The Clockwork Three

by Matthew J. Kirby

  Giuseppe went to the reverend and worked at the knots binding him to the pew. Yakov lifted the bar from the doors and opened them wide. In rushed Pietro, Hannah, and Frederick. A large woman bustled in after them. When she saw Yakov, she sagged with visible relief.

  Giuseppe’s friends clambered down the aisle toward him.

  “Are you all right?” Frederick asked.

  “You’re bleeding,” Hannah said.

  Giuseppe waved them off. “I’m fine.”

  Pietro had crouched down over Stephano’s body, staring at it. Hannah noticed the dead padrone and gasped.

  “Did Yakov …?”

  Giuseppe nodded. “He saved my life.”

  Hannah turned to look at the Russian, and then ran and embraced him. He appeared surprised and ruffled by the attention at first, but then smiled and cupped the back of her head with one of his large hands.

  The strange woman surveyed the scene and nodded as if pronouncing it acceptable in some way. “Now you all know why they say I travel with a tiger.”

  Giuseppe did not know if she was talking about Yakov, or the gun he kept in his robes.

  “My church,” the reverend said, with despair in his voice. “My church.” He held a handkerchief to his nose and broken lip, staring in disbelief. After a moment, he shook his head. “I suppose I should go fetch the police.”

  The large woman looked at Yakov. Yakov looked at the reverend.

  “Wait a moment,” the Russian said.

  Reverend Grey blinked at Yakov, and stayed where he was.

  The large woman turned to Hannah. “So this is Giuseppe?”

  “Yes. Giuseppe, this is Madame Pomeroy.”

  Giuseppe bowed. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

  “And a pleasure it is to meet you. Although that’s a pleasure I might have missed if we’d come too late.”

  Giuseppe nodded. He figured Pietro must have woken Frederick. The two of them had gone for Hannah, and then to Madame Pomeroy and her Russian companion for help.

  “I’m glad you came when you did, ma’am.” And then his legs went out and Giuseppe slumped into a pew.

  His body buzzed with shock, the way a pipe hums with the water raging through it. Everything had happened so fast. One minute Giuseppe was sure he was going to die, and in the next minute Stephano was shot dead. Giuseppe was free. He trembled and rubbed his forehead, eyes wide in disbelief. He was free.

  His friends took up places next to him, hands on his back, his arms. He started shaking in earnest, and could not stop. He balled his quaking hands into fists. Tears fell in his lap. When had he started crying? His throat ached, racked with sobs.

  “Shh,” Hannah said, stroking the back of his neck, her fingers cool against his skin. “Shh. You’re safe now.”

  He nodded and tried to calm himself, but his body was not finished. It felt out of his control, as though it had to take time to feel what there had been no time for while everything was happening. But eventually the tension in his body slackened, and the crying ebbed, and, like a receding wave, it left Giuseppe feeling raw, scraped clean. He teetered to his feet.

  “There now,” Madame Pomeroy said. “You’ve had quite an ordeal.”

  “I’m all right now,” Giuseppe said.

  Hannah still looked worried. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said.

  Someone tugged at him, and he turned to see Pietro holding the green violin. “This yours,” the little boy said, and presented it to him.

  “What is that?” Madame Pomeroy asked.

  “His green violin,” Frederick said.

  Madame Pomeroy touched the brooch at her neck. “Green, you say?”

  Giuseppe felt a different kind of tears behind his eyes. He took the case from Pietro and held it for a moment before slinging it over his shoulder. He was free. He could buy a boat ticket. But what about Pietro? Where would any of the boys go? Even though Stephano had been a wicked, cruel master, he had provided a place for them to sleep at night. What would they eat? Who would protect them?

  Paolo groaned and stirred. Yakov pulled a cord from within his robes, which he used to tie Paolo’s hands behind his back. He did the same to Ezio, and then leaned in close to Madame Pomeroy.

  “It is time,” he said in a low voice.

  Madame Pomeroy frowned and nodded. “Yes. So it is.” She motioned for Hannah to come to her. “We must say good-bye, child.”

