"Father. What is that?"

"Patience child. Give me just another moment to set it up. . . .there. Now what do you make of it?"

"I don't know."

"Are you sure? Surely, I raised you to be smarter than any child on this ship. You must know what this is. Use that noggin' of yours sweetie."

"Father. Just tell me."

"I'm afraid that I can't do that; not until you earn the right for me to tell you. Now, make me proud darling."

"Fine. But don't be mad at me if I get it wrong."

"Never."

"Umm. It's a box. . . .with a needle. There's a metal tube; and when I touch it, it spins."

"Good. Keep going."

"That cone. It looks like a flower growing out of a pot."

"Oh, what sort of flower?"

"Like a lily."

"A lily? You know what a lily looks like?"

"Yes. Kenzo keeps one in his quarters. He says he got it from his village. It's very lovely and-"

"What color is it?"

"It's white with purple blotches over its- father stop it. I know you're distracting me."

"What me? Never!"

"And if you keep distracting, I'll leave."

"Does that mean you've figured it out?"

"Uh huh. I figured it out even before you finished setting it up?"

"Playing innocent then are we? Clever girl. So then. What do you make of it?"

"It stores sound. You see, the sound goes through that cone and onto the needle where it writes it onto the tube."

"Bravo sweetie. Bravo indeed. This is what I call a sound scriber. It makes note of your voice, stores it into this tube like ink on parchment, then plays it back to you whenever you like."

"So I was right then."

"Darling, you've never been wrong. You have your mother's reasoning and my intellect after all."

"So does it work?"

"Of course it does. And as a reward for being such a smart little girl, I'll let you record something."

"Here we are. Let me wind this up; and now. . . .say something."

"Anything?"

"Anything at all."

"Okay. Here I go . . ."

She emerged from her slumber, parting the junk pile of trinkets, doodads, brass and springs that blanketed her bed. Yawning and stretching her absurdly tanned arms, she idly swiveled her head; first towards the magnifying fire lamp she'd been perfecting since last night. It had unintentionally been left on, shimmering like the sun on a stool from across the room and baking her in her sleep. A dented tin mug filled with water was within reach, and she drank from it until she had her fill, then carelessly tossed both the cup and the rest of its contents at the lamp, which not only drowned out the tiny flame, but also cracked the magnifying glass. She'd fix it later.

Secondly, she eyed the scratched and worn sound scriber which seemed to sag drearily in an almost-forgotten corner behind the shadow of an over-used metal desk.

"Stupid dreams," she muttered, waving a mocking hand at some invisible listener, " Scarlet commands you to go away."

Her eyes glistened suddenly as she tossed the covers and sprang to her feet atop the bed, sending a shower of small machine parts across the room.

"I hear the clackity-clack of a mechanical pet nearby." She nodded to an invisible listener, then, still in her nightgown, donned a thick pair of gloves and rubber boots, and tossed a small tool belt over her shoulder.

"Isabelle!" shouted a mildly shocked woman working from a tiny kitchen in the next room.

The girl paused as she emerged through the doorway, her slightly tanned face partially hidden by wiry mats of crudely-dyed red hair.

"Firstly young lady, good afternoon. Secondly, where do you think you're going dressed like that? And what happened to your skin?"

Barely regarding the absurdity of her attire, she said, "Scarlet has caught the scent of her favorite pet. She cannot be bothered with formal wear. Also, she has issued due punishment to the cruel lamp that has ravaged her skin so."

"Well it just so happens that I'm also Scarlet's mother. And her mother says she must have her breakfast and dress properly before venturing about."

She huffed and pouted. "Scarlet does not regard Mrs. Peterson as-"

The woman slammed a tall, metal cup atop the counter, presenting it sternly to the girl. "Mother, mom, mama, ma. Take your pick. Call me anything else, or so help me, I will throw away those accursed Scarlet adventure novels you keep hording in your room along with all the other junk you've stashed in there."

"Yes mother." She darted for the cup and guzzled down its murky, red contents.

After she finished, Mrs. Peterson took a wet cloth and wiped the red stains from her daughter's mouth.

"It tastes funny." The girl fussed.

"We're low on animal blood, so we have to water it down. It may be a while before we refill our stock, and I don't know when that'll be, so don't exert yourself too much. We have to make it last."

She slumped over the counter, grumbling. "Scarlet, the one in the stories, she's not like me you know. She doesn't have to worry about this sort of thing."

Mrs. Peterson pressed her chin against the counter and leveled her gaze into the sullen girl's eyes. "Isabelle is human too. In fact, you're more human than Scarlet ever was. After all, you're real and she isn't."

They both grinned in silence.

She then pecked her mother on the cheek, and like a spring box, darted from the counter and made for the hatch.

"Young lady, get back here and get into some proper clothes."

"Scarlet senses villainy nearby. A battle with a mechanical beast awaits."

The hatch rang with a metallic echo as she threw it shut behind her.

Ella found the council room stifling, and its occupants, the leadership and representatives of the Republic, that sat behind high podiums that surrounded her flanks and her front, did little to intimidate her.

The sudden bang of a gavel summoned her attention.

"What is that thing doing here," demanded a fiery-haired, white uniformed, young man from the center, tower-like podium.

Ella leaned back on her heels. She was tired of standing, and her mind remained occupied at the prospect of a good bath as well as a chance to replace her bandages. The previous unwanted, yet somehow deliberate scuffle with the Royalist walker, and then the raiders had left her somewhat fatigued, as well as pressed the limits of her patience with her current party.

"Oh him?" She looked over her shoulder. "That's Calvin, the new boy. He insisted he come with me. By the way, just between you and me, I don't think he appreciates being called a 'thing'."

Calvin smirked.

"He's more like a pet." Ella prodded.

Calvin's smirk disappeared.

"I'm not talking about him. I'm referring to your metal minion."

Dodger groaned, locking his glowing eyes onto the freckle-faced council member.

"Oh. Well now that you're specific with your questions. . . his steam pressure is low and his canisters need replacing. The council room just happened to be on the way to the engineer shop so I thought it best to bring 'him' along."

