Dearston listened to the slowing clicks as the laboratory’s gears wound down. He glanced at the window. Night has stolen the last light already. Midwinter had come far too soon, he decided.

A lady was getting married. The fact, in itself, was nothing astonishing. Ladies and Lords married every day. Even Ladies and Lords of the upper houses. Perhaps even especially among those circles where fuss was made.

Olswon perched on his stool with the magistrate prattling behind him. “And we simply must know what cause the automic to… to… misbehave.” Olswon could hear the man wringing his hands. Understandable since the machine had trampled smack through the center of his swearing in.

“Keep up, would you?” Professor Aldald’s voice carried over the din of experiments in various stages of progress. Grancis glanced at one worktable bellowing copious amounts of dark, thick smoke from a mechanical. Or destruction, he amended to himself.