by Lev AC Rosen
This was as far as Violet could see, and she had not yet had time to wander, for since setting up, she had not had a lull in onlookers. Most seemed to be men of science, who asked her questions about the engine. A few asked her why she had chosen to make her device in the form a woman, to which she replied, “Women can do more than dance, gentlemen,” which produced a few chuckles. She was pleased—people seemed to be impressed with her engine, and Professor Forney, just before he left to go back to America, had slapped her on the back and told her that if she ever came across the pond he would hire her in a heartbeat. It was late morning when a familiar voice from the crowd asked, “Are there any other brilliant members of your family?”
Violet raised an eyebrow. “Just my father,” she said to the scowling Ashton as he stepped out of the crowd. The other scientists looked at them and wandered off, sensing a personal moment, which as scientists they knew was bound to be messy.
Ashton gave his sister a hug and then stepped back to admire Pallas.
“My,” he said softly, “that’s quite splendid. But don’t you worry that when you step out of her in a dress, that standing next to her, woman next to woman, and ready for comparison, that you’ll end up being the ugly one?”
“A risk I’m quite willing to take. She may be more lovely, but I am less likely to crush a man. Slightly less likely.”
Ashton laughed and stared at Pallas awhile longer. “Listen,” he said after a moment. “I’ve something to tell you.”
“Yes?”
“Father will be here.”
“What?” Violet asked. She felt her back tense, and a light ringing began in her ears.
“He apparently missed us terribly, and has seen quite enough of America, so instead of seeing the southern territories, he’s come home to spend the summer with us. He says he’ll go back to the conference in September. And, because he misses us, he thought he could take us to the Illyria Science Faire. A note came by messenger this morning.”
“What time will he be here?” Violet asked. Her pulse was rising and she could feel sweat trickling from her brow.
“Just before teatime, I believe.”
“Oh, that’s all right, then,” Violet said. Ashton looked at her curiously. “The Queen will be surveying the faire just after dinner, or so we were told. The duke will personally be escorting her to each booth, and we are to save our best presentation for that time. Father will arrive after that, so by then all the drama will be over with.”
“You’re really going to reveal yourself in front of the Queen?”
“Can you think of a more understanding person to present myself to?”
Ashton cocked his head and then nodded his assent. “Fair enough. Just after dinner?”
“That’s when it begins.”
“I’ll be back for it, then. I should go check on Antony, though. I left him by Toby’s table, and I’m not sure what that could result in. I’m not a scientist.” Violet grinned. “Oh,” Ashton said as he walked away, “one more thing—did you see the duke’s exhibit? At the other end of the hall?” Violet shook her head. “You should make it a point to see it before you go,” Ashton said with a grin, and then walked off into the ever-thickening crowd.
By midmorning there were plenty of non-scientists exploring the faire, a great many of them governesses or mothers with children. Several little girls came up to Violet’s booth and stared wonderingly up at Pallas, which made Violet grin, but when she knelt down to ask them if they wanted to see it work, they scurried back to their caretakers.
“Does it dance?” asked a man staring up at Pallas. “It’s awful big to go about dancin’.”
“No,” Violet said, “she doesn’t dance. She works. She can move in all directions and her hands can lift up to the weight of a horse, each.”
“So she doesn’t dance?” the man asked. Violet shook her head. The man shrugged and walked off. Violet frowned after him.
“Can I see it work?” came a small voice from below her. Violet looked down to see one of the little girls who had fled earlier. A woman in a severe navy dress stood a few feet away, looking on warily.
“Of course,” Violet said, and gave a demonstration of Pallas lifting one of the chairs. The little girl clapped as Violet stepped out of Pallas again.
“How did you build it?” the little girl asked.
“It took a lot of hard work,” Violet said. “I had to figure out which parts go where and how to make them. I bet when you’re older, though, you can make something even better.”
The little girl put her thumb in her mouth and shook her head, looking down, then giggled.
“Sara,” the little girl called to the woman in blue, “this lady says when I grow up, I can be an inventor like her!”
“That’s a young man, Carlotta,” Sara said in an even American accent. Carlotta turned back to Violet, a confused look on her face. Violet knelt down so only Carlotta could see her, put a finger over her own lips, and winked. Carlotta giggled again and ran back to Sara, who took her hand and led her to the next booth.
Violet was so busy demonstrating Pallas’s abilities and answering questions that she didn’t have a spare moment to see the duke’s booth. The Crystal Palace was quite full until lunch, when the crowd began to taper off. When she could see through the crowd again, she cast glances at her friends’ booths: Toby seemed to be out of ale, and quite upset about it; and Fiona’s hair had begun to topple, probably due to her constant sneezing; but otherwise, everyone looked happy, proud, and tired. Violet waved at Jack, who shot her a grin. Which is when she saw the large crowd at the other end of the hall. It was flanked by guards and people in particularly fine dress, and moved deliberately, stopping at each booth; this was surely the Queen and her entourage.
