Now Smollings went to stand behind Erris while he finished his song. As he watched Erris, I watched him. He ran his hand along Erris’s arm. He peered into his glass eyes, giving his cheek a brief, appraising stab with one finger. He lifted aside his coat to see his clockwork slowly turning. I wanted to shove him away.
Hollin rubbed his hands, as if they were cold. “Lovely craftsmanship, isn’t it?”
“It has been too many months since I’ve paid a visit to Vestenveld.” Smollings’s hand lingered on Erris’s back, near his keyhole. “I’ve been so busy. Where did you find this automaton, Parry?”
“An auction. I was looking for new furniture when this caught my eye.”
“You know, I heard the Pelerine family recently sold Garvin’s Colsom Lake estate and all its contents. You attended that auction, didn’t you? Fidinch said he saw you there.”
“Well, yes, it was at that sale, now that you mention it.”
“I didn’t know he had an automaton,” Smollings said, as if it meant something particular to own an automaton. “I wonder how he came by it. But then, what do I know of his personal possessions?”
Erris had stopped playing, and he made his usual move before winding down—sitting back and surveying his nonexistent audience. Smollings let the coat drop from his hand and withdrew a step. Hollin looked at him curiously, and Smollings answered with a slight shrug. “Shall we wind him again? Let’s see your little songbird perform.”
Hollin nodded and took Erris’s key from his pocket.
Smollings reached. “May I wind him?”
Hollin hesitated only for a moment. “I don’t see why not.”
I stood in wait, clenching my fists behind my skirt, as Smollings took the key, running his thumb along its length. He pushed aside the coat, peering deep into the heart of Erris’s body, pausing like he expected something to happen before he jabbed the key in. He wound slowly. We both watched him.
“That should do,” Hollin said, lifting his hand. “Have a seat.”
As Erris came to life once more, Smollings settled into a chair, lacing his fingers. Hollin remained standing, leaning a shoulder against the wall, his arms crossed.
Hollin’s eyes were on me as I waited for my cue, but Smollings watched Erris. I looked up to the ceiling. I had never noticed before how ornate it was, with molded designs in a circular pattern around the light fixture. Erris began to play. I knew I must sing, showing no concern. Smollings already suspected Erris was no ordinary automaton—that was obvious.
“One windy day in autumn, I lost my darling dear . . .” My voice started out tremulous. I must sing with passion, with feeling, I reminded myself—like any great lady of the theaters and music halls. “He’s gone away and left me, and now I linger here . . .”
When I finished, my arms dropped and my head ached, strangely spent.
Smollings gave me a few polite claps. “Hollin,” he said. “Have you had this automaton looked over? To be sure it’s free of curses, or enchantments?”
“I’ve looked him over,” Hollin said, turning to Erris like he might see something new. He had wound down, but still I willed him not to move or make a sound.
“You sensed nothing out of the ordinary?”
“Of course not, or I would have said something, wouldn’t I?” Hollin’s voice remained measured, but I could tell he had grown a little impatient with Smollings’s scrutiny. “Although, before I hired Nimira, I tried a couple of other girls, and both of them swore they saw it move and grunt, but I think they had overactive imaginations. I’ve wound it a hundred times and it does precisely the same thing every time. You’ve never seen anything unusual, have you, Nimira?”
I didn’t dare meet Smollings’s eyes. I tried to look shy. “No, sir.”
“If it’s haunted, wouldn’t it have revealed itself to Nimira or myself by now?”
“Perhaps not, if it has something to hide.” Smollings rubbed his fingers across his lips. “Did you ever hear the story that went around after the last Fairy War?”
“I vaguely recall it.”
“It was before your time. I was just a young man myself. But after the execution of the fairy royals, one of the bodies was never found. The second-youngest prince. We’d occasionally get an alarming report in the papers that he had turned up and the fairies were sure to rally around him, only to hear the next week that it had been a mistake. The fairy lands were in chaos, battling for secession, but the lost prince never appeared, and of course the king’s cousin finally took the throne.”
