He anticipated the question and already had a lie ready. “I got night work the week before I decided to obtain a second job. I received my first payment last night.”
She raised her chin to him. “Jake, I can’t accept this.”
He held his hand up. “I am repaying you, Sam, and Daniel for the food. Nothing more. And tonight, I’ll take you and Daniel out for drinks.”
Her smile could put a goddess to shame.
“Cheers, Jake.”
With her mood lifted, he asked, “What is that you’re carrying?”
She glanced at the book she held. “It’s my sketchpad. I draw out my clothing and jewelry designs in it.”
“May I?”
She seemed somewhat apprehensive and shy about letting him, but allowed him to see it none-theless. He opened the book of her drawings and designs. He knew virtually nothing about designing clothing, but what he saw wasn’t half bad.
“It’s nice,” he complimented truthfully. “There are some original works in here.”
“You believe so? I’m not sure. I’ve been wanting to come up with something truly unique. I haven’t thought up anything yet.”
He closed the sketchpad and gave it back to her. “The inspiration bug will bite. You’ll see.”
Sam left early, giving Daniel the keys to lock up. Apparently, it wasn’t unusual for Sam to do so whenever he finished up early. Yet there were unfinished clocks still on his work desk. What was also peculiar was finding the clockmaker at the pub, his table littered with empty pint glasses.
“Sweet Jaysus, Mary, and Joseph,” Daniel exclaimed. “Did you drink up your entire life’s savings?”
Sam raised his head from the palm it rested on. “Good, you’re all here. Sit down, eh?”
The confused trio took a seat at the