Bitter Cold: A Steampunk Snow Queen (The Clockwork Republic Series Book 4) by Katina French
Authors: Katina French
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said Halfacre, placing the black bird gingerly into her satchel. But her guarded expression betrayed that her own mind was not at ease. Not at all.
~*~
Kit shivered and looked around. He was surrounded by sparkling ice and snow. Gleaming blue-white scrollwork ornamented every surface in sight. The floor was chiseled into a parquet pattern of ice, rubbed rough enough to walk upon without slipping. A glittering frosty chandelier hung high overhead, shooting out prismatic beams of light in all directions.
How had he come to be here? This place was a palace, an enormous cavernous space. An urgent, anxious feeling anchored deep in his gut. There was something he needed to do, but he couldn't remember what it was. Something about "eternity."
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of blonde hair. He spun towards the image, just as the figure turned a corner. Had it been a pale platinum color, or a warm honey-gold? It had been too brief a glimpse to tell. He ran towards the retreating figure. He could hear the swish of skirts across the floor. A sense of panic gripped him.
You're going to lose her.
He picked up speed, desperate to catch up, his feet skittering on the slippery floor. He could hear the rhythmic clacking of boots ahead, but with every turn deeper into the labyrinth of the ice palace, the sound seemed further away.
Always tantalizingly out of reach.
Every so often, he could catch sight of a woman's skirt slipping around a corner. The weird, prismatic light bouncing off the layers upon layers of ice made the fabric appear blue to green to red and back again.
"Come back!" he shouted. "Please, don't go!"
His eyes, nose and throat burned from the cold.
A feminine voice called back. "Who are you looking for, Kit?"
He stopped in his tracks. He didn't know who he was chasing, or why.
~*~
A deep quiet settled over the town house. Halfacre had been dismissed and the mechanic lay asleep in the servants' quarters. Evelyn had no use for the rooms now. Gaskon and the other 'gens simply stopped moving, frozen into brass and steel statuary when they weren't needed.
The thought of Gaskon pinched her face with a frown. She was certain the 'gen had paused at the mention of Isadora Halfacre.
Evelyn chided herself. It couldn't possibly hurt just to slip down to the laboratory and ensure all was as it should be. There was also the matter Valentine's pet project. He was as unpredictable as the weather, but his telegram meant he was anxious to hear if there had been any progress. She might as well reassure herself his grand idea was nothing but a fairy tale, concocted by an English madwoman.
She slipped through the twisting hallways of the enormous house, till she reached a door at the far western end. Gaskon had followed her, his usual silent movement rendered sinister by her own imagination.
"I don't require anything further tonight. Please return to the parlor." The automaton nodded, and retreated down the hallway. She opened the door, turned a dial to raise the flame on the gaslights, and headed down the twisting spiral staircase. Her laboratory looked just as she'd expected; still, cold and silent.
It was a very large room, much bigger than the original cellar had been. It had taken weeks of excavation, shoring up, and construction to expand it. But the effort and expense had been entirely worth it. Along one long wall lay rows of polished wooden cabinets, rather like caskets, although each had a round porthole of glass in the door. Copper pipes and black rubber hoses snaked around and through them, each covered with a thin layer of frost.
She approached the first cabinet, brushing the light glaze of ice from the porthole. Within the cabinet, she could see a large gray wolf. Every few moments, the beast's chest rose and fell. The breathing was much slower than normal, of course, but that was a result of the animus transferral process.
Just as Valentine's notes indicated, she'd been able to extract the animus
~*~
Kit shivered and looked around. He was surrounded by sparkling ice and snow. Gleaming blue-white scrollwork ornamented every surface in sight. The floor was chiseled into a parquet pattern of ice, rubbed rough enough to walk upon without slipping. A glittering frosty chandelier hung high overhead, shooting out prismatic beams of light in all directions.
How had he come to be here? This place was a palace, an enormous cavernous space. An urgent, anxious feeling anchored deep in his gut. There was something he needed to do, but he couldn't remember what it was. Something about "eternity."
Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of blonde hair. He spun towards the image, just as the figure turned a corner. Had it been a pale platinum color, or a warm honey-gold? It had been too brief a glimpse to tell. He ran towards the retreating figure. He could hear the swish of skirts across the floor. A sense of panic gripped him.
You're going to lose her.
He picked up speed, desperate to catch up, his feet skittering on the slippery floor. He could hear the rhythmic clacking of boots ahead, but with every turn deeper into the labyrinth of the ice palace, the sound seemed further away.
Always tantalizingly out of reach.
Every so often, he could catch sight of a woman's skirt slipping around a corner. The weird, prismatic light bouncing off the layers upon layers of ice made the fabric appear blue to green to red and back again.
"Come back!" he shouted. "Please, don't go!"
His eyes, nose and throat burned from the cold.
A feminine voice called back. "Who are you looking for, Kit?"
He stopped in his tracks. He didn't know who he was chasing, or why.
~*~
A deep quiet settled over the town house. Halfacre had been dismissed and the mechanic lay asleep in the servants' quarters. Evelyn had no use for the rooms now. Gaskon and the other 'gens simply stopped moving, frozen into brass and steel statuary when they weren't needed.
The thought of Gaskon pinched her face with a frown. She was certain the 'gen had paused at the mention of Isadora Halfacre.
Evelyn chided herself. It couldn't possibly hurt just to slip down to the laboratory and ensure all was as it should be. There was also the matter Valentine's pet project. He was as unpredictable as the weather, but his telegram meant he was anxious to hear if there had been any progress. She might as well reassure herself his grand idea was nothing but a fairy tale, concocted by an English madwoman.
She slipped through the twisting hallways of the enormous house, till she reached a door at the far western end. Gaskon had followed her, his usual silent movement rendered sinister by her own imagination.
"I don't require anything further tonight. Please return to the parlor." The automaton nodded, and retreated down the hallway. She opened the door, turned a dial to raise the flame on the gaslights, and headed down the twisting spiral staircase. Her laboratory looked just as she'd expected; still, cold and silent.
It was a very large room, much bigger than the original cellar had been. It had taken weeks of excavation, shoring up, and construction to expand it. But the effort and expense had been entirely worth it. Along one long wall lay rows of polished wooden cabinets, rather like caskets, although each had a round porthole of glass in the door. Copper pipes and black rubber hoses snaked around and through them, each covered with a thin layer of frost.
She approached the first cabinet, brushing the light glaze of ice from the porthole. Within the cabinet, she could see a large gray wolf. Every few moments, the beast's chest rose and fell. The breathing was much slower than normal, of course, but that was a result of the animus transferral process.
Just as Valentine's notes indicated, she'd been able to extract the animus
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