Arm of the Sphinx (Books of Babel Book 2)

by Josiah Bancroft

  “I preferred the muttering. I must make a stop before we get to the crèche,” she said, hovering quickly on.

  “I’ll be very cross if I don’t see any lightning tonight!” Voleta called after her.

  The hall narrowed, the ceiling huddled nearer their heads, and the general hotel aspect of the decor, marked by humble paintings in noble frames, alabaster sconces, and the ubiquitous pink wrapper, turned abruptly domestic. Silhouettes in oval frames hung upon a wood-paneled wall. The profiles were typical enough: children with bulbous foreheads and shallow chins, sharp-nosed women, and whiskered men. Only the last in line distinguished itself, and that was due to the inclusion of antlers. Envelopes, a few brushes, and a pretty oil can sat upon an accent table outside a door, which the Sphinx entered without a knock.

  It was evident at once they stood in Byron’s private quarters. The room was warm and welcoming enough, though in a decidedly bachelor sort of way. A card table stood by a pot-bellied stove. A red jacket hung upon a chair set before a three-legged easel. A painter’s palette lay on the seat, globs of paint shining like a jewelers tray of unset gems. Model ships filled a shelf, paper sails plumping in an imagined wind. The air smelled of brewing tea. Someone was humming.

  Byron came into the room with a wet muzzle and the straps of his suspenders hanging off his shoulders. He stopped humming at once and froze, his round eyes bulging from his head.

  “Oh, dear,” the Sphinx said. “I didn’t mean to freeze you, Byron.”

  The stag shook off his paralysis, and began to stammer before finally blurting out, “What is she doing here?”

  “Don’t be rude.”

  “Rude? How can I be accused of rudeness when I’m undressed in my own room?”

  Feeling a little bashful but nevertheless excited, Voleta crept about to the front of the easel to have a look at the stag’s work. Four sets of butterfly wings were pinned to a sheet of cork, and like those beautiful creatures the Sphinx had incinerated, these wings were painted to resemble domestic surfaces: white tile, a rainbow of book spines, the paisley of a carpet, and terracotta shingles. The detail was quite good.

  “I brought her here,” the Sphinx said with soothing aplomb, “so she could see what we do with the bottled lightning.” The Sphinx crossed to a cigar box on the table and removed a vial of glowing, red fluid.

  “You can’t be serious!” Byron said, laying a hand on his shirtfront.

  “Would you rather run down?” The Sphinx said, hovering to him. “Don’t be a prig. Unbutton your shirt.”

  His nimble hands moved with a fluidity that seemed at odds with his long mouth, which trembled with indignation. Beneath his crisp white shirt was a sleek, masculine chest of steel and brass. The stag looked steadfastly away as the Sphinx opened a little hatch where his heart should be.

  “You should be nicer to her, Byron,” the Sphinx said, plucking a nearly empty vial from the stag’s chest. “She’s a sharp one.”

  His body now unpowered, only Byron’s head remained animate. “You can’t adopt every stray that comes across our door.”

  “Stray?” Voleta said.

  The Sphinx fitted the full battery into the cavity. “Don’t forget where you came from, Byron. We’re all strays here.”

  Byron, seeming a little chastised, looked at Voleta, and attempted a smile. He said, “My apologies.”

  “Why do you hate Mister Winters so much?” Voleta said.

  Buttoning his shirt again, the stag scowled at the floor. “She took advantage of my innocence.”

  “She did what?”

  “She and Captain Lee plied me with alcohol one evening so that they could sneak away for a tryst.”

  Voleta’s mouth fell open, and then slowly ascended again, settling into a broad smile. “That is the most fantastic thing I have ever heard in my life.”

  “I hardly consider poisoning a compatriot with rotgut to be—” Byron blustered.

  “No, not that part. The Mister Winters having a tryst part. I didn’t think she had it in her.”

  “Oh, she had it in her, all right,” Byron said. “And I was sick in bed for two days after. I haven’t drunk so much as a drop of wine since.”

