Beauty and Beastly: Steampunk Beauty and the Beast (Steampunk Fairy Tales)

by Melanie Karsak

  “It’s orange,” I said. “Like the sunset. A mix of orange, yellow, and pink. The colors bleed into one another.”

  He smiled. “Thank you, Miss Hawking.”

  “Isabelle.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Isabelle. That’s my name. You may call me Isabelle if you like.”

  “Isabelle,” he repeated. “I’m more commonly known as Rhys.”

  I smiled. “Nice to meet you, Rhys,” I said playfully, extending my hand.

  The mech took my hand into his, bowed, then lay a metallic kiss on my gloved fingers. “The pleasure is mine,” he said then let me go.

  The gesture so surprised me that I felt a blush brighten my cheeks. How ridiculous. He was an automaton. Metal, and cogs, and bolts, and wires...

  “Here,” Rhys said, picking the prettiest bloom on the vine. It was a simple rosebud, just barely opened. Ensuring there were no thorns, the mechanical gently set the flower in my hair above my ear. I was pleased to see his grip was working well enough to do such delicate work.

  I chuckled, touching the blossom. “Thank you, kind sir.”

  “Of course,” he said with a smile. He selected another rose, adding it to his lapel, then looked out at the view. Once more, a series of clicks emanated from his chest. He was still for so long I almost wondered if something within him had broken.

  “Rhys?” I said, gently setting my hand on his arm.

  He jerked oddly as if reanimating himself. Had he had been lost in thought? “Yes. Very well. Let’s explore, shall we? This way...Isabelle.”

  The automaton turned and headed away from the hermitage into the forest.

  Once again, we headed into the thick woods. It was so beautiful that I pitied the mechanical that he couldn’t see the vibrant pallet of greens and smell the loam of the earth. It was enchanting beyond compare.

  Rhys led me to the first ring of stones, a small place with five tall stones and a center alter. The feel of magic filled the air so strongly that my skin rose in goosebumps.

  “This place...everywhere I go, I feel magic.”

  Rhys stared at the stones. “Even at the castle?”

  I frowned. “There is a different kind of magic to be had there. But no, not there.”

  He nodded. “No. Not there.” Reaching out to touch the stone, he hesitated then drew his hand back. “The lady of the castle, the one who made the rose painting, could feel the magic here as well. She used to run barefoot in the forest. She said she could feel the magic in the very earth coursing between her toes.”

  I smiled. “The lady...is she the same woman in the painting that hangs in the library?”

  Again, something inside of Rhys clicked. “Yes.”

  “She was lovely.”

  “Yes. In mind, body, and spirit. A fey thing, some called her.”

  I eyed the mech. I wanted to unload a million questions upon him, but even one at a time felt like I was pushing. But still, the vision in the mirror haunted me. It felt like answers hung just beyond my grasp, and my intellect could barely stand it. “The lady in the painting seemed quite in contrast with the gentleman in the portrait.”

  The mech huffed a laugh. “A more different pair never existed.”

  “Some say there is synergy in opposites.”

  “Not in those opposites,” he said, his voice turning cold. “Now, here are some of the Ogham symbols you are hunting.”

  I went to the stone and looked at the writing engraved thereon, cognizant of the fact that Rhys had changed the subject. “That’s odd,” I said, pulling out my journal.

  “Odd?”

  “The Ogham writing. It’s the same as on the other ring of stones. See,” I said, pointing from my journal to the stone. “The figures are the same. I hadn’t noticed before.”

  “What does it say?”

  “I’m...I’m not sure. I’ll need to work on it,” I said, again writing down the combination of slashes along a single line that made up the Ogham. I went from stone to stone, sketching both the stones and the Celtic figures and knotwork thereon in my book.

  Kelly raced through the forest chasing everything she could see, including waving blades of grass. The lord circled the stones as well, eyeing the ancient structures with interest, but his arms stayed folded behind his back. From time to time, he would look over my shoulder at my sketches.

  “Your technique is very good albeit mechanical.”

