Curio (10 page)

She gathered her strength for another attempt, but a soft knock at the door cut off her plan. Securing the blanket around her shoulders, Grey called for the visitor to enter.

A white lace cap appeared. Glassy eyes peered from beneath the mop hat, and Grey expected to hear the whirring mechanical voice as the maid entered. But this individual spoke in near-human tones. The faint hum accompanying her words sounded almost breathy.

“I'm Nettie, Miss. I'm here to dress you.”

Clothed in a black maid's uniform complete with white apron and piles of white ruffles peeking from beneath the skirt, Nettie moved with a precise locomotion not quite natural but not as stiff as the metal soldiers'. Grey studied the maid's crafted face. How could a mechanical creation be so obviously alive?

Nettie tilted her head to the side. “Are you cooling, Miss? Should I fetch you some water?”

What was with all the water? Grey chewed her lip as the pressure in her lower regions intensified. She couldn't hold it any longer. “Nettie, I need to go to the bathroom.”

“You wish to bathe?”

“I need to use the facilities. The bathroom. Washroom? Potty?”

Nettie's painted eyebrows rose. “You would like a plant in your room?”

Grey moaned and dug her fingers into her tangled hair. She dropped her hands when her head throbbed in response and leveled a gaze at the perplexed maid. “I leak, Nettie. I need something to, um, leak into.”

Nettie's gaze plummeted to the floor. “Oh, Miss, I am so sorry, Miss. The glueman said he'd never worked on such as you. We did our best, Miss. Perhaps the leaking is only temporary and will vanish when your cracks seal completely.”

A word slipped out of Grey's mouth, but under the circumstance she was glad only the curse escaped her strained body. She tried again. “Do you have a vase or a bowl? Some sort of container—not worth anything—that I could use?”

Nettie curtsied and smiled, her enameled metal cheeks squeaking slightly. She trundled out of the room and returned moments later with an elaborate flower arrangement secured in a short vase.

Grey lurched to a stand and shaded her eyes as the room turned to wobbly shadows. Gentle pressure beneath her elbow steadied her. Grey dropped her hand to peer into Nettie's glassy brown eyes. The maid's eyebrows drew together. The corners of her mouth drooped. She leaned closer, and Grey caught a whiff of something sweet and thick masked by a powdery scent that reminded her of the linen closet at home.
Nettie cocked her head and whispered, “You're not a porcie at all, are you?”

Grey shook her head.

“Then what are you, Miss?”

Grey shrugged, the pounding in her head and the weight in her bladder muddling her efforts at explanation. “Human?”

“Human,” Nettie said, her shiny mouth exaggerating the syllables. She shook her head. “I don't know the word.”

Grey held her breath and watched the mechanical woman. Nettie stared back with obvious curiosity and compassion. If the maid could look at her with such emotions, then how could the two of them be all that different?

Grey clutched the pale, painted arm extending from the capped sleeve of Nettie's uniform. The smooth metal was cool but not cold as she'd expected. Faint lines made a rectangle near her wrist. A panel of some sort? Nettie followed the movement, clearly feeling the pressure of Grey's hand on her arm.

“I'm going to need your help, Nettie. First, you'd better take the flowers out of the vase.”

Grey's cheeks still burned as Nettie settled her back against the pillows. She waved toward the floor on the left side of the bed, where the now full vase was hidden away. “I'm sorry you had to help me with that.”

Nettie tsked, the noise a cross between a clink and a sizzle. “That's all right, Miss. I've just never seen anything like it is all.”

Grey's stomach rumbled, adding another layer of heat to her cheeks.

Nettie frowned at the satin coverlet she'd just tucked around Grey's midsection. “What is it now?”

“I'm hungry.” More like starved. “I need to eat.” A pang blazed through her belly followed by a spasm so hard it raised perspiration on her upper lip. Was it hunger or something worse? Mother's words in the Bryacres' parlor replayed:
“You're not like me, Grey.”
But maybe she was. Maybe the wretched illness carried by all in the Foothills Quarter was about to overcome her in this strange place with none of her family close by. Panic tightened her throat.

“What do you need, Miss?” Nettie's softly buzzing voice washed over Grey. The woman hovered near, her strange face drawn in lines of concern.

She needed to get back home, and to do that she'd have to regain her strength. Grey glanced toward the cupboard where Fantine had retrieved the cup of water. “The porcies need water, right, Nettie? It allows them to function?”

“Yes, Miss. They've got to have water for their jitter pumps to operate.”

Jitter pumps? Grey pushed the phrase aside for later consideration. “But you're not a porcie. How do you operate?”

“I'm a tock.” Nettie made a circling gesture over her torso. “I've got clockwork inside. Wind me up and tick tock, tick tock.”

Grey scrutinized the maid's form before she remembered her manners. “I'm sorry if I'm being impolite.”

Nettie's laugh was equal parts whir and jingle, but then her face grew serious. She peered around the room as though checking for eavesdroppers. Grey stiffened when the maid perched on the edge of the elaborate bed and swiveled, exposing the neat back of her uniform. With one hand she lifted the lacy cap on her head to reveal a coil of brown hair. Nettie's delicate fingers, with their almost imperceptible hinges and screws, dug through the bun, lifting it away from her neck to reveal a tiny, protruding key.

“I'm lucky,” she said, still angled away from Grey. “I can reach mine easily. And the key stays in place. Most tocks need help with winding, and many have detachable keys which can be lost or taken.” Her voice caught on the last word.

“Who would take your key, Nettie?”

The tock pivoted back with an arranged smile on her smooth face. “Oh, no one here, Miss. We're quite safe inside the mansion.” Her smooth palm covered Grey's knuckles where she clenched the coverlet. “Now you know my secret, as I know yours.”

