The Clockwork Woman

by Claire Bott

  We took money from Richard’s bureau (Emily protested, but Lechasseur ignored her), and took a post-chaise up to Sir Edward’s estate. I cannot say what the others thought of during the drive; there was little conversation, and that little consisted mostly of the kind of inconsequential observations on the weather and the state of the roads that we might have made had we been strangers who had happened to find themselves travelling together. I think we were all stunned by what had just happened. I know I was.

  As the carriage jolted its way along the roads, I tried to make sense of the tumbling whirl of emotions that the killing of Sir Richard had flung me into. There was the horror of seeing a dead man, for the first time ever in my life; and so dreadfully, so violently dead! I shuddered to think of it. I had seen dismantled robots in Sir Edward’s workshop, but never a human being dead.

  Then there was a stubborn sensation of guilt, that I could not push away. I had been built to serve Sir Edward, and I had gone against that. At first, my rebellion had almost destroyed me (and even yet I flinched from the memory of Sir Edward lying unconscious at my feet), but, like all other things, it had become easier with usage. Usage, and separation; for Sir Edward had been so far away, it had been a relatively simple matter to banish the thought of him from my mind. But now... now, I had seen him again, had felt that instinctive urge, implanted in my deepest programming, to go to him and serve him once more. And though I had not done so, that moment had awakened all the servile feelings in me again. I ought to have stayed, I ought to have stayed – the thought hammered insistently in my brain, and refused to be set aside. How could I have left him so? How cruel of me it had been!

  I shook my head violently, pushing such thoughts from me. I would not allow myself to feel remorse – I had had a right to my freedom! It was Sir Edward who ought to be suffering from guilt, for having created such a being as myself and bound her to him, body and soul... Soul? Did I even possess such a thing?

  But – my mind returned to an earlier conundrum, worrying it like a dog with a bone – why had he come to London? Had it been to search for me? But then, why should he have flown as soon as he had found me? After puzzling on this for a while, I cast it aside. We were now returning to the place where the answers might be found; a place I feared to go, even as another part of my being yearned for it beyond all expression. Sir Edward’s house. My birthplace. My home.

  ‘We’re here,’ Lechasseur said abruptly. I looked up in surprise. We had indeed arrived at the turnstile that was as near as this coach would go to our destination. The coach drew to a stop, and we got out. Now we would have to take the footpath across the fields and past the village to Sir Edward’s house. I shivered, then clenched my fists. I had said I would do this, and I would do it.

  We set off along the path. Soon, the village came into view. The footpath wound close to it, we would almost brush against it as we passed. As we drew closer, I began to notice something rather strange. There were no children running and playing in the fields; more disturbingly, there were no labourers at work in them. I knew little about the seasons for farming; but surely there should have been some people out working? Then, as we approached close enough to the village to hear sounds wafted on the wind, things became even stranger. For the only sound we heard was that of one man, shouting. Not in fear, or pain, or rage; it sounded as though he was haranguing someone, in a long, loud, ferocious speech.

  Lechasseur, Emily and I glanced at one another. The next turn of the path would take us away from the village. I could tell from the look on Emily’s face that she wanted to keep walking, but she said nothing.

  ‘Let’s go closer,’ said Lechasseur. ‘I want to hear what they’re saying.’

  Now Emily broke her silence. ‘Couldn’t we just go straight on? What’s the point in getting mixed up in trouble?’

  ‘I want to hear what they’re saying,’ Lechasseur repeated stubbornly.

  Emily glanced at me to see if I would offer her support, but I gave none. I was torn; I wanted to stop and find out what was happening, but I also wanted to hurry back to Sir Edward’s house. But then, I feared that house as much as I desired it... I made no resistance when Lechasseur turned and led the way towards the village. Emily, sighing a little under her breath, followed him as well.

  As we rounded the corner into the village square, we saw a strange sight. All the villagers were clustered around one man, who stood on what seemed to be an improvised plinth, and spat out his words with angry gestures.