  Hannah went to her. “Good-bye?”

  “Yes. I had planned to leave in a few days, but my enemies are closer than I’d supposed. My steamer leaves in the morning.” Her lip quivered and she wiped under her eyes. “Oh, you see how I am? With all the good-byes I’ve said in my life, you would think I’d be used to them by now.”

  Giuseppe wondered where Madame Pomeroy’s steamship was traveling.

  Hannah reached into her dress pocket. “I want to give you something.” She held out the lump of clay. “Something you might like, because of what you always say about Yakov, and golems.”

  Madame Pomeroy stared at the object, at the markings inscribed over it. She reached out her hand to take it, but hesitated. “Goodness, child. Do you know what this is?”

  “It’s a piece of a golem.”

  Madame Pomeroy picked it out of Hannah’s palm with her thumb and forefinger, as though afraid to smudge it with her fingerprints. “That is exactly what it is. How on earth did you ever come to possess such a thing?”

  “I … took it. By accident.”

  “From where?” Madame Pomeroy asked.

  “The Archer Museum.”

  “That is not where it belongs.” Madame Pomeroy handed the fragment to Yakov, who slipped it inside his robes. “You know, when I took you on as my attendant, Yakov said you would one day offer me something of great worth. He saw it, the way he sees things, and I have learned to trust him. Thank you for the gift, child.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “And thank you for telling me the truth about your father and my necklace. You have no idea how much it means to me to understand why you did what you did. I sincerely hope your father’s health continues to improve.” And then she turned to Giuseppe. “You have a green violin, young man. Not too many of those out there in the wide, wide world.”

  Giuseppe adjusted the case on his back. “No. I don’t suppose there are.”

  “Are all of you children walking around with legends in your pockets? Frederick?”

  “Not anymore,” Frederick said. Hannah and Giuseppe laughed.

  “A green violin.” Madame Pomeroy’s voice became serious. “May I see it?”

  Giuseppe felt reluctant, but slipped the case from his shoulder. He snapped the latches and pulled the instrument from the case. The wooden neck felt so right in his hand, like a living thing that knew him and welcomed his touch.

  Madame Pomeroy sighed, and then in a hushed voice she said, “Giuseppe, would you allow me to buy that instrument from you?”

  Giuseppe took a step away from her. Buy his green violin? What amount could he ask for? The instrument was priceless to him. But if he asked for enough, he would be able to buy a boat ticket for Pietro. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “What plans do you have for it?” Madame Pomeroy asked with a determined curiosity.

  Giuseppe looked at the ground at Madame Pomeroy’s feet. “Play it for my family, I suppose. And for myself.”

  “Do you play well?”

  “He has a gift, Madame,” Hannah said. “It’s like magic.”

  “I see.” Madame Pomeroy laid a finger on her cheek, and held it there while she appeared to think something over. “Instead of playing for change on the street,” she finally said, “how would you like to play for a king?”

  “A king, ma’am?” Giuseppe said.

  “Kings, actually. And queens. And emperors. And the finest musicians and composers in the world.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I am leaving tonight on a journey acros
s the ocean. Come with me, and play your instrument throughout the royal courts of the Old Country.”

  Giuseppe thought about it, but not for long. “There’s only one place I want to go, ma’am, and that’s home.”

  “Italy?” Madame Pomeroy asked.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “That is where I had originally planned to go as well. But circumstances have demanded a more indirect route. Come with me, and in a short time you will see your Italy again. I promise you.”

  “No offense, ma’am, but I can buy my own ticket.”

  “Actually,” the reverend said, “you can’t, Giuseppe. A part of this new law means the city will be stepping in to handle the welfare of the buskers. I’m afraid no one will be permitted to leave the city until we have sorted things out. Eventually we may find a way to send the children home, but until then …”

  “Could he leave with me?” Madame Pomeroy asked.

  The reverend appeared to think about that. “If you’d be willing to sign as his guardian, I suppose he could.”

  “Then, we shall take care of that in the morning before my steamer leaves.” She turned to Giuseppe. “If that is what you wish.”

