(part II of souffleur d’âmes)

Pensively the soulmaster looked out in the grey mist, small drops condensed on the glass and raced down to the window sill where they united and formed a small puddle of murky water.
     To keep up with Her Ladyships expectations, and also to fulfill his own thirst for perfection, he would need help. The souffleur was not about to trust another human being with his art, they were so clumsy, so unreliable; thus, methodically, he began to divise a mechanical aid, using all of his skills and uniting all of his techniques in one contraption.
He worked late into the nights and woke up before sunrise, he cursed and nursed whistling headaches, but he did not give up on his project.
     The aide mécanique, when it was, at last, finished, was not a thing of beauty; it looked like an oversized arm with too many joints and three needle-shaped fingers, but it served its purpose well. He could set a task for it just by thinking of what needed to be done.
     That had been the most difficult puzzle to solve, being able to read what a thought said and not merely tapping into its energy.
     When Her Ladyship came for her usual visit he had not much to show her, apart from a mood-indicator, by-product of his recent research. A tiny clown would either laugh or make a sad face, depending on his bearer’s thoughts. He had conceived this at an early stage of his thought-reading experiments, but even he had to admit that it was not very impressive.
     The duchess did her tour through the boutique; it seemed to him with less enthusiam and very fast; as if she was looking forward to get out as soon as possible without causing too much offence.
     For the first time doubts crept along the poor infatuated’s spine. The music box played a thoughtfull melody, parsed with sad chords; he drummed his fingers, in the workshop the mechanical arm did the same.
     The soulmaster thought long and hard, then he set to work on a new device.