Mal raps briskly on the cabin door. "Can I come in?" he calls. Alice looks up from pulling on her boots and grins.
"It's your cabin!" she calls through the closed door. A moment later, Mal comes in. He glances at Alice — she's sitting in the chair next to his desk and struggling with her boots which are, thankfully, not on top of the desk this time.
"Just wanted to make sure you weren't changing," he says, heading for his chest.
"Oh, what, my girlish charms aren't enough for you?"
They're too much for me, he thinks, and he's instantly glad he has something to do here. He can always rely on his ability to bury himself in a task as a reasonable distraction from certain young women who are probably giving him terrible big pleading eyes and oh-so-cutely struggling to get on the boots that are probably too big like everything else she wears and—
"Why'd you give it to me anyway?"
The question knocks Mal back to his senses and he actually focuses on pulling out his boots and raincoat. "Huh?"
"The cabin. I mean, it's your cabin, right? And you're the captain and all that, so I understand why it's not Gunny's. But why'd you give it to me?"
Mal shrugs. "You're a paying customer," he says, turning around. Alice's boots are on and they fit well, a bit snugly, even, closely hugging the curve of her calves.
"My eyes are up here," Alice says.
"I was just admiring the craftsmanship," Mal says, grinning lightly. Alice returns the expression, but her tone doesn't come out nearly as light-hearted as her expression.
"I'm serious, Mal. Why'd you give me the cabin?"
"You're a paying customer," Mal says defensively. "Didn't seem right asking you to pitch a hammock in the hold — you even got one?"
"No," Alice admits, though she can't help thinking that she would've preferred that. It would have made a perfect basis for future daydreams about working on a ship like this to really know what it was like to sleep as the crew did. But then again, she did have a prime view from here, where she could pretend she was the captain on this trip, sleeping in the cabin surrounded by logs and stores and — Wellingtons, apparently.
"Then what're you complaining for? I promised I'd get you where you're going, and I let you do it in comfort, and you're complaining about that?"
"No. Well, I just mean, it's your room, isn't it? Shouldn't you be using it?"
"Bit late for that, isn't it?"
Only if this turns out the way I hope, Alice thinks. She knows how unlikely that is. But where she thinks she'll be able to get a straight answer out of Professor Hedgewick, Mal knows far better what this day will look like. It's probably souring his mood more than a little bit, but he isn't about to let that stop him. Visits to the Professor are never his idea of an enjoyable afternoon — but he'll do what he has to to get by. And if this girl is gonna do it, with his help or without, he might just consider offering. As a favor. For Benny.
Unwilling to entertain that thought any longer, he practically shoves Alice off the chair.
"Hey! Rude!"
"Oh, sorry, I thought you said I should go back to using this room as if it were mine?"
"That wasn't what I mean," she complains. "All I meant was, you should get to sleep in a real bed."
"And I will, starting tonight."
"Oh. Yes, I suppose. I didn't really think—"
Neither did Mal, it seems, because the room suddenly gets incredibly tense. For an instant, he can't explain it, and then he remembers that all the other people who have found themselves in his cabin when he's changing shoes are aware of his missing leg.
Alice, however, is not expecting to see a clockwork foot being extracted from Mal's work boot and slipped into the rubber boot beside it.
"Um," she says.
Mal looks down at his leg. "Oh, yes. I lost a leg. Got it replaced with this nice clockwork one. The clockwork really hates the rain, though, so..." He shrugs. "I gotta keep it dry."
"You have a clockwork leg," Alice says. She sounds more than a little pained. Well, there goes that, Mal thinks.
"Just part," he says. "The knee and down. Well, not all of the knee, just most of it. I didn't actually lose much of the knee, but I did remove it, to get it replaced with this one that allows me to flex my toes."
"I'm sorry," Alice says. "I still can't quite get over the — a clockwork leg? Really? An entire leg — lower half, yes, yes, I know — but a good portion of leg that's just made of clockwork?"
