The Rod of Light (Soul of the Robot)

Scrollwork, of the type that covered Jasperodus’ body, also graced the silver body and neck of the beast. Could this mean that he and the creature had the same maker, with scrollwork as his hallmark, Jasperodus wondered? The thought was put out of his mind by the other constructs, products of the count’s imagination and that of his hirelings, that wandered through the glades and open spaces. A huge construction of flailing limbs, like some fantastic reaping machine, proceeded at speed across the grassland. Lilting, dancing forms moved to invisible musical rhythms … the two travellers passed by what at first appeared to be a pair of mating scorpions ten feet long and taller than a man. Facing each other, they retreated and advanced by turns, but whereas a real male scorpion seized the pincers of the female simply to prevent her attacking him, here the signal-like clicking of the pincers possessed by both giant robots appeared to comprise an endless dialogue. What, Jasperodus asked himself, did the conversations consist of? Uncomplicated threat and counter-threat? Or one of those subtle intellectual debates so beloved of the robot mind?

They strolled on, but Jasperodus stopped suddenly when something sprang up from the grass some tens of feet away. It was a twenty-foot-diameter hoop, attached to a central hub by tilted blades which supported it in the air briefly as it spun lazily. A red-glowing strip ran the whole length of the circumference.

‘Do not be alarmed,’ Cricus told him. ‘It is a circumsensory robot. Its single encircling eye gives it constant three hundred and sixty degree vision. One wonders why organic nature never developed such an eye.’

‘No doubt there is a reason,’ Jasperodus said dryly.

‘No doubt.’

The hoop sank back into the grass. ‘We are quite safe here,’ Cricus said in a soothing murmur. ‘Nothing will molest us.’ But he was shortly forced to modify this claim when an androform robot came lurching desperately towards them waving its limbs.

In a desperate, slurred voice, it spoke. ‘Wind me up, good sirs. Please wi-i-i-ind meeee….’

The voice boomed down the sound scale and ground to a halt. The robot, too, halted in mid-stride and was still. Its eyes went out. For a moment it stood balanced on one foot, then rocked and crashed to the ground.

Projecting from its back was a huge key like the key of a child’s cheap clockwork toy.

‘Best to leave it, or it will pester you incessantly,’ Cricus advised mildly. But Jasperodus, already guessing the situation, bent down to apply his hands to the key.

Considerable strength was needed to turn it. There was a loud ratcheting sound. After one complete turn it would move no more, and when he released it a mechanism began to tick. The robot stirred and instantly clambered to its feet. Its eyes glowed once more.

‘Thank you sir. Thank you!’ it said, looking at Jasperodus. Then, in a pitiable quaver, ‘Do you think you could wind me again in five minutes’ time?’

‘Five minutes?’

‘I am clockwork, sir, a spring propels my body and drives a dynamo to power my brain. But it lasts only five minutes, then I must be wound again. Be kind to me, sir. Give me another five minutes of life!’

While he spoke, the remorseless sound of the unwinding spring emanated from the construct’s metal torso. ‘Come, Jasperodus,’ Cricus said. ‘We must go.’

Now they were approaching Count Viss’ mansion, and Jasperodus briefly eyed its architectural features. The old nobleman’s liking for robotic grotesquery was apparently not matched by his taste in buildings. The mansion was no folly, but a solidly-built structure of square stone blocks with a wholly conventional frontage decorated with a few columns and a pedimented portico. Only the belvederes at each corner of the building gave any hint of eccentricity, and they were probably there as viewpoints over the estate.

The broad driveway that ran from the frontage was another matter. It bridged a small lake and then, for no apparent reason, dived underground into a wide-mouthed tunnel, nowhere to reappear.

As they came close to the mansion, however, Jasperodus saw that it was in a poor state of repair. Broken windows had not been replaced, and neither had crumbled stone carvings or the cracked tiles of the portico. A spider-like building robot was at work on one of the belvederes, clinging to it halfway up, but it seemed inept. Bricks and mortar spilled from its clumsy hands and had formed an enormous pile beneath.