“I think it’s creepy,” said Jarre, shivering. “Now that we’ve seen it, let’s go. I don’t like this place. And I don’t like that thing.”
Hapto could have echoed her sentiments. He didn’t like this place, either. The automaton reminded him of the living corpses on Abarrach, dead bodies brought to life by the power of necromancy. He had the feeling that the same sort of dark magic was working here, only in this instance it had given life to what was never meant to be alive. A degree better, he supposed, than bringing to life rotting flesh. Or perhaps not. The dead at least possessed souls. This metal contraption was not only mindless but soulless as well.
The dog sniffed at the automaton’s feet, looked up at Haplo, baffled, apparently wondering why this thing that moved like a man and talked like a man didn’t smell like a man.
“Go watch the door,” Haplo ordered the dog.
Bored with the automaton, the animal was happy to obey.
Limbeck pondered, fell back on his favorite question. “Why? If this metal man’s been running the machine all these years, why did the Kicksey-winsey stop?”
Bane pondered, shook his head. “I don’t know,” he was forced to admit, shrugging.
Haplo scratched his glowing hand, mindful that their danger had not lessened. “Perhaps, Your Highness, it has something to do with the opening of Death’s Gate.”
Bane scoffed. “A lot you know—” he began.
The automaton turned in Haplo’s direction.
“The Gate has opened. What are my instructions?”
“That’s it,” said Haplo in satisfaction. “I thought as much. That’s why the Kicksey-winsey stopped.”
“What gate?” Limbeck asked, frowning. He’d wiped his spectacles, replaced them on his nose. “What are you talking about?”
“I suppose you could be right,” Bane mumbled, glancing at Haplo balefully. “But what if you are? What then?”
“I demand to know what’s going on!” Limbeck glared at them.
“I’ll explain in a minute,” said Haplo. “Look at it this way, Your Highness. The Sartan intended that the four worlds all work together. Let’s say that the Kicksey-winsey was not meant to simply draw the floating islands into alignment on Ananus. Suppose the machine has other tasks, as well, tasks that have something to do with all the other worlds.”
“My true work begins with the opening of the Gate,” said the automaton. “What are my instructions?”
“What is your true work?” Bane parried.
“My true work begins with the opening of the Gate. I have received the signal. The Gate is open. What are my instructions?”
Where are the citadels?
Haplo was reminded, suddenly, of the tytans on Pryan. Other soulless creatures, whose frustration over not having their question answered led them to murder whatever hapless being crossed their path. Where are the citadels? What are my instructions?
“Well, give it the instructions. Tell it to turn the machine on and let’s go!” Jarre said, shuffling nervously from one foot to the other. “The diversion can’t last much longer.”
“I’m not leaving until I know exactly what’s going on,” Limbeck stated testily.
“Jarre’s right. Tell it what to do, Your Highness, then we can get out of here.”
“I can’t,” said Bane, glancing at Haplo slyly out of the corner of his eye.
“And why not, Your Highness?”
“I mean I can, but it will take a long time. A long, long time. First I’ll have to figure out what each different part of the machine is meant to do. Then I’ll have to give each part of the machine its own instructions—”
“Are you certain?” Haplo eyed the boy suspiciously.
“It’s the only safe way,” Bane replied, all glittering innocence. “You want this to be done safely, don’t you? If I made a mistake—or you made a mistake—and the machine started running amok… maybe sending islands scooting here and there, perhaps dropping them into the Maelstrom.” Bane shrugged. “Thousands of people could die.”
Jarre was twisting her skirt into knots. “Let’s leave this place, right now. We’re well enough off, as it is. We’ll learn to live without the Kicksey-winsey. When the elves find out it isn’t going to work again, they’ll go away—”
“No, they won’t,” said Limbeck. “They can’t or they’ll die of thirst. They’ll search and poke and prod until they discover this metal man and then they’ll take it over—”