  ‘And I say they can’t be exorcised! Curate went to exorcise ’em – where’s curate now? I’ll tell you where. Curate’s been caught by ’em, that’s what!’

  We edged closer. The audience were so absorbed in the man’s speech that they didn’t even notice us, and we managed to creep up until we were standing on the outskirts of the crowd.

  ‘And I say,’ the man continued, ‘I say witches called ’em! Find the witch, you find the cause! Find the cause’ – he paused, and his face twisted into an ugly expression of malice – ‘and yer can destroy the cause. Find the witches that called them... things, and kill ’em! That’ll send them hell-hounds back where they came from.’

  Emily plucked at Lechasseur’s sleeve. ‘I don’t like this,’ she whispered urgently. ‘We should go.’ But he shook her off impatiently, and turned back to the speaker.

  The audience had begun to mutter among themselves, speculating about the possible identity of the witch. ‘It couldn’t be anyone from the village,’ a woman called out finally. ‘I won’t believe it could have been any of us!’

  The man on the plinth shook his head. ‘No. It couldn’t be any of us. We’ve all lost a brother or a wife or’ – he shuddered, passing his hand across his face – ‘or a child. It couldn’t be any of us.’

  ‘Then who?’ shrilled a voice.

  Seemingly at a loss for the first time, the man gazed around the audience. And saw the three of us.

  His eye lit with sudden hate. ‘It was them!’ he cried, pointing at us with a finger that trembled. ‘Don’t you remember how, just before the hounds started their attacks, a harlot and a Blackamoor stayed at our little inn? Our quiet inn, that’d never seen anything such as that before. And the harlot seduced the curate while the Blackamoor watched! It was part of the spell! Look at them, back to gloat at us in our distress! They’ve brought their other harlot – three’s a coven, everyone knows that! And all Blackamoors worship demons!’ He was shouting now, foam flecking his chin, and dozens of hard, eager hands were reaching out to take hold of us. Before we could even think of running, we were seized and dragged down the street, pulled this way and that by the furious villagers.

  ‘Take them to the Inn’s cellar!’ shouted the original speech-maker, above the tumult. ‘Lock them in! Make the sign of the cross on the door to make sure they can’t get out! Then bring all the firewood you can find. We’ve got to burn out the evil!’

  We were tumbled into blackness, and the door slammed upon us. Then it was almost pitch-dark in the cellar where we were confined, with only a very little light seeping under the cellar door.

  There was a long silence. Finally, Emily spoke. ‘Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to go into the village after all.’

  Lechasseur sighed a long sigh. ‘Look,’ he said quietly, ‘if you want me to say that I’m really sorry, that you were right and I was wrong, then I will. But that won’t get us out of this, will it?’

  ‘No,’ Emily replied, ‘it won’t.’ There was silence for a moment, then Lechasseur added: ‘I just wish I knew what that guy was talking about.’

  ‘I – think I know,’ I said, and heard the faint rustle of his clothing as he shifted round to look at me.

  ‘Well?’

  ‘He was talking about Sir Edward’s attack dogs.’ I paused, and took a deep breath. ‘Do you remember how he said that the hell-hounds appeared just after we arrived?’

&nb
sp; ‘Of course!’ Lechasseur’s voice was excited, almost pleased. ‘And we already know that Sir Edward came down to London to look for you – he must have left the gates of his estate open, and the dogs must have escaped!’

  I nodded. A useless gesture, since no-one could see it in the dark. I shared none of Lechasseur’s pleasure – my thoughts were spinning inexorably around the fact that, if I had never left, Sir Edward would never have gone to London to find me, he would not have left the gates open, and none of the villagers would have died. How could my own freedom possibly be worth the deaths of all those innocent people?

  Lechasseur’s voice broke into my uncomfortable musings. ‘It’s time we got out of here,’ he said briskly.

  ‘That may be easier said than done,’ replied Emily, a note a fear now creeping into her voice.

  ‘Wait a minute...’ Quietly, Lechasseur crept over to the door. After a moment, he said, softly, ‘I can’t hear anything. I think they’ve all gone off to build a bonfire. Quick, search around, both of you, we need to find a nail or something.’

