Gideon Smith and the Mechanical Girl by David Barnett

Author:David Barnett
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fantasy
ISBN: 9780765334244
Publisher: Tor Books
Published: 2013-09-09T14:00:00+00:00

17

The Last Testament of Annie Crook

That night was what Gideon had dreamed of all his life. To be in such company, telling such tales. The moon was full and the fog was thick, and despite the season there was a chill in the air, so Mrs. Cadwallader built a small fire in the hearth. They drank ruby red wine and ate their chops and looked at each other, these strangers brought together by wild circumstance. One by one they told their stories, and Bent wore pencils to stubs as he furiously took down their words in shorthand in his rapidly filling notebook.

When they had all finished, Bent shook his head. “I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t seen those things over on Embankment. If they hadn’t nearly effing killed me.” He paused and flicked through his notes. “This story’s getting bigger and more complex by the hour. But a theme’s running through everything. Egypt, of course. This bloody pyramid John Reed went off to find. The Children of Heqet. Our Mr. W. And . . .” He looked up. “Maria. Or should I say, Annie Crook?”

They all looked at Maria, who had been silent throughout the proceedings. Gideon said gently, “There are things we need to tell you, Maria.”

She looked at her hands, knotted in her lap. “And things I must tell you, Mr. Smith. You are aware, of course, that I have dreams of London. When I left you at Highgate Aerodrome I followed the paths I had walked in my dreams. They took me to Cleveland Street.”

Gideon felt Bent lean forward beside him. “And what did you see there, Miss Maria? What did you learn?”

She looked the journalist in the eye. “I met a man called Sickert. I . . . remembered him.” She tapped her forehead. “Or rather, what is in here did. He told me of Annie Crook, found without a brain. I know what I am now. Not human, not a machine. An unholy composite of both.”

“Are . . . are you Annie Crook?” asked Gideon slowly.

She shook her head. “No, Mr. Smith, I am not Annie Crook.”

“But you have her brain . . . ,” said Bent. “And her memories.”

“The memories are like half-forgotten dreams,” said Maria softly. “Like stories I was told long ago and only barely remember. They do not feel as though they happened to me.”

Trigger sat back thoughtfully in his chair. “Modern science tells us the brain is matter and electrical impulses. Can that truly be said to be what makes a person who they are?” He looked at Bent and placed his hand on his chest. “My heart aches because of the loss of John. But does it, really? My heart is a fleshy pump feeding blood to my organs. It is not truly where love resides, except in the language of poets. I cannot even begin to understand the miracle Hermann Einstein performed when he created his automaton and married the human brain of Annie Crook to the Atlantic Artifact within her.

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