The Wooden Prince (9 page)

“You…did you really imagine all that from my playing?”

“Why? Was that all wrong?” Pinocchio was waiting for Maestro to chastise him as a hopeless automa.

“No!” Maestro said, brightening up. “That was it precisely. It's just…I've never performed a piece where anyone actually saw the imagery and felt the emotion I was trying to express. You really felt all that?”

“Of course I did,” Pinocchio said. “Will you play the song for me so I can hear how it ends?”

“Why, yes! I'd be delighted, my boy.” Maestro circled around on his six legs until he found a good spot from which to deliver his performance. “Are you ready?”

Pinocchio laced his fingers behind his head and leaned against a tree trunk. “Oh, yes. Very ready.” Soon he forgot all about his aching feet and their troubles. He was lost in Maestro's quiet, lovely music.

Later that morning, as they set off, Maestro rode on Pinocchio's shoulder, chattering away happily to him about this song and that, explaining how he could rub his wings together to produce certain sounds and pitches. Pinocchio listened with polite interest, but found Maestro's music much more appealing than his explanations of it.

Geppetto gave Maestro a curious cock of his eyebrow. “Looks like you two are getting along.”

“
He
appreciates my music,” Maestro announced with a haughty flick of his antennae. “Unlike the rest of you Venetian brutes.”

“Is that what we are?” Geppetto chuckled. “Little better than barbarians to you dignified Abatonians?”

“Most certainly,” Maestro said. “Look at what contact with humans did to my people. Abaton is peaceful. Prester John makes sure of that. But here my people have been forced to become either slaves or wretched outlaws. Not the Abatonian way at all.”

“I feel sorry for them,” Pinocchio said. “These half-beast outlaws.”

“Do you now?” Geppetto said. To Pinocchio's surprise, his master looked almost pleased.

“Well, they just want to be treated fairly,” Pinocchio said, hoping he was saying the right thing.

“Yes, I pity their treatment too, but attacking villages?” Maestro chirped indignantly. “Robbing and killing? No, I have no wish to meet any of these runaway chimera. Sounds like they've become perfect savages. I wouldn't be surprised if they ate me as a snack, without a care for the calamity my absence would cause the musical world.”

“Don't worry, Maestro,” Pinocchio said. “I won't let any half-beasts eat you.”

“Thank you, lad,” the cricket said soberly. “It would be nearly as criminal to lose someone with your refined musical tastes.”

Pinocchio smiled brightly.

Geppetto shook his head. “I've got to give it to you, Maestro. You've got an unshakable sense of self-importance.”

“And why shouldn't I?” Maestro said.

Geppetto led them to a farm, where he hoped to purchase a meal. While Geppetto was negotiating with a farmhand, Pinocchio stared at the massive automa sentry that guarded the front gate. Surely the mere sight of such an intimidating armored giant would keep away any half-beast outlaws.

“Go on,” Maestro urged. “Ask him.”

“I will, I will,” Pinocchio said, then called up to the automa sentry, “Excuse me, sir, but have you seen many half-beasts in these parts?”

The automa cast his blank gaze down at him. “Yes,” he replied.

“He has,” Pinocchio whispered excitedly to Maestro. He couldn't help but think it would be thrilling to see some half-beasts—from a safe distance, at least.

Maestro crept deeper into the recesses of Pinocchio's collar. “I wonder if they're still in the vicinity.”

“I'll ask.” Pinocchio called up again. “Sorry to bother you, sir, but when was the most recent sighting?”

“Recent?” the colossal automa said.

“Yes, when was the last time you saw any?”

“I do not recall,” he replied. “Time. I do not pay attention to such things. I just do my job.” With that, the gears in his neck clicked until his gaze returned to scanning the countryside.

Before Pinocchio could ask more, Geppetto returned with a bundle of food. “Let's go.”

They soon reached the edge of a steep gorge. Geppetto pointed beyond the trees on the far side to a towering hill town in the distance. “Montalcino,” he said.

