A gentle tiktok heralded Thim’s awakening, and it scurried over to Gen with what could only be called affection. It stoodnext to her, and she absently reached down to take the claw it extended.
Lyra’s eyes met his — emerald seas, beautiful, and filled with emotions he couldn’t begin to name.
That, thought Hiram later, was the exact moment his heart stopped, then started up again in a completely different and wonderfully unexpected rhythm.
Chapter Eleven
Dorothea knew it was growing late. The noise in the Forge had lessened considerably, which meant that the day shift had probably left already.
Many of the Forge’s functions could run unattended, needing supervision only when changes or additions were required. So while the previous hours had rung with the furious sounds of fire and creation, now that violent song had softened to a murmur, punctuated now and then by a quick crackle or pop.
She was tired, dirty, a little sore from bending so much, and definitely hungry. But all of those things were inconsequential beside what she had accomplished.
She’d penetrated the secrets of the Mistletoe machine.
Through diligence, sweat, a careless disregard for the state of her hands or clothing, and sheer cussedness, she was now looking at the guts, revealed when the interior access panel finally dropped away and revealed its secrets.
“All right,” she murmured. “Show me where it hurts.”
She shifted a couple of levers and interlocked a gear and cog.
Nothing. Still, that was superficial anyway.
So her gaze moved past the obvious—all the other gears, the belts, the housings—and sought what most men never looked for: the shy little mechanisms that decided whether this magnificent wonder lived or died.
And...there...
A small brass finger-like extension, no longer than her smallest nail, sat a fraction out of true.
She grabbed her magnifying lens and turned herself almost upside down to examine it, to see what was going on with it.Luckily, the light was still good and, holding her breath, she moved the glass over every tiny component.
At last—on its hinge—so slight it was nearly invisible, was a sheen of glaze. It looked almost like dried syrup, catching the light with a soft but treacherous shine.
Dorothea’s mouth curved into a smile. “You didn’t die,” she murmured. “You simply...stuck.”
The urge to whoop and dance made her wriggle as she backed out of the awkward spot, but she held it in check. Not finished yet.
If it was, as she suspected, congealed resin from last year’s Mistletoe berries, then she needed to remove it, and she surveyed her assortment of tools and chemicals. Spirit oil was an option, but that might cause problems of its own. She had a small jar of abrasive ash, also useful in these circumstances, but the area was so small she might do more harm than good by dropping ash down further onto other bits and pieces that were working just fine.
So she opted for the simplest solution. A warmed piece of cloth.
It didn’t take long to heat over the nearby Forge vent, and with great care—along with more than a few nerves—Dorothea touched the sheen delicately, moving the cloth back and forth, until the metal beneath glowed cleanly, smooth and unblemished.
Was that the answer? She prayed she was right, but only one thing would give her the answer. And so she began carefully replacing all the parts she’d so carefully removed and cleaned, one by one.
As she did so, she heard a soft tick, something she’d not heard before. After that, the casing almost shivered, like a machine taking its first breath.
“All right, my girl, now you’re getting far too whimsical.” She settled the shiny leaf-feed drum back into its housing with another satisfying click.
It took a lot less time to replace the parts than it did to remove them, and before she realised it, she tightened that final cam-latch.
“Well,” came a voice from behind her, making her jump. “That’s either very good or very bad.”
“Silas,” she huffed out a breath. “Never creep up on me like that again. I might have fouled up something vital.”
“Sorry,” he grinned, unrepentant. “It’s getting very late. I left you alone for a long time, which I probably shouldn’t have, but...as I said, Thea...this is your machine.”
She wiped her hands. “I know. And I appreciate your trust. I really do.”