"Well that thing-"

"Him. Dodger is a 'him'. You'd best treat him with respect, unless you want me to start calling you Johnny, or better yet, carrot hair, again."

"I prefer vice captain. We're not children anymore Ella."

One of the elderly council members grunted and gestured for the vice captain to carry on with business.

He regained his composure, cleared his throat, then said. "Ella Marshall, the council has expressed concern regarding your recent salvage run. You have acted against orders and recklessly put everyone onboard this ship in danger. Explain yourself."

She met the mixed gazes of every council member, all elected representatives from each of the ship's districts. All varied in age, but the vice captain was by far, the youngest. There was little doubt that she had everyone's undivided attention. . .with the exception, however, of one man; a elderly gentleman, the oldest in the room, who sat comfortably reclined far to the back, behind his red-haired son.

He had served proudly, the entirety of his life, as the Atlantica's senior captain as had his father before him. The deep wrinkles in his face, long, unkempt gray beard and shining medals on his white uniform hinted at well-honored past. He was a man of unquestioned respect. And in his old, naïve age, he was also asleep.

Everyone ignored his incessant snoring, except for Calvin who couldn't steer his eyes away from the manner with which the old man's beard flittered about with every exhale of his blaring breath.

"What does it matter?" Ella said, keeping her voice loud enough to be heard over the engine-stuttering emanations from the slumbering senior captain's throat. "The chief already told you everything. What use is there in explaining?"

"Formality," the vice captain answered bluntly.

She gave wistful sigh. "I expected as much. I suppose then, whatever I have to say is just a waste of breath. So then, instead of pointlessly wasting your time, I'll have someone else do it for me." She grabbed her unsuspecting partner by his shoulders and forced him to stand in her place. "Calvin, if you would be so kind, tell them why I did what I did."

For a brief moment, he was speechless. Then hesitantly, he said. "As far as I know, we needed that salvage. There's almost nothing out there in the wastes, and sometimes every little bit we can find is worth risking our lives for."

He paused for a moment to form the rest of his thoughts into something resembling respectable words, but the bang of the vice captain's gavel ended his half-hearted monologue.

"Ella, where do you think you're going?"

Both he and Calvin looked to her in surprise, as she and Dodger made their way towards the door.

"Out."

"Miss Marshall," announced a level-voiced female representative. "If you will not take these proceedings seriously then you may find the severity of your punishment a little less comfortable than you're used to."

"Ella, please," Calvin pleaded.

"Calvin is it?" The vice captain inquired. "He too is facing judgment and will be made to account for his actions just the same."

"Wait. But I didn't do anything." He had the young man's attention for just a sliver of a moment, before the judge's eyes locked onto the girl at the far end of the room.

"Well Ella?"

She huffed, then patted Dodger's bulbous belly and motioned him to follow her back. "Fine. Let's get this over with."

Taking her place next to Calvin, she regarded each of the dozen representatives with mild reverence, then narrowed her eyes at the freckled face of the young vice captain.

"Ella Marshall," he said. "Explain to us why you ignored my order to retreat."

"Have you ever wondered why nothing grows out there, why the very ground itself is so poisoned, that if left out there long enough, it eats away at your body and mind until you wither and become one of those. . .things?"

"You mean the flesh-eaten." One of the representatives corrected.

"Yes. The flesh-eaten. I don't know what it is about this ship, but it protects us, shields us from all the horrible things out there. And something tells me that the key to finding out about this ship, about all of us, lies in whatever it is up there that keeps spewing all that salvage."

"And you think this is worth risking our lives?"

" Of course. Father said we're dying. We call ourselves a country, and a long time ago, we probably were. But the minute the war put people on this ship, we ceased being citizens. We've become refugees, wandering about under some sort of illusion that this is our home when really, we have none. We may pretend the old world still exists, but in the end, the Western Republic is just a memory. At least that's what father believed. And I believe it too."

"Every representative here is aware of how preachy your father was. Let's get to the point."

"There are what. . .a few thousand people on this ship? When the exodus happens again and most of the adults leave, there will be even less of us. What do we do then? Keep running? Hide from the Royalists and raiders and hope we survive another generation? My father said the key to ending all of this lies up there; somewhere in the sky. I intend to keep searching, and I won't stop, until I find the answer."

Murmurs filled the air as the council members conversed in whispered tones. Some minutes later, a note was written and passed up to the vice captain who read it with a neutral expression.

He banged his gavel, then said, "Ella, I know it's hard to believe, but I worry about you sometimes. You're obsessed. And I think it's blinding you to the fact that everyday, we are fighting for our very survival. Myself and every representative here must protect our existence, just as every generation before us had, and I will not have anyone, including you, put the lives of the people on this ship in jeopardy, no matter how noble you think your cause is. The Western Republic must live on. Therefore, it is the judgment of myself and the representatives present that we issue a proper reprimand in accordance with your misdeeds."

He paused to reflect his decision, then said, "You are to be banished with the others at the next exodus."

She charged the podium and pounded her fist against the paneling. "You can't do that!"

"I can. And I must." He replied with little hesitancy.

"But I'm not old enough. You can't."

She glared at him at first. Eventually, her expression softened and she reluctantly afforded a pleading gaze.

"Ella, this isn't the first offense you've committed," he said. "But this is by far, the worst. You have a long history of insubordination, even more so since your father left with the last exodus. With so much at stake, to include the lives of everyone on this ship, we cannot afford the risks involved with keeping you here any longer."

Calvin boldly approached the podium and shared Ella's sullen expression.

"Both of you," the vice captain commanded. "Step away."

Calvin remained steadfast. "I've spent my fair share of time out there. But I braved the journey to this place, the place outsiders like me called, the Iron Country. I could hardly believe it when I first saw it, an entire nation encased in a city of metal, and yet I came here because this place was rumored to have some semblance of a noble reputation, one of tolerance and equality. Supposedly, that was what the old Western Republic was about, and despite all the hardships, you all continued to strive to keep those values alive.

