Hot and Steamy (33 page)

“Of course, Christopher,” she said, without turning. “Do come in.”

He walked over to her side. As he approached, he noticed a single, half-eaten piece of cake sitting on a china plate. An empty tea cup sat on a saucer beside it, and under the saucer he saw a birthday card. It was open, and the writing on it was Mrs. Arbogast's, not the Professor's.

“The fighting is getting worse,” she said.

“Excuse me?” Christopher asked.

“The fighting,” she said, as she turned to him. “It's getting worse. They say the Saxon navy is planning a major attack.”

She walked over to the little table, gathered up the hoops of her skirt, and sat on one of the small cushioned chairs. Absent-mindedly, she played with the little silver spoon in the tea cup, tinkling it against the delicate china.

“There are even rumors that they're planning an invasion,” she added, looking out the window again.

Christopher struggled to find something to say.

“Mrs. Arbogast says they wouldn't do that,” he offered weakly. “She says we've got many more soldiers, and more money, and much better equipment thanks to men like . . .”

He stopped himself too late. Eleanor looked up at him, sadness painted on her face.

“. . . like my father,” she finished for him. “Yes, I know. It's unlikely he'll be home before Christmas now, what with things as they are.”

For a time, she said nothing more, and Christopher remained silent. At last, Eleanor looked up and smiled a sad smile. “I'm sorry, Christopher. I shouldn't go on about such things. You had something to tell me?”

Christopher swallowed hard and wrung his hands. He fought back a shiver before speaking. “I made you something for your birthday, Miss Eleanor.”

“You did?” Eleanor's smile took on an air of real happiness. The sight warmed Christopher's heart and eased his nerves. “Why, Christopher, you didn't need to do that.”

“Oh, it was my pleasure, Miss Eleanor.”

Eleanor rose and stepped over to him. As she drew close he imagined that he could feel the soft tickle of her breath on his skin.

“Well, what is it? You have me quite excited.” She looked to see if he was hiding something in his hands.

Christopher hurried over to the door. Grasping the handle, he pulled it open, and Ellie stepped into the room.

“Christopher!” Eleanor gasped. “That's incredible.”

Eleanor rushed over and danced a circle around Ellie, looking Christopher's creation up and down. Christopher grinned foolishly.

“It's for me?” she said, unable to take her eyes off Ellie.

“Yes, Miss.”

“How on earth did you manage this?” she asked.

“The Professor taught me quite a bit before he left. I built her mostly using spare parts from the workshop, although I saved up my wages to buy a few pieces from the Marvel Company. They arrived just before the queen closed the shipping lanes.”

“It's wonderful,” Eleanor said. “What does it do?”

“Oh, anything really,” Christopher said, coming over to stand beside Eleanor. Christopher struggled to stay focused. Standing so close to Eleanor was almost more than he could bear.

“I know you've been terribly lonely here,” he continued, “so I thought you might want someone to keep you company. Another lady, that is.”

“Keep me company?” Eleanor said, looking at Christopher in wonder.

“Yes. She talks, you see. Say ‘Hello' to Miss Eleanor.”

“Hello, Miss Eleanor,” Ellie said.

Eleanor squealed with excitement. “What do you call it, Christopher?”

“Um, her name is Ellie,” Christopher said. “She knows lots of things. She can talk about stories or politics or music or just about anything really. And she can play games and read and knit and do a lot of other things too. And if she doesn't know how to do something, you can always teach her.”

“I'm looking forward to being your friend, Miss Eleanor,” Ellie said, and she performed a perfect curtsey.

Eleanor lifted her hands to her mouth. When she turned to Christopher, she had tears in her eyes.

“Oh, Christopher,” she gasped. Leaping forward she wrapped her arms around him, laid her head on his chest, and hugged him tight. The feeling of her pressed against him, her delicate hands on his back, her cheek to his heart—it was the most wonderful thing he'd ever experienced. Without thinking, he put his arms around her as well. He wished, desperately, that the moment would never end.

