Eleuterio was a little paranoid. And it did not do him good to hear an unexpected knock on his door. He flinched; his body recoiled as if someone had raised a hand at him. But the hands at the door were sing-songy; the knocks came in a rhythm that he could recognize anywhere.
"Elliot?" he called from the chair where he sat.
"Can I come in?" Elliot's muffled voice asked from behind the door. Of course. Elliot was the only source of such optimism in the entire town. At least, as he had known it.
"Come in," he said as he shifted in his lone chair. The door creaked open. Elliot stepped inside with a carefulness as though she were breaking into a house without permission. Unlike the upstairs rooms, Eleuterio's entrance rooms were all empty, save for a lone chair where he sat, sometimes by the window, sometimes by the door. Alongside the chair would be a metallic perch on which the lazy Mr. Porter would rest—a fitting companion to Eleuterio, one who spoke little.
"An exceptional bore," Elliot called him, often bringing a few pieces of furniture by herself from someone's dumpster into his house in an attempt to make it more comfortable. Although, the next time she would be about, it would be thrown out of the house.
"Hello, Terri," she said, examining the living room once more with utter contempt.
"Hello, Elliot," he replied plainly.
"You're polite today."
"You knocked on the door; perhaps that's why."
"I'm only trying to spread joy, Terri," said Elliot with a sweet smile.
Elliot closed the door. The living room was surprisingly clean, she realized before a small machine whirred about, its wheels propelled forward, connected to the bare batteries in the back. A brush rolled on its axis along with the wheels, picking up all the dust that had settled on the floor. Elliot jumped back before it climbed her foot.
"You're here for the Scribe," Eleuterio said as he stood from his chair and took the stairs.
Elliot jumped over the small machine before trailing him up the stairs. "Of course, I did. Nobody comes to this godforsaken tree to amuse themselves otherwise. Which reminds me, you should really consider renovating that ladder. The rope is falling apart, and I fear I should fall with it someday," Elliot said as she walked behind him.
"It's my house; why do you care?"
"Because I use the ladder more often than you do," she said as she landed with an unnecessarily loud thud on the floor, though she could tell it was harsh, and it left a dent in the already rotting wood.
"I looked at, um—the thing last night. A lot of unnecessary machinery, a lot of it. The bigger the machine, Elliot, the more energy it consumes. Remember that," he said as he turned to the cube on the table. All other scripts and machinations were pulled to the side, leaving Elliot's work in the dead center of the mess. Elliot couldn't help but feel pride.
"I couldn't find plates smaller than an inch. It's the smallest size on the market," she replied with a hint of sarcasm.
"Then make them, Elliot. It's not rocket science." Eleuterio leaned over the gadget, his hands placed on either side of it.
"It's science, though. Goodness, it looks so much smaller than I remember! How much did you remove from it?" she said as she rushed to his side, leaning heavily over his arm to stare at her creation.
Eleuterio squirmed his hand away. He squinched his nose in anger. Such close proximity made him severely annoyed. And then he glanced over at the small, sparkling shards of metal on the far end of the corner, mounting on top of each other.
"Well, not a lot," he said. He knew better than to tell her that he had scooped out a majority of it. "Just enough to fit silicon solar cells. It's more impressive if it doesn't need a charger."
Elliot propped her head up, staring directly at him. It was like watching a sloth in action. Her eyes flew open in amazement.
"This thing is solar-powered?" she shrieked. "As in, the sun can charge it?"
He screwed his face. "Quite!" he shouted as he stepped back, clasping his hands to his ears.
"Sorry!" she squealed in a whisper. "I forgot your ears were funny," she said as she looked back down at the Scribe. She picked it up gently as if it were a living creature and propped it against her side. "So I can charge it in the sun?" she asked Eleuterio, who seemed to be recovering from the chaos. His face went pale. Even in the dimness, she could tell.
"Yes—" he gulped, then continued. "But I'd be more careful keeping it out in the sun too long. Gets hot and burns the skin. You can charge it from moderate heat and light. Anywho, I've tried it on a few language models. Slightly slow it was, sure. Couldn't understand Mr. Porter at all. I worked on it, though. It's set to work on any living being—"
"Mr. Porter?" Elliot asked suspiciously, as if to catch his mistake.
"Yes, it wasn't working, so I made a few tweaks—"
"It works on Mr. Porter? The parrot?"
