The Wooden Prince

by John Claude Bemis

  Don Antonio poured himself a glass of wine before continuing. “When you arrived in our village a few months back and set up your shop, Polendina’s Abatonian Imports and Refurbishments, I assumed, as any would, that you were simply a dealer in Abatonian magical goods. A nice business. A welcome addition to our little out-of-the-way town. But we don’t get many new citizens here. Our town is not the sort of place strangers come to start businesses. Let me speak plainly. You aren’t who you claim to be, are you, Signore Polendina?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Polendina said.

  Don Antonio pointed to Polendina’s hands. “You always wear gloves indoors, signore. Why don’t you take them off and show me your fingers?”

  Signore Polendina crossed his arms, tucking his gloved hands away.

  “Are you afraid to show me your burned fingertips? Afraid to show that you have the marks of an alchemist, Master Geppetto?” Don Antonio said.

  Pinocchio tried to make sense of this. Was Signore Polendina actually Geppetto? Was that why Don Antonio had brought the man here? A warm feeling surged through Pinocchio’s gears at the thought that this might be his new master.

  Geppetto or Polendina or whoever he was gave a swift look back at Otto, his face momentarily showing that he was…what was the word? Frightened ? The automa butler stared blankly back at him, the ax held firmly across his chest.

  “Don’t worry, dear man. I mean you no harm,” Don Antonio said. “Yes, you are in danger, but not from me, I can assure you. Captain Toro will return soon with a whole squadron of imperial airmen, if not Flying Lions. They will want to capture this Geppetto as a traitor to the empire. But it will take days for them to return all the way out here. We have time. We still have time.”

  “Time for what?”

  Don Antonio waved to Pinocchio. “For me to give you what is rightfully yours.”

  “You have me mistaken for someone else, Don Antonio,” Signore Polendina said, walking quickly past Otto and toward the stairs. “I bid you good night.”

  Don Antonio let him pass before saying, “And what shall I do with the automa? Give it over to Captain Toro? Let them take it back to Venice, where they’ll disassemble it to find out why it was sent to the traitor Geppetto?”

  “No!” Pinocchio cried, leaping from the trunk.

  This was his master! He was sure of it. He couldn’t let Master Geppetto go. But Otto reared up with the ax, waiting for Don Antonio’s orders. Pinocchio shrank back. “Please don’t let them do that to me, Master!”

  The shopkeeper froze. He looked back over his shoulder at Pinocchio, his face pinched. “You fear being disassembled?”

  “Yes, Master,” Pinocchio pleaded. “Don’t leave me here.”

  The man slowly walked back toward Don Antonio. “Am I to believe that you would simply defy an officer of the empire and allow me to escape with this automa?”

  Don Antonio smiled. “You are right, signore. It is a crime, is it not? But suppose the trunk was smashed open, and suppose I told Captain Toro that the prisoner escaped?”

  “That might be believed.” The shopkeeper crossed his arms over his chest. “But you would be taking an enormous risk.”

  “Yes, I would.” Don Antonio tapped his whiskery chin thoughtfully. “But suppose you made it a risk I was willing to take?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “I am an old man,” Don Antonio wheezed. “I am nearing the end of my life. I’m not eager for it to be over. Who is? A few more years would be most welcome. A few more years to enjoy my glasses of Chianti and plates of pasta and roasted boar.”

  “You want an elixir.”

  Don Antonio gave him a playful poke in the chest. “My father, rest his soul, dabbled in alchemy. He told me all about how elixirs are made, although he was never able to make one himself. If you, sir, are the fabled alchemist Geppetto Gazza, then you would be able to make an elixir that could extend my life a few more years. Dare I hope even decades?”

  “Possibly,” he answered. “But to make an elixir, I’ll need the fantom of an automa. Where would I get the fantom?”

  Don Antonio held a hand toward Pinocchio.

  The shopkeeper shook his head. “If I remove his fantom, he’ll no longer function. I’d never know why the automa was sent. What good would it be to take the lad if he no longer functioned?”

  Pinocchio didn’t like how that sounded.

  Don Antonio sighed. “I feared that might be the case. But you are quite right. Fortunately, we have another option.”