  “Mechanical?”

  “Precise, perhaps, is the better word. It is the hand of an engineer. Your skill for catching the real form is superb.”

  I flipped back to earlier pages in my journal. While some had become blurry due to getting wet, others had survived. I turned to my sculpture of the birds that sang Vivaldi.

  “This was one of my best pieces. I worked all winter on it. The birds moved in tune to Vivaldi’s Allegro-Largo-Allegro.”

  “Ah yes, Vivaldi. That new piece is quiet in fashion. I’ve only heard it once.”

  “New piece?” Vivaldi’s work was almost a hundred years old.

  Rhys turned and looked at me, studying me carefully. From within him, I heard a series of odd clicks. “Well, I mean, it’s well-marked, that’s all. Your sculpture. What happened to it?”

  “Papa and I were on our way to Islay for a wedding. The piece was intended as a wedding gift. It’s somewhere at the bottom of the sea now,” I said, turning the pages so the lord could see the interior designs of the sculpture. “As you can see, the sculpture was a marriage of clockwork, music, and movement.”

  “My servants and I must prove interesting subjects for you,” he said. His voice held the tone of resentment which I didn’t understand. Why would he be angry for me being in interested in his design?

  I eyed him carefully, once more seeing the lines of the face in the painting in the library.

  “There is beauty in all forms. Steel, flesh, or stone,” I said, setting my hand on the standing stone once more. “All have their beauties.”

  The lord harrumphed, making me wonder if he had some sort of inflatable in his chest that mimicked the lungs—a creation about which my father would be very interested—then turned and moved on to the next monolith.

  When I was done sketching the stones, we headed deeper into the woods. Rhys surprised me, gently holding my arm and guiding me over small streams. Had he been programmed to act the part of the perfect gentleman?

  The next stone we found was one of unique design. On a rise that looked toward the ocean was a round stone with a hole at its center. In the distance was another rock, this one cone-shaped. I pulled out my map.

  “Here,” he said, noting a position on the map. He stared off at the horizon.

  I noted the location of the stones on the map then leaned down to look through the hole. “Makes you wonder what it’s pointing at.”

  “The Isle of Man.”

  “Are you certain?”

  He nodded. “And on Anglesey, you will find a similar set of stones pointing here.”

  I looked through the hole. “What do you suppose will happen if I pass through?” I said, moving as if to enter.

  The lord reached down and gently held my arm. “Isabelle. Do not.”

  I was startled by the sound of panic in his voice. I looked up at him. “Rhys?”

  He chuckled lightly. “Just...best not to tempt fate. That was what my mother—er, my master, always told me. Especially in this place.”

  I stared at him. Mother? I narrowed my eyes as I considered. “Very well. This seems a good a place as any to have a quick bite to eat. Do you mind? I don’t want to waste your time, but,” I said, setting my hand on my stomach.

  “No. Not at all.” He handed the basket to me. “I think there was some claret in there.”

  “No oil for you?”

  He laughed lightly. “No.”

  Inside, I found a small hunk of dense bread, salted fish, and wine. Everything the servants were cooking were things they had scavenged from the island—save the wi
ne.

  I poured myself a small glass and sipped as I stared out at the waves.

  “Do you remember the shipwreck?” Rhys asked.

  “No. And for that, I am grateful. I was asleep when the weather turned. I fell from my bunk. Papa and I went on deck only to see the tempest. I was swept over. I remember hitting my head, then nothing until I woke up on this beach. But I think I remember snow.”

  “Snow?”

  “During the tempest. I’d swear that it was snowing. A rare summer squall? Perhaps some fluke in the weather? I don’t know. I remember it being white and cold, then the darkness and the waves.”

  “That is very strange,” he said, staring back toward the forest.

  “Indeed.”

  I ate my breakfast—though it was now after lunch—then packed up the basket once more.

  “Speaking of the weather,” he said, motioning to the sky. As the day had progressed, the sky had grown gray and cloudy. “As far as I know, there are no other stones in this section of your map. Perhaps we should head back?”

