Free Wild Cards and Iron Horses by Sheryl Nantus

to see your device again.” The pencil scratched the rough paper. “I think we may have something we can adapt to your needs. There’s no way I can create a metal spring like this in the time you have. But I need more exact measurements to make sure.”
    Without hesitating, Jon stripped off his clothing. This was no time to be shy about his body, and she’d already seen him without his shirt. At the back of his mind a small voice mumbled something about reversing the situation. Grinding his teeth together, Jon placed the shirt and jacket over the same chair he had used the last time. Leaning over, he laid his forearm across the drawing table. The offending little finger flopped against the metal brace, daring him to try and move it.
    “Hmm.” Sam ran a long, thin measuring tape along the narrow copper band leading down the small finger to the main connection. “Hmm.” A second measurement across the palm of his hand. “Hmm.” A third check of the hole the spring originally came from, this time with a pair of small calipers. “Was there a cover on this? Something to keep the spring actually in?”
    “Ah…” Jon frowned, pressing his lips tightly together. “I don’t really remember.”
    “There must have been,” she announced. “There’s no way it would have just stayed in there. You were lucky it worked for as long as it did without the cork.” One long, slender finger tapped the open hole.
    “From looking at the others it was a metal plug, sealed with wax. Candle wax, I wager, from the little bit I can still see around the edges. Enough to hold it in place and bear the flexing back and forth.”
    “Ah.” The response wasn’t much, but it was all he could muster. “So you can fix it?” The words came out with a bit of an upwards lilt, betraying his desperation. If it couldn’t be repaired, then he would have to either withdraw from the tournament or risk losing it all, months of work tossed to the side like a dirty rag in the garbage.
    Sam studied the brace one more time, concentrating on the injured finger. She finally looked Jon in the face. “I’ll have something for you in the morning. Good night.” The woman swept the pages into her arms and walked into the back room without another word, leaving Jon behind. The door swung shut.

    Jon stood there for a moment, stunned. He’d never met a woman with such focus, such single-mindedness on the task at hand. And to be so summarily dismissed, as if he were nothing more than a manservant, without even a proper goodbye…
    “She’s enjoying this, just so you know.” Jake walked over to the table. Plucking the shirt off the chair, he handed it to Jon. “I know she’s not much of a talker, but this is a real challenge to her. And she lives for a challenge.”
    “More of a challenge than that iron horse?” Jon gestured at the mechanical beast sitting not too far from where they stood. The brass and steel plates caught the flickering light from the fireplace, giving it an even more ominous look.
    “That iron monster isn’t the future.” Jake looked towards the other room. “She is,” he said in a low, soft voice. His left hand opened and closed, as if he were trying to grab hold of something invisible.
    Jon put his clothing back on. After fumbling with the buttons, he managed to do his shirt up and pull his waistcoat on. He glanced at the back room, waiting to see if Samantha would come rushing out and demand yet another measurement.
    A few minutes later, he felt it was safe enough to leave. After a polite nod to the older man, he walked to the front door. “Please call on me if you need any further assistance…” the edges of his mouth twitched upwards into a smile, “…especially if she needs me to take my shirt off.”
    Jake’s look flickered from that of a protective father to an old man remembering his own youth.
    Finally giving in to the latter, he laughed. “Ah, to be a young man again.” He touched his temple with his index