  “If you two are quite finished gossiping, it’s time to go.” The Sphinx’s floated into the hall. “When the wings are dry enough to move, please put them on my desk, Byron.”

  Before following, Voleta ran up to the stag, took his delicate clockwork hands in her own and squeezed them appreciatively. “I’m so sorry we barged in on you. Thank you for telling me this wonderful secret. I’m going to have such fun with it.”

  Flummoxed by this unexpected expression of gratitude, Byron said, “You’re welcome,” as if some real good had been done.

  Exploring the Sphinx’s home would forever ruin Voleta for unassuming doors. Someday in the far future, she would stand before an ordinary door in an ordinary hotel, and feel an unwarranted thrill of anticipation. And after opening that plain door that promised so much, only to find a broom closet or a sterile bedroom, she would think back to these nights when the Sphinx had spoiled her with surprises.

  Before they saw the lightning, the Sphinx insisted she change her shoes. A pair of rubber galoshes, which were approximately her size, had been set out for her in the hall. Squit, the Sphinx told her, would have to stay here for her own safety. If she was afraid her pet would run off, the Sphinx suggested she could shut the animal in a bureau drawer. The suggestion so horrified Voleta she would not continue until the Sphinx had promised to never shut any living creature in a bureau drawer ever, for any reason. If Squit wanted to run away, that was her prerogative, just as it was Voleta’s prerogative to chase her.

  Voleta set Squit down beside her still-warm slippers, and the squirrel immediately climbed into the nearest one and curled up inside the toe.

  The name ‘electric crèche’ didn’t exactly conjure a coherent expectation in Voleta’s mind. She pictured something like a nursery full of cribs, only instead of infants, the bassinets contained piles of glowing batteries. Which admittedly didn’t make much sense. But neither did the name.

  Despite her efforts to prepare, she was a little disarmed when the Sphinx’s ordinary door opened upon a black pit.

  A narrow bridge extended from the well-lit, pleasant hallway into the ominous dark. At the conclusion of the gangplank, a small island stood suspended over the abyss. The floor, coated in black rubber, squeaked and gripped her galoshes, and narrowly distinguished itself in color and luster from the endless dark waiting on either side. Even the usually sure-footed Voleta paid particular attention to where she trod. Once the Sphinx shut the door, the only light came from the meager glow of red vials that stood in tiered racks all along the perimeter of the island.

  As interesting as all of this was, Voleta could not help but note the complete absence of lightning.

  “It comes in bursts,” the Sphinx said. “The next is due in thirty-three seconds.”

  Voleta peered over the racks of shining batteries down at the abysmal gloom. “Do you have a clock in your head?”

  “Several,” the Sphinx said, and settled her hovering tray in the middle of the rubber island. “I wouldn’t stand too close.”

  And even as Voleta stared down, a distant flash of light revealed their dizzying height. The naked electricity leapt back and forth between the walls of the tube, revealing their metal shielding, the lightning tangling and arcing ever higher. The air took on a metallic taste. The short follicles of her hair felt like pins in her scalp. Her body tingled, and she huddled to the Sphinx’s side just as the lightning broke all around them.

  It felt like someone had fired a cannon inside her head.

  Half blind, she looked up in time to see the electricity break upon the ceiling of the shaft where a great coil received the energy like a sponge receives water.

  The batteries all about them glowed more brightly now, bathing her and the Sphinx in a bloody light.

  “I would like to see
that again.” She rubbed her ears in a useless effort to dislodge the ringing. “I closed my eyes for a moment.”

  “It’s difficult not to,” the Sphinx said. “Now you have seen what I’m afraid to lose, what I cannot afford to lose.”

  “The lightning? You think someone might steal your lightning?”

  “It’s very plausible,” the Sphinx said, and patted the rubber beside her tray. “Come sit.”

  Voleta crouched alongside the Sphinx, her galoshes creaking beneath her. The Sphinx peered at her with her one human eye, which was the color of a cloudy sky. “I’m afraid I must ask a favor of you.”

