When Pascale Auber is forced out of the airship of the evil Dr. Simpelstur, she finds herself rescued by a handsome Ruritanian diplomat, Theo von Hentzau. Pascale soon realizes that Theo is hiding something - something to do with the evil doctor, th...
My dreams were troubled. Not at first, of course- at first the residual effects of the mechanical orchestra continued, and it was as though I were still dancing, borne along on an ocean of music. Gradually, things changed; I danced not only with a smiling Theo von Hentzau, but with a frowning Gabriel Dantès. The music changed, too; it was no longer the cheerful dance music played at Delmonte's, but slowly grew darker, and more discordant. Finally, a small drum began to sound, a terrible, loud TAP as Dantès spun away into the darkness. A hand reached for my own, and I looked up into the triumphant face of Dr. Simpelstur.
I was awake at once. I sat up in bed, leaning back against the brass tubing that made a decorative headboard. For an instant, I thought I might still be dreaming, because the tapping continued, seeming to come from the general direction of the windowsill. The sun was only starting to rise, a faint white glow suffusing the lower margin of a sky full of particularly dark and angry clouds. My nightgown had ridden up during the night due to my unquiet rest, and I pulled it into a decorous position as I walked across the room to the window.
Sitting on the windowsill was a mechanical bird, roughly the shape and size of a turtle-dove. It was constructed out of delicate, incredibly thin sheets of bright metal, held together by rivets. I had seen clockwork carrier pigeons before; they run on a tiny set of gears and springs, one winding sufficient to travel eight hours -more, if there was a tailwind. The metal bird's beak, tapping against the windowpane, had been the cause of my disturbed sleep.
I opened the window, and picked up the bird.
I so rarely pick up a clockwork carrier pigeon that I am always shocked by how light they are, and how cool they feel on the palms. They feel like they could fall apart at the slightest breath, turning into a heap of useless wheels and springs in your hands.
I gently turned the bird over, revealing the storage compartment in its belly. Behind the tiny door was a single sheet of paper, folded over many times, and the key to rewind the bird. On the outside of the folded sheet the words "No reply" were scrawled in pencil, so I set the paper on the bed. Then I rewound the carrier pigeon, tucked the key back into the storage compartment, and leaned out of the window. I held the bird in both hands, then let go. I watched as the elegant wings spread out, caught the wind, and propelled the bird away,more-or-less in the direction of headquarters.
I picked up the folded sheet of paper and climbed back onto the bed, tugging the covers around my shoulders. Carefully, I unfolded the paper and began to read:
Be here as early as practical. Read the front page of The World, and the society page of The Aeon before you arrive.
The notice was typed, but there was only one person who would send me an order. I strongly considered going back to sleep and giving up on the whole, ridiculous mess that my life had become, but in the end I decided that I did, in fact, wish to remain employed.
I set the paper down, shrugged off the covers, and started pulling off my nightgown.
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So . . . this bird is much more dove-like - and much heavier - than what I was picturing, but it's very cool, isn't it?
