All Men of Genius

XLI.



VIOLET was stunned by the Crystal Palace. She had seen it in pictures, of course, but to have it looming over her, like a sky of diamond, and to be in it as it was filled with people, fountains, trees, flowers, exhibits, and a faint, indescribable perfume like rosewater, incense, and ice. And to have her invention here among it all! It was enough to make the mechanics of her body stop, and to pause the machinery of her soul.

The Palace was crowded, and the booths were set up and ready. Each booth had not just the invention or demonstration, but also papers explaining the science behind the invention. Violet had a carefully executed, oversized drawing of the engine within her machine, and a large sign directing them to Cecily’s booth across the hall to find out about the materials. Each booth shined in its own particular way.

Merriman had cages set up, each with plants growing inside to demonstrate his theories on using the celestial realm as additional farmland, and the possibility of growing plants on other planets. He had even worked up a model of a small farm on the moon. Lane had a series of vials of what looked like water, and many large graphs explaining the effectiveness of his anti-anxiety elixir. Jack’s booth chattered and chirped as the bird and ferret examined each other from their white cages. Toby’s booth had not just vials of his tonic, the chemicals he had used to create it, and explanations of the science behind it, but many barrels of ale and some glasses as well, so that those interested could test his potion. At Drew’s booth, Fiona stood as the centerpiece, done up in a long black evening gown, each arm extended, one slick with her own sweat, one kept dry. She would pose with her head slightly back and to the side, as if smelling her arms, and she had managed to take all her hair and put it up in a column of curls, her few stray grays rising like stripes from her temples. Drew would dab a bit of his perfume on each of her arms, and the onlookers would then smell each arm to see the difference in the scents’ intensities. For effect, Fiona tossed her head back and moaned slightly when they did so.

This was as far as Violet could see, and she had not yet had time to wander, for since setting up, she had not had a lull in onlookers. Most seemed to be men of science, who asked her questions about the engine. A few asked her why she had chosen to make her device in the form a woman, to which she replied, “Women can do more than dance, gentlemen,” which produced a few chuckles. She was pleased—people seemed to be impressed with her engine, and Professor Forney, just before he left to go back to America, had slapped her on the back and told her that if she ever came across the pond he would hire her in a heartbeat. It was late morning when a familiar voice from the crowd asked, “Are there any other brilliant members of your family?”

Violet raised an eyebrow. “Just my father,” she said to the scowling Ashton as he stepped out of the crowd. The other scientists looked at them and wandered off, sensing a personal moment, which as scientists they knew was bound to be messy.

Ashton gave his sister a hug and then stepped back to admire Pallas.

“My,” he said softly, “that’s quite splendid. But don’t you worry that when you step out of her in a dress, that standing next to her, woman next to woman, and ready for comparison, that you’ll end up being the ugly one?”

“A risk I’m quite willing to take. She may be more lovely, but I am less likely to crush a man. Slightly less likely.”

Ashton laughed and stared at Pallas awhile longer. “Listen,” he said after a moment. “I’ve something to tell you.”

“Yes?”

“Father will be here.”

“What?” Violet asked. She felt her back tense, and a light ringing began in her ears.

“He apparently missed us terribly, and has seen quite enough of America, so instead of seeing the southern territories, he’s come home to spend the summer with us. He says he’ll go back to the conference in September. And, because he misses us, he thought he could take us to the Illyria Science Faire. A note came by messenger this morning.”

“What time will he be here?” Violet asked. Her pulse was rising and she could feel sweat trickling from her brow.

“Just before teatime, I believe.”

“Oh, that’s all right, then,” Violet said. Ashton looked at her curiously. “The Queen will be surveying the faire just after dinner, or so we were told. The duke will personally be escorting her to each booth, and we are to save our best presentation for that time. Father will arrive after that, so by then all the drama will be over with.”

“You’re really going to reveal yourself in front of the Queen?”

“Can you think of a more understanding person to present myself to?”

Ashton cocked his head and then nodded his assent. “Fair enough. Just after dinner?”

“That’s when it begins.”

“I’ll be back for it, then. I should go check on Antony, though. I left him by Toby’s table, and I’m not sure what that could result in. I’m not a scientist.” Violet grinned. “Oh,” Ashton said as he walked away, “one more thing—did you see the duke’s exhibit? At the other end of the hall?” Violet shook her head. “You should make it a point to see it before you go,” Ashton said with a grin, and then walked off into the ever-thickening crowd.

By midmorning there were plenty of non-scientists exploring the faire, a great many of them governesses or mothers with children. Several little girls came up to Violet’s booth and stared wonderingly up at Pallas, which made Violet grin, but when she knelt down to ask them if they wanted to see it work, they scurried back to their caretakers.

