Magical Mechanications

by Pip Ballantine

  Madame Escrew tilted her head and smiled a smile like an iron barb. “Indeed, the palace is a wonderful place to grow up, but still…” She paused and placed her hand over the King’s. “Even a princess should have a use. Don’t you think, my love? It does not set a good example for the citizens to have your daughter seen idle around the palace.” Faine leaned over and placed a kiss on the King’s cheek. “Too long have your children frittered away their time without a mother’s touch.”

  Eleanor’s cheeks flamed red at the suggestion that she was idle and that Madame was anything like a mother. “Reading is not being idle. It is feeding the mind.”

  King Ivan jerked upright as if he’d been struck, and stared at his daughter as if seeing her for the first time; and Eleanor flinched. She had never seen her father look at her in that way.

  “Yes,” he rasped, “everything and everyone must have a purpose in the City of Swans.”

  Eleanor swallowed hard, feeling tears spring in the corner of her eyes.

  She watched her stepmother rise, fighting the urge to pull free of her touch when she snatched up one of her hands, flipping it over as if it were a dead frog. “Look at that; as soft as cheese! By your age, my dear, my hands were scarred and toughened by tightening screws, and forging parts for my father’s machines.”

  The King nodded mechanically. “It would be good for Eleanor to see the other side of privilege.”

  “Yes, not all of your subjects can write with diamond pencils on golden slates,” Faine said, her eyes still fixed on her as she returned to the King’s side.

  Her father grinned like an idiot, and pushed back from the table to stare at her. “What do you suggest then my darling? How can we make Eleanor aware how truly blessed she is?”

  Madame scraped up the last of her bacon and starling eggs, dispatching it with neat efficiency. “My engineer Stella would make an excellent teacher for the princess. Some call her a witch, and it is true she has many secrets that should not die with her. She is, after all, old. Quite frail.”

  Eleanor’s calm shattered as she leapt to her feet, knocking her chair over in the process. “Father!” she protested. “I refused to be judged by this woman. Surely you can’t mean to send me away? What have I ever done to deserve being used so ill?”

  Thunder clouds gathered in her father’s gaze; a darkness that she had never seen there before. Plenty of grief she’d seen in his eyes, but always lightened by his love for his children. He was a stranger to her in that moment.

  “Done?” he growled. “Done, my daughter? You have done nothing! That is precisely the point. You will do as your Mother suggests, and be grateful for the chance to improve yourself.”

  She knew a pointless fight when she saw one before her. “At least let me say goodbye to my brothers,” she whispered, dropping her head.

  “They are busy with their own work,” the King muttered, as he slurped down some tea.

  Eleanor clenched her jaw shut hard. As she had grown older, her father had become a benevolent, if distant, figure. She had always been able to dream that he loved her in some kind of way. All through the brief courtship of Madame Escrew and the King, Eleanor had felt even that tenuous connection disappearing. In this particular moment, hard and brutal as it was she realized that it was completely gone.

  Now there was only the hope of salvaging the remains of her family and the rest of the City.

  So she smiled in what she hoped was the manner of an obedient child and tilted her head. “Then I look forward to being of some use to you Father. And will attend Miss Stella and learn what I can.”

  A bitter bile welled in her throat. Anyone remotely connected with Madame Escrew was not someone she wanted to meet.

  *****

  Eleanor barely had a chance to wipe her mouth on the linen napkin before Madame was leading her to the door. A footman was waiting under the arch of the Great Hall, a small traveling case and an abashed expression across his own face.

  “Please do give sweet Stella my regards,” Madame said, her voice full of false delight. The feeling of her hand pressed into the small of the princess’ back was like a hovering knife. It made Eleanor think of her own desires the previous day, and wish again for a blade of her own.

  No, Eleanor decided, I will have to wait a little while. Find out her secrets and a way behind all her defenses.

  Eleanor looked to her father, one last time, but saw there was nothing to be had there. His eyes were elsewhere. He did not even bother to wave her off.