“Yes?” Hollin said, glancing at Erris, obviously wondering what the connection could be to his automaton. I was getting an inkling, and reminded myself to keep breathing as a normal girl would.
“At one point it was rumored that the prince had been imprisoned inside the body of a clockwork man, by enemies within his own ranks.”
Oh, God. I knew my face must be turning pale, and I quickly giggled before Mr. Smollings could notice my shock and question me.
“I see your songbird finds the tale amusing, Hollin,” Smollings said, raising his voice in irritation.
“Well, come now!” I said. “Are you suggesting that this automaton is a lost fairy prince?”
It was easier to keep up my act when Hollin took my side. “It does sound far-fetched, Mr. Smollings, you must admit. This automaton cost me only five gold! Quite a bargain for a fairy prince.”
“In the aftermath of the war, sorcerers combed the country, investigating every piece of clockwork they could find,” Smollings said. “But how would we find him if he didn’t want to be found? Or if someone was hiding him . . . You may laugh now, but why would Garvin Pelerine have this automaton? Tucked away in his summer house near the fairy borders, at that? Garvin Pelerine always was sympathetic to those heathen fairies. . . .”
“Did Garvin mean to reinstate the old fairy line?” Hollin asked. He looked unnerved by the prospect.
“I believe so,” Smollings said. “Garvin always did talk like he’d bring about some grand new era of peace. As if it’s even possible! I don’t think the current fairy king would be too happy to see a true heir.”
Hollin looked at Erris again, more carefully this time. His brows furrowed.
“But Garvin’s gone,” Hollin said finally. “How could we even find out if this is the theoretical fairy prince?”
“I daresay Garvin’s only half gone as long as Karstor’s still roaming around,” Smollings said, and I almost jumped at the name. “They were always close as brothers. He’s just returned from Heinlede, but I have no doubt they exchanged letters. Anything Garvin knew, Karstor probably knows. He’ll be at Aldren Hall. We could show the automaton there, just as an entertainment. You can bring your little trouser girl along and all that, as if you don’t suspect a thing, and just see how he reacts.”
“What do we do with it, if it is the fairy prince?” Hollin asked.
“Naturally, we make what use of it we can,” Smollings said. “Then we see that it’s destroyed.”
My heart skipped a beat at that terrible word, “destroyed,” and then it beat fiercer than I had ever known, as something stirred within me. I would tear Smollings’s eyes from his face before I let him destroy Erris. I would do anything I could.
Could it really come to that?
Hollin looked at Erris, and I made sure to stay composed as he moved on to me. Sympathy and frustration mingled in his eyes. He didn’t like Smollings either, but he respected him, and therefore was not immune to his influence.
I must ensure that my influence was more important.
11
That night, I heard a girl scream.
I shot up in bed, throwing back the covers. Bare feet slapped down the hall, closer and closer. I rushed to the door. Linza? Sleep blurred my eyes. I flung open the door, and a caped figure barreled toward me, trailed by dim orbs of light that floated after her like fireflies. Her desperate cry filled my ears.
Not Linza.
I whirled back
into my room, and she followed me in. She was upon me, wriggling her shoulders forward like a caterpillar, knocking me down onto my bed with the brute force of her head. At first I thought she had no arms at all.
No, no, they were only bound behind her.
“Help me,” she said, barely more than a whisper. Her weight was on me. I could hardly see her face in the darkness, only that she could have been lovely—that her eyes gleamed wild in the moonlight. Her dark hair fell thick over her face and even tickled my own nose. The orbs danced around her face.
I tried to push her off me. She was stronger than I would have guessed.
“Stop—stop!” I said. I was trying to keep calm. I didn’t know if I should scream for help.
I heard the men running down the hall. “She went down here!”
She spoke louder now, her voice low and slightly husky for a woman. “Please help,” she begged, rolling off of me. “Please! Untie my hands. Hurry, hurry! He’s coming.”
