Clockwork Chikody by Mary Robinette Coallall.

The Clockwork Chigody was not as pretty as the Nightingale, but she did not mind.

She pecked the floor when she was wound, looking for invisible bugs. And when

she was not wound, she cocked her head and glared at the sparrow, whom she loathed with every

tooth on every gear in her pressed tin body. The sparrow could fly.

He took no pains to conceal his contempt for those who could not, When his mechanism spun him around and around

overhead, he twithered, not even a proper song, to call attention to his flight.

Chickadee kept her head down when she could so as not to give him the satisfaction of her notice.

It was clear to her that any bird could fly if only they were attached to a string like him,

the flight of which he was so proud, was not even an

integral part of his clockwork. A wind-up engine hanging from the chandelier spun him in circles

while he merely flapped his wings.

Chickadee could do as much.

And so she thought, until she hatched an idea to show that Sparrow was not so very special.

It happened one day that Chikody and Sparrow were

sheltered next to one another. Sparrow, who lay tilted on his belly as his feet were only painted

on, said, How limiting the view is from here.

Why, when I am flying, I can see everything.

Not everything, all warrant, said Chickadee.

Have you seen what is written underneath the table?

Do you know how the silver marble got beneath the potted fern or where the missing wind-up

key is?

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