The Wooden Prince

by John Claude Bemis

  “I don’t usually deal in automa,” Geppetto said. “However, I could put in an order—”

  “We’re not purchasing,” Captain Toro said. “We’re looking for one that escaped from Don Antonio’s house.”

  “Otto?” Geppetto said in surprise. “Has the old chap begun malfunctioning?”

  “Not Don Antonio’s servant. The escaped automa destroyed Otto as it got away. We believe it’s still in the village, as the guards have seen no one leave since last night. We’re searching all the buildings. It might have snuck in without your knowledge.”

  “Oh, I doubt that,” Geppetto said. “I have such a small place. Only my shop.”

  “What’s back there?” the officer said, pointing his musket toward the curtain.

  “Just my bed. Nowhere to hide that I wouldn’t have seen.”

  “Check it,” he ordered Captain Toro.

  Toro marched through the curtain, his wings slipping through the fabric. Geppetto considered following him, but the other airman stayed in the shop front, peering behind the counter, tapping the stone floor with the shoulder stock of his musket, listening for hollow hiding places.

  What would he do when Captain Toro found Pinocchio? He heard the captain overturning the bookcase. Furniture crashed. Any moment he’d flip over the bed.

  Geppetto reached for the chimera box on the counter. Its screeching alarm wouldn’t help, but the box was heavy, and a blow to the airman’s temple…

  Captain Toro emerged back through the curtain. “Empty,” he reported.

  The officer turned and paused, giving the chimera box in Geppetto’s hands a quizzical look.

  “I—I’d best get back to work,” Geppetto chuckled, holding up the box. “Good luck in your search.” He hurried to open the door and let them out.

  The airmen marched to the bakery next door.

  Geppetto locked the door and ran into the bedroom. His books and belongings lay scattered. His bed was flipped completely over.

  Maestro hopped from surface to surface. “Where is he?”

  Geppetto looked around in confusion. Then a muffled voice sounded from the fireplace. “’M stuck!”

  Geppetto spied the salamander in the coals. It was squished, the poor beast. The lizard’s eyes had rolled up, and its black tongue dangled out.

  “He’s up the chimney!” Maestro said.

  Geppetto poked his head into the smoky air to peer up the flue. He pulled back from the heat, coughing, and reached up to grasp Pinocchio’s ankle. With a tug, he pulled him down. Pinocchio landed again on the salamander, squishing molten innards from the dead creature. Pinocchio leaped off the coals and tumbled to the floor in a cloud of soot.

  “My feet!”

  Flames ignited across his wooden soles. Geppetto grabbed a bucket of wash water and doused Pinocchio’s feet. With a hiss of steam, the flames extinguished, but the charred remains of his toes crumbled away with the water. The gearwork mechanisms beneath lay exposed.

  “My poor feet,” Pinocchio cried. Although they couldn’t hurt, the boy clutched his feet pitifully.

  Geppetto knelt before Pinocchio. “You clever boy,” he laughed. “You might have burned your feet off—and killed my poor salamander—but they’d have found you for sure if you’d stayed under the bed.”

  “That’s what I realized,” Pinocchio whimpered, the corners of his mouth twitching with pride. “Can you fix them?”

  “Yes, but we haven’t much time,” Geppetto said. “When the airmen finish their search and haven’t found us, they’ll be back for a more thorough sweep. And we need to be gone.”

  Geppetto rummaged through the shop’s shelves until Pinocchio heard him give an “Aha!” and he returned with a pair of tattered boots.

  “What are those?” Pinocchio asked.

  “Seven-league boots. They’ve lost their proper enchantment, but you just need feet, so they’ll do.”

  Geppetto set about tinkering with Pinocchio’s copper tendons and performed a transmutation that fixed the boots over his burned feet. When he finished, he said, “Try them out.”

  Pinocchio took an awkward step and then another. The boots were several sizes too big and gave his feet a comical appearance. “Feels funny.” But he soon found the right gait to keep them from clopping. He tried a bounce.

  “Not bad.” He took a few steps and tested a jump, launching over the table and landing in a crouch. “Did you see that?” he laughed. This was an extraordinary feeling. Almost like he could fly.