Though I haven't been here for very long, I'm already disappointed. Right now, you're no different from the Royalists, and just like them, you're quick to punish, and even quicker to banish.

Either from the poison sand or the raiders, the wastes spell death.

Do you understand? You've issued her death sentence, and not a single one of you hesitated or a gave second thought to the matter."

"Who do you think you are boy?" one of the representatives interjected. "Who are you to pass judgment, when all you know about us is hearsay? These decisions are never easy, but they are made for the greater good."

"All I hear are excuses."

Ella blinked in surprise.

"Calvin, what are you doing?" she whispered.

"Shush. Don't interrupt me while I'm playing hero." he quietly replied.

"If you're trying to protect me, don't. I can handle this myself."

"You can thank me later." He winked, then turned his attention to the vice captain. "Banish me in her place."

An amused chuckle floated above the murmurs littering the council. He was a tall, thin framed man, clean shaven and dressed in a fine suit, which easily made him the most fashion-sensible individual in the room. "Lady's and gentlemen, it seems we have ourselves an aspiring martyr."

A few laughed, but most remained stone-faced, including the vice captain, who once again banged his gavel. "First you insult us, then you issue demands. Tell me, what is she to you, that you are so willing to throw away your life for her sake?"

"Nothing. She's nothing to me. She's just a stranger. I hardly know her, but I know she's not a bad person. What you fail to understand is that I'm a stranger too, and yet recently, I was taken in from the poison sands by the good favor of the people here. For whatever reason, I was worth rescuing.

If your inner compass leads you to a stranger worth rescuing, then mine too leads me to the same. If someone must be blamed, then you need not look any further than the person in front of you."

The well-dressed man was fully prepared to issue another mocking retort, but was swiftly interrupted by the loud thump of the slumbering, senior captain as he drifted out of his chair and onto the floor. Grunting, and fully awake, he propped himself up and leaned his dreary eyes over the podium and towards an audience of startled gazes.

"Well, good morning," he gruffed. "Or is it evening?"

There was only silence and dumbfounded expressions.

He grunted and cleared his throat. "What sort of fantastical world have I found myself in where a humble man isn't greeted when he wakes from his nap?" There was still no answer. "Very well. Then I will consult my watch since it seems to have more sense than anyone in this room." He took his time as he gently tugged a brass pocket watch from his coat and leered at it with annoyed interest. "My goodness, is it really afternoon? And yet we're still here amidst all this absurdity."

"Captain Ferris." The impeccably clothed man gave a wide gesture with a white-gloved hand. "Perfect timing. We've just finished passing judgment. Perhaps you would like to close these proceedings by gracing us with your final words on the matter?"

"Representative Derriden Eidel, you hobnob dandy, when did you slither into the room? I thought you had better things to do than - what did you call it?- 'listen to steerage rats prattle on amongst each other.'"

He cleared his throat. "Yes well, my words may have been a bit exaggerated, but the issues of my district have been dealt with and considering that this matter was next on my list, I came here as quickly as my schedule allowed."

"Of course. I'm sure that we are all grateful that the citizens of the Liberion District were able to free up your commitments to their little social parties so that you may attend to our concerns."

"Father."

"Yes Johnny?"

The vice captain gestured to the individuals that waited anxiously at the base of the podium.

"Oh! Where are my manners?" Captain Ferris chuckled. "Ella my dear, how are you?"

"I've been worse," she said, gently rubbing her bandages. "And if I might add, your snoring could wake the dead."

"And their ancestors," he added proudly. "So what sort of punishment have we decided for you this time."

"Banishment," the vice captain answered coldly.

"What he said," she nodded.

Captain Ferris sighed as he slumped into his chair, then glanced in Derriden Eidel's direction. "No doubt this was your idea."

"It was all of ours." the vice captain said.

He sighed again, then proceeded to his feet where he acknowledge each council member, including his son, with a worried nod before speaking. "As some of you may have noticed, I am still of the old generation, no doubt, the last of my kind; as everyone about my age has already gone on the previous exodus.

Sometimes I think it unfair that people like myself are excluded from such a solemn tradition and are required to remain here simply because there is a need for my expertise. But it's times like this that I am reminded why." His eyes fell lastly onto the expectant girl. "Miss Ella Marshall, as the senior council member granted by our forefathers the responsibility of keeping to our noble traditions and reasoning, I hereby override the council's decision to banish you."

Hushed, frustrated tones filled the room, but no one dared to contradict the honored captain's decision . . . except for one.

"This is outrageous," Derriden protested. "We are elected officials, and as such, the people have trusted us to deliver sound decisions and judgment over what is best for our country. And right now, this girl has time and time again put all of us at risk because of her blatant revelry. If it means her exile to keep our citizens safe, then so be it. She is not anyone so special that she is immune to our laws."

"She is a child," the silver-bearded captain preached. "It's too bad that all of you are so quick to forget, but that alone makes her the single most precious commodity of our quaint little metal nation.

Above food, above water, above the very air we breath, nothing is more important than the youth of our people. They must be protected. That is why we have the exodus, and that is why I still remain here; to remind you all of your commitments to keeping alive our future generations."

The room fell silent as Captain Ferris once again met the eyes of every participant in the room. Finally, and fully satisfied, he yawned and slumped back into his chair. "Now let's be quick about finishing this. I know of a nap that deserves more attention than you all."

"Then I suspect she goes free?" The vice captain inquired.

"Of course not. What do you take me for, a merciful old man?" he winked at Ella who afforded him a cautious sliver of a smile.

"Then what would you have us do with her?"

"Not banishment, that's for sure."

"What then?"

"'What then? What then? What then? What then?' Parrots, the whole lot of you. Rather than extreme decisions, it might do you some good to compromise from time to time." He strained himself to his feet again and adopted an attentive posture more relevant to his respected status. "Miss Ella Marshall, it has come to my attention that in your recent expedition to gather salvage, you were attacked by raiders. Tell me, how do you feel about them?"

She blinked. "Excuse me? I'm not sure if I understand what you're asking."

"It's not a trick question my dear. How do you feel about the raiders?"

