The Brass Giant Read Online Free Page A

University had ever taught. She groaned. And there was absolutely nothing to be done about any of it.
    The music slowed to a stop.
    But what bothered her most was the fact that there was some aspect of mechanics that she didn’t understand. She hated not knowing.
    She sat up and twisted around in her chair. “Mr. Stricket, have you ever seen a ticker—­a machine of any kind—­act without someone directly controlling it, without being linked to a control apparatus or programmed to follow an engineered, repetitive function?”
    Mr. Stricket seemed to think about it. “I don’t think I follow.”
    â€œIs it possible for a machine to act without direct intervention, almost autonomously?”
    â€œThat would be extraordinary.”
    Petra frowned. “But you don’t know how it could be done?”
    â€œI imagine they study that sort of thing at the University.”
    She swallowed back the acidic embarrassment in her throat. “Yes,” she said quietly. “I expect so.”
    Mr. Stricket took a deep breath and stood, his joints creaking nearly as much as the old wicker chair beneath him. “It is such a shame the Guild forbids women to attend. I know at least one bright young woman who deserves a place there,” he said with a wink. Still smiling, he crossed the small room and reached for something atop the shelf above the table. “Now, I have something for you.” He pulled down a dark wooden box and carefully placed it in front of Petra.
    â€œWhat is it?” she asked.
    â€œOpen it up.”
    She carefully opened the lid, revealing soft felt lining along the walls of the box, but nothing else. “It’s empty.”
    A smile spread across his thin face, a twinkle in his green eyes. “It’s for the musical box.”
    Petra inhaled a sharp breath and shook her head. “Oh, Mr. Stricket, I couldn’t.”
    â€œYes, my dear, you can. I bought that musical box months ago as a gift, to congratulate you.”
    â€œCongratulate me for what?”
    Mr. Stricket cupped her face in his hands and smiled. “Petra, if I ever had a son, I can only imagine that he would have been something like you: passionate, strong-­willed, and a deft hand with machines. He would have been my apprentice at the shop at a young age, learning to repair and build tickers.” Her old mentor placed his hand on her shoulder, tears glimmering in his eyes. His smile quivered. “Now, I may not have a son, but I do have you . You have been my apprentice since you were old enough to turn a screwdriver, but today you are no longer an apprentice.” He gestured to the table and to the musical box. “You, my dear, are a master. This musical box is proof.”
    The heat rose in her cheeks, and the corners of her eyes stung, but she did not cry. Petra Wade never cried. She blinked back the traitorous tears as she stood and faced Mr. Stricket. She wrapped her arms around his frail body like she had done as a child, ever since the first day she wandered into his store and he taught her the secrets of clockwork.
    â€œThank you,” she whispered. “For everything.”
    He smoothed her hair. “Of course, my dear.”

 
    Chapter 2
    P ETRA SAT ON the steps outside the shop, watching the ­people of the fourth quadrant move up and down the street. Outside the pub, a group of women and a few men gathered, speaking heatedly to one another. She caught snippets of their conversations. “ . . . abominable machinery . . . Satan’s machines . . . death to the Guild . . .” Luddites. Why the Guild tolerated their presence, she didn’t understand.
    Since seeing the automaton, Petra had haunted the steps whenever business was slow. Two weeks she had waited, hoping she might see him again, but there hadn’t been a hint of the automaton engineer. Other students had frequented the walk between the