"I was the youngest of four brothers. Each of us, one by one, was well placed in life, until my turn came,— when, our Father's Fortunes' hav?ing experienc'd an unforeseen reversal, there remain'd only money enough to send me to Paris and apprentice me to the greatest chef in France,— which is to say, in the World.—
This is greeted with cries of, "Really, Mounseer!" "The world of Amphibia, perhaps," and "Here Frenchy,— try a nice British Sausage Roll!" "Oh dear," murmurs Mr. Knockwood, awaiting the ominous scrape of chair-legs along his new floor-planking.
For years (the Frenchman goes on), I grunted 'neath Loads of water and firewood, Sacks of Flour, Tubs of Butter. Everything the Ma?tre con?sidered below standard I got to eat, thus learning in the most direct way, the rights and wrongs of the Food. 'Twas another year before I was per?mitted to hold a Whisk. No one offer'd to teach me anything. Learning was to be all my responsibility. Year by year, sleepless and too often smileless, I acquir'd the arts of la Cuisine,— until, one day, at last, I had become a Chef. And presently, as these things unfold, Paris was at my feet.
I'll say it for you,— poor Paris! Here were great Houses getting into
violent feuds over my pates, the Queen commenting upon my Blanquette
de Veau. I quickly grew too self-important to understand that it was my
Novelty they were after, not my cooking,— a realization I delay'd for
longer than prov'd wise  I was visited one day by a certain well-known Gentleman-Detective of the Time,— let us call him Hervé du T.,— whilst in the most critical Passage of a very demanding Sauce. The man had no idea of what he had put in jeopardy. In the Kitchen, one of the most useful Skills, is knowing when best, and when not, to deploy un Accès de Cuisinier, which properly executed has been known to freeze entire arm'd Units in their Tracks. The Obsession lighting the Eyes of my Visitor, however, far outshone anything I knew how to summon,— I was intrigued,— God help me, Madame, I listened.—
At this point Armand catches sight of Mason and Dixon, who are attempting to bring their Breakfast to an undisturb'd corner of the Saloon. "Ah! how curious that this Instant, Gentlemen, I was about to advert to your Brother in Science, whom perhaps you have even met, the immortal Jacques de Vaucanson."
Mason squints thoughtfully, Dixon shifts his Hat about till presently nodding, "Why aye, thah's it,— the Lad with the mechanickal Duck... ?"
"Too true, alas. A Mechanician of blinding and world-rattling Genius, Gentlemen, yet posterity will know him because of the Duck alone,— they are already coupl'd as inextricably as...Mason and Dixon? Haw-hawhawnnh. The Man Voltaire call'd a Prometheus,— to be remember'd only for having trespass'd so ingeniously outside the borders of Taste, as to have provided his Automaton a Digestionary Process, whose end result could not be distinguish'd from that found in Nature."
"A mechanickal Duck that shits? To whom can it matter," Mr. Whitpot, having remov'd his Wig, is irritably kneading it like a small Loaf, "- - who besides a farmer would even recognize Duck Waste, however compul?sively accurate? And when might any country person get to see this Mar?vel to begin with, if its only engagements were in Parisian Hotels?"
"Some," the Frenchman bristles, "might point rather to a Commit?ment of Ingenuity unprecedented, toward making All authentic,— per?haps, it could be argued by minds more scientifick, 'twas this very Attention to Detail, whose Fineness, passing some Critickal Value, enabl'd in the Duck that strange Metamorphosis, which has sent it out the Gates of the Inanimate, and off upon its present Journey into the given World.”
What I was told then (Armand continues), remains even today high treason to reveal,— this was bigger than the Man in the Iron Mask,— Kingdoms, Empires indeed, had begun to sway, since the fateful moment when one of Vaucanson's Servants enter'd the Atelier, to find the Duck hovering a few feet above a Table-top, flapping its Wings. There was no need to scream, tho' both of them did, anyway. The Secret was out. Within an hour, the Duck was well flown.
' 'Twas not of M. Vaucanson's Device, then?"
"Ha, ha ha, what a droll remark, I must tell Madame la Marquise de
Pompadour, next time we 'faisons le Déjeuner,' she will be so amus'd
No, ingenuous one,— the 'Design' was of quite a different order, an entirely new Bodily Function in fact, and no one, including the great Engineer himself, knows what happen'd...."
Vaucanson's vainglorious Intent had been to repeat for Sex and Reproduction, the Miracles he'd already achiev'd for Digestion and Excretion. "Who knows? that final superaddition of erotick Machinery may have somehow nudg'd the Duck across some Threshold of self-Intricacy, setting off this Explosion of Change, from Inertia toward Inde?pendence, and Power. Isn't it like an old Tale? Has an Automatick Duck, like the Sleeping Beauty, been brought to life by the kiss of...l'Amour?
"Oo-la-la," comes a voice from the corner, "and toot ma flute."
"Frenchies,— marvelous i'n't it," comments another, "ever at it, night and day."
"Savages," hisses the Gallic miniature.
"Pray, Monsieur, go on," Frau Redzinger with a glance of reproach at the room in general.
