Chapter Eleven
Dorothea knew it was growing late. The noise in the Forge had lessened considerably, which meant that the day shift had probably left already.
Many of the Forge’s functions could run unattended, needing supervision only when changes or additions were required. So while the previous hours had rung with the furious sounds of fire and creation, now that violent song had softened to a murmur, punctuated now and then by a quick crackle or pop.
She was tired, dirty, a little sore from bending so much, and definitely hungry. But all of those things were inconsequential beside what she had accomplished.
She’d penetrated the secrets of the Mistletoe machine.
Through diligence, sweat, a careless disregard for the state of her hands or clothing, and sheer cussedness, she was now looking at the guts, revealed when the interior access panel finally dropped away and revealed its secrets.
“All right,” she murmured. “Show me where it hurts.”
She shifted a couple of levers and interlocked a gear and cog.
Nothing. Still, that was superficial anyway.
So her gaze moved past the obvious—all the other gears, the belts, the housings—and sought what most men never looked for: the shy little mechanisms that decided whether this magnificent wonder lived or died.
And...there...
A small brass finger-like extension, no longer than her smallest nail, sat a fraction out of true.
She grabbed her magnifying lens and turned herself almost upside down to examine it, to see what was going on with it. Luckily, the light was still good and, holding her breath, she moved the glass over every tiny component.
At last—on its hinge—so slight it was nearly invisible, was a sheen of glaze. It looked almost like dried syrup, catching the light with a soft but treacherous shine.
Dorothea’s mouth curved into a smile. “You didn’t die,” she murmured. “You simply...stuck.”
The urge to whoop and dance made her wriggle as she backed out of the awkward spot, but she held it in check. Not finished yet.
If it was, as she suspected, congealed resin from last year’s Mistletoe berries, then she needed to remove it, and she surveyed her assortment of tools and chemicals.
Spirit oil was an option, but that might cause problems of its own.
She had a small jar of abrasive ash, also useful in these circumstances, but the area was so small she might do more harm than good by dropping ash down further onto other bits and pieces that were working just fine.
So she opted for the simplest solution. A warmed piece of cloth.
It didn’t take long to heat over the nearby Forge vent, and with great care—along with more than a few nerves—Dorothea touched the sheen delicately, moving the cloth back and forth, until the metal beneath glowed cleanly, smooth and unblemished.
Was that the answer? She prayed she was right, but only one thing would give her the answer. And so she began carefully replacing all the parts she’d so carefully removed and cleaned, one by one.
As she did so, she heard a soft tick, something she’d not heard before. After that, the casing almost shivered, like a machine taking its first breath.
“All right, my girl, now you’re getting far too whimsical.” She settled the shiny leaf-feed drum back into its housing with another satisfying click.
It took a lot less time to replace the parts than it did to remove them, and before she realised it, she tightened that final cam-latch.
“Well,” came a voice from behind her, making her jump. “That’s either very good or very bad.”
“Silas,” she huffed out a breath. “Never creep up on me like that again. I might have fouled up something vital.”
“Sorry,” he grinned, unrepentant. “It’s getting very late. I left you alone for a long time, which I probably shouldn’t have, but...as I said, Thea...this is your machine.”
She wiped her hands. “I know. And I appreciate your trust. I really do.”
“But?”
She kept her calm. “But there’s one more thing I’d like to try.”
“All right...” He looked at the machine. “Seems you’ve put it all back together. Lost cause, huh?”
“Let’s see...”
Dorothea prayed her fingers weren’t shaking too badly, because this was the final live-or-die moment, and if she’d messed it up...
Carefully, she flicked the switch on the side of the Mistletoe machine, then pressed the green button on top of it. A light flickered weakly...then brightened and glowed steadily as a gentle hum emanated from inside.
“Well then,” she said, her voice a little shaky. “Here goes.”
Reaching for the large lever on the side, now shining and clean, she eased it forward, making sure that there was an adequate supply of filament materials to run a test.
The hum gave way to a rhythmic thump, the access lights shone brightly...and from the output chute the first strand of Mistletoe appeared, waving as it cooled, waiting for its fellows, and moving toward the berry container which already had several small white balls ready to go.
Within moments, the Mistletoe machine was happily doing what it had done so many decades ago.
It was making mistletoe.
*~~*~~*
“Are you jesting?” Hiram stared at Silas.
“No, my friend. Would I jest about something this important?” His library seemed to be full of people, thought Silas, and it also looked a lot...tidier. “Nelson, did you have a chuff cleaner in here? I was going to get to it, I told you...”
