Mechanica (11 page)

“I’m pleased too,” added the boy—the young man, really—and he winked at me, or at least I thought he did, though it may have been a trick of the light. “And my name’s Fin.”

“Nicolette,” I said again. For the first time, I felt as if my name was too fancy, too snooty for these people and their familiar, short nicknames. The Steps’ “Nick” started to seem not so bad after all. Had I given myself away with my aristocratic name?

“Call me Nick, if you like,” I added, reddening again. “That’s what my . . . sisters call me.”

“Sisters, have you?” asked Fin. “I’ve always wanted a sister. A brother is a fine thing too, of course, but a sister would be especially nice.”

I resisted letting out a derisive snort;
nice
would not have been my word of choice. I looked from Caro to Fin. They didn’t look at all alike: Caro was plump and ruddy and golden-haired, while Fin had a linear, almost geometric look about him, and was much darker. Yet I’d assumed they were family. I wasn’t sure why, except for their easy, affectionate manner with each other.

“And what am I to you, then, but a sister?” cried Caro, gently shoving him again.

Fin cast an odd, shadowed look at her for a moment, but it passed under the light of another sudden smile. “That you are, I suppose,” he said. “That you are.”

Caro put her arm around my waist—I winced a little, unused to such friendly contact—and she pulled me out of the flood of shoppers and into the cool shadow of the awning over her and Fin’s booth.

“I reckon you didn’t reserve a stall, did you?” she asked.

I didn’t register her words at first. I was too busy admiring their merchandise.

There were two distinct halves to their display: on one side were lifelike sculpted figures of our country’s folk heroes, and on the other, little metal boxes that played music at the turn of a handle. Some had been recently wound, and I recognized our national anthem in one and a sweet, lilting love song in a second. The boxes were shockingly small for the intricacy of the sounds they produced—it was as if a minuscule Royal Orchestra hid inside each one.

I turned to the sculptures, which were all as intricate as the music boxes. My favorite depicted the Forest Queen, a woman who’d lived two and a half centuries before my birth. Legend had it she’d built a whole city in the heart of Woodshire Forest, high up in the trees, where all those who’d lost their homes or their livings to the then king’s high taxes could live.

The Forest Queen’s molded face gleamed in the sunlight, and her dark blond hair shimmered over her shoulders so that it almost seemed to move in the breeze. She even looked a bit like Caro, with her arched brows, round cheeks, and pointed chin. Her hands pressed elegantly over her heart, their sun-browned skin so true to life, I thought she would be soft when I touched her. But no—she was cold, hard, crafted from some metallic compound even I did not recognize. Both the music boxes and the sculptures were so skillfully wrought that any artisan in the country would have been proud of them.

“Well,” said Fin, “did you reserve a stall, or didn’t you?”

“No,” I murmured, coming out of my reverie. “I didn’t know I had to.”

He scoffed, but Caro patted my shoulder again. “Don’t worry,” she said, “you can split with us.” She glanced over their already crowded table. “Sorry there won’t be much room.”

“Oh, sure, you can share with us,” Fin cut in. “Just make sure you share the rental fee, too.” He smiled again, but it was a sharp, closed smile.

“Fin!” Caro snapped. “It’s her first time at Market. Be a little kind, won’t you?”

I couldn’t help taking a step or two back, away from the budding anger between them.

“Caro, please, we both know you need that money, and you won’t let—” Fin cut himself off abruptly. When he turned to look at me, his false smile was gone. “You’re welcome to share with us, of course.” He sighed. “Forgive my rudeness, Nick. Please.”

I blinked. My name was sweet in his mouth.

“Thank you both,” I mumbled, but I looked at Fin when I said it. “I’ll certainly pay my share of your fee—once I earn it, that is.”

Caro grinned. She began rearranging the little music boxes, and Fin stepped in beside her and moved some of the figurines to one side. His hands were broad and capable-looking, their skin slightly callused. He wrapped a few of the sculptures in brown chamois cloth and tucked them into a shelf under the table.

