Wildspark

by Vashti Hardy

  “Fascinating. I always say the best way to learn is by getting stuck in. You clearly have a natural talent.”

  A gentleman in the same green uniform as the conductor entered their carriage with a bronze trolley.

  “You must be hungry,” said Craftsman Primrose. “I ate a large breakfast, but I don’t expect you’ve had time.”

  Prue was about to say she was fine with the apple and bread in her bag, then she saw the shiny pastries and buns and her stomach rumbled hungrily. Craftsman Primrose chose a variety for her and poured her a steaming cocoa.

  They talked some more about the machines on the farm, and after she’d eaten, Craftsman Primrose gave her some notepaper to write to her parents as he settled to read the Medlock News. She wrote that she really was sorry for leaving without saying goodbye, but she had needed to see if she could take Francis’s place at the Guild, and Craftsman Primrose had agreed. She just couldn’t miss this opportunity, and she reassured them that she was quite safe. After she’d finished the note, she gave a quick glance to ensure he wasn’t watching, swiftly signed her note “Love from Prue”, then popped it in the envelope and sealed it. She sat back and watched the distant roving hills. Her eyes were heavy and with the smooth rush of the locomotive she was soon asleep.

  She had no idea how long it had been when a gentle hand on her shoulder awoke her.

  “Frances, look out of the window.”

  She opened her bleary eyes and was amazed to see buildings merging together in the distance – a great thrum with smoke rising from chimneys, and piercing spires, domes and rooftops, one on top of another as far as the eye could see. She stared in wonder.

  Soon, they were part of it. The chandelier clinked and the silver cutlery on the table clattered with the vibration as they swiftly decelerated and within moments came to a stop.

  “Welcome to Medlock,” said Craftsman Primrose.

  MEDLOCK

  As Prue stepped from the Gigantrak into the enormous station, she looked in awe at the expansive glass vaulted ceilings. Hundreds of people busied along the platform, and as Craftsman Primrose stepped forwards, she hurried behind for fear of losing him. The marbled walls and floor led to grand steps and a wide, arched exit, above which hung a huge clock. It was late afternoon.

  Tingles ran the length of Prue’s spine as they reached the top of the stairs and stepped into the heart of Medlock. Before them was a great square with buildings packing the perimeter: iron pipes trailed the walls like ivy, and amber lights pricked through the brickwork with figures busying behind. The peaks and points of the rooftops rose confidently into the sky, with great bridges crisscrossing between structures. Creation and invention were everywhere. She had never seen so many people in one place, but she suddenly realized there weren’t only people – there were many animals too: dogs, cats, several foxes, and two owls who seemed to be racing above the square.

  She did a double take as her attention was drawn by a golden spaniel and a fluffy grey cat close by; their mouths were moving, almost in a human-like way – they were having a conversation! Could it be that they were personifates?

  She looked at Craftsman Primrose. “Are they…?”

  He nodded and smiled.

  She’d read about personifates, but she couldn’t believe how convincingly life-like they appeared, yet shifted a little. Seeing them walk along the street and talk was extraordinary, like spotting a tree with pink leaves, or if the moon suddenly became square.

  A rabbit hopped between their feet.

  “Do excuse me,” he said in a low voice.

  Prue spun around to watch it leap away, but her muscles froze, and she gave a little gasp – a lynx prowled metres from her.

  “Don’t be alarmed,” said Craftsman Primrose. “I do rather take it for granted living here, but personifates come in many forms for a variety of reasons. It’s quite usual, nothing to worry about.”

  Prue couldn’t help but take a quick step back.

  “Good afternoon, Craftsman Primrose. Successful trip, I see,” said the lynx personifate, looking Prue up and down. “There is talent to be found outside of the city after all.”

  “Indeed.” Craftsman Primrose smiled.

  The lynx dipped her head amiably and carried on through the crowd.

  “They’re voices are so … human. There’s no hint of machine,” Prue said, amazed.

  “We’ve developed high-tech voice boxes which seem to replicate how they sounded in the first life.”

  Prue couldn’t wait to learn more.