  We all groped around on the floor for long moments. Finally, Emily gave a triumphant hiss. ‘Here’s one!’

  ‘Give it here.’ Lechasseur fumbled for it in the dark, examined it for a moment, then grunted. ‘It’ll have to do. Now, be quiet for a bit. I’m going to have to concentrate.’

  We sat in silence while he worked away at the lock, swearing softly whenever the nail slipped. Finally, there was a small click, and the door swung open, allowing light to flood in.

  We crept out of the cellar. There was a series of three rough steps that led from the cellar door to the street level, and the three of us crouched at the bottom of them, peering over the lip. We were on a street that led directly to the main square, and could clearly see the villagers piling up wood to make a pyre. More to the point, once we moved from our impromptu hiding place, they would be able to see us, if they happened to glance up from their work.

  ‘What shall we do?’ I asked.

  ‘Run,’ Lechasseur answered. ‘It’s the only way. But try to run quietly.’

  Emily looked at him. ‘Run quietly?’

  ‘Shh. Come on.’

  We pelted down the street, I with my skirts gathered in both hands to keep me from tripping. We might even have made it, if one of the enthusiastic bonfire builders hadn’t chosen that moment to straighten up from his work.

  ‘Look! The witches are getting away!’

  We put on an extra spurt of speed; but Emily, smallest and slightest of us three, now began to gasp and fall behind. With a glance at each other, Lechasseur and I caught her by the arms and dragged her onwards. But now the burden slowed us. We were on the very outskirts of the village when the crowd caught us up.

  Lechasseur, letting go of Emily’s arm, turned at bay, swinging round into a punch that lifted the foremost of our pursuers off his feet, sending him flying back into his fellows. That made them pause for a moment, and Lechasseur snapped, ‘Run!’ over his shoulder at us.

  ‘Not without you!’ Emily said fiercely; and, pulling free from my grip, she moved to stand beside him. He pushed her back towards me.

  ‘Dove, get her out of here!’

  Emily looked up at me. ‘Dove, no! We can’t leave him to be burned!’

  I looked at Emily, at Lechasseur. Then I looked at the villagers, who were standing bewildered, watching us quarrel. This wasn’t their idea of what witches should be like. They were confused, off balance. We should be using that. But how? I had no idea. Frantically, I caught Lechasseur’s eye, and nodded fractionally towards the milling villagers. He looked at me, then at them. I saw a plan forming in his eyes.

  The moment before the mob might have overcome their incomprehension and rushed us anyway, Lechasseur took a sudden step towards them, startling them so that they surged back from him in a body.

  ‘Did you think your puny cross could keep me in?’ he cried, his voice a menacing rasp. ‘Well, it couldn’t! I can fly through windows, I can seep through doors. Leave us be, or I will call down the hell-hounds to tear your flesh from your bones!’

  For a moment, the mob stood silent. Then they broke and ran, dashing down the street. Lechasseur grabbed Emily and me by the arms. ‘Come on,’ he said urgently, ‘In a moment or so they’ll come to their senses and wonder why we didn’t just call the hounds when they went to lock us up. Let’s get out of here!’

  We ran away from the village, and did not look back.

  Finally, we paused, and flung ourselves on the ground to rest.

  ‘Where are we now?’ Emily panted. ‘I wasn’t keeping track.’

  I sat up and looked around. I remembered some of this landscape from Lechasseur’s and my earlier tramp across it to reach the village, the night I ran away. ‘I believe Sir Edward’s house is over in that direction,’ I said, pointing.

  Lechasseur began to get to his feet. ‘Well, we’d better get going then.’

  At that moment, we heard a howl, faint and far-off in the distance. The three of us looked at each other, the same terrible realisation striking all of us simultaneously.

  ‘The attack dogs!’ we said in unison.

  The howl came again, still far-off but closer than before.

  ‘It’s between us and the house,’ Lechasseur commented grimly.

  ‘They,’ I corrected him.

  He looked at me. ‘They?’

