The Wooden Prince
Authors: John Claude Bemis
Copyright © 2016 by John Claude Bemis
Cover design by Maria Elias
Cover illustration © 2016 by René Milot
All rights reserved. Published by Disney ⢠Hyperion, an imprint of Disney Book Group. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from the publisher. For information address Disney ⢠Hyperion, 125 West End Avenue, New York, New York 10023.
ISBN 978-1-4847-0737-1
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11. The Grand Marionette Theater
Part Three: The Alchemist's Son
21. The Darkness of the Deep One
23. The Secret of the Ancientmost Pearl
24. The Battle Atop the Tower of Bones
For my father, whose greatest gift was his unconditional love
B
y the time Pinocchio arrived in the village of San Baldovino, he was bursting with impatience to get free. Being locked in a trunk shouldn't have bothered him. He was an automa, after all. Back in the palace where he came from, Pinocchio had been locked in closets and stored away in cupboards with the other mechanical servants all the time. It had never bothered him before.
But since he'd been locked in this trunk, he was changing.
Pinocchio shouted and tried again to kick the inside of the trunk, but with his wooden knees pressed into his wooden chest, he was too cramped to make much of a kick. He wriggled and twisted, tangling his smock shirt and tearing his leggings, until he became aware of muffled voices outside the trunk.
“Let me out!” he cried.
A moment later came the sound of squealing nails being pried from the lid. Then the trunk was opened. Pinocchio stretched out his legs and sat up with a puff of relief.
Two figures stared at him. The closest was an automa butler with chipped paint on his wooden face, wearing a moth-eaten black suit. The automa butler held the ax that had been used to open the lid. The other was an elderly man with a bright red nose and watery red eyes that struggled to focus on Pinocchio.
“Otto, give us more light,” the old man wheezed.
The automa butler tipped back the crown of his head, exposing a gas flame that hissed to life from his skull. The orange light illuminated racks and racks of wine bottles filling a cobweb-draped cellar.
“It's just an automa, Captain Toro,” the old man called. “Put down your gun. It's no danger to us.”
Pinocchio realized that a third man was in the cellar. He turned to see an imperial airman in dingy armor, great mechanical wings folded against his back. He had a long-barreled musket aimed at Pinocchio.
The airman lowered his gun. “But, Don Antonio, why would someone try to sneak an automa into the village in the dead of night?”
“I have no idea,” Don Antonio said, his breath wet and raspy. “You didn't see who they were?”
“Outlaw vermin, most certainly. Why else would they have run when I came after them? Something suspicious is going on with this puppet.”
Don Antonio held a goblet of red liquid in his shaky hands. Pinocchio recognized this as wine. He had served it plenty back in the palace, but the guests usually sipped it. They didn't guzzle it the way Don Antonio was doing.
Don Antonio wiped his mouth on his sleeve. “What scoundrels delivered you here, automa?”
As an automa, Pinocchio had to answer people honestly, even if they weren't his master. Unless, of course, his master had given him orders to lie, but that wasn't the case now, so he replied, “I don't know,
signore
. I never saw them.”
“Then where is your master?” Don Antonio asked.
“I don't know that either.”
Captain Toro gritted his teeth. “Do you even know who your master is?”
“Yes,” Pinocchio said with an eager smile, glad to be able to answer this question. “Geppetto is his name.”
Don Antonio gasped, sputtering some wine. “Your master is Geppetto? Geppetto Gazzaâ¦the traitor to the empire!”
“I don't know,” Pinocchio said. “I've never actually met him. But before I was locked in the trunk, I was told I was being sent to my new master and that his name was Geppetto.”
“Is this Geppetto here in San Baldovino?” Don Antonio asked, his eyes wide.
Pinocchio was feeling a bit overwhelmed by all the questions and the strange faces Don Antonio and Captain Toro kept making. He had never been any good at interpreting human expressions. No automa wasâit wasn't part of their design. Otto, thankfully, just stood placidly over by the wine racks with the ax, the flame flickering atop his head.
“I don't know where Master Geppetto is,” Pinocchio said. “Please forgive me,
signore
.”
