literature

Clockwork Bond

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Literature Text

The large silver serving platter functioned nicely as a makeshift shield. She was wielding it thoughtfully, a rolling pin in the other hand as she imagined herself fighting off hordes of villainous gizmos, when Cook re-entered the room. "Isabelle!" The paunch woman, voice raised over the hissing steam and pounding pistons of the kitchen, was not happy. "Get on with your work, girl."

The stern admonishment loosened Isabelle's grip, and the platter crashed to the floor, spinning across its expanse like a giant coin. The rolling pin followed, slipping into the shadows and knocking into a tiny figure that quickly moved away. Isabelle flushed and Cook's glare deepened. "I've told you before. You'll not find yourself any part of the battles ahead. Now get that cleaned up and finish your chores." She quirked an eyebrow in the girl's direction, and gathered the items she'd returned for.

Sensing the girl's discontent even as she kneeled, Cook added a threat on her way out the door. "No more nonsense, now, or there'll be no vittles' for you tonight," and it was Isabelle's turn to glare, this time at Cook's back, as the words sunk in. Still, the words did the trick and Isabelle reluctantly set aside her shield and sword. She wanted to check on the small figure she'd knocked with the pin, but her whistle produced no sign of the creature, and she supposed it was waiting until Cook was well occupied elsewhere. It wouldn't do, they all knew, for Cook or the Head, or anyone in any sort of position of authority, to discover that the creature was in the household, for all it was tamed and friendly.

She was hard at work, scrubbing the floors, when a pinging sound caught her attention. It was a soft noise, barely audible over the usual kitchen sounds, but it was undeniably there, and persistent. It was also, undeniably, not supposed to be. A hissing whistle heralded the arrival of six clockwork mice, their gears turning as they moved across the floor. Isabelle pointed in the direction of the noise, and five of the small figures moved towards it. The smallest rolled towards her, nudging at her hands for pats and cuddles. "Sorry," she whispered, picking it up. "I didn't mean to get you with the roller earlier. I'm glad you're okay," she added as the little mouse nuzzled into her palm. She lowered him back to the floor, thinking how lucky she was that she'd been able to bond with the little creatures before she'd understood that it had serious consequences. Then, before her thoughts could darken with the implications of those consequences, the others reappeared, their gears whirring far more quickly than normal -- a sure sign of distress.

Unable to use the rolling pin, which had been placed in the pot to soak, Isabelle nonetheless grabbed her platter, and an assortment of kitchen tools as she followed the friendly gizmos around the corner. The source of the noise was immediately evident to Isabelle -- the kitchen window, closed against the cold winter air, was beginning to crack under an onslaught of gizmos. The unfriendly insectoids were a menace, plaguing households and reporting back to their creator, the nefarious Lawrence Troy, with any tiny deviations from establishment policies. They'd never bothered Isabelle's household prior to this, and as a result, the Head had not concerned himself with implementing specific protections.

Isabelle, earlier bravado forgotten, rather wished he had. What good, she wondered, was an 8 year old armed with a silver platter shield, a -- she took stock, briefly, and catalogued to herself the items she'd collected in the kitchen -- a kitchen knife, a fire poker, and, of all things, a stick of celery? The clockwork mice, useful as they were at ferreting out scraps of food, hiding spaces, and other small titbits, would be completely unhelpful against even a single insectoid, let alone the 20 or so that were pinging against the window. For their own safety, she urged the mice to leave, and they trundled obediently away, the smallest one stopping once or twice to look back at the girl who was its friend and protector.

As the glass shattered inwards and the swarm entered, Isabelle did the only thing she could think of. She sang. With her eyes closed, she wove a song of friendship. The words and the tune melded into a thing of beauty, a peace offering that washed over the gizmos in the room, and spread further, over the entire household. The insectoids stopped their attack, their gears fizzing to a slow halt, and one by one, they dropped to the ground.

Isabelle swayed slightly; the energy drained from her, and looked to the insectoids littering the room. She'd really done it now. Groaning, she collected the small metal bodies, and prepared to deal with Cook. The antagonism and unfriendliness had had to go somewhere, and once again, Isabelle had poured it all into Cook. Cook, who'd once been the most motherly figure Isabelle remembered knowing. Cook, who carried now the untameable hostility of 26 villainous gizmos…

It was not going to be a good week.
Comments6
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GDeyke's avatar
Nice twist at the ending. I feel very bad for Cook, knowing what I do now.