I realized that the sculptures were his, and the music boxes Caro’s. I reprimanded myself for thinking the art had been a woman’s work, and the machines a man’s. After all, I was a mechanic myself, and not ashamed to admit I had become quite skilled—and Mother was the most brilliant inventor I’d ever known.

Caro swept a rounded hand over the now-empty space in the center of the booth. “All yours,” she said.

I walked around to the back and took my place between them. I was surprised to feel myself relax, my breaths growing deeper and steadier, my spine unlocking. It felt natural, having Fin and Caro by my side—as if we’d been standing together our whole lives and I’d only just noticed it.

I pulled apart the kissing-style clasp on my carpetbag and fished out my knitting machine. It stood as high as the length of my forearm, and I decided it should stay at the back of my display, lest it block the view of my beads.

I replaced it and took out my bead satchels and bowls instead. The clear bowls looked well against the deep green fabric Caro and Fin had spread over their table, and my many-colored beads glittered in the noontime light. I arranged four small bowls toward the front of the booth, and two larger ones behind them. I’d brought more, but couldn’t fit anything else in the narrow strip my new friends had cleared for me.

“Ooh,” murmured Caro. “Nick, those are lovely.”

Fin nodded. In the shadow of the awning, his eyes gleamed black, and his long lashes cast shadows over the planes of his cheekbones.

“Thank you,” I muttered. Suddenly unsure what to do with my hands, I dove back into my bag and found the knitting machine. I’d folded it for transport, and now I clicked the steel supports together. The gears slipped into place, and I pulled the glass-handled crank out to the side. The two needles in the center looked bare and aggressive, like teeth.

“What is it?” Caro breathed. She reached out and brushed her fingers against the handle.

I smiled at her. “You’ll see.” I dipped my hand into the bag again and found a skein of white tatting cotton, left over from when Chastity decided her spring dresses needed smooth lines, not lace. I hung the skein over two hooks on the side of the machine, then looped a few starting stitches onto the left-hand needle. I pushed the right-hand needle inside the last loop and turned the crank.

The needles clicked and whirred together. A train of lace frothed out from the top of the machine. It was a simple pattern, yarn-over stripes and spiked edging, but it was the best I could do so far. Floral lace, I’d vowed to Jules that morning, would come soon enough.

When I’d spun out a few handbreadths, I looked up to see what Fin and Caro thought of my invention.

To my surprise, there was a well-dressed gentleman standing in front of us—and he was staring intently at my machine. He wore a pinstriped jacket and stroked his huge, elaborately curled mustache, all the while squinting downward through a thick monocle. A few darker freckles were scattered across his dark brown skin.

“Wonderful,” he said under his breath. “Just wonderful.” He looked at me, his brown eyes sharp. He raised one eyebrow (the other stayed firmly in place, securing his monocle) and I saw surprise in his glance. I supposed that, like many Estingers, he’d assumed inventors were always men.

His surprise vanished quickly though, and when he spoke, his voice was businesslike and brisk. “How much for the machine, lass?” His monocle glittered.

“Um.” I cleared my throat. I’d hoped someone would offer a sum first, so that I could get some idea of how to price things. As it was, I had no idea. “Well, sir, this particular one isn’t for sale. It’s more of a . . . display model.”

As I spoke I realized: I am a terrible saleswoman.

“I see, I see . . .” He twirled a cane between his gloved hands. “How much for one of my own, then?”

I made a few quick calculations: Mr. Waters usually charged half a crown per hour for his labor as a tailor, and I supposed my skill was about as valuable as his. I added the cost of the materials to the time I’d spent building the machine.

“Ah, six crowns?” I squeaked. I glanced to my left, to see if Fin agreed with my price . . . but he’d vanished, along with several of his sculptures.

I looked to my right and was relieved to find Caro’s solid form still next to me. She offered a reassuring nod, and her golden curls bobbed against her round cheeks.

