The Wooden Prince (6 page)

Geppetto maneuvered the load down the cobblestone lane toward the gates.

“What if you're stopped, and they look under that blanket?” Maestro chirped from inside his cage.

“It's a risk we have to take,” Geppetto whispered.

“But if they do?”

Geppetto nodded hello to a passing neighbor before whispering to Maestro, “Then we get to see Venice again.”

“You mean the doge's prison,” the cricket said. “If you're lucky! More likely you'll face the gallows.”

“Hush.”

As expected, the mechanipillar was stopped at the gates while airmen searched it. Groups of villagers stood around, impatient to board. The town's guards—battered hulking automa sentries—waited for orders to open the gates.

Geppetto gave a jolt.

Above the town gate was an imperial warship, hovering overhead like a black storm cloud. Geppetto's anxiety worsened. This was no ordinary patrol. That was an onyx-class military warship, most certainly equipped with Flying Lions. Peering down from the ship's bow was General Maximian, the doge's personal guard and commander of Venice's imperial airmen. Of all the soldiers here, this one alone might recognize Geppetto.

Geppetto pulled his hood over his head and wheeled onward. The airmen took no notice as they rustled through the few travelers' trunks and pulled open crates of vegetables bound for neighboring markets.

Near the gates were the piles of garbage the villagers left for the automa guards to remove to burn outside the village. Geppetto set Maestro's cage on the stinking heap.

“Is this what the renowned musician Maestro of Abaton has come to?” the cricket complained. “Rummaging through filth. Disgraceful! My grandfather would pluck off his antennae in shame if could see me.”

“Remember what I said,” Geppetto whispered, as he placed the chimera box next to Maestro. “Give us time to get on the other side of the mechanipillar.”

“If you get caught,” Maestro said, “I'm not coming with you.”

Geppetto loosened the lid on the chimera box. “Then I wish you the best and hope that the bird that eats you doesn't get indigestion.”

“Incorrigible,” the cricket mumbled.

Geppetto adjusted his gloves and stole a glance at General Maximian. The officer was watching the airmen finish their final inspections. Passengers began boarding, a few calling last good-byes to family members. Geppetto kept his gaze low as he made a wide swath with the wheelbarrow, pushing it through the crowd to the other side of the mechanipillar.

“Signore Polendina,” a voice rang out.

He pushed faster.

“Oh, Signore Polendina, dear!” An elderly woman made her way from the crowd, her cane clanking on the cobblestones as she hurried to catch him.

Geppetto stopped and turned with a brittle smile. “Signora Ferragutti, I was just coming to see you.”

Captain Toro, standing by one of the mechanipillar's legs, glanced over his shoulder at them. Geppetto didn't meet his eye as he took Signora Ferragutti's arm to steady her.

“Have you finished my box? I haven't slept a night without it. You promised it would be ready.”

Captain Toro narrowed his eyes on the wheelbarrow behind Geppetto.

“Yes, soon,” Geppetto said, desperate to escape Toro's attention. But the airman was already coming his way. “It's nearly finished. It's just…I've run into a snag…and…”

Signora Ferragutti frowned. “What sort of snag?”

An earsplitting shriek rose from the other side of the mechanipillar. The villagers scrambled as if under attack. Toro and the other airmen on the ground began shouting at one another, searching wildly for the source of the sound. General Maximian leaped from the hovering warship, throwing his wings wide, and landed atop the mechanipillar. Signora Ferragutti wobbled in alarm. Geppetto steadied her before turning to snatch the blanket from Pinocchio.

“Now!” he said.

Pinocchio wanted nothing more than to stay hidden. The voices screaming in panic and the piercing wail of the chimera box scared him. But Geppetto pulled him sharply to his feet. All eyes were, for the moment, on the far side of the mechanipillar. They had a clear run for a gap in the mechanipillar's legs, but it would lead them behind Captain Toro. There was nothing to do but hope he didn't turn around.

Pinocchio stumbled on his new feet, trying to get them to work properly. As they passed Captain Toro, the airman's wings snapped open, the blow knocking Geppetto to the cobblestones. Captain Toro sprang to the top of the mechanipillar.

“Master!” Pinocchio cried.

They had only seconds before someone might notice them. Pinocchio awkwardly tried to help Geppetto up. A trickle of something red ran along Geppetto's temple, and his eyes looked dazed. Pinocchio glanced around. The others were all still startled by the noise.

Grabbing his master tightly around the waist, Pinocchio sprang for an opening between the mechanipillar's massive legs. The seven-league boots fired him straight through, landing him with a skid on his back. Pinocchio found a grip underneath the mechanipillar and held Geppetto to his chest as he kicked his feet up over a metal rod.

“Are you all right, Master?” he asked, settling into his perch and noticing the red liquid on Geppetto's forehead. “I didn't know you had wine inside you.”

Geppetto blinked away the dizziness and swiped a hand to his temple. “That's blood. But I'm fine. Have you got us?”

“I think so.”

“Then stay quiet.”

Pinocchio felt a welling of pride. He had saved his master. But the proud moment vanished as musket fire erupted and the crowd surrounding the mechanipillar yelled in panic.

“Hold your fire!” an airman shouted. At once, the shrieking chimera box went quiet. Pinocchio and Geppetto looked at each other as they listened.

“It's just some alchemied alarm someone threw in the trash. Return to your posts, men.”

The villagers calmed, but there was an anxious edge to their conversations. Captain Toro dropped back down to the street. From under the mechanipillar, Geppetto and Pinocchio could only see his boots pacing back and forth. Another soldier strode up to the captain.

“Should we hold the mechanipillar, General Maximian?” Captain Toro asked.

“No, it seems to have just been an accident,” the general replied, before shouting, “Open the gates!”

