought bravely against its own. She wasn’t sure why it was the only one that hadn’t turned on them, but she knew it would still be destroyed. It didn’t seem fair.
Elister slowly, deliberately lifted his hand, the crescent blade he held catching the lamplight along its razor-sharp edge. Lailu tensed, but Elister merely leaned forward, and Lailu swore she heard him say something to Walton before the automaton turned and fled through the streets, vanishing into the night.
“It’s not like you to be so sentimental, Eli,” Lianna said, limping to his side.
“I know. But . . . he’s the best butler I’ve ever had.” Elister slid his knives back into their sheaths.
Lailu stared openmouthed between the two of them, her earlier suspicions solidifying like quiche in the oven. Her mom and Lord Elister definitely knew each other far better than they let on. How else would her mother get away with calling the king’s executioner Eli?
Elister instructed the bodyguards to see the king and queen safely home, then ordered the remaining chefs and heroes to help the wounded.
As Lianna limped back, Lailu’s furious questions died in her throat. A nasty gash split her mother’s cheek, a purple bruise already forming around it. “Will that scar?” Lailu asked. She didn’t know why the idea of her mom carrying a scar bothered her so much, considering how many scars Lailu herself had.
Lianna probed her face, wincing. “No, I don’t think so,” she decided. “But a small scar is always good to carry as a reminder to be more careful. It would have been a lot worse, except for this.” She held up the shattered remains of a lynx mask. “I’ll have to get one of my sisters to make me a new one.”
“Your sisters?” As far as Lailu knew, her mother was an only child.
“My caravan sisters. The ones I was dancing with. I traveled here with them,” Lianna explained.
“And why is that again?” Lailu asked suspiciously.
“Because I wanted to see my beautiful, talented daughter.”
That proved it; her mother had to be lying. Lailu’s eyes narrowed. “Mom, why are you really here?”
“Hush, sweetie. Now is not the time to talk about this. Now is the time to be silent. Observant.” Lianna jerked her chin in Elister’s direction.
He had rounded on Starling, his eyes glowing nearly as brightly as the automatons’.
“How did this happen?” The anger in his voice was enough to make Lailu bite her tongue. But she wasn’t going to forget her questions.
Starling quailed. “I—I’m looking into it.”
“Your creations endangered my citizens—endangered my king!”
“To be fair, the king was never truly in danger while he was at your side,” Starling began.
“Do not seek to flatter your way out of this.” Elister’s hands made a tiny, almost imperceptible move toward his hidden blades.
The scientist paled. “I wouldn’t dream of it, my lord. It’s not flattery to state a truth we both know.” She straightened, composing herself. “And I agree, this was a travesty, and one I will personally get to the bottom of. Allow me a few minutes to examine the automatons, and I’ll have some answers for you.”
“Make it quick—my patience is rapidly diminishing. As is your future in our country.”
Starling flinched. She kneeled over one of the automatons, muttering something to herself as she looked it over.
Lailu inched closer, curious despite her fear.
Starling grasped the faceplate of the automaton and yanked it open, then gasped as something tiny shot out. Something about the size of her finger, with vivid orange wings.
Something that looked suspiciously like a pixie.
23
A CLUE
So that’s how they want to play,” Starling whispered, watching the tiny speck of orange disappear into the night sky. Her hands curled into fists so tight, Lailu wondered if her skin might burst.
Starling turned, her eyes meeting Lailu’s.
Lailu caught her breath, pinned beneath that wall of fury like a bug in a downpour. She had never seen anyone so angry. Even Elister’s rage just moments before paled in comparison to this.
Starling blinked, and the anger was gone, swallowed into her clear green eyes as if it had never been. Lailu wasn’t sure what to think. Maybe she had imagined it?
The scientist stood and brushed off her pants. “Lord Elister,” she called. “I may have found something.”
“Yes?” Elister asked.
“This was no mistake in my programming. This was caused deliberately. This was”—she paused dramatically—“magical interference!”
Elister ran a hand over his face. “Starling, if this is about the elves again—”
“I have proof. Irrefutable proof. Will you at least hear me out?”
“If you have proof, then show me,” Elister said.
/> “Perhaps we should go elsewhere first, away from prying ears and eyes.” She looked pointedly at Lailu.