  Craftsman Primrose looked up and called to several birds perched on a chaos lamp above. “Messenger, please!”

  He put his arm out just in time for a kestrel to land on it.

  “Ah yes, perfect.” He glanced at Prue. “Only personifates that can pass as wildlife are allowed to deliver messages outside of Medlock. They are restricted from interacting with any humans on their journeys to prevent any panic or unease. We don’t want to frighten your parents, do we?” He smiled at Prue, who suddenly noticed that not only birds flew above, but there were some more unusual-looking creatures in the distance, including what appeared to be a flying hare – and a wolf with wings!

  “Have you got the note you wrote to your parents?” he asked.

  Prue held it out.

  “Good. Tie it to the leather rope around her neck.”

  She carefully attached the rope to the kestrel, her hands suddenly shaky as she accidentally brushed its feathers. They felt so real.

  Craftsman Primrose addressed the bird. “If you could deliver this to Mrs and Mr Haywood; you’ll find them in a little farm in a valley just north of a village called North Owlcot, which is north of Staplefield, which is north of Batterthwaite. Thank you for your service.” Craftsman Primrose dipped his head respectfully.

  “Of course, Craftsman Primrose,” said the kestrel in what sounded entirely like the voice of an old woman. The kestrel took flight and swiftly disappeared from sight.

  “Is everything all right, Frances?”

  She realized her mouth was wide open. “It’s just I didn’t expect them to be quite so real; I imagined them to be more machine-like. Perhaps upgraded versions of what we have on the farm.”

  “More like the automatons and mechanimals? Technology has come on leaps and bounds in Medlock. All these creatures – well, apart from a few of the pigeons you see roosting above – are personifates, or ghost machines, if you like.

  “They’re incredible! Utterly lifelike.”

  Craftsman Primrose smiled proudly. “I’m delighted you think so, although it’s best not to use the term ‘lifelike’. Some personifates and first lifers can be rather sensitive to the word, you know, with the whole philosophy on what defines the term ‘life’.”

  “Oh, sorry. And they’re all … ghosts?”

  “They certainly are – well, they were alive before, as far as we can tell. We like to think of their current situation as something different – a second life.”

  “Oh, I see.”

  “It’s very important to be respectful to them in the words we choose.”

  Prue took in the square: roads branched off all around and there were all manner of shops and grand-looking buildings: Acton Chaos Lamps, Bard’s Precision Tailoring, Cogs & Co. In the centre of the square, rising above the people, was a sculpture. It looked to Prue like a huge mechanimal bee, great metal components whirring as a clockwork mechanism lifted and lowered the wings in a recurring pattern, as though the insect was captured in a perpetual moment of slow-motion flight.

  “It’s a symbol of Medlock as a hive of industrious invention,” said Craftsman Primrose proudly.

  “It’s incredible.”

  Craftsman Primrose looked at his pocket watch. “Now, I’m afraid I have other business to attend to, so you’ll be on your own for a while. You need to head to Deakins Entire on Smithy Door first for your uniform and supplies.” He pointed across the square. “Keep along this side then cross at the sculptu
re. Take Burlington West and walk right to the end, then take a left into Pickwick and halfway along is Smithy Door. Have you got that?”

  Prue nodded. “Statue, Burlington West, Pickwick, Smithy Door.”

  “Good. Here’s a note for you to hand in from me.”

  Prue took the note, but panic was rising; she would soon be alone in this enormous city. Craftsman Primrose must have read her expression because he put a hand on Prue’s shoulder and said, “Don’t look so worried, Frances. The shopkeeper at Deakins will tell you the way to the Guild from there and I’ll meet up with you later.”

  Hearing him call her Frances made her stomach twist, but she smiled and nodded. Craftsman Primrose turned and disappeared into the crowd.