  “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  “I need you to replace my battery.” The Sphinx began to untangle the dark skirts that covered her crossed legs. Voleta leaned away, more frightened of this than the lightning; she didn’t want to see the woman’s legs, demolished by age. But she was spared the discomfort; the Sphinx had no legs. Her torso ended in a trapezoidal base that more closely resembled a jewelry cabinet, with its cluster of small drawers, than any human appendage. Voleta was a little surprised to see how much of her friend was mechanical.

  Opening one of the drawers, the Sphinx revealed a slot occupied by an all but extinguished battery.

  “I’m trusting you, my dear. If you feel compelled to disappoint me, that is your privilege, but I will die.”

  “You can’t be serious,” Voleta said with nervous laughter. “Why in the world would you trust me with such a thing?”

  “Because I want to, and you want to be trusted,” the Sphinx said.

  “I’ll get Byron.” Voleta was about to rise, her galoshes already chirping with the movement, when the Sphinx clutched her sleeve and pulled her down. Rather than argue about it any further, the Sphinx looked Voleta squarely in the eye and plucked the battery from its socket.

  Voleta felt the Sphinx’s lifelessness first in her arm, which was dragged down by the Sphinx’s grip. Her neck, banded to her jaw in gold, slackened, and her head fell heavily to one side. The spent battery bounced upon the rubber floor, rolling to and then past the edge. The Sphinx slumped inward, downward, her breath running from her in a terrible hiss.

  Only her human eye continued to rove, searching for Voleta, searching for some indication that the girl would not leave her here to die. And when that restless eye settled upon Voleta’s round, frightened eyes, it blinked and teared with expectation.

  Voleta tried to stand, but was dragged down again by the anchor of the Sphinx’s arm. She wrested free of its grasp, which only made the old woman slump further, and faced the banks of glowing vials. She snapped one from its cradle, and carried it in a rush to the Sphinx. Her hands trembled. The distant cackle of lightning made them shake all the more. Then she saw that the Sphinx’s eye had closed, and she dropped the vial upon the lip of the levitator where it shattered and bled uselessly everywhere.

  She went back for a second battery just as the climbing electricity seared everything in white. She snatched the vial free before the lightning could course into her, and nearly fell upon the Sphinx in her leaping retreat.

  A moment more, and the lightning had splashed upon the terminal coil. Voleta slid the battery into the base and snapped the drawer shut.

  The Sphinx straightened like one startled out of sleep and gasped several times. Still catching her breath, she saw the spilled serum pooling about her tray. “Oh my, oh my, oh my,” she murmured. “All my clocks stopped. What did I miss?”

  Voleta, to her extreme consternation, burst into tears.

  Chapter Fifteen

  “S is for snooper, snake, and for sneak, such as the boy who takes just a peek.”

  - The Unlikable Alphabet, a Primer for Children by Anon.

  Crewmates, especially those who bunk together, do not respect one another’s privacy so much as insist upon it. In the dark jungle of hammocks and among the narrows below deck, all the noisy evidence of life is present in vivid detail, and yet no one sees it. All involved agree not to.

  Iren’s inclination was to leave the girl alone.

  But technically, Mister Winters had never rescinded the order to ‘hold Voleta’s hand.’ Iren understood that the order had been what the Captain would call a ‘metaphor,’ which, as far as she could tell, was anything that said one thing and meant another. She wasn’t meant to literally grip Voleta by the fingers for the rest of their natural lives. No, Iren understood that ‘hold Voleta’s hand’ meant that she was now responsible for the girl’s welfare and safety. For the foreseeable future, if not longer, Voleta was her charge.

  This fact was made particularly troubling by the discovery that Voleta was crawling around in the walls at night.

  Iren had not gone snooping, not purposefully, but the evidence had come and found her. That night while Iren lay in bed, waiting for sleep to come and claim her, she heard someone cough. At first she thought someone was in her room, and she picked up a coatrack to greet them with. But finding herself quite alone, the amazon followed the sound to a low vent in her wall, through which she could quite clearly hear the girl scrabbling about and whispering to her pet.

