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my hands. I had to throw my sweater over it to stop it.
    It lay there rattling and trying to get loose until I was afraid it would flap holes in my sweater.
    It was still flapping lethargically when my next batch of automatons arrived at the circulation window. I started with al-Jazari’s hand-washing automaton. It operated by hydraulics, not gears. Basically, it used the same principle as a flush toilet. You pressed a lever and water would drain out of a basin, making the robot maidservant pour you a fresh bowl for your hands.
    Should I build a hydraulic robot for my science project?
    No, definitely not. If I did, I would probably flood the auditorium.
    By far the most interesting automaton was the oldest: the life-size Chinese mechanical man by the ancient artificer Yan Shi. It was made of leather, wood, glue, and lacquer, according to the label. The thing was huge. How would I get it to my table?
    It solved the problem itself by starting to walk when I touched its shoulder. Its wooden shoes clicked on the stone floor and its silk court robes rustled. When we reached my table, it stood there nodding like it was humoring me. The ends of its long mustache brushed its silk robes.
    I touched its chin to steady it and stop the nodding. Bad idea. The automaton started to sing. It had a nicer voice than mine, but that’s not saying much.
    A man at a nearby table turned to glare at me.
    â€œSorry!” I touched the automaton’s chin again, hoping that would stop it. But the mechanical man just sang a new tune—something more lively.
    A woman at the table beyond the angry man frowned at me and said, “There are soundproof exam rooms you can use, you know.”
    â€œSorry, sorry! I don’t know how to stop it!” I put my hand over the automaton’s mouth, but that only muffled it slightly. I tried shaking its arm. That made it start beating time with its fan.
    A librarian was glaring at me too. Was I going to get kicked out on my second day at the repository?
    I grabbed the mechanical man by both cheeks in panic, frantically trying to hold its head still.
    That did it. It clapped its mouth shut like it had swallowed a fly.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    â€œSo that’s how you shut that thing up! I had no idea you could make it stop—I always just let it run through all its songs. Simon should have warned you to use a soundproof room.”
    I spun around. When I saw who it was, my heart started pounding. Jaya!
    She was wearing a thick sweater and a ridiculous hat. It had a cone-shaped knitted part and earflaps. A long felt zigzag stuck out of the top of the cone, with a pom-pom at the end. It was the dumbest hat I had ever seen. It looked great on her.
    Apparently the robot thought so too. It winked at her.
    â€œDid the robot just
wink
at you?” I asked, remembering to keep my voice low.
    She laughed softly. “It winks at all the girls. Apparently that almost got its inventor killed. The emperor he made it for didn’t like having his concubines winked at. Come have lunch with me. It’s my lunch break.”
    â€œAll right.” I could hardly believe it.
    I walked the Chinese robot back to the reserve desk, and Jaya pushed the others on a cart.
    â€œAre you taking lunch now?” the English guy asked Jaya. “If you give me a minute, I’ll come with you—we need to discuss your guest page application.”
    â€œSorry, Simon, I can’t today,” said Jaya. “I’m eating with Leo. Anyway, I’m not sure yet if I’m applying.”
    â€œOh, you really should! It’s a fantastic opportunity—the Burton doesn’t take many guest pages.”
    â€œI’m sure it would be fascinating,” said Jaya. “London’s great. The thing is, Francis wants the job so badly. I’d hate to stand in his way.”
    â€œYou’re terribly unselfish, Jaya. You ought to think of yourself sometimes. It would be brilliant to