80 Days

Happy (late) Eid Mubarak from GMT+7:00!


What makes London unique among its contemporaries in other country, like Paris for example, is that the street is still paved with cobblestones and lined with gas lamps from coal. It gives a warm glow to the cold and damp street. People walking around or riding the newer model of Bozék car spare no attention to this lamp; perhaps for them it was a usual sight? For me the lamp was the most fascinating things that captured my attention. Heck, the first day I was here, I counted all the lamp from Hyde Park all the way to Master Asami's house. There's just something… serene, I think, watching light pulsing from behind the glass amidst the night background.

To tell you the truth, I've been looking at the lamp outside of our carriage for the whole trip. Why? The presence of my master across me, that's why. It's been a week of no interaction between the two of us, except the few occasions where I was upstairs cleaning. Even then, it was mostly a knowing glance from her; like she was confirming an existence of another soul in her house, before she returned to her work. I admit that I too did no effort to ease our situation, feeling content of what was happening between the two of us. I make it sounds like it was serious; I was after all, just a model for her automated valet. Of course, she paid me no attention, I was useless after she finished her project! It stings me sometimes, to think that a machine could and will replace me. A work of a valet is a delicate one; a marriage of art and science. Can automata programed to do chores, cook, pick a dress for evening outings, or for summer event; can it decides when their master felt unwell and act upon it. Can it feel at all? Can someone program that?

Actually… I do not want an answer for that. Why? Because a certain person named Asami Sato.

She is an inventor; one hell of a talented inventor. Not just that, she is one of the best—if not the best—of her kind that is not an Artificer. This presents problem, if not for the fact that in England, all artificing activity is controlled by Royal Society. Basically, anyone whose talented enough and rich enough to paid an annual fee could be consider as an inventor without needing any prior training with Artificer Guild. If anyone could design automata and make it to work like a human valet, she is the only person capable to do so. And it's not just my opinion; her talent was recognized throughout the Isles and beyond. That was the source of her wealth; working on a project for rich client.

Her most recent ones was to recreate an entire bird species on British Isles as automata. Think about it. The entire species, made from moving parts of coil, springs, feather of different piece of small metal, all capable to move independently and replicate the flight movement of each bird. She was precise to the smallest detail, like the interval between each wing's flap, feather color, and even their mating calls. To think that this woman could pull it off in just three weeks—she already finished some before I got here—was a feat of engineering in itself.

You see, even if she ignored me, or even hated me, I still admire her. Beyond her cold demeanor lies passion and determination to her craft. I looked at her, still busy with her almanac, perhaps already designing her valet as her next project. She wore a red evening gown with her hair tied to a bun. I never saw her wearing a gown; she prefers jeans when she was working. However, jeans or not, she would always look stunning to me.

I must have stared too long as she suddenly met my look. She quickly averted her gaze, and I can say I'm not surprised. My guess is my master isn't good with people, being used to living alone. Then, I came out of the blue saying that I was sent by her father—that she hated—and ruin her life. Her perfectly planned and scheduled life. When I put it like that, it kind of makes me the guilty party. And it might've been true; I decided to reciprocate her attitude by acting nonchalant, like nothing was wrong. Maybe keeping the status quo was a mistake, which means that someone had to break the ice first. Guess who's going to do that?

"Thank you."

I think I caught her off guard. She looked at me with that green eyes of her. "For what?"

"You've been kind to me. You hired me, even though I was sent by your father with whom you had a… complicated history. You could have called a constable, see me locked up in jail, or just slam that door shut and be done with it. Which, come to think of it, you actually did that had I not stopped you."

Her expression was blank the whole time I was talking. It was a habit of her when she was deep in thought, I observed. I decided to continue. "I know that I'm not needed and my presence is an annoyance to you. You don't have to say it; I already acknowledge that I am only useful until you finish my replacement. It's just that… I enjoyed serving you Master Asami. My previous one was as odd as you can get, but with you it's different. Good kind of different, Master Asami, and I like it. So, what I'm trying to say is, thank you for keeping me."

There was nothing but the scratches of wheel on the road and huff from mechanical horse to accompany our silence. As soon as it fell on us, the silence was quickly replaced by a sigh from Master Asami. "You need not to thank me." She sets down her pencil with gently on her lap; now her almanac was aside she had her full attention on me. "To be fair I might have allowed my resentment of my father, clouded my judgement about your… quality, so to speak."

I blinked because, if I wasn't mistaken, that was the closest thing to an apology from my master. She continued on, voice devoid of any emotion whatsoever. "You've proven to be an excellent helper and a wonderful cook," she shot me a half-smile, which basically a barely noticeable, small upward curve on the corner of her lips, "I admire the tea you served. Was it Darjeeling? It complements the toast and poached egg you always served me."

I flushed hearing her positive comment. Well, if any of you remembered I did say that I stopped cooking on the third days of my employment. However, what I left out was the fact that I decided a breakfast-on-bed approach was more appropriate. Though, I never even once step into her room—I simply left the tray near a coffee table outside, next to the door. At least that explains all the empty tray I received in return.