"For you, Madame." He gestures broadly with his giant Toque, and continues.—
My visitor had grown quite agitated by now. " 'Twas his own Hubris,— the old mad Philosopher story, we all know, meddl'd where he shouldn't have, till laws of the Unforeseen engag'd,— now the Duck is a Fugitive, flying where it wishes,— often indeed visiting the Academy of Sciences, where they have learn'd that the greater its speed, the less visible it grows, until at around a Thousand Toises per Minute, it vanishes entirely,— but one of many newly-acquir'd Powers, bringing added
 Urgency to finding it as quickly as possible, before this 'Morphosis car?ries it beyond our Control. Which is precisely where you may do us a Service, Sir."
"But my gifts...scarcely lie in this direction."
"Recollect, cher Ma?tre, as I do with senses even today a-tremble, your Canard au Pamplemousse Flambé. It is unique in Civilization. Not to mention the sublime Canard avec Aubergines en Casserole...mmhhnnhh! I embrace them! The immortal Fantaisie des Canettes...,"— and much more, including Dishes I'd all but forgotten. I should have stood unmov'd, but I'd gone a-blush. "Oh, those old Canards," I murmur'd.
"You see, when one looks in the files of the Ministries, and of other Detectives, for that matter, invariably, under the Heading, 'Duck,' the two Humans whose Names most often appear, are Vaucanson, and yourself. Again and again. Can there be a Connection?— the Automa?ton apparently believes so, having somehow, quite recently, become aware of you. Since then, its Resentment on behalf of all Ducks,— and not only those you personally may have cook'd,— has grown alarm?ingly. Without doubt, it is forming a Plan, whose details you may not wish to know."
"But this is dangerous! What if its Brain be affected by now? And if it be blaming me for Wrongs I never knew I was committing?"
"Ah! it might seek you out, mightn't it,— and, in the Monomania of its Assault, grow careless enough to allow my Agents at last to apprehend it. That would be the Plan, anyhow. Agreed, you must consider how best to defend yourself,— wear clothing it cannot bite through, leather, or what's even more secure, chain-mail,— its Beak being of the finest Swedish Steel, did I mention that, yes quite able, when the Duck, in its homicidal Frenzy, is flying at high speed, to penetrate all known Fortifi?cation, solid walls being as paper to this Juggernaut— One may cower within, but one cannot avoid,— le Bec de la Mort, the...'Beak of Death.' "
"Wait, wait," trying not to upset him further, "reprising this,— you wish me to act as a sort of.. .Decoy? to attract the personal Vengeance of a powerful and murderous Automaton...Bon.... For this, I might require a small Fee, in advance?”
"Of course. Here is your small Fee,— you see this Pistol? I will not fire it into your head, eh?"
"Only a thought.—  "
I was sav'd, if that is the word, by a loud terrifying Hum outside. The Detective, with a frighten'd cry, ran swiftly and irrevocably from the Room, leaving me in great Anxiety, as reluctant to follow, and continue in his arm'd company, as to stay, and face an Arrival perhaps even more perilous. I stepp'd out to the Terrace, to look. The Noise was circling overhead, as if its Source,— surely the Duck,— were contemplating a course of action,—
And there! there it was, my future Nemesis! Ah! As I watch'd, it began its long glissade, directly toward me,— the Stoop of an unrea?sonably small and slow Predator. With plenty of time to escape, quite unlike ordinary Prey myself, I remain'd staring, whilst in defiance of Newton the metallick Marvel floated gently down...till it alit near me, upon one of the Railings of the Terrace, with barely a sound. It faced me...its ominous Beak crank'd open...it quack'd, its eye holding a certain gleam, and began to speak, in a curious Accent, inflected heav?ily with linguo-beccal Fricatives, issuing in a fine Mist of some diges?tive Liquid, upon pure Faith in whose harmlessness I was obliged to proceed.
"So," spray'd the Duck,— "the terrible Bluebeard of the Kitchen, whose Celebrity is purchas'd with the lives of my Race. Not so brave now, eh?"
"Thousands in France slay, cook, and eat Ducks ev'ry day. Why sin?gle me out?"
"What more natural Enemy for the most celebrated Duck in France, than the most celebrated Chef?"
Hadn't M. du T. made nearly the same remark about the two Dossiers? Had the Duck gain'd access to these? How? "I am not your Enemy," I protested. "I may even be your Friend."
"At least until you contrive to make a dish of me, eh? Be advis'd, I am provided with extensive Alarms, that not a feather be molested, but 'twill trigger Consequences disagreeable. Would you like to try it? eh? go ahead, the Breeze from your moving hand will be enough.”
"Be assur'd of the total Safety, when I am present, of ev'ry excellent Feather," surpriz'd to hear a strange Flirtatiousness in my voice, "yours, may I say, being most uncommonly—
"Attend, Flatteur,— there may be one way for you to deflect my Wrath,— an inconsequential Task you may wish to do for me. I've a request to make of Vaucanson, and the Clock-work is ticking."
"Why not just fly over there and ask him?"
"Sir, he does not wish me well,— I cannot say why,— I hear, that he
has hired an Attorney,— an infallible sign of Hatred, if you ask me "
"Then, perhaps, you must hire one yourself."
"You wish me," the Duck spreading its wings as if to invite inspection, "to walk in, hand him my Card, 'How d'ye do, spot of bother with the Human who design'd me'?— I think not. Withal, my Case would be weak,— he would no doubt present me as some poor Wretch ever con?nected, by way of this celebrated inner Apparatus, to Earth............