Giuseppe had done that himself, chasing a dream and a memory of home. There on that great ship, with the wind, and the sun, and the future open wide, he pulled out the green violin. Madame Pomeroy and Yakov watched him. An audience of passengers gathered.
And Giuseppe played.
EPILOGUE
Frederick followed the Old Fort Road out to where the city thinned, the buildings shrank to houses of brick and stone, and gardens began to fill in the spaces between them. The large box he carried had proved to be a heavier burden than he had anticipated, and he stopped often to adjust his grip on its sides.
He came to a modest cottage with cedar shingles and several lilac bushes blooming in the front yard. The open gate invited him through, and he set the box on the ground before knocking on the front door.
Hannah’s sister greeted him. “Frederick!” she said with an openmouthed smile.
“Hello,” Frederick said. “Is Hannah at home?”
The girl nodded. “Please, come in.”
Frederick picked up the box and stepped inside the cottage. The living room and kitchen smelled of cinnamon, something baking in the oven. Hannah’s father sat up in the bed they kept out here for him, so he could be with the family during the day. Frederick bowed to him. Hannah sat at a table with her other sister, heads together over an open book and a slate.
She smiled and rose when she saw Frederick. “I’m helping her with her schoolwork.”
“You are a good sister,” Frederick said.
“I help where I can.” Hannah glanced at the box. “What’s that?”
“I’ll show you. Clear the table?”
Hannah nodded, one eyebrow raised in curiosity, and she and her sisters moved the slate and closed the book. Frederick set the box down just as Hannah’s mother walked in with a basket on her hip, full of produce from the garden.
“I thought I heard your voice, Frederick,” she said. “To what do we owe this visit?”
“Hello, ma’am.” Frederick bowed. “I was just coming to show Hannah my journeyman project.”
Hannah gasped. “It’s finished? When is your examination?”
“Master Branch presented me to the guild this morning.”
“But you didn’t tell me!”
“I didn’t want to worry you. Besides, I wanted to be all done with it when I showed you what I made.”
“Did you pass?” Hannah’s mother asked.
“Of course he passed, Mama,” Hannah said. “Didn’t you?”
“I did.”
“So you’re a journeyman now?” Hannah’s mother said.
“I am.”
“You could have your own shop,” Hannah said.
“I could,” Frederick said. “But I don’t think I will for some time yet. Master Branch will need me more and more. I think I’ll stay and work with him, at least for a while.”
Hannah clapped her hands. “Well, show us. Show us what you made.”
Frederick took a deep breath and pulled the lid from the wooden box. He cleared away the straw packaging, and lifted out the automaton that he had been working on for the last several months.
The inspiration had come from that day when Master Branch had taken him through the guildhall’s exhibition room, although he had not known it at the time. Back then, Frederick had not given much thought or attention to anything that did not seem helpful to his work on the clockwork man. But after the Magnus head had been safely returned to the museum, and Frederick had time to reflect, the answer was both simple and obvious.
He set the clockwork bird on the table. It perched on a metal branch among silver blossoms and copper leaves, modeled after a songbird he had spotted in a tree at the edge of McCauley Park. Each of its individual feathers bore the evidence of Frederick’s painstaking work and attention to detail. As with the guild’s clockwork rooster, it had jewels for eyes, and a delicate beak.
“Oh, Frederick,” Hannah said. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’ve never in my life seen anything like it,” Hannah’s mother said. She stepped aside as though to make sure Hannah’s father had a view of the table. “Look, dear. Have you ever seen anything so remarkable?”
Hannah’s father smiled.
Frederick pulled several small cards from his pocket. “These are its secret,” he said. “I got the idea from a book I read, and from my work on the looms at the orphanage.” He walked around the clockwork bird and inserted one of the cards into a little gap in the feathers at the base of the neck. He pressed a button on the wooden base, and the bird began to sing.
The sound filled the cottage, lilting and clear. Hannah’s sisters giggled and Hannah’s mother shook her head in disbelief.
“It’s magic,” Hannah said.
“There’s more,” Frederick said. “Each of these cards has a different tune. I can make as many of them as I can think of. You just swap the cards out, and the bird will sing something different. Here, Hannah. You try.” He handed her one of the cards.
She shook her head. “I wouldn’t dare. I’d break it.”
“Well, you’d better learn,” Frederick said. “I made this bird for you.”
Everyone in the room fell silent. The bird sang.
“For me?” Hannah whispered.
“Here,” Frederick said, and pressed one of the cards into Hannah’s hand. “Try this one.”
Hannah took it, but seemed reluctant and unsure.
Frederick guided her to the table. “Turn it off first.” He showed her the switch. “Now, reach in there and pull the old card out. That’s it. Now, slide this one in.”
Hannah pushed the new card in, and breathed out slowly as she took her hand away.
“There,” Frederick said. “See how easy it is? Go ahead and press the button to start it.”
Hannah put her finger to the switch.
And the bird began to whistle the song Giuseppe had played on his green violin. The song Frederick’s mother used to sing to him, and to the patients at the hospital. That song brought the bird to life in a way that Frederick could not explain. All the cards were made the same way. Frederick knew that. There should have been nothing different about this particular song, but there was. Hannah walked over to him, took his arm, and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a little hot tear behind.