Violet swallowed. Her palms were sweating—would they be too slippery to operate the controls, or put on the dress she had hidden inside Pallas? And what about her hair? Fiona had shown her how to quickly put her hair up with a false bun, and she had practiced until she could do it in under half a minute, but she hadn’t practiced with sweaty palms. Could the duke love her with short hair? She glanced over at Toby’s table. He was definitely out of ale. Everyone was staring at the Queen’s entourage now, as it came down the Great Hall of the palace. All the commoners had been cleared out, and the nobility and scientists flocked around the Queen, wanting to catch a glimpse of her, or see the demonstrations in her honor.
Time passed slowly. She looked at each booth after the entourage had passed. Each time, the student looked as though he had been stampeded by the nobility, not merely interrogated. When Toby’s turn was over, he was red faced and nervous looking, and when they were done with Drew’s exhibit, Fiona was fanning Drew, who had apparently fainted into her arms. Remarkably, Merriman seemed unscathed and happy when they were done with him, but Violet had little time to examine him, for they were upon her next.
The Queen was not a tall woman, nor were her looks terribly imposing. She more resembled someone’s loving grandmother than the ruler of all the Empire. Plump, with her crown resting over wispy white hair, she had gentle eyes that gazed at Violet expectantly. She had a large open fan that she waved at her face occasionally. Around her stood her various advisors, and some members of Parliament. And the duke, who had apparently been speaking the entire time that Violet had been staring at the Queen.
“Mr. Adams?” the duke prompted.
“Yes,” Violet said. “Sorry. Your Majesty. Sorry, Your Majesty.” Violet spoke in clunky bricks. A few of the nobles chuckled, but the Queen smiled reassuringly.
“Take your time, dear,” she said, “and don’t be nervous. We just want to see what your great contraption can do. It is lovely, isn’t it?”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” said one of the advisors. “It resembles Her Highness, if I may be so bold.”
The Queen giggled and shot the advisor a look. “You ought not lie to the Queen.”
“What does it do?” asked a rather gruff-looking m
an next to the Queen.
“Let him explain, Mr. Gladstone,” the Queen said, and they all turned to Violet, who swallowed.
“I call her Pallas,” Violet said, clearing her throat and speaking in as manly a voice as she could muster. “She is piloted by one person, and easy to learn. She can turn in any direction, move as fast as a horse at a steady trot, and is capable of lifting up to the weight of a large stallion in each hand. Furthermore, she runs on a spring engine of my own design, which recycles its own energy, so that just a few turns of the key can keep her running for several days. The material I used to build the engine was invented by Miss Cecily Worthing, and is extremely durable, so it does not wear down or lose its energy.” Violet pointed at the sketch of the engine. “Here is the design, should Your Highness care to examine it.” Violet bowed her head, unsure of the proper behavior. A few of the men in the group stepped forward to examine the engine. The Queen did not.
“Would Your Majesty care for a demonstration?” Violet asked after a minute.
“It would please us greatly,” the Queen said.
Trembling, Violet opened Pallas—which caused a few gasps among the nobles—and climbed in, then she shut the door behind her, immediately took off her jacket, opened her shirt at the back, and began piloting Pallas. Timing was crucial. First, she demonstrated how Pallas could rotate full circle and move in any direction. When her window was facing away from the crowd, she took the opportunity to slip the dress on. While they could only see her face, they probably would have noticed her fussing about with a dress. Then, as she continued to pilot Pallas, she slipped her pants off, tangling them for a moment in the pedals at her feet. She breathed in deeply, untangled her feet, and in one deft motion plunged them into her waiting shoes. Next, her hands free again, she lifted two large stone slabs she had had brought to the Crystal Palace, one in each hand, and had the hands move around in all possible directions. She bent her head down and quickly put her hair up in the bun Fiona had showed her, loose, with some hair still hanging from the front of her face. Suddenly, there was a deafening crash. Violet panicked. Had she just dropped one of the stones? Had she dropped it on the Queen? She would be hanged. She pressed her face to the glass and looked out at the palace.
Everyone had turned to one of the walls, which had just been shattered by the small army of a skeletal automata that stormed the crowd. With vicious ease, they knocked people and tables to the ground, a wave of metal. People began to scream and flee from the army, but many were cut down, blood staining the glass walls of the palace in horrid violent streaks. And in the distance, Violet could see Volio, following his automata in, looking on proudly as the chaos grew and poured outward, taking over the entire palace. He looked around the room, and his eyes focused on something as a sneer crept onto his face. Then he hit a strange instrument around his neck, and the automata changed direction and headed for the other end of the palace. Quickly, the Queen’s guard whisked her away from the battle. The duke ran through them, toward the automata, shouting, and the remaining soldiers from the Queen’s entourage joined him, firing their rifles with quick sudden blasts of noise and smoke. Violet piloted Pallas forward into the fray.
* * *
FROM the ground, it was more difficult to see what was going on. All Jack knew was that seemingly hundreds of automata, all clearly from the basement, had attacked the faire en masse, and his first thoughts were of Cecily.
Her booth was at the other end of the Crystal Palace. Around him, soldier and automaton fought, guns and swords and metal talons clanging together. Jack was unarmed and had no way of getting through the wall of war in front of him. He ran quickly from booth to booth, dodging claws and sabers. By the time he made it to Toby’s booth, he had a gash in the back of his leg.