  Giuseppe looked this strange woman over. Her eyes seemed to be hiding things, but not malicious things. Just secrets. But Hannah had trusted her, and something about Madame Pomeroy’s manner told him that he could trust her, too. And Yakov had already risked his life to save Giuseppe’s. With what the reverend had said, this might be his only chance.

  But he stopped. “What about Pietro?”

  Everyone in the room turned their eyes on the small boy standing in their shadows. He swallowed and inched closer to Giuseppe.

  “I will look after him,” Reverend Grey said. He went to Pietro and wrapped a sheltering arm around his little shoulder. “Personally.”

  “And Ferro and Alfeo?” Giuseppe asked.

  “I will look after all of Stephano’s boys until we can find them homes.”

  That was enough for Giuseppe. He met Madame Pomeroy’s secretive eyes. “I’ll come with you.”

  The next morning, Giuseppe stood with Pietro in the clockmaker’s shop. He had come back for his old fiddle, while Hannah and Frederick had gone with Madame Pomeroy and Yakov to fetch her trunks from the hotel. Reverend Grey had gone for the police, and none of them wanted to be there when they arrived.

  “You can’t go,” Pietro said in Italian.

  “You’ll be fine. The reverend is a good man. He’ll protect you.”

  “I want to go with you.”

  “I wish you could.” Giuseppe looked down at the old fiddle. It seemed unnecessary to hold on to it when he had the green violin, but it felt like a betrayal to leave it behind. Like abandoning an old friend. He needed to make sure it was cared for. “You take this,” he said, and handed it to Pietro.

  “But it is yours.”

  “I want you to play it.”

  Pietro accepted the instrument, breathing out slowly. “Thank you.”

  Giuseppe patted him on the back. “You head on down to the Old Rock Church now.”

  Pietro nodded, eyes on his shoes.

  “Thank the reverend again for me.”

  “I will.”

  A sudden surge of affection swelled up inside Giuseppe’s chest. “Come here,” he said, and pulled the little boy into a tight hug. “Good-bye, Pietro.”

  “Good-bye.”

  Pietro pulled away and started for the front door, turned back to Giuseppe for a moment, and then ran out of the shop. Giuseppe smiled, took one last look around, and stepped into the street.

  His walk to the docks felt strange. His steps were no different, the cobblestones the same underfoot as they had always been, the avenues and the storefronts and pedestrians all familiar. And yet his steps were not the same, because they were his last over each spot, each corner. He was already saying good-bye to the city; the closer he drew to the docks, the more of it lay behind him, left forever.

  Each corner held a memory, or at times layers of memory like cross-blown winds, tugging him in different directions. The city had become his home. He had lived here longer than he had lived in Italy. But his brother and Marietta were not here, and though he would miss the city, he missed them more. So he tried not to let himself stop, and made the trip to the docks without indulging the past that pulled on him from all sides.

  Gilbert Square bustled, alive and shining in the evening light. Giuseppe took it in and waved at the hotel, the Opera House with its giant clock, the Archer Museum, at all of it and none of it in particular. He waved to the city and said good-bye.

  The city responded by carrying on the way it always did, traffic moving forward uninterrupted, without slowing, as if it were trying to demonstrate its permanence and show him that it would still be there if he ever wanted to return. That promise was the best and only thing he could ask of it.

  He turned toward the docks and his footsteps soon thunked hollowly on the pier. The steamship waited at the far end, dignified and patient. Giuseppe marveled at its height and breadth as he drew near. White plumes of steam already rolled from the smokestacks, as though the ship were taking deep breaths to test its lungs before diving into the sea.

  Giuseppe had no possessions but the clothes he wore and the green violin over his shoulder. He found his way to the gangplank, a steep incline rising from the dock to the deck of the ship, and waited at the foot of it. Farther down the pier, longshoremen loaded crates and trunks and chests up onto the ship. Fellow passengers milled around him, wealthy men and women who appeared relaxed about the sea voyage, able to travel as they pleased. They looked down at him as though he were a rat trying to stow away. Giuseppe felt small and alone in their presence, and anxious for Madame Pomeroy to arrive. He avoided their gazes and watched the gulls circle overhead.