Maestro chirped a glad tune. “Thank goodness! We've almost made it.”

“Don't relax yet,” Geppetto said. “We still have to hire a coach and get away without any airmen spotting us. Montalcino is larger than San Baldovino. They have full-time human guards in addition to their automa sentries. Captain Toro's men might have sent word about a man traveling with an automa.”

Maestro sighed, his antennae sagging.

Pinocchio surveyed the gorge and the river far below. “How will we get across?”

“Down is too treacherous,” Geppetto said. “Maestro, fly out and see if there's a better crossing.”

When the cricket returned, he said, “There's an aqueduct to the west that spans the gorge. We can cross there.”

They followed the bluff until the aqueduct came into view. It was a massive stone expanse, rising from the depths of the gorge in a series of Roman arches. Pinocchio had never seen such a thing, and when they reached the aqueduct, he realized it wasn't a bridge for people, but for water. A trough ran down the middle, but they could cross by walking on one of the edges.

“Come, Master,” Pinocchio urged, eager to get to Montalcino.

He scampered onto the narrow rim of the aqueduct. As he traversed, he looked back to see Geppetto warily starting to follow. He was standing sideways with his arms out like a bird, inching his feet side to side.

“What's the matter, Master? Why are you walking like that?”

Geppetto grumbled, and Maestro said, “He's not as foolhardy as you! If you fell, you might damage a few parts, but going over the side could kill him. And if he falls in the trough, he'll be swept away by the water and—”

“Can you please be quiet, Maestro?” Geppetto snarled, slowly facing forward and taking measured steps, one foot in front of the other.

This was yet another strange thing about humans, Pinocchio decided. Geppetto had been so brave when they were sneaking past the airmen in San Baldovino, but here his master was frightened by the simple act of walking on a bridge.

Pinocchio watched until Geppetto had nearly caught up to him. “Keep going,” Geppetto said, waving a hand.

“But I'm worried for you, Master. I don't want you to fall.”

“Then please quit distracting me.”

Pinocchio felt the tug of the orders threatening to lengthen his nose, so he took a few more steps before reaching back a hand. “Let me help you, Master. That's why I was sent to you. Prester John wanted me to help you. Please take my hand. I don't want to lose you.”

Geppetto froze. His face went white. “What did you say?”

Maestro buzzed down to land on the aqueduct. “What's wrong, Geppetto?”

Geppetto knelt to keep his balance, his eyes fixed on Pinocchio. “It's just…when I left Abaton, when Prester John sent me back with the three gifts for the doge…Your words reminded me of something he said. ‘Don't be angry with the doge for asking you to steal my Ancientmost Pearl. There is nothing that grieves a parent more than losing his child.'”

Pinocchio tilted his head curiously. “Is he right, Master?”

“Of course he's right,” Geppetto said. “And Prester John must have heard what happened to my family. How his gifts provoked the doge's anger against me…against them.”

Maestro wiggled his antennae. “I'm not understanding what you're saying, Geppetto.”

“The boy.” Geppetto nodded to Pinocchio. “Prester John sent him to me.”

“Yes, we know,” Maestro said.

“To be my son.”

“What?” Maestro and Pinocchio said together.

“When Prester John heard what happened to my son, he sent his own gift to ease my grief. He sent me Pinocchio, an automa who is becoming a boy.”

“I'm meant to be your son?” Pinocchio murmured. Something warm and strange and wonderful was welling in his gearworks.

A gentle smile gathered on Geppetto's face. “I believe you are. And I—”

Over the tree-topped hill behind them, a figure rose in the air, long wings stretching from his back, red armor glittering in the sunlight. The happiness drained from Pinocchio.

“Airman!” he gasped.

G
eppetto nearly lost his balance. “Go, Pinocchio!” he shouted. “Get to the other side.”

The airman hovered high in the air, his gaze locking on the aqueduct. With a dive, he came for them. Geppetto began walking faster, a dance of steps with his arms outstretched and flailing.