Toby’s booth was overturned, and Toby was kneeling behind it, using it as a shield. Ashton knelt beside him.
“Exciting, isn’t it?” Toby asked.
“Exciting is an excellent performance of a play, or a good book. This is merely life threatening,” Ashton said.
“Have you seen Drew?” Toby asked.
“Last I saw, he had fainted at his own booth.”
“Well, if you see him, tell him to come this way,” Toby said. “I have an idea, but I could use his help.”
There was a loud bang and a popping noise as a bullet flew through the wall of the booth, leaving a hole by Ashton’s head.
“I’m heading to the other end of the faire,” Jack said. “I’ve got to check on Cecily.”
“Good luck, mate,” Toby said, clapping Jack on the back. “And it’s been fine knowing you, if we don’t make it out of this one.”
“Don’t be morbid,” Ashton said. “I’m going with you, Jack. I can’t just sit here.”
“Okay,” Jack said, peeking out from around the corner of the booth. “Drew’s booth is over there. I’m going to make a dash for it.”
“I’ll be right behind you,” Ashton said. Jack took one more look to see that it was relatively clear, and ran for Drew’s booth, the pain in his leg throbbing.
* * *
ALL around Violet, automata fought with soldiers, metal talons fencing with dress sabers, but the soldiers seemed to be losing. Blood splattered on Pallas’s window as a nearby soldier’s heart was torn out and then crushed. Violet had never seen such violence, and she felt a little dizzy from it. The high-pitched scream of metal on metal vibrated through Pallas as another automata threw itself at her. She plucked it off and threw it across the Crystal Palace. But this barely made a dent in the oncoming mechanical forces. Nearby, she saw the duke leading a charge of soldiers against a cluster of automata that had surrounded some civilians. She wanted to go help them, and to make sure the duke was all right, but she turned her head away and piloted Pallas forward, deeper into the fight, determined to get to the heart of the attack, to Volio.
* * *
HERBERT Bunburry knew that if his doctors realized he had left the hospital early for the Science Faire, they would probably disapprove, especially now that it had turned into a battlefield. He couldn’t move very quickly, but he was doing his best to avoid the automata as he walked down the stairs from one of the upper levels. His concern was for Jess, his shopgirl, whom he had brought with him to see the faire, but who had gone to use one of the water closets in the retiring rooms moments before the attack started.
He made his way down the stairs and headed for the retiring rooms, but was set upon almost immediately by a skeletal automaton. It came at him with one outstretched arm and a vicious talon. Almost without thinking about it, Bunburry raised the metal part of his arm to meet the talon with a clang. He felt the vibrations from the impact, but no pain. The automaton stopped dead in its tracks a moment, giving Bunburry time to grab it around the neck and pull it to the ground, where he stomped on it with his metal foot before moving forward.
“Professor!” cried Merriman, running up to him from a corner. “It’s horrible, Professor. I don’t know where they came from!”
“Neither do I,” Bunburry hacked out. “I’m trying to go to the retiring rooms. Will you help? Tell me if any of the things are coming at me from the sides—I think I can deal with them.”
“Certainly,” Merriman said, but he looked frightened, and his eyes were wet. Bunburry set his jaw and walked forward as fast as he could as the battle raged around him.
* * *
VIOLET saw Volio’s head look up at Pallas charging forward. He had captured Cecily somewhere along the line—Violet didn’t know how, but she looked angry and terrified, and was trying to push him away. He made a gesture that caused a pack of the metal monsters to break off and throw themselves at Violet. She heard a horrible screech as their claws tore through Pallas’s shell. A claw opened up Violet’s inner sanctum to the smoke outside, and cut at the sleeve of her dress. She heard another screech and felt a sharp pain in her leg, and looked down to see another claw coming through the floor. There were too many of them, and they were al
l over Pallas, cutting her to shreds. Soon, Pallas would fall, and Violet would fall with her. She had come so far—was so close to completing her plan, to revealing herself, to claiming her place as a great mind—and now she would die, just seconds short of her goal. Her leg ached, and tears ran down her face. This is not how she had wanted to end the year, or her life.
* * *
JACK and Ashton made it unscathed to Drew’s booth, only to find him still passed out and in Fiona’s lap, as she frantically fanned him with a paper fan. Her hair was a mess around her shoulders—the Saint Paul’s Stand-on-End never held up under stressful circumstances—and her brow furrowed with concern. “’E came to when the commotion started,” she said, “but when ’e saw what was ’appenin’ ’e fainted dead away again.”
“Drew!” Jack shouted, taking his friend’s face in his hands. Drew didn’t stir. “Drew, wake up, we need your help!” he shouted, and then slapped Drew lightly on the face.
Drew opened his eyes. “The basement is attacking,” he said, looking frightened.
“Toby is back by his booth, and he says he needs your help,” Jack said.
“With what?” Drew asked.
“I think he’s planning a counterattack,” Ashton said. “He was organizing his chemicals.”
