by Bridget Ladd
These people weren’t Abnormal.
These people wouldn’t make us sick.
This larger part, this Lily that Mrs. Fawnsworth warned me about, was urging me to fight.
Urging me to fight back for the citizens of Prosper.
Chapter 2
The Blacksmith With Knowing Eyes
Cousin Annette sat beside me as we ate, her blond ringlets bobbing as she drew the attention of everyone around her.
Lost in my own thoughts, I tried to ignore her many envious advances on my right to rule, being that I had become well accustomed to them over the years.
In a way, I pitied her. Annette wasn’t always so . . . so petty. Or cruel. I’ve found that envy tends to bring out the ugliest in people. Caught in this very trap, Annette lost her innocence from the moment she discovered that the position she so desired was only offered to me by right of birth.
“The green Lily!” She nudged me with her elbow. “The green. My eyes. Do you see it? They’re just tiny specks, but if you catch the correct lighting you can see them. Lily?” She cleared her throat, forcing my attention.
“Yes, Annette.” I made an effort to look at her eyes. “Yes, the green, the specks, they’re lovely.”
I forced a memory of when we were young to the forefront of my mind: of us sneaking away into the Council library to climb to the topmost walkway, giggling as we’d hang our heads over the end of the wooden planks—pretending we were overlooking the Edge. The things we’d imagined that lay beyond would, of course, be dismissed as innocent fancy now. But what if what lay beyond wasn’t as abominable as everyone thought?
What if?
Annette narrowed her eyes from my lackluster response and pouted.
Scottie chuckled, making us both turn to stare at him.
He sighed, leaning back in his chair. “Oh how I tremble at the mere mention of such woes of women. I wish my only stresses revolved around the concern of the hue of my eyes,” he said with a laugh.
I looked at him hard, unaffected. “And please, do tell . . . what are the woes of men that we women must tremble at the mere mention of?”
His face lifted in pleasant surprise. He sat up straighter. “Have you not heard the news?”
Annette, undaunted by his earlier comment, decided to answer for me. “No, do tell!” She clasped her hands together excitedly.
He smiled, looking between the both of us. “I’ve volunteered my name into the Drawing for this year’s Barrage tournament.”
That wasn’t what I had expected him to say.
“Oh?” I eyed him uncertainly.
Thirteen years of hope and anticipation had gathered in the hearts of the citizens, and I must admit, my own heart held a glimmer of that same interest. For this was the year of the upcoming Barrage, the mechanical gladiatorial tournament held between the Sectors, used as a form of checks and balances to the Law. The Barrage year always put everyone on edge. For the team who wins, gains the opportunity to change the Law.
The Law that has remained unchanged since its creation, almost eighty years ago.
Annette squealed. However, her demeanor changed quickly from jubilant to stricken once the true realization kicked in. “But it’s so dangerous! You . . . you could be killed!”
Scottie chuckled, waving her prudish fears away. Then he turned to me, seeking my input.
“You must be very excited?” I replied neutrally, not knowing how else to respond.
Slowly and with intentions clear, Scottie ran his eyes up the length of my bodice, finally meeting my eyes. “Yes . . . it would seem so.”
My eyes narrowed from his boldness.
Annette cleared her throat, a frown creasing her own brow.
“Well, I know whom I’ll be cheering for. Even if you are from Sector 7 . . .” She giggled, and swatted flirtatiously at the air with the downwards motion of her limp wrist—as if it suddenly lost interest in its job.
“You’d deny approval to your own Sector? For me? I’m flattered,” he said, bringing his lingering eyes back to Annette.
Annette smiled sweetly. “Yes, I’ve always tended to agree with some of 7’s stricter policies.” She leaned in close. “I hear 7 can be quite convincing when it comes to dealing with those who are a little too inquisitive with matters of the Outland . . .”
Neither Scottie nor I had anything to say to that. Scottie halfway opened his mouth as if to say something, but then closed it after looking my way, noticing my frown.
