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Authors: Shanna Swendson
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you’re what they’re rebelling against.”
“We’re what we’re rebelling against, too,” Philip said. “We don’t want to have to be what we are.”
“Then you’ll have to show them who you are, that you’re individual people, not just magisters.”
I was beginning to fear that Colin had stranded us there when he finally returned. “Come, and enjoy the party,” he said, flinging the door open theatrically.
We found ourselves in the main station of the underground railway. “It’s got to be the safest place in the city for us to gather, since no one knows about it,” Colin said. “And you have to admit, an underground rail station is rather appropriate for our cause.”
The magisters had seen the station the night we loaded the machines onto the subterranean railway to get them out of the city, but they hadn’t had much time then to look at their surroundings. This station had been built when the railway was meant as a way for magisters to travel out of the weather. As a result, it looked like the first-class waiting area of a major railroad depot, with decorative tile and fine wood furnishings. By the time the station was completed and the tunnel bored, the magisters had moved uptown, and the railroad never went into service—until the Mechanics found it and fitted it out with their machines.
I was familiar with the station, but I’d never seen it quite like this before. The benches had been shoved aside to create an open dance floor on which people in colorful Mechanics garb were twirling around to the tunes provided by a small band set up in a corner. They didn’t have the full-sized calliope that had been at the last Mechanics party I’d attended, but they did have a miniature model providing a breathy, hooting descant to their wild music.
I recognized the odd and overly complicated drink dispenser, but there was also a new one with an array of bottles and a mass of tubing flowing into a line of glasses. The big machines might be safely out of the city, but some of the smaller models were there. A small traction engine pulled a cargo of sandwiches across the floor, and a tiny airship drifted around the room with a basket of roasted nuts in its gondola. People grabbed handfuls as it passed them.
“You appear to incorporate your mechanical philosophy into your recreation, as well,” Geoffrey remarked to Colin.
“It’s a way of life,” Colin said. “We think of new ways of doing things. Some of the machines are less useful than others, but they’re still fun to make.”
I noticed after watching the party for a minute or two that most of the attendees wore goggles pulled down over their eyes. I knew the Mechanics often wore goggles as part of their attire, sometimes even for practical purposes, but were they now using them as masks to hide their identities from the visiting magisters?
Philip was the first to make a move to join the party. He approached Emma and held out his hand in an invitation to dance. Soon, they’d blended into the swirl of color in the middle of the room. “Feel free to enjoy yourselves,” Colin urged. “We’ll talk later when all of us are here.”
Geoffrey and Henry looked at each other and shrugged. “We may as well,” Geoffrey said. “How often are we likely to get an invitation like this?”
Henry turned to me. “You’ve been to their parties before, haven’t you? What would you recommend?”
“I think you should get a drink over there.” I pointed to the drink dispenser. “You really ought to see it in action.”
We skirted the dance floor to reach it, and Geoffrey went first in tossing a small gear into the tray that set the elaborate machine in motion, mixing various liquids to be poured into a tin cup. He and Henry laughed as they watched the machine in motion. Just as Henry was taking his turn, I noticed someone approaching us. He wore a hat and goggles, but my breath caught in my throat as I watched him. The first time I’d met Alec,
“We’re what we’re rebelling against, too,” Philip said. “We don’t want to have to be what we are.”
“Then you’ll have to show them who you are, that you’re individual people, not just magisters.”
I was beginning to fear that Colin had stranded us there when he finally returned. “Come, and enjoy the party,” he said, flinging the door open theatrically.
We found ourselves in the main station of the underground railway. “It’s got to be the safest place in the city for us to gather, since no one knows about it,” Colin said. “And you have to admit, an underground rail station is rather appropriate for our cause.”
The magisters had seen the station the night we loaded the machines onto the subterranean railway to get them out of the city, but they hadn’t had much time then to look at their surroundings. This station had been built when the railway was meant as a way for magisters to travel out of the weather. As a result, it looked like the first-class waiting area of a major railroad depot, with decorative tile and fine wood furnishings. By the time the station was completed and the tunnel bored, the magisters had moved uptown, and the railroad never went into service—until the Mechanics found it and fitted it out with their machines.
I was familiar with the station, but I’d never seen it quite like this before. The benches had been shoved aside to create an open dance floor on which people in colorful Mechanics garb were twirling around to the tunes provided by a small band set up in a corner. They didn’t have the full-sized calliope that had been at the last Mechanics party I’d attended, but they did have a miniature model providing a breathy, hooting descant to their wild music.
I recognized the odd and overly complicated drink dispenser, but there was also a new one with an array of bottles and a mass of tubing flowing into a line of glasses. The big machines might be safely out of the city, but some of the smaller models were there. A small traction engine pulled a cargo of sandwiches across the floor, and a tiny airship drifted around the room with a basket of roasted nuts in its gondola. People grabbed handfuls as it passed them.
“You appear to incorporate your mechanical philosophy into your recreation, as well,” Geoffrey remarked to Colin.
“It’s a way of life,” Colin said. “We think of new ways of doing things. Some of the machines are less useful than others, but they’re still fun to make.”
I noticed after watching the party for a minute or two that most of the attendees wore goggles pulled down over their eyes. I knew the Mechanics often wore goggles as part of their attire, sometimes even for practical purposes, but were they now using them as masks to hide their identities from the visiting magisters?
Philip was the first to make a move to join the party. He approached Emma and held out his hand in an invitation to dance. Soon, they’d blended into the swirl of color in the middle of the room. “Feel free to enjoy yourselves,” Colin urged. “We’ll talk later when all of us are here.”
Geoffrey and Henry looked at each other and shrugged. “We may as well,” Geoffrey said. “How often are we likely to get an invitation like this?”
Henry turned to me. “You’ve been to their parties before, haven’t you? What would you recommend?”
“I think you should get a drink over there.” I pointed to the drink dispenser. “You really ought to see it in action.”
We skirted the dance floor to reach it, and Geoffrey went first in tossing a small gear into the tray that set the elaborate machine in motion, mixing various liquids to be poured into a tin cup. He and Henry laughed as they watched the machine in motion. Just as Henry was taking his turn, I noticed someone approaching us. He wore a hat and goggles, but my breath caught in my throat as I watched him. The first time I’d met Alec,
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