“Does it dance?” asked a man staring up at Pallas. “It’s awful big to go about dancin’.”

“No,” Violet said, “she doesn’t dance. She works. She can move in all directions and her hands can lift up to the weight of a horse, each.”

“So she doesn’t dance?” the man asked. Violet shook her head. The man shrugged and walked off. Violet frowned after him.

“Can I see it work?” came a small voice from below her. Violet looked down to see one of the little girls who had fled earlier. A woman in a severe navy dress stood a few feet away, looking on warily.

“Of course,” Violet said, and gave a demonstration of Pallas lifting one of the chairs. The little girl clapped as Violet stepped out of Pallas again.

“How did you build it?” the little girl asked.

“It took a lot of hard work,” Violet said. “I had to figure out which parts go where and how to make them. I bet when you’re older, though, you can make something even better.”

The little girl put her thumb in her mouth and shook her head, looking down, then giggled.

“Sara,” the little girl called to the woman in blue, “this lady says when I grow up, I can be an inventor like her!”

“That’s a young man, Carlotta,” Sara said in an even American accent. Carlotta turned back to Violet, a confused look on her face. Violet knelt down so only Carlotta could see her, put a finger over her own lips, and winked. Carlotta giggled again and ran back to Sara, who took her hand and led her to the next booth.

Violet was so busy demonstrating Pallas’s abilities and answering questions that she didn’t have a spare moment to see the duke’s booth. The Crystal Palace was quite full until lunch, when the crowd began to taper off. When she could see through the crowd again, she cast glances at her friends’ booths: Toby seemed to be out of ale, and quite upset about it; and Fiona’s hair had begun to topple, probably due to her constant sneezing; but otherwise, everyone looked happy, proud, and tired. Violet waved at Jack, who shot her a grin. Which is when she saw the large crowd at the other end of the hall. It was flanked by guards and people in particularly fine dress, and moved deliberately, stopping at each booth; this was surely the Queen and her entourage.

Violet swallowed. Her palms were sweating—would they be too slippery to operate the controls, or put on the dress she had hidden inside Pallas? And what about her hair? Fiona had shown her how to quickly put her hair up with a false bun, and she had practiced until she could do it in under half a minute, but she hadn’t practiced with sweaty palms. Could the duke love her with short hair? She glanced over at Toby’s table. He was definitely out of ale. Everyone was staring at the Queen’s entourage now, as it came down the Great Hall of the palace. All the commoners had been cleared out, and the nobility and scientists flocked around the Queen, wanting to catch a glimpse of her, or see the demonstrations in her honor.

Time passed slowly. She looked at each booth after the entourage had passed. Each time, the student looked as though he had been stampeded by the nobility, not merely interrogated. When Toby’s turn was over, he was red faced and nervous looking, and when they were done with Drew’s exhibit, Fiona was fanning Drew, who had apparently fainted into her arms. Remarkably, Merriman seemed unscathed and happy when they were done with him, but Violet had little time to examine him, for they were upon her next.

The Queen was not a tall woman, nor were her looks terribly imposing. She more resembled someone’s loving grandmother than the ruler of all the Empire. Plump, with her crown resting over wispy white hair, she had gentle eyes that gazed at Violet expectantly. She had a large open fan that she waved at her face occasionally. Around her stood her various advisors, and some members of Parliament. And the duke, who had apparently been speaking the entire time that Violet had been staring at the Queen.

“Mr. Adams?” the duke prompted.

“Yes,” Violet said. “Sorry. Your Majesty. Sorry, Your Majesty.” Violet spoke in clunky bricks. A few of the nobles chuckled, but the Queen smiled reassuringly.

“Take your time, dear,” she said, “and don’t be nervous. We just want to see what your great contraption can do. It is lovely, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” said one of the advisors. “It resembles Her Highness, if I may be so bold.”

The Queen giggled and shot the advisor a look. “You ought not lie to the Queen.”

“What does it do?” asked a rather gruff-looking man next to the Queen.

“Let him explain, Mr. Gladstone,” the Queen said, and they all turned to Violet, who swallowed.

“I call her Pallas,” Violet said, clearing her throat and speaking in as manly a voice as she could muster. “She is piloted by one person, and easy to learn. She can turn in any direction, move as fast as a horse at a steady trot, and is capable of lifting up to the weight of a large stallion in each hand. Furthermore, she runs on a spring engine of my own design, which recycles its own energy, so that just a few turns of the key can keep her running for several days. The material I used to build the engine was invented by Miss Cecily Worthing, and is extremely durable, so it does not wear down or lose its energy.” Violet pointed at the sketch of the engine. “Here is the design, should Your Highness care to examine it.” Violet bowed her head, unsure of the proper behavior. A few of the men in the group stepped forward to examine the engine. The Queen did not.

