Boots for the Gentleman by Augusta Li & Eon de Beaumont Page B

Querry back to reality. Very slowly, he transcribed the weird code onto the paper Reg gave him. After he had a few pages, he read them before placing them in the back of the book. Soon he understood how Frolic had been constructed. His creator had put down, in meticulous detail, how his skeleton had been formed, and the complex clockwork at his joints that awarded him such natural movement. Querry discovered that Frolic drew in air so that it could fill sacks in his chest, where the vapor could condense and collect. His heart heated this water, and the small amount of steam produced traveled through a series of channels, turning gears that triggered other gears and powered tiny engines in the most intricate circuit Querry had ever seen. Thus, as long as he had access to air, Frolic had an endless supply of power.
    His heart was made of magic. Though it was at times trying, Querry could comprehend the complex mechanics described by the doll maker. Some of the clockwork’s gears were no larger or thicker than a fly’s wing, but Querry understood the function of each, at least in theory. He couldn’t, however, follow the arcane proceedings, and Frolic seemed made at least as much of enchantment as metal and gears. His skin, for example, consisted of fine silk, the clouds of a rosy sunrise, and the soft sighs of children during pleasant dreams, all woven together by an ensorcelled spider on May Eve. The book, at least, claimed so. Possibly it was another code. As for Frolic’s heart, complex alchemy and rare enchantment kept it perpetually warm and able to turn water to vapor. The book explained how, inside a sphere of spell-protected glass, a mixture of dragon’s breath, fire-flower petals, oaths spoken during love, and captive fever-dreams swirled together to produce mystic heat. The huge tome described Frolic’s eyes, his perceptions, and his voice. Though fascinated, before long Querry set it aside. It no longer mattered to him how Frolic worked any more than it mattered exactly how Reg’s stomach processed his dinner.
    On the night of the first real snow, Querry and Frolic returned to find even Rushport white and pure as a maiden’s chemise. Few boots had yet carved dirty furrows, and even fewer steam-carriages chugged through, leaving the snow mostly free from the grimy coating they left. The sky above them shone soft gray, similar to Frolic’s curls. During their work, they’d found a fine bottle of port in a gentleman’s library. It now waited within Querry’s coat pocket, but he’d sampled enough to feel warm and giddy. His cheeks glowed with both drink and wind. Frolic looked happy, too, trying to focus on the snowflakes lodged in his long lashes.
    “What shall we do?” Querry asked, squeezing his elbow. Though Frolic didn’t need it, Querry had found him a scarlet soldier’s greatcoat. It hadn’t been easy to match his small size, but Querry didn’t want to draw unnecessary questions. The color suited him, making his hair and skin look even more startlingly light.
    Looking up at the sky, Frolic said, “Why don’t we just walk? The night is so beautiful. I like it in the open air.”
    “Right then.” In his high spirits, any proposal would have pleased the thief. He had to admit the chill air felt invigorating, and the white blanket muffled the din of the neighborhood and hid the grime beneath. He hooked his arm with Frolic’s, and they set off in the direction of the water. If anyone commented, Querry could pretend to be drunk enough to require assistance. Just in case, he took another nip from the bottle.
    Not a soul bothered the pair as they walked to the docks and back, feet wet and anticipating the warmth of the quilt and each other. They turned a corner, and Querry heard a familiar voice.
    “Well, well, lads,” said the thug in the patched top hat. “Ain’t tonight our lucky night?”
    His greasy cohorts laughed, and Querry stopped, his muscles wound tightly and his hand on his sword.