Across the room, from his bed, Hannah’s father smiled. And began to tap his toe.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel is the result of the instruction, inspiration, and support
I have received from many people.
Rick Wilber and Sheila Williams
gave me the early encouragement I needed when I first began to write stories.
Dr. Norm Jones taught me,
and deepened my love and appreciation of history.
Lin Oliver and Stephen Mooser
founded the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators,
a tremendous resource and community to which I am proud to belong.
My dedicated critique group,
Walt, Leeann, Jane, Brittany, and Carolyn,
continues to provide me with valued insight and friendship.
Members of other critique groups,
Kimball, Randy, Carrie, Lorie, and A’ra,
Duane, Carol, and Elayne,
all provided input on the first chapters.
Fellow writers,
Rebecca Barnhouse, Julie Hughes, Elena Jube, DaNae Leu, and Kate Milford,
read this book as I was writing it and each helped make it better.
Dear friends who have cheered me on:
Bret & Jenny, Beth, Patty, and Gary,
along with many of my coworkers in the Davis School District.
Martine Leavitt taught me the importance of loving my characters,
and changed my life when she introduced me to my agent.
My agent, Stephen Fraser, is a true gentleman of the business.
He has nurtured me as a writer,
and he found this book the per
fect home.
Lisa Sandell, my patient editor, has shown me
what a wonderful and collaborative process the making of a book can be.
Her keen eye and judgment sharpened and refined the shape of this story.
Elizabeth B. Parisi designed the amazing cover,
and the artist, Brian Despain, brought her vision to life.
I am grateful to them, and to the entire Scholastic team
who contributed to this book.
My nephews and nieces
and the students I work with
inspire me to always write the best book I can.
I hope that I can give to them
what other authors gave to me.
My brothers and sisters, by birth or marriage,
Amy & Mitch, Sarah & Tyler, and Josh
Orin & Jo, Tyson & Chelsea, Shantry & Shez, and Alton,
have all been very supportive of me.
My wife’s mother, Jacqueline,
celebrated every success, big or small.
She believed in me from the beginning,
and never doubted, even when I did.
My parents, James and Jeanne,
filled our home with books and created a place for me to dream.
I write because, as a child, they read to me.
And most important of all,
Azure.
It was she who put my first laptop in my hands ten years ago
and encouraged me to start writing again.
Without her unconditional support and sacrifice,
I would not be the writer that I am.
She is my best friend, the love of my life, and in all things, my partner.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Matthew J. Kirby has been making up stories since he was quite small. He was less small when he decided that he wanted to be a writer, and quite a bit larger when he finally became one. His father was a doctor in the Navy, so his family moved frequently. Matthew went to three different elementary schools and three different high schools, and he has lived in Utah, Rhode Island, Maryland, California, and Hawaii, which means that while growing up he met many people, and had many wonderful experiences.
In college, Matthew studied history and psychology, and he decided that he wanted to work with children and write stories for them. So he became a school psychologist, a job he truly enjoys. But it was while working on his history degree that Matthew stumbled upon the true story of a boy the newspapers of 1873 called Joseph. Joseph had been taken from his home in Italy and brought to New York City as a slave to play music on the streets for money. One night, he escaped from his captor and fled to Central Park, where a kind old woman took care of him. Eventually Joseph’s story became well-known, and he went to court to testify against his padrone, which led to changes in the law to protect other boys like him. Joseph’s bravery and strength are what inspired Matthew to write The Clockwork Three, his first novel.
Matthew currently lives in Utah with his wife, where he still works with children and continues to write stories for them. You can visit him at his website: www.matthewjkirby.com.
This book
was art directed and
designed by Elizabeth B. Parisi,
and it was edited by Lisa A. Sandell.
The artwork was created by Brian Despain,
using digital, mixed media. The
display type was set in Yolanda Countess, which was
designed in 2004 by Rian Hughes. The book was typeset
by NK Graphics, and production was overseen by
Starr Baer. It was printed and bound by the good
people at R. R. Donnelly in Crawfordsville,
Indiana. The manufacturing was
supervised by Jess White.
Copyright
Copyright © 2010 by Matthew J. Kirby
Cover art © 2010 by Brian Despain
Cover design by Elizabeth B. Parisi
All rights reserved. Published by Scholastic Press, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers since 1920. SCHOLASTIC, SCHOLASTIC PRESS, and associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher. For information regarding permission, write to Scholastic Inc., Attention: Permissions Department, 557 Broadway, New York, NY 10012.
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Kirby, Matthew J., 1976–
The clockwork three / by Matthew J. Kirby. — 1st ed.
p. cm.
Summary: As mysterious circumstances bring Giuseppe, Frederick, and Hannah together, their lives soon interlock like the turning gears in a clock and they realize that each one holds a key to solving the others’ mysteries.
ISBN 978-0-545-20337-1
[1. Friendship — Fiction. 2. Cooperativeness — Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.K633528Cl 2010
[Fic] — dc22
First edition, October 2010
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
eISBN: 978-0-545-32307-9
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