Chapter 6
Leaf’s fingers closed around Nic’s wrist—a tight band of panic in the dark. “It’s… talking to you.”
He shook his head. It ought not to be able to, ought not to know his name.
Ought not to be standing there at all when every other automaton had been broken down, yet it creaked and shuffled a step closer in the darkness.
“Nicholas,” it said again in its tinny tone.
“I am here for you.” And as it stepped forward, a deeper darkness spread from it, smothering even the faint light coming from the broken windows behind them.
Colour flickered on the automaton’s face—not just colour but features, an expression there and gone as the reel within the thing spun on.
Nic stepped back, pushing Leaf with him. “We need to get out of here.”
“I am here for you. Nicholas,” the soulless voice creaked. It was less voice than musical grinding, but Nic couldn’t appreciate the difference while it was his name the thing crunched between its metal teeth.
“It knows you,” Leaf said, still holding his arm. “Is it supposed to do that?”
“What do you think?” He took another step back.
“I don’t know! We don’t have automata at Charborough House. Maybe—”
“Maybe now is not a good time!”
The automaton clunked closer, and a real face appeared on the pale circle for the space of a heartbeat, lips smiling as it spoke his name. “Nicholas.”
“You said they were all destroyed because they were dangerous.” Leaf’s words were breathless. “Dangerous how, exactly?”
“I said not a good time.”
“Then when would be a good time?” Her voice rose a full octave. “I’m already imagining the worst, so the truth could hardly be more terrible!”
The automaton clanked and vibrated another step closer. Its gears were desperately in need of oiling, yet it moved with an inevitability that filled Nic with dread. “I am here for you,” it said, splaying darkness toward them like thick oil.
Lady Leaf punched his arm. “Nic? Answer me!”
“Fine. One of them killed my uncle.”
“What?” The word was so shrill only animals ought to have heard it. “We have to get out of here. Now!”
They were almost at the door, where all-too-cheerful daylight crept across the floor toward their feet. “Is there anything behind us?” Nic asked.
“No, but this is the only door in or out. We’re stuck.”
“Windows?”
“We’re on the second floor!”
“Do you have a better idea?”
Her footsteps scurried about behind him as Nic watched the automaton emerge from its darkness, a sketch slowly taking form from shadows.
“Nicholas,” it whirred, and lifted its other arm, stepping again and again, faster now.
Nic darted back, almost stumbling over his own feet, and slammed the door in the thing’s face.
For a moment there was no sound but Leaf’s steps and the hasty pull of Nic’s breath, then a bump as the whirring mechanism brought the automaton up against the door—a door that shook as the thing kept trying to walk into it.
One of the hinges had already fallen out of the rotting woodwork and the others were more rust than metal.
Nic retreated, watching the remaining hinges wiggle.
“Quick, over here,” Leaf said. “We can reach that balcony from this window. I don’t know what room it leads to, but there’s no other way. Look”—she hooked Nic’s arm and dragged him over, pointing—“we should be able to reach it if we take turns standing on that gargoyle.”
Nic eyed the crumbling gargoyle dubiously as Lady Leaf hoisted her skirt and stepped onto the windowsill. “Give me your hand.”
A heavy thud echoed as one of the remaining hinges snapped, dropping the door onto its corner like it was leaning to catch its breath. The automaton peered through the gap, its face flickering.
“Hand!” Leaf cried.
Nic took her hand and she lunged for the neighbouring balcony. It was no easy manoeuvre, yet his attention kept slipping to the automaton, to the click-clank and whirr of its joints as it pushed the door slowly before it.
“Almost,” Leaf said, straining. “Remind me not to wear satin slippers next time. I’ve got it!”
She pulled her hand from his and hauled herself over the railing like a woman who had spent her childhood climbing trees. And with her feet firmly planted on the other side, she reached back, proffering her hands.
Nic didn’t take them. His gaze was caught on the automaton, which had the door half open now. Its full form made a mockery of the pile of broken pieces in the corner, from which sightless eyes stared through blank faces at this walking, talking reminder of life.
“Nicholas. I am here for you,” it grated, the words reaching down into Nic’s gut like icy fingers.