  As she was escorted down the stairs, out the door of the palace, and towards the city dock, Eleanor’s throat tightened. Maybe she hadn’t expected to be allowed to see her brothers, but she might have hoped one might come down the stairs by chance. With eleven of them there was a decent statistical possibility…

  Nothing.

  She shot a glance back at the gleaming spires of the palace, and a fear grew in her. Had Madame done something to them? Were they already dead?

  No, the princess reminded herself, Madame might be able to bend Father’s will on me, but his sons—my brothers—are another matter.

  The ferry that waited for her was piloted by a grey-faced old man, with one eye replaced by a battered onyx stone. She did not know him by sight but saw immediately by his expression that he would be no friend to her. Madame’s minions had been infiltrating all levels of the kingdom for quite some time now.

  Silently, Eleanor took up a place at the prow of the airship, setting her eyes to the horizon of gleaming silver clouds. The ferry pulled away from the City of Swans, and she swallowed hard on the realization that this was the first time she’d been away from the place of her birth. She’d previously dreamed of adventure beyond the safety of her father’s kingdom; it was cruel irony that she was achieving her dreams at the hands of her enemy.

  The ferry was old but not as slow as she wished it was. With the engines chugging and guided by the morose captain, they pulled quickly away from the city and found a fair current. It was as if nature herself was against the princess. By the evening Eleanor no longer had the comfort of ignorance in her destination.

  They were turning towards the distant crags where Madame held sway, and with every mile Eleanor could feel her stomach clench in an unhappy knot. The surface was a place no city dweller wanted to think of; contaminated, dangerous, where your body was consigned to when you died, and a place no sensible citizen would ever travel to. However it did provide some resources that were necessary to their lives.

  The princess walked reluctantly to the prow of the ferry and watched the destination resolve itself before her. Ahead the grey tips of the mountains were now becoming visible, rising out of the clouds like thick knuckles. As they drew even nearer she could make out square buildings dotted over their surface, accompanied by chimney stacks billowing smoke out into the winds.

  It was not a scene to inspire confidence. By the time the ferry pulled next to the dock and tied up, Eleanor’s nostrils were full of the choking sulfurous odor Madame’s industry created. The bleak grey rock, harbored no life, and the buildings had few windows to greet her. It was as far removed from the City of Swans as it was possible to get. It felt as though she had travelled for days to get here, and she was cut off from everything—including the love of her brothers.

  It would be exactly what Madame Escrew had planned from the beginning. At that thought Eleanor straightened her back. She had to remember her royal heritage. She had to remember every detail of her trials so she could draw on it for strength in the battle yet to come. That memory of hers would be useful once more.

  A tall, burly man, dressed in dusty grey clothing, and covered by a leather apron stood waiting for her. His eyes were as welcoming as the stone beneath their feet. The effect was only enhanced by the fact that he wore a filtering mask that completely covered the lower half of his face. He could have been grinning or leering beneath it, and she would never know. “Come,” he muttered, jerking his head, and turning away.
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br />   Eleanor contemplated what might happen should she refuse his curt command but decided this was a fight not quite worth fighting. Instead, she followed in his wake, past rumbling factories, and ranks of dead-eyed men filing in and out of them. As she went she held her sleeve over her mouth and tried not to choke.

  Finally, they reached a building with a large door with a mechanical wheel attached to it that was nearly as tall as Eleanor herself. Her nameless guide spun the wheel with some little effort and pulled the door open. The shriek it gave would have made the dead flinch. Without waiting to be asked Eleanor stepped inside.

  It was as she expected. Her guide slammed the door and spun the wheel behind her back. With a concentration of will the princess did not flinch, but instead carefully examined her surroundings. Since the interior of the building was illuminated only by half a dozen dim lanterns attached to the walls, it was made that much harder.

