Nandroid Witchhunt I

	The tall, bespectacled man stepped out from the small chapel, his dark woolen coat shrouding him in the dismal gray of an Autumn sky as he left the small, crooked-steepled chapel. The gaggle of devotees left quietly, somberly, as every sermon of Pastor Jeduthan left the townsfolk. He adjusted the tiny glasses on his nose before stepping away, leaving behind the little church for his home in the woods.
	As he wound deeper into the gnarl of bare trees a small household, stone and wood, peeked from behind and between the barren treetops. Removing his scarf the man lifted up a heavy necklace bearing a key - one twist and he was home again, a low fire stoked gently by a mechanical arm, the shutting of the door lighting a handful of lanterns in the darkening room.
	“You’re home, sir! How was the service,” she asked. Taking his coat the little machine paced around the room, making small adjustments where she’d learned over the years to make them; a little more oil for *this* lantern, when to add another log to the fire, when to give the arm that stoked it automatically an endearing pat or ‘thank you’.
	“It was fine, Prudence, same as the usual,” he returned, slumping over into his bed as he removed his boots, little errant bits of frost clinging to them. “Damnation and hellfire as always.”
	“Don’t speak that way, sir, I’m sure he’s as… *invigorated* with the faith as you are.”
	“Yes, and now he’s off to Salem for spiritual council, ministering on the behalf of the prosecution to the accused.”
	“Oh that sounds lovely, sir,” she continued, chipper as always. A stark look from the man quieted her before she could continue; she’d found herself enamored with the Pastor’s teachings though she could never attend them in person. Her creator took care, for her sake, to take notes of every mass and read them out for her before bed, but not tonight he told her, apologizing. He’d be busy tonight - no time for supper, no time for any reading or getting early to bed. Mister Jeduthan had enlisted his services a week ago in preparation for his travel to Salem, gathering up materials for him and preparing some mechanical implements as well. The pastor was willing enough to accept the man’s tinkering and machine-making so long as he kept the ‘thinking ones’ out of town. The villagers’ distaste for his little inventions quickly waned, when he offered them small automatons for weeding, mechanical oxen for tilling the tough clay soil nearer the coast, any machine that could make their lives easier without speaking would begrudgingly be taken into their homes before they slammed the door in his face.
	“No matter, Prudence,” the man returned, shaking his head of the little anxieties that plagued him daily. “I’ll be in the workshop late tonight, okay?”
	“Yes, sir! Anything I can do befo-”
	“That’s alright, Prudy. Just take it easy tonight.” The little robot’s delicate face pouted at the man, thrusting her broom into the corner before going to sit by the fireplace; she’d taken very heavily to the domesticity that Mister Jeduthan preached so heavily, much to her creator’s worry, and any direction to the contrary upset her. It didn’t help that she’d taken a disdain for his nickname for her, either - it was vulgar, improper.
The clack of her little needles, furiously dashing against each other as the fire popped and crackled, timed out the last hours of dusklight from outside. Now pitch black outside she arose once more to peep in on her master, busy at work at the little workshop he’d made in the room adjacent to his bed. He sat, hunched over his work table, fiddling with a tiny brass box. Inside was a jungle of little clockwork gears, and the man was vigorously rubbing a lodestone along a thin silver needle before placing it in the delicate glass face of the box.
	“Ready for bed, sir?” The man jumped, jostling the box slightly, the needle responding in turn; it spun wildly before pointing well away from the robot and her owner.
	“Yes, Prudence,” the man sighed. “Seems this won’t be working in time for Mister Jeduthan.”
	“Is there anything I can do to help, sir?” The man sighed just a little before steadying himself, having to remind himself impatience was not a vice Quakers took to.
	“Not as of now, dear. Here, I’ll wind you down.” Standing up and stretching his back he spun the little robot around, gently removing the jacket from her back and exposing the little brass door on her upper torso. Popping it open with a fingernail he slowly unwound the spring-bound tension which powered all of his creations and drove the artificial mind inside the little maid. Her eyelids grew heavy, her voice slackening with fatigue as she slowly lost her balance.
	“Good night, sir,” she whispered before slumping backwards into his waiting arms. With the last clicking spins of a cog here, or the groaning halt of a tensened wire, she fell into sleep. He hefted her up before laying her gently in a corner of the workshop - she refused any decadent comforts like a bed or even a cot. Setting her limp form down for the night the man retreated to his own bed, shedding the last layers of hefty woolen clothing and slipping into his nightwear. A tug at a handy string and the lights were extinguished, the little mechanical arm still stoking the fire.