Elister sighed. “Dante!” he called. Greg’s uncle limped over. “Ah, there you are, good man. Glad to see you are . . . well. More or less.” Lailu could understand his hesitation; Dante’s long dark hair had come loose and straggled around his head, emphasizing the shadows in his unnaturally pallid face, and his suit jacket hung in tatters from his arms. Lailu almost felt sorry for him.
“Do you have an office we could use, somewhere Starling and I can discuss this incident in private?” Elister asked.
“Of course, my lord. Right away.” Dante walked past Lailu, then stopped and looked her up and down. “Sweep this up, would you?” He indicated the spilled platters and tables in the street.
“M-me?”
Dante sniffed. “Unless you think you’re too good for that kind of work.”
Lailu gaped at him. Of course she didn’t think she was too good for it—anything related to food, including cleanup, was well within her circle of responsibilities—but his attitude was exactly what she hated about the aristocrats. Before she could think of a good response, Dante had swept past, followed closely by Elister and Starling.
“What an unpleasant man,” Lianna decided.
“He’s Greg’s uncle.” Lailu knelt and picked up a shard of pottery.
“Oh, honey, don’t hold that against Greg. You can’t choose your family.” Lianna smiled sadly, taking the shard from Lailu.
Lailu froze. Was her mother referring to Lailu and her father and brothers? Or was Lianna referring to herself ?
“Can you believe this?” Greg shuffled over. “Not a single bite eaten.”
“Are those tears?” Lailu leaned closer. “Are you seriously crying?”
“No,” he sniffed. He sniffed again. “Maybe a little.”
“It really was an impressive feast.” Lailu nudged him with her shoulder. “We’ll have a proper funeral for it later, okay?”
“If you two are done crying over spilled food, come see this—ah! ” Lianna stumbled backward, an automaton faceplate coming loose in her hand. Something small and green flew at her face. She snatched it before it could escape into the sky.
“Are you okay, Mom?” Lailu hurried over.
“I’m fine, just fine,” Lianna said, studying the tiny pixie in her cupped palm. “Starling wasn’t kidding about magical interference.”
“You really think the elves are behind this?”
“Probably.”
“But how? I thought they couldn’t do magic in the city,” Greg said, eyes wide.
Lailu bit her lip, thinking of Eirad and his not-so-veiled hints.
“They can pour magic into a pixie,” Lianna said. “So, technically, the pixie is doing the magic for them.” She opened her hands wide. The pixie stood up and shook itself like a dog out of water. It put tiny hands on its hips, glared at all of them, and launched itself up into the sky. “And you know how the elves love their sneaky little technicalities,” Lianna finished, watching until the small green form had disappeared.
“Mom . . . how do you know all this?” Lailu asked.
Her mother widened her eyes. “Why, honey, you pick up things when you travel a lot. That’s all.”
Lailu wasn’t buying it.
“Can I borrow a knife?” Lianna asked.
Lailu frowned. “Why?” she asked slowly. Borrowing a chef’s knives was like taking bites of food off another person’s plate. It just wasn’t done.
“There’s something in here. . . .” Lianna riffled around in the nest of wires inside the automaton’s head.
“Here, I’ll do it,” Lailu said, pushing past her mother. She used the tip of her blade to pop out a small black piece of plastic. “Is this it?”
Lianna took it from her, studying the strange cylinder.
“What is it?” Greg asked.
“I have no idea, but it looks like something important.” Lianna’s hazel eyes glittered with excitement. “It looks like a clue.”
24
THE FUNERAL
Lianna managed to slip away before Lailu could get any answers out of her. “Not surprising,” Lailu muttered. Her mother had always been good at leaving.
As Lailu and Greg cleaned up their sadly destroyed street feast, Lailu tried pushing the images of the pixies and that strange cylinder out of her mind, aware that too many things were happening. It felt like a huge vat of soup just about to boil, everything simmering and mixing and waiting for just a little more heat. And then what? What would happen?
What was it all leading to?
By the time the last shattered plate was picked up, it was nearly dawn, and Greg insisted on using his uncle’s carriage to drive her home. “I’d be just fine,” Lailu grumbled, but secretly she was glad about the ride; she felt exhausted, like a wrung-out dish towel.
“Don’t forget, one of those automatons escaped,” Greg said, pulling the carriage around.
