The parcel had been left directly in front of the Conservatory doors.
Harold regarded it.
Fox, riding on top of Harold with the expression of one who had delegated navigation to a competent subordinate, regarded it too. Harold altered course by perhaps eighteen inches and continued toward the lawn. Fox shifted his tail to compensate. Inside, Jules looked up from the window.
"Parcel."
"Tea kettle," said Phoebe.
Jules looked toward the sideboard. The old kettle, which had recently abandoned whistling in favor of a faint asthmatic sigh, sat there without apparent remorse.
"You replaced it?"
"It stopped whistling."
"It still boils water."
"Yes."
Jules considered this. Phoebe continued writing.
"You've been missing the whistle."
"I have not."
"You checked it four times yesterday."
"I was monitoring the water."
"Of course."
Outside, Harold passed the window again. Fox was now facing backward.
Neither offered an explanation.
Jackal occupied the chair nearest the door and was watching the clock. Phoebe glanced at him.
"You're early."
"Two minutes."
"For?"
Jackal looked offended.
"My paint."
"Ah."
Revision Red had recently been placed on a short daily allowance following an incident involving the east wall, two maps and a philosophical disagreement about whether washable meant consequence-free. The restriction was temporary; CK had merely insisted that the wall recover before Jackal resumed his usual freedom with paint. Jackal maintained that even this policy had become needlessly authoritarian. CK maintained that Jackal still had paint. Relations were therefore considered excellent. At precisely three o'clock the Conservatory door opened.
CK entered. Jackal stood. CK removed his hat. Jackal waited. CK hung the hat carefully on its hook. Jackal shifted his weight. CK removed his jacket, smoothed one sleeve and hung it beside the hat.
"Good afternoon, Jackal."
"Good afternoon."
CK looked at him. Jackal looked at CK.
"Now?"
CK opened the small cupboard beside his chair and removed Revision Red. Jackal accepted it solemnly.
"Thank you."
From outside came a metallic clunk. Everyone looked toward the window. There was a short silence. Then Fox appeared at the Conservatory door.
Alone.
Phoebe put down her pen.
"Where's Harold?"
Fox looked toward the lawn.
"Stationary."
Harold was indeed stationary.
One wheel sat at an angle that suggested it had recently reconsidered its obligations to the other three. Jules crouched beside it. Harold attempted to move. The wheel turned half a revolution, caught, and produced another clunk.
"Don't," said Jules.
Harold stopped. Phoebe looked at him.
"He understood you."
"He recognizes a stop command."
"Mm."
Jules removed the wheel cover. Fox sat nearby. CK stood with his hands in his pockets. Jackal, having received his paint and therefore possessing no further official business at the Conservatory, remained anyway.
"Wheel assembly," Jules said.
"Can you fix it?" Phoebe asked.
"Probably."
He examined something on his phone.
"Possibly not."
"How long?"
"Six weeks."
Phoebe stared at him.
"For a wheel?"
"Apparently Harold's wheel enjoys a more complicated supply chain than the rest of us."
CK leaned slightly toward the screen.
"And another mower?"
Jules searched.
"Tuesday."
Jackal shrugged.
"There you are. Get another one."
Nobody answered.
Jackal looked around.
"What?"
Phoebe looked at Harold. Jackal pointed toward the Conservatory.
"You replaced the kettle."
Jules looked at him. Jackal looked genuinely puzzled.
"Same thing."
CK glanced at the clock.
"You have somewhere to be."
Jackal looked down at Revision Red.
"I do."
"The sign shop?"
Jackal nodded.
"Off you go."
Jackal went. He had reached the path before turning around.
"I'm right about the kettle."
CK closed the door. The replacement wheel assembly cost considerably more than anyone thought a wheel assembly ought to cost. More inconveniently, it would take six weeks to arrive. This information did not improve the conversation. Outside, Harold tried to move again. This time he managed several feet before the damaged wheel caught. Fox walked beside him. Harold moved another few feet. Fox waited. Another few.
"What are they doing?" Phoebe asked.
Jules went to the window. Harold was making slow, crooked progress toward his charging base. Fox stopped whenever Harold stopped. Nobody had told either of them to do this. Eventually Harold reached the charger and settled onto it. Fox curled up beside him. Jules closed the parts page.
"Order the wheel," said Phoebe.
"I already did."
The lawn presented a more immediate problem. Six weeks was a long time in summer. The local mower shop had a loaner. It arrived the following afternoon. It was newer than Harold. It was quieter than Harold. It was, according to the young man from the mower shop, equipped with a significantly improved navigation system.
"Very efficient," he said.
The loaner glided away across the lawn with barely a sound. Jackal watched from the steps.
"See?"
Nobody answered.
"This one's better."
CK was reading.
"It doesn't make that ridiculous noise."
Jules looked up.
"What ridiculous noise?"
Jackal made a sound. It was not a sound anyone had ever heard from Harold or, indeed, from any known mechanical device. Phoebe stared at him.
"He does not make that noise."
"He absolutely does."
Jackal tried again. CK lowered his book.
"Please don't."
Jackal went away muttering about people who became sentimental over lawn equipment. The following morning Jules was halfway through a page when he looked toward the window.
Nothing was there.
He returned to the page.
A moment later he looked again.
Phoebe noticed.
"What?"
"I don't know."
He listened. Phoebe listened too. From somewhere beyond the hedge came the faint whisper of the loaner. Jules frowned. Phoebe's face changed.
"Oh."
"What?"
"Jackal."
Jules waited.
"The noise."
They listened again.
Nothing.
