A Prayer for the Crown-Shy (Monk and Robot #2 )(5)

“I mean … maybe? I—”

Mosscap headed toward the noise, and the crowd parted before it, gawking at its seven-foot frame.

Biscuit, it turned out, was a barrel-shaped chunk of a mutt whose body communicated a long ancestry of creatures bred to keep humans safe from things that go bump in the night. His keeper held the animal firmly by a woven leash, and muttered something in awkward apology.

Without hesitation, Mosscap lay flat on the ground, face up, hands brought to rest against plated shoulders in a display of supplication. “It’s all right,” Mosscap said to the person holding the leash. “Let him come here.”

Biscuit’s human hesitated but let the leash go. The dog charged forward, bellowing in baritone. Mosscap did not mind. It lay still, letting Biscuit bark spittle onto its face.

The dog’s demeanor began to shift as the robot remained passive. The barks became punctuated with mollified grumbles, which evolved further into curious sniffing. Mosscap seemed utterly at ease with this, unconcerned about making the villagers wait. The dog, in that moment, came first.

Slowly, Mosscap moved one of its hands and brought it before Biscuit’s snout. Biscuit allowed this, and sniffed. Mosscap moved its hand back to the dog’s neck. Biscuit allowed this as well. Mosscap flexed its fingers and scritched.

Biscuit definitely allowed this.

“Oh, there we go,” Mosscap said happily. “Ha ha ha, yes—oh, yes, there you go.” The robot scritched harder as the dog leaned in and wagged his tail. “Yes, I agree, we’re friends now.”

The crowd was entranced. But as seconds stretched into minutes, it became clear to Dex that Mosscap had no intention of stopping its interaction with the dog. Dex had seen Mosscap get like this numerous times, when captivated by a bug or a leaf or a transcendental ripple in a stream. The robot had yet to grasp the limits of a human attention span, and what had been an endearing display between it and Biscuit was now crossing the threshold into social awkwardness.

Dex walked over to Mosscap’s side, crouched down, and put a hand on its shoulder. “Hey,” they said quietly. “I think we might want to give the other animals here some attention, too.”

“Oh!” Mosscap said with surprise. It gave the dog one last rub, then got to its feet, all at once attentive.

Ms. Waverly seemed to take note of the dynamic between the two and addressed Dex this time. “What can we do for you both, while you’re with us?” She spoke clearly and loudly so everyone around could hear.

Dex cleared their throat. “Well, uh…” Shit, they hadn’t thought this part through at all. They didn’t much like being in front of crowds. They had a public-facing profession, obviously, and were very comfortable performing it, but in that, there were clear boundaries. In tea service, there was a table with Dex on one side and people on the other, and those people could come talk to Dex or not. They could get tea or not. That was it. Those interactions took on infinite variation, but they all fit within a single context: that of exchanging some words and receiving a nice drink. Here, there was no table, and even though Mosscap was the indisputable center of attention, Dex couldn’t help but feel like they were onstage with no script. They cleared their throat a second time. “Mosscap has a question it wants to ask. It’d like to talk to you. Uh, as many of you as are up for it.”

“Yes!” Mosscap said, as if remembering where it was and why. The robot spread its arms before the crowd. “My question is: what do you need?”

The crowd was puzzled; there were a few quiet, unsure laughs. Mosscap looked around expectantly, but nobody knew how to respond.

Dex rubbed the back of their neck. Gods around, they needed a better template for this wherever they went next.

After a long pause, a bearded man piped up from the back of the crowd. “Well, um … I need the door to my house fixed. It’s a bit drafty.”

Mosscap pointed at him brightly. “Lead me to your house!” it said. “I will help, if I can!” It cocked its head. “Is there no one in the village who has the skill to fix your door?”

“Sure,” the man said. “I just hadn’t gotten around to asking yet. And you asked, so…” He shrugged by way of conclusion.

“So I did!” Mosscap said. It put its hands on its hips with a nod. “I have a remnant of how to use hand tools. Do you have some available?”

“Uh, yeah, we got whatever you need.”

Another voice piped up. “Do you know much about bikes?” they asked. “Mine has a flat tire.”

“I’ve got a freshwater line that’s lost pressure,” another said.

“Can you help me with my math?” a kid yelled.

“Yes, I can try, and … no, I’m afraid not,” Mosscap said. “Math is not my strong suit.”

Dex pressed their lips together, not liking the direction this was heading. They angled themself toward Mosscap and asked, in a low voice, “Are you okay with this? Is this what you meant?” Helping villagers with random chores didn’t seem like the type of answer Mosscap had broken centuries of silence to pursue.

“It’s what they’ve decided I meant,” Mosscap said, “and therefore, yes, I’m okay with it.”

“Well…” Dex didn’t like it, but they weren’t about to dictate what their friend could and could not do. “Okay. Do you want me to come with you while you do this stuff, or do you want to go alone?”