Clockwork Chaos (23 page)

“There you are,” she said, walking forward to scratch Bella behind her ears. “Now, where’s Chipper?”

A small whirring sound, like the one that could be heard when one opened the back of a working clock, reached Elizabeth’s ears. Following shortly after was the chittering of a chipmunk. She smiled.

“We don’t have time to play, Chipper. Where are you?” she asked.

Moments later, a chipmunk climbed up to sit side-by-side with Bella the cat. But, at second glance, one could see that this was no ordinary chipmunk. First of all, it had no fur. But instead of exposed flesh, it was exposed gears under metal casings that formed into a shape of a chipmunk that showed. Its head tilted to the side as if questioning why Elizabeth had been looking for him—as she had decided that Chipper was male. The movement of the clockwork creature was decidedly like that of a flesh-and-blood-and-fur chipmunk, which made Elizabeth very proud. He only had the occasional mechanical twitches, which was to be expected.

Chipper chittered again, turning and climbing up Bella’s back until it looked as if he intended to use her as his stead. Elizabeth chuckled behind her hand. Bella yowled warningly upward, and Chipper climbed down. He reached out one of his tiny metal paws and began to scratch the cat’s ear. His way of apologizing for his little “joke.” Bella accepted, even gracing the little machine with a few seconds of purring. The two had come a long way since Elizabeth had first built Chipper.

“Now that we’ve got that all sorted out,” Elizabeth said, turning toward her vanity. Using the stained oak’s mounted oval mirror, she began to undo the many, many buttons down her gown.

“Stupid dress,” she muttered.

She heard Chipper chitter in agreement with his creator. Elizabeth smiled.

“Chipper, will you please fetch me the Chapeau? If you could just pull it upon the bed,” she said.

Chipper agreed in his own way, with Bella meowing after him. She heard her cat’s paws land on the softly carpeted, pale fern-green floor—colored to match the green-gray color that backed the wallpapering in her room, which she hated. She always felt that the dull pastels of the pink and gray-white flowers on the wallpaper would have been better suited décor for a widow just after mourning. Nothing in this room felt like hers, excepting of course Bella, Chipper, the Chapeau, and the few things she kept hidden away in oaken chests at the foot of her massive, pale-pink canopied bed.

Chipper announced that he had pulled the Chapeau from its hiding place behind the headboard of her bed and laid it in the center of the fluffy bedding. She smiled at her invention-to-be, upon whose top Chipper sat expectantly.

“Thank you, Chipper. You’re most helpful,” she said.

The Chapeau was the second of her personal inventions, the clockwork chipmunk being her first. It had come to her one night as she had begun drifting off to sleep. She had heard Bella, who normally just curled up at the foot of her bed, jump down and begin to meow very loudly. She had lit a lantern and followed her cat to a corner. She had spent hours of her sleeping time trying to interpret what it was that the cat had wanted. She had tried everything: food, water, a toy. Nothing pleased her. Finally, a small, gray mouse darted from some hidden hole and right into Bella’s clutches. Elizabeth had lain back down, muttering that had she simply known what her cat had been saying, she could have been asleep long ago. And that had been the start of it. Combined with her natural love of hats—the one “hobby” that her mother approved of—and her desire to be a great inventor, the Chapeau was born.

She removed the bodice of her dress with a subdued sigh, immediately beginning to unlace her corset. A part of her dream of being a great inventor, a secret part, was that she might, one day, hunt down the inventor of the corset and murder him for making women wear such tortuous things. Once the corset was removed, she heaved a heavier sigh and moved onto removing her bustle. The inventor of the bustle, should her dream ever be realized, would likewise meet the fate of that of the corset inventor.

She made her way toward her dresser—the same dark oak as her vanity and bedposts—pulling out the bottommost drawer, removing it completely. From within the very, very bottom of the dresser she removed her work-suit. It was a one piece, brown leather outfit that fit her natural curves—
not
the ones given to her by the corset—that zipped up from crotch to neck. She often left a bit open at the top, so that her favorite work outfit did not choke her as her gowns often did. It covered her legs and arms completely, and she often wore knee-high boots made of the same material as well. Once dressed, her corset, bustle, undergarments, and gown tossed carelessly to the floor, she released a bated breath. Now was the time for her work-that-was-not-work. She often figured that she enjoyed it too much to keep on referring to it as “work.”

