The Clockwork Three

by Matthew J. Kirby

  “What now?” Hannah asked.

  “Let’s watch,” Frederick said.

  Garbage piles and crates cluttered the street. From farther down the road they heard men shouting and women cackling. There were buildings on either side, with no way to tell which might be Stephano’s lair. But within a few moments, a couple of boys approached a three-story house on the left. One of them, a very stout boy who looked to be Giuseppe’s age, carried an accordion. As they reached the front door they slowed and even hesitated before going in, like they were afraid.

  “That must be it,” Frederick said.

  “Giuseppe’s in there?”

  “He must be.”

  The clockwork man began to rattle again and Frederick turned around. The automaton stuck out its arms and strained against the buildings to either side like it was trying to keep them apart. “There is something different,” it said.

  “Are you all right?” Hannah asked.

  “Uncertain. Allow me to go in to find your friend.”

  “By yourself?” Frederick asked.

  The clockwork man’s quaking worsened. “Yes. You will be safer here.”

  “But how will you —?”

  The clockwork man marched toward them.

  “Hey —” Frederick said. The automaton pushed them both out of the alley into Crosby Street.

  “Wait here,” it said.

  “Hold on,” Frederick said, but the clockwork man had already covered half the distance to the building in long, smooth strides.

  “What’s it going to do?” Hannah asked.

  Frederick felt helpless. “I don’t know. But we need to get off the street.” He guided Hannah back into the alleyway, pushing her a little when she turned back to look.

  By the time they were hidden, the automaton had reached the door, appearing from that distance as a large man wearing a cloak. It paused a moment, opened the door, and charged inside.

  Within a moment cries of alarm issued from the building, mostly younger voices, boys. Then a clamor, splitting wood and angry shouts.

  Hannah gripped Frederick’s arm.

  Frederick thought of the delicate gears in the Magnus head, and the clockwork of his own design. How easy it would be to damage it, in spite of the clockwork man’s strength. Frederick thought about going in after the automaton to help it, and pulled against Hannah’s hands.

  “Don’t you even think about going in there,” she said.

  Frederick clenched his fists, unblinking eyes drying out.

  The commotion in Stephano’s lair faded, as if receding into the building, but then rose to a crescendo. The front door burst open, and the clockwork man barreled out of the house carrying two figures, one under each arm. The hood of his cloak flapped behind him, sliced in half, his bronze head glinting in the night. He ran toward the alley.

  Behind him, two older buskers leaped into the street, wielding clubs and knives.

  “Run,” Frederick said to Hannah, and gave her a push.

  They fled back down the alley, the clockwork man’s steps thundering behind them, along with the patter of smaller feet. Frederick chanced a look back and saw Giuseppe carrying a violin case, and another boy behind him, while the clockwork man brought up the rear. Behind the automaton, the two buskers closed the distance.

  “I see you found your clockwork friend!” Giuseppe said behind him.

  “We must go faster.” The clockwork man’s voice reverberated in the alley.

  There was a shout from farther back, and then a sharp clang. Frederick flinched but kept running, listening for the heavy sound of metal boots.

  “Faster,” the clockwork man said.

  They reached the end of the alley and poured onto the Cottonway, one after the other. But as Frederick turned around to look behind him for their pursuers, someone grabbed him.

  “Aha! We’ve been following you thieves!” Mister Diamond breathed into Frederick’s face. “Now where is the Magnus head?”

  Frederick saw Mister Clod and Mister Slag sweeping their great ape arms toward Hannah and Giuseppe, easily catching them both. The little boy with Giuseppe looked paralyzed with fear, shaking in the middle of the street.

  The two buskers chasing them tore out of the alley and launched themselves at the clockwork man, their clubs banging away on the Magnus head and the tin chest plate, oblivious to the three men from the museum.

  “Help,” the automaton said.

  Mister Diamond looked up and shrieked. “What on earth? No!” He let go of Frederick and pointed at the clockwork man. “Clod! Slag! Save the Magnus head!”