  His eyes darted to Otto.

  “I can always purchase a new butler,” Don Antonio said. “But the opportunity to make an exchange with an alchemist of your talents, Master Geppetto, does not come along often. You may use Otto’s fantom.”

  Slipping off his gloves and exposing his blackened fingertips, Geppetto stepped toward Otto. The mechanical butler watched him impassively.

  “Put down your ax, Otto,” Don Antonio ordered.

  Otto laid the ax against the wall and faced Geppetto again. Geppetto pushed Otto’s cravat out of the way and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing a compartment in the middle of his chest. Geppetto turned the latch and opened the panel. In the hollow square gleamed a golden orb of gears and springs.

  Pinocchio had never seen a fantom. In fact, he’d had no idea his kind even had them. He’d never wondered before about how he worked. But now curiosity was burning in him, and he watched eagerly.

  Don Antonio seemed eager as well as he hissed, “Yes!” at the sight of the fantom.

  Geppetto took Otto’s fantom in a firm grip and pulled it loose. Otto’s eyes dulled and his head tilted, the flame continuing its flickering from the open crown of his skull.

  Pinocchio knew Otto was no longer functioning. An automa wouldn’t mind this. Automa didn’t mind anything. But something about seeing Otto this way now bothered Pinocchio deeply. It frightened him, and he didn’t like this new sensation.

  “I have my father’s laboratory instruments,” Don Antonio said. “Tell me what you need, master alchemist.”

  “I only need a glass,” Geppetto said drily. “A clean one.”

  Don Antonio hurried back through the wine racks, wheezing noisily, to where he fetched a new wine goblet.

  “Just hold on to it,” Geppetto said when he returned.

  Don Antonio gripped the stem of the goblet, hands trembling terribly. Geppetto took a small leather case from his pocket.

  “Is that a salamander’s tail?” Don Antonio asked, smiling. “My father had a fine collection of minor elemental creatures—”

  “Quiet, so I can concentrate,” Geppetto said.

  He clutched the case in one hand and cupped his other hand around the fantom, holding it over the shaking goblet. Geppetto closed his eyes, murmuring softly under his breath. Orange molten light grew at the seams of the case.

  The hard metal of the fantom dissolved all at once like melted butter, running through his fingers and filling the glass almost to the rim with a golden liquid. Don Antonio held his breath to keep the glass steady.

  When the cup was filled, Geppetto opened his hands. Not a drop remained on his palms. The tips of his fingers, however, smoked with the stench of burned flesh and powerful alchemy.

  Don Antonio smacked his lips at the shimmering elixir. “Shall I?”

  “Drink it,” Geppetto said.

  Don Antonio raised the glass as if giving a toast and wheezed, “To life!”

  Geppetto grunted in reply, his eyes narrowed on the old man.

  In greedy gulps, Don Antonio emptied the goblet. The sickly rumbling from his chest quieted. His waxy face took on a healthy glow. And as he opened his eyes, they were clearer than before. He almost looked sober.

  “Where is the lad’s fealty key?” Geppetto asked.

  “I’m afraid I don’t have it,” Don Antonio said, already pouring himself a glass of wine. “But we have our agreement, so—”

  “I have a key
in my pocket,” Pinocchio said.

  “Let me have it,” Geppetto said.

  As Pinocchio handed it to him, he asked, “Am I coming with you now?”

  “Yes,” Geppetto replied. “Turn your head so I can get to your fealty lock.”

  Pinocchio looked to one side. “Will I serve in a court? I did before. I remember a palace. Do you live in a palace?”

  “No,” Geppetto said.

  “That’s right,” Pinocchio said, feeling the key slide into the lock at the back of his neck. “You’re a shopkeeper. Will I work in your shop?”

  “I won’t be able to keep my shop anymore.”

  “What will we do?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Geppetto answered. “Do you have a name?”

  “Pinocchio.”

  “Well, Pinocchio, if you are willing to come with me and do as you’re told, I can fix your nose.”

  Pinocchio touched the clumsy rod sticking from his face. “Good. I hate my nose this way. It makes me feel…I don’t know what the word is.”