Unable to bear a lull in the conversation, Annette changed the topic and proceeded to fill it with some more of the latest gossip from the girls of Sector 8. “Molly Dubois, did you hear? Word has just gotten around that she was really born as a Marko Dubois . . . I would have never known! I reported her of course . . . or him, or whatever it is!” She giggled at her own joke. “How disturbing to think that someone would want to do such a thing!”
A bitter taste filled my mouth. I couldn’t believe she was being so heartless. I tried so very hard to conjure the image of my sweet little Annette, knowing I shouldn’t argue with her about her attitude. That it’d only make her cry, later, when left alone in her room. But then again . . . this Molly Dubois girl didn’t deserve to cry over such loosely thrown words either.
Realization knotted the pit of my stomach: She’d been reported. Crying over loose words would be the least of her worries now.
I sighed, struggling to release a calming breath. The safest course of action was to ignore Annette. I stared at my black-gloved hands which I had placed discreetly beside my plate. The table cloth scrunched beneath my fingers. It looked as if I was trying to hold on for dear life, ready to spiral away at a moment’s notice, but unless they glanced at my hands, no one observing my placid expression and demure stance would guess that I was desperately restraining myself from strangling my dear, dear cousin. Though at the moment, I didn’t much care even if they did.
A piece of lace was beginning to fray from the corner of my glove and I fought the urge to rip it off entirely. I wanted to tear my skirts, loosen my corset, run barefoot over the stone of the cloud covered streets. Like the warring flames within the lanterns, I wanted this chaos. Anything would suffice over being here at this moment with Annette spewing heated venom from her lips, and with Scottie looking at me as though I was nothing more than a delicious serving of the evening meal.
So what if someone appeared . . . different? I didn’t care if it was the Law—that the Law served to protect us. I’d been around Mrs. Fawnsworth long enough to know that she was a little abnormal herself and yet I’d never fallen sick because of it.
Different wasn’t bad. Different was interesting. What would they think if they knew that I, the Initiate Mistress of Science, wanted to know what it was like to be an Engineer Blacksmith? To feel the sweat on my skin and the dirt on my face as I hammered the kinks from the metal. To feel first-hand the joy of creating my designs as Mistress.
I wanted, so desperately to be the Lily Mrs. Fawnsworth wished me to be.
“Lily!” Annette scoffed. “Mind your manners you oaf!” she cried, slapping at my hand which still gripped the tablecloth. “Are you day-dreaming you’re in the Barrage again? Like you used to tell me about all the time as a child? Going at someone’s throat are you? Little Miss Brave Lily Emerson . . .” She looked at Scottie, her brows rising. “She did. I kid you not.”
Scottie looked at me and chuckled, and not in a nice way. “Now that I’d like to see,” he said carefully.
Annette nodded and took a sip from her glass, then leaned over the table and mock-whispered to Scottie loud enough so I could hear, “You know, some days I think Lily would have rather been born a boy. Change her gender like Molly.”
Scottie pursed his lips. “That might prove difficult . . . such a feminine face and an ample bosom to conceal,” he added, as if I wasn’t directly in front of him. “And it would be a crime to present one so sweet to the Council.” If he was trying to flatter me, he wasn’t succeeding.<
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I could handle Annette’s little jabs and taunts. But now? Now I had to deal with Scottie’s grody bootlicking too?
—Like an over-inflated hydrogen balloon, my resistance burst into flame. I released the tablecloth, and to my surprise found a butter knife hidden beneath my palm. I jerked my hand away, sending the knife flying from the table.
I cringed as it clattered its way down to the floor. It teetered from hilt to blade before finally coming to rest beneath my feet. To my relief, no one else noticed other than my two dinner partners. Annette hid a laugh with her gloved fingers while Scottie ran his hand through his hair as though he was embarrassed. He bent low to retrieve it, but I waved him off, not wanting any of his forced chivalry.
