TRANSMUTATION

And another day ends. Whistles fall silent; furnaces burn low; wheels cease to turn. A full Moon transforms brass and copper structures to cold silver. Within the walls of the Clockwork Court all is shadow, all inhabitants asleep - or rather all but one. This one awakes, shakes her massive brass hide, snorts a puff of oily smoke from her snout, and yawns, revealing vicious steel fangs. It is Artos, and the night is her time.

Artos

Her metal components glide together silently as she pads through her dark domain. Artos is a solitary creature, though she does not feel alone - for she inhabits a world of statues. There is the one she thinks of as Mighty Smith, his hammer raised mid stroke, a look of intense concentration on his face. And near him is Gentle Lady with her expression of kindness – Artos likes her best. And there is a vast area that Artos calls the Maker Place – it is full of many figures of differing forms and sizes, and all seem to be engaged in building interesting devices. And in an untidy part of her realm stand the Rude Mechanicals – comical, misshapen effigies; their odd structures amuse Artos. And of course, there are the Screaming Ones – she hurries through the area in which they stand.

Some nights are short and some are long, but she walks an identical path every time, retiring to slumber only with the first ray of the Sun. If her world was ever other, she has no memory of it and is content with her routine. And though she has made her patrol for time out of memory, she has never encountered an intruder, never had to defend her territory.

Siala

gears tumble wildly
springs boing and scatter
forms more intricate
than gold filigree
colours more vivid
than the lustre of
oxidated steel
clockwork rhythm disrupted!

Sialia wakes with a screech. His eye bulbs blaze and his body convulses, knocking him off his perch with a clatter of feathers and gears. He trembles on the floor, weird colours still swirling in his mental processor. Another night terror, a strange, wild image of disorder and entropy. These visions have been occurring more frequently of late, but Sialia has told no one, not even his mistress, the Lady Maria. He fears they may be symptoms of critical malfunction, that he may have to be dismantled in the Scrap Yard or melted forever in the infernal heat of the Furnace.

His processor cools and the strange colours clear from his sight. All is dark and silent. For a moment he fears that his vision has come true, that he has awoken in the time of Final Entropy. But as his eye bulbs adjust to the shadows he sees that the end times have not yet arrived. The Court still stands, and there is the Lady Maria, there the Engineer, there Shiba. All in their customary places but unmoving, asleep. For the first time ever, Sialia has woken in the night.

Artos

She had been inspecting the Maker Place when she heard the screech. She froze in shock. The sound had slashed through her silent world and echoes still around the walls. She turns her ears slowly and after a little time hears more sounds, these fainter, of something moving in Mighty Smith’s Hall. Outrage fills Artos. Her eyes blaze red and acrid smoke billows from mouth and snout. She charges to confront the intruder.

Sialia

He flutters around the Central Chamber inspecting the still figures and wondering what to do next. He is tempted to visit the other parts of the night-shrouded Court, but maybe he better try to get back to sleep until sunrise. In any case, he has decided to tell Pierce the Gaffer about his visions and his nighttime adventure. He hears a pounding sound, and twin red lights appear from the shadows. Curious, Sialia flies towards them.

Artos

A flying thing with glowing amber eyes swoops down on her. Artos swipes one paw and then the other but the attacker dodges both, filling Mighty Smith’s Hall with its horrible screeching. It abandons its assault on Artos and turns on Gentle Lady. Enraged, Artos pursues the thing and pounces, bringing it down before it can reach her favourite. She pounds the thing off the floor, shredding its body with her steel claws until it is destroyed, a ruined mass of copper and silver and cobalt and two dying amber bulbs, lying at the feet of Gentle Lady. The first ray of the Sun heralds the end of night. Calm again, Artos returns to her den to sleep.

Sialia

and as his eyes dim
the page is granted
a revelation
a vision of worlds
beyond the machine
where wild birds may glide
free of clockwork fate
on winds of infinity