Hot and Steamy (32 page)

Christopher leaned close and slipped one arm under Ellie's shoulders. He pulled her to his chest, and reached around behind her with his other hand. He probed her lower back until at last he found the switch. With a click, Ellie's drive box rattled to life. The gyroscopes spun up to a steady drone, and the hundreds of interlocking gears clicked and clattered like metallic rain. He felt Ellie move in his arms, so he slowly released her. With awkward, jerking motions, Ellie sat straight.

“I feel strange, Christopher,” Ellie said. She turned her lovingly sculpted copper face toward him. Her eyelids clicked open and shut, open and shut, over blue porcelain eyes.

“Well, that isn't too surprising,” Christopher said, taking a seat on a paint-spattered stool. “It'll take some time for you to adapt to your new center of gravity, and your joints are probably a bit stiff. If it's too bad, we can loosen them up later.”

Ellie turned on the bench and hung her legs over the side. She looked at them and experimentally raised and lowered one, then the other. Tipping her head, she studied her feet and pointed her metal frame toes.

“I like them,” Ellie said. “Thank you, Christopher.”

Christopher smiled. “You're welcome, Ellie.”

Ellie continued to look at her toes, wiggling them one at a time. Christopher could hear the discs of the reason engine in her head whirring away.

“Do you think she'll like me, Christopher?” she asked.

The question was one Christopher had asked himself each time he worked on Ellie. If Eleanor liked Ellie, it might mean the start of . . . . Christopher pushed the thought away. He didn't dare hope. As Mrs. Arbogast, the estate's housekeeper, so often pointed out, he and Miss Eleanor weren't cut from the same cloth. “Every person has their place,” she'd say. But he had to try.

“Of course she'll like you,” he insisted.

“How do you know?” Ellie asked.

Christopher stepped back over to the workbench. He ran his fingers along the extension rods on Ellie's neck, checking for faults. “Well, in many ways, she's you. I patterned the template discs in your reason engine on Miss Eleanor's personality. You two will have lots in common.”

“Oh, that's nice,” Ellie said.

Christopher looked her over again. He frowned when he noticed Ellie swaying a bit.

“Maybe we should save the walking for another day,” he said. “I'd like to recalibrate the gyroscopes first.”

“Very well,” Ellie answered.

Christopher smiled at Ellie. For a time he'd almost lost hope. It had taken much longer than he'd expected to construct her. Maintaining the hundreds of machines on the island took most of his day, leaving him with just a few hours each night to work on her.

The reason engine alone took almost four months. If not for the Professor's notes, Christopher might not have gotten it working at all. He had known that he wasn't allowed in the Professor's study, but Ellie was too important. He simply had to get her working, and the Professor knew more about machines than anyone Christopher had ever met.

Christopher sighed and looked out the window. He could just make out the feeble lights of the mainland. He wondered how much longer the queen would need the Professor's help and when he could finally come home.

“Do you miss him?” Ellie asked.

Christopher took a long, deep breath before he turned from the window. He started picking up tools and putting them away.

“Yes,” he said. “I miss him very much.”

Ellie placed her hands in her lap, hinged fingers intertwined, and looked at Christopher. She tipped her head gracefully to one side and said, “Perhaps you could visit him.”

Christopher shook his head. “No, that isn't possible. The queen banned all sea traffic nonessential to the war effort. And the dirigibles don't land any longer. They just drop supplies as they pass.”

Putting away the last of the tools, he brushed his hands on his pants and walked over to the table by the door where Eleanor's musiphone sat. The simple, polished wood box was a London Marvel Company creation that played hundreds of different songs, each as clear as if the orchestra were right in the room. It was one of Eleanor's favorite diversions, but it had broken down earlier in the week.

“I need to take this to Miss Eleanor,” he said. “I promised. Wait for me here, Ellie, and don't try to walk. I'll be back soon.”

“I'll wait for you, Christopher,” Ellie said.

 

Christopher knocked quietly on the library's open door. The room was silent except for the soft hiss of the gas lamps. Their flickering flames sent shadows dancing across the thick oriental rugs and up the heavily laden bookshelves. More than once he'd heard Mrs. Arbogast thanking God that the Saxons hadn't cut the gas lines out to the islands. “Mark my words, Christopher,” she'd said. “If those barbarians attack, that'll be the first sign.”

Eleanor sat in one of the tall wing-backed chairs near the fireplace. With her back to the door, all Christopher could see was one fine arm. Even this slightest vision of the professor's daughter set his heart to pounding. For a time he waited, savoring even this simple view, fearing that if she became aware of him she might fade like a dream.

“Is there someone there?” she asked.

Christopher jumped. The musiphone slipped in his hands, but at the last moment he managed to catch it. Adjusting his grip on the machine, he took a deep breath, steadied himself, and padded into the room. He crossed the ornate rugs, the sound of his footsteps swallowed by the thick pile. He stopped just behind her chair. She hadn't turned to see who was there.

“I,” he began, his voice sounding thin and weak to his own ears. He cleared his voice and tried again. “I finished the repairs on your musiphone, Miss Eleanor.”

Eleanor leaned over and looked around the wing of the chair. Christopher's breath caught in his chest. The light on her skin glowed like spring sun, and her gentle blue eyes glittered as if touched by the stars. Her raven hair was pulled back in a tight bun, highlighting the elegant curves of her face, and the ribbon of her pale pink lips reflected the perfection of the Creator.

“Thank you, Christopher,” she said, smiling kindly. “You can set it over here on the table.”