  Beneath her feet, metal cobbles mixed with stone. Prue watched the flurry of activity. Everyone was dressed so smartly: tailored jackets, straight trousers, big skirts, puffed shoulders, satin bows, patterned velvet, high collars, silk cravats pinned with jewelled brooches, tall hats, flat hats, nipped waists, shiny buttons and polished shoes. It made her head spin. She looked down at her patched-up dungarees. But like Francis had told her before her very first tree climb: do one brave thing and the next one will be easier, and before you know it, you’re climbing mountains. He was right, of course, and she’d never looked back, scaling the highest oaks she could find in all of North Owlcot – being rather a nuisance to all manner of birds and squirrels. Now she was with the city people, and she had to act like a city girl: be confident and blend in.

  Bells clanged in a distant street as she marched on through the crowd. She passed a store called Everade Easylife – Makers of Steam-Driven Pantry Appliances and paused for a moment to marvel at the strange contraptions in the window – there was some kind of self-mixing pudding bowl whirring and a belt circulating bubbling pots. She carried on towards the sculpture. Cross at the statue, Burlington West, left into Pickwick then Smithy Door, she repeated to herself. She hurried across the road past the sculpture and towards the other side. Opposite was a sign – Burlington West. She smiled; she could do this. Then a bell rang again, but this time it was loud and jarring. She frowned to herself. At that moment she realized she was the only person standing in the middle of the street. Glancing over her shoulder she saw a towering mechanical tram heading straight for her!

  Suddenly, there was a cry, and her body was thrust forward. She tumbled on to the pavement on the other side. There was a rush of air and a loud clatter as the tram whizzed by, metal sparks nipping through the air. Prue lay stunned on the cobbles. Beside her was a girl, about her own age, with bright blonde hair and thick, dark eyebrows. The girl stood and brushed down her smart trousers and neat violet jacket. Prue felt too stunned to move.

  The girl stared down at Prue with large, wide eyes. “Have you got a death wish? You’d be flatter than sheet metal if I hadn’t just pushed you out of the way. Are you all right?”

  Prue stared back, still trying to figure out what had happened.

  “I said, are you all right?” the girl said more slowly.

  “Err, I think I am.”

  A small crowd had gathered. “That was a close call!” said a young gentleman.

  “Lucky the girl acted fast!” said a lady.

  “Are you injured?” said a personifate goshawk, swooping to land beside Prue and peering into her face.

  “I’m fine,” said Prue quietly, trying to take in that she was now being addressed by a second lifer while lying on the ground. She sat upright and rubbed the side of her head. “Thank you,” she said to the girl.

  “You’re welcome. But you might need to watch your step a bit more.”

  “Really, I’m fine,” Prue said, hoping the gaping crowd would stop staring.

  The girl helped Prue to her feet and turned to the small group. “She’s not injured, you can all move along.”

  The goshawk personifate took flight and the people scattered.

  “You’re not from the city, are you?” said the girl.

  “How did you know?”

  “Your lack of tramtrax awareness. This isn’t the country, you know. Things happen fast here.”

  “I can see that.”

  “And your clothes, they’re not exactly city.” The girl looked her up and down and re-buttoned her own jacket.

  “I usually live on a farm.”

  The girl tilted her head a little. “How quaint. My name is Cora Duval.”

  “I’m Pru—” she quickly stopped herself, thinking fast, “—prudent, when I cross the road … usually … that is.” She gave a little cough and Cora frowned her dark eyebrows at her. “I mean to say that my name is Frances, I’ve only just arrived in Medlock.”

  Cora shook Prue’s hand politely then absently brushed it on her jacket. “Well, if you’re fine, I’ll let you get on with your city tour, or whatever it is you were doing. I need to get going; I’m picking up my uniform for the Imperial Personifate Guild. I’m going to be an apprentice,” Cora said, flicking her hair behind her shoulder. She turned on her heels.

  “Wait!” Prue called. “I’m going there too.” She felt a rush of relief at the thought she’d now know someone in the same position as her.

  Cora turned back. “Pardon?”

  “To Deakins Entire to pick up my uniform; I’m going to be an apprentice too.”

  “Really?” Cora said, wrinkling her nose.

  Her tone instantly made Prue straighten her frame. “Yes.”

  “Are you sure? Didn’t you say you were from a farm?”

  Prue nodded trying not to scowl. The girl had just saved her life after all.