“Who are you?”
Smollings burst in then, holding a sorcerer’s staff aloft in his left hand like a torch. With his right, he yanked the girl to her feet and dragged her to the door. He placed the head of the staff against her shoulder. His clinical manner in the face of the girl’s distress chilled me.
I got to my feet. “Who is she? Where are you taking her?”
The girl looked at me. “He’s dangerous.” She said it like a warning to me.
Smollings pressed the staff against her flesh. “One word and you’ll feel it,” he said. He shot a look at me. “Get back to bed. This doesn’t concern you.”
“No—who is she?” I could hardly ignore the woman’s distress.
“Nobody. Don’t listen to her, she’s crazy. She doesn’t know what she’s going on about.”
Smollings gave the girl’s shoulder a mere tap with the staff. Light briefly flared from the top and she flinched with pain. Hollin ran into my room. He was still dressed in suit and necktie like he had never gone to bed. He breathed hard, and his eyes pleaded with me not to ask the questions that leaped to my lips.
“Let go of her, Smollings,” he said. “She’ll cooperate now.” He didn’t meet the girl’s eyes. Or mine. “Please.”
“She’d better,” Smollings said. He lowered the staff, but his fingers still gripped her arm tightly as he ushered her from the room like a jealous lover.
“Nimira,” Hollin said. “I’m—I’m sorry about that.”
I pushed loose hairs back behind my ears. I wished I were not in my braids and white nightgown like a child. “Who was that?”
“She—You weren’t supposed to see her.”
“But as it stands, I could hardly miss seeing her. She asked for my help.”
He looked at me without blinking. The corners of his lips had turned-down shadows. His eyes were dark caves between his high white forehead and his smooth, boyish cheeks.
“If you won’t tell me who she is, what am I to think then?” I asked.
Hollin leaned out the doorway to see that Smollings had gone, and then he crossed the room to me. “You’re the one person I wish to tell,” he whispered. “If I could tell anyone.”
“Then tell me!” I could hardly withhold my impatience.
“I’m in his debt,” he said. “Smollings’s influence and aid have kept me from losing everything I have. Only, they come at a price; there are things I cannot say.”
He stood so close. He looked so sad. “I would keep your secrets. It can’t be healthy, Hollin, to have so many secrets.”
I thought he might kiss me, the way he looked at me. I didn’t know how I would react. I read his desires in his eyes—he might wish for a tender hand at his cheek, or a sympathetic word.
“Smollings brought the girl,” he said abruptly. “She is a . . . a witch. A madwoman. He’s transporting her to the prison in New Sweeling.”
“A witch? Where did she come from?”
He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. He arrested her on his travels. You mustn’t tell anyone.”
“Where did he get her? Why does he have her?”
Hollin’s every word seemed to come at great effort. “I don’t like it either. But I say nothing.”
“But she was begging me to help her! He was hurting her, Hollin!”
“She’s a criminal,” Hollin said, his pale cheeks flushed.
I didn’t know if I even believed him, or at least, what Smollings had told him. “Whatever the reason, if she is half-mad, if he is hurting her—isn’t that as bad as anything she’s done?”
He turned to the door. “I should rejoin them before he comes looking for me.”
I wished he’d send Smollings away. Forever. I never wanted to see his face again. In just a day, I had come to understand why Vestenveld’s halls were heavy, and why Hollin felt his father’s spirit still lingered, protecting his taxidermy. The true master of Hollin’s home had arrived.
12
The next morning, Erris began to spell furiously the moment I wound him up. THAT FIEND!
I knew whom he meant, of course. In his world, lived in fits and starts, I supposed Smollings had just left the room.
HE INSULTED YOU.
“Well, you’re kind to think of me first, but that’s the least of our worries.” Still, his words vanquished some of the humiliation I had felt. I wondered if I should tell Erris what Smollings had said after he had wound down, about destroying him. I didn’t want to distress him when he couldn’t fight back.