  I nodded. “I don’t want you and Kelly caught out here in the rain.”

  “Thank you,” he said then whistled for his dog who appeared a few moments later, a parcel in her mouth.

  I chuckled at the sight of her. “I was worried the selkies found you.”

  “What do you have there?” Rhys called.

  Wagging her tail, Kelly set a very wet package at his feet. The parcel, despite the paper covering being ripped, the pack waterlogged, looked familiar.

  “Wait,” I said, kneeling. “There was debris from the shipwreck on this beach. That package...” I said then pushed off the wet paper. Digging in my satchel, I pulled out a knife and cut the twine holding the light wooden box closed.

  “What is it?” Rhys asked.

  “This package is mine.”

  “Yours?”

  “It must have washed ashore.” I carefully removed the lid of the box to find a soaking wet ball gown inside. It was the yellow dress I’d packed to wear to the wedding. “Impossible. Dear Kelly, how did you ever find this of all things? What chance!”

  The dog wagged her mechanical tail happily.

  Rhys made a strange sound, a sort of frustrated grunt, then glared into the woods. “Very improbable.”

  From the forest beyond us, I swore I heard a tinkling laugh.

  I closed the lid on the box. “It will need to be washed and hung to dry. It was a very expensive gown. High fashion, Papa had called it,” I said with a chuckle. “I’m glad it survived,” I said, staring down the beach. Maybe I should come back and have another look through the wreckage. Perhaps other gems had washed ashore. But given the darkening sky, now was not the time. “Good girl,” I said, patting Kelly on the head.

  “I’m pleased for you,” he said, reaching out to carry the package for me.

  “Please. Allow me. It’s quite wet,” I cautioned.

  He pulled his hand back. “Yes, you’re right.” Offering me his arm, we turned and headed back into the woods. As we walked, I heard the same songbird that I’d noticed before, its sound so sweet and strange.

  Rhys stilled and looked into the trees. “Do you hear that?” he asked.

  I nodded. “I heard it the last time I was out. Such a pretty songbird.”

  To my surprise, he repeated the bird’s call. The soft, sweet song emanated from somewhere deep within him.

  There was a pause, and the bird whistled in reply.

  The lord repeated the call.

  I watched the trees only to see a glimmer of gold and movement amongst the leaves.

  The pair exchanged calls again.

  Then, on the wide oak above me, the bird alighted on a branch. The tiny winged creature was gold-colored. But that was because it appeared to be literally made of gold and every bit as clockwork as the lord himself.

  The little bird warbled once more then hopped down the branch to move closer to Rhys.

  The lord held out his arm, extending a finger. The bird turned his head, eyeing him skeptically.

  “Come, Matilda,” he called gently.

  I stood perfectly still as I watched the exchanged.

  The bird chirped sweetly then flitted down and landed on Rhys’s finger.

  I was shocked.

  Moving gently, Rhys gently stroked the metal feathers on the clockwork bird’s head.

  But from somewhere deep within the forest, that same strange wind blew once more. The little clockwork bird chirped nervously then turned and looked into the forest. The sound of a tinkling bell and a light laugh was carried on the wind. The tiny bird chirped loudly then turned and flew away.

  The lord stepped away from me and turned to face the dark glen, staring down the strange wind, an angry look on his face.

  Overhead, the sky rumbled, and lightning streaked the horizon.

  Again, I heard a laugh, but this time, I heard menace.

  “Rhys?”

  He didn’t answer.

  I stared into the dark forest. There was something there. I could feel it, but I didn’t know what.

  “Rhys?” I said softly, reaching out to him. “Come on. Let’s get you and Kelly inside before it rains.”

  He stood another moment more looking out at the darkening woods.

  “Yes. Very well,” he said then turned and joined me, linking his arm in mine. The act seemed almost subconscious if such a thing was possible.

  Frowning, I stared in the direction of the dark woods.

