“Well, all right then. Maybe Mama will take the next Trammelbuggy and she’ll come and find me.” She relaxed a little.
Dorothea smiled. The little girl was still holding Thim’s claw.
Chapter Three
Silas had a lot on his mind as he bade farewell to Hiram and made his way from the C&C back to his home, tucked away down a quiet tunnel.
How the devil were they going to fulfil all the requirements for the Christmas decorations, with no supplies?
And the Mistletoe machine. Of all the things they could have managed without, that was not one of them. The delicate leaves and berries were an integral part of every single display, every window, every ribbon-trimmed wreath, and even the little doo-dads that parents put on their children’s gifts, along with the ribbons.
He loved the old machine; he admitted to himself. And it had just about broken his heart to see it wheeze out its last gasp just before Christmas last year. If he’d had time, he’d have tinkered with it, because it was too good a machine to just throw into the furnace.
That belief had led him to remove it quietly from the cart heading for the fire, and stow it away in a stockroom near his office at the Forge. Perhaps he should take a serious look at it...if he had time. And that, unfortunately, was the hitch in his plan.
The entire factory was going flat out, and he knew it would be damned hard to find any able tinkerer with the time to delve into the Mistletoe machine, let alone the skill to repair whatever had brought it to a grinding and fatal halt.
He sighed, and turned down the lane that led past the sixth-level Trammelbuggy Depot, toward home.
The rattle of the rails was comfortingly familiar, letting everyone know that another transport had unloaded its cargo and was now setting off on the upward journey.
Not much of a crowd tonight, observed Silas, just a few people scurrying off on their way home, and one or two strangers, looking around them, curious as always. Why people came to the Undercroft for a visit, he had no idea. Why didn’t they go up? Up to where the sun shone, the winds blew clean and fresh...where all the things that weren’t part of life down here could be enjoyed?
Silas sighed. People overall were a mystery to him. Always had been.
“Excuse me.” A voice from behind him made him stop and turn around.And raise an eyebrow in surprise. “Yes?”
“Could you tell me where I can find the local Central Cog Exchange? Is there one nearby?”
She was tall, quietly dressed, well-spoken, and—to his tired eyes—a breath of long-forgotten sunshine.
“Good evening, Ma’am,” he said, noticing her little entourage, which consisted of one small girl and one tickerkin. “There is a Central Cog Exchange one level up. I’m afraid we don’t have a public one down here.”
Her face fell, and she glanced at her companions, a worried frown creasing her brows. “Drat.”
What could he do? There was no other option at that moment, and he knew it was inevitable.
“If I might suggest a solution? It so happens that I have a small PCE in my home, if you would care to make use of it? I live nearby...”
The little girl and the tickerkin huddled closer to the woman, who glanced down at them, and smiled. “Don’t worry, Gen. Thim and I will get you home, never fear.” She turned back to Silas. “You are most kind, sir, and yes, we’ll accept your offer. This young lady here has misplaced her mother, who is doubtlessbeside herself with worry. If we could take advantage of your kindness, it would be extremely helpful.”
“Of course,” he bowed slightly. “If you’d follow me...”
The little party set off, away from the Depot and along the cobblestone lane that had been hollowed from solid rock generations before. There were lights in little alcoves, beautiful wrought-iron railings inset beneath them, and Silas always enjoyed his walk home, surrounded by the exquisite workmanship that defined so much of the sixth level.
“May I enquire as to what brought you here, Ma’am?” He shot a quick glance at the woman beside him, who seemed to be fascinated with everything she saw.
“The Trammelbuggy,” she answered absently.Then, her eyes opened wide. “Isn’t that a scrollbird?”
He suppressed his chuckle and glanced at the ornately decorated clockwork pigeon sitting on one of the railings. “Yes, it is. There are a few down here. Mostly for the factory managers. Much easier to get messages to other factories, other warehouses, and so on, than sending runners all over the place.”
“Do you see it, Gen?” She leaned down to the little girl, who nodded, equally fascinated. “Do you know they can distinguish between a dinner invitation and a shipping manifest simply by the weight of the scroll they carry?”
Little Gen giggled. “You’re teasing me,” she replied, as the tickerkin’s eyes whirled from man to woman to the girl.
“She is quite correct,” said Silas, shooting a sideways glance at her. “And I find myself surprised at her impressive knowledge. Perhaps she might tell me her name?”
Their footsteps sounded loud in the quiet lane, and it was a few moments before she nodded. “Very well. I am...Thea. Um...Miss Thea Smith. This is Gen, and my tickerkin is called Thim.”