“Would Your Majesty care for a demonstration?” Violet asked after a minute.

“It would please us greatly,” the Queen said.

Trembling, Violet opened Pallas—which caused a few gasps among the nobles—and climbed in, then she shut the door behind her, immediately took off her jacket, opened her shirt at the back, and began piloting Pallas. Timing was crucial. First, she demonstrated how Pallas could rotate full circle and move in any direction. When her window was facing away from the crowd, she took the opportunity to slip the dress on. While they could only see her face, they probably would have noticed her fussing about with a dress. Then, as she continued to pilot Pallas, she slipped her pants off, tangling them for a moment in the pedals at her feet. She breathed in deeply, untangled her feet, and in one deft motion plunged them into her waiting shoes. Next, her hands free again, she lifted two large stone slabs she had had brought to the Crystal Palace, one in each hand, and had the hands move around in all possible directions. She bent her head down and quickly put her hair up in the bun Fiona had showed her, loose, with some hair still hanging from the front of her face. Suddenly, there was a deafening crash. Violet panicked. Had she just dropped one of the stones? Had she dropped it on the Queen? She would be hanged. She pressed her face to the glass and looked out at the palace.

Everyone had turned to one of the walls, which had just been shattered by the small army of a skeletal automata that stormed the crowd. With vicious ease, they knocked people and tables to the ground, a wave of metal. People began to scream and flee from the army, but many were cut down, blood staining the glass walls of the palace in horrid violent streaks. And in the distance, Violet could see Volio, following his automata in, looking on proudly as the chaos grew and poured outward, taking over the entire palace. He looked around the room, and his eyes focused on something as a sneer crept onto his face. Then he hit a strange instrument around his neck, and the automata changed direction and headed for the other end of the palace. Quickly, the Queen’s guard whisked her away from the battle. The duke ran through them, toward the automata, shouting, and the remaining soldiers from the Queen’s entourage joined him, firing their rifles with quick sudden blasts of noise and smoke. Violet piloted Pallas forward into the fray.

* * *



FROM the ground, it was more difficult to see what was going on. All Jack knew was that seemingly hundreds of automata, all clearly from the basement, had attacked the faire en masse, and his first thoughts were of Cecily.

Her booth was at the other end of the Crystal Palace. Around him, soldier and automaton fought, guns and swords and metal talons clanging together. Jack was unarmed and had no way of getting through the wall of war in front of him. He ran quickly from booth to booth, dodging claws and sabers. By the time he made it to Toby’s booth, he had a gash in the back of his leg.

Toby’s booth was overturned, and Toby was kneeling behind it, using it as a shield. Ashton knelt beside him.

“Exciting, isn’t it?” Toby asked.

“Exciting is an excellent performance of a play, or a good book. This is merely life threatening,” Ashton said.

“Have you seen Drew?” Toby asked.

“Last I saw, he had fainted at his own booth.”

“Well, if you see him, tell him to come this way,” Toby said. “I have an idea, but I could use his help.”

There was a loud bang and a popping noise as a bullet flew through the wall of the booth, leaving a hole by Ashton’s head.

“I’m heading to the other end of the faire,” Jack said. “I’ve got to check on Cecily.”

“Good luck, mate,” Toby said, clapping Jack on the back. “And it’s been fine knowing you, if we don’t make it out of this one.”

“Don’t be morbid,” Ashton said. “I’m going with you, Jack. I can’t just sit here.”

“Okay,” Jack said, peeking out from around the corner of the booth. “Drew’s booth is over there. I’m going to make a dash for it.”

“I’ll be right behind you,” Ashton said. Jack took one more look to see that it was relatively clear, and ran for Drew’s booth, the pain in his leg throbbing.

* * *



ALL around Violet, automata fought with soldiers, metal talons fencing with dress sabers, but the soldiers seemed to be losing. Blood splattered on Pallas’s window as a nearby soldier’s heart was torn out and then crushed. Violet had never seen such violence, and she felt a little dizzy from it. The high-pitched scream of metal on metal vibrated through Pallas as another automata threw itself at her. She plucked it off and threw it across the Crystal Palace. But this barely made a dent in the oncoming mechanical forces. Nearby, she saw the duke leading a charge of soldiers against a cluster of automata that had surrounded some civilians. She wanted to go help them, and to make sure the duke was all right, but she turned her head away and piloted Pallas forward, deeper into the fight, determined to get to the heart of the attack, to Volio.

