Chapter 8

Graham

 

Despite all the strange and wonderful things he’d experienced as Machin’s apprentice, Graham couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

The flame person, which appeared to be female in every other way, wore breeches like a man. Wisps of gold-blue hair flowed across her shoulders. The smoothness of her skin and curve of her jaw suggested she was young, like him. Though she looked fearful, she was calm. And the tiniest glimpse of her smile lit the room.

She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Machin adjusted his goggles and pressed them to the globe. “Keep your voices low, and try not to make any sudden noise,” he whispered. “Everything we do or say will be amplified to this tiny being of light.”

“You mean we would hurt her?” said Graham, frowning.

Machin nodded.

“Though right now she isn’t physical in quite the same way we are, she is able to feel, and see, and hear.” He smiled. “Isn’t that so, young lady?”

The girl inside the globe smiled. Her mouth moved, soundlessly.

“You have a name that you’d appreciate us using, don’t you?” continued Machin.

She nodded.

“I believe I have something that will help.”

He hobbled over to a shelf on the wall, on which neatly folded polishing cloths were stacked in piles. He muttered a sound of approval before wrapping his hands around something and bringing it to the table.

The object, a ram’s horn, was hollow on the inside and narrowed as it curved; but, instead of coiling to a point, the horn ended in a tube not much thicker than a drinking straw.

Machin pressed the smaller end of the horn to his ear, and the wider coned end to the glass. “This should work nicely. Now, what is your name?”

Graham and Gelsey stood by and watched the girl’s lips form words they couldn’t hear.

Machin stood up; he chuckled softly.

“Our guest says her name is Evelyn Bowman. A lovely name, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” said Gelsey. Her face had gone pale. “It certainly is.”

She seemed to catch herself before stating in a softer voice, “Welcome, Evelyn. Is there anything we can get you? Are you hungry?”

The girl inside the glass pressed her hands to her stomach and shook her head. She turned her head to Machin, pointing in a way that suggested she’d like him to place the horn to the glass again.

When he’d done so, her lips moved.

“You, my dear, are inside my cottage in Havenbrim,” said Machin.

Graham and Gelsey exchanged a glance as Machin listened.

“Say that again for me, more slowly, please.”

He paused.

“It would seem you are far from home, then.”

He listened intently for some time. Graham watched, spellbound by the way the girl’s tiny lips moved, by the expressions on her face, and the waving of her hands.

“No,” said Machin, finally. He laughed. “You are not our prisoner. More than anything, you are our guest. And we’ll help you as much as we can.”

He cleared his throat. “I am Machin, and they are Gelsey and Graham.”

Graham frowned, growing tired of the one-sided conversation, wishing he could hear the girl’s words. And hear her voice, with his own ears. Evelyn Bowman was, after all, inside his lantern—made with the globe and frame he had chosen. He still hadn’t the slightest idea how she’d gotten in there, where she was from, who she was, or what she was.

“May I have a try, Master Machin?” he said, nodding to the horn and opening his hand.

Machin lifted the horn from the glass and gave him a sly look.

“Yes, what was I thinking? Of course she’d rather speak with you, my apprentice, who knows so much about such things.”

Graham raised his palms. “I didn’t mean anythin’ by it, I’m only curious, that’s all. Gelsey and I aren’t gettin’ her answers, and I thought I might—”

His chest sunk in with guilt. Machin was right. He was only an apprentice. Nothing more. Moreover, it was Machin who’d fashioned the globe, and had given him the position; and it was Machin and Gelsey who had provided the food in his stomach as well as the roof over his head.

“I’m sorry,” he said, quietly. “Guess I got carried away.”

“Enough of this,” said Gelsey. The duster in her hands was so tightly twisted, its feathers were molting. “What did she—Evelyn—say?”

Machin sighed. “Evelyn Bowman is visiting us from Erie, Pennsylvania. A land far from here. She believes she was transported to Havenbrim by accident.”

“The poor dear! How do we get her home?”

After turning and taking a long look at the girl, Machin set the horn on the table next to the globe. “Please excuse us,” he said to Evelyn.

Turning again, he locked arms with Gelsey and Graham, and pulled them along with him until they reached the furnace. When he spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper above the crackle of flame.

“This situation is not only out of the ordinary, it is quite serious. Evelyn has explained to me that she was celebrating Halloween on the night she was pulled inside a lantern and transported here.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” breathed Gelsey. “Halloween isn’t for several more days.”

“Yes, I know,” he said, frowning. “She keeps speaking of a bright blue light, and I’m not sure how to send her back. Not in her present form.”

“Present form?” asked Graham.

“Before I can do anything to help her, we must find a way to get her out of that lantern. Before her light burns out.”

Graham’s face paled. “Burns out? What do you mean burns out? What kind of trade do you have goin’ here?”

Machin gave him a look that froze him in place.

“Have you lost your senses, Graham Webb? That is the second time you’ve spoken out against me today. The only instances since you’ve started the position. Are you unwell?”

Graham shook cobwebs from his head. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t think so. But I have this terrible feelin’ that somethin’ is wrong, somehow. Unfair, too.” He frowned. “Perhaps you’re right. Maybe I should rest.”

Halfway toward the hatch to the underground rooms, Graham stopped and turned around.

“Have I done somethin’ to cause this? To put Evelyn Bowman in danger?” he said.

“This isn’t a question of blame. It’s a question of why.”

As Graham let those words sink in, he found it difficult not to suspect that, maybe, Machin framed the question that way to cover up his own blame. He nodded anyway, respecting his master’s words, grateful Machin hadn’t said it was Graham’s own doing. Or, rather, Graham’s fault.