"I hate them; every single one of them. They're nothing but scoundrels and I hear that among their flesh-eaten members, some are so far gone, that they've become savage and resorted to eating their own kind."

He nodded. "Interesting. Who told you that they eat their own kind?"

She hesitated, then said, "to tell the truth, it's more gossip really."

"I imagine it's easy to prejudge people we don't understand, especially our enemies, or even those we consider a nuisance." He glanced at those around him, then addressed his son, "Johnny, are the Royalists still at the salvage?"

"No sir. Observation reports them gone. They've likely picked the place clean."

"And what of the raiders?"

"Last we checked, they were battling the Royalists. No doubt they've been defeated."

"Survivors?"

"We don't know sir."

"Then let's go check shall we? Reverse course. We're going back to the salvage. Once we're there Miss Marshall will be charged with overseeing the rescue of any raiders still alive."

"More mouths to feed," Derriden said. "We don't have the supplies to take on anymore people."

"Oh Mr. Eidel, what would this council be without your charming cynicism? We'll find a way. We always have." His attention fell back to Ella, who seemed both anxious and confused. "Have you anything else to say Miss Marshall?"

"I refuse. Banishment would be better than this."

"Too bad you're in no position to request otherwise young lady. However, it might benefit you to look on the bright side. This is your chance to make some new friends."

Ella and Calvin went about silently from one set of corridors to another while Dodger bobbed intrepidly behind, his metal feet pounding like hammers against the narrow deck.

Though Ella seemed intent on reaching some unknown destination, Calvin was worried, as his companion's sour expression left him wondering if it would be more uplifting to start a conversation with Dodger instead.

"So Dodger, where do you think she's taking us?"

The automaton groaned.

"Yes, I know she's angry, but it's obvious you know more than I do. So where is she taking us?"

Dodger groaned again, then prodded him with a fist-sized finger.

"Ow." He rubbed his side as he pretended to laugh. "Best joke I've heard all week. You know what Dodger, you say the funniest things sometimes."

"That was a warning," Ella grumbled. "Next time, he'll pound you into the ground."

"At last she speaks. Since it seems I don't quite understand metal giant lingo, I was hoping you could give me an answer."

"Weren't you listening back at our little council meeting? We're going to the engineer shop."

"No we're not." He tugged at her shoulder, stopping her in the middle of the corridor. "I may not know this ship very well, but I can tell when we've been walking around in circles. So why don't you be straight with me and tell me what we're doing?"
"What we, are doing?" She shrugged his hand off her shoulder. "You are going back to the walker pens to help the chief with repairs."

He crossed his arms and lifted his nose slightly. "You can't get rid of me that easily."

She slammed her palm against his chest, sending him reeling, until he tripped and fell by Dodger's feet. "Why are you so nosey? And why do you have to keep following me?"

With a steady, yet forceful hand, Dodger helped him up by lifting him towards the ceiling by the back of his shirt. His hand released like a spring-loaded clamp and he thumped onto the deck, barely catching his balance as he stumbled forward until her hands pressed against his chest again.

"I wonder how far Dodger can throw you. He loves tossing pests."

"I'm curious, that's all," he confessed. "Can't a kid be curious? Besides, you're better company than the chief."

She sighed. "Dodger included?"

"Especially Dodger." He gave a quick glance and a nod to her mechanical partner, before taking a slow, deliberate step back. "So. Since I suppose you won't be answering my question, can I ask something else?"

Her disgruntled expression softened slightly as she shook her head, then proceeded to lead them once again down the corridor. "Ask away oh curious one."

"What is this thing they call the exodus?"

"It's not a thing. It's an event of sorts?"

"Event?"

She was silent, leaving him worried again. "Did I ask the wrong question?"

Keeping her back turned, she said, "no. You have a right to know. I don't know if you've noticed but there are more children on this ship than adults."

"Now that you've mentioned it, the council and the chief are the only adults I've seen since coming here."

"There's more than you think, but they're so scattered about, that sometimes you'd wonder if this entire ship was run by kids.

The Atlantica is sort of an orphanage you see. We're as much refugees as we are a country and we know all-too-well, that as a ship of survivors and limited supplies, the sacrifices we have to make to keep to our very existence. Every year, the oldest amongst us; parents, grandparents, those that have served their purpose to society, leave the ship and brave the wastes so the youngest of us may continue to live. That is the exodus."

"That's terrible."

"Terrible? Yes. Necessary?" She paused. "Well, my father thought so."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be. I'm tired of people apologizing for him. It was just a terrible year. We were low on food and needed additional volunteers to leave the ship. At his age, he probably could have stayed another ten years. But between all of us starving to death, and a chance for some of us to live, he knew what needed to be done."

Calvin was speechless. He thought hard about any sort of comforting words worth using, but instead, decided not to press the subject.

"Does that answer your question?" she asked.

"It does."

"Good. Since I'm feeling more charitable than usual, I'll answer your first question." She halted and turned to face him before saying, "We're hunting."

"Hunting for what?"

"For a certain fang-toothed being with a penchant for blood from unsuspecting necks."

He crossed his arms again and looked up inquisitively at Dodger, but he remained as poker-faced as ever. Upon closer inspection of Ella's proud demeanor, he affirmed that she was completely serious.

"A vampire?"

"Yes, a vampire. I need her to answer some questions for me," she called out to her surroundings. "As a matter of fact, she should be here right now. Show yourself. I know you've been following us."

"Scoundrels!" The shrill voice seemed to echo from every direction. "What manner of foe are you that can detect Scarlet's presence?"

"The same kind that knows you only come out when Dodger's around," Ella answered. "There's no sense in hiding. Come on out."

A self-satisfied laugh filled the air. "Not until Scarlet has claimed her prize."

Calvin felt the deck vibrate and realized that Dodger's joints were shaking. His head spun like a pinwheel, trying desperately to get a fix on the intruder's location.

"El, your buddy doesn't look well," Calvin stated.

"That's because he just realized that he's the bait."