* * *



HERBERT Bunburry knew that if his doctors realized he had left the hospital early for the Science Faire, they would probably disapprove, especially now that it had turned into a battlefield. He couldn’t move very quickly, but he was doing his best to avoid the automata as he walked down the stairs from one of the upper levels. His concern was for Jess, his shopgirl, whom he had brought with him to see the faire, but who had gone to use one of the water closets in the retiring rooms moments before the attack started.

He made his way down the stairs and headed for the retiring rooms, but was set upon almost immediately by a skeletal automaton. It came at him with one outstretched arm and a vicious talon. Almost without thinking about it, Bunburry raised the metal part of his arm to meet the talon with a clang. He felt the vibrations from the impact, but no pain. The automaton stopped dead in its tracks a moment, giving Bunburry time to grab it around the neck and pull it to the ground, where he stomped on it with his metal foot before moving forward.

“Professor!” cried Merriman, running up to him from a corner. “It’s horrible, Professor. I don’t know where they came from!”

“Neither do I,” Bunburry hacked out. “I’m trying to go to the retiring rooms. Will you help? Tell me if any of the things are coming at me from the sides—I think I can deal with them.”

“Certainly,” Merriman said, but he looked frightened, and his eyes were wet. Bunburry set his jaw and walked forward as fast as he could as the battle raged around him.

* * *



VIOLET saw Volio’s head look up at Pallas charging forward. He had captured Cecily somewhere along the line—Violet didn’t know how, but she looked angry and terrified, and was trying to push him away. He made a gesture that caused a pack of the metal monsters to break off and throw themselves at Violet. She heard a horrible screech as their claws tore through Pallas’s shell. A claw opened up Violet’s inner sanctum to the smoke outside, and cut at the sleeve of her dress. She heard another screech and felt a sharp pain in her leg, and looked down to see another claw coming through the floor. There were too many of them, and they were all over Pallas, cutting her to shreds. Soon, Pallas would fall, and Violet would fall with her. She had come so far—was so close to completing her plan, to revealing herself, to claiming her place as a great mind—and now she would die, just seconds short of her goal. Her leg ached, and tears ran down her face. This is not how she had wanted to end the year, or her life.

* * *



JACK and Ashton made it unscathed to Drew’s booth, only to find him still passed out and in Fiona’s lap, as she frantically fanned him with a paper fan. Her hair was a mess around her shoulders—the Saint Paul’s Stand-on-End never held up under stressful circumstances—and her brow furrowed with concern. “’E came to when the commotion started,” she said, “but when ’e saw what was ’appenin’ ’e fainted dead away again.”

“Drew!” Jack shouted, taking his friend’s face in his hands. Drew didn’t stir. “Drew, wake up, we need your help!” he shouted, and then slapped Drew lightly on the face.

Drew opened his eyes. “The basement is attacking,” he said, looking frightened.

“Toby is back by his booth, and he says he needs your help,” Jack said.

“With what?” Drew asked.

“I think he’s planning a counterattack,” Ashton said. “He was organizing his chemicals.”

“Yes,” Drew said, nodding, “I can help.”

“Aye,” Fiona said. “Go help Toby, love. We’ll make it outta this alive.” She pulled Drew to her and kissed him passionately on the mouth. Ashton and Jack politely looked away.

“Yes!” Drew said, sitting up into a crouch. “I’ll head over and help Toby. Fiona, will you be all right here?”

“I’m trying to get to Cecily’s booth, so I can’t stay,” Jack said.

“I’m going with Jack,” Ashton said.

Fiona bit her lower lip and looked around at the bottles of perfume oils that had fallen around her when she pulled the booth down to use as a shield.

“Drew, are these oils flammable?” she asked.

“Very,” he said.

“Oh, aye, then” she said, removing a box of matches from her bosom. “I’ll be fine, then.”

* * *



A LOUD explosion rattled the floor below Pallas, and Violet looked out to see Fiona throwing firebombs out into the crowd of automata. One of the creatures flew back, and its arm shattered with a loud clang. Smoke started to fill the air, along with the smell of burnt flowers.

Violet remembered Volio in the lab, working on the arms. She remembered the odd noise in the elbow joint, and how he had ignored her. She reached out Pallas’s arms toward the nearest automaton, grabbed it by the elbow, and snapped it back. The elbow broke off like a twig, and the creature flailed with its now-impotent arm. Violet smiled. Her dress was ruined, her hair a mess, and her leg bleeding, but she knew the creatures’ weakness now.