“Traitor, eh?” Captain Toro said. “If I'm not mistaken, this Geppetto is our lord doge's high alchemist.”
“
Former
high alchemist,” Don Antonio corrected. “He's been on the run since his betrayal. You need to better keep up with the news from the capital, Captain Toro.”
Captain Toro made one of those strange expressions that Pinocchio was struggling to understand. Did lowering one's eyebrows and gritting one's teeth mean he was glad to get Don Antonio's suggestions? Pinocchio was determined to figure it out.
“I keep up with news from Venice,” Captain Toro growled. “And I can assure you, I will get reassigned to our capital and away from this dusty backcountry one of these days.”
“I'm sure you will, Captain,” Don Antonio said. “Possibly sooner than later. Don't you see? These weren't half-beast outlaws who delivered the automa, not if it's for the traitor Geppetto. They must have been Abatonian spies! And if you foil their attempts, then I suspect our lord doge will be very pleased with you, Captain Toro. Especially if, in fact, the traitor Geppetto turns out to be hiding in our very midst.”
Captain Toro jerked upright. “Yes, I should search for him now.”
Don Antonio held up a hand. “And risk failure? You are but one airman.”
“I can handle one former high alchemist.”
Don Antonio shrugged, a gesture that Pinocchio decided he liked. He tested the movement out a few times while Don Antonio spoke.
“Are you sure, Captain Toro? Would it not be more prudent to deliver the news to Venice and return with reinforcements?”
Captain Toro grumbled.
Pinocchio tried to mimic the noise. Both Captain Toro and Don Antonio looked at him with raised eyebrows. He decided to stay quiet.
“What about the automa?” Captain Toro asked.
“I'll hold it here in my cellar,” Don Antonio said. “And just to be safe, I'll order the guards to seal the village gates. No one will enter or leave until you get back.”
Captain Toro nodded approvingly. “It will take several days to reach Venice and return.”
“Then fly swiftly, good captain,” Don Antonio said, lifting his now empty goblet.
Captain Toro picked up his musket and hurried up the stairs.
Don Antonio poured another glass of wine. “Well now, my little automa friend, let's see what we can do with you. Come over here so I can get a better look.”
Pinocchio climbed out of the trunk. Don Antonio wasn't his master, but there was no reason not to obey his orders. He vaguely remembered that before he was locked in the trunk, back when he served in the palace, he had been given all sorts of orders:
Bring the tray of spiced meats to the ballroom. Fetch the guests' luggage. Wave the feather fan for Her Ladyship
.
Pinocchio stood before Don Antonio. The old man broke into a wet cough that nearly doubled him over. Don Antonio wiped his knuckles across his mouth and wheezed, “Aren't you just a mystery? I've never seen such a finely constructed automa. You're no crude Hungarian model, like my Otto. No, you came from one of the great workshops of Florence or Milan, I'd gamble. Perhaps you are one of Master da Vinci's Vitruvian designs. Just look at your frame.”
Something made Pinocchio suspect that Don Antonio wasn't actually asking him to look at himself. But he decided that orders were orders, and held out his hands to inspect them. He'd never really noticed how he was designed before and certainly had no idea what workshop he'd come from.
“Mahogany for strength,” Don Antonio said. “And if my eyes don't deceive me, there's holly, too, for lightness. You must be geared inside with the most delicate of machined parts. The alchemist who designed you was a master. And his elementals, who transmuted your wood and metal to flex like muscle and skinâ¦Oh, fine work indeed. And such rich clothes. You must be quite expensive, eh?”
Pinocchio shrugged.
Don Antonio gave a laugh that became the sickly cough again. “Funny expressions they've given you! Shrugging your shoulders. Ha! I've never seen an automa do that. Oh, to have an automa like youâ¦But alas, there are better things than a princely servant.”
Don Antonio was eyeing him up and down in a way that made Pinocchio's gearworks feel strange. He'd never felt this before. In truth, he'd never felt any sensation before his whole ordeal with the prisoner and the trunk. What was going on with him? Whatever it was, at that moment Pinocchio desperately wished he could get away from the old man.
