Shadowsea

by Peter Bunzl

  In the dining room, the two mechanical waiters were busily showing the other passengers to their seats. A clockwork concert pianist sat at the duralumin grand piano, playing Christmas carols to welcome everyone to dinner.

  Each table was set with bone china and silver cutlery, starched white napkins and red-and-gold crackers. There were even specially designed seasonal menus with sprigs of holly printed around their edges.

  Lily put the basket down by her feet and checked to see how Malkin was doing. He’d dozed off already. Mechanical foxes, she found, did not take Christmas half as seriously as humans.

  She fidgeted about in her seat to get comfortable. She intended to enjoy the festivities, yet she couldn’t help notice that everyone else was staring at her. Lily bit her lip and held the menu in front of her face, pretending to study it.

  “What’s wrong?” Robert asked.

  “Every time I come in here, people gawk at me as if I’m some kind of medical anomaly!”

  “Nonsense!” Papa said.

  “Cream of artichoke!” One of the mechanical waiters placed a gold-rimmed soup dish in front of each of them.

  “I don’t see anyone staring.” Papa adjusted his napkin on his lap, while Robert tried to work out which of the diverse denizens of the dining room was gawking the most at Lily.

  “That’s because you don’t pay attention, Papa,” Lily admonished. “You’re so lost in your own head, reading your patents and papers, practising your important speeches or inventing things, that you barely see what’s in front of your nose.”

  “I don’t know what to say…” Papa stopped eating and reached up to clutch his nose comically, as if that was the culprit.

  “You don’t have to say anything.” Lily dipped some bread in her soup. “But know that since we’ve been on this airship – in fact, even before that, at Liverpool Airstation – people were pointing me out to each other and whispering about me behind their hands.”

  “Is this true?” Papa asked Robert.

  Robert nodded. He had been having trouble deciding on which of the many different-shaped silver spoons to use, but had finally settled on the biggest one, which, it turned out, barely fitted in his mouth.

  “Lily’s famous now,” he gargled through a sloppy spoonful of soup.

  “Infamous, more like,” Malkin said, poking his head from under the table. “Thanks to that clanking article Anna wrote.”

  “I knew no good would come of that,” Papa cried exasperatedly as the waiters swapped the barely-finished soups for a main course of roast turkey with the full trimmings. “Curse Anna and all her pals on Fleet Street.”

  Anna was one of Lily and Robert’s closest friends – a journalist. She’d written an article about Lily two months ago in which she’d revealed the secret of Lily’s clockwork heart and, since then, people had become interested in Lily, often seeking her out.

  Life at Brackenbridge Manor – the country house where she lived with Papa, Robert, Malkin, Mrs Rust, Captain Springer, Mr Wingnut and Miss Tock – had changed in many small ways. When journalists and other interested parties would knock on the front door in hope of an interview, Mr Wingnut, the mechanical butler, or Miss Tock, the mechanical maid, would send them packing. And if they sneaked round the back, then the indomitable Mrs Rust would threaten them with her meat-cleaver arm-attachment and shout, “COGS AND CHRONOMETERS! BE OFF, BEFORE I CALL THE CONSTABULARY!” Even Captain Springer, who was normally so calm and collected, had taken to chasing off any visiting reprobates with his rake.

  All of which was lucky, as, oftentimes, Lily had no idea what to say to these people. She felt like she was an imposter and unworthy of their attention. But still, every week, dozens of letters arrived asking if Anna’s article was true, whether she really did have a clockwork heart, and how it felt to be the only one in the world with such a thing.

  Of course, these were questions Lily didn’t know how to answer.

  Anyway, they weren’t really about her. They were about Papa’s machine.

  No one ever asked how she’d rescued Papa when he was kidnapped, or how she’d survived being almost drowned in the Thames by notorious criminal Jack Door. Nor what it felt like to meet Queen Victoria and ride on the back of her mechanical elephant. They never asked Lily about being held prisoner in the Skycircus, or enquired about how, along with the other acts, she’d fought for hybrid rights.

