L frowned as the smell hit him; he produced a handkerchief from his pocket and pressed it to his nose and mouth, then moved in closer to peer at the plate from a few feet away. It should have stayed in place, but pressure--what could be causing that kind of pressure, and that kind of stench?--seemed to be coming from within the unfortunate machine.

It was possible that Temeraire had made some kind of error when he last changed the cylinders. However, anyone with the capacity for observation would easily have been able to find a way into the automaton's workings, and there were enough people in and out of the house, which was quiet late at night, that a prank, an error, or sabotage couldn't be ruled out. Did one of the servants fancy themselves a mechanic? If they were interested in learning, they could always approach one of the members of the family. The fact that it wasn't their place to ask made it understandable that they might elect not to, but it was even less their place to conduct secret midnight experimentations on their employers' property, or to tamper with it out of spite.

"No, of course not," he replied to Temeraire, his voice flat, a perfunctory reassurance. "Still, I don't like this. Please fetch the tongs to remove the plate... I think it might be better to keep a bit of distance from the thing." As he said so, he pulled back from it again.