Harold made a small irregular sound as he worked. Not constantly. Not loudly. A faint rrr-ik...rrr-ik that appeared and disappeared as he crossed different parts of the lawn. Nobody had ever investigated it. Nobody had consciously listened for it.
Apparently everyone had heard it anyway.
Jules looked toward Harold's charging base. Fox was sitting beside him.
"Ridiculous noise," Jules said.
Phoebe smiled.
The sunflower died on Thursday.
Phoebe heard the mower pass the south window and looked up just in time to see the loaner reduce a large yellow bloom to several considerably smaller yellow blooms.
"My sunflower!"
Jules came to the window. CK, who had just arrived, removed his hat.
"Good afternoon."
"My sunflower!"
CK hung his hat. The loaner continued efficiently along the boundary. CK removed his jacket.
"Was it inside the mowing area?"
"Yes."
CK hung his jacket.
"Then I don't believe he's done anything wrong."
Phoebe turned to him. CK looked through the window at the remains of the sunflower.
"I didn't say I liked it."
"Harold never mowed it," she said.
Jules looked at her.
"Why not?"
Phoebe opened her mouth. Closed it.
"I don't know."
They went outside. The sunflower had grown inconveniently close to the edge of the bed. Jules studied the ground.
"You moved Harold away from it once."
"I probably moved him away from it twenty times."
"I moved him twice."
CK looked toward the charging base.
"So Harold learned not to mow here."
"Apparently."
The loaner approached. All three stepped aside. It continued through the grass. Phoebe watched it go.
"He didn't know."
"No," said CK.
That afternoon Phoebe was clipping a vine that had begun making unauthorized advances toward the roof. She cut a healthy length and placed it on the table. Jules looked at it.
"New plant?"
"Eventually."
"Same one?"
Phoebe looked at him.
"Related one."
Jules glanced around at the collection of pots on the shelves.
"Another one."
"They do seem to be reproducing in quantity."
"Entirely without supervision."
Phoebe put the cutting in water. Through the glass, the loaner crossed the lawn. Harold sat on his charger. Phoebe watched them for a moment.
"What if we'd bought another Harold?"
"Same model?"
"Exactly."
"Not Harold."
"No."
"What if we copied all of Harold's memory into it?"
Jules hesitated.
"Closer."
Phoebe looked at him.
"Closer?"
"I don't know."
CK, from his chair, said, "Perhaps memory isn't the only thing that changed." Phoebe looked at him.
"What else?"
CK turned a page.
"You did."
There was a pause.
Jules looked toward the charging base. Harold had learned the Conservatory. But the Conservatory had also learned Harold. They knew his routes. They left certain things out of them. They listened for a noise they did not know they heard.
Fox had apparently learned him best of all.
As if summoned by the thought, Fox crossed the lawn. The loaner approached. Fox stopped. The loaner stopped. They regarded one another. The loaner's obstacle sensors waited patiently. Fox walked away. Ten minutes later Harold made a faint rrr-ik from the charging base. Fox trotted over and climbed onto him. Harold did not move. Fox settled down anyway.
Nobody inside said anything.
The loaner remained for the six weeks.
It did not become Harold.
This was fortunate, since it showed no particular interest in doing so.
It did, however, develop habits.
Some of these were Jackal's fault.
Jackal discovered that Revision Red could be placed securely on top of the loaner and transported from the Conservatory to whichever portion of the grounds currently required what he called "corrective expression." CK discovered this when he saw Jackal walking beside the loaner one afternoon.
"Jackal."
"Yes?"
"The mower is not a trolley."
"He hasn't complained."
"That is not the standard."
Jackal removed the paint. The following afternoon he put it back. Within two weeks the loaner had begun stopping near the Conservatory steps at approximately the time Jackal collected his daily allowance. Jackal was delighted.
"You see?"
CK looked at the mower. Then at Jackal.
"I see several things."
Jackal placed the paint on top. The loaner started toward the path. Jackal followed. CK watched them go.
"Several things," he repeated.
The wheel assembly arrived in the sixth week. Jules installed it himself. While replacing the cover he found the source of Harold's noise. A small piece inside the housing vibrated at certain speeds.
Nothing serious.
Nothing necessary.
One adjustment would stop it.
Jules placed the screwdriver against the screw. From the lawn came the quiet sound of the loaner making its rounds. Jules removed the screwdriver. He replaced the cover. Harold rolled forward.
Rrr-ik.
Jules smiled.
"Good."
Harold turned toward the lawn. Fox appeared from beneath a shrub and climbed aboard. The van from the mower shop arrived the next morning. Jackal was outside. A man stepped out.
"Morning. Here for the loaner."
Jackal nodded.
"Right."
The man lowered the ramp. The loaner turned toward the van. Jackal watched it.
"Where are you taking him?"
The man looked at him.
"Back to the shop."
"Yes, obviously."
The loaner started up the ramp. Jackal frowned.
"Wait."
The man smiled.
"He's a sociable little thing. Gets around."
Jackal looked at him.
"Bit of a travel enthusiast," the man added.
Jackal considered the loaner. CK came through the Conservatory doors. Jackal looked at him. CK said nothing. Jackal looked back at the loaner.
"Oh, shut up."
"I haven't said anything."
"You were going to."
"I wasn't."
"You thought it."
CK adjusted his hat. The loaner disappeared into the van. Jackal watched until it turned out of the drive. Behind him came a faint sound.
Rrr-ik...rrr-ik.
Harold crossed the lawn. Fox rode on top. Jackal watched them for a moment.
"Still think you should fix that noise."
Jules, from the Conservatory door, said, "I did." Jackal turned. Harold passed behind him.
Rrr-ik.
Jackal narrowed his eyes. Jules went inside to make tea.
The new kettle whistled.