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The city of Krat was a mess.
She had looked outside once or twice in recent weeks, and immediately regretted it. Crashed horse-carriages. Dead bodies. Machinery and ash sprinkled everywhere like confetti. Rubble, and dirt, and... mess. She hated mess. It made her feel unclean just thinking about it.
She would not have mess in this house.
Every active moment was spent at war with it; she had cleared out the diseased monsters and their filth a while ago, and every few hours toured the whole building in search for any nasty animals trying to push their luck. She might have been only a humble maid puppet, but she had a broom and those squirrels had it coming.
Sometimes she wondered why the other servants had abandoned their duties. It was as though someone had flicked a switch one day, to turn their eyes red and murderous. They grabbed their brooms and tools and anything they could use as a weapon, and left. Their eyes made the streets glow red. She did not know where her masters had gone, but she was pleased she had not felt such a red-eyed call. Her eyes remained a customer-appealing shade of green, and she still had work to do.
Her masters had named her Florence. Florence was a nice enough name she supposed, but if she had been fitted with a voice-box she would have asked them to call her Flo. It sounded much nicer in her head, but what would she know? She was just a maid puppet, and maid puppets were not equipped with a lot of things. Things like the bravery to open the front door. She kept it locked tight, for those other puppets— the ones with the murderous red eyes, didn’t much like her anymore. They swung their makeshift weapons a little too closely for her to pretend it was accidental.
So Flo the maid puppet stayed here, in this house, dusting and washing and sweeping. She didn’t mind the solitude. Company meant people, and people meant mess. People were so very messy, and she already had enough to do. The house must be perfect for when her masters returned. It was a beautiful day outside— or so Flo imagined it to be, from the safety of indoors. There seemed to be less commotion out there than usual. She was therefore extremely surprised when, as she was busy sweeping the hallway floor, the living-room window was smashed in.
Flo froze in horror, and suddenly the broken glass soiling her freshly-polished floor seemed quite unimportant. The intruder was not a diseased monster or a squirrel; there was a metal arm, reaching through her window. She kept herself as still as she could while the intruder clambered through and dropped his weapon in his haste— not that it would have been useful anyway, the sword was snapped in half.
Flo gripped her broom tighter. The intruder was a puppet. She could hear his clockwork ticking, the grinding of gears as he crouched down beneath the broken window to hide from whatever was out there. He hadn’t noticed Flo yet, thank goodness. This gave her time to notice that, not only did the intruder appear to lack those hellish red eyes plaguing their brethren, but he also carried something, in his non-metal arm. Cradled it more like, with a lot more careful attentiveness than a normal parcel should require. Whatever it was, he’d wrapped it in a blanket. Red-eyed puppets didn’t care about parcels in blankets.
The intruder kept a hold on the fragile cargo while, with his free hand, he reached into one of the many pockets on his belt. Flo watched him retrieve a pulse cell, jab it into his thigh, and press the button. Didn’t stalkers use pulse cells? Or was it stargazers? Flo knew the two were related in some way, but the question remained— was THIS a stalker? She’d never heard of a puppet stalker before, but that fancy blue coat certainly looked the part. A stalker would have the decency not to attack a humble maid. Maybe he might even have news of her masters’ whereabouts...
As Flo ventured closer, several things happened at once. A creaky floorboard beneath her feet made the stalker whirl around in panic, raising his metal arm to shield the precious parcel. The stalker faltered— he’d clearly noticed this puppet’s eyes weren’t red, while simultaneously Flo glanced outside and saw what they should ALL be hiding from.
Soldier-puppets.
And not just one or two; five soldiers in full Krat regalia, all armed with wickedly-sharp swords. Their horrid red eyes scanned the street for their lost quarry.
Flo froze again. She couldn’t help herself; fear rooted her to the spot. Puppets weren’t even supposed to feel fear, but somehow just telling herself this didn’t seem to help. It was incredibly lucky that, when one of the soldiers turned to look her way, a metal arm grabbed hers and pulled her down.