“You mean, was let go,” Lailu corrected. She climbed inside, enjoying the comfortable seat beneath her and the gentle rocking motion as the horses trotted along. And the quiet. It was so much quieter than the scientists’ auto-carriages. She closed her eyes, just for a second.
The carriage stopped.
Lailu woke suddenly and completely, images of automatons with bladed fingers flashing in her mind.
“Relax, sleepyhead. We just arrived at your restaurant,” Greg said.
“Oh!” Lailu took a deep breath, her heart still charging. “I’m sorry I fell asleep.”
“Don’t be. You snore so loudly, I think you chased away all the bad spirits.”
“I do not snore!”
“How would you know?”
“Hannah would have told me by now.”
“Maybe she’s just too nice to say anything.”
Lailu opened the carriage door and stomped out.
“What, you’re not even going to thank me for the ride?” he asked.
“Thank you for the ride. The carriage was very nice, although the company left something to be desired. Also, I do not snore.”
Greg laughed. “Okay, maybe you don’t snore—but you do drool. I mean, look at that puddle! Right on my uncle’s fine leather seats, too.”
“I don’t—” Lailu stopped, took a deep breath. He was just trying to annoy her. And doing an awfully good job. “It’s a shame you aren’t as good at cooking as you are at being irritating,” she said finally.
“I must be amazingly irritating, then, because my cooking is superb.” Greg grinned. “And it’s a good thing your cooking is better than your insults.”
Lailu thought that through. “Thank you? I think.”
“Don’t mention it.”
An awkward silence fell over them. Lailu shifted from foot to foot. Why wasn’t Greg leaving? Should she just go inside? Was he waiting for her to leave first? “So . . . ,” she began, at the same time that Greg said, “I was wondering . . .”
They both stopped.
“Go ahead,” Lailu said.
“Did you want to bake a pie?” Greg asked.
“A . . . pie,” she said slowly.
“LaSilvians always make apple pies for funerals. Something comforting to cheer everyone up, you know? Old family tradition.”
“Funeral?” Had someone else died? What had she missed? She’d just been asleep for a second!
“You know, for our poor feast?” Greg reminded her. “It’s the least that meal deserves.”
Lailu hesitated. The idea of baking with Greg seemed like it was crossing some kind of line. Sure, it was fine to hunt and even cook together, but bake?
“But I mean, only if you want to. I’m sure you’re tired.” His shoulders slumped.
He looked so defeated that Lailu decided she’d do it. Plus she was hungry. “Why not?” she said.
“Really?”
“I think I have everything we’d need inside.” She smiled. “We’ll have pi
e for breakfast.”
“Last apple.” Greg tossed Lailu a freshly peeled apple.
She yawned as she sliced it.
The door to the stairs opened, and Slipshod poked his head in. His eyes widened at the sight of Lailu and Greg in the kitchen. “What the blazes are you both doing at this hour? Shouldn’t you be resting? We’ll be prepping for the dinner rush this afternoon, and you look like you haven’t slept in days.”
“I slept yesterday,” Lailu protested.
“Hmph. Well, I need to go run some errands. Do something about that hair, would you?” Slipshod’s own hair was still slicked back in a low braid, his clothing freshly pressed and laundered.
The bell above the front door chimed as he disappeared into the morning.
“Wow,” Greg said, wide-eyed. “What the spatula was that?”
“I have no idea. He’s been really weird for a while now.” Lailu frowned. Actually, everyone seemed to be weird lately: Slipshod, Hannah, Ryon. Even her mother was acting stranger than usual. The only one who hadn’t changed was Greg, who was as obnoxious as ever. It was strangely comforting. “And don’t say ‘what the spatula,’ ” she added. “That’s my thing.”
“I’ve decided I like it. It can be my thing too,” Greg said.
Lailu narrowed her eyes. “Don’t you dare. You already took my restaurant idea—”
“We were brainstorming it together!”
“It was my idea and you know it.”
“I still think I helped,” Greg muttered.
Lailu sniffed. “You could help more with this pie.”
She worked in silence for a few minutes before Greg burst out, “I’ve got it!”
“What?”
“He’s in love.”
“Who?” Lailu asked.
“Master Slipshod.” Greg leaned back in his chair. “It would explain all the weirdness.”