Free Ghosts of War by George Mann Page B

toast.
    “Henry!” Ginny almost shouted, the relief evident in her voice.
    “We're going to have a party! Tonight, right here at the house. Isn't that wonderful?”
    Henry issued a heartfelt sigh. “Are we indeed, Miss Gray.” He caught Gabriel's eye, a weary expression on his face. But Gabriel could tell he was secretly delighted. The house was going to be full of people again, buzzing with life. Henry thrived on that. For all his complaints, all the work it created, he loved it when the house was full of people. Perhaps, thought Gabriel, the party was what Henry needed, too. Perhaps it was what they all needed.
    “Shall I make the necessary arrangements then, sir?” Henry asked, carefully placing the silver tray down before Gabriel.
    Gabriel nodded. “I think it would be rather a shame to disappoint Miss Gray, Henry, don't you?”
    Henry raised an eyebrow at this. “And may I be so bold as to enquire, sir—are you planning to stay?”
    Gabriel speared a forkful of bacon. “I rather think I am, Henry, yes.”

CHAPTER SEVEN
     
    T he creature in the pit was hungry. That much was clear from the way it was thrashing about, slamming its proboscis against the walls and snapping its many jaws in frustration.
    Abraham hated the noises it made when it did that. Sooner or later he'd have to teach it a lesson. If he'd had a more ready supply of the solution he used to control it, slowly withering its tentacled limbs to keep it in check, he'd have done so already. As it was, he'd have to put up with the noise for a while longer, at least until he'd finished making the necessary alterations to his leg. Then he'd be able to give it something to eat.
    Abraham was sitting at the back of his makeshift workshop down by the docks, converted from an old boat-builder's hangar. It was cold, drafty, and damp, but, Abraham had to admit, his patrons had provided him with everything he needed. For a man in his position, he lived a life of relative comfort. And besides, he was surrounded by his many pets.
    Currently, he had his leg up on the workbench before him, peering at it through a large magnifying lens strapped to his head. He'd detached the mechanical limb in order to repair one of the servos in the knee joint, and for the last hour had been having trouble getting the new components to work. He cursed loudly when, after introducing a slight electrical charge, the limb began to spasm, as if operating under its own free will. Nuts and bolts scattered to the floor all around him as Abraham fought to keep the crazed limb under control. After a moment, the spasm subsided. He set about making another adjustment with his screwdriver.
    Abraham Took was a leper. This was evident to anyone who saw him from less than a few feet away: his face was blemished by unsightly lesions that had caused his flesh to swell and bloat, leaving him with a permanent, heavy frown and the gnarled, withered look of a man twice his age. However, what people tended to notice first upon encountering Abraham Took was the fact that he was now considerably more machine than he was man.
    Abraham Took had spent the last three years slowly, steadily, rebuilding himself. This, in part, was a result of his progressive disease, rather than a simple fashion or fetish with mechanization. It had started with the growing numbness in his left hand as the disease took hold of the appendage, effectively rendering the entire arm useless to him, preventing him from carrying on with his work. For weeks Abraham had struggled on, carrying the limb around like a dead, useless weight, unable even to use it to help him eat, or to hold open doors. Then, one day, whilst assembling the components of one of his raptors, he had struck upon the idea of replacing the limb altogether.
    It had seemed like a radical idea at the time, but his work fusing human bone to the metal skeletons of his pets had meant he already had an idea of how to go about achieving his aim. And it gave him hope. The