A little hand tapped Dorothea’s arm, and she looked down. “He’s nice, isn’t he?”
“Very kind. A true gentleman. We were lucky to meet him, Gen. Let’s hope we have the same luck getting a message to your Mama.”
The child nodded, her mouth full of biscuit.
Unable to resist, Dorothea took one too. And her first bite told her they were homemade, fresh, and mouthwateringly delicious. Another check mark in the approval column. She had to make that connection through his Personal Cog Exchange unit very soon, and then whistle the two of them out of there before he intrigued her any further.
“Tea,” Silas announced, walking in with a tray. “And milk for Milady.” He offered a mug to Gen with a bow, making her giggle.
“We do not want to inconvenience you, Mr Gray.”
“You aren’t, not at all. It has been quite some time since I’ve had the pleasure of company for my tea, so this is most delightful.”
“You are employed around here, then?” Dorothea sipped her tea and watched him over the rim of her mug.
“I work here, Miss Smith. I’m the Forge-Marshal.” He spoke casually, as if that were quite an everyday job.
Dorothea knew better and just managed to stop her jaw from dropping. “You are? Great cogglesworth, if you’d mentioned that earlier, I might have managed a curtsey.”
“Had I known such a treat awaited me, I certainly would have said something.” He chuckled. “It’s been many a moon since I received such a delightful salutation.”
That comment raised a myriad of questions in her mind, but glancing down at Gen finishing up her mug of milk reminded her that more important matters were at hand. Putting down her tea, she looked at him. “The PCE, Mr Gray? We must not trespass on your hospitality too long, and the quicker we get our message out, the sooner Gen will be reunited with her mother...”
“Of course.” He put his cup aside as well. “If you’ll come this way?”
She leaned toward the little girl. “I’m going to see if I can get a message to your Mama, Gen. Will you stay with Thim for a few moments? I don’t want to leave him alone...”
“Yes, Miss Thea.” She smiled as Thim slowly edged closer to her and raised his claw, resting it on her knee. “We’ll sit here. Next to the biscuits.”
“Good girl,” Silas laughed, and turned to Dorothea. “This way?” He pointed through the door as she rose and shook out her skirts.
“I assume that being the Forge Marshal has necessitated the PCE?”
“It has certainly helped,” he replied, leading her down a passageway, past what was obviously the kitchen, a small dining room, and—to her astonishment—a staircase leading upward.
Perhaps she made a small sound or something, because he slowed and looked at her. “Yes, I have an upstairs too. Unusual, I know, but sometimes I have guests.”
“It is indeed a surprise, sir. I have always thought that the Undercroft homes were single floors. After all, excavating further might prove risky, would it not?”
“It depends,” he answered noncommittally. “When properly engineered, the work isn’t too hard.”
She considered his words as he led her into what was clearly a study of some sort. Front and centre was an immense and beautifully carved desk that looked like it had been stolen from some noble’s castle.
“I’ll beg your forgiveness for the rather messy appearance,” he sighed, as he swept papers into a pile. Then he moved the inkwell slightly and revealed a small hidden lever. With a click from the touch of his hand, the centre of the heavy desktop rose upward, making her catch her breath in surprise. And there it was — the PCE device, a gleaming articulated wonder, about the size of a large lantern.
Several polished dials and switches ringed the base, clearly labelled “Region”, “Sector”, “Level” and “Priority”. The speaking horn telescoped from its velvet-lined clamp, and the listening cone curled elegantly toward the user’s ear.
Familiar with the device, although not one quite as beautiful as this, Dorothea adjusted the dials and waited for the connectivity globe on top of the device to glow.
“I’m going to talk to someone in the Region office,” she said to Silas. “That way, I believe we’ll have the best chance of finding alerts from anyone who has put in a missing child notification.”
A slight hiss announced the initiation of the connection, and the globe hummed as it began to emit a soft light. Leaning forward into the communications position, she made a tiny adjustment to the speaking horn and waited for the green light that would signal the system’s operational readiness.
As soon as it did, she spoke clearly, explaining the situation and asking for a survey of all recent alerts. To her immense delight, she found what she sought within less than five minutes. A report of a lost child on the third level, matching Gen’s description perfectly, and filed less than two hours before.
The reply and confirmation were sent, and a short time later Dorothea leaned back with a huge sigh, all the arrangements concluded for Gen’s mother to come and collect her daughter in the morning.
As the conversation ended, the customary conditions and requests were made, all routine for Dorothea, who had handled such matters for her family. Without thinking, she pulled out her steampass, ready to slot it into the PCE and pay for the communication.