  “Be careful,” Geppetto warned. “They might still have a bit of their old enchantment.”

  Pinocchio ran toward the table again. “I couldn’t jump like this before—” The launch shot him like a cannonball. His head crashed against a ceiling beam, flipping him into a somersault before he landed, splintering the table in two.

  “Incorrigible,” Maestro sighed.

  Geppetto ran to Pinocchio. “Are you all right?”

  Pinocchio sat up, blinking with embarrassment. Being made of wood sometimes had its advantages. Stepping on the salamander might have burned his feet off, but the battering-ram blow against the ceiling had injured only his pride.

  “Like I said,” Geppetto explained, “the boots have a bit of their old spring. You won’t manage seven leagues. But they might occasionally send you a bit farther than you intend if you’re not careful.”

  A heavy thud sounded, rattling the furnishings and sending a small shower of dust from the ceiling. Another thud followed, then another.

  Maestro and Geppetto hurried to the curtain. Pinocchio ran after them, careful that his new feet didn’t launch him into another accident. Out in the street, armored carriages, linked together in a long train, stalked past on dozens of mechanical legs.

  Pinocchio grinned at the extraordinary machine. He’d never seen anything like that in the palace. “What is it?”

  “A mechanipillar,” Geppetto said. “Maestro…are you thinking the same as me?”

  “I’m thinking it would be complete madness,” the cricket said, “but it might be our best chance.”

  “What’s it for?” Pinocchio asked, wishing he could go outside to get a better look at the walking vehicle.

  “The mechanipillar carries goods and travelers to the neighboring towns,” Geppetto said. “This part of Tuscany has far too many runaway half-beasts for people to travel without the protection of an armored coach. Those who can’t afford private transportation take the mechanipillar.”

  Pinocchio wondered how dangerous these half-beasts really were. Something about them ignited him with curiosity. It would be oh so exciting to see one. He decided not to say this to his master. It was doubtful Geppetto shared his enthusiasm.

  “If we’re going to leave,” Maestro said, “it must be on that mechanipillar.”

  Geppetto shook his head. “If the airmen think Pinocchio is still in the village, they’ll inspect the mechanipillar before it leaves the gates.”

  “What if you hide him?” Maestro suggested. “You could take off his arms and legs, stuff him in a box, and cover him with other parts. Say you’re delivering a repair to someone in another village.”

  Pinocchio yelped. “What? No, don’t pull off my limbs!”

  Geppetto waved at him to be silent. “I don’t have gold enough to buy passage! Signora Ferragutti’s chimera box still isn’t finished.”

  “Then hurry and finish it!”

  “There’s no time! And besides, they’ll search the mechanipillar. Unless…” Geppetto narrowed his eyes.

  “Unless what?” Pinocchio asked.

  “Quiet.” Geppetto tapped his fingers on the counter. “If we got under the mechanipillar, we might ride out unnoticed.” He looked at Pinocchio now. “Could you support my weight and hold us to the undercarriage?”

  “I’m strong, Master,” Pinocchio said, grateful his master was considering options besides pulling off his legs.

  Geppetto nodded. “I have no doubt you are, lad. But it’ll be a bump
y ride.”

  “I won’t drop you. I promise.”

  Maestro sprang from the counter, a flurry of wings and whirling antennae. “This is lunacy! You can’t get under the mechanipillar without everyone in the village seeing you, not to mention those airmen swarming the streets.”

  “I have an idea,” Geppetto said, picking up the chimera box. “It’s good that I didn’t repair this after all.”

  “Why?” Pinocchio asked.

  “You’ll see,” Geppetto said. “Maestro, get in your cage. Pinocchio, grab the blanket off my bed. We must be quick.”

  Geppetto emerged from the alley, pushing the wheelbarrow he used for deliveries. On the top was Maestro’s cage, covered with a silk cloth. Beneath the cricket was the chimera box, the lid closed to keep its alarm from sounding. Below, covered by a blanket, huddled Pinocchio.

  Geppetto maneuvered the load down the cobblestone lane toward the gates.

  “What if you’re stopped, and they look under that blanket?” Maestro chirped from inside his cage.

