Page 46

Maelin frowned. “So you’re saying...” she thought for a moment, “you’re saying that the Rhovan might have been machines or at least partly machines?” She straightened. “A hybrid species. Flesh and iron. I thought that was impossible. Mechanical implants...well, they don’t really work too well, do they?”

“They can. They did way back then. But you’re right. There was, apparently, a fatal flaw. Their creators, whoever they were, could not finalize the assimilation between flesh and machine. The best they could do was a temporary melding, that lasted for a while. How long? It’s hard to tell from the reports. The only first-hand ones came from those who hid, who ran, who fled Caelemar when the Rhovan attempted their coup.”

“And everyone else...” Maelin closed her eyes for a moment. “They died, didn’t they.”

That question needed no answer.

But Maelin continued to turn over the whole of it in her mind. “So if someone were trying to re-create one...”

Phineas’ gaze sharpened.

“They would need living material,” she whispered. “Hellforge, they’d need living material.”

Chapter Seventeen

Maelin’s afternoon with her uncle had proved to be unlike anything she could have imagined in her wildest dreams.

Besides the astounding variety of literature that surrounded him, he was a challenging conversationalist, a wonderful wit, and a fount of knowledge about an amazing number of things.

Of course his comments on the Rhovan had stirred up a number of dark shadows in her mind, but she resolutely shoved them to one side so that she could, in fact, enjoy just being with Uncle Phineas.

He’d had a number of little shocks up his sleeve, of course, just like any normal uncle “playing” with his niece.

Her favourite moment had been when he was showing her some of the largest books, physically quite huge, that he said contained a variety of information, from thousand-year-old recipes in cookbooks written before Caelemar was Caelemar, to a detailed review of how clothing had changed.

She would have loved to sit down with that one, but this afternoon wasn’t the right time.

“You can go through it later,” he grinned, noticing her interest. Then he lifted his head. “Quarto. Set this one aside for Lady Maelin’s next visit, would you?”

Frowning, Maelin wondered exactly who he was talking to.

She jumped a foot off the couch when a large book that was on the table next to her uncle, shifted, moved, sprouted two legs and two arms, and tumbled off the table as a head appeared.

“Right-ho, Mr Phin.”

The tickerkin—or at least what she thought was a tickerkin—gathered up the book, and strode off with it, putting it somewhere accessible, she assumed.

“Uncle,” she breathed. “That has to be the strangest tickerkin I’ve ever seen.”

“But he’s so helpful,” grinned Phineas. “And, I’ll add, pleasant company.”

“You’re too kind, Mr Phin,” said the book, whose name was apparently Quarto.

“If you tell me he’s got a wife named Folio, I think I’m going to have to leave immediately.”

“I don’t, Lady Maelin, but damned if I wouldn’t mind one.” The tickerkin nodded. “Be nice to have someone polishing up my bindings now and again.”

Both Phineas and Maelin laughed at that, a welcome breath of cheer in the midst of a dark afternoon.

She stood. “I must go, Uncle. It’s getting late, and I’m afraid that Aunt Varelle will not be happy with me if I’m late. She has guests coming.”

“No need to explain, my dear.” Phineas watched her as she gathered her things. “How is Lord Drake these days?”

Maelin forced herself to remain calm and detached, and keep her cheeks from colouring. “He is well, I believe. We have become...friends, in an odd sort of way.” She lifted her chin. “He lets me be myself.”

“A dangerous man, then,” grinned Phineas. “And a clever one too, I’ll wager.”

“Yes.” She simply nodded.