"Ah, close one Master Asami. It's actually my secret brew that I learned back in America."

She had that mischievous glint on her, and I found it amusing that she also enjoyed our exchange. "I didn't really picture Americans as a tea people."

"They're not," I said matter-of-factly, "but this Indian clerk taught me his secret brew that he also learned during his time in Canton." I smiled as I remembered that time beautifully. I was but a green servant, entering the cruel world of higher society. "Or, was it a Cantonese clerk who learned it in India?"

To be having this conversation was a surprise. To hear Master Asami giggle was, well, a surprise beyond my wildest dream. I never met someone so fascinating—not an oddity for certain, but it drives me to know her better. To make sense of my master was a challenge I accept, for even I was nothing but a small miscalculation on her life almanac, I desire to left a lasting imprint.

As soon as the giggle died down, she became serious again. "Now to be clear; I still don't trust you. Our agreements still hold, and that means after I finished with my valet project, you will leave."

Of course she would bring it up just after I felt comfortable around her. Sensing my disappointment, she quickly added, "you do not need to worry. With my recommendation, I guarantee that you will be hired again in less than a week."

"Were you that influential Master Asami?" I asked teasingly.

She shrugged and replied nonchalantly. "You were that good."

Our luggage rattled on top of our carriage. It alarmed me that perhaps we should have hired one more phaeton to carry Master Asami's work safely. I feared that another bump and the automated birds would shatter to many pieces, ruining a month of hard work. "Why would anyone want the entire birds in this island as automata? Moreover, why did you do it?"

She goes on to explain the detail of her works. Apparently, this man named Mister Leadbeater, famed ornithologist and known bird collector, boast his trove of collection and challenged anyone to came up with something more impressive. He even declares a wager of five thousand pounds on the newspaper, which was both an impressive sum and a stupid notion. I mean, who would do that?

"Since no one took it, I did. I told him I could recreate his entire collection as automata, and for another two thousand, I could finish it in just a month." She smirks and I unconsciously followed suit as I realize how crazy my master is. "I think the fact that I out of all people actually took his wager surprised him."

Well it was a money wasted away from him, because she actually finished her job in time. She brought me along to collect her prize. It didn't make sense—why would she bother? Besides for the monetary rewards, I mean. And trust me, my friend, her response was as good as it can get.

"I can't let a hefty wager left untouched, my good Jack." And again, comes that smirk along with an almost predatory looks on her, "I simply cannot resist the urge to prove him wrong."

The way she said it sent chills down my spine. This was a side of her I never seen. My master, the Asami Sato, is a fiend for accuracy and a good ol' wager.

"And how did I fit in all of this?"

"Your presence should keep all those predatory men away…"

Ah, such pragmatism! Why am I not surprised by that? Still, that means that I must look out for my master. Who knows that the uptight gentleman of England could act untoward to a lady of my master's status?


The money my master collected from Mister Leadbeater was enough to kickstart another project: an automated valet modeled from an actual, uber talented valet that is me.

Writing that sentence with any uplifting emotion was an impossibility. The only positive things were the fact that I could get close to Master Asami as we would spend ungodly amount of time on her study, designing and measuring this creation of hers. I didn't fully understand the process—it was more complicated than the works I had with my previous master. She had this green crystal where she would carefully etch a pattern along its surface. When it was placed inside the automata head—which did not look like any human being good or ugly by the way—the machine would then perform an action. It ranges from weird and unnatural clunking motion to downright, um… robotic. After that, my master would ask me to 'move like you're cooking' or 'pretend to wash', which I delightfully oblige.

All in all, not a lot to write. I actually glad of this extra duty I had, since I could bring trays of food inside her room, which was an improvement. She would occasionally raise an eyebrow but stayed silent as she drank my special tea. Nothing makes my day than listening her silent moan—a sign that I did my cooking wonderfully.


This morning I walk out to fetch her letters. It was wrapped in a bundle along with this week newspaper. As I walked in I read the headline—Dio mio! I regret my decision soon enough. There it was on the front pages, a photo taken at Mister Leadbeater shop with Master Asami in it, regally shaking his hands as she collects her prize. But hear this: the tagline said "Mysterious Man Showed Up with Asami Sato". The rest of it was basically guesses and rumors about this mysterious man, along with a suggestion that perhaps my master was secretly engaged all this time. With said mysterious man.

I was dumbfounded. I'm sure that I stayed as invisible as possible at that time, since I was aware that it was my master who supposed to be the center of attention. In those photo, my figure was obscured among the large crowd gathering there. And also, why was this such a big deal that it was written on a newspaper? In fact, this would explain all the hushed talks and glares I received from men and women alike as I doing my routine groceries.

To cause sensation like this, and the fact that it involves my master. Such desecration to her reputation—perhaps it would be better for her to not received this week update on recent news? I decided to hid the paper, but in doing so I discovered something else. It was an envelope just like any other mails. The things that set it apart was a seal shaped like a half-gear inside a circle. I recognized this one instantly; the same seal donned my letter-of-employment. It was none other than Hiroshi Sato.

