Cinderella Six Feet Under by Maia Chance Page A

boy and apprentice, here to view the fruits of his master’s labors, to learn, to dream, yes?”
    Pierre, who was well within earshot, looked over. His expression was dark; he must’ve understood everything, which meant he spoke English. Purple shadows circled his eyes. His blond hair was cropped close, and he had extraordinarily large ears. He was about Ophelia’s own age—far too old to be referred to as a little scamp.
    â€œFruits?” Penrose said. “Labors?”
    â€œWhy, I believed that was why you sent up your card,” Prince Rupprecht said. “To make the acquaintance of the gentleman who designed those stupendous stage sets. Mechanical, every last bit. Much more of a spectacle than pasteboard props moved around by ropes and pulleys, would you not agree?”
    â€œThey are indeed stupendous,” Penrose said to Colifichet.
    â€œYes, wonderful,” Ophelia said.
    â€œThey are not perfect,
non
, yet I did my utmost.”
    â€œAre you a regular designer for
l’Opéra de Paris
?” Penrose asked. “I did not realize they—”
    â€œI am an
employee
of no one.” Colifichet twiddled bony fingers.
    â€œOf course not!” Prince Rupprecht said, spilling brandy on his lap. “Spilt drink. Rain is on the way.”
    â€œI daresay the rain has already arrived,” Penrose said.
    â€œAre you superstitious, Prince Rupprecht?” Ophelia asked.
    â€œIt is what comes of having peasants for nursemaids. They filled our heads with magic and tales.” Prince Rupprecht stared down at the droplets on his lap with a creased brow. Then he looked up at Penrose. “Lord Harrington, I have heard tell that you are afflicted with superstitions of your own. That you hunt down relics of a most peculiar nature, yes?”
    â€œGood heavens,” Penrose said in a mild tone. “Who told you such nonsense? I am a professor.”
    Colifichet said to Penrose in an impatient tone, “I have a shop on Rue des Capucines. Colifichet and Sons. Perhaps you have heard of it?”
    â€œFinest clockwork toy shop in all of Paris,” Prince Rupprecht said.
    â€œ
Toy
shop,” Colifichet said, flushing, “is not the term I prefer. I invent and create automata. My grandfather built the shop, but in those days it was strictly a clockmaker’s.”
    Ophelia tried to think why
clockmaker
rang a bell.
    â€œMy grandfather once made an engraved pocket watch for Napoleon Bonaparte,” Colifichet said.
    â€œHow remarkable,” Ophelia said, attempting to remember when Napoleon Bonaparte had lived.
    â€œNot really. Bowing down before aristocrats was never what I wished for myself. I wish to create more. More beauty, more ingenuity, even the semblance,
oui
, the poetic semblance of life itself. Life, indeed, perfected.”
    â€œLife, I daresay,” Penrose said, “at least, judging from that garden in Act One, made fantastical. Phantasmagorical, rather.”
    â€œIf only I could make clockwork ballerinas, too,” Colifichet said. “Did you see that wretched display in scene two? Like a troupe of dromedaries.”
    Prince Rupprecht grunted his agreement.
    â€œI work so hard, so very, very hard,” Colifichet said, “and those girls destroy it all with one cumbersome arm out of place. My work, my sweat, my blood!” He curled his lip. “Wasted. I would like to kill those girls, sometimes.”
    Ophelia and Penrose traded glances. “Pardon me, Monsieur Colifichet,” Ophelia said, “but is the Marquis de la Roque-Fabliau a student of yours? A student of clockwork inventions?”
    â€œ
Oui
, my only student. The marquis is eager to learn, and, well, how could I say
non
to such passion?”
    Sounded like Malbert paid handsomely for his lessons in clockwork.
    Meanwhile, the Count de Griffe had lumbered close to Ophelia.
    Ophelia had always had a way with animals. For starters, she’d