With anxious ferocity Dodger picked Calvin up by the shoulders and swung him nervously around like a shield. Shocked, the young man cried for help and attempted to pry himself free, but the mechanical guardian's grip was as solid as concrete.

After shouting a few unsavory expletives he pleaded, "El, tell him to let go of me. I swear, if he keeps swinging me around like this, I'm going to puke."

"You'd better not. If you make a mess on him, he's sure to make a mess out of you."

Dodger's frantic motions grew sluggish as his feet noticeably trudged along as if caught in thick, sticky sludge. After a time, his locomotion stopped all-together and his legs froze in place. In a rare display of weakness, he whined and moaned in earnest.

"Magnets," she said. "She's got magnets under the floor."

A large panel leaped from the deck behind the automoton and a billow of white smoke plumed from the opening, filling the length of the corridor.

Ella and Calvin coughed and weezed, unable to see the gray, silhouetted figure that emerged from the deck as it tossed a pair of heavily charged magnets. Both latched onto Dodger's arms and yanked his hands away from Calvin's grasp. The boy fell with a sudden thud as the mechanical being fought and squirmed against the strong polar forces that tugged at him relentlessly. Finally, his wrists locked against his thighs as he yowled in defeat, surrendering to the invisibles forces that left him bound and still.

As the air cleared, Calvin looked up to see a child, hunched like a gremlin against Dodger's back, tinkering and banging away with various instruments from her tool belt. He rose to his feet, further entranced by the girl's nightgown, boots and gloves that comprised her curiously odd choice of fashion.

With squeals of glee, she triumphantly lifted a metal rod over her head and shouted, "another victory for Scarlet." She peered down, locking her yellow eyes to his. "And another innocent saved from the wretched clutches of Mad Hilda's mongrel."

Calvin was speechless and dazed, but Ella clearly wasn't as she grabbed the girl by the ankle, then proceeded to yank her off the back of her precious metal guardian. But the girl stubbornly clung to her prey.

"You've had your fun. Now get off him you little goblin, and give back his shoulder piston."

The girl laughed, then shed her boot, sending Ella tumbling to the deck. She gave a proud pose as she stood atop Dodger's shoulders and announced, "you'll never win Mad Hilda. For as long as Scarlet is here, your insid- , insidee-."

She paused.

Calvin lifted an eyebrow. "Insidious?"

"-your insidious plans shall never see the light of day."

"This sounds oddly familiar," Calvin murmered. "Like something out of a Scarlet adventure book."

Her eyes grew wide. In one swift motion, she leapt off Dodger's shoulders and landed close enough to Calvin to feel her excited breath against his cheek. Prodding him with the piece of Dodger she'd stolen, she advanced onto the retreating boy until he found his back pressed against the wall.

"You read the Scarlet Adventures?" she pandered.

He shrugged his shoulders nervously. "I may have read a few pages in the past."

She bounced like a puppy taunted by a new toy and nudged ever closer to her newly cornered victim. "Oh do tell. Which book did you read? Was it the Sinister Professor of Deathly Island? Or was it the Horrors of Aerisville? Oh, I know, it was the one where she battled that bloated witch of a woman, Mad Hilda and her mechanical minion, Mongrel? Tell me now, I must know-"

She winced in pain as the boot she previously wore struck her squarely in the back of her head. She hissed as she turned to face her self-declared nemesis.

"Who are you calling bloated?" Ella growled, still fanning away at the shallow traces of smoke that still lingered and irritated her throat and eyes.

"Mad Hilda, still up for a fight I see." She took a defensive stance, holding the metal rod out like a sword.

"Give it back girl."

"You'll have to take it from me scoundrel."

Ella lunged and the girl parried. She lunged again, and the girl dodged, finishing her move with a stinging thwack to the back of her neck. Ella rubbed at the pain as the two circled each other, while the other playfully waved the rod in front of her.

Then, as the last of the smoke cleared, they charged.

Calvin darted between them and took them by the wrists. "That's enough you two."

The girl kicked, and Ella retorted with a fist that swung wide and struck Calvin in the jaw.

"I said enough." Calvin shouted and shoved the two away while he nursed the sting in his cheek. "Who is this girl anyways?"

Both glanced at Calvin, then at each other.

Ella sighed, and with marked frustration said, "A she-devil. And in case you haven't figured it out by now, she calls herself Scarlet."

"A pleasure," Calvin uttered, regarding the two cautiously.

Mrs. Peterson smiled as Ella and Scarlet came through the hatch. "Oh my, what a pleasant surprise. One of my favorite girls has come to visit." After wrapping her arms around her, she asked. "Finally managed to get my daughter out of her room did you? I swear, she'd live her entire life in there if it wasn't for you."

"It wasn't easy," Ella said. "Besides, I think she prefers Dodger's company over mine."

Mrs. Peterson gasped. "Did she attack Dodger again?"

Ella nodded.

"Sorry buddy," Calvin consoled the hunched automoton in the corridor outside. "Looks like the hatch is a bit too small for ya. Don't worry, we'll be back in a jiff."

Dodger grumbled as one of his shoulders slumped from the missing piston. With his working arm, he took Calvin by the back of his shirt and shoved him through the hatch.

Inside, Scarlet watched as the boy stumbled and fell. She kneeled down, pressed her chin against the floor and stared at him.

"He's mad huh?" she said innocently.

Propping himself to his feet, he muttered, "And why do you suppose that is?"

"Probably because he misses me."

"Or it might be that thing you stole from him."

She propped herself atop a table in the center of the room and held the metal rod high over her head. "Scarlet does not steal. She merely claims trophies from her victories."

"Isabelle Peterson!" her mother interjected. "I fear you'll rend my nerves if you do not put yourself in proper dress this instant."

Ignoring the grumblings of her daughter, she took her by the arm and pulled her along towards her room. Mrs. Peterson emerged a moment later, huffing and parting loose strands of her blond hair from her forehead. "Now then, would anyone care for some tea?"

"So this is tea?" Ella and Calvin drank the bitter liquid from small bowls then stared at it again apprehensively.

