Blue

“Smart move.”

“Ah, but yours was smarter.” I slide my chess piece to the next available square and lock eyes with Keyman. “Your turn.”

Keyman smiles, his white whiskers lifting as he scoops up a chess piece in gnarled hands and knocks over my rook. “You’re going easy on me 22A.”

“Well, I do try to be kind.” I move my queen forward without looking at Keyman this time. “It balances us out. If I was just as ruthless as you, where would I be?”

“With quite a few more wins in chess.” He slides his king into the space I knew he would and proclaims, “Checkmate!”

“Congratulations.” I incline my head towards Keyman, but he does not incline back.

“You are distracted today, 22.” He stills my hand from clearing the board with his own.

For a moment all I can look at is our two hands, his old wrinkled one in my porcelain one, some of his flab covering my red and blue wires. For a moment I can pretend that we are father and daughter, or master and apprentice. Not master and creation. Clever scientist and freakish monster.

But only for a moment. Because like all good moments they are doomed to end. 

My brain is already calculating the seconds until Keyman pulls away, until the game board is cleared, and I am set off on doing my meaningless tasks for the day.

“Not so.” I mutter, Keyman’s hand leaving my own, our moment collapsing.

“You certainly appear to be.” Keyman slides the players into their small leather pouch, his hands already moving to close the board, and thus, end our game officially.

“How so?” I refuse to meet his eyes, instead fingering one of the pink scraps of fabric--a pink so worn with time it is almost white--that makes up my dress.

It is a patchwork of fabric, tatters of silk and velvet that have been stitched, tied, and wrapped into something like a dress. Bands criss cross my arms, wrapping around my hands, my legs, my chest, my feet, everything, so much so that a certain cut here or there will unravel the whole thing.

I have others of course, those richly coloured fabrics that Keyman tells me people in the town wear, but I like my scraps and tatters far better. I was “born” into them, and have been wearing them since the moment I gained consciousness.

Keyman tells me that it’s my nostalgia that keeps me from throwing the tattered dress out, and that it is yet another of my many human flaws. 

I just think it’s pretty.

“Well for one thing,” Keyman is saying, looping me back into the conversation, “You let me win.”

“I would--”

The knock on the front door silences us both.

Keyman no longer needs to tell me what to do. I know by now to quietly tuck in my chair and escape to the winding staircase of our small tower and hover by the banister like a ghost.

I am not allowed outside. I am not allowed to see other humans.

You would scare them, Keyman tells me time and time again when I ask to visit the marketplace, only for a moment. They will take one look at your hands and they will see the wires under your skin. Will realize that your skin is too white to be normal. And that your face is too perfect even though there are no wires there for them to see.

My answer had always been the dutiful yes, Keyman. Or yes, master, of course. 

But it has never stopped me from thinking the opposite. Of wanting to leave, and perhaps, when Keyman dies as all old people do, never coming back.

But I know that right now is not the time for defiance. 

I have to save that all for tonight. Especially because Keyman is already taking note of how distracted I am.

I watch now from the shadows as he opens the door. There is an officer on the other side, one of the Guard’s folk.

Keyman mutters only a few words to the man, gives a short bow, then closes the door.

When he turns around I can already see the silver ticket in his hand, magic practically dripping from its glowing surface.

“What is it?” I ask, even though that answer is obvious.

Even without sharpened eyes any one person with a brain would be able to tell that it’s a ticket for the Ball.

“Something of little importance.” Keyman flicks the ticket into the waste bin and I think that had it not been for my nerves of literal steel I would have flinched. “You know your tasks for the rest of the day. Put the Ball out of your mind and get to them.” 

Keyman is clever, but I am quiet. What he doesn’t know is that for weeks I’ve been stitching together a dress with all the fabrics of the other dresses he brings me, spending every free moment doing so, all in preparation for tonight.

I am going to the Ball. 

****

Soon night is falling, and before I know it I’m in Keyman’s room, turning off his lights and closing his bedroom door.

It’s odd, actually. The books always tell you about the parents tucking their children into bed, never about the child tucking in their parents. But I’ve been doing that for Keyman since my very beginning.

I always have to remind myself that he is not exactly the parent and I am not exactly the child, but at the end of the day it always seems to feel that way.

I make him his breakfast, clean his house, make sure his bath water is the appropriate temperature (without submerging myself in it of course), and see him off to bed. And for all that I sometimes get a smile. A hug once or twice in a blue moon.

I turn it all over as I get ready.

My dress is not the most beautiful, not the most eye-catching, and certainly not the most classy, but it will do.