"It's really not as weird as you're making it out," Mal says. "Here, look."
With a sigh, he pries the boot off. It's more work than he'd like, separating rubber from polished bronze, but he doesn't have much choice in the matter, he can tell. Alice is far too engrossed with the whole concept to put it aside, so he lets her have her moment. He's learned that things are more likely to go his way if he does.
So Alice comes over to inspect. She doesn't know much about clockwork, or prosthetics for that matter, but even to her untrained eye the work is exquisite. The overall shape of the shin and calf are formed by long bronze rods, carefully drawn into the natural curves of a limb. Inside this frame is a knot of gears that Alice has little hope of understanding. The ankle has been replaced by something that looks like it was designed by a madman with no idea when to stop tinkering. However little she knows about clockwork, there's one thing Alice can say for certain: it works damn well. She never would have guessed that inside of Mal's boot was a foot made of metal with only two toes. "You don't limp," she says.
"Hmm?"
"When you're walking, I mean. You don't — limp. The people I've seen with fake legs all sort of... limp. Is it because it's shaped like a real leg, or is it — magic?"
Mal laughs. "There's no such thing as magic," he says.
Alice rolls her eyes. "You're an elf. And there used to be magic. Who says this couldn't be it? And anyway, if it's not magic, what is it?"
"Very fine craftsmanship," Mal says matter-of-factly.
"Where did you — who would make such a thing? How would they make such a thing?"
"I don't know much about the how — just what I need to keep oiled and what to look out for. Oh, and a couple weird... quirks, I've learned, about having a metal leg."
"Such as?"
"Wooden soles are not the worst thing in the world if you can't feel your foot."
Alice gives him a strange look. "Fine then, not how. But who? And where?"
Mal looks her over critically. Something about her question seems — insincere. As if she's already knows the answer, and she's fishing for it — or perhaps she's just trying too hard to act interested in him. "The who is probably the most interesting part — and timely, as a matter of fact. You want to know how I know the Professor originally? Well, you're looking at why now. Professor Hedgewick made it for me."
Alice's face lights up suddenly. "So he likes you, then? Do you think he'll help me find my father? Or would you be willing to—"
"Alice," Mal says, in the grown-up tone she hates. Don't throw a tantrum, but I'm about to tell you bad news is something she gets rather frequently, and she's not sure she could handle it, now. She's got to wait until she meets the Professor and finds out what he knows, and then she'll decide what to do next. Because even if he can't lead her directly to her father, he should at least be able to lead her to someone who might.
"I don't want you to get disappointed, if this doesn't turn out the way you want."
But it's going to be fine, she tells herself. Everything is going to be fine.
Mal hires a carriage to take them to their destination. Personally, Alice doesn't see why they can't just walk, at least until they've spent twenty minutes in the carriage before arriving and a light drizzle begins. It's just about the time that she's wondering why they couldn't have just landed the Nameless on one of these big empty yards they're passing when the carriage finally rolls to a halt.
They get out. As Mal tips the driver, Alice admires the estate they've approached as best she can in the damp weather. Hidden Dreams Oasis, reads a simple but impressive sign attached to a stone fencepost. The wrought-iron fence it supports extends around a large but impressive property, and it's definitely enough to deter Alice from trying to steal anything inside it.
"Nice place," she comments to Mal.
"Yes, some of the best care money can buy," he says idly. "Come, Miranda is expecting us."
"Miranda?" Alice asks. "Aren't we going to see the Professor?"
"Well, yes, but he's not the only person who lives here," Mal says. "I think there are about — a dozen residents, currently?"
"Oh, so is it like a whole group of old professors living together, or—?"
"This is a sanatorium, Alice," Mal says. "You know — for hysterics, and the like."
"And Professor Hedgewick is working here?"
"He's a professor, not a doctor," Mal says.
"But you just said—"
"He's a tinkerer, if anything. I think he likes to use the term engineer when he's feeling particularly full of himself. But he isn't working here, no. He's a patient."