  Things would be different, Lily thought, when she wrote her own story. Then she would explain what it was like to live through such adventures. She’d made a start already in her journal. It was slow going because writing was hard, but the important thing to stress was that being a hybrid was not dissimilar to being anyone else. It was how you lived your life that mattered; that made you who you were. Not whether you possessed a flesh-and-blood heart or a mechanical one.

  “TELEGRAM FOR TOWNSEND! IMPORTANT TELEGRAM FOR MASTER TOWNSEND!” a voice called out, interrupting her thoughts and everyone else’s Christmas dinner.

  Lily’s Cogheart tick-tocked wildly. That was Robert’s name. She looked up to see a mechanical porter in the blue uniform of the Royal Dirigible Fleet trundling across the floor on his wheeled feet, carrying a silver tray.

  “Quick, hide!” Lily told Malkin.

  Grumbling to himself, the mech fox clambered back into his basket beneath the table. Lily tucked him away and studied Robert’s nervous face. Who could possibly be sending him a telegram at Christmas dinner?

  “That’s me!” Robert called out, a knot forming in his stomach. “I’m Townsend!” Anxiously he pushed aside his Christmas meal.

  The mechanical porter approached their table. His wheels squeaked loudly, cutting through the chatter of the other diners.

  “Here you are, Sir,” he said, holding out the telegram to Robert on its silver platter.

  Gingerly, Robert took it.

  “Thank-you-Seasons-Greetings-and-good-day,” the mechanical snapped quickly, before snatching away his tray and trundling off towards the exit on the far side of the dining room.

  Robert ripped open the telegram and scanned it; the knot in his stomach loosened and his heartbeat slowed. It was from his ma. He read it aloud to everyone.

  Lily felt relieved the telegram wasn’t bad news. “It’s a shame your mama and Caddy are going to be a day late,” she said. “But you still have plenty of time to see them,” she added soothingly.

  “What do you think she means by surprises?” Robert asked her.

  “I don’t know.” Lily took a mouthful of buttery turkey. “Perhaps she just means she’s brought you a nice Christmas present?”

  “A snotty hanky, perhaps?” Malkin suggested, poking his head up between Robert’s legs in a most alarming fashion. “Isn’t that what most humans keep up their sleeves in winter?”

  John Hartman looked up from his food. “I don’t see the point of trying to read these various meanings into such a short message, Robert.”

  “Papa’s right,” Lily said, eating a Brussels sprout. “You’ve done that every time your ma’s sent you something.”

  “Yes,” said Malkin, nudging Robert’s leg with his nose. “You need to calm down about seeing them again.”

  They were right, Robert observed to himself. He clasped his ma’s Moonlocket that he wore around his neck, stroking its ivory inlay as he always did when he was worried about her. Since he’d been getting closer to the reunion with his ma and sister, his nerves had become more and more frayed. This would only be his second time seeing them, and yet, despite their differences, he’d missed their presence in his life. He wanted everything on this holiday to be perfect. “I suppose I am concerned about how it will be,” he said. “I want to prepare myself for every eventuality. Including…” He broke off, and finished quietly to himself, “The fact that we might not get along…”

  The journey across the Atlantic took three more days, during which time Robert and Lily ate far too much Christmas cake, watched various ships passing in the night, and played a
clank of a lot of hands of whist and cribbage. Malkin would’ve joined them in their games, only he found he couldn’t hold the playing cards in his teeth.

  Every evening, before bed, they took it in turns to read aloud from Papa’s guidebook, which was called Appleton’s General Guide to the United States and Canada and had an illustrated section full of tips and advice on New York.

  Finally, on the afternoon of the twenty-eighth of December, when they were due to arrive, the three of them pressed their noses against the cabin’s porthole window and peered out, expecting to see the city beneath them. Instead, they saw nothing but the bulbous shadow of Firefly, sweeping over the ocean.

  “There’s nothing to see but sea!” Lily moaned. “We needn’t have bothered getting dressed up!”

