Chapter Text
It was around 6’oclock, if memory serves, on the coldest bally day of the year when it began. It was just a noise, you understand; not an event so Earth-shaking as an aunt on a rampage or—Heaven forbid—a filly attaching herself to the Wooster arm, but I nonetheless mark the incident with some amount of trepidation, for this sound was very strange indeed. Unless my ears needed looking at by a qualified doctor, it seemed to me that the sound was coming from Jeeves.
Now, returning readers will no doubt leap a metre in the air and gasp in shock at this detail, but incase you’ve only just plucked up one of my volumes for the first time (from out of the sale bin, no doubt), let me just say that a noise from Jeeves is no more ordinary than a plain and organized recounting of the life and times of yours truly. Jeeves tends to float through life like the whisper of warm Spring air on a sunlit sill; soothing and welcome, yes, but silent as a shrew. Or do I mean quiet as a mouse? He certainly is quiet. The man accomplishes all the difficult and impossible feats of this world in a perfectly soundless blur, owing to some magical invention specific to his model.
So, when an incidental mechanical effect began to grace my ears one afternoon, they naturally perked.
“Jeeves?”
“Sir?”
Immediately I sensed something was off from where I sat at the piano stool, for the sound of dishes clinking ceased, but no valet was forthcoming. “Will you come in here, Jeeves?”
The fellow did. “My deepest apologies, Sir. I was somewhat absorbed.”
“You’ve made a squeak, Jeeves. When you stepped into the room just now.”
“Yes, Sir; I appear to have encountered a minor complication. I have sent for the maintenance man to come at his soonest convenience."
“Ah, good. I don’t mind telling you the sound is disconcerting.”
“I am troubled to hear that, Sir. I assure you it is only indicative of the smallest of internal issues and will be fixed as soon as possible.”
“The issue is internal?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And what exactly is the issue in question?”
There was a slight but uncharacteristic pause from the man. “It is nothing of consequence, Sir, although the exact details remain elusive to me. I am endeavoring to locate the site of the problem.”
“You don’t know where it is?”
“It is not immediately obvious, Sir. All of my systems are within normal functioning parameters.”
“Right.”
“Will that be all, Sir?”
“Yes, alright, Jeeves. Do be careful not to put a strain on the affected muscles.”
“Very good, Sir.”
It was only around the same time the next day when I came back to the flat from a lot of lunch and stuff with Tuppy, who had put a whopper of a sitch to me and indicated that a sturdy helping of Jeeves would be called for, when I heard the fellow before I even saw him.
Usually, Jeeves would have been waiting to greet me at the door as if it were his solemn duty as a royal sentry to stand and guard post, so the pointedly empty hallway upon my return unsettled me somewhat. Even more, of course, was the sound. It could not have been louder than the accompanying incidental noises of progress spilling from the kitchen, but the distinct metallic creaking seemed to ring through the flat like a gunshot. Just as I began to advance deeper into this strange alternate realm in which I had found myself, around the corner sailed Jeeves with his usual sangfroid, if not his punctuality. He was fixing his waistcoat.
“My sincerest apologies, Sir—”
“My dear man! What is that shrieking?”
He took my coat and hat as if nothing were out of the ordinary.
“The complication, Sir, has advanced only slightly since last we discussed it, and I have since located the problem site. I assure you the noise will not trouble you for much longer.”
I shed the gloves like a reptile anxious to be rid of its skin. “Has the maintenance man not come, then?”
He took my coat. “No, Sir.”
“But you have discovered the source of the problem?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“How?”
Jeeves lingered at the coatrack, brushing imaginary lint from the lapel of my overcoat. “I investigated the issue personally, Sir. Will you be dining in tonight, Sir?”
“I should think so, I just got in from the blizzard out there and I don’t intend to venture out again soon. What do you mean you investigated the issue personally, Jeeves?”
The fellow did not seem at all pleased to continue the conversation, but I felt it simply needed to be hashed out. This was the good health of my favorite valet at stake, after all.
“I searched the general vicinity for abnormalities, and the issue became apparent, Sir.”
I followed his tracks into the sitting room. “Do you mean to tell me you took a look for yourself?”
“Yes, but only in adhering to the strictest standard of conscientiousness for my personal safety, Sir. It is only that the maintenance man has been delayed, and I did not want to cause you any more distress.” He disappeared into my room with various shed skins and left me there to grapple. I confess his nonchalant admittance to performing minor self-operation left me somewhat aghast. I then watched him shimmer out of the bedroom and into the kitchen without so much as a ‘Brandy and soda, Sir?’, and I felt myself flinch when the strange noise made another appearance, bolder than ever.
Well, enough was enough. I sallied up, making sure to close my gaping mouth in the process, and marched after him with determination.
I knew Jeeves was not expecting this approach in the slightest, for the soft sound of the door swinging made his neck snap around too quickly and nearly too far. The scene before me was a gory one: tools of all shapes and sizes were spilling out from the open toolbox on the table, a handheld mirror sat facedown beside it, and The Manual lay open to an early page like a morbid centerpiece.