“Aim for the elbows!” she shouted, hoping someone could hear her, and began piloting Pallas to grab each of the creatures by their arms and snap their elbows back violently. A short distance away, Drew and Toby began throwing small vials, which caused the automata to fizz and melt when they hit them. Soldiers who heard Violet’s cry repeated it, and began pushing back the creatures’ elbows. Clawed talons began flying off all around; Volio’s army began to shrink.

Violet set her jaw and headed toward Volio.

* * *



JACK and Ashton had finally made it to Cecily’s booth, but Cecily was nowhere to be found. Her booth showed no signs of struggle, and the various objects made with her clay—plates, wrenches, a birdcage—were still laid out for display. Professor Curio was crouched under the booth, hugging his knees to his chest.

“Professor!” Jack cried, and Curio looked up. His eyes had a strange appearance to them, the pupils tiny as pinheads, the color of both eyes having changed from one blue and one green to both orange.

“Can’t talk,” Curio said, as if forcing the words out. “Trying not to lose control.”

“Where’s Cecily?” Jack pleaded, but Curio didn’t respond.

“Look out!” Ashton shouted as an automaton came charging toward them. Without thinking, Jack grabbed one of the plates from Cecily’s display and raised it in front of him, like a shield. The creature’s claw plunged toward the plate, and then bounced back, deflected. Jack and Ashton exchanged a look before Ashton rushed forward, grabbed the birdcage, and swung it at the automaton’s head. The automaton stumbled, but didn’t fall. Jack grabbed the wrench off the table and hit the automaton again in the head, as hard as he could. It collapsed to the ground.

“Seems we’re armed, then,” Jack said.

“I assure you, ’tis against my will,” Ashton said.

“We have to find Cecily,” Jack said.

“We’ll cuff them soundly,” Ashton said, gripping the birdcage, “and never draw a sword.” Jack nodded, but looked back at Professor Curio, who was crouched and shaking under the table, like a powder keg ready to explode.

* * *



A CLUSTER of automata had formed a circle around Volio and Cecily, whom Volio held firmly at the waist. He had one hand on the odd device around his neck, the other holding a knife to Cecily’s throat. Violet slowed Pallas as she approached them. Volio looked up at her machine and grinned. The duke and several soldiers were attempting to fight the automata, but they soon backed away or were knocked to the ground by the machines’ claws. Volio seemed to be looking for something, but was distracted by Cecily’s struggling to get away. Then his wall of mechanical men parted and he dragged something from the shadows. Violet felt a shiver as she saw Volio’s smile.

* * *



FIONA’s perfume bottles had made lovely, fragrant firebombs, but now she’d run out, and the horrible metal skeletons were still charging at her. Frantically, she looked in her purse: some more costume jewelry, some money, hairpins, spare bloomers, and one of Mrs. Wilks’s oscillation therapy devices, which she kept on her because she never knew when the opportunity to make a sale would arise.

If the metal skeletons had eyes, Fiona would be able to look right into them. She swallowed. Her life was over, she thought. They were nearly upon her. She’d never gotten to be a famous actress, but at least she’d had some happiness with Drew at the end.

The first of the skeletons in the charge came at her, claws outstretched. Fiona tried to kick it away. It cut deep into her shin, a sharp, cold pain, but stumbled backwards. She screamed and fell, landing next to her bag again. The creature straightened itself and charged forward again, hungry for more blood. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled out Mrs. Wilks’s oscillation therapy device and thrust it at the creature, pushing the tip of it against its metal chest. The skeleton stopped dead in its tracks, the sound of Mrs. Wilks’s device vibrating against it very loud in Fiona’s ears.

“They work off vibrations,” said a man with a metal neck who was suddenly coming toward her.

“Are ye their leader?” Fiona asked, scared.

The man coughed. “What?”

A younger, short man appeared from behind him. “This is Professor Bunburry. I’m Humphrey,” the younger man said.

“Don’t take that device off the automaton,” Bunburry said, “the vibrations are what’s stopping it from moving.”

Fiona swallowed and tried to sit up, keeping the device pressed against the skeleton, while also keeping an eye on the metal man, a professor. All scientists were mad.

“Let me fix your leg,” Humphrey said, tearing part of his sleeve off and wrapping it tight around Fiona’s shin.

“Thankee,” she said. Her arm was growing tired from extending Mrs. Wilks’s device against the machine.

“You might be able to control the automaton with that thing,” Bunburry said. “Depending on where you put it.” Humphrey helped her stand as she kept Mrs. Wilks’s device on the automaton, and indeed, as her hand raised, moving the device, the automaton began to behave differently. First one arm swung out, causing Humphrey to duck out of the way—and then the other, and then the legs. After a few minutes, Fiona felt she could control it like a puppet.