Bella purred, having climbed back upon the bed to playfully tangle herself in the canopy cloth, and Elizabeth petted her for a moment before grabbing up the Chapeau.

The Chapeau of Animal Translation—or CAT, for short—was to be her prize invention—which made it a good thing she had not programmed Chipper for jealousy. The brainchild of that late night with Bella and her seemingly endless collection of hats, CAT was an old top hat rescued from her father’s disposal. Attached to the black hat were gears from old, broken clocks—of which she also collected, but much more secretly—tubes, and a pair of flight-man’s goggles. And the purpose behind the device was simple. Once completed, using the sound waves that Elizabeth proposed that all animals give off when not making the typical sound—like a meow or bark or chitter—it would allow a human’s brain to process the waves as words, and would do the same for animals concerning human words. Thus achieving the marvel of communication between species. But the actual execution of the piece was giving her some bits of trouble.

She thought she had all her science right, taught to herself from her father’s books in the home’s small library. So, when it had not worked the first time, she thought it must be the gears. Again, it had not proved successful.

Sitting now in a green chair that matched the room perfectly, she motioned for Chipper to retrieve some clock parts she had stashed away in various drawers. Thus she began her rather time-consuming pattern of part-addition and part-removal to the hat. Every so often, she would stop to try the hat on and start it up. Every time, CAT yielded no results.

Chipper was her ever constant companion during these rare hours of inventing. He was always eager to search for the items she asked for, and more often than not, always found them. Bella, being the pampered cat that she was, would always lie upon Elizabeth’s pillow and fall into a deep sleep. And the pattern held for today. Three hours after leaving her mother’s salon, CAT was no further along, Bella was asleep, and Chipper was eagerly doing a little dance upon the vanity, awaiting Elizabeth’s next request.

Sighing, she finally set the hat down beside her. Chipper cocked his head, as if to ask why she had stopped. She smiled and motioned for him to come sit in her lap, to which he complied.

“I don’t know what I’m missing,” she said, absently petting the cold metal of the clockwork chipmunk’s head. “I removed those stupid tubes, nothing. I put them back on, nothing. I removed them
and
a piece of clockwork. Again, nothing. I’ve tinkered with the power source on the hat... but I can find nothing wrong. I’m missing something... I just know it.”

Footsteps on the stairs just outside her bedroom made Elizabeth’s back stiffen. She motioned for Chipper to hide—for none in the house knew about him, excepting Gerald, who knew far more than he often let on—and quickly grabbed up CAT. She slid her work-in-progress back into its hiding spot just as Chipper went off to his own private spot... which she really had no idea where
that
spot was. Turning toward the door, she groaned. She knew those steps belonged to her mother, and she knew that she was just outside her door. She had no time to change out of her work-suit... she would hear about that.

A single knock, and Lady Mary Nigel entered the room without waiting for consent—something that Elizabeth would have been scolded for hours for doing. Her mother was barely entirely in the room before letting out a disgusted scoff.

“Proper clothes, Elizabeth. Why must you always insist on not wearing proper clothes?” she said.

Mary, for her part, was always dressed like a “proper Lady.” In fact, Elizabeth could not even recall if she had ever seen her mother with her light brown hair out of its curly, intricate, and tightly-pulled style or out of her proper gowns. In fact, had she ever seen her in her dressing gown? Mary blinked her own bottle-green eyes at her daughter, trying her best to keep them from glaring. She did not think that “proper Ladies” should glare either. Elizabeth lowered her head a bit.

“Sorry, Mother. I thought that I had some time to myself, so I thought I would get comfortable,” she muttered.

“Do not mutter. And you should always assume that you might have guests at any given moment. The only two bits of clothes you should ever wear are your gowns and your dressing gowns. And you are only to be seen in your gowns.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she replied quite clearly. “May I ask as to the purpose of your visit? Is supper ready?”

“Heavens, no. It is really too early for supper. I came to inform you of tomorrow’s activities.”