The creak of turning gears sounded as the village automa began cranking open the gates.

Geppetto exhaled with relief. Captain Toro followed the general away, when a woman with a clanking cane caught up to him.

“Captain Toro? Was that a chimera box causing that commotion?”

“So it seems,” the captain replied, still walking. “No need to worry, Signora Ferragutti. You can go—”

“I think that might have been mine. Signore Polendina was repairing it, but surely he wouldn't have thrown it into the trash.”

Captain Toro stopped. “Wasn't he here just a moment ago?”

“Right beside me,” she said, “before that commotion broke out. Look, there's his cart.”

“What do we do, Master?” Pinocchio whispered.

Stay quiet
, Geppetto mouthed.

The mechanipillar took its first earthshaking step.

“General Maximian!” Captain Toro called. “Signora Ferragutti here seems to be the owner of the box that was causing all that noise.”

“Then she can explain why she set off that uproar,” the general said, walking along beside the mechanipillar's stomping feet.

Captain Toro hurried to keep up with him. “Sir, you don't understand. The man who was repairing that box was just here and now he's gone.”

“Half the village scattered at that noise, captain.”

“But he might have—”

“I don't have time for an old lady's trinkets, Captain, much less a bumbling frontier patrolman such as yourself second-guessing my orders. The mechanipillar is inspected. We will resume our search of the village before that automa and his traitorous master find a way out. Get to your rounds.”

Pinocchio watched Geppetto's face as the mechanipillar marched through the gates, leaving the village behind.

“Are we safe, Master?” he asked. “Did we escape?”

“We escaped,” Geppetto said, “but we are far from being safe.”

A
n automa has no muscles to tire, so Pinocchio held Geppetto securely underneath the mechanipillar as it stamped along the road. He soon grew bored, however.

“How long do we have to hang here?” Then he added, “Where are we going, anyway? And what happened to Maestro? Is he all right?”

The corner of Geppetto's mouth twitched. “We are going to my wife's villa. We're almost there. Maestro will meet us. He's exceptionally skilled at finding his way. You know, you're quite impatient for an automa.”

Pinocchio thought about that as they continued. Was impatience bad? He decided to stay silent.

Geppetto soon said, “Get ready. When I tell you, let go, but don't roll to the side or you might wind up crushed by the feet.”

The mechanipillar was climbing a steep, winding road, and the sunlight dimmed as they entered a wood.

“Now,” Geppetto ordered.

Pinocchio let go. He landed in the dust. Geppetto grunted as he smacked Pinocchio's hard wooden chest. “Stay still,” Geppetto said.

When the last carriage of the mechanipillar had marched over them, Geppetto said, “Quick, into the trees.”

Pinocchio dashed after Geppetto. His feet did not completely cooperate, causing him to take one half step and another that bounced him sideways. When they were in the woods, Geppetto said, “I'll have to repair your feet properly.”

“Thank you, Master,” Pinocchio said. “That would be…incorrigible.”

Geppetto chuckled. “I'll explain to you later what that word really means.”

The mechanipillar disappeared around a bend. “Come,” he said. “We should go. But listen out! We don't want to encounter any airmen or half-beasts.”

Geppetto led them through the woods. When they reached the edge, Pinocchio gasped at the commanding view of the countryside. Golden-umber hills rose and fell, spiked occasionally by dark cypress trees and dotted with olive groves. He had never seen anything quite so lovely.

Pinocchio spied a dozen or more distant houses spread around the landscape. “Do people live out here?”

“Yes,” Geppetto said, marching with long-legged steps. “Farmers, mostly.”

“Don't they fear the half-beasts?”

“To live out here, one guards his estate with automa. Not little servants like you, but large sentry automa like the ones that protect San Baldovino. Come along.”

Pinocchio stumbled in the seven-league boots but managed to keep up.

“Look at that one!” He pointed down the hill toward an elegant villa surrounded by high stone walls.

“That's where we're headed,” Geppetto said.

“Is that your wife's house?”

Geppetto nodded.

“Why don't you live with her?”

“She was killed,” Geppetto said, his hand reflexively touching a jeweled pin on his shirt. “Along with my son.”

“Oh,” Pinocchio said. “Is that what happened to Don Antonio's automa?”

Geppetto frowned. “I did not kill Otto. Automa cannot die. They only stop functioning.”

“But didn't your wife and son stop functioning when they were killed?”

“It's not the same,” Geppetto said. “My family was once living. Otto was never truly alive.”

As Pinocchio puzzled over this while they walked, he noticed Geppetto watching him. Pinocchio gave him a smile.

Geppetto sighed. “I've never had such a conversation with an automa. I can see this is hard for you to understand, Pinocchio. Whatever Prester John has done to you, it must make you feel like you're alive. But you were constructed, just like Otto and the sentries of those estates out there. No matter how curiously you function, you aren't alive.”

“But what was the potion you made for Don Antonio?” Pinocchio asked, shuffling to keep step with his master. “He said it would give him more life. You made that from Otto's fantom, didn't you?”

Geppetto began chuckling. “You're perceptive, lad. I'll give you that. The fantom is one of alchemy's great discoveries. It can be transmuted into an elixir, and that elixir can extend life for a human.
Extend
, mind you. It cannot create life. Nor can it resurrect the dead or offer immortality. Only Prester John is blessed with eternal youth. A fantom, you see, does not make an automa living, any more than the donkey that pulls the cart makes the cart alive.”

Pinocchio scratched his head. He'd seen his master do this before and liked how it looked. Maybe it would help him think better.

“Let me explain it this way,” Geppetto said. “Alchemy, in its simplest form, is the ability to transform one thing into another. To transmute, as it's called. It all has to do with macrocosmic and microcosmic correspondences and the manipulation of elemental forces—”