“We’re heading for the retiring rooms, my dear,” Bunburry said, and then coughed. “Care to escort us?”

Fiona grinned, and piloted her new pet skeleton forward, using it like a weapon, slashing at other automata with jerky movements. She felt herself laughing a little. Was this what scientists felt? She had her puppet strike down another of its own kind with a quick movement. The metal man—whose name Fiona had already forgotten—took out another.

It didn’t take long for them to get to the retiring rooms. The metal man nodded at her, took her puppet, and smashed it to the ground before they went inside. Fiona glanced around quickly. Where was Drew?

* * *



WITH the sound of metal breaking wood, one of the automata rushed the table Drew and Toby had erected as a defense. Its claw splintered a hole in the table and reached out for Drew’s throat. He stumbled back, knocking over several bottles of chemicals. And there weren’t many left.

“We can’t stay here anymore,” Drew said, pouring some acid on the searching claw. It bubbled and hissed before melting away.

Toby glanced around. A short ways behind them were the retiring rooms, where it looked as though a group of soldiers had set up. They stood around them, rifles pointed outward, fending off any incoming automata.

“Let’s see if they don’t mind protecting a few loyal citizens,” Toby said, pointing a thumb at the soldiers. Drew nodded and grabbed the remaining chemicals before heading toward the retiring rooms. They weren’t really rooms—more like tents, with long draperies as doorways, and chairs and water closets within. The automata were coming on fiercely now, and Drew’s shoulder was clawed by one as they ran forward. Toby managed to smash a vial on its head before it could do further damage. Someone had called for reinforcements, so more soldiers had filled the palace, firing into the wall of metal warriors. Drew tripped over a headless corpse of a civilian as they ran, and Toby helped him up, praying it wasn’t anybody they knew.

Inside the retiring rooms, it was calmer. Many had sought refuge here, and there were sounds of sobbing and cries of pain. Valentine was tending to the wounded. Bracknell was hunched in a corner, covering his head, his pants and face wet.

“Fiona!” Drew shouted. She was lying on the floor as Valentine sewed up a gash in her leg. He ran over to her and hugged her tightly, then kissed her on the mouth. Valentine looked up, then nodded approvingly.

“I’m all right, love,” Fiona said with a weak smile. “The metal man saved me. An’ fer a while, I got to pilot one of the skeletons.”

“Metal man?” Drew asked, looking around. He caught sight of Bunburry in a tight embrace with a redheaded girl.

“Professors!” Toby shouted. He had been peeking his head out the curtain into the main pavilion. “I think we’d better blockade this entrance, if we can.” Bunburry and Valentine nodded. There was a scramble as people began pulling up the chairs and piling them by the entrance.

“Is Miriam here?” Toby asked, looking around. No one answered.

* * *



VIOLET watched in horror as an automaton dragged a struggling Miriam out of the shadows and into Volio’s circle. A few men tried to stop them, but were thrown aside. Cecily screamed again as they dragged Miriam toward Volio, but Volio slapped her, and she fell to her knees. Satisfied, Volio approached Miriam, who was struggling against the clutches of two automata. Volio said something to Miriam which Violet couldn’t hear, and Miriam spit in his face.

Violet wasn’t entirely sure what she was going to do, but she called out to clear the way in front of her, and the crowd parted. She faced the line of automata, narrowed her eyes, and, with Pallas’s hand, began grabbing the automata, snapping their arms, and throwing them to the ground.

Volio looked up at the sound and drew his face into a sneer. Again he struck the device, and the automata stormed toward Pallas. In a wave they leapt at her, and knocked Pallas to the ground, toppling her like a turtle on its back. Violet felt the back of her head hit Pallas’s wall with a crack, and her vision blurred, then faded to darkness.

* * *



JACK had just knocked another of the machines down with a solid swat from his wrench when Curio burst out from under the table, a changed man. He was somehow larger, his muscles bulged, and his eyes bugged out of his face. Jack swallowed, unsure of what was happening. Curio leapt forward, grabbed the heads of two of the mechanical men, and smashed them together with inhuman force.

“Is that a mate of yours?” Ashton asked, catching the outstretched claw of another automaton in the birdcage and then twisting it so the arm popped off.

“A professor,” Jack said.

“An excellent example of why I don’t feel a need to attend school,” Ashton said. Jack raised the plate to block an incoming blow from another automaton, then smashed it on the head with the wrench. Curio bounded forward into the fray, clearing a path of fallen machines.

