Page 12 of A Slipper in the Smoke
A guard escorted her to the workshops. They were adjacent to the palace, connected by a thin corridor not far from the kitchens and the rest of the servants’ quarters. Elena flinched as they passed through the gardens, her eyes settling, only briefly, on the balcony jutting out over the lawns. The balcony where the bomb that killed the king and princess went off, now immaculately restored.
Steel and stone and bronze could be easily replaced. Flesh and lives were not so easily stitched back together. Perhaps that’s why she liked metal so much. It was something that couldn’t die that she could coax into something like life.
The guard coughed.
“Sorry,” Elena said. “Lost in thought.”
“It is best not to loiter,” the guard said stiffly. “Here.”
They progressed into the palace, past outposts and gates and doors, until they arrived at the workshops. Elena recognised the smell immediately, warm oil and hot steel, sawdust and pine. There were several rooms, some with glass doors, displaying automatons in the shape of people with beautiful painted faces and limbs of clockwork so intricate it almost looked like lace.
She was not permitted to stare. “This is your station,” said the guard, opening a door and gesturing to a workbench at the back. “You are to arrive at the main gates at eight-thirty, to begin work at nine. Lunch is one hour. Refreshments will be provided. You are not to leave this room for anything other than rest breaks. The facilities are across the hall. You may leave when your supervisor says so. She’ll be along at some point today. Do you have everything you need?”
Elena looked down at her workbench, admiring the immaculate tools and the small roving cleaning bot with a busted pivot that had already been placed there for her inspection.
“Yes,” she said. “I do. Thank you.”
The guard said nothing more, closing the door behind him and leaving Elena to it. There were five other benches in the room, three currently occupied. Not one of the other mechanics raised their heads in greeting, or said anything to Elena at all. No matter, it was what she was used to. And she was here to work, after all.
The supervisor came around an hour later to check their progress. It was impossible to tell whether or not she approved of Elena’s work.
“There’s no need to polish it,” she snipped. “The other servants will do that.”
“Right.”
“Collect another from the storeroom when you’ve finished with this one.”
“Of course.”
Elena worked diligently all day, fishing out loose gears, replacing crooked cogs, oiling wheels and fixing springs. She lost count of the number of jobs she completed.
One by one, the other mechanics left, but the supervisor disappeared towards the end of the day, and Elena was in no mood to go home. There was nothing at home to tempt her, nothing that could even be called ‘home’ at all. She’d stay as long as she could. It was comfortable here, the filters were efficient, she liked the dull monotony of the work, and every so often, a servant came from the kitchens offering refreshments. Fresh water, tea, juice, coffee, sandwiches and fruits, cakes and other confectionery. She hadn’t eaten so well in years, and had wrapped up all the leftovers to take home with her. She hoped they wouldn’t be confiscated at the gates.
The door opened. Elena looked up from her bench, certain it was the supervisor come to relieve her, but instead found herself face-to-face with a nervous-looking bespectacled man in a white coat.
“Oh, thank the stars!” he said. “The Dome’s delivered! There’s someone still here.”
“Can I help you at all?”
“Um, oh, I hope so…” He closed the door behind him, looking around carefully, and held out a long, thin package. “I’ve had a bit of an accident with this…”
Curious, Elena unwrapped it. It was a mechanical arm. Nothing pretty like the ones attached to the dolls she’d witnessed earlier. A big, bronze creation, almost too big for anything of average human size. A prosthetic? The wearer must have been enormous.
“Can you fix it?” the man asked.
Elena gave it a quick once-over. It was disjointed at the wrist, a few wires burned, a couple of missing pieces of plating. She gave it a shake; something rattled inside.
“Well?” he asked, eyes trembling apprehensively.
“I’ve yet to find anything I couldn’t fix,” Elena said, not tearing her eyes off it. “When do you need it by?”
“Um, well, tonight.”
Elena winced.
“Please,” the man said quickly. “Look, I can pay you extra. Three gold coins—”
Elena stalled. That was more than all the money in her escape canister. Was he serious? He certainly looked it.