Christopher stepped around her chair and set the musiphone on the long, low table in front of her. As he positioned it and made sure it sat level, he dared another glance at Eleanor. She leaned her cheek against the wing of the chair and gazed out the tall window, a look of exquisite sadness on her face.

Christopher's heart ached to see her like this. When her father left, a deep, unabated loneliness had taken hold of Eleanor. With the sea lanes closed, she couldn't even go to the mainland to visit the other girls, making her a veritable prisoner on the island. He knew it wasn't his place to speak to her without permission, but Christopher couldn't help himself.

“Is everything all right, miss?” he asked softly.

“Oh, it's nothing, Christopher.” She dabbed at the corners of her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief.

When she lifted her hand, Christopher noticed a letter on her lap. The Professor's dramatic spider-web script covered the paper. Christopher swallowed hard.

“Is all well with the Professor?” he asked, trying to keep the worry from his voice for Eleanor's sake.

Eleanor shook her head and traced the edge of the letter with her finger.

“He's fine,” she said, her voice cracking. “The queen just wishes to retain his services a bit longer.”

“That means . . . your birthday . . .”

“It's fine.” She took a long, shaking breath. “We all need to do our part.”

Before Christopher could say anything else, heavy footsteps rang out from the hall. A moment later, Mrs. Arbogast swept into the room. When she spotted Christopher, she narrowed her eyes and placed her fists on her ample hips. He bowed his head and put his hands behind his back.

“Christopher,” she said sharply. “What are you doing in here?”

Eleanor stood and turned to face the door. “It's all right, Mrs. Arbogast. He was just returning my musiphone.”

Mrs. Arbogast stiffened and performed a hurried curtsey.

“My apologies, Miss. I thought you'd gone to bed,” Mrs. Arbogast said, recovering. “I was just coming to fetch the dishes.”

“That's fine. No apologies are necessary.” Eleanor turned to Christopher. “Thank you again, Christopher. You may go.”

He nodded quickly. As he hurried away, Eleanor flashed him a conspiratorial grin. He flushed, his heart leaping. As he silently closed the door behind him, he heard Mrs. Arbogast say, “I'm sorry, Miss. Christopher should know his place. I'll speak to him.”

Christopher leaned against the door, pressing his ear to the crack.

“You shouldn't be so hard on him, Mrs. Arbogast,” Eleanor said. “Anyway, he's really quite sweet.”

Christopher grinned hard enough to make his ears hurt. Almost skipping, he hurried off to the workshop. He'd have Ellie ready by Eleanor's birthday if he had to work all night, every night, for the next week.

Kneeling before Ellie, Christopher reached around and placed one hand on the small of her back. With his other hand, he pressed gently on her abdomen. A soft click told him that the last of the plates that made up her skin was secured. Standing, he stepped back and looked her over.

“How do I look, Christopher?” Ellie asked.

“You look beautiful,” he said, smiling. He stepped over and gently rubbed a smudge from her copper cheek with his thumb. “Eleanor is going to love you.”

For a moment, he let his hand linger there. He could feel the soft vibration of the reason engine's discs whirring away inside.

“You like her very much, don't you, Christopher?” Ellie said.

“Who? Miss Eleanor?” Christopher stepped back to lean against the workbench, his cheeks flushing.

“Yes,” Ellie said. “She is very special to you, isn't she?”

“Yes. Yes she is.”

“Am I special to you?” Ellie asked.

Christopher laughed. “Of course you are, Ellie. In fact, I'm going to miss our conversations. I quite enjoy talking to you.”

He hadn't expected it, but as Eleanor's birthday drew closer the thought of seeing Ellie go weighed on him. He placed a hand on Ellie's shoulder, letting his fingers drift over the smooth curves of her metal skin.

“Yes, I'll miss you very much, Ellie,” he said.

“That's very kind, Christopher,” Ellie said. “I'll miss you.”

For a moment they stood in silence, Christopher and his creation, alone in the half-darkness of the workshop.

“Oh!” Christopher exclaimed. “I almost forgot. I have something for you.”

He dashed to the closet, pulled it open, and lifted out a hat-box sized package.

“What is it, Christopher?” Ellie asked.

Christopher, beaming, brought the box over to Ellie.

“Go on, take it,” he said. “It's for you.”

Ellie tilted her head to one side, then reached out with her long, graceful hands and took the box. Every motion spoke of precision in both action and purpose, and Christopher felt pleased with how quickly her reason engine had adapted to motion. Ellie, balancing the box expertly in one hand, removed the lid. She tilted her head the other way as she examined the contents.

“Do you like it?” Christopher asked.

Reaching into the box, Ellie took out the dress. It unfurled before her, the hem swishing across her toes.

“I like it very much.”

“I made it myself,” Christopher said. He reached out and took hold of the edges of the dress. “Here, let me help you put it on.”

The process was a bit awkward, as neither of them had any experience with putting on dresses, but after a few failed attempts, and more than a little laughing, they managed it. Ellie turned her back to him, and Christopher slowly fastened the long row of buttons from the copper cleft of her buttocks up to her neck.

When he'd finished the last one, Ellie turned back to face him. The dress bunched a bit around her waist, so Christopher reached out and smoothed the fabric.

“How do I look?” Ellie asked.

“You look stunning,” Christopher said. “Miss Eleanor is going to love you.”

Ellie did not reply.

 

“Come in,” Eleanor called when Christopher knocked.

He opened the door just enough to enter, then closed it behind him.

“Excuse me, Miss Eleanor,” he said. “Do you have a moment?”

Eleanor stood near the window, looking out across the sea.