“Let’s follow,” Jack said. “Cecily must be nearby.”

“You’re mad,” Ashton said with a sigh, and followed Jack forward.

Curio bounded like an animal before them, heading toward a great crowd at the middle of the palace, leaving a trail of oil and smashed metal in his wake. They were nearly at the crowd when Curio suddenly stopped charging, spun around, and fell to the ground, insensible.

“Damn,” swore Ashton.

“Professor,” Jack said, kneeling down to look at Curio, “are you all right?” Curio didn’t respond. Jack checked his pulse. “He’s alive, at least.”

Ashton fended off a charging automaton with his birdcage. “Well, we can’t just stand here,” Ashton said. “Can you drag him?”

Curio had shrunk back down to regular size while they talked. Jack nodded. Spotting another overturned booth, Ashton led the way through battling soldiers and automata as Jack dragged Curio behind them.

“Good,” Ashton said when they were kneeling behind the overturned booth, “I’ll look after him. Go see to your girl. I’d head for that crowd if I were you.”

“Thanks,” Jack said with a nod, and clutched his wrench tightly. He ran out into the crowd, knocking down any machines that came near him with a sound blow. Just as he got to the crowd, there was a loud clanging, and he saw Violet’s machine, Pallas, charge into a wall of automata. They toppled her, covering her like a swarm of wasps. Before he had time to worry for her, though, he spotted Cecily. Volio was clutching her around the waist, a knife to her throat.

* * *



VIOLET blinked open her eyes and shoved the pain away. The automata were weighing down Pallas like a sheet of lead, but she knew Pallas could handle it. Violet had built her, after all. She pulled on a lever and stomped down on both pedals with all her strength. Carefully, using her damaged arms, Pallas pushed back up from the ground. A few of the automata fell from her sides, and the others she plucked off her and smashed into one another. Then, with frightening speed, she drove herself toward Volio. Volio hissed at her and began to run, but he wasn’t fast enough. Violet reached out with Pallas’s arm and picked him up. He squirmed, but Pallas’s giant hand held him tight. She brought him close to the bloodstained window.

“Call them off!” Violet screamed. “Call them off or I’ll smash your head to the ground, Volio!” Volio hissed at her again, struggling in Pallas’s grip, his eyes wide with madness. There was no reasoning with him. “Cecily!” Violet shouted. The automata had broken formation and were running throughout the palace and destroying everything in sight. The sound of shattering glass was everywhere, and chemicals from various exhibits had mixed on the floor and were smoking. People screamed, trying to get away, unsure of what was happening.

“Violet?” Cecily called. “Is that you?”

Violet didn’t have time to worry about using the wrong voice, or being recognized. She kept a firm grip on Volio but lowered him within reach of Cecily. “There’s something around his neck,” Violet shouted. “It controls the automata. Take it and stop them.”

Cecily nodded and grabbed the device, snapping it off Volio’s neck. Volio hissed at her, and Cecily slapped him in return. Cecily stared a moment at the device before hitting it once. The automata stopped what they were doing and charged toward Cecily. Frightened, she hit it again, but they only came faster. She tried hitting it in a different place, and suddenly they slowed down and formed a line in front of her, as if awaiting instructions. Satisfied that the automata were under control, Cecily ran to Miriam, who lay on the ground faceup, a long bloody line down her cheek.

The rest of the palace was slowly coming under control. Violet could hear the duke shouting orders for cleanup and gathering the wounded, and a small circle had formed around Pallas, applauding. A group of soldiers ran forward and took Volio from Pallas’s grasp. He was dazed and angry looking as they put the irons on him and led him out of the palace. Violet lay back in her chair. Tears were streaming down her face, and she didn’t know why. She shook her head back and forth and wiped her face dry.

“Ashton!” the duke called. “Ashton, come out! You’ve quite saved the day.”

Violet shivered, pulled her hair back, and then put it up again. She straightened out her dress and tightened it. The dress was torn, her leg bleeding, and she could only imagine what a fright she looked. She had wanted to be beautiful for Ernest. She let out a deep breath and opened Pallas, then limped down the steps into the crowd.

“Violet?” said the duke, confused.

“Yes,” Violet said, looking down. She blinked and looked back up at him.

“Where’s Ashton?”

“I am Ashton,” Violet said. Everyone around them had gone quiet as they looked on. “The true Ashton, you’ve met as my cousin. The man whom you have called Ashton, and has been your student, has been me the entire time—disguised.” Violet looked down as she declared this, and pushed a loose hair behind her ear. She raised her eyes back up to Ernest, who stared at her, openmouthed. He put his hand to his lips.