  “It’s a risk we have to take,” Geppetto whispered.

  “But if they do?”

  Geppetto nodded hello to a passing neighbor before whispering to Maestro, “Then we get to see Venice again.”

  “You mean the doge’s prison,” the cricket said. “If you’re lucky! More likely you’ll face the gallows.”

  “Hush.”

  As expected, the mechanipillar was stopped at the gates while airmen searched it. Groups of villagers stood around, impatient to board. The town’s guards—battered hulking automa sentries—waited for orders to open the gates.

  Geppetto gave a jolt.

  Above the town gate was an imperial warship, hovering overhead like a black storm cloud. Geppetto’s anxiety worsened. This was no ordinary patrol. That was an onyx-class military warship, most certainly equipped with Flying Lions. Peering down from the ship’s bow was General Maximian, the doge’s personal guard and commander of Venice’s imperial airmen. Of all the soldiers here, this one alone might recognize Geppetto.

  Geppetto pulled his hood over his head and wheeled onward. The airmen took no notice as they rustled through the few travelers’ trunks and pulled open crates of vegetables bound for neighboring markets.

  Near the gates were the piles of garbage the villagers left for the automa guards to remove to burn outside the village. Geppetto set Maestro’s cage on the stinking heap.

  “Is this what the renowned musician Maestro of Abaton has come to?” the cricket complained. “Rummaging through filth. Disgraceful! My grandfather would pluck off his antennae in shame if could see me.”

  “Remember what I said,” Geppetto whispered, as he placed the chimera box next to Maestro. “Give us time to get on the other side of the mechanipillar.”

  “If you get caught,” Maestro said, “I’m not coming with you.”

  Geppetto loosened the lid on the chimera box. “Then I wish you the best and hope that the bird that eats you doesn’t get indigestion.”

  “Incorrigible,” the cricket mumbled.

  Geppetto adjusted his gloves and stole a glance at General Maximian. The officer was watching the airmen finish their final inspections. Passengers began boarding, a few calling last good-byes to family members. Geppetto kept his gaze low as he made a wide swath with the wheelbarrow, pushing it through the crowd to the other side of the mechanipillar.

  “Signore Polendina,” a voice rang out.

  He pushed faster.

  “Oh, Signore Polendina, dear!” An elderly woman made her way from the crowd, her cane clanking on the cobblestones as she hurried to catch him.

  Geppetto stopped and turned with a brittle smile. “Signora Ferragutti, I was just coming to see you.”

  Captain Toro, standing by one of the mechanipillar’s legs, glanced over his shoulder at them. Geppetto didn’t meet his eye as he took Signora Ferragutti’s arm to steady her.

  “Have you finished my box? I haven’t slept a night without it. You promised it would be ready.”

  Captain Toro narrowed his eyes on the wheelbarrow behind Geppetto.

  “Yes, soon,” Geppetto said, desperate to escape Toro’s attention. But the airman was already coming his way. “It’s nearly finished. It’s just…I’ve run into a snag…and…”

  Signora Ferragutti frowned. “What sort of snag?”

  An earsplitting shriek rose from the other side of the mechanipillar. The villagers scrambled as if under attack. Toro and the other airmen on the ground began shouting at one another, searching wildly for the source of the sound. General Maximian leaped from the hovering warship, throwing his wings wide, and landed atop the mechanipillar. Signora Ferragutti wobbled in alarm. Geppetto steadied her before turning to snatch the blanket from Pinocchio.

  “Now!” he said.

  Pinocchio wanted nothing more than to stay hidden. The voices screaming in panic and the piercing wail of the chimera box scared him. But Geppetto pulled him sharply to his feet. All eyes were, for the moment, on the far side of the mechanipillar. They had a clear run for a gap in the mechanipillar’s legs, but it would lead them behind Captain Toro. There was nothing to do but hope he didn’t turn around.

  Pinocchio stumbled on his new feet, trying to get them to work properly. As they passed Captain Toro, the airman’s wings snapped open, the blow knocking Geppetto to the cobblestones. Captain Toro sprang to the top of the mechanipillar.

  “Master!” Pinocchio cried.