Elizabeth fought down a groan. She hated having her life scheduled out for her... but she never hated it more than when it was her mother doing so. Mary always had grand plans for her, like she had had with Elizabeth’s elder sisters. But unlike her sisters, Elizabeth did not agree with Mary’s “vision” of how her life should be. If Mary was informing her daughter of “tomorrow’s activities,” then it was certainly going to be something she dreaded.

“You, chaperoned by Gerald, will be spending the day with Cecil Waltham,” she announced in a grandiose manner.

Elizabeth was right. This was a dreaded event. And, apparently, it showed.

“Wipe that look off your face, Elizabeth. You were the one, not days ago, moaning about not having seen your husband-to-be since you were four. I thought you might like spending a day getting to know him.”

“One day is not enough to get to know someone who one is expecting to spend their entire life with, Mother!”

It was not a traditional “arranged marriage,” per say. It had rather been a bit of general knowledge between Viscount William and Lady Mary Nigel that their youngest daughter would one day wed the only son of fellow Viscount Phillip and Lady Edna Waltham. And four years of age had truly been the last time she had seen Cecil. His parents had spent much of his childhood with him in their country home, providing for his education and the day when he would one day take his father’s title as viscount. Meanwhile, the Nigels had chosen to raise their three daughters in the city, providing for a Lady’s education and saving for their dowries. Elizabeth’s sisters had been married off easily enough, leaving only her left to be wed. And at twenty years old, this, apparently, was no longer an easy feat.

But apparently Cecil was willing enough.

Elizabeth sighed, knowing from experience that her fate was sealed. She nodded and quietly acknowledged what her next day held for her. Mary smiled pleasantly at her.

“Very good. Now, supper’s still a couple of hours away, but if you will
please
change into proper clothes! And do your hair! You would think you were raised a savage.”

Mary turned to leave just as a thought struck Elizabeth.

“Mother, you said Gerald was accompanying me? Is he busy at the moment? You don’t have need of him, do you?”

Mary arched a brow. “No. Maud will finish the cooking, of course. Gerald is only required when we are ready to serve. Why?”

“I was wondering if I might go out for a bit.”

Mary’s suspicion would not be satisfied so easily.

“Why?” she squawked like one of those exotic birds that could be taught to repeat human speech.

“I... I wish to buy a new hat. You bought me that lovely gown a fortnight ago, and I haven’t a hat to match it.”

Mary’s stern features softened a bit. Sighing, she nodded.

“Very well. But only if you wear one of your gowns. You are not leaving this house in that ghastly outfit. And do your hair!”

“Mother, I don’t have time enough to do my hair.”

Mary groaned. “Fine.”

Mary hated the idea of a Lady leaving her home without her hair properly done, despite the fact that loosely worn hair was the fashion not but a few decades ago. Smiling, Elizabeth thanked her mother.

“Give me ten minutes,” she said as Mary exited the room.

With her hair hanging loose in all its glory beneath a green, wide-brimmed ladies hat that perfectly matched her gown and her eyes, Elizabeth, with Gerald a few paces behind, left her house and started down the cobblestone streets, a small purse hanging from her right wrist—also green to match.

“May I inquire as to our destination, Lady Elizabeth?” Gerald asked as they turned off one street onto another.

Elizabeth grinned. In normal, polite society, servants were not to speak unless spoken to, but she had always thought that rule to be rubbish. They were people, just like anyone else. Glancing over her shoulder, she laughed.

“Well, it’s not the haberdashery. And I told you, Gerald, away from Mother, Father, and all
their
friends, you are to call me Liza.”

She could see her family’s faithful butler grin. “Yes, Lady Liza. Would it be the docks, then?”

The smell of the salt water grew ever stronger as Elizabeth continued turning from one street to another. She nodded.

“Yes, the Dockside Markets indeed.”

She was the only member of so-called “High Society” that visited the Dockside Markets in daylight, to be sure. Her mother did not approve of her going to such a place, but what she did not know would not harm her. It was a rather sordid place where all manner of markets, legal and not, could be found. Most of the market owners, however, were often on the illegal side. It was common knowledge that Dockside Markets was where all the Sky Pirates came to sell their wares. And there was one particular Sky Pirate that Elizabeth made a point of doing business with.