  The brutes took a moment to register the command before releasing the squirming Hannah and Giuseppe. Then they turned toward the buskers. Mister Clod snorted, and they descended like an avalanche.

  One of the buskers saw and shouted a warning, but not in time. Before either of the boys could react, Mister Clod and Mister Slag fell on them, and in a flash each had one of the buskers up over their head, ready to snap them in two. The boys screamed.

  Mister Diamond rushed toward his henchmen. “Don’t kill them!”

  “Come on,” Hannah said. “While they’re distracted.”

  The clockwork man stumbled toward Frederick, teetering, dents visible all over its body beneath the shredded cloak.

  “Help me,” Frederick said, and he and Giuseppe rushed to the automaton’s sides.

  Giuseppe guided them across the street to another alley. “This way. Pietro, come on!”

  Hannah and the little boy followed Giuseppe and Frederick down a few sharp turns and byways, the sounds of the frightened buskers and the rumble of Diamond’s thugs growing fainter.

  The weight of the automaton dug into Frederick’s shoulder. “Can we lose them?” Frederick asked.

  Giuseppe spoke through clenched teeth. “Non so,” he said, which Frederick did not understand.

  Their flight was dizzying and confounding to Frederick, down streets he had never seen, over forgotten courtyards with weeds sprouting between the cobblestones, through blind alleys where no gaslight or moonlight penetrated. It was like a different city, or a city behind the city Frederick knew. And then they turned a corner and he saw the sign to Mister Hamilton’s tailor shop, which confused him until his disorientation settled like a spinning top come to rest, and he realized they were now on Sycamore Street. Farther on he saw Master Branch’s shop.

  They had made it.

  “There is something … different,” the clockwork man said.

  “Let’s get it inside,” Frederick said.

  They made more noise than he would have liked, bumping the door open and ringing the bell. But they managed to ease the clockwork man into the back room and down the cellar stairs. The automaton let them lay it down on the workbench, and Frederick felt suddenly like a doctor with a patient in critical condition.

  They pulled the cloak open, revealing the extent of the damage.

  “Oh, no.” Hannah covered her mouth.

  Giuseppe shook his head. Then he walked over to the little boy and put his arm around his shoulder. “You all right?”

  “Yes,” the boy named Pietro said, and pointed at the clockwork man. “What is that?”

  Giuseppe looked at Frederick. “A friend.”

  Frederick surveyed the work done by club and knife, running his fingertips over the gouges and the dents in the metal. Most of the damage seemed centered on the chest and the Magnus head. One of the eyes had been smashed in, the other was spinning more slowly than before. Frederick’s throat tightened as though someone had their hands at it, squeezing.

  The destruction was beyond his ability to repair. He needed help. And Master Branch was the only one who could offer it. But asking for help would mean revealing everything to the old man. In trusting Master Branch, Frederick risked the loss of everything he had worked for. But if he did not go for help, the clockwork man would die.

  Frederick stared at the chest plate. “I’m going for help.”

 
“From who?” Giuseppe asked.

  “Master Branch!” someone shouted upstairs. The voice of Mister Diamond.

  Hannah and Giuseppe looked up at the ceiling, then at Frederick.

  “Wait here,” he said, and went for the stairs.

  As Frederick emerged into the shop, Master Branch came down from his apartment, tying on his dressing gown. Mister Diamond stood in the open doorway to the shop, Mister Clod and Mister Slag completely blocking the view of the street behind him.

  Master Branch gave Frederick a worried glance, and turned to Mister Diamond. “What can I do for you, sir, at such an ill-seasoned hour?”

  “You can turn your apprentice over to me! I will see him to the proper authorities.”

  Frederick went cold from the inside out, ice in his stomach.

  Master Branch swallowed. “On what charge?”

  “Theft, Master Clockmaker. Theft of the Magnus head.”