  What was on the eastern side of the island? What force was there that so disturbed everyone in the castle? Again, I was reminded of Missus Silver’s words. A curse. The castle was cursed. Was that true? Was such a thing even possible? But by what? Whom? And why?

  We walked in silence back toward the castle as the dark clouds overhead gathered once more. The lord pushed open the gate for Kelly and me, and we entered the metal garden. Retaking my arm, we walked toward the castle.

  “So, Matilda?”

  “She used to live in the castle. She was a pet. She escaped by chance. I’m glad to see she survived. I have worried about her out there exposed to the elements.”

  “Pretty songbird. Such a rare sound.”

  “She was a gift. Someone brought her from Barbados many years ago.”

  I looked back toward the woods. The ancient trees waved menacingly as the sky grew dark. I suddenly felt very, very sad for the mechanicals. Forgotten or cursed—I didn’t know which—their plight was pitiable.

  But which was it: forgotten or cursed?

  I gazed off to the east. There was something in the woods. Whatever it was, it held the key. I knew where to go to learn my answer. Now I just had to muster enough courage to seek it out.

  Chapter 23: Clandestine Affairs

  After we returned, Rhys retreated to his wing of the castle, and I headed back to the library. Sitting before my maps and notes, I found myself distracted. I gazed up at the painting above the fireplace, studying the expressions of the three people there. What had happened here? Where had all the people gone?

  “Tea, mistress?” Mister Flint said, carrying in a tray. “And Missus Smith sent some sweets for you.”

  Once more, I noticed the limp with which he walked. As well, his optic didn’t seem to sit quite right.

  “Thank you,” I said with a sigh, turning from the portrait. “Mister Flint, would you like me to have a look at your leg and optic? Perhaps there is something I can do.”

  Mister Flint paused as he considered. “The optic is as it should be. But if you would be willing to have a look at my knee, I would be much obliged.”

  He set down the tray while I grabbed the tools from inside my satchel.

  I tried not to giggle when the mech pulled up his hose to reveal his metallic leg. It wasn’t so much the movement or the hose that were amusing, but the modest expression on the man’s face. How could a mechanical face express so much emotion?

  Kneeling on the ground, I had a look at the wir
es. While the mechanism seemed to be intact, it appeared that a cog deep within the knee joint had rusted.

  “We’ll need to replace a part then give it a good lube,” I said. “I might have something that will do the trick. But do you have any replacement parts? And some oil?”

  “I...well, yes. Yes, Miss Hawking.”

  “Very good. And a workbench? It will be easier if you are lying down.”

  “Oh. Well, yes. Very well, come with me,” he said then motioned for me to follow.

  We headed back down the hallway to the east wing of the castle, passing the room with all the windup keys, to another door on the first floor. Casting a glance toward the steps that led to the upper floors, Mister Flint led me into another room.

  “It’s a rather shoddy workshop, but we’ve done the best we can,” he said.

  The room had once been some kind of study but was transformed. Tools lay on a table as well as parts that looked like they had once belonged to a clock, some torn up household tools, garden equipment, and a few other devices I could not recognize. Clearly, they’d scavenged for the parts they needed. There was a table at the center of the room.

  “Here you are,” Mister Flint said, motioning to the parts table. He picked up a small can of oil and handed it to me.

  Grabbing what parts were there, I hoped I would be able to make at least a small improvement.

  “Very well. If you don’t mind lying down,” I said, motioning to the table.

  “Oh. Yes. All right,” he said, sitting hopping up on the workbench.

  His apprehension moved me. Suddenly I felt more like a doctor than a tinker.

  I set my hand on his shoulder. “This may feel a bit...uncomfortable. Shall I turn you off until the repair is completed?”

  The mech took a windup key from his pocket and handed it to me. He then removed his coat and unbuttoned and removed his shirt. Whoever had created him had instilled such a sense of modesty in him that I swore I felt him blushing. “On my back, as with Missus Silver, you will find my windup. Turn the key as far as you can without strain. Once you remove the key, I will reactivate. To turn me off, simply turn the key widdershins,” he said.