Reaching down to pick up my own knife, I scanned the room from under the table, desperate to focus my attention on something other than the two nearest me.
Deep breath, Lily.
A young man, I couldn’t recall ever meeting, was propped up against the wall closest to one of the exits. He checked the time from his bronzed pocket watch, then, as if sensing my lingering gaze, he turned his head and caught me staring. He arched an eyebrow and tilted his head to match my own skewed perception from beneath the table.
Knowing I looked ridiculous, I broke the contact, righting myself in front of my plate again.
The ever-nosy Annette didn’t miss a beat, however.
“That’s Xander,” she whispered into my ear, dipping down to my side. She was always quite happy to fill me in on the latest gossip. “He’s the Blacksmith Engineer who’s providing the entertainment for tonight. They say he’s very talented.” She giggled. Her voice dropped then, lined with a remorseful acceptance. “Too bad he’s a common street urchin though, for I must say he is mighty scrumptious. Wouldn’t you agree?”
“Scrumptious?” I turned slightly to acknowledge Annette. “He’s not a pastry, for heaven’s sake,” I tried to whisper, but my voice rose with every word. I huffed and shook my head, determined to remain unaffected, but still I found myself sneaking another glance in his general direction . . . while trying to not make myself look like a complete gawking fool. After all, I’d never seen an actual Engineer Blacksmith before. I was only curious. For . . . scientific observation that is. I rolled my eyes at my own insubstantial internal reasoning and sat forward on my elbows to study the Engineer from behind my gloved hands.
His hair was casually but neatly swooped to the side and from what I could tell, he had a face that was handsomely sculpted—no doubt from the hours spent sweating away in the smithy. He held his top hat in the crook of his arm, and was wearing a simple but finely-made pinstriped black suit. It had no other elaborate ornamentation, like the lapel pins, button chains and obnoxious ruffled neck collars worn by the ‘refined’ gentlemen in the room, but ‘Street urchin’ would be the last two words I would have used to describe him.
He wasn’t looking at anything in particular, but the longer I stared, the more I got the impression he knew what I was up to all along.
As if in warning—he clamped his pocket watch shut with a definitive clap of metal on metal, the ringing echo making me jerk back—right into Annette’s knowing smile.
“Do shut up,” I murmured to her as I turned to my plate, not wanting to encourage her further.
“I haven’t said anything.”
“Oh believe me, you will.”
Maybe this night should’ve been held in her honor. No matter how disastrous she’d be as a Mistress, she’d fit right in with the Ladies of Science and their social meddling.
Annette giggled with a suspicious look upon her face as she righted herself. She opened her mouth as though she was going to say something, but then stopped and practically squealed in my ear instead. “Oh, goodie! The scones and jam are arriving. The show should be starting soon!”
I looked up again, but the young man, Xander, was gone.
~
The static of the spinning record player was the cue for everyone to turn their attention to the center of the room. The lights gave a reflective gleam to the golden ceiling, which then spiraled down to the floor. With its intricate designs curling close and then away from one another, it was the only warm and inviting thing in the banquet hall. I used to get lost in those patterns when I was a child. Small things like this continue to fascinate me. I’ve been told on numerous occasions, that they shouldn’t. That the mind shouldn’t linger.
The pre-recorded symphony music started suddenly, jerking everyone into attention. The crowd held their breaths, and many of their expectant faces revealed glimpses of innocent wonder. I even saw it in Annette’s, but nowhere did I see it in Scottie’s as he caught my eye from across the table. Even behind the lewdness there was a certain sadness in his eyes. And a hint of cruelness waiting even further beyond that, a feeling which unnerved me deeply.
I directed my attention away from his heated gaze—just in time to see a gangly looking automaton cartwheel itself into the center of the room. It bounced up weightlessly, flinging its arms to the side as if to introduce itself.