“Cogblast it, man, the Mistletoe machine. What the coggles happened?”
“I did,” announced Dorothea, head held high.
“Are you...”
“No, Hiram, she is not jesting. Stop asking that, will you?” Silas all but growled.
“Stop! Everyone stop shouting.” Lyra struggled awkwardly to her feet.
“We all want to hear about this, but if you keep talking and yelling over each other, we’ll never find out anything.
” She put her hands on her hips and stared at everyone.
“Now be quiet. All of you. And only one person talks at a time.”
Surprisingly, everyone obeyed, and even Gen stared at her, open-mouthed. “Mama,” she breathed. “That was...amazing.”
“Right then.” Lyra suppressed a grin. “Miss Thea. Tell us what happened today, if you would.”
“Of course.” Thea nodded agreeably. “After Silas took me to the Mistletoe machine, I unfastened many bolts that were rusting. I cleaned them, of course, using a solution that I found quite useful...”
“Oh, coggles,” moaned Hiram, rolling his eyes.
“She fixed it,” said Silas bluntly. “I don’t know how, and I suspect I never will, but by the Great Gear in the sky, this amazing woman repaired our precious Mistletoe machine.”
He strode to Dorothea’s side, picked her up by the waist, and kissed her. On the mouth. With enthusiasm. Then put her back on her feet.
Coooooo.
“I couldn’t agree more, Thim,” said Nelson calmly.
“However, if this conversation is to proceed in any kind of civilised manner, may I suggest you all go into the dining room? There is food ready, and one can only hope that if most of you are eating, then perhaps one person might relate the details of today’s adventure without interruption. ”
Thus chastened, the entire party followed orders, and soon found themselves seated in front of a rather tasty-looking meal.
Dorothea tucked in. “Forgive my manners, but I have had little more than a couple of biscuits all day.” She buttered bread lavishly. “It’s difficult to eat when you’re up to your elbows in forty years of old grease and thick, dirty oil.”
“Eeeuuuw,” Gen made a face.
“That’s about the size of it, yes, Gen. I couldn’t have put it better myself.” Hiram grinned at her. “But we mechanicals don’t mind a bit of dirt now and again.”
“I have a feeling this was a lot more than a bit of dirt, though,” said Silas, shooting a glance at Dorothea.
She nodded and swallowed her food. “I just followed the basic rules, that’s all. Unfasten everything, examine each part carefully, clean it, then put it back together.”
“If it was that easy, how come Mr Silas couldn’t fix it?” Gen asked innocently, looking quite puzzled at the laugh her question engendered.
“Sometimes, Gen, it takes the more delicate touch of a lady’s skilled hand to solve a problem,” answered Lyra. “But to be fair, there are other times when a powerful hammer is required.”
“Very true,” chuckled Hiram, giving Lyra a warm smile.
Silas looked at his friend, then looked at Lyra. Then, wisely, he said nothing and continued his meal.
“So,” said Dorothea, “the more bits and pieces I extracted, the dirtier they were. By the time I got to the innermost housing...”
“You opened that housing?” Silas couldn’t hold back his astonishment. “That’s the one thing nobody has ever dared to do. You might have...” he stuttered, his eyes wide.
“But I didn’t,” she answered proudly. “And as soon as that was out of the way, I could really get into its guts and assess the situation.”
“What did you find?” Lyra leaned forward, her attention glued to Dorothea.
For a moment, there was complete silence.
“A tiny drop of resin.”
“A what?” Hiram asked.
“Was that it? Nothing else?” Silas asked.
“How tiny?” asked Gen.
“Very tiny, my dear. Smaller than the tiniest Mistletoe berry you can imagine.” She sighed.
“Small enough that if I’d been further away, I might well have missed it.
But given where it was, well I could see that it would affect the inner movements enough to.
..to...how can I say this...make it tick wrong. ”
“And now it ticks right,” smiled Silas. “That, Gen, is the true essence of our machines, and those of us who work with them. Knowing when a tick is right, or there’s an offbeat chime, a mis-timed clink...it’s not always what you see...”
“It’s what you feel,” Dorothea finished his thought, and reached out for his hand. “I never truly understood that until today.”
“A rare gift, Thea,” he squeezed her fingers. “A miracle, actually.”
“Well,” said Gen. “How exciting. And now there will be mistletoe as well as holly.” She smiled. “Can I have some more pudding?”
The laughter echoed from room to room, making Nelson’s ears glow with pleasure. Hearing his humans making that sound was always a good thing.