Love and Robotics by Rachael Eyre

the taxpayers dry.”
    Growls like a kennel of toothless bulldogs. Lady Masefield regurgitated her old mantra: “Not the world we lived in as children, oh no.”
    “I’m going,” Alfred announced. “As guest speaker.”
    The room fizzed.             
    “But you’re so anti -”
    “Where’s my invite?”
    “Do they let their enemies picket?”
    The PM waited for the questions to break. “Explain yourself.”
    How could he say it without sounding twee? “I’ve got to know Josh. The artificial. He’s sort of become my friend.”
    Questions, speculations. Pros invited him on board, antis turned up their noses. The PM gave him a disappointed toss of the head before moving on to the Century Games.
    ***
    The launch was in two days’ time. Josh couldn’t wait: at long last he could say goodbye to this cloistered life and do something!
    The day he went to see Alfred, he cannoned down the banisters before anyone could stop him. He spent the journey to Langton in a happy bubble. There were mutters that he should go in the last carriage with the luggage, but nobody said it to his face.
    Soon it was time to disembark. A sprig of blossom floated to the platform - he picked it up, sniffed it, then tucked it into his pocket. He set off on the road to the estate, hoarding impressions. A duck taking off from the river, five others in pursuit. The bells striking the hour, one a beat behind. Somebody was cutting the grass in the fields; he could smell treacle tart. A ladybird landed on his hand.
    He passed into the light and shade of the woods. He glimpsed the squirrels’ sly faces, watching him - and then he was walking up the drive to Chimera. To think he’d once found the house ugly! Yes, it would never be harmonious, with all those spikes and clashes of style. But there was grandeur, history and romance - things you couldn’t accuse CER of having -
    He was knocked flying. Something snapped close to his ear, breathing raw meat into his face. Puss.
    “Idiotic animal!” He made out Alfred, holding something behind his back. “Don’t move.”
    “Can I do anything else?”
    “Miaow! Not you , dummy! Play dead.”
    Josh made himself limp. Puss batted him with a huge paw. Out came a canister of water. Alfred pressed the nozzle. “Naughty!”
    She fled. Alfred helped Josh up. “She used to pounce on guests when they were in the bath. Give her time to get used to you.” His eyes dropped to Josh’s arm. “That looks sore.”
    A chunk of skin had been ripped away, showing a gash of metal and oil. “I didn’t feel a thing.” The oil flowed astonishingly fast - it had soaked Alfred’s cuffs. Now a patch was forming on his shirt front. “Your shirt -”
    “Blow the shirt.” One hand stemming the oil, the other in the small of Josh’s back, he supported him. “Let’s get you inside.”
    Josh insisted he was alright but Alfred wasn’t having it. He pushed at the nearest door.
    “Oh, my days!” Josh gasped.
    “The library.” He detected a note of pride. “The forty second Earl shot herself by the fireplace. There’s a phantom bloodstain. Sit tight.” He vanished.
    Plugging the wound, Josh sat in a green winged chair and looked around. Books rose from the floor to the ceiling, a staircase spinning around the outside. Off to the left, close to the haunted fireplace, was a fabulous writing desk. He wanted to investigate but knew it’d be unpardonably rude.
    The door whipped open. Alfred carried a first aid box; tipping it onto the desk, he found a length of bandage. “We’d never pass a health and safety check.”
    “I’m accident prone.” Josh held out his arm and watched it disappear.
    “Trouble magnet, that’s you.” Alfred admired his handiwork. “Better?”
    “What’s this butterfly?”
    Alfred looked embarrassed. “Gwyn was always bashing herself. You get used to making them.”
    “He’s lovely. Sorry about the shirt -”
    “Shut up.” Alfred rubbed his chin. “Nanny’s putting