“Miss Eleanor,” Ellie interrupted. “Would you like to play a game?”

Christopher felt a sense of helpless panic as Eleanor pulled away.

“Oh, yes, Ellie,” Eleanor said. “That would be wonderful.”

Eleanor turned to Christopher one last time, and going up on tip-toes she kissed him on the cheek.

“Thank you so much, Christopher,” she said. “This is the most wonderful birthday present anyone has ever given me.”

With that, she spun around, ran to Ellie, and took her by the hand.

“Come on, Ellie!” she cried, and the two scurried out of the room.

For a long time after they left, Christopher just stood there, unable to move. He didn't know how he felt, but the emotions that caught in his throat were a bit like joy but strangely like sadness at the same time. He couldn't have dreamed of a better response from Eleanor, yet he felt as if he'd lost something very important.

At last, with nothing else to do, Christopher returned to his workshop.

 

The boom that awakened Christopher rattled the windows so violently that one of them cracked. Christopher leaped from his little cot in the corner of the shop and stumbled over to the window. The water between the island and the mainland was afire with specks of wavering orange light. At first, his half-sleeping mind thought that it was odd for there to be so many fireflies this time of year, but then he understood.

Ships. An armada of ships.

Christopher raced across the room and grabbed a lighting stick from the embers of the stove. He lit his little lantern and tossed the stick back into the fire. He ran to the door, shoved his feet into his boots, and threw on his coat. Another boom shook the workshop and sent dust raining down from the rafters.

Christopher bolted out the door. The distant thunder of a hundred churning steam engines thrummed in the air. Streaks of fire tore across the sky. From somewhere far away, he heard a woman scream. He sped to the house, nearly falling twice in his haste before he reached the back door. He didn't knock or ring the bell but charged into the darkened kitchen. Reaching for one of the gas lamps, he tried to light it, but no gas came out.

“Mrs. Arbogast!” he shouted.

His voice echoed in the darkness. No reply came.

“Eleanor!” he cried.

Christopher charged down the hall and into foyer, but he found only darkness and silence. Another explosion thundered, and the foyer chandelier tinkled and swayed. Up the stairs he ran, cringing at the sound of more explosions, each one nearer than the one before.

When he reached Eleanor's room, he found the door open. Forgetting his place he rushed in. “Eleanor! Eleanor! Where are you?”

“She isn't here,” a soft, tinny voice said from the darkness.

Christopher spun around and found Ellie sitting on a chair in the corner. She was wearing one of Eleanor's day dresses and had her hands folded neatly in her lap.

“Ellie!” Christopher cried. He rushed over and pulled her to her feet. “The island is under attack! Where is Eleanor?”

“They left not long ago,” Ellie said. “A man in a navy uniform came. He said they had a dirigible and were evacuating everyone.”

“What?” Christopher said, aghast. “But they didn't wake me. Where are they going, Ellie?”

“I heard him say the airship was moored by the old boathouse,” Ellie said.

Christopher shot from the room. He could hear Ellie's footsteps behind him. He had to get to the boathouse before the dirigible left. What if he were already too late? What would the Saxons do to him?

Down the stairs, across the foyer, and out the front door he ran. He sprinted down the lane, his feet crunching on the gravel, punctuated by thunderous explosions from the water's edge. A fiery flash went up somewhere on the mainland, filling the sky with orange light. Christopher ignored it and hastened along the winding trail.

The flash of another explosion lit the sky, and he spotted the dirigible, just beyond the trees. It was still quite low, and he felt hope rise in his chest.

“Wait!” he shouted, still running. He knew it was foolish, that they couldn't hear him from there, but he was unable to remain silent. “Please! Wait for me!”

Down the hill, through the little stand of trees. Within moments he stood on the wide concrete patio above the boathouse where, in happier times, revelers danced and music played during the Professor's summer parties. Above him floated the dirigible, but already it was ascending into the sky. Its massive engines rumbled with a low throb he could feel in his chest.