  It was over. Frederick surrendered to the fact that he would be arrested. The future he had designed, the plans he had executed were slipping away like gears scattered from his workbench, down drains and under closed doors.

  “Have we not been over this?” Master Branch swept his hand over the store. “You searched my shop yourself and found nothing.”

  Mister Diamond raised a hand and pointed at Frederick. “I just now saw him! He had the Magnus head on some monstrous body he’s made. It is here!”

  “I must insist that you calm yourself, sir.” Master Branch eyed the behemoths brooding over Mister Diamond’s shoulders. “Your guards are roaming far from home tonight.”

  “Extraordinary measures for extraordinary crimes.”

  “Well, I shall tell you now that no matter what you believe my apprentice to have done he shall not be leaving with you tonight, nor shall you be entering my shop.”

  “I demand —!”

  “You are in a position to demand nothing, sir.” Master Branch walked right up to the door to block Mister Diamond from entering. The old man looked so thin and frail, as if one blow from Mister Clod or Mister Slag would shatter him. But there was an authority in his voice, and a force of will emanating from him. Frederick walked up to his master’s side and stood with him.

  Mister Diamond twitched, and then his voice eased into a lilt. “Master Branch, I am certain that you would not risk the consequences to your guild by protecting a thief.”

  “Not at all,” Master Branch said. “Just as I am certain you would not risk the reputation of the Archer Museum with an unlawful invasion of my property.” He looked past Mister Diamond. “Or unlawful use of your servants.”

  Silence followed. The two men faced each other over the threshold, Mister Diamond’s eyes raging against the unflappable smile Master Branch presented like a wall.

  “This is not over,” Mister Diamond finally said, and actually spat on the shop floor. He turned like a dust devil and churned down the street, Mister Clod and Mister Slag trailing behind.

  Master Branch closed the shop door, locked it, and let out a long breath. He leaned his forehead against the door and began to tremble.

  Frederick cleared his throat. “Thank you.”

  Master Branch did not look at him. “Do not thank me.”

  Frederick felt such affection for the old man in that moment. Master Branch had protected him. Frederick reached out and put a hand on the old man’s back, felt the blades of his shoulders through his dressing gown. “Thank you,” he said again, and a sob caught in his throat.

  Master Branch turned to him.

  “I have something I need to show you,” Frederick said.

  Master Branch merely nodded and followed Frederick into the back room and down into the cellar. The old man gripped the handrail and planted both feet on each step before descending to the next. He kept his eyes down until he reached the cellar floor.

  Hannah, Giuseppe, and Pietro stood before the worktable, blocking the view.

  “It’s all right,” Frederick said, and motioned them away.

  His friends shuffled off, revealing the clockwork man. It had begun to twitch on the table, its remaining good eye fixed on the ceiling.

  Master Branch inhaled a sharp breath. “Lad, what have you done?” He crossed the cellar floor and looked down on the table. His gaze fell over the clockwork body from the feet to the head. He bent closer to examine the bronze face and wire hair. “I did not think it was real.”

  “I only wanted to study it,” Frederick said, his voice breaking. “I was going to take it back.”

  Master Branch placed a hand on the chest plate, the dented coal chute, as if feeling for a heartbeat. “But why?”

  “I needed to make journeyman.”

  Master Branch nodded his head slowly. “I see.” Then he paused, and sighed. “Frederick, you have more natural talent than any apprentice I have known. You could have trusted me.”

  And Frederick knew in that moment it was true. The old man had shown him that so many times. There in the cellar, the clockwork man dying beside him, Frederick realized he had wanted to trust Master Branch from the beginning, ever since the old man had rescued him from the orphanage. He had needed to more than he needed anything. But fear and anger as sharp and deep as a bramble wall had stopped him from reaching out, and had held the kind old man at a distance. Frederick’s desire to become a journeyman clockmaker had only been a way to avoid that need, to hide behind ambition from his fear.