Scarlett regarded the two, who sat on the sofa in the middle of the room, quite enthusiastically as she squealed, then proceeded to consume her portion; all the while scissoring her legs about like a wind-up toy from her chair. The brown frumpled, hastily donned dress she wore was a poor substitute for her previous attire, but she hardly minded.

Mrs. Peterson leaned over the counter from the small kitchen on the other side of the room while she brewed another pot. "Kenzo gave it to us as a gift from his village. He said that both his people and ours used to drink it all the time. What you have there is something of a rare treat. As far as he knows, his village is the only place capable of growing tea leaves."

"Scarlet drank it all the time in the books," the girl said, wriggling in her chair and almost spilling her bowl. "When I asked Kenzo what it was, he gave mother and I half his stash."

"So, it's leaf soup?" Calvin inquired, forcing another gulp from his bowl.

"Scoundrel. It's a drink."

"I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"How can you not know? You've read the books."

"Casually yes, but some details I tend to gloss over."

"And you call yourself a fan."

"I never said I was."

"Wait a minute," Ella interrupted. "You visited Kenzo?"

The girl nodded. "Scarlet sees him all the time."

"But except for the idiotic mischief you cause Dodger and I, you never visit anyone. You're always stuck in your room tinkering with things."

Scarlet finished her tea in one long gulp, then gave a satisfied sigh and tossed the bowl onto the table. "Scarlet has other favorites too."

"Favorites? Oh no. You didn't. . . I mean. . . that thing you're not supposed to do."

"Scoundrel." She jumped from her chair, bared her teeth and pointed at her canines. "Scarlet is no vampire. And these things don't suck people's blood. At least not anymore."

Calvin jolted, surprised by the girl's sudden feral display. "Not anymore?"

Ella kept her eyes locked on the girl. "There's a reason why she's not allowed to go out. As a matter of fact, we shouldn't even be here."

"Unless of course, my daughter or myself offers a proper invitation," Mrs. Peterson said sweetly. "And no doubt, my little girl can never resist offering an invitation to someone who touts about a certain, peculiar automaton, which she's become so enamored with.

Besides, it's not worth worrying your pretty head Ella. Isabelle would never harm Kenzo. He's a charming boy. And like all things new and different to her, she's quite taken with the traditions and nuances of his culture."

"Taken huh?" Ella flouted. "Is that all there is to it?"

"Maybe a little more." Scarlet smiled and dropped back into her chair.

Ella glared, then uttered, "by the way Mrs. Peterson, thank you for the gloves."

"Oh, my pleasure. It seemed you were due for a new pair." She made her way from the kitchen with a fresh-brewed pot and proceeded to refill their bowls. "Now, something tells me this is more than just a friendly visit."

Ella patted the haversack at her side. "It is. I've brought a gift for Scarlet to tinker with."

The red-haired girl's eyes glimmered a pale yellow.

From the haversack came a metal box, and she placed it on the table before the red-headed girl's hungry gaze. Much to the opposite of her enthusiastic daughter, Mrs. Peterson regarded the moment with practiced patience and a reserved, yet polite expression.

"What a pretty box. Scarlet is fascinated and wants to know more about it. Where did you get it from?"

"I came across it during our last salvage run," Ella said. "It was glowing when I found it."

"Glowing?" Scarlet squealed.

She flung open the lid. The box responded, and like flowers in a field, a series of tiny lenses on brass mounts sprang upwards from its hollow case. She then waited for it to reveal whatever tricks remained. Her expression dimmed somewhat at its persistant idleness.

"Is that it?"

"That's all it did for me. Unless you can figure out what's missing."

Her face leaned into the contraption until she could feel the cold metal against her cheek. Her fingers poked and prodded while her eyes hovered incessantly over its surface and every corner as she attempted to deduce the seemingly complex mechanisms within.

"Such adorable gears. And the way the gear box locks them all together. . .oh how fun it would be to rip them out."

"Don't you dare."

". . .and put it back together. Silly Ella, Scarlet would never leave such a beauty in pieces. . . For too long."

Pressing her chin against the table, she froze. . .and thought.

A minute went by, then two.

Calvin's face loomed over the box as he attempted to understand the young girl's peculiar process of deduction. "Maybe it isn't supposed to do anything else."

"Silence," she said. "It's talking to Scarlet."

Mrs. Peterson gave Calvin a small nod. "Best let her be."

Ella slumped into her seat and sipped her bowl while Calvin drifted close to Scarlet as she fluttered her fingers like spider legs, a sign that the urge to take the contraption apart was growing with every passing second.

Both fed off of each others' curiosity until finally, Scalet leapt backwards onto the tips of her feet and gave a sharp twirl.

"Something's broken," she declared.

Ella casually sipped away at her bowl. "I could have told you that."

Shrugging off her seemingly less enthusiastic counterpart, she took Calvin by the wrist and yanked him along as she bounded for her room.

As she flung open the rusty, metal door, Calvin's eyes grew wide with wonder at the doodads, trinkets and piles of bent and worn wares and gears that blanketed the room. Though he remained frozen, the girl leaped like a cat into her unkempt collection.

"Hardly the room of a lady," he uttered.

A volley of books flew from some corner and pelted him relentlessly. He gasped as he fell backwards from the unsuspecting onslaught of paper and leather bindings.

As Scarlet's face rose from one of the piles she said, "and that's just a fraction of Scarlet's collection. You can borrow them if you like. Scarlet gaurantees that you haven't even read half of those stories. Why you might ask?"

She bounded up to him, helped him to his feet and proceeded to shelve the books into his arms. "Because not only are these Scarlet stories rare prints, but Scarlet wrote some of these herself."

She pressed one of her own self-written books against his face, quoted a passage, swooned, then explained at length the passionate intricacies of her handwriting.

"Isabelle." Ella stood impatiently in the doorway.

The young girl growled. "Only mother calls Scarlet, Isabelle."

She pushed Calvins aside, sending him flopping to the ground again while the tower of books in his arms fell, half-burying him.

"You will call Scarlet, Scarlet and nothing else," she hissed.