  However she was able to make out ten long benches laid out and at the far end of the cavernous space a forge with all the tools necessary for casting metals. She and her brother Brian had shared an interest in metal work, and curious despite the situation, Eleanor stepped further into the workroom. She ran her fingers lightly over the items she could now make out laid out on the benches.

  Automatons in various shapes and forms were easy to identify. They covered half the work space, while the other benches had cogs, gears, pistons, and pieces of boilers laid out in patterns she could not comprehend. She paused to examine them, her brow furrowed.

  Automatons were becoming popular in the City of Swans, but they were still restricted to simple tasks; pouring tea, answering doorbells, and perhaps walking the dog. As her fingers traced over the inner workings, she began to perceive that whoever the maker of this was, they had managed to miniaturize so many of the parts that these figures when finished could take on far more varied activities.

  “Interesting way of saying hello you have—rummaging around in my work!” The voice that came out of the shadows was so sharp and unexpected that Eleanor dropped the fly-wheel she’d been examining with a clatter. The figure that emerged from the rear of the workspace was as incredible as the works in progress on the benches.

  Eleanor quite forgot her manners and stared. The woman was small and old, her grey hair tangled and matted as if she had little care for it. It was however only on one half of her head. The other portion was a construction of naked gears and cogs that approximated the remaining part of her skull. Her right eye was a bleary cataract covered blue mortal eye while the other was a gleaming gem that must have been the largest diamond that Eleanor had ever seen. The strangeness was not however limited to her face, for whatever traumatic event had stolen it, had also taken much of her body too. The whole right side of her body was a collection of gleaming brass. An articulated hand was wrapped around a wrench, and when the woman moved forward it was with a pronounced limp. Beneath the leather metal-worker’s apron Eleanor knew there would be more wonders to behold. This then was the witch Madame had spoken of.

  The princess swallowed hard and waved her arm to take in the work laid out. “I couldn’t help myself, this is so fascinating. I do a little tinkering myself, but this…”

  The woman’s snort was an odd concoction of human and mechanical sounds; the wheezing of lungs along with the sound of air striking metal.

  Eleanor cleared her throat and dared to venture, “Stella?”

  Eyes, both flesh and jeweled focused on her. “Indeed. I am guessing She sent you.”

  Eleanor had no way of knowing how deep the clouds she was stepping out into where, so the princess kept her tone moderate. “Yes, the new Queen. She told me you were a friend of hers…”

  Stella lurched forward, throwing her weight unexpectedly towards Eleanor. She managed not to yell in shock, or to move—but it wouldn’t have made any difference. A long chain, gleaming in the faint light, pulled the woman up short. It was attached the good human leg she still had.

  “Made it myself,” she said with a bleak grin. “She challenged me to make a device even I could not break. And I—in my arrogance did.” She rattled it once more. “Forged the steel with my own blood. Hard magic to break that. I suppose I could saw my damn leg off, but…” she paused and shook her head. “I haven’t quite reached that point. Haven’t got much humanity left as it is.”

  The princess nodded, not quite knowing how to reply to that. In the end, she said nothing. It must have been the right thing to do as Stella, once the greatest tinker to be found in any City, took Eleanor princess of the Swans into her apprenticeship.

  Unlike the older woman she was not chained, but the door was locked securely, and only the faceless guard came to deliver food twice a day. They were a pair of prisoners.

  However soon enough Eleanor forgot all about that. In her father’s palace she had toyed with mechanics and engineering, but under Stella’s tutelage she was given total focus. Her new teacher would tolerate no idle moments, not even thinking of anything else. Nor was she shy about punishment. She would leave tools hot, or sharp edges bared so that the princess would burn or cut herself.

  Soon enough, Eleanor learned to observe where everything lay in the workshop. She also learned the fine art of cogs, wheels, pistons, boilers, and the little magics used to bring them to the peak of their abilities. Stella, she soon discovered, was a mistress of weaving, not just metals together, but also the magic of blood and flesh. It was this that made her prosthetics possible and would in time bring the automatons to life.