  Some moments later, Frederick and Hannah appeared on the docks and hurried toward him.

  “This is good-bye,” Hannah said, coming up to him, already starting to cry. “I can’t believe it.”

  “I’ve been honored to call you my friend,” Frederick said.

  Giuseppe looked at them both. “The best of friends.”

  “We’ll miss you,” Hannah said.

  Giuseppe would miss them as well, but in a different way than he would miss the city. A city could stay the same. The same buildings. The same streets. Not forever, but for a great long while. But Frederick and Hannah would never again be the people they were right now, standing on the dock, wishing him farewell. Tomorrow they would wake up and be a little bit different and a little bit different the day after that, and in no time they might become people he did not recognize. Giuseppe knew it because they were already different from when he had first met them. He knew it because he was different from when they had first met him.

  He cleared his throat. “So what are you going to do to make journeyman now, Freddy?”

  Frederick looked at Hannah with a smile. “I have some ideas about that.”

  Giuseppe let that answer suffice. “Good luck in your new position, Hannah.”

  “Thank you.”

  “There you are!” someone called behind them. They turned and saw Madame Pomeroy and Yakov approaching from the shipping offices. “Our luggage has already been loaded. The legal papers are signed, and I just secured passage for Giuseppe. Everything is in order. Are we all ready?”

  Giuseppe nodded.

  A little sob escaped from Hannah.

  “There, there,” Madame Pomeroy said, and pulled Hannah into an embrace. “Take care of yourself, child. And you too, Frederick. I will commission a clockwork piece from you yet.”

  “Yes, Madame,” Frederick said with a bow. “I look forward to it.”

  Madame Pomeroy blinked and wiped at her eyes with a handkerchief. She sniffed and turned to Yakov. “Shall we?”

  He nodded, and she lifted her skirts and started up the gangplank. Then the Russian turned to Hannah.

  “Like a princess,” he s
aid. Then he, too, stalked up the narrow walkway, his large frame straining the railing of rope to either side.

  Giuseppe watched them go, and then turned to his friends. “Good-bye,” he said.

  Hannah rushed to him and held him tight. She said nothing, but trembled a little before letting him go and pulling away. Frederick and he shook hands, and then Giuseppe turned and took his own first steps upward.

  Madame Pomeroy was waiting for him when he reached the top and stepped onto the deck. Hannah and Frederick waved to them from the pier. They kept waving while the longshoremen raced up and down the dock, hollering and letting loose the steamship’s moorings, and were waving still when the engines engaged deep beneath Giuseppe’s feet, like the earth rumbling awake. And all that time he waved back, until the ship had eased far enough into the heart of the bay that he lost sight of them.

  “Giuseppe?” Madame Pomeroy called. “Come.” She led him up to the bow of the ship, past women with parasols, past crew members, stacked deck chairs, and lifeboats. From that forward position Giuseppe watched the waves smacking the prow, their infinite ranks stretching to the edges of the world. “What do you think of this, my boy?” Madame Pomeroy asked.

  “It feels a lot different from the last time I was on a ship.”

  “When was that?”

  “When Stephano brought me over.”

  Yakov dropped his gaze to the deck.

  Madame Pomeroy said, “I imagine it feels quite different.”

  A gust of fresh breeze off the sea caught Giuseppe, the most wild and free air he had ever tasted. The ocean glittered and rolled away from them beneath a sky even more deep and vast. Giuseppe wondered how long and far it was until he would see the first shy hump of land peak over the horizon. After that, how long until he saw the hills of his own country, and would he recognize them? Would he recognize his brother and sister after all these years? Perhaps not. Not at first. But he would know them. They were his family.

  He shifted the green violin on his back. When he first found it, he did not think it would help him escape. He did not think it would play at all that day he pulled it from the harbor, but it had played, and it had helped him escape. But it had not freed him.