  They had only seconds before someone might notice them. Pinocchio awkwardly tried to help Geppetto up. A trickle of something red ran along Geppetto’s temple, and his eyes looked dazed. Pinocchio glanced around. The others were all still startled by the noise.

  Grabbing his master tightly around the waist, Pinocchio sprang for an opening between the mechanipillar’s massive legs. The seven-league boots fired him straight through, landing him with a skid on his back. Pinocchio found a grip underneath the mechanipillar and held Geppetto to his chest as he kicked his feet up over a metal rod.

  “Are you all right, Master?” he asked, settling into his perch and noticing the red liquid on Geppetto’s forehead. “I didn’t know you had wine inside you.”

  Geppetto blinked away the dizziness and swiped a hand to his temple. “That’s blood. But I’m fine. Have you got us?”

  “I think so.”

  “Then stay quiet.”

  Pinocchio felt a welling of pride. He had saved his master. But the proud moment vanished as musket fire erupted and the crowd surrounding the mechanipillar yelled in panic.

  “Hold your fire!” an airman shouted. At once, the shrieking chimera box went quiet. Pinocchio and Geppetto looked at each other as they listened.

  “It’s just some alchemied alarm someone threw in the trash. Return to your posts, men.”

  The villagers calmed, but there was an anxious edge to their conversations. Captain Toro dropped back down to the street. From under the mechanipillar, Geppetto and Pinocchio could only see his boots pacing back and forth. Another soldier strode up to the captain.

  “Should we hold the mechanipillar, General Maximian?” Captain Toro asked.

  “No, it seems to have just been an accident,” the general replied, before shouting, “Open the gates!”

  The creak of turning gears sounded as the village automa began cranking open the gates.

  Geppetto exhaled with relief. Captain Toro followed the general away, when a woman with a clanking cane caught up to him.

  “Captain Toro? Was that a chimera box causing that commotion?”

  “So it seems,” the captain replied, still walking. “No need to worry, Signora Ferragutti. You can go—”

  “I think that might have been mine. Signore Polendina was repairing it, but surely he wouldn’t have thrown it into the trash.”

  Captain Toro stopped. “Wasn’t he here just a moment ago?”

  “Right beside me,” she said, “before that commotion broke out. Look, there’s his cart.�
��

  “What do we do, Master?” Pinocchio whispered.

  Stay quiet, Geppetto mouthed.

  The mechanipillar took its first earthshaking step.

  “General Maximian!” Captain Toro called. “Signora Ferragutti here seems to be the owner of the box that was causing all that noise.”

  “Then she can explain why she set off that uproar,” the general said, walking along beside the mechanipillar’s stomping feet.

  Captain Toro hurried to keep up with him. “Sir, you don’t understand. The man who was repairing that box was just here and now he’s gone.”

  “Half the village scattered at that noise, captain.”

  “But he might have—”

  “I don’t have time for an old lady’s trinkets, Captain, much less a bumbling frontier patrolman such as yourself second-guessing my orders. The mechanipillar is inspected. We will resume our search of the village before that automa and his traitorous master find a way out. Get to your rounds.”

  Pinocchio watched Geppetto’s face as the mechanipillar marched through the gates, leaving the village behind.

  “Are we safe, Master?” he asked. “Did we escape?”

  “We escaped,” Geppetto said, “but we are far from being safe.”

  An automa has no muscles to tire, so Pinocchio held Geppetto securely underneath the mechanipillar as it stamped along the road. He soon grew bored, however.

  “How long do we have to hang here?” Then he added, “Where are we going, anyway? And what happened to Maestro? Is he all right?”

  The corner of Geppetto’s mouth twitched. “We are going to my wife’s villa. We’re almost there. Maestro will meet us. He’s exceptionally skilled at finding his way. You know, you’re quite impatient for an automa.”

  Pinocchio thought about that as they continued. Was impatience bad? He decided to stay silent.

  Geppetto soon said, “Get ready. When I tell you, let go, but don’t roll to the side or you might wind up crushed by the feet.”

  The mechanipillar was climbing a steep, winding road, and the sunlight dimmed as they entered a wood.

  “Now,” Geppetto ordered.