  Tears broke from his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  Master Branch softened, and his eyes glistened. He put his arm over Frederick’s shoulder. “Tell me what has happened.”

  And Frederick told Master Branch everything. About the body he had made, and the museum, and bringing the Magnus head to life. About Giuseppe’s capture and escape.

  “I didn’t know what to think,” Giuseppe said. “One minute Pietro and I are sitting there in the rat cellar and the next thing we know the clockwork man comes crashing down. He grabs me up and I say, ‘You got to take Pietro, too.’ So he did. Then he jumps up out of the cellar like it’s nothing, and then Ezio and Paolo started pounding on him. That’s when I snatched my green violin back from Ezio.”

  “Such damage,” Master Branch said.

  “Can you fix it?” Hannah asked.

  Master Branch turned to Frederick. “We will try.”

  Frederick looked at the clockwork man, and felt a swell of loyalty that lifted his chest. He nodded at Master Branch, and bent over the automaton. “We’re going to turn you off to try and fix you,” he said.

  The eye kept spinning.

  Frederick reached around to the button on the back of the head and pressed it. The forehead popped open, and the body slowed as if falling asleep. Frederick looked inside and felt a sickening despair settle in his gut. The damage looked horrendous, beyond repair. Gears bent, broken, jumbled. He could not imagine how the clockwork man had continued to operate at all.

  “Oh, no,” Master Branch said. “What a tragedy.”

  Frederick wiped at the tears blurring his vision. “I need my tools.”

  They labored until dawn crept down the cellar stairs from the shop above. Frederick and Master Branch had worked in concert over the Magnus head for hours, in perfect harmony. In the beginning it had been awkward, Frederick having to be the one to explain to his master what he had learned about the clockwork, and how it worked. But before long they had settled into a silent rhythm, and Frederick felt for the first time like a peer standing beside a fellow clockmaker, working together as equals.

  Hannah, Giuseppe, and Pietro had all fallen asleep, leaning on one another against the wall. Frederick watched his friends, and their slow breathing relaxed him.

  When Frederick and Master Branch replaced the last piece of clockwork in the Magnus head, Master Branch wiped his brow with his handkerchief. “Shall we move on to the body?”

  “Let’s see if the head is working properly,” Frederick said. “Last time it was able to help me with the rest. Do you
think we fixed it?”

  Master Branch rubbed his hands in the handkerchief. “Let us find out.”

  Frederick pushed the forehead closed.

  They had been unable to repair the ruined eye, but the other began to spin, flickering. There was a slight whirring inside, and the jaw slid open.

  “Why?” the Magnus head asked.

  Frederick almost laughed in relief. “I do not know.”

  The Magnus head paused. “I do not know, either.”

  Master Branch appeared awed. “Remarkable.”

  “There … is something different,” the Magnus head said.

  Its voice had awoken the three on the ground, and they stood up, blinking and stretching. Hannah walked over and leaned against Frederick, her hand on his arm. At her touch he felt cold and warm at the same time, anxious and enormously happy.

  “There … is —” The clockwork voice halted, the eye skipped, and something in the jaw seemed to stick, hanging open.

  “Frederick?” Hannah said.

  Before Frederick could respond, something in the Magnus head clanged, and the jaw closed.

  “Something’s not right,” Frederick said.

  “Turn … me off,” the Magnus head said.

  “All right,” Frederick said. “Master Branch and I will try again.”

  “No,” the Magnus head said. “I am not … functional. Turn me off. Make it right.”

  But what if they could not make it right?

  “There is something different,” it said.

  Frederick grew angry. “What is it? Why do you keep saying that?”

  “I know why,” Hannah said, a whisper at his side.

  “You do?”

  She nodded, and looked away from him. “I should have told you earlier.” Hannah moved toward the clockwork man. She reached for the panel on the chest plate and opened it. “I’m sorry.”

  Frederick was confused. “Sorry for what?”