‘Shh!’ hissed a voice, though not from the stalker’s mouth. The guide-lantern on his belt glowed a soft green as Flo stared at it. ‘Just stay down— okay, lady?’
Flo nodded. She could do that.
She wasn’t sure how long they both hid below the windowsill, she gripping her broom like her springs depended on it, and he guarding the bundle in his arms. Eventually though, the racket of marching metal boots faded into the distance. Safe, for now.
The two puppets cautiously stood. Flo dusted herself off, and retied her apron strings. Now the danger was gone she could once again focus on all the broken glass littering the floor. Such mess! In her house! The stalker, somehow, seemed oblivious. He checked the bundle for damages, turning it this way and that.
‘All good pal?’ the guide-lantern chirped, and the stalker nodded. How could he not notice the crunch of glass beneath his feet?
Flo decided then and there she’d had enough. She tapped him on the shoulder. The stalker-puppet looked surprised when Flo pointed out the mess he’d made, and even more surprised when she thrust the broom towards him. She hoped tapping her feet would convey her annoyance; neither of their puppet faces moved much at all in reality, though the stalker certainly had an ability to raise his eyebrows that Flo deeply envied. HER face was forever stuck in that customer-pleasing empty smile, and she longed to slap it right off every time she saw a mirror.
The stalker looked down at the glass, then up at the broom.
The lantern flashed. ‘Are you sure about this? We don’t know her, pal, it could be a trap—’
He took the broom with one hand, and handed Flo the parcel with the other.
‘Just you be careful with that baby, Mrs Maid— we’re taking the little lady back to her mum!’
Flo wished she could raise her eyebrows right now. She was indeed holding a baby, that much was now evident. The fact that it was a broken puppet baby seemed to make no difference at all to the stalker or his guide; they were doing their civic duties and that was that. Flo admired such dedication to a cause, and the baby was cute. It looked peacefully asleep, with round porcelain cheeks and a little yellow bow beneath its chin.
While the stalker swept the floor, Flo tidied up the baby as much as she could. She wiped the oil off its face and smoothed its lace-edged clothes, then wrapped the swaddling properly this time. There. Much more presentable, little one.
By the time she had finished, the stalker-puppet had swept the floor to perfection, all the glass in a neat pile. Flo was very impressed to see him grab the coal shovel from the fireplace, sweep the glass into it and tip it out the window while the coast was still clear.
‘I’d say you really brushed up on your cleaning skills there, pal!’ the guide lantern gave a cheerful chirp, ‘A talent like that’ll sweep the nation, won’t it Mrs Maid?’
In the absence of any other available action, Flo nodded. Nicely done, she thought. She cursed her dreadfully generic smile. A smirk right then would have been SO much better.
Before swapping items again, the stalker-puppet picked up what was left of his sword and used that curious elbow-grinder of his on it. Flo wasn’t afraid anymore. Anyone willing to sweep floors to make amends was alright in her book... if she’d had a book. She tilted her head as the stalker transformed the broken sword into a serviceable dagger, and stowed it in his belt. At least now he had some form of defence to brave the outside world with. Flo didn’t envy him, going out there.
Broom promptly swapped for baby, the stalker briskly nodded and turned to leave.
‘Wait a minute, aren’t you forgetting something?’
He stopped. Clockwork joints clicked.
‘Pal, you broke this nice lady’s window and she STILL let you hide in her house. Least you could do is pay for damages, don’t you think?’
The stalker-puppet delved in his pockets.
Before Flo knew it, a chunk of Ergo the size of an apple was dropped into her hands— she’d never seen so much money in her life. Yet again she wished for ANY other expression than bland happiness. She could replace every window in the neighbourhood with this, and still have some left over for a new broom...
The stalker took a low bow. ‘Thank-you,’ he said, in a quiet radio-static voice.
And then he was gone.
Flo closed the curtains to the sound of swords clashing and soldier-puppets falling over each other. She hoped that baby’s mother appreciated such exemplary work.
Now where had she put her cleaning-cloths?