testing his version of Aragon Jackson’s contraption, last seen electrocuting the upstairs maid. It was his firm opinion that whatever the Gold King wrought, the Society for the Proliferation of Impertinent Events could do it better.
The mission might have been more personal to him than to the rest of SPIE. Smythe had his regiment, and Bucky and Edgerton were destined to take their place in their fathers’ manufactories. Tobias alone had no plans and, just speaking statistically, he couldn’t be a blot on the universe every hour of every day. There had to be something constructive he could do.
He stopped to take a swig out of his hip flask and then considered the sheep in its technological finery. Tobias remembered some Serb had recently published a paper on wireless transmission, and Jackson had put the cutting-edge theories to bad use. The device consisted of a wristband strapped to the forearm—in this case foreleg—and a receiver that circled the head, a little like a tiara with an antenna on top. Tobias had stitched it awkwardly onto one of the frilly white caps the maids wore. On the sheep, it looked slightly rakish.
A small voice at the back of his mind reminded him about grounding wires, but the alcohol garbled the message. Bucky was standing nearby, and he thought vaguely of mentioning it to him, but decided against it. Forming a complete sentence would cost more effort than he wanted to exert right then. And, well, the stuffed sheep couldn’t actually feel pain, after all.
Tobias bent over the main control unit, set a dozen steps’ distance from the sheep. He flipped the transmission switch. There was a crackling noise, sparks flew, and Fleecy’s head burst into flame.
“Bugger,” grumbled Tobias as he emptied a bucket of water over the experiment, which resulted in further pops and sputters.
Bucky folded his arms, tapping one forefinger to his chin. “Unfortunately, SPIE will have to amend the name to include
Tobias made a rude noise.
A tall figure emerged from the clubhouse behind them. “Can’t see the maids going for that one,” observed Michael Edgerton, pushing his dark hair out of his eyes. He still had one arm in a sling from the squid incident. He’d fallen into the trombones. “Gar, that wool stinks.”
Tobias stomped on a stray scrap of smoking wool. “Smell of progress, Edgerton.”
“There’s a gentleman here who says he knows you, Roth.”
Tobias shared a look of confusion with Bucky, and then strode across the yard. Surprise morphed into annoyance. Hardly anyone knew of the existence of their private workshop. He guessed the only reason the Gold King tolerated their operation was because they were rich and kept the operation very, very quiet.
Tobias shouldered his way through the door, ready to snarl. Then he stopped in surprise. Magnus sat inside, looking as comfortable in one of their ratty, discarded chairs as he had prowling through the dinner crowd at Hilliard House. His cane leaned against the arm of the chair, holding his high-crowned hat.
“Dr. Magnus!”
He rose when he saw Tobias. “There you are. And I’ve met the Mr. Edgerton. But I do not know you, sir.”
“Penner.” Bucky shook his hand.
“I am delighted to meet you all.” Magnus smiled warmly. “I admired your work at the Royal Charlotte. Such spirit is not to be underrated.”
Tobias’s mood lifted with the praise. Bucky and Edgerton looked equally flattered.
Magnus gestured around the room. “And now that we have been introduced, perhaps I should explain why I am here.”
They sat, Edgerton turning over a crate to use since Magnus was in one of the few actual chairs.
Magnus began in a confidential tone, as if he were picking up a conversation with old friends. “I am currently in pursuit of a—how should I put it?—a
“You want a demonstration?” Bucky sounded amused. “The squid was not enough?”
The doctor gave a gracious smile. “It showed competence and power of invention. I also require delicacy of execution. Consider this first commission as a type of audition for what comes next.”
Edgerton, who liked nothing better than a challenge, shifted impatiently on his crate.
Magnus nodded toward a trunk sitting against the wall. It was plain black, neither old nor new, the brass bindings dull with use. There were a thousand just like it on any train in the Empire. “The contents are your assignment. They require repair and assembly. With your extraordinary talents, I believe this test is well within your reach.”
The members of the society exchanged “after you” gestures. Growing impatient, Tobias crossed the room and released the clasps of the trunk, wondering vaguely how Magnus had got it there without a servant anywhere in evidence. The thought dissolved into unimportance the moment he lifted the lid. “What in blazes?”
“What indeed, Mr. Roth.” The words rolled out like a dare.
Inside lay the disassembled parts of a perfect woman. Tobias caught his breath, his brandy-hazed brain barely making sense of what he saw. It was clearly an automaton, but not one like he had ever seen. It was nothing like his father’s grotesques, nor at all like the steel monstrosities used in factories.
The hair, a long, lustrous auburn, had to be real. He reached in, fingertips brushing the soft, ruddy waves, discovering a tiny part that seemed shorn away. The slightest flaw, but it somehow gave the breathtaking features individuality. The face was porcelain and painted with such subtelty it was hard to believe that it was not hot blood that pinked her cheeks. The limbs were smooth and white, the hands perfectly molded and tipped with dainty nails. What jarred Tobias was that all those exquisite parts were jumbled into the trunk’s interior. He picked up a foot, the shining joint poking out where the shin should have begun—but the naked toes were exquisitely detailed.
A shudder took him. This wasn’t a machine. It was a dismembered corpse made of ceramic and steel. His stomach suddenly disapproved of the brandy.
“I need you to put her together,” said Magnus. “I need you to make her live again.”
Edgerton had come to stand behind Tobias, the technical challenge clearly drawing him like catnip. “Is she clockwork?”
“Yes, that is the basis of her workings. And yet the design of my angel is imperfect.”
Imperfect? That word didn’t fit the creature he saw, despite her disassembled condition. Yet, Tobias wasn’t sure if he felt excitement or revulsion. The others had gathered around, crowding him where he knelt by the trunk. The clubhouse suddenly felt stifling. Sweat soaked his shirt, making it cling to his back.
He picked up the head. The eyelids had soft lashes glued on in tiny tufts. They flicked open with a click, leaving him staring into glass eyes of an impossible blue. Goose pimples rose along his neck. The creature looked vaguely like Alice Keating.
“What’s her name?” Bucky asked.
“Serafina. She is meant to be the first of a troupe of life-sized puppets, if I can master the logistics of her workings. That is where you young gentlemen can assist me.”
Edgerton picked up an arm and was examining the tiny cables that worked the joints. “We may need some additional parts.”
“Buy what you need, and please factor in a cost in consideration for your time.”
The young men shifted self-consciously. There wasn’t one among them who didn’t have debts. Though gentlemen technically didn’t work for pay, the offer of money caught their attention.
They cleared the worktable that sat at one end of the clubhouse and began ferrying parts from the trunk one by one, laying out the body in proper anatomical position. Some of the limbs were scratched or mended, as if the doll had met with violence. There were many tiny bits left in the bottom of the trunk, not all of which made sense to Tobias. He would need to spend a good deal of time studying the design before he knew where everything went.
He looked down at the automaton, trying to ignore the gaps where she should have been whole. The torso had a layer of sawdust stuffing beneath taut, flesh-colored silk that felt unnervingly like female skin. Whoever had made her had left no detail of female anatomy to the imagination, right down to details of the cleft between her