  Cora looked like she had tasted neat lemon cordial. “Well, I suppose I can show you the way.”

  DEAKINS ENTIRE

  Prue followed Cora into Burlington West.

  “Have you been to Smithy Door before?” Prue asked, feeling like a lost puppy following in her shadow.

  “I know every inch of this city,” said Cora, striding on.

  They passed more shops and grand buildings in Burlington West. Prue’s eye was caught by Aloysius Pye’s Pastries. The windows were heaped with shiny buns and fruit rolls. The next store was Bletchley Steam Peddlers with all manner of steam-enhanced bicycles. Dad would’ve loved them.

  “Are you from Medlock, then?” Prue asked.

  “I’m a Duval,” Cora said, smiling patronizingly as if to say poor little country girl doesn’t know anything. “Generations of Duvals have lived in Medlock. My family has always worked within the elite of the Sovereign Chancellery.”

  It didn’t mean much to Prue, who swerved out of the way as a toad jumped from a small outlet pipe in front of her.

  “Mind out, lady!” the toad personifate said, glaring up at her and folding his arms grumpily.

  “Sorry!” Prue said.

  The toad was closely followed by an aqua green lizard with a crested head and back. “Is that all the pipe inspections completed for the day, Felix?”

  “There’s one at the Sovereign Chancellery we’d better do,” the toad replied as he jumped away.

  “Wow, they really do come in all shapes and sizes,” Prue said, but Cora was charging ahead.

  At the end of Burlington West, they took a left into Pickwick, another grand street with many red-bricked houses. About halfway along was a small cobbled street called Smithy Door. They carried on past smaller, quaint-looking shops, Medlock Fudge & Co, Swifty Second-hand Books, Penelope Parker’s Portraits. After that was a double-fronted shop with a bronze swinging sign reflecting the afternoon sun:

  Deakins Entire

  Proud suppliers to the Imperial

  Personifate Guild of Medlock

  by appointment of the Governor

  Cora pushed the door open. A bell clattered. Prue followed her inside and the door thumped closed. The floor was warm walnut, and the numerous shelves were filled with sumptuous midnight-blue, mustard-gold and deep ruby-red fabric. Ladders on wheels rested on each side. The dusty, warm smell of books and woo
d lingered in the air. A girl standing in front of the counter spun around to face them. She was about the same age as them and had short russet hair, a pointed chin and face that looked as though it had never seen the sun, and she wore a plain but smart brown dress.

  “Hello,” Prue said brightly.

  “The shopkeeper is just out the back,” the girl said. She looked at them with wide, amber eyes; Prue thought that the phrase her mother used, “rabbit caught in the mechanicart lights”, summed up her expression perfectly.

  “Are you a new apprentice too?” Cora asked.

  The girl nodded, then smiled in a kind but awkward way, as though her face wasn’t used to it.

  “Great. I’m Cora and this is Frances.” She reduced her voice to something near a whisper and added, “She’s a farm girl.”

  “Oh … I’m Agapantha.” The girl’s mouth warped as though embarrassed by her name, or was it that she was judging Prue too?

  “Weird name, don’t your parents like you?” said Cora. Then she laughed to herself while Agapantha looked down at the floor. “No, really, I’m just kidding. But I don’t think I recognize you. What’s your family name?”

  “Young.”

  A door at the back of the store banged and there was the sound of scratching on floorboards behind the counter. A bundle of clothes was heaved above, then, after clumsy scurrying, a creature about the size of a badger pulled himself up. He was the most curious thing Prue had ever seen: long toes and fingers, string-thin arms and legs, whiskers on a bent snout and a course-haired body – like an exceptionally large rat. Two mustard-yellow, pop-out eyes stared at them.

  They hesitantly passed him the notes from their mentors.

  “Great, two more,” he said, in a voice that was spiky, rolling his eyes and sounding like it was the least thrilling prospect in the world. “It’s very late in the day for a fitting,” he snapped.

  “Well, that can’t be helped,” said Cora. “What’s your name?”

  The rat personifate looked at her suspiciously. “Finblewick.”