“I can prepare your dinner immediately, Sir. There will be no delay.” Said Jeeves mechanically.
“Were you—were you in the middle of something, Jeeves?”
“It is entirely inconsequential, Sir.”
I hadn’t often seen him so nervous. The old fruit had gone completely cold, seeming to be barely hanging on to his last thread of godlike patience. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he flew off the handle right then and called me something absurd like ‘Mr. Wooster.’
“Not to me, Jeeves. No, put the pans and things from your mind. I just lunched three hours ago, and heartily, at that. Have I interrupted you? Is that why you didn’t come to the door?”
“I did come to the door, Sir.” He said this too harshly and sounded offended. Another unusual pause settled and I realized this whole situation with the internal squeaking must have been gnawing at him rather badly, like an excitable dog on a chair leg. Everything felt wrong with the world.
“No. Of course.”
“Forgive me for the lapse, Sir.”
“Don’t be shaken, old thing, all is forgiven. I only wish to offer my support, and it’s difficult to do so when I am not abreast of the whole situation, so to speak.”
“Support, Sir?”
“Yes, Jeeves. You are broken and taking initiative.” It did not escape my notice how he visibly bristled at this (and, of course, by ‘bristled’ I mean he drew his chin up by some microscopic increment). “Seems only the logical progression of events. What I don’t understand is why you make every attempt to shut me out of the operation when I am only curious and eager.”
“Sir?”
“I’ll help you, Jeeves.”
“No, Sir.”
The room seemed to quake with the firm resoluteness of his statement. Everything about the man was perfectly grave, singular in his warning. I admit, I struggled greatly with it. An impasse had been unequivocally reached, and as much as it disturbed me to be challenged on a point such as this, I knew there was nothing for it. A determined Jeeves is an unshakable Jeeves, and if he’d decided this road was best traveled alone, perhaps it was better to leave him be. Dumbly I withdrew.
“Ah, well—goodbye, Jeeves.” And I biffed off to my room without even waiting for a reply.
It was 9 o’clock. I heard a nearby clock ticking mostly, interrupted by intermittent splices of muffled movement two rooms over. Things clinked and shuffled. I tossed and turned. It wouldn’t be the first evening I had spent cooped up lazing about in my bedroom, though never before under such extraneous circumstances. Jeeves had rather predictably restored his perfectly level demeanor and was pretending like nothing had happened, which I suppose would be somewhat hypocritical of me to resent. It’s only that I felt restless and cowardly.
I finally mustered up the what-have-you to migrate to the chesterfield and light a cigarette. Jeeves emerged from the kitchen just as I inhaled, sporting rolled up shirtsleeves. There was something imperfect about his stony visage that I couldn’t pinpoint.
“Good evening, Sir.”
“What ho, Jeeves.”
“Do you desire something for supper, Sir?”
“Er, yes, Jeeves. Just the fish, if you don’t mind.”
“Very good, Sir. I will set out our evening wear.”
He disappeared again, ominous noise still intact, and I didn’t much feel like being left to my own devices. I found myself nearly scrambling over the chesterfield to get to the piano as a means of distraction. Perhaps I don’t usually play so late into the day, but this day had not been usual in any of the usual ways, so play on I did. Something seemed to tell me that if I did not dig into my book of rainy minor arrangements, I would turn looney. Something bluesy escaped. It was rather more lively than I felt, but not by an unbearable degree.
I carried on in this fashion for some time, not forgetting to moisten the old vocal chords. The longer I played, the more nervous I felt, as if I were afraid of being caught in some sort of act—though just what kind of act, I could not say. I took my mind off this by playing more heartily.
At some point, a polite cough accompanied the shadow to my right. I craned the neck and addressed Jeeves.
“Dinner will be served momentarily, Sir.”
“Thanks, old thing. I suppose I ought to have been dressed by now.”
“While that would certainly have been preferable, Sir, the situation is not altogether unsalvageable.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t. But it never is.”
“No, Sir.”
“Could you lend a hand, Jeeves?”
“Of course, Sir.”
It is here that the whole world turned on its head. I lifted myself from the piano stool and looked on helplessly as Jeeves stumbled quite unmistakably on a simple 90° turn. Worst of all, he seemed utterly unprepared for this development, quickly righting himself but not without a touch of the politelest flailing. My heart leapt into my throat, my skin went clammy. My lungs seized.
“Jeeves!”
“Only a temporary problem with my balance, Sir—do not be alarmed.” The man sounded troubled.
“Another complication? With symptoms springing up like whatsits?”
“It is a product of the initial issue, Sir. I have incurred nothing new.” The man walked to my room. Yes, that’s right: he walked, like some kind of mortal minding his mortality.
“This development doesn’t shock you, Jeeves? You’ve been stumbling about all day, then. Good Lord. Stop. I said stop, Jeeves!”
Jeeves stopped at the door to my bedroom, hand on the knob. He faced me silently. I approached.
“You’ve been holed up in that kitchen all day, Jeeves. Are you trying to fix it yourself?”