The man grinned and extended his hand for me to shake. “Excellent,” he said. “I’ll take it.” He pulled two fat coins from his pocket and placed them on the table, then reached inside his jacket and produced a purple calling card. “Deliver it to this address as soon as it’s done, and you’ll get the rest.”

He turned and ambled down the street. I stayed poised over my wares, my hand crushing the edge of the calling card, my arm still extended.
Gerald, Lord Alming,
it read. Somehow I thought the name sounded familiar . . .

Caro clapped her hands and brought me back down to earth.

“Two crowns now,” she cried, “and four more to come! That’s near the rent for the whole booth!” She shook her head and leaned in. “Though I’d wager you could get eight or even ten crowns for such a thing. My arthritic grandmum would weep with joy if she owned one.”

I smiled. “Consider yourself my second customer. I’ll bring your grandmother’s machine to the next Market Day.”

The ruddiness blanched out of Caro’s skin, and the friendly smile I’d thought was permanently lodged on her face faded. “I don’t take charity,” she whispered.

I cringed at my own tactlessness. I reached toward her quickly, then drew back, not knowing what I should do. “I didn’t mean to . . .” I said, unsure how to finish my sentence. “I don’t—I’m not—” I struggled with how to explain, especially because I knew what Caro meant. My pride was all I’d had left, after the Steps stripped me of my wealth and privilege and belongings. I would’ve hated for someone to come along and help me out of pity—that was part of why I’d kept to the house so much all these years, even more than Stepmother required.

I felt the beginnings of tears prick at my eyes. I looked in Caro’s face, begging her to believe me.

She must have, at least a little, because she reached out and touched the hand I’d withdrawn. “No, I imagine you’re not,” she said, and a tinge of color returned to her face. “I have an idea. I’ll forget about the booth-sharing fee until I’ve paid back for a machine for my grandmum. Call it a trade between friends.”

“Friends,” I agreed, relieved. I squeezed her hand and couldn’t help grinning like a fool.

There were several customers in front of our booth by then, and they all wanted to try working the knitting machine. By the end of the hour, I had five orders and I’d sold more than half my beads. I had to hide my display model eventually, for I knew I couldn’t build more than that, keep up with the Steps’ wardrobes, do my chores, and come up with something for the Exposition too. I could feel my face and chest flushed with excitement and success. I thought of how alien those feelings had been until the past few months, when Mother’s workshop had brought hope and ambition back to my life.

Fin returned fifteen minutes later. He and Caro exchanged another of their private looks. I wondered why he’d gone, of course, but I didn’t think I’d known him long enough to ask.

Market ended too quickly, and I packed my bag with the knitting machine and my empty bowls. All but a few beads had sold, and Fin took them to add to one of his new sculptures. He promised to bring it to the next Market Day so I could see. I wasn’t sure when I’d next be able to come, but I nodded happily anyway.

Caro hugged me eagerly before I left, but Fin only laughed and shook my hand.

“It was good to meet you, Nick,” he said, and this time he definitely winked.

I walked home quickly, hoping to beat the early snowstorm that was already sending down its first flakes. I skipped every few steps and swung my carpetbag through the air. The day had turned out better than I’d ever hoped—almost miraculously, in fact. With five knitting machines and all my beads sold, and two new friends into the bargain, I thought conquering the Exhibition would be as simple and straightforward as one of Jules’s perfect seams.

Jules! I’d forgotten to buy his charcoal. I sighed and scolded myself, and some of the light drained out of the day. I told myself I was silly for feeling so sad.

Still, Jules had done so much for me, and I’d already broken my very first promise to him. I walked more slowly, dragging myself up the long path through the estate’s snow-sprinkled front gardens. My new friends were wonderful, but Jules was a more steadfast companion than anyone I’d ever known.

I wondered what I could do to apologize. I was still puzzling when I opened the front door.

Stepmother stood just inside the darkened hall. A tight scowl marred her beautiful face.

“Well,” she said, “where have you been, little mechanic?”