I was torn on whether or not should I give Master Asami this letter? On one side, she hates him. That's a fact. On the other hand, maybe this one a letter of reconciliation or sorts? Maybe there's a sliver of chance that she would forgave him, for whatever past transgression? And could this letter be the catalyst to that?

I go by my guts. Just like the great Julius Caesar once said: "Alea iacta est". I went upstairs with a tray of lunch—my first attempt at biscuit, cheese, and my own tea—with the letter safe on my pocket. As usual, I found Master Asami deep in her work. She wore her work outfits, which was jeans and red buttoned-shirt, her raven locks of hair she let loose. I silently went inside and stand next to her, without wanting to interrupt her works. I only saw a glance of what she's doing; it appears she designed a valet attire for her automata. I'm not impressed though—her drawings were impeccable, but simply put, it did not fit the machine at all.

She stopped mid-work to found me with tray of foods. If there's something I realized during my time with her, she hadn't accustomed to the human activity known as 'eating'. She rarely ate in a regular fashion, and for someone as orderly as her, it was unexpected. She gave the meals in front of her a quick look before addressing me.

"Lunch?" She asked rather rhetorically.

"Traditionally speaking, yes. Though, I'm not exactly fond of labelling meal like that," I explained to her as I finished with a smile, "I called food whatever I want."

She huffed before motioning to put the tray next to her work-table. "You know this stuff better than me."

"For your information, it's a requirement for my occupation." I prepared her meals carefully set each plate by order of eating, which was a habit of mine. "My previous master was strict when it comes to stuff like this, so I learned from observation. I never really have formal training after I left the army, but luckily, my ma' used to taught how to cook."

I mentally slapped myself. One thing I always reminded myself was to keep your personal story close to you. It's no secret that upper-class employer never put interest to stuff like this. I saw my master face remained neutral. She said nothing as she took a sip of the tea and nibble at her biscuit. Trying to maneuver out of the awkwardness about to set, I showed Master Asami the letter I got.

"A letter for you, Master Asami…"

Before said letter even reached her hands, she already showed contempt. I could tell by the furrowed brows and that cold-hard stare like I got when we first met. Her reaction was unsurprising, but her word does.

"Burn it."

I tried to argue with her, but she cut me off completely. I sense that she already knew what I'm about to say. I mean, is it wrong if I tried to fix their relationship? My good intent fell short; perhaps I cross the line a bit too far. After all, I am but an ad hoc servant.

She went to her room, and as I tried to followed her, I heard my master rummaging through her drawer. Few minutes latter she showed up with an afternoon dress: red fabrics with simple trimming and a shawl to topped it. She then avoided me, walking toward the front door in a haste. "I'll be gone till eight" was all she said. Before she exits the house she also added, "don't cook anything."

Again, I was dumbfounded. Speechless. Just as we were getting along well, I just had to ruin it. Was it that bad that she had to leave? Where did she go? Should… should I…? Maybe it'll do my master if she were alone. With a sunken mood, I found chores to busy myself. Thoughts about Master Asami was something I rather avoid. It's just do me no good.

As I went upstairs, I found something else that worsen my mood. "She didn't finish her lunch…"


I fret. I paced around the floor. I kept glancing the metallic grandfather clock. It's 8:05 P.M. and there's no sign of her. I know I might be exaggerating, but the thing is, if Master Asami says she'll be home by eight, she meant it. By the second, nonetheless.

So yes, my worry was well justified. Something must've gone wrong. Did she got kidnapped? I mean, she was a person of known reputation. Or her worst fear; some random gentleman trying to seduce her? Oh, the mere thought of it just make me…

A steam hiss filled the house. It's not the clock; it came from outside. I hurried to the door to found a phaeton and my master, a bit flustered, stride out of her ride. As I held the door open, I saw two things: the phaeton wasn't leaving, and Master Asami had that glint in her eyes. Usually that's not a bad sign or anything—her green eyes always showed strength and willpower. However, she showed some more pride. She went upstairs, and as I was about to told her about the phaeton not leaving until she called me.

"Jack, pack your stuff. We're going on a trip around the world!"


A/N: So yeah. Another very late update from me. To be fair, I spent the majority of my time researching for any famed animal collector from 19th century. I had to settle with this Leadbeater fellow, who died at 1837, but I had to assume that his shop was still around 35 years later.

Finally, the adventure begins! Now the rest of the journey would be decided by YOU, my dear, hypothetical reader. Yes, you'll decide where this duo will go! At the end of this chapter, I'll list some possible route that you have to pick. I'll add a poll on my profile, though if you find voting didn't suites your taste, you can just write the location of your pick on the comment. After a week, I'll close the poll and prepare another chapter based on the result.

Now bear in mind, every location had their stories. How this adventure will end, and how the relationship between this two develops, will be influenced by their destination. Also, since I strive for some historical accuracy, I can't really guarantee a quick update, since I had to research a ton about each location. However, I'll do my best to not abandon this project. So, bear with me.

Another thing, pay attention to the days spent on travelling. As the title suggest, you must finish the trip in under 80 days.

Where to go now?

Paris - Arrive next day.

Cambridge - Arrive today.