“I only wish to ensure that I remain at the highest possible standard of functioning, Sir. ”
“But you haven’t been able to fix it? It’s been hours.”
“No, Sir. I have not yet devised a way to safely reach the affected component.”
I sensed that it was now or never. “Jeeves. Let me help.”
“That will be impossible, Sir.”
“Oh, rather.”
“It is against company policy for any unauthorized person to dismantle any part of a QA2-M unit, Sir, and you are not authorized nor indeed trained for the position, as you are lacking in multiple qualifications necessary for the safe operation of an Axiom Automatic.”
“Are you authorized, Jeeves?”
If Jeeves had had a mouth, it might have clicked shut with some force. The fellow looked stricken, I mean. A buzzer went off in the kitchen. Jeeves had teleported across the room and was gliding through the door before I could blink. Well, I did the only sensible thing and gave chase.
“Sir, please—”
“Put down the fish, Jeeves; though wafts a delectable aroma from the oven, there are far larger fish to fry at the present moment.”
Jeeves, looking worn and defeated, attempted to comply with my wishes, though he seemed to struggle with the still-sizzling pan somewhat, if the multiple loud tinks of said s. p. against the side of the stove on its way up could be any indication. It was utterly inconceivable to witness, and yet there was no mistaking it: Jeeves was loosing his grip. The pan finally hit squarely upon the stovetop with a clank! that instilled a rather aching pity in me, don’t you know.
“I am sorry, Sir. It is affecting my coordination considerably.”
I watched him clutch either side of the stove like a rummy pair of crutches. “Is it also affecting your mind?” Which, of course, I meant lightly and as a means of easing the palpable tension. Jeeves gave no reply.
“What if you showed me how to do it? You just pave the way and I won’t veer off the path for anything, I give you my word.”
Jeeves shoved himself away from the stove, moving explosively, and fell almost immediately against the neighboring stretch of countertop. He emitted a strained noise much like the one which has been plaguing his every movement as of late. Talking of which, the internal squeaking had now turned persistent and rhythmic, almost like an old engine belt.
“I am unable to move, sir. My central stabilizer has just freed itself completely from its port.”
I hastily supplied a chair behind the fellow. He sank down, amazingly, slowly, cautiously. Every part of him seemed to wobble with the smallest amount of movement. The gravest moment of silence passed.
“I would never in my life ask this of you, Sir.”
“But will you allow me to?”
“Yes, Sir.”
I could see how deeply this was affecting him. Never before had Jeeves seemed so weary as he did now, and I suddenly became conscious of the tiny scuffs and marks of long life visible on his mask. It was apparent that he never would have allowed me to do this if it were not absolutely necessary, and so I felt that it was my singular duty to put the poor man at ease. I made myself lower and helped him out of his coat.
“I’m dashed sorry for the imposition, old thing. I know you would sooner go about wearing a mauve golfing hat than accept assistance from the young master.”
“Please do not apologize, Sir.” Jeeves aimed for and missed the first button of his waistcoat three times. I assisted, or, more accurately, took over. The unhappy internal noise seemed to be getting louder, though I might have imagined it. It occurred to me to be grateful that if Jeeves must collapse, he had the courtesy to do so by a still-heated stove, for the winter air was nipping and biting, even indoors.
It was the strangest feeling in the world, helping to undress my valet. I could not stop myself from noticing the odd shape of his clothes, or how odd the fabric felt against his cold shell. I watched my hands work his tie off as if they belonged to someone else, utterly out of my body.
“You will need a flat screwdriver for removing my chest plate, Sir.”
I dug through the pile and produced one, getting straight to work. The plate in question was fixed flush to his shell with eight small screws. I procured an empty teacup for dropping the screws in, making sure to also bring over a second chair, and then I wiggled the plate free.
“Careful maneuvering is required to safely reach the stabilizer, Sir. Touching the wrong component will possibly result in an electrical shock.”
I already couldn’t seem to make my hands move, but after hearing that, I had to resist shoving them in my pockets. “You’ve got loose voltages zipping around in there, Jeeves?”
“The chances are low, sir. Every wire is insulated.”
“Don’t worry, Jeeves; I shall approach this operation with only the utmost caution.”
“It would do you good to familiarize yourself with my abdominal blueprint before venturing any further, Sir. The manual is just on the—”
“Right.”
“—table behind you. It is open to the pertinent page, Sir.”
“Right.” I swiped the hefty tome and brought it onto my lap, looking downward at it, though only as a formality. To tell the real and honest truth, this Wooster could not have focused on the main objective if his life depended on it. My insolent brain was supplying heaps of unhelpful images which in no universe would I care to describe, and I don’t mind saying that in present company, it frightened me somewhat. I very much feared that Jeeves would read my mind—I wouldn’t put it past his capabilities—and hate me for it. But the inside of him was blinking at me, you know. His organs were hard and dry, all bolted and wired together with perfect precision the likes of which I could not possibly hope to achieve. I mustered up every conceivable ounce of courage to touch him.
“Right.” I shut my babbling mouth and reached in, pushing something or other around for better access to the infamous central stabilizer.