Free The Alchemy of Stone by Ekaterina Sedia

comfortably. “Come on,” she said to Mattie. “Tell me about the gargoyles. You’ve seen them, haven’t you?”
    “Yes,” Mattie said. She was unsure of how much she should divulge. “Only once. They hide during the day, and you can see them at night, if you want to, from a distance. Or you could at one time, anyway. They slept on the roof of the Duke’s palace.”
    “Yes, I saw that,” Niobe said. “But . . . none of them move, and you can’t tell which ones are real.”
    “All of them are,” Mattie said. “Most are stone, some few are still moving . . . but they all turn to stone eventually.”
    “We will all become one with what we were born from,” Niobe said.
    Mattie stared.
    “Just a saying we have,” said Niobe, and laughed and pointed at a flock of ducks and ducklings that paddled to the shore, their black, beady eyes somehow managing an expectant expression. “Oh, they are cute.”
    “Yes,” Mattie said, without looking. “What did you mean, becoming one with what we were born from?”
    Niobe shrugged. “People came from the earth and return to it once they die, and become dirt. The gargoyles are born from stone. So they become it.” She laughed again. “Or something like that.”
    “What about the automatons?” Mattie asked.
    Niobe stared at the ducks that shyly wobbled ever closer. “I don’t know. We don’t have anything . . . anyone like you back home.”
    Mattie nodded. She didn’t have to ask, really—she came from Loharri’s laboratory, born of metal and coils and spare parts and boredom; this is where she would find herself in the end, likely enough.
    Mattie was fascinated with the change in Niobe—once they left the presence of the alchemists, Niobe seemed a whole new woman, laughing and moving freely. This is how Mattie felt away from judging eyes; the problem was, it only happened when she was alone, or with the gargoyles. Or Ilmarekh.
    Her thoughts turned to the Soul-Smoker and the secrets of the souls that inhabited his weak, ravaged body. She felt selfish that she hadn’t thought of him in so long. Him or Beresta. Or her work. She groaned a little.
    “Don’t be so glum,” Niobe said, and immediately clamped her hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry. I know the palace was important to you and your people.”
    Mattie nodded. “And the gargoyles. I wonder if they will raise the palace again or if there are too few of them left. Where will they go if they can’t rebuild? Where will the Duke and his court go?”
    “I’m sure it’ll work out.” Niobe patted Mattie’s shoulder, and the clinking of her rings sounded muffled by the cloth covering Mattie’s metal flesh. “I’m sorry to see you sad, and yet I’m happy that this misfortune allowed me to meet you. I haven’t made a friend here yet.”
    “It can be difficult here,” Mattie said. “Alchemists are not too bad—they won’t be rude to you; at least, not to your face. But the mechanics . . . they’re a conceited lot, and if you aren’t one of them they’ll spit on you. The man who made me isn’t like that, but he too has his faults.”
    “I often wonder what it would be like to know your creator,” Niobe said.
    Mattie inclined her head. “It is aggravating,” she said. “And humbling at times. Loharri . . . he can be difficult. Possessive.”
    Niobe laughed. “Of course he is. You’re . . . ” She paused, as if looking for the right word. “You’re precious, Mattie. There’s no one in the world like you. If I had made you, I wouldn’t let you out of the house.”
    “I suppose I should be flattered,” Mattie said and stood. “It is nice to meet, you, really, but I should be going.”
    “Oh no.” Niobe grabbed Mattie’s hand and peered into her blue porcelain face. “I’ve offended you.”
    “It doesn’t matter,” Mattie said. “It will pass.”
    Niobe stood too. “Listen. Come visit me the next holiday, all right? I live by the market, the one on the