  In honour of their imminent arrival in New York, she’d put on her emerald-ribboned bonnet and a smart velvet blouson. Malkin wore his new green knitted jacket, which he’d barely taken off since receiving it. Robert had on his flat cap, which he always wore, and a woollen winter coat that had once belonged to his father. It was rather old now, but it was one of the last gifts that Thaddeus had given him before he’d died and it was Robert’s favourite item of clothing.

  “Four-fifteen,” Lily said, checking the time on her pocket watch, which she’d reset to United States Eastern time.

  “We must be getting close,” Robert said. “I imagine the coast will come into view quite soon.”

  “Not likely.” Malkin hooked his forepaws over the edge of the porthole window and pressed his leather nose to the glass. “This clanking zep travels so slowly that the Christmas holidays will be over by the time we get there.”

  Lily gave a disheartened sigh and hiked up the ends of her yellow-and-black striped scarf, tucking them into her coat pockets. The scarf was one of Mrs Rust’s early knitting experiments. Malkin said it made her look like a swaddled giraffe, but Lily felt more like a tiger when she wore it. The perfect beast to face New York.

  Just then, Papa burst into the cabin. He was dressed for the outdoors too, in a dark grey overcoat with a silk cravat tucked into the heavy collar. “Lily, Robert,” he cried as soon as he saw them. “You must come at once to the viewing platform. The captain tells me we’ll begin our descent to New York in the next five minutes. As we cross the harbour, we’ll float straight past the Statue of Liberty and see the whole of the city.”

  Lily peered out of the window and noted, with delight, that he was right. In the time they had been talking, a dark strip of coastline had appeared.

  “What about me?” Malkin asked.

  “You’ll have to watch from the window,” Papa said. “Mechanicals aren’t allowed on deck.”

  “Ridiculous rules,” Malkin muttered, waving his brush angrily at Papa.

  Suddenly, Lily had second thoughts too. “I don’t think I shall come either,” she announced. “I’m sure I’ll see well enough from here.” As thrilled as she was to see that statue from the very best vantage point, she didn’t want anyone goggling at her to mar her first view of the city.

  Papa must’ve known that was what she was fretting about, for he put his arm around her and gave her a squeeze. “I promise no one will be staring at you on the viewing platform, Lily. They’ll be too busy looking at the sights.”

  “Come on, Lil.” Robert flashed his friend a smile. “It’ll be no fun without you.”

  “I suppose,” Lily said, feeling a bit better.

  “Jolly good!” Papa was already on the move, marshalling them towards the exit. “And so, to the Crow’s Nest!”

  Lily picked up her wicker basket and glanced down at Malkin.

  “I wish you could come too,” she whispered.

  “He can,” Robert said and, while Papa wasn’t looking, Malkin jumped into the basket. Robert threw a blanket over him so he was hidden beneath it. Then the three of them set off together after Papa to go see the view.

  They traipsed along a corridor filled with numbered passenger compartments and took the winding spiral stairs at the far end that led right up through the centre of the zep’s balloon. It was a long climb past giant geometric frames that kept the silks in place, depleted oil tanks and gas envelopes and empty leather water bags that hung from various straps and girders. Through it all, Lily’s excitement rose at the thought of seeing New York.

  They reached the top of the spiral stairs and clambered through a hatch onto the zeppelin’s roof. Lily felt her belly drop and heart tick-tock nervously in her chest. It was harder to breathe out here. The chill wind blew through her woollen winter stockings. The airship was crossing New York harbour and, far off, beneath the heavy clouds, the sun had started to set.

  Lily squeezed into a gap at the viewing rail beside Robert and Papa and sensed a faint rustle against her leg. Malkin was poking his head from the wicker basket. He stuck his tongue out to taste the sea air and rested his snout over the foot rail, his ears flapping wildly in the wind as his bulging black eyes took in the view.

  The rest of the passengers were leaning against the railing, staring at the miniature islands that crowded the bay and holding onto their hats to stop them blowing off. Papa and Robert had been right, Lily realized, everyone was too busy sightseeing to notice her arrival.