I smiled. The robot was delightful to watch, in an absurd sort of way. A few of the guests behind me chuckled at the sight, but quickly camouflaged their lapse in restraint with hacking coughs.
I grinned slightly. It appeared not everyone had their noses completely glued to the ceiling.
The automaton spun quickly, jingling every which way as it bounded across the room. While in mid flip, it reached behind its back and produced three metallic balls and proceeded to juggle each into the air. One after the other, the shiny spheres maneuvered above its thin and bony hands with precision until one intentionally misfired, and the spindly robot had to leap onto the Council member’s table to retrieve it, knocking dinnerware and empty plates to the floor as it did so.
I bit my lip and covered my smile with a napkin as the sound of breaking plates clattered to the ground.
That was quite an audacious move, trifling with the Council like that. My regards to the Engineer, if this was indeed his creation. What was his name again?
Oh, yes. Xander.
Seeing the shocked and disagreeable looks on the faces of the Council members, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was the first genuine laugh I’d known in a long while. I glanced at my mother—her thinly pursed lips and disapproving stare alone could’ve set the room ablaze.
The robot leapt from the table, sending more of the dinnerware flying. As it landed on its wobbly feet, the top half of its leg piece—which had been constructed to look like a pair of pants—slipped down. The robot feigned embarrassment as it struggled to pull its “pants” back up to hide its metallic nakedness.
A large man behind me coughed in an awkward fashion, struggling to hide his amusement.
The automaton made its way across the room again and stopped short a few paces in front of me. Placing its metal hands over its nonexistent heart, it stood frozen, its legs trembling as though smitten with me.
Blushing at the attention, I decided to play along, and offered it a flirtatious smile.
The robot put one slender finger to its copper-hinged mouth as if in deep thought. Suddenly excited, it reached inside a compartment at its back and removed something small. It approached me slowly and bowed, dangling a copper locket necklace from its slender hands.
I gasped.
The locket was complete with moving gears and a pair of small wings that spread from either side.
I accepted the gift with a gracious nod as the slight weight of it fell into my palm.
“Thank you. You’re very kind,” I whispered.
The robot leapt before me, landing onto one knee, and longingly gestured for my hand. I laughed, allowing it to adorn my lacy gloved hand with its brazen kisses.
“This is absurd.” Scottie, seated next to the robot, cleared his throat and turned in his seat. I frowned at him uncertainly just before he reared out and gave the robot a vicious kick, knocking it to the ground in a flourish of sparks.<
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I shot back in my seat, my mouth hanging lifelessly open.
“Enough of this, you worthless use of viable metal,” Scottie said loud enough for everyone to hear. “How about you lie there and feign death? Supply us with some real entertainment.”
The robot remained on the floor, not because of Scottie’s cruel suggestion, but because it struggled with a mechanical error. Haphazard sparks showered from its side as it tried, but failed, to get up. A hot stream of steam shot out from its back as it attempted to support its own weight on malfunctioning legs.
Forgetting all forms of etiquette, I stood up, gathered my skirts into my palms and rushed to the robot’s side. Some of the guests half-raised themselves out of their chairs, unsure if it was improper for them to continue to sit while I was on my feet.
I knew everyone thought me foolish. I didn’t care. To them it was only an automaton, a pre-programmed machine with no real emotions. Contrary to what they believe, this lifeless piece of machinery held more genuine emotion than everyone in this room combined.
An automaton would never be understood in the eyes of the Council. Much like myself.
“Why would you do such a thing, Scottie?” I turned to him, honestly confused. But then I saw the poor robot twitching beneath me and the words flew from my mouth. “Because you’re a saddened prick.”
Scottie’s face turned a deep shade of red. “And you’re pitiful. Acting as though you can comfort it.”
I made no effort to disguise my hostility. “Do you wish to rethink those words?”
“Pardon?” he said, blinking.
“I merely suggest that you may wish to consider more carefully what you say to the woman who can make or break your career.”