  Geppetto stared at him intently before saying, “Embarrassed?”

  “I suppose,” Pinocchio said.

  Geppetto’s mouth opened and closed before he managed to ask, “What automa feels embarrassed?”

  Pinocchio shrugged.

  Geppetto shook his head. “There is much to figure out, but first this nose of yours.” He reached forward to tap Pinocchio’s nose.

  “No, Master!” Pinocchio shouted.

  But it was too late. He had Geppetto by the wrist, squeezing with that terribly strong grip.

  Geppetto gritted his teeth. “Release me, Pinocchio! I’m your master. I order you to release me.”

  “I can’t! Really I can’t,” Pinocchio cried.

  “Shall I fetch the ax?” Don Antonio asked.

  “Wait,” Geppetto grunted. He reached for the fealty key in the back of Pinocchio’s neck and gave it a turn.

  A wonderful sensation of lightness and freedom came over Pinocchio, like at any moment he might float up to the ceiling.

  “Pinocchio, I, Geppetto, am your master now.”

  Pinocchio felt as if a heavy weight had suddenly been placed on him. His limbs flopped slack, and Geppetto used that instant to jerk his hand free and scuttle back from Pinocchio.

  Sitting on the floor as the dizzy feeling passed, Pinocchio crossed his eyes and watched as his nose shrank to its normal proportions.

  “Thank you, Master,” he sighed. “Thank you. I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

  Geppetto massaged his wrist. “I’m fine. We need to leave now.” He snatched the key from Pinocchio’s neck and slipped it into a coat pocket.

  Don Antonio smiled, his eyes already swimming once more with wine. “Yes. Our dealings have come to a close.” He patted the motionless Otto. “I’ll tell Captain Toro that the boy destroyed my butler’s fantom in his escape. You have nothing to fear from my story.”

  The look on his master’s face as they left made Pinocchio realize there was actually much they needed to fear.

  Pinocchio followed his master down the steep, winding streets of San Baldovino. It was still night, and the village was quiet, except for their footsteps on the cobblestones. They reached a shop with the sign POLENDINA’S ABATONIAN IMPORTS AND REFURBISHMENTS hanging over the door.

  Geppetto unlocked the door and led Pinocchio inside. The shop was cluttered with shelves of boxes and bottles, rolls of fabrics and old boots. Pinocchio had no idea what they were all for, but he looked around with great interest.

  Geppetto pointed to a stool behind the counter that divided the room. “Sit there.”

  Pinocchio sat.

  Geppetto hung up his cloak and stood on the far side of the room, staring absently at Pinocchio.

  “Should I light a lamp, Master?”

  “No,” Geppetto mumbled.

  Pinocchio looked up at the darkened rafters. “Do you have pixie bulbs? I could light them if you have a bellows. I know how to do that.”

  “No,” Geppetto said. “It’s late.”

  “Would you like me to—”

  “I’m going to bed.” Geppetto marched toward a curtain separating his shop from a back room.

  Pinocchio wished his master wouldn’t leave him all alone. But he said nothing. Automa are fine by themselves, he reminded himself. His master was human and needed sleep.

  Geppetto stopped in the curtained doorway. “Just stay there. Until I awaken in the morning.”

  Pinocchio nodded.

  “You’ll do as I’ve asked?”

  “Of course, Master,” Pinocchio said pleasantly.

  Geppetto sighed and disappeared through the curtain.

  Pinocchio heard a tiny voice chirp in the other room, “Who’s out there? What’s happened? You look shaken to your core!”

  “I’ll explain in the morning,” Geppetto whispered. “And Maestro…”

  “Yes?” the other voice asked softly.

  “Listen out. If you hear anything, wake me right away.”

  “Fiery phoenix, Geppetto! What have you gotten us into?”

  A few moments later, a faint song began from behind the curtain. Pinocchio sat on the stool, listening, spellbound. The music was…what was the word? Lovely? Now that was a notion he’d never considered before!

  What was making those lovely, lovely sounds?

  Curiosity made his knee gears twitch. He desperately wanted to go over to the curtain. Just a peek. Just to see what sort of windup box or water-clock chime was making those exquisite sounds.