"I'm sorry. . .Scarlet. How long are you going to be playing around, because if dallying is all you're going to do, then I'm taking the box to someone else."

She huffed. "In the books, Scarlet shares pleasantries with her guests before she gets to business."

"Well, that's enough pleasantries."

Once again, Calvin slowly propped himself to his feet. "Well, I don't mind a little idle banter. Scarlet, your writing is amazing by the way, at least what little I saw in the pages when you slapped it against my face."

She jittered at the comment, and opened a substantially larger tome, which brimmed with her handwriting, then pressed the pages into his nose.

"Please, read and borrow," she hastily offered. "Or is it borrow and read?"

"Isa-. . ." Ella cleared her throat. "Scarlet."

"Right." Shoving the book into his arms she whispered, "borrow it anways, then tell Scarlet what you think."

She then took him by the shoulders and faced him towards the center of her room.

"Make chirping sounds," she commanded.

"Chirping sounds?"

"Yes. Mr. Piddles responds better to strangers than Scarlet sometimes. It's because he likes the sights and smells of new people."

"Mr. Piddles?"

She sighed. "Okay, Doctor Piddles. He answers better to that title, but truthfully, he hasn't done anything to deserve it."

"I don't think I understand."

"Chirp. Chirp now."

Ella gave him a sharp shove from behind. "Yeah Calvin, chirp."

He glanced back at Ella, blinked, then with measured hesitation he proceeded to chirp.

"Louder," Scarlet commanded.

He gave the chirping more force and for a good minute, felt all the more silly for his actions. As he looked back again at Ella, he noticed her snickering, and with a hurried gesture of her hand, ushered him on.

It was after the third minute that, much to Calvin's relief and surprise, there was a response. Somewhere within the piles, came a second chirp.

"He must have been asleep," Scarlet said matter-of-factly.

The chirps remained consistent and grew steadily louder as whatever it was that hid in the room, grew closer. The feathered, somewhat whispered sound seemed metallic, almost artificial.

Then, from the pile at Calvin's feet, emerged a tiny creature of white fur and mud, brown spots. It looked up at the boy, flickering his nose as he took in his scent, while his herald chirps squealed from a small, windup device strapped to his back.

"A mouse." Calvin declared.

"An assistant," Scarlet corrected.

She picked him up and gently patted him between the ears with her finger. "Mr. Piddles, Scarlet would like to introduce to you Mr. Calvin."

The creature reared onto his hind legs as she held him up to Calvin's face; and then, with whatever expression that was indicative of mouse-like curiosity, proceeded to reach his pink paw out and rub the tip of his nose.

"Hold still," Scarlet whispered. "He's going to sniff you."

"Is that how a mouse greets people?" Calvin asked.

"No. Mr. Piddles does not greet people. He only confirms whether or not he likes them."

"How do I know if he'll- ow!" He twitched as the mouse bit his nose.

"Like that. Mr. Piddles has now deemed you, acceptable."

They surrounded the box once again, its solitary presence on the table made all the more ominous by the mystries it contained. Calvin, Ella and Mrs. Peterson watched as Scarlet placed the mouse on the table. With meticulous hands, she secured a tiny cap onto his furry head, which mounted a miniature oil lantern.

"Mr. Piddles has been Scarlet's assistant for a long time. He helps when there's tinkering to be done with gears and parts too small for Scarlet's hands." With practiced discipline, the mouse remained perfectly still as Scarlet carefully lit his head-mounted lantern. "He's quite old now, by mouse standards of course. So his vision in the dark isn't what it used to be."

"Is this. . .normal?" Calvin whispered to Ella.

"What do you mean?" she replied.

"Well, it's a mouse."

"And?"

"She's going to use it to muck about in your box. Shouldn't mice be doing something a little less. . .I don't know. . .complicated?"

She glanced at him. "Like cooking?"

"Yes, like cooking." He paused briefly, then said, "no, not like cooking."

"My thoughts exactly. Mice make terrible chefs. They leave droppings everywhere."

"Now we are properly ready." Scarlet proudly propped her hands on her hips and gazed determinedly at her little companion. "Mr. Piddles front and center."

The rodent twitched his nose and swiveled his pink, slightly droopy ears in her direction.

"This box pains Scarlet, Mr. Piddles," she continued. "It refuses to work, and from close examination, Scarlet suspects there's a broken bit in there somewhere dodging up the works. Your mission, is to go in there and find out what that is."

The mouse squealed in what Calvin could only imagine was his manner of acknowledgement, before it turned and scampered up the side of the metal box. Like a snake, it wriggled its furry body through several crevices and openings until it finally disappeared.

As time passed, a hushed squeak and small, but rampant glimmers of lantern light hinted at Mr. Piddles's studios probing. Then, his urgency seemed to grow much more apparent as the tapping and scratching sounds of his paws grew louder.

Louder and louder it grew until it seemed the device itself was coming to life.

Ella and Calvin drew their eyes closer.

It was the sudden silence that brought a hush of startled -but all the more passionate- intrigue amongst them.

They waited.

When nothing happened Calvin added, "Maybe he found a bit of cheese in there."

Scarlet shook her head. "Cheese gives Mr. Piddles sour digestion."

"Does he do anything mouse-related?"

"He can dance."

"Mice don't dance."

"Of course they do, they-"

Their conversation was interrupted by the muffled, but clamored clattering of distinctly determined rummaging. A squeak of triumph resounded from within and Mr. Piddles emerged with a bit of brass between his teeth.

"Victory once again," Scarlet declared as she held out her hand and collected the prize from the mouse's grasp.

She carefully studied the object, then confirmed to Ella and Calvin, "it's cracked and worn. It looks like it's used to thread a series of sprockets."

"Well can't you fix it?" Ella asked.

Tapping her finger against her forehead, she paced about the room in a wide circle while she drifted into thought. Calvin gave a start as she shouldered past him, then stepped on his foot. He shouted, but she continued on her circular course.

"You'd best get out of her way when she gets like this," Mrs. Peterson cautioned. "She likes to think on her feet."

She stopped, looked at the box, then turn and ran for her room. She came back with Dodger's shoulder piston and tossed it onto the table.