“How do I look Apple?” I turn to the tiny white rat chewing on a small block of cheese on my quilted bed.

Apple--named after my finding her eating an apple core--looks at me once before returning to her cheese.

“Fair, I suppose. After all, I'm no golden block of cheese.” I pat down my hair which I’ve pulled into a loose knot at the base of my neck, then run my hands down the dress that I had put 3 months of my best efforts into. 

It’s not unlike my usual dress, it is after all a patchwork of several other dresses, but it is unique entirely. Shades of periwinkle make up the bodice, slowly darkening to shades of lapis and cobalt, then deepening to a royal navy blue, and the very trim on the bottom of the dress is an indigo so deep it would appear almost black. It covers almost every inch of my skin, looping my thumb into the fabric, leaving only the tips of my pale fingers exposed, along with a sliver of my neck. The collar almost reaches my chin. 

“Well.” I examine the full skirt, tug at the long sleeves and adjust my collar before tipping into a bow before Apple. “Wish my luck, dear friend. I will bring you back memories and tales that may just be enough to tide you over.” I pat her tiny head and she looks up at me with her beady black eyes. “And the cheese of course. I will return with cheese, if they’ve got any.”

Satisfied with my answer, apparently, Apple goes back to her cheese and I go on my way.

I thought it would be harder to sneak out, but Keyman is a heavy sleeper and soon I’ve slipped out into the night and the glittering lights of the city and the castle that waits beyond. 

****

A walk that was filled with me half rushing, half stopping to take in the expanse of the world I had been missing for 18 years, and I’m in front of the doors to the palace.

Every step closer sends my hard drive buzzing with excitement, a small whirring that I’ve become so accustomed to I hardly hear it anymore when it kicks in. Hopefully the guard won’t hear it either.

“Hello!” I’ve been practicing my speech the whole way here. “I’m here for the Ball--”

“I’m sorry ma’am, but you’re too late.”

I stop, one laced hand wrapped around the ticket in the slim pocket of my dress. “I beg your pardon?” 

“You are too late to enter the party, miss. It doesn’t matter if you have a ticket or not. But if you do you should have read the ink more carefully.” They snort. “Curfew and all that. The deadline to get in was 12:00, it’s now--”

“1:25.” I cut them off, the whirring of my fan silencing with a few creaks. “But I thought...” 

Instinctively I reach back into my pocket and withdraw the ticket. Sure enough it says what the guard just told me: DEADLINE 12:00, AND NOT A MOMENT LATER.

“I’m sure you could--” I start, but they’re already wrapping gloved hands around me, pulling me away.

“I truly am sorry, ma’am. Prince’s orders, though. You can’t bend those and get away with it.”

“But--but--” I stutter over the words as the guard escorts me to the edge of the premise, a lone dirt trail by the side of one of the windows.

I can only watch helplessly as they walk away, all the words piling up in my brain, but somehow unable to fall loose, my lips firmly clamped shut.

But this was my chance, my one chance to make some memories!

But this was the one night I was supposed to be human for!

But I’ve been preparing for this moment for months!

But there’s been a mistake, I was supposed to make it here on time, and you were supposed to open up the gates for me!

I’ve lost my chance. My one chance. There’s nothing I can do to change that, no legal way anyways. But...I could sneak in through the open window…

Yes! That’s it! 

I can undo the latch, pull open the window, and just slip inside, no harm done. I’ll go straight to the ballroom and no one will be any different for it. I’ve even got my ticket if anyone truly needs to see it.

It’s a plan. I tell myself, already reaching white fingers for the metal latch--

Only to watch it click open from the inside. The glass panes are being pushed open and I’m backing up...

To find a smirking man perched in the windowsill.

He’s dressed in what I would assume are merchant clothes--a white linen shirt tucked into brown trousers and a matching brown overcoat, it’s pockets bulging with the same thing that must be in the worn bag slung over his shoulder.

“Entrance is the other way love.” He drawls, jumping down from the sill, landing almost directly on top of the hem of my skirts. “Unless you’re here for something else? Someone else?” He raises a dark brown. 

“I…” I back up a step, my brain connecting the dots whether I want it to or not.

This man is coming out of a window with his pockets and bags stuffed. And I may not know much about life beyond my tower, but I do know that the clothes he’s wearing are not clothes worthy of the Ball, or any party ever.

“You’re stealing!” I point an accusing finger at him, but he’s already walking away.

“Stop!” I start after him, lifting the hem of my dress, but he doesn’t turn around to wait, or look like he plans to stop. Instead he’s humming.