  He clamped his hands over his knees. “No,” he whispered to his legs. “Master said to stay here.”

  Pinocchio fought the urge until at last the song came to an end and quiet filled the shop. His knees relaxed, and he stayed on the stool through the long and weary hours of night.

  Pinocchio waited on the stool until finally dawn grew golden at the windows. Sounds emerged from the room behind the curtain: Logs fed into a hearth. The clanking of pots. Murmurings between Master Geppetto and the small chirping voice.

  Pinocchio couldn’t hear them properly until at last Master Geppetto bellowed, “It’s too dangerous with all the half-beasts! We can’t leave unless we can hire an armed coach. And unfortunately, we have no gold….”

  More murmuring. Pinocchio’s eyes were glued to the curtain. At last Master Geppetto swept it aside, carrying a bamboo cage, which he placed atop the clutter on the counter. He marched over to open the shade on the door, turned the sign around to BENVENUTO, and headed once again into the back room.

  “So you’re our new automa?”

  Pinocchio looked around before spotting a cricket emerging from the cage. “Who are you?”

  “Maestro,” the cricket replied, poking his antennae out.

  “Are you the device that was playing music last night?”

  “I’m no windup toy, you ignoramus!” the cricket chirped. “I’m real. I’ll have you know I hatched from an egg in farthest Abaton. I come from a long and prestigious line of musicians who performed for Prester John himself.”

  Pinocchio had never heard of any Prester John, but then he’d never heard of Abaton, either. The only country Pinocchio could think of was China. As a palace servant, he’d always had to say “Care for a cup of coffee, signore, or a tea from China?” So he asked, “Is your homeland near China?”

  “Nearer to China than to here,” the cricket said. “Where do you come from, or were you never told?”

  Pinocchio was eager to show he knew. “I come from a palace.”

  “Whose palace?” Maestro asked.

  Pinocchio thought. He knew it floated high above a magnificent city with streets of water. His master had been the head butler, and even he was a servant of the palace, although not an automa servant. But had his former master ever mentioned whose palace it was…?

  “You don’t know, do you?” Maestro said, with a playful flicker of his antennae.

  “Don’t tease him, Maestro,” Geppetto
said as he came back in, carrying a cup of coffee and a box. The box was etched with designs and speckled with colorful pieces of glass. Set into the lid was a complicated mechanism of gears and brass parts.

  “What does it matter?” Maestro chirped. “He’s just an automa.”

  Geppetto gave a grunt and took out some tools to begin working on the box. He tapped out dented gears and heated solder over a gas flame.

  “What should I do, Master?” Pinocchio asked.

  “Can you repair broken chimera boxes?” Geppetto asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Then just sit there.”

  Geppetto pried at a piece of ruby-red glass on the side. The jewel cracked under the tip of the chisel. “Blast it!” He slammed the tool to the counter. “Maestro, must you just sit there in silence?”

  “Not if you ask nicely,” the cricket said.

  Geppetto smirked at him. “I’ll floss my teeth nicely with your antennae.”

  “Incorrigible barbarian,” Maestro muttered, before beginning a song.

  “What does incorrigible mean, Master?” Pinocchio asked.

  “It means ‘wonderful,’” Geppetto said, a smile poking out beneath his mustache.

  Maestro stopped playing and shook his tiny head in exasperation before continuing his song.

  Geppetto leaned over the counter to peer cautiously out at the street. A man was pushing a vegetable cart up the cobblestone lane. Others were sweeping away the debris from last night’s storm.

  Discreetly, from a drawer beneath the counter, he took out the case that Pinocchio remembered contained a salamander’s tail, whatever that was. Geppetto held the case in one hand and touched a blackened fingertip to the broken glass jewel. The glass sizzled and then became whole once more, popping out from the casing and rattling onto the countertop. Geppetto stowed the case back in the drawer. Then he straightened up and took a satisfied sip of his coffee.

  “How did you do that, Master?” Pinocchio asked.

  “A trick I picked up from an elemental,” Geppetto said before resuming his work.

  Pinocchio had a vague memory that the alchemist who used to do repairs on the palace automa often worked with a gnome. “Is a gnome an elemental?”