Before Alice can respond to this development, Mal has recognized a figure walking with a large umbrella down the path to them. He waves vigorously and shouts a greeting, and the woman picks up her pace. As she opens the gate for them, she greets Mal graciously. She's a near sight more polite to him than their cab driver was, and it's Alice who she treats with standoffishness. "He's looking forward to seeing you, Mal," she says after they've shaken hands. "I'm glad you finally found the time to come, even if it is going to rile him up again."
Here she looks pointedly at Alice. Unsure what her role in all of this is, she only has the heart to look sheepish for a moment. "Look, I'm just trying to find my father. If he can help me..."
"Go see for yourself," Miranda snaps. Then she turns to Mal and says, a shade lighter, "He's in his room, go ahead and show her where. Best you get this over with while the sun's still up. At least then he won't have nightmares."
Mal sighs deeply and puts his hands on Alice's shoulders. He bodily steers her towards the front door of the sanatorium. She shrugs him off with her first step, but makes her way forward regardless.
They step through the open doorway to find a dark, quiet entryway. Heavy mahogany furniture marks its use as a sitting room, although its dominating feature is a massive staircase. The staircase wraps around the back of the room, hugging three walls before continuing up another flight besides. The three of them quickly deposit dripping coats on a rack by the door.
Alice makes it up the first flight without prompting, though she hesitates on the balcony. A quick glance up and down the hallway reveals nothing but doors. She's sure there's some sort of order to the whole thing, some efficient way of giving each patient their own room, but it's sort of daunting.
"Left," Mal says from the half-platform below her. She nods, turns, and waits for Mal to get up the steps behind her. These doors all look far too similar for vague directions like the one he gave to be enough to get her where she's going, even if he knows exactly what room they're going to.
"Who is she, anyway?"
"Miranda? She's the professor's niece. Lost both her parents in a fire when she was young, and he took her in. She's a trained nurse and the only one other than the headmistress who lives here. Other than the patients, of course. She's been taking care of the Professor for a long time, practically as long as I've known him. Now she gets to earn a little money while she's doing it."
"Mal! You're here! And you brought a girl this time!"
He and Alice turn. Mal sighs deeply — Alice's hands go to her mouth. At the end of the hall is an older man, waving energetically at them.
"You should have told me about the girl, Mal," he says, shaking his head disapprovingly. "Then I would've worn pants."
Because he is not, in fact, wearing any now.
"Let's go put some pants on, Professor."
"Introductions first," the professor says, winking at Alice. Despite herself, she giggles.
"Pants first," Mal insists. "I mean it, no pants, no introductions."
"Aww, Mal..." Alice says. But before she can get out a half-hearted protest about how they'll have come all this way for nothing — frankly, she's not sure they haven't come all this way for nothing, yet — the Professor picks himself up by his non-existent bootstraps and pulls himself together.
"Now, now, little lady, don't worry about me. A man will do what he has to, even when he doesn't like it. And so — pants."
He walks into the room behind him, Mal close on his heels. Alice far more slowly takes up the rear, and soon they're all three squeezed into a room crowded with more gadgets than Alice thinks she's seen in her entire life. And that's fair saying something, since she's seen some pretty impressive stashes. This is somehow even more impressive than the most valuable things she's heisted, probably because none of it is particularly valuable — all of it is bits and pieces, odds and ends that make up lopsided tinkering projects and have no indication that they could ever be related to workmanship as fine as what went into making Mal's leg. Plus it seems so much more human and familiar somehow, all these bits and pieces of unfinished projects. In her experience, it's the stuff hidden in sterile rooms that's most valuable.
"There, now we're presentable."
Alice turns to find that Professor Hedgewick has made an impressive improvement on his appearance. He no longer looks quite as eccentric now that he's wearing proper trousers and a shirt. "Hello, Professor," she says, extending a hand to shake. "My name's Alice."
"Nice to meet you, Alice. What can I do for you?"
