Read Online Boots for the Gentleman by Augusta Li & Eon de Beaumont - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Augusta Li & Eon de Beaumont
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just stood with his arms crossed. Wondering where he should begin, Querry said, “I went to the doll maker’s house.”
Reg threw up his hands. “I knew it was you! Lord Thimbleroy came into the Archives in a rage yesterday, demanding to know if anyone else had asked about the house. Then he requested dozens of records, everything to do with the doll maker and his family. He insisted that I scour everything written the year the clock tower was built, and personally deliver every mention of it straight to him. I heard he has teams of men, carting away everything that was found in a cellar there: tons of metal scraps. He doesn’t seem satisfied, though.”
Querry spent the next quarter of an hour relaying his adventure to Reg in as much detail as he could remember. When he came to the part where he’d found Frolic, though, he stopped.
“So,” Reg said, “you broke in and saw some half-finished toys and clockworks. I don’t understand. And who is he?”
“Reg, don’t you get it? A doll maker — ”
“You can’t mean—He’s a clockwork?” Reg eyed Frolic suspiciously.
“It’s amazing, I know,” Querry said, fondness insinuating into his words. “But the only explanation is that Frolic is what Lord Thimbleroy has been looking for.”
“Me?” Frolic gasped.
“But what could the Grande Chancellor possibly want with a doll?” Reg said, tearing a sliver of his thumbnail away with his teeth. “I mean, his children are grown and married!”
“It can’t be something as simple as wanting a toy,” Querry mused. “Certainly he’s exquisite, surely the only one of his kind in the world, but there must be something else.” He turned to the doll. “Frolic, can you remember any important information your creator might have left with you?”
Looking forlorn, Frolic said, “All I can remember is that dark room.”
“Can you remember the man who created you?”
“I’m sorry, Querry.”
“His name was Archibald Lesh,” Reggie offered. “Born 1714, died 1792.”
“Impossible!” Querry said. “The mechanics to create something as complex as Frolic didn’t exist back then! Nothing this advanced even exists now! There’s nothing even close!”
“Maybe,” Reg said. “But the clock tower was completed in 1791 and dedicated at the turn of the century.”
“Built by a crazy genius and whole teams of wizards and craftsmen! And it stopped working five years later! Frolic is still functioning perfectly after almost a hundred years.” Realizing what he’d just said, Querry held the doll’s hand and said, “Oh God, Frolic.”
“I slept most of the time,” the doll said, forcing a smile.
Reg glared, envy rising from him like steam from the river. “What do you plan to do with it, Querry? Sell it?” he snapped.
“No! I’ll keep him with me for now.”
“For what?”
“To try to find out what’s going on.” Frolic looked shattered, betrayed, so Querry added, “And I like his company.”
“It’s a machine,” Reg said.
“Reg, you can’t deny what you’re seeing with your own eyes. Frolic has perception, memory, and emotion.”
“Not possible.”
“A lot about this seems impossible,” Querry conceded. “And yet here we are.”
To this, Reg seemed unable to make a suitable reply. He spat the shard of fingernail into the grass. He wouldn’t meet his friend’s or Frolic’s eyes, but stared off between the buildings, toward the sunset. Finally he said, “You know, if Lord Thimbleroy wants”—he paused, scowling as he said the word—“ Frolic , he’ll find a way to have him.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
Exasperated, Reg raised his voice. “You have to accept that there are things you can’t stand in the way of, Querry! He has resources you can’t even imagine: investigators, soldiers, and thugs, even wizards!”
“Wizards are illegal,” Querry stated calmly. “Driven off over fifty years ago.”
“Why?” Frolic wondered.
“It was before our
Reg threw up his hands. “I knew it was you! Lord Thimbleroy came into the Archives in a rage yesterday, demanding to know if anyone else had asked about the house. Then he requested dozens of records, everything to do with the doll maker and his family. He insisted that I scour everything written the year the clock tower was built, and personally deliver every mention of it straight to him. I heard he has teams of men, carting away everything that was found in a cellar there: tons of metal scraps. He doesn’t seem satisfied, though.”
Querry spent the next quarter of an hour relaying his adventure to Reg in as much detail as he could remember. When he came to the part where he’d found Frolic, though, he stopped.
“So,” Reg said, “you broke in and saw some half-finished toys and clockworks. I don’t understand. And who is he?”
“Reg, don’t you get it? A doll maker — ”
“You can’t mean—He’s a clockwork?” Reg eyed Frolic suspiciously.
“It’s amazing, I know,” Querry said, fondness insinuating into his words. “But the only explanation is that Frolic is what Lord Thimbleroy has been looking for.”
“Me?” Frolic gasped.
“But what could the Grande Chancellor possibly want with a doll?” Reg said, tearing a sliver of his thumbnail away with his teeth. “I mean, his children are grown and married!”
“It can’t be something as simple as wanting a toy,” Querry mused. “Certainly he’s exquisite, surely the only one of his kind in the world, but there must be something else.” He turned to the doll. “Frolic, can you remember any important information your creator might have left with you?”
Looking forlorn, Frolic said, “All I can remember is that dark room.”
“Can you remember the man who created you?”
“I’m sorry, Querry.”
“His name was Archibald Lesh,” Reggie offered. “Born 1714, died 1792.”
“Impossible!” Querry said. “The mechanics to create something as complex as Frolic didn’t exist back then! Nothing this advanced even exists now! There’s nothing even close!”
“Maybe,” Reg said. “But the clock tower was completed in 1791 and dedicated at the turn of the century.”
“Built by a crazy genius and whole teams of wizards and craftsmen! And it stopped working five years later! Frolic is still functioning perfectly after almost a hundred years.” Realizing what he’d just said, Querry held the doll’s hand and said, “Oh God, Frolic.”
“I slept most of the time,” the doll said, forcing a smile.
Reg glared, envy rising from him like steam from the river. “What do you plan to do with it, Querry? Sell it?” he snapped.
“No! I’ll keep him with me for now.”
“For what?”
“To try to find out what’s going on.” Frolic looked shattered, betrayed, so Querry added, “And I like his company.”
“It’s a machine,” Reg said.
“Reg, you can’t deny what you’re seeing with your own eyes. Frolic has perception, memory, and emotion.”
“Not possible.”
“A lot about this seems impossible,” Querry conceded. “And yet here we are.”
To this, Reg seemed unable to make a suitable reply. He spat the shard of fingernail into the grass. He wouldn’t meet his friend’s or Frolic’s eyes, but stared off between the buildings, toward the sunset. Finally he said, “You know, if Lord Thimbleroy wants”—he paused, scowling as he said the word—“ Frolic , he’ll find a way to have him.”
“I won’t let that happen.”
Exasperated, Reg raised his voice. “You have to accept that there are things you can’t stand in the way of, Querry! He has resources you can’t even imagine: investigators, soldiers, and thugs, even wizards!”
“Wizards are illegal,” Querry stated calmly. “Driven off over fifty years ago.”
“Why?” Frolic wondered.
“It was before our
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