"This was supposed to be for Scarlet's collection," she said as she quickly took it apart with her tools. "But the box demands a sacrifice in exchange for its secrets."

Ella grunted. "That's all fine and noble, but that part wasn't yours to begin with."

She glanced at her. "Silly Ella. You forget that Dodger belongs to Scarlet, shoulder piston and all."

"I dare you to take him from me." Her hand struck the table, throwing Mr. Piddles off his paws.

Both glared like opposing lions before a fresh kill.

Then Mrs. Peterson stepped in and said, "young ladies, I believe there's something here more important that demands your attention. Besides, it's rude to be unlady-like when men are present."

Calvin cleared his throat and timidly looked away, while Scarlet and Ella afforded a smirk before continuing with the task at hand.

She played with the innards of the shoulder piston, bending wires and attaching bits and pieces here and there with absolute attention to detail, almost to the point of obsession. Calvin stood amazed as he watched her steady, but fierce fingers move with such precision and speed, that it seemed unnatural. What was completed, was a prestine replica of the object the mouse had presented.

"Mr. Piddles front and center."

Her furry companion presented himself and took from her palm, the newly completed replacement part. She relit his lantern and sent him on his way.

Once again, he wormed his way into the box's inner workings and the rampant sounds of taps, scratches and squeaks eminated from within.

Scarlet looked up at Calvin who seemed to have a healthy dose of doubt smeared across his face.

"Worried?" Scarlet asked.

Calvin sighed. "Are you sure he's putting it in correctly? I mean, he is a mouse after all."

"Are you still on about that? Prejudice is what you are."

"Wouldn't prejudism apply to humans?"

"Other species included," she protested. "Besides, you'd best watch what you say. Mr. Piddles can hear you. And he doesn't take kindly to insults."

She clawed the air and made a hiss.

Calvin gave a polite cough and crossed his arms. "Then I say to the mouse, carry on."

The sounds of rattling drew their attention, and like a snake emerging from its den, Mr. Piddles flung open a small compartment and squirmed his way through, all the while dragging along something coiled by his tail. After pawing off the dirt and grime from his whiskers, his dark beady eyes met his owner's.

"A wind up key," Scarlet cheered, taking his newly found discovery. "You never cease to amaze. So are we ready? Is it fixed?"

He gave a series of rapid head motions that seemed nothing more than random rodent gestures to Ella and Calvin, but somehow Scarlet managed to translate to a very confirmed, 'yes.' He then nudged his nose against a narrow hole in the side of the box, where she proceeded to insert the key.

The box rustled like a bag of nails with each forceful twist of the key. When it would turn no more, she leaned towards the curious device with a look that hungered for answers, while her two companions retreated half-a-step.

What remained was silence, and not a single peep of activity from its inner workings.

Yet still they waited, and continued to wait until Scarlet's hand slapped its metal siding as if punishing it for some unnamed mischief.

"Scoundrel," she said shaking it. "Work you silly thing."

"May I," Ella unceremoniously took it from her grasp, set it gently back onto the table and pointed out a brass-molded word marked, 'on." She depressed the gold-colored mark and a loud click echoed from within.

Tiny lids across the top of the box popped and sputtered while brass-framed lenses moved on gears and levers sending the entire contraption into a whirlwind of mechanical motion. Then, as if in bloom, its myriad parts and appendages splayed outwards and locked into place.

"It's like a flower," Mrs. Peterson said.

Scarlet cheered once again, slapped her hands on the table, and leaned in. With eyes wide, she oggled it while Calvin and Ella remained ever reserved.

The object paused again briefly, as if relishing their reactions before continuing.

Another click sounded and a white, fervent light gleamed through the various tilted and shaped lenses, producing the blurred image of a person suspended in air.

Ella reached out and brushed her fingers over the luminescent beam. "It's like those pictures burned into paper. The kind we find in the old city ruins."

"That light. It's completely unnatural," Calvin murmured. "The color, the way it refuses to flicker, it's not coming from any flame I know of."

"It's artificial," Scarlet uttered in a tone calm enough to surprise him. "Like the glows you see in Dodger's eyes. There's some sort of ethereal current moving within, powering it all."

"Artificial you say? Downright unnatural to me."

"Shush. It's doing something."

The lenses teetered in minute increments until the blurry image came into focus. What emerged was a still picture of a man, etched in midair by meticulously focused beams of light and whose determined eyes seemed to gaze at both nothing and everything.

Ella was breathless while Scarlet covered her mouth in a vain attempt to suppress her scream as both stared at the all-too familiar image.

"Father," stuttered both girls.

Mrs. Peterson approached amazed while pressing a comforting hand on Scarlet's shoulder.

The two girls looked at each other.

"Father?" Both said again.

"He can't be your father," Ella said. "He's mine."
"And he can't be yours," Scarlet retorted. "Because he's mine."

Mrs. Peterson sighed. "He belongs to the both of you."

Both turned to the woman whose all-too calm announcement compelled their attention. But as she opened her mouth to speak, the box rambled and hissed as a scratchy voice pierced the air.

"I have no doubt." the picture said. "That those listening to me now were meant to hear my words. Because if you are not that sort of person, then how could you possibly know the question to the answer I am about to give."

From one of its panels, extended a conical tube.

"What the. . ." Calvin hesitated. "What is it?"

"A sound scriber," Ella explained. "And its asking us to verify the listener."

"Verify how?"

Scarlet once again remembered that moment with her father, the very one that had plagued her dreams every other night. She leaned towards the tube and to her surprise, so did Ella.

The older girl blinked. "He also asked you to record something didn't he?"

Scarlet nodded.

Then, after taking half-a-breath, both said, "When are you coming home?"
The cone-like tube immediately retracted and something inside whirred and hummed. A confirming chime preceded a grainy, solemn response.

"You are that precious sort of person. And my answer to you is, after I have died."

A hidden compartment sprung open and offered them a gift.

                                    TO BE CONTINUED IN

                          CHAPTER 5: THE DEATHLY TWINS