  ‘The dogs always hunt in packs,’ I explained. ‘There is bound to be more than one of them.’

  He slapped his forehead with his palm. ‘Oh, great.’

  Emily got to her feet. ‘We should go,’ she said nervously, ‘We should run.’

  I rose too. ‘We should go, yes; but not start running just yet. It may be that they do not even know we are out here. We should walk away from the direction of the sound; and if we can find a place to hide, we should do so.’

  ‘You’re forgetting,’ Lechasseur pointed out, rising in his turn. ‘They’d be able to sniff us out. Just because you don’t leave a scent trail, that doesn’t mean we don’t.’

  He was right, I had forgotten. I nodded silently, and we set off, walking away from the sound of the howls. But they didn’t diminish in the distance. Every time we heard them, they seemed to be closer. We glanced at each other; and, by mutual, unspoken consent, began to run.

  But the howls of the dogs grew closer and closer still, and now I could tell that there was quite a large pack pursuing us. Lechasseur seemed to have come to the same conclusion, for he suddenly came to a halt and gasped, ‘We should split up. Emily, go that way, Dove, go the other way. I’ll go this way. If we can confuse them, divide the pack, we stand a better chance of getting away.’

  Emily and I glanced at each other. We knew that he was in the right of it. Wasting no breath on discussing it, I silently turned and begun running in the direction he had indicated. Glancing back briefly, I saw Emily and Lechasseur clasp hands for a moment in a kind of good-bye, then turn and start running in different directions. Then I looked to my own flight, and settled into my own pace.

  There came a point when the sounds behind me began to grow fainter, and I felt a huge, shameful wave of relief. I didn’t leave a scent trail – there was no way for the dogs to follow me. They had gone after Emily and Lechasseur. I was safe. I still ran on, though – ran blindly, unthinkingly, desperate to put as much distance between me and the dogs as possible. And that was my downfall; for I was so intent on running, simply running, that I didn’t even notice when the ground beneath my feet began to slope upwards. I just ran on, up the hill, up and further up, until, pausing for a rest, I happened to glance behind me, and realised I was on quite an eminence.

  From here, I could see Emily and Lechasseur, tiny doll-like figures against the muddy green background of the moors, and the glint of the two packs of dogs that separately pursued them, steadily gaining
. I stood a long moment, wringing my hands in a positive agony of impotence. So caught up was I in the drama unfolding below me, I remained quite unaware of my own danger. Until one of the dogs, pausing and casting around for the scent trail, raised its head. And saw me.

  I had forgotten – had simply not thought – that if I could see the dogs, they could certainly see me. The one that had turned its head in my direction gave a long, low howl, and its pack-fellows all looked up as one. There was a long moment of stillness, and then, as though by common consent, half the pack (it was the one pursuing Emily, I noted automatically) split off, heading for the place where I stood.

  That jolted me out of my horrified rigidity. I turned, and ran up the hill once more.

  But now the howls from behind me no longer faded into the distance. Instead, they grew closer; closer; closer still. Now I could feel my gears groaning and juddering under the strain, but still the dogs came mercilessly on.

  Raising my eyes from the track for a moment, I saw that I was heading towards a rocky escarpment, and moaned under my breath. In this state, I would have trouble climbing rocks, while the dogs, tireless as they were, would have no such difficulty. But it was too late to try to detour around it, so I flung myself at the rocks and began to climb. After a short time – too short! – I looked down and saw the dogs below me, transforming to their humanoid shapes, rising to their hind legs and extending their claws for the climb. They came up preternaturally quickly, moving with twice the speed I could coax out of my own, tired body. Desperately, hopelessly, I scrambled on. Now the rocks were levelling out, but still I had to haul myself past great teeth and claws of stone, thrust up in my way as though the landscape itself were a huge stone dog, and wished to aid its fellows.

  At last I tripped, and fell full-length. The dogs were close behind me; I could hear the scraping of their claws against the rocks. I knew, deep in the core of me, that I would never be able to escape them. But I could meet my death standing, at least. I pushed myself half-upright with my hands –