Grey swallowed past a lump in her throat. “I need to try to eat, but because of certain circumstances, well, eating might not go so well. It might be, um, messy.”

Nettie straightened her shoulders. “I'll help, Miss.” A frown snagged her pretty features. “Only you must keep this eating and leaking business a secret. I'm afraid it isn't beautiful at all.”

Grey's mouth worked as she struggled to form a reply. Nothing appropriate came to mind.

Soon the maid continued. “Don't worry, I won't tell them. It'll be easier if they think you're some kind of unique porcie. You're pretty enough to pass for one of them. And when I'm done fixing you up, you'll be Beauty's Best all right. Now, what is it you run on? I can fetch oil from the tock quarters downstairs if you've grown stiff.”

After a long-winded explanation of food and where it came from that drew more than one horrified exclamation from Nettie, Grey remembered the oat cake and apple in her coat pocket.

“Where are my clothes? I had food in one of the pockets.”

The maid clicked her disapproval. “Your clothes were dirty. And not beautiful at all, I might add.”

Grey rolled her eyes. “And that's all that matters, is it?”

Nettie nodded without a hint of amusement. “Of course it is. But I remember the items in your pocket. We saved them in case they were of value.”

She bent and slid out a drawer in the elegant table by the bed. The apple rolled into sight at once, and Grey snatched it, biting into the wrinkled surface with barely a thought to potions. When she'd gnawed the shriveled fruit down to the core, she accepted the mangled oat cake Nettie held out and devoured every crumb.

They both jumped at a knock on the door. Fantine's voice called, “Is our guest fully animated yet?”

“Just a moment, Mistress Fantine.” Nettie burst into action, brushing crumbs off the bedspread and tossing the apple core back into the drawer. Then the maid straightened into a rigid pose for a moment before darting around the footboard to hide the soiled vase beneath the bed.

Nettie moved toward the door but stopped and rotated back to face Grey. She wore an intense expression. “I won't tell them about you. I promise.”

Grey started to answer, but Fantine's impatient call stopped her. A moment later the stunning porcie glided into the room, the cutaway skirt of her gown swishing behind her like a curtained backdrop for her legs. An adorable frown puckered her mouth.

“You are not even out of bed. I thought Nettie'd be arranging your hair by now.” She swooped to a white lacquered wardrobe with stenciled pink roses and threw the paneled doors wide. The piece looked like it belonged in Granddad's shop. Grey glanced about the room. Was she somehow still inside Haward's Mercantile, or had she slipped into a different world?

The porcelain woman was busy rummaging through the cabinet when Grey doubled over. Pain gripped her stomach,
and she clenched her teeth to keep from moaning. Nettie rushed to the bedside, her movements near silent. The maid's hand pressed into Grey's back, the metallic weight both foreign and comforting.

Grey forced herself to breathe and shifted back into a sitting position. Fantine's voice carried from within the wardrobe. She rambled about clothing, the back of her own elaborate dress spilling from the wardrobe as if the large cabinet vomited blue and gold satin.

Another wave of pain assaulted Grey. So this was it. She did carry the starvation trait. Soon Nettie's promise to keep her secret wouldn't matter. The truth would be all too evident. Grey pressed her lips between her teeth, her nostrils flaring with the effort to breathe through the spasm.

Nettie produced a white scrap of cloth and dabbed at Grey's forehead. The maid's voice whirred at a pitch almost inaudible, but Grey caught the occasional phrase. “Leaking again. Poor dear.”

The sharp twinge eased. Despite the pain, the food she'd eaten stayed down. Grey fidgeted with the smooth texture of her satin coverlet as her father's stories of the deaths he'd witnessed returned. She imagined herself writhing on the bed, her body spewing her stomach contents. Another spasm twisted her abdomen as Fantine turned, but the redheaded beauty focused on the dresses draped over one arm. She glided about the room, hanging one exquisite costume after another on any available curtain rod or doorknob.

“Benedict is all but steaming with anticipation, my dear Grey. It was all I could do to keep him from coming here directly.”

Fantine paused, her fingers hovering over a length of lavender fabric. Grey studied the other woman's expression in an attempt to distract herself from the ache in her belly.
Fantine's rosebud lips frowned, and her jeweled blue eyes faded, but then she rushed to arrange the shimmering dress over the carved footboard. Her gaze lifted to Grey and her face regained its sparkle.

Grey schooled her own features, and Nettie disguised her ministrations by arranging Grey's hair, pulling it this way and that as though pondering hairstyles.

Fantine bent to inspect the beading on the gown. “I convinced him that bringing you into the ballroom this evening after the day's governing duties are concluded would be such a grand and beautiful juxtaposition to your rather ugly arrival.”

Nettie gave an embarrassed cough.

“Oh, not that it was your fault, dear.” Fantine stretched a hand toward Grey. “It must've been awful, whatever happened to you. We're all eager for the tale. But first we must decorate you, mustn't we?”

She pushed away from the footboard to pace between the piles of finery. Grey took the opportunity to assess her condition. Her stomach ached but the pain had dulled. The apple and cake weren't fighting to leave her system, not yet anyway, and her forehead had stopped sweating. Maybe Granddad was right and the Defender blood she inherited from Father was strong enough to ward off the starving condition. Maybe.

Grey examined her limbs as Nettie helped her to the side of the bed. Where had this Defender condition come from? Of the immigrants from the Old Country, only her family and the Chemists were free of the affliction. Even the outsiders who flocked to Mercury for work, or to escape outbreaks, exchanged one form of suffering or another for a lifetime of potion dependence.

As Nettie and Fantine conversed, Grey positioned her hands around an imaginary ball in front of her torso as she'd
seen Adante do. She closed her eyes and focused. Nothing. She certainly possessed no discernable magic.

Nettie's whisper broke through her concentration. “Are you well, Miss?”