"Yes—the bird I have downstairs? You do know Mr. Porter, don't you, Elliot?" Eleuterio inquired, slightly concerned. He looked puzzled by her sudden amnesia, but then Elliot took off with the gadget in her clutches. She took off with such speed that Eleuterio was left off balance once more.
He was slightly puzzled as she skipped down the stairs with kinetic enthusiasm.
"Mr. Porter, tell me something!" she cried aloud. It seemed she startled the old bird, its sharp, unkempt claws clanging against the metallic perch top where it was resting. The bird screeched back, and the machine whirred to life. A subtle glow escaped from its cracks, only noticeable because of the utter darkness.
"What is the pest asking for?" the machine spewed back at Elliot. Elliot was geeked; her feet trampled the already rotting wood. She suddenly shifted her attention to the door. She went over, pulled it open, and shouted, "Hey, birdie on the tree!"
The crow cawed in response. "This one's lost its mind," the machine made out.
Elliot guffawed a sharp laugh, her voice echoing in the thickness of the treehouse. "It works! It works, Eleuterio!"
"Yes, of course, it works. I just told you it works," said Eleuterio, now at the base of the stairs.
"Are you not surprised by that? The machine works! We have a machine in our hands that speaks to any human and bird!" Elliot shouted at him, though now she had been free to be as loud as possible.
Eleuterio frowned, slightly offended by her undermining his work. "It works on all animals," he corrected her.
Elliot did not care for that added bit of information. She was, however, rather taken by his tone. "Do you not understand how big this is?"
"Talking to people is a big thing?" Eleuterio inquired, genuinely horrified by the idea.
"Terri, this is revolutionary. This changes everything! This changes the world!" Elliot said as she reentered the treehouse, lowering her pitch.
"Have they never come up with a transcriber?" he asked.
"Terri! You've created literal magic!" she shrieked in a hushed tone.
Eleuterio, however, looked out the window worryingly. "Goodness, how backward are we?" he whispered to himself. "People still learn entire languages to communicate with others?" He was in a trance, pulled into a deep thought.
"Terri, sometimes I wonder if you truly are a wizard. Or a vampire. Maybe Ruth is right," Elliot said as she examined her gadget.
"This changes everything, Terri. And on my birthday too!"
"It's your birthday?" he looked up at Elliot.
"Yes, I turn seventeen today," she said with another gleeful smile.
"Seventeen! Goodness, you're young! No wonder that woman keeps protesting at my door!" Eleuterio was taken aback by that revelation and even more so by her. He squinted, unable to see why he hadn't noticed it before. He made a mental note to get glasses made for himself.
"It's her habit. You've no idea the favor you've done me. She could never do this," Elliot said as she tossed the gadget into the air and caught it in her hands.
"Of course, Elliot. Uh—anything for you," he said awkwardly.
"You're being nice."
He was attempting it, but it seemed it didn't come off naturally.
"Is that a first for the little orphan girl?"
"From you, it is."
He sighed. "I just want you to win Boffin Boze, that's all. Uh—deep down—somewhat—I mean, to a certain extent, of course, I see myself in you. If I were a little more talkative," he said. He meant to add, with my mind askew, but he bit his tongue.
"That's the nicest thing I think you have ever said to me. Or anyone, for that matter. Really brings tears to the eyes."
"Alright, alright, you can do that out the door, Elliot."
"Oh, the tears are really coming!" she teased, fanning her eyes with one hand.
"Get going. Get good sleep. Tomorrow's Boffin Boze. Wouldn't want to be late, would you?" he reasoned with her, ignoring her quivering lips and tear-jerked eyes.
Elliot stifled a laugh. "Boffin Boze is in two days, Terri. And goodness, I think you've lost track of day and night as well. It's bright as day outside—why would I be sleeping?" she mocked the old man.
He once again ignored her, his eyes fixed on the Scribe. He gulped. "Elliot," he said in a very gentle tone.
Elliot hummed in response.
"This Scribe—it's a very important work. I give it to you only because I deem you capable of taking care of it. And making good use of it. Don't let so much as a scratch come onto it."
Elliot's hand flew to her head, saluting her teacher. "Aye aye, Cap'n! Anything else?"
He turned away, climbing the stairs to go back into his study. "Close the door properly," he said over his shoulder.