“Wait! Wait!” Christopher shouted, his panic rising. He saw that a sailor was pulling up the dirigible's rope ladder.

“No! I'm here! Please! I'm here!” he cried. He dashed over under the ladder, jumped, tried to reach it, but fell short.

The ladder stopped. Christopher looked and saw the sailor begin lowering it, but a moment later another man came and put his hand on the sailor's arm. The second man shook his head, motioning for the sailor to raise the ladder again. The sailor looked surprised but followed the order.

“NO! Oh, no! Please! I'm here!”

The ladder rose and rose until it was pulled in the door. The sailor stepped back, and the door swung shut. Slowly, the dirigible turned and began to float away. Christopher chased it, waving his arms.

“Eleanor! Eleanor!” he cried.

He saw her, just for a moment, her hand pressed against the window, her face lit by a dim light from within the gondola. He thought she looked sad, and she mouthed something to him, but he couldn't tell what. A hand reached out and pulled her away, then pulled the shade over the window.

“Eleanor!” Christopher cried.

A crushing wave of noise and light shattered Christopher's senses, and a force struck him in the chest like a hammer. It lifted him off his feet and tossed him through the air before gravity sent him crashing back to the ground. Like a marionette with its strings cut, he slid and rolled across the jagged slabs of concrete that were once the patio.

When he came to a stop, a high-pitched screeching filled his ears. Heat swept over him, and fire burned all around. Christopher tried to move, but his limbs refused to respond. Another boom, a little further off, shook the ground.

“Eleanor,” he murmured.

It was too late. Christopher slumped. The world began to fade, shadows creeping in along the edges of his vision. Sound faded. The explosions fell silent. His eyes closed.

A hand grasped his and pulled, and the world came flooding back with it. Up from the ground it raised him, out of the ruin and the flames, and then an arm wrapped around his waist. It pulled him close and held him with a firm, comforting grip.

“We have to go,” Ellie said. “They'll be here soon.”

Christopher looked at the dirigible. Like a dark cloud against the night sky, it slowly floated away, growing smaller with each passing moment.

“They left me, Ellie,” he said.

“I know. I'm sorry, Christopher. Please. We need to go.”

“Why would they leave me?” he said, turning to her. “Why would they . . .”

He caught sight of himself in the reflection of Ellie's polished copper face. Parts of his skin were torn away, revealing smooth, polished copper underneath.

Christopher pulled away from Ellie, stumbled, and fell hard to the ground. Shaking, he looked at his body. He ripped away the shreds of his shirt and found a torn layer of something like skin over an elaborate copper shell. Here and there, the copper had peeled back to reveal spinning, whirling gears.

Christopher opened and closed his mouth. Unable to breathe, unable to think, a wave of despair washed over him. With a force as powerful as the blast that had destroyed the patio, the truth crashed down on him. He gasped, and air and burning acrid smoke poured into him. Shaking, shuddering, coughing, he lifted his hands and looked at the torn, bleeding flesh. Human flesh. He turned them over. Copper shone beneath the shredded skin of his palms.

More explosions rocked the ground.

“Christopher?” Ellie asked, her voice calm. “Christopher?”

Christopher put his head in his hands and squeezed as if he could crush the truth, force things back to the way they were. But, of course, nothing changed. Slowly, so slowly, the sobs faded. The hole in his heart, however, remained a dark, empty thing.

“That's why,” Christopher murmured.

Ellie, standing behind him, said, “That's why what, Christopher?”

Christopher lifted his head, and stared vacantly at the wreckage of the patio where he'd once watched dancers spin while the orchestra played.

“That's why she never loved me, Ellie.”

Another boom, this one farther off, echoed across the grounds.

“I'm sorry, Christopher,” Ellie said.

The sobs threatened to overwhelm him again. He fought back the worst of it, but the tears still came. “That's why
no one
will ever love me.”

Ellie touched his shoulder, lightly, tenderly.

“
I
love you, Christopher.”