Page 18 of A Slipper in the Smoke
The workshops were easy to locate even when silent, as every door was labelled. He pushed open the door toWorkshop 1and stepped inside, welcomed immediately by the smell of sawdust, bronze and grease. His eyes glazed over the clockwork automatons propped at the side of the room, painted faces askew, metallic guts on display, beautiful in their intricacy. He took a moment to admire the craftsmanship, and the detail on the masks that acted as their faces.
At the workbench at the furthest end of the room was a solitary mechanic, hunched over her work. Pip rushed an apology, only to realise that the mechanic wasn’t slumped, she was sleeping.
It was an odd place for a nap, and notthatlate. Had she hurt herself? Fallen ill?
Pip crept closer. She was a young woman, about his age, or at least he thought so, underneath all the dirt. She had strong, muscular arms and skin that glowed brownish-gold in the light of the lamps. Her hair was the colour of earth and fell around her cheeks in rough waves.
She breathed evenly into the dust of the desk, fingers still clasped around a wrench.
Pip shook her arm gently, slightly concerned about her jerking awake and flinging the wrench in his direction. He did not want to explain to Susan why he had a bruise on his forehead.
“Hello?” he said softly. “Are you all right?”
Elenawoketosomeoneshaking her arm gently.
“I say, are you quite all right? It’s an odd place for a nap.”
Elena blinked wearily. Beside her was a clean-shaven man in the white and gold livery of the serving staff. His appearance waspristine.His fair, sandy hair was perfectly cropped around the back and sides, leaving a tumble of curls at the top. His eyes reminded her of the fields of Navarra, a deep, hazy green beneath a glistening sun. Many of the servants in the palace were automatons, it made sense that the organic ones they employed were astonishingly flawless.
“I’m fine,” she murmured, wishing her mouth didn’t feel like she’d been swallowing honey, “just dozed off while working.”
The man smiled at her, soft but dazzling. “You must have been working hard. It’s not that late. Would you like an escort to the elevators?”
Elena looked down at the arm. She still had another thirty minutes of work on it, minimum. “No, I need to finish this.”
“Is there anything I can do to assist?”
Elena blinked at him, certain she’d misheard. “No, thank you. I’m fine.” As she spoke, her stomach growled loudly. It had been a long time since lunch.
The man stood up. “I’ll be right back.”
Elena doubted he would be, especially as the minutes trickled by. He was probably embarrassed to discover her napping, and cared little for the silly sounds her stomach was making. He might even be reporting her for sleeping on the job. He was wearing some kind of uniform, wasn’t he? She hadn’t been paying much attention, too distracted by rousing and the startling quality of his face.
Don’t think about his face,she warned herself.Don’t you dare. You don’t need any distractions, especially from someone who is probably reporting you!
She focused her attention on fixing the arm, determined that they wouldn’t be allowed to dismiss her if she’d finished it by the time she was found.
Would they be able to dismiss her for this anyway? The scientist had promised her cash in hand.
Wait, the scientist had asked her to keep this secret. Had she just exposed him to the servant? That would terrible, awful—
The door clicked open again before she could spiral too much, and in walked the same man as before, now carrying a tray of tea and cake.
“You seemed hungry,” he said, beaming in the same manner a dog might. “I wasn’t sure what you liked, but cake is usually a fairly safe bet, and a pot of jolly decent tea. I brewed it myself. In Toulouse we say there’s little that can’t be improved with a spot of tea—”
“You’re Toulousian?” She sat up.
“Ah, yes,” he said briskly. “What of it?”
“You don’t have an accent.”
Elena had heard the accent before, soft and lilting. This chap was more polished and clipped. Even his actions of pouring the tea seemed elegant, his fingers long and graceful. No scars or blemishes, no dirt.
“Are you one of Toulousian servants? Did you come over with the Prince?” The valets and upper staff might be required to adopt the formal speech of the royal family, although it seemed odd that they’d put him to work handing out tea to the rest of the staff.
He handed her a cup of tea. “That would make sense, wouldn’t it?” he said, fingers brushing his uniform. He looked up at her, summoning a smile. “I’m Pip.”
Elena sipped her tea. It was strong and sweet. “Elena.”