  She thought to call Voleta out, but that seemed exactly the sort of thing that would shoo her away. The duct was far too small for Iren to fit into, and so she couldn’t follow the girl to see where she went. This at least explained why Voleta had turned so lethargic during the day: she was exhausted from roving through the walls all night.

  Iren believed that Adam’s mistake had been his smothering concern for his sister, which Voleta mistook for distrust. Adam had said as much himself: the more he chased her, the further and faster she fled. The only course of action, Iren concluded, was no action at all. As long as Voleta was in the kitchen in time to make breakfast every morning, she would presume the girl was all right. She would not intervene. Nor snitch.

  Given the generosity of this resolution, it seemed a particularly cruel coincidence that the very next morning Voleta would fail to appear for the making of breakfast.

  In a state of denial that verged upon shock, Iren began the morning ritual without her. She cracked the eggs and whipped them with their shells. She strangled the juice from several oranges into the cream pitcher, catching not a single seed in the process. She put the kettle on without any water in it at all, and didn’t notice until the iron sides began to glow red. She tortured herself, and the kitchen, for a half hour before finally giving in to the urge to check Voleta’s room.

  Though she knew she would find it empty.

  She would never forgive herself for having been so indulgent of the girl.

  When Iren burst into Voleta’s bedroom without the thought of a knock, she found Voleta squirming out of an open vent in the wall. Her nightgown was soaking wet.

  “I’m going to have to ask you please not to mention this to anybody,” Voleta said in a high, peeping voice as she pulled her hips through.

  She didn’t appear injured as she sprang up and ran around Iren to shut the door.

  The click of the latch made Iren feel as if she was already colluding with Voleta, though she had agreed to nothing. And she had still agreed to nothing when Voleta entreated her to sit down for a moment. She should sit and talk, just talk, the two of them, without anybody else.

  Iren sat on the vanity bench, its turned legs creaking beneath her, seemingly in alarm.

  “Why are you wet?”

  “I went swimming to clear my head.” Voleta wrung her hair out on the floor.

  Iren grimaced at the puddle, but reminded herself she was not the girl’s mother. If Voleta wanted puddles on her floor, it was none of Iren’s business. “Where?”

  “In one of the pools. I’ve seen three. Only swam in one.” She omitted the fact that it had been the Sphinx’s idea to visit the pool. The Sphinx had been trying to cheer her up. It had worked wonderfully. “You really mustn’t tell anybody.”

  “What am I not telling them?”

  “I suppose it’s only fair since I�
��m asking you to keep my secret that I at least tell you what it is,” Voleta said, walking behind the changing screen in the corner. She slapped her sodden clothes over the top of the three-paneled screen, obscuring the top edge of the scene emblazed upon the triptych, which depicted three sailors standing in a long boat, lancing a whale with grapples and harpoons. The unfortunate beast foamed and bled into the frothing sea. Voleta’s wet head peeked momentarily around the edge. “I’ve been exploring.”

  “Where?”

  “Everywhere. Anywhere I can get into. I’ve seen some strange things, Iren.”

  “Have you found a way out?”

  “No, but why would you want to leave, Iren? This place is fantastic. And the Captain’s here, and the ship, too.”

  “Have you seen the Sphinx?”

  “No,” Voleta said very quickly. Iren wished she could’ve seen her face when she said it, but the morbid whale blocked her view. Voleta went on before Iren could decide if she was suspicious. “If I ever hear anything coming, I run the other way. Believe me, I was trying not to get caught. That’s half the fun.”

  “Are you going to stop?”

  Voleta came out from behind the screen and the men killing the gentle-eyed behemoth. She was dressed in her day clothes for a change, though she pulled at them and winced and walked stiffly about. “Those airshafts are brutal. I’m covered in nicks, but I was starting to feel like an invalid in that bathrobe.”

  “You aren’t going to stop,” Iren said.

  “I really don’t want to.”

  “All right.” The bench gave a great squeak of relief when Iren stood. “Let’s go make breakfast.”

  “Is that it?” Voleta said. “‘Let’s go make breakfast?’”

  “I smell something burning,” Iren said, as if that answered Voleta’s question.