He kept telling himself it couldn’t really be talking, couldn’t really still exist at all, yet having pushed the door wide, it clanked into the room, the rectangular slits of its eyes fixed upon him. “I am here for you.”
“Nic, come on!”
He took Leaf’s hands, heartbeat thundering in his chest. At any other time he would have been as terrified of the distance to the ground, but with the automaton at his back it seemed the lesser of two evils, and Leaf’s strong grip refused to let him fall.
He took a lunging step, trusting his full weight to the gargoyle for a stomach-dropping moment, before he was over the railing on the other side.
Having regained solid stone beneath his feet, Nic turned back, only for Leaf to yank him away into the adjoining room. “Come on! I’m not hanging around to get murdered, thank you.”
It seemed unlikely the thing could follow them, but a hint of panic edged Leaf’s voice so Nic let himself be pulled away.
He ought not to have brought her into the style wing in the first place and couldn’t make her stay now, could only hope the experience wouldn’t leave her afraid of the house that would soon be her home.
In silence they hurried back through the abandoned rooms, only slowing once they’d put some distance between them and the automaton. “So how exactly was your uncle murdered?” Leaf said, her eyes still darting at every shadow.
“I don’t know the details, only that it was an automaton. I would appreciate you keeping that piece of family history to yourself, though. It’s not common knowledge.”
“Who would believe me if I told them? I won’t tell anyone about this adventure either, lest they cart me off to an asylum! It really did just happen, though, didn’t it?”
“Pretty sure, yes.”
Nic met her worried look, resolving to keep their explorations to the main part of the house in future, at least until he worked out why a fully functional automaton still existed and how it knew his name.
After returning Leaf to her companions, Nic scoured the library for books on the grotto display.
It had been famous in its day, bringing people from miles around to see the mechanical marvels much beloved of the third duke, before his descendants had let it fall into disrepair.
A few books on England’s grand houses mentioned it, but beyond calling it a wondrous sight, none explained exactly what the automata had actually done.
After two hours, he had gotten nowhere, and the longer he sat in the dusty old library, the more unreal the whole scene began to feel.
He could almost believe he had imagined it.
Almost. The grinding of his name and the flicker of a face in the dark remained visceral, both mysteries that demanded answers.
And so in a hollow, troubled mood, Nic went to see his mother.
Monterris Court had four wings, numerous galleries and conservatories, chapels and rotundas, and a crypt like a sprawling underground library of bones, yet the duchess’s only use for its enormity was to ensure her apartments were as far away from the duke’s as possible.
Visiting her was like walking into a whole different world, her taste in decoration as far removed from her husband’s as her rooms were.
Nic doubted his mother had ever been able to buy anything new, but things had a way of ending up in her part of the house if she liked them.
Everything from vases of silk flowers and delicately wrought candelabras to paintings of bright, sunny days and curtains in mismatched colours.
As Nic entered the long gallery of the lesser hook wing, his mother’s echoes started chirping in their grand aviary—a magically wrought, curved metal cage shaped like golden clouds.
The duchess’s echoes were far from the prettiest their breeders had produced, but she collected them like she collected furnishings—the only requirement that they make her smile.
“Yes, yes, hello to you too,” Nic said to the singing birds. “Thank you for announcing me so eloquently.”
“Hello. Hello,” one sang back as the others lost interest in him, trilling to one another instead.
As Nic approached his mother’s door, he caught the sound of her humming.
It merged discordantly with the echoes’ gentle coos—the duchess’s complete lack of musicality equalled only by her persistent joy in singing.
Nic smiled as he knocked, grateful for a sound that carved a familiar welcome from the day’s strangeness.
After a few moments, the Duchess of Vale’s maid opened the door, a hawkish glare easing at sight of him. “Master Nicholas.”
“Afternoon, Silla. She sounds happy.”
“Yes, Her Grace has been calm and well today. She’s dressing for a grand ball and you know how that cheers her up. Shall I ask if she’ll see you?”
“Please.”
Silla pressed a wry smile between thin lips and went back inside, leaving Nic to the familiar experience of staring at an inlaid wooden door while he awaited permission to see one of his parents.
When Silla returned, she held open the door. “Her Grace will see you, but says she cannot be kept long. She doesn’t wish to be late, you know.” They shared a look of deep understanding as Nic stepped inside.