Clockwork Fairy Tales: A Collection of Steampunk Fables by Stephen L. Antczak, James C. Bassett Page B

with shame. How would Petro, his lifelong friend, the one man whoknew his heart better than anyone else, react to this? He didn’t want to meet Petya’s eyes, but he couldn’t help it. Slowly, he looked at Petya’s face.
    Petya’s gaze was stone. He looked away and closed his eyes. Vasyl’s heart turned to lead and dropped into his feet.
    “Hm.” Baba Yaga ran a claw across her lower lip. Broom remained motionless on the floor. “Such irony. To win a bride you don’t desire, you blindly obey orders to seek a mechanical that can think for itself. And to get these two things you don’t want, you’ll have to give up the one person you
do
desire.”
    “You’re a bitch,” Vasyl whispered. “A granite bitch.”
    “You came to me, and you agreed to the offer, so you’ve no one to blame but yourself, boy. And speaking of the offer, I still need part of your Tatar’s brain to—”
    The rhythmic thud outside stopped. Silence followed. Baba Yaga twisted around and swore.
    “Panel!” she ordered, and a trio of spiders brought over a portable control panel with a glass front, though two of the spiders twitched and quivered, nearly dropping the thing. The third spider limped. Baba Yaga twisted dials and punched buttons in an arcane pattern until an image wavered and cleared in the glass. It showed the nasty alley with the fence of bones, which still gaped open. Standing just past them was a little girl clutching a doll. Olena. Vasyl bit back a cry. Petya’s eyes went wide and frantic.
    “I hate it when people do that,” Baba Yaga muttered. “Now I have to recalibrate everything. One of these days I’ll have to change that password into something people can’t hack.”
    “I don’t want the mechanical anymore,” Vasyl said. “Just let Petya go. And leave that girl alone. She has nothing to do with any of this. You and I can make a new deal. It must be hard to live here all by yourself with—”
    “Sorry,” Baba Yaga interrupted absently. “I have to complete the mechanical. I’ve lived what you call the future, and I know it will be done.”
    Vasyl went cold. He staggered backward and leaned againstthe mechanical’s table. “No. We have free choices. The future isn’t set except by—”
    “
Him?
Hm. In the same vein, perhaps Broom thinks
you
set the future.” Baba Yaga gave a dreadful chuckle. On the screen, the image of Olena wavered uncertainly in the gap Vasyl had made in the fence.
    “Look, can’t we—”
    “In any case”—the witch waved her butcher knife at the screen—“that tender girl out there upset the calibrations of my entire workroom. I’ll be up all night resetting the machinery so I can finish your mechanical on time. The little wench earned you a reprieve, boy.”
    She slapped another button, and all of Petro’s fetters, including the spider, released themselves. He slid from the table to land in a heap on the floor while Vasyl hovered uncertainly above him. He wanted to grab Petro and run, but Baba Yaga was between him and the door, and in any case he wouldn’t get very far.
    “Why are you letting him go?” Vasyl asked.
    “I’m not. No one gets out the front door unless I unlock it, so it doesn’t really matter if your Tatar sleeps in my kitchen or weeps in my workroom until I need him.” Baba Yaga dropped the butcher knife on the table again with a clatter. “Nothing in our deal says I can’t give you one last night together, though whether that’s mercy or malice, I’ll let you decide. If you get bored, you can get a head start on tomorrow’s weaving.”
    Vasyl started to help Petya up, but he hissed, “Don’t touch me,” and struggled to his feet on his own. Vasyl felt sick inside. Baba Yaga was cruel, indeed.
    “We need to help Olena,” Petya whispered. “Get the hell out of here.”
    Vasyl righted Broom, his eyes down. It looked as though Baba Yaga had merely knocked the mechanical’s memory wheels askew, and it would take no time at all to reset