SMOLLINGS . . . Erris made a growling sound in his throat. TOUCHED ME. His hands jerked wildly, the closest he could come to thrashing. I briefly draped my hand over his, and he stilled.
“He suspects you’re alive,” I said. “He implied, in fact . . . that you might be a . . . a long-lost fairy prince.”
“Mmm.” His grunt had the inflection of a well-chosen curse word. YES, he spelled.
“You’re the heir to the throne?”
NO, he spelled quickly. His fingers lurched back and forth between the two letters. NO NO NO.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I just thought—Well, Smollings said people had been looking for you.”
IMPOSSIBLE. NINTH SON. NOT KING.
“But you are a prince, then?”
YES.
Smollings had made it sound as if the whole family had been killed, save the missing son. Perhaps Erris didn’t even know. If this was the case, I had no wish to convey the news. Especially not when he was still trapped like this, unable to pace, to rage, to cry.
An unwanted thought pushed its way forward as I considered the tangles of Erris’s life—or lack thereof. “Erris, do you have a body? Did they turn your body into an automaton somehow? Or is your body dead? Are you a ghost?”
Erris’s eyes rose to mine, and even in his expressionless face, I thought I saw a glimmer of despair. DON’T KNOW.
“Do you know how Garvin meant to free you?”
NO.
I barely took in his last word. The door shot open. No warning.
Smollings.
Erris began to play immediately, but I had been caught leaning on his instrument, and I knew shock had flashed on my face before I could hide it.
“Miss Nimira,” Smollings said. “Good morning.”
“Good morning, Mr. Smollings.” I pulled out a miraculous composure, but even my toes were clenched inside my shoes. He must have snuck up on us on purpose. I should have heard the footsteps coming.
“Hollin asked that I give the automaton a more thorough examination, if you don’t mind.” He stepped closer to me, and so I stepped away. Erris’s fingers poked at the keys, playing one of his more melancholy tunes.
Smollings watched Erris’s hands; waiting, it seemed, for a mistake. He tucked his arms behind his back, leaning forward to peer closely at the rise and fall of Erris’s chest. He watched Erris’s eyes make their usual rounds of peering to the side and out at the nonexistent audience. I wondered if it was hard for Erris not to react, or if he could m
erely allow the clockwork body’s mechanism to run its course.
Thinking of this, I reminded myself what an impossible situation we faced. Sometimes, as we spoke in our fashion, I almost forgot the connection between the clockwork body, with its drums and cogs, and the words that came to me through the keys. But surely Erris had no living body to return to. If Garvin had been unable to help him, what could Karstor do? Did any sorcerer on earth have the power to give life to someone without a living body?
Necromancers could raise the dead, but it was not a natural life. Undeath, they called it in Lorinar. In Tiansher, we called those who lived this way walking corpses, and considered them cursed. The most unsavory necromancers would steal bodies. We cremated our dead just so such a thing could not be done.
Maybe Garvin had never intended to help Erris reclaim his throne, but only wished to tell the world about his fate. Maybe when Garvin said Karstor could help Erris, he meant only that Karstor could show him the way to a peaceful final death.
“Very lifelike,” Smollings said, turning to me again. “And you’re quite sure you’ve never seen it do anything unusual?”
“No, sir. He plays and moves the same each time.”
“Considering he is nothing but a clockwork toy, you certainly have a lot to say to him.”
I knew then he’d heard me talking with Erris. He might have been listening at the door for our entire conversation. I only hoped he couldn’t make out my softly spoken words. I knew outright denial would sound as guilty as anything, so I skipped around the subject. “Mr. Smollings, you embarrass me! It’s true, I’m lonely in this great big house. I chat with the automaton as one might to a pet . . . or a doll.”
Smollings reached into his pocket and brought out a shiny ten-piece, a month’s salary for a housemaid—or a trouser girl. “I don’t suppose this would loosen your tongue?”
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