“I wanted so badly to go to Illyria,” Violet said, her breath becoming ragged, “but you wouldn’t accept me, wouldn’t even have considered my application.…” The way he was looking at her was unbearable. Violet didn’t know what to do or say, just wanted him to say something. Anything.

There was movement in the crowd. They stared at her, unsure of what to say or do, but then Cecily stepped forward, her hands clutching her skirts in tight bunches. Her face and eyes were red, and as she stared at Violet, tears started to run slowly down her face. “From the moment I first saw you I distrusted you,” she said, her voice shaking. “I felt that you were false and deceitful.” Cecily held her chin high, but she looked defeated.

“Cecily,” Violet said softly, “I’m sorry.” Cecily looked at her a moment longer, then walked away. Everyone else stared at Violet in silence.

“Has it been you, writing those letters to me?” the duke asked.

“Yes,” Violet said.

The duke nodded, looking somewhere above and behind Violet. She tried to meet his eyes, but he wouldn’t look at her. She tried to read his emotions in his body, but all she could see was shock. She opened her mouth to say something, maybe to apologize, or beg, but before she could think of what words to use, he turned away from her, as though he had just realized he was going the wrong direction on the street, and walked away.

“Well,” said the Queen, who was watching from the side, her soldiers having escorted her out from wherever they had barricaded her, “this has been almost as exciting as the faire with the explosion that sent that irritating earl across the room.” The Queen fanned herself idly and looked at Violet expectantly.

“I’m so sorry, Your Majesty,” Violet said, “for everything I’ve done.”

“My dear girl,” the Queen said, “you’ve saved the day. Nothing to be sorry about. And your machine is quite remarkable, certainly proving you worthy of Illyria.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” Violet said. She felt her eyes begin to water.

“Oh dear,” said the Queen. “You musn’t cry, Violet. People will think you’re just a girl.”

Violet looked up at the Queen, who was smiling in a motherly way at her. She wiped the tears from her face, but they kept coming.

“Violet?” came a voice through the crowd. “Violet, my God, what’s happened?” Her father emerged from the crowd, looking tan and panicked. “Violet!” he said when he saw her, and ran to hug her. Violet clung to his chest and cried there for a long while as he stroked her hair. When she looked up again, most of the people around her were gone. Her father looked down at her. “That was a very stupid thing you did,” he said. “When I heard the fighting, I ran over, but you were fending off those things like a hero in armor. I knew it was you, because the face on that thing—” He motioned toward Pallas. “It looks just like your mother. But it was still a very stupid thing.”

“I’m sorry,” Violet said.

“We’ll talk about it later. I’m just so happy you’re safe,” he said, his voice cracking with tears. “It’s a good thing they liked me in America. We can move there.”

“I thought there was something funny about you,” came Toby’s voice from behind them. Violet turned. Ashton walked alongside Toby, who supported a limping Miriam, and Drew and Fiona were a short ways behind them. Fiona’s hair had come completely undone.

“Are you all right?” Violet asked Miriam.

“Fine,” Miriam said, nodding. “A sprained ankle, a cut on my cheek, a few bruises. How are you?”

“I’m fine, too,” Violet said, looking down at herself.

“I wasn’t asking after cuts,” Miriam said.

“I’m sorry I lied to all of you,” Violet said.

“Eh,” Toby said, waving her off. “You’re still a mate in my book, right, Drew?”

“Fiona told me she was a woman ages ago,” Drew said. “Doesn’t matter to me.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” Toby asked, turning on him.

“She told me not to,” Drew said.

“I can’t believe it,” Toby said. “Not telling me.” He crossed his arms and frowned. Drew ran forward to embrace him in apology. Fiona sighed and rolled her eyes behind them.

“Where’s Jack?” Violet asked.

“He ran off,” Ashton said. “Said he had an errand to run.”

“Oh,” Violet said.

“There’s something you should see,” Ashton said, and took his sister’s hand. Confused, Violet followed him to a wrecked table on one side of the room. There was a smashed bronze shape on top of it, and below that, a dented plaque that read



A MODEL OF A CRAFT BUILT FOR TRAVELING THE STARS, PRESENTED BY THE DUKE OF ILLYRIA AND MISS VIOLET ADAMS



Violet gasped, and felt a sob pull its way out of her chest.

“You didn’t need to dress as a man to prove anything, it turns out,” Ashton said. “You proved it all just by writing to him.”

Violet felt herself fall to her knees before the plaque, her brother still holding her hand.

“He must love you, Violet,” Ashton said.

“Not anymore,” Violet said, trembling. Not anymore. She fell into an ocean of her own tears, and then into darkness.