Mattie guessed that they were getting closer to the market. “I would think that intelligent automatons would be valuable.”
“They are expensive,” Mattie said, “but not valuable at all. We make poor servants—one advantage automatons have is that they don’t talk back or complain. Very few tasks need an actively engaged mind.”
“And the mechanics and the alchemists have it covered,” Niobe said. “I understand.”
The market had become larger too, and Mattie regretted not visiting it more often. There were quite a few booths that sold herbs and minerals and bits of rare wildlife. She couldn’t help but stop every few steps, craning her neck at a lovely display of boars’ hooves or bottles with golden oil of uncertain origin.
Niobe followed her, asking occasional questions about the use of plants. She seemed curiously ignorant of their properties, and Mattie quite enjoyed explaining that two piles of small dried blue flowers were, in fact, quite different—one was lavender, the other veronica, and each had its own properties.
Niobe sniffed at the flowers and laughed, and told Mattie that where she came from, all plants were subdivided into blood plants and water plants, plants with yellow sap, and plants that cured nausea. She scoffed at dried salamanders and insisted that only live ones were suitable for harnessing elemental powers, she lingered over large shapeless chunks of rock, her long fingers tracing the silvery veins of precious metals and her soft voice reciting their affinities to sulfur or volcanic fire. Mattie could not remember the last time she had been able to lose herself in conversation so completely.
She lost track of time as well, and the sun was starting to tilt west when they finally emerged from the battleground of the markets, both loaded with precious ingredients and professing mutual surprise at how little they managed to spend in the face of overwhelming temptation.
They entered one of the side streets, and Mattie recognized the jewelry store—the only one in the city that carried lapis lazuli, mother-of-pearl, and large chunks of amber. Mattie used to come there with Loharri—he picked through the precious stones for his projects, while she browsed through the piles of amber, looking for pieces with entrapped insects or bubbles of air from long ago.
As if answering her thoughts, Loharri emerged from the doorway of the jewelry shop. His sharp eyes slid over Mattie to her companion and lingered a bit, before meeting Mattie’s gaze. “Slumming?” he said. “Don’t worry, I am too. Who’s your friend?”
“I’m Niobe,” Niobe said. “Forgive me for not shaking your hand.” She shrugged apologetically at her many parcels.
“Forgiven,” Loharri said. “What’s in the jar?”
“Sheep’s blood,” Niobe said. “What’s your name?”
Loharri frowned a bit. “Loharri’s my name. I am a member of the order of Mechanics. Surely you’ve heard of us?”
Niobe nodded. If she felt out of place or intimidated, she didn’t show it, and Mattie marveled at the difference in her demeanor compared to the latest alchemists’ meeting. “I’ve heard of you. You’re the ones who build all those factories that make it impossible to take a stroll by the river.”
Mattie cringed—Loharri didn’t like being challenged, or addressed in such a familiar manner.
Loharri produced the coldest smile in his repertoire. “Everything has its price. Yet, we managed to do some good—I’m the maker of your friend,” he said, pointing at Mattie. “I’m sure she mentioned me.”
“In passing,” Mattie said. She found it easier being rude to him while Niobe was nearby. “Niobe’s an alchemist, too.”
“I noticed.” Loharri gave a cursory nod of his head. “You will excuse me, but I have a business meeting to attend. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mattie.”
Niobe turned and watched him disappear behind the corner. She then smiled at Mattie. “Quite a character.”
“Yes,” Mattie said, undecided on whether she should feel proud of Loharri or embarrassed by him.
“What happened to his face?”
“I don’t know,” Mattie said. “He rarely tells me anything about himself.”
Niobe sighed and started up the stairs. “They never do,” she remarked in a low voice, apparently addressing herself more than Mattie.
Niobe’s craft proved to be as difficult as it was fascinating. In her cramped laboratory, smaller than Mattie’s and twice as cluttered, Mattie learned to burn blood and refine it through a long, sinuous alembic; Niobe showed her how to mix the blood essence—black powder that smelled of burned horn and rust, and crumbled in Mattie’s fingers—with the viscous resin of rare trees, how to shape the resulting sticky mass into tiny figure and imbue the lifeless homunculus with powers curative or destructive—it didn’t seem to matter to the homunculus, who absorbed poison or antidote with equal ease.
Niobe spoke at length about the properties of blood—its affinity with metals and earth, its ability to transform any element to its most basic and potent character. Its love of human flesh, the command it held over human mind, the raw power of both healing and ruin.
“Would your potions work on automatons?” Mattie asked.
Niobe shrugged. “I never tried it, but I think so. You are made of metal…”
“And bone,” Mattie interjected. “Whalebone.”
“And human hair,” Niobe said, looking over Mattie’s short dark locks that barely reached her shoulders. “That’s unusual.”
“Yes,” Mattie agreed. “I don’t know of any other automatons who are made this way—I don’t even know why Loharri made me like this.”
“Do you know where he got the hair?”
Mattie shook her head.
Niobe smiled, stretched, and stepped away from the bench. She had to light the lamp as the darkness gathered outside, and the high, tense voices of the children fell silent and were soon displaced by those of adults, coming from the people carrying leisurely conversations, sitting on their porches or standing by their windows, chatting with the neighbors across the street—a street so narrow that people on opposite sides could almost touch hands if they wished to do so.
Mattie stood by the window, listening to the night voices— more resonant, it seemed, than during the day, and kinder, more sedate, lulled by the evening meal and impending sleep. Many spoke in a language Mattie did not understand, but the sound soothed her all the same.
The house across the street from Niobe’s workshop had its windows open, and the second floor apartment had a window box, brimming with blooming lavender and small irises, blue like the night, bright white arrows on their lower lips shining in the darkness. Mattie smelled the sweet and bitter aroma of the flowers.
Niobe stood by her side. “This is my favorite time of day,” she said. “I feel that I will grow to love this city.”
“I like it too,” Mattie said. “I feel… invisible and yet a part of it.”
“Invisible is good,” Niobe said.
“Loharri doesn’t understand that,” Mattie said. “He always wanted to show me off, even when I thought I’d rather die than go out.”
“Of course he doesn’t understand.” Now that they were alone Niobe did not bother to hide her contempt. “Even that scar of his… How do you expect him to know shame if he never had to hide in his life?”
Mattie shrugged, the metal bones in her shoulders grating together with a long dry whisper. “Maybe he has. I know so little about him. He has many lovers, and other mechanics hate him—that’s it, really.”
Niobe laughed. “Who would’ve thought?”
“But it’s true,” Mattie said. “Why, just today…” She broke off, suddenly remembering Iolanda’s whispered promise.
“What?” Niobe prompted.
Mattie shook her head. “Nothing. I just remembered something. I have to go.”
“It’s getting late anyway.” Niobe yawned. “Stop by soon, all right? I like working with you.”
“I will,” Mattie promised. “Thank you for teaching me—I’ll teach you next time.”
She clattered down the stairs and into the sweet-smelling night streets. The eastern district was vast, and she had a long way home before her. She decided to run.
She picked up her skirts, her bag of offal and the jar of blood tucked under her arm, and she ran like the wind.