His demeanor is calm and collected, giving off far more of the vibe that Alice was expecting before they rolled up at the sanatorium. However, given where they in fact are, she's not sure that that makes her feel any better. "I was actually hoping that you knew my parents."
"Ah, lost them, have we? Well, no worries, I'll be sure to help you find them again."
"No, I don't mean—" She sighs. "Professor, my name is Alice, and my mother is Helene and my father is Lifahrn and I was hoping you could help me find him. My father, that is."
"You have his eyes, you know."
Alice stares at the Professor blankly. "I'm sorry?"
"You have his eyes — silver, not gray. And a brush of green in the center. There's quite a — difference. And I swear, with eyes as expressive as Fahrn's, you'd believe the old stories that elves had magic."
"I'm... sorry?"
"Don't you know, girl? Once upon a time, or as they used to say, when elves were young, the world was full of magic. It wasn't a skill everyone had, but all the elves had it. Definitely the half-elves, too."
Alice glances at Mal, who simply shrugs. "I've heard it before," he says. "And not just from him. But no one else has taken it quite as... seriously, as he does."
Alice nods. She's heard the stories, too, but they're bedtime stories — not real things that happen to real people. Just stories told to kids to keep them out of trouble while they're too young to know any better. They're certainly not something any reasonable person would believe, as much as she'll say otherwise.
"About Lifahrn..." she prompts.
"Ah, yes, Lifahrn. A good man. A good — elf."
Alice and Mal exchange a look, but before they've had the time to complete that bit of wordless communication, the Professor has already moved on.
"—doted on your mother, you know. You'd likely have a better time asking her where he is than me. Although, you said they were both lost?"
"It's just my father I'm looking for," Alice says quickly. "But could you go — back, for a moment? My father is an elf?"
"No need to say that like it's such a bad thing," Mal grumbles.
"I'm not," Alice says quickly. "I'm just... surprised. I'd seen the picture... and it's been years, but..."
"Fahrn was always good at hiding it," the Professor remarks. "Especially in photographs. That was his art, you know."
"When you taught him, you mean?"
"I mean that's what he studied, yes," the Professor says. "I didn't teach him much — taught your mother a great deal, though. She's still doing portraits, right? Last I heard she'd gotten a contract for the Piers and was going to paint them all. That must have been a daunting proposition, making them all different enough to tell apart."
Alice sighs. She knows perfectly well the story of how her mother ended up meeting her stepfather, and not just because she was actually there for most of it. "Yes, she's still doing portraits," she tells the Professor. "But what about my father? You said he's a photographer?"
"Last I saw him, he was. But that boy did always have a penchant for picking up the next new thing. I wouldn't be surprised if he had already moved on to some new-fangled artistic form. I always told him he should focus on the tinkering, that he'd make more money that way, but did he ever listen? No, absolutely not. And it's a shame, a real shame. He had a natural talent for creating little gizmos... Have I ever told you about the time one of my students made me a flying hat? Really, truly, a hat that could fly. It had these fancy propellers, that were driven by clockwork, and—"
"Not now, Professor," Mal interrupts. "You're helping the lady find her father, remember."
"Ah yes, hello, my dear. I am Professor Hedgewick. And you are...?"
"Alice," she says with an impressively weary sigh.
"And you're looking for your parents?"
"Just my father," she repeats. "But we've gone over this — Lifahrn, I'm looking for Lifahrn. You taught him, years ago — decades even."
"Lifahrn? Lifahrn, the elf, who ran away with that lovely little Helene? Why, that couldn't have been three years ago. Surely if you're looking for your father, it's got to be someone else? He certainly wouldn't cheat on Helene. Although, if you are as old as you look—"
"Where is he now, Professor? Do you know?"
"—it would've been years ago, before he knew Helene, and surely he did have a life before he came to the Institute, he always had such interesting and terrible stories to tell about life as an elf..."
"Lifahrn, Professor. Do you know—?"