Pinocchio didn't want to leave his master, but Geppetto had given him an order. He reluctantly headed for the other side. The airman swept across the aqueduct, a shot booming from his musket. A chunk of rock exploded near Pinocchio's feet.

He froze. The airman was coming around in a tight arc, his mechanical wings beating the air.

“Hurry, Master!” Pinocchio shouted.

Geppetto was hurrying as best he could, but the airman landed on the aqueduct between them. He aimed his weapon at Pinocchio. “Stay where you are!”

This was not an order Pinocchio had to follow. The airman was not his master. But Pinocchio wasn't going to leave Geppetto to be captured.

“Signore
Polendina,”
the airman barked.

Pinocchio realized with a jolt who this was. Captain Toro.

“Or are you, in fact, Geppetto Gazza, traitor to the empire?” Captain Toro said. “We'll soon find out. Order your automa to stay where it is while I secure you.”

Geppetto narrowed his eyes. “Pinocchio,” he said. “Continue to the other side. Get away.”

Captain Toro reloaded his musket and trained it on Pinocchio. “I can shoot it. An automa is not so easily repaired after having its chest splintered by a musket ball.”

“You won't,” Geppetto said. “The doge wouldn't want you to do that.”

Captain Toro turned the musket on Geppetto. “You seem the brave sort,
signore
. Let's test it. Order the automa to stay where it is or I'll shoot you instead.”

“You won't do that, either,” Geppetto said.

Captain Toro leveled his musket. Pinocchio hesitated, not sure enough about how people worked to know the difference between a threat and a warning.

“Go!” Geppetto shouted at Pinocchio.

At once, the musket blasted in a cloud of smoke.

“NO!” Pinocchio shouted, running for Captain Toro. The seven-league boots gave him a surprising burst of speed, and he tackled Captain Toro, rocketing the two of them out over the river. As he did, Pinocchio realized that Captain Toro's shot had been aimed high. Geppetto was still standing on the aqueduct, unharmed.

But it was too late. He and Captain Toro were falling.

One of Captain Toro's wings opened, but Pinocchio had the other one pinned. They sailed around in a spiral, Captain Toro sputtering and trying to pry loose Pinocchio's powerful hold.

Pinocchio's nose grew as they fell. Geppetto had ordered him to go, and he had defied his master. What else was he supposed to have done? But it was too late to worry about that now.

They splashed into the river. The swift current immediately swept them away. Pinocchio held tight to Captain Toro, fearing that if he let go, the airman would fly back up and capture Geppetto. They sank to the bottom, the current dragging them by Captain Toro's lone wing.

Captain Toro fought and struggled. His musket was lost. With one hand he beat at Pinocchio. With the other he clawed at the river bottom. Pinocchio clung to his back in the racing current. Captain Toro's fight began to fade, and soon he was no longer moving. Reluctantly, Pinocchio loosened his hold. The captain drifted limply in the water.

Pinocchio turned him over. Captain Toro's eyes were wide, but he didn't see Pinocchio. Pinocchio tapped at the captain's cheek. He didn't respond.

He gave the captain a shove.
Wake up!

But the captain wasn't sleeping. He had stopped functioning. And when humans stopped functioning…

“No!” Pinocchio roared, his voice dulled by the water.

He had to get Captain Toro out of the river. Maybe then he would come alive again. He grabbed the captain's arm and pulled, fighting the current to walk toward the bank. As he brought the captain onto the shore, Pinocchio broke off the mechanical wings so he could lay the airman on his back.

He patted Captain Toro's face. “Just function again,” he murmured. “Please don't be dead. I forgot you could die. I didn't mean to do it. Just start working again.”

There was a terrible burning in Pinocchio's gears, beginning from his feet and working its way up to his chest. Was this what Geppetto felt every time he thought about his wife and son? Pinocchio rested his hands on Captain Toro's stomach, feeling shame and despair at what he had done. Something burning hot flooded down his arms into his fingertips.