  Eleanor would have thought the rough, sometimes verging on cruel treatment she received from Stella would have driven her mad, but the truth of it was, she was learning in addition to the witch’s art, something of the witch herself.

  Once, when Stella was fitting a fly wheel into the housing of the most complete automaton, she caught a proud smile on her fellow captive’s face. Eleanor however knew she was losing herself in the endless progress of days. She had lost count, and been so immersed in the interesting work that she’d not thought to keep a tally.

  One morning—though she could not have identified which one—they sat, on each side of the door eating their cold breakfast in silence, and the princess realized it was a different silence. Instead of being awkward and painful, the quiet was companionable. Somewhere in the uncounted days they had reached an accord.

  The question remained if she could spin it out into something more than that.

  Cautiously, Eleanor began to speak. She drew her finger through the dust on the floor. “I confess I wonder what is happening in the outside world.” She did not mention her brothers or the City of Swans, but she had to lower her head least Stella see her thoughts in her expression.

  Instead of speaking, the witch climbed to her feet, and tugged her chain after her to the window. It was small, shuttered and usually never opened, but Stella unhooked the latch and pushed the coverings aside. Moonlight flooded in, and Eleanor recognized with a start that it was night beyond the walls of their prison. She didn’t want to see the outside world—even if it was the stained, bleak world of the rock—but Stella gestured her over.

  Together then, they peered out into the night. The sulfurous clouds were still there, but a breeze was wafting them back and forward in front of the full moon. Eleanor felt a knot of sadness choke her throat, and would have turned away to the harsh reality of their work, when Stella grabbed her arm and pulled her back. “Look!” she rasped.

  The princess stepped back and turned her gaze to where the witch was pointing. She saw shadows against the moon. They were more solid than clouds and shaped like great birds. Eleanor shook her head, and with a frown tried harder to discern what they were. They could not be owls, for the City of Owls had been breached and sunk over a hundred years ago—and besides these shapes were far too big.

  They had long slender necks and huge wings. They were swans!

  “What swans would fly at night?” she wondered out loud.

  “Watch,�
� Stella whispered, her rancid breath hot against Eleanor’s cheek.

  The group of swans turned in the moonlight, and the princess gasped. These were no creatures of feather and flesh. The light caught them and gleamed on brass and iron, etching each metallic feather in a gleam of white. The long articulated necks flexed beautifully with each downward beat. Eleanor was entranced at this display of the maker’s art. The artistry of the work burned into her memory.

  “They are amazing,” she stammered, pressing her fingertips against the glass as though she could somehow reach through and touch them.

  “Yes, they are,” the witch replied, “but you are only seeing skin deep. Do you not see how many there are?”

  Eleanor didn’t understand, but she did as she was bidden. Her gaze flickered over the slowly moving group. “Ten…eleven…” She stopped immediately that the words were out of her mouth.

  “Eleven birds. Eleven brothers,” Stella breathed into the ear of the princess.

  “No!” Eleanor flicked her head and stared at the witch. “She can’t have—”

  “As clever as we are in this day and age, there are some things that even the greatest tinker cannot do better than a living being.” Stella looked out the window again, following the circling flight of the mechanical birds. “Sometimes a sacrifice is required.”

  “My brothers…” Eleanor whispered, thinking of them all; some more beloved than others, but all dear to her. They were her blood.

  “Now they are Her creatures,” Stella returned. “They will be absorbed into the machine and eventually become part of it.”

  Eleanor’s mind was spinning, but she watched her brothers for a moment until it came it to her. “Eventually?” She grabbed hold of Stella. “You mean they are not already?”

  The witch shook her head, her brass jaw working, but sagged in the other woman’s grasp. Finally she ground out, “No, not yet. It will take a month for the transformation to be complete, and the machine to take all of their humanity beyond the ability to get them out alive.”