  Then Lily spotted Liberty. And, in an instant, the sense of dread she’d felt at her own predicaments burned away. Papa was already staring at the giant metal lady, shading his eyes with a hand. Lily shook Robert by the shoulder and tapped Malkin’s head, pointing out the details on the statue.

  Alone on her island, beset by the raging waves of the harbour, Liberty looked small and slight beneath the burgeoning grey clouds, holding her torch aloft. But, as the airship swooped closer, accompanied by the loud oohs and aahs of the passengers, she seemed to grow in stature.

  Soon Lily could see every fold in her dress, every rivet on her bronze skin. Then they were passing right by her, beneath her raised arm – so close that Lily felt as if she might lean over the rail and touch Liberty’s hand.

  The statue had her back to the troubled ocean and was staring with concern at the island city. Lily followed her gaze and saw a hundred thousand windows twinkling like fallen stars embedded in the surface of the earth.

  It had started to snow. A flurry of flakes pinched harshly at Lily’s cheeks. She stuck her tongue out and swallowed her first New York snowflake. It tasted of ice and excitement.

  As the Firefly dipped towards the southern tip of Manhattan, Lily, Robert and Malkin traded exhilarated glances, readying themselves for the start of this new adventure…

  Lily took a deep breath and stepped down the gangplank of the airship, letting her lungs burn with the smoky sharpness of the city.

  Following behind her, Robert pulled his cap low and wrapped his collar tight around him. Clapping his gloved hands together, he huffed out clouds of steam into the cold winter twilight. Sharp noise and chatter echoed off the warehouse buildings on the wharf, assaulting his ears.

  Mechanical porters in red pillbox hats swarmed about inside the Firefly’s open hold, unloading everyone’s trunks and transporting them through the white slush to a warehouse filled with officious-looking customs officers in smart blue suits with starched white collars.

  The sheer number of people in this airstation made Robert’s head spin, but it would be hard to lose Lily amongst them, thanks to her brightly-striped tiger scarf and the basket with Malkin’s brush sticking out.

  As Lily and Robert walked with John through the crowds, not a single person stopped and stared, and Lily’s spirits were buoyed by the sudden and complete realization that no one here knew who she was, or the first thing about her.

  Here, in New York, she was free.

  “Malkin,” she said, stuffing his swishing tail back into the rear of the basket, “you’d best stay hidden. If you cause an international incident, they might send us back home before we’ve even properly arrived.”

  “As if I would!” Malkin stuck his leathery nose out from t
he basket’s other end, sniffing around at everything that was coming his way. “You know me. I’ll be discretion itself.”

  In the customs warehouse, the serious officials in the smart blue suits inspected each trunk in turn, overwhelming their owners with questions. Robert hoped he wouldn’t have to speak to any of them. He tended to get tongue-tied in those sorts of situations.

  They found their luggage – three large travelling trunks that were as tall as he was – and waited by them, while one of the customs men came over to check their passports and papers.

  “It says here you have a mechanimal with you?” the customs man said to John, consulting the manifest on his clipboard.

  “That’s right,” John said. “He’s a mech-fox.”

  Malkin tried to pop his head out of the basket then, but Lily pushed him down. The customs man glared at her. “He should really be packed away in a travel trunk. I hope you’ve filled in all the necessary paperwork for him.”

  “We have,” John said.

  “Good.” The customs man ticked a few boxes on a form. “Because it’s illegal to bring a mechanimal into this country unless it’s been properly registered.” He lowered his clipboard and gave them an uninterested smile. “All right, I’m done. You’ve cleared customs. You may leave.”

  When he’d gone, John engaged a mechanical porter in one of the red hats to take their trunks on to the hotel. The porter gave him a brass tag for their luggage and agreed to receive payment when he met them at the other end.

  “Look!” Robert said, tugging Lily’s sleeve and pointing out some of the other steerage passengers, who were being corralled off to a ferry boat at the edge of the quay by uniformed officials. “Where do you think they’re being taken?”

  “I don’t know,” Lily said, “but it seems a bit ominous.”