But the Professor continues to ramble nonsense, and eventually, Alice throws her hands in the air in a well-recognized gesture of defeat. She gives Mal a pointed look and then rises to leave the room. She is at least courteous enough to thank the Professor for the help he didn't really give. He doesn't stop babbling long enough for her to be sure he's heard it. In fact, he doesn't say anything that she can clearly identify as an even half-coherent thought until they're practically out the door.
"Tuanaki," the Professor says, articulating clearly. This gets Mal and Alice's attention, and they turn, Alice's look far more hopeful than Mal's.
"Yes, Professor? Do you remember where Lifahrn—?"
"They have the best goldenfish in Tuanaki."
Mal sighs wearily and pulls the door shut behind them, leaving the professor inside, babbling to himself. Alice isn't sure what to think, but she only gets a few steps down the hallway before it suddenly hits her that she is entirely out of leads. She'd had this list of six people who were supposed to help her. All the searching had led her here, and four years of her life had been spent to find out that the only person who could have helped her was far too mad to be of any use.
"Isn't this the part where you apologize for dropping me into that without any warning?" Alice asks.
"I tried to," Mal says. "But frankly, I didn't think you'd believe me if I just — told you."
Alice considers this. "Maybe you're right," she says. "But you still could have — warned me. Said something blunt, even."
Mal sighs. "Sometimes it's easier to accept things when they're just thrown in your face like that. And I didn't want to run the risk of you thinking that you just weren't trying hard enough, that he there was still a — chance, that you might get something lucid out of him."
"Is there?"
"Some days. When we showed up, I thought, there might be a chance... I didn't want to say anything before we arrived, because we'd already come all the way here. And then it seemed like he was having a lucid day."
"Even without pants?"
Mal smiles slowly. "Especially without pants, as a matter of fact. They don't let him wear his teaching robes, as he's complained to me many times before — and he finds pants constricting, so it's been a bit of an... adventure. It's about fifty-fifty whether he'll be wearing them if he knows we're coming. But they dress him, so it's definitely a conscious decision... which means there was a hope for lucidity when we arrived."
"At the end, he mentioned — Tuanaki. You don't think..."
"I think he was thinking about the Tuanaki goldenfish. They're these tiny fish, about yea big," he says, holding up his thumb and forefinger about two inches apart. "They're very strange. They're almost... sweet? They get lightly battered and fried and make an excellent snack. One of the few things worth visiting Tuanaki for."
Alice glances at him sidelong. "I thought Tuanaki was incredibly out of the way. But it's worth visiting for some little... fried fish?"
"Well, maybe not if you don't like fish. Or fried things. Or you don't feel like going back to a time before steam power — most of the island is uninhabited, and the port, which is the most populated part of the island, doesn't even have a central steam plant. They make do, but it's very... rustic."
"Hmm," Alice says, thinking hard. To her, it sounds like just the place that one would be able to get away with hiding out in and remaining undiscovered for a long, long time. But then, there's no sign that her father actually dropped off the face of the earth, just that he stopped communicating with everyone he'd gone to school with. And Alice can't say she blames him; after all, she's left behind everything she knows for only the vague hope of finding her father.
"Look, I know what you're thinking, that someone could have hidden out there. And, fine, if you want to get to Tuanaki, I'm not going to stop you."
Alice glances at him. "You were more than willing to take me before you knew why I was going."
"Yes, and you paid enough for one trip. And I was more than willing to change the destination for free — but another trip is another cost."
"What happened to the nice Captain Mal who didn't charge me for food as a passenger?"
"I made a mistake."
"Not charging me for food? I was mostly joking, you know. The respectable—"
"In bringing you here," Mal interrupts. "I shouldn't've riled him up, and now you're disappointed, and—"
Before Alice can comment on why that's such a bad thing, there's a shout from the professor's room. "Miranda!"
With a heavy sigh, Mal turns and pulls open the door. "Professor, is there anything I can—"
"Mal! I didn't you were coming! And bringing a girl! I should've worn pants!"