“Hang on!” I whirl around to face him, and this time he does stop. 

Barely two inches from my face.

“Need something love?”

“Yes!” I gesture to the bag. “What’s in there?”

He runs an eye over my dress, my hair, strands falling loose from my already loose knot, then finally his eyes land on my face. And narrow.

“Who are you? A classy guard?” He raise both brows this time. “Some kind of escort?”

“Wha--no! It doesn’t matter who I am--”

“Well then, who are you?” When I don’t answer he chuckles, already stepping out of my way again. “Speechless love? I can’t blame you.”

“Hang on.” I grip his arm, stopping him for a moment. “I know you’re stealing something--”

“Bingo.”

I open my mouth, then close it. I really did not think it would be that easy for him to admit to stealing. I could of course let him go, or tell the authorities, but that won’t answer any of the questions swirling through my mind. Plus I’ve never talked to any other human than Keyman. Especially not one so...muscley. And tall. And attractive. And--

“You’re staring love.” He chuckles.

“What’s your name?” I blurt out.

“I don’t do names on first encounters.” He smiles again. “Not unless you’ve got one to share too?”

“It’s Blue.” The name comes to me out of nowhere. Or perhaps from the blue of the palace, the moon, my dress, or the light washing over us both.

“Blue…” He pauses, studying my face again. “Blue it is then. I’m Captain.”

“Your name is Captain?” 

“My name is irrelevant. But that is what they call me, yes.” He looks past my face towards the horizon. “And they’ll be expecting me back soon, so as much as I’ve enjoyed our chat, and looking into that gorgeous face of yours, I’ve business that needs attending.”

This time I don’t stop him as he steps around me. But as soon as he does, and I hear his retreating footsteps, my mouth seems to work of its own accord.

“Take me with you.”

He stops dead in his tracks.

When he turns around to face me there’s a slight smile on his face. “Take you with me? You’ve no idea who I am love. If you did you would already be running.” He turns back around, continuing down the sloping lawn and towards the pier a ways off.

So that’s it then. He’s some sort of sailing merchant. I’m sure they’ve got a word for it, but it’s slipped momentarily. My brain is too busy working through everything I want to say, everything I didn’t say, and everything that I should say.

I settle on, “I can be an invaluable help you know.”

“Oh?” His figure is smaller this time, and I begin to steadily walk towards it as he continues, “And what would you know of the help I need?”

The pieces of my plan begin to steadily sink into place as I get nearer and nearer. I’ve already decided. I will have more than this one single night. I will have all of them, and wherever they lead me, they lead me. I already know right now that any one single year I spend in this town or some other one across the sea will be better than all 18 of them I’ve had put together. 

“You are stealing from the prince which means either one of two things.” I’m almost in front of him now. “You are a petty thief in need of some coin, or you are a skilled tradesman who will use what you’ve stolen to earn your illegal profits. If it's the former then I will be of no use to you, thievery is best done alone. But,” I stop in front of him, still a respectable distance away from his face. “If you are the latter, which I am betting you are, then you must have some kind of ship. Meaning you are some kind of pirate. Meaning that your crew could use someone with my skills.”

“And what are those?” 

“I can mentally calculate the exact time it will take us to arrive at a destination. I know how to fix any injury. I do not need much sleep and I do not need any food. I--” I hesitate, but he’s looking at me intently now. “I am different. Not like you.”

He takes a step closer, his eyes still trained on my own. “Different how?”

I swallow, a tactic I’ve picked up from Keyman. 

I am betting my entire life on this, everything I was, everything I am, and everything I might be. But being scared must be the first step towards accomplishing what you know you need to.

“I’ll show you,” I say before my brain convinces me to stop my terrible idea now. “I am...well,” I undo the part of my sleeve that covers my palm, exposing my pale skin imitation and the blue and red wires beneath. “I don’t entirely know what I am.”

“Gods.” Captain takes my hand into his own and is pushing up my sleeve before I can stop him.

My internal wires spark with heat and if I had a heartbeat I know it would be going wild as he turns my arm this way and that, studying the wires under the warmth of his fingers.

“You’re a--” But he stops as he looks into my face. Apparently whatever he saw he deemed no longer worth saying, for he’s pulling away and I wish I could tell him to stop.

“You have no heartbeat.”

“No.” I shake my head. “But I do not need a heartbeat to accomplish anything.”

“Then it's settled love.” He nods his head. “Come with me. Join my crew. We steal, debauch, and occasionally murder.” He winks, taking my arm and starting us down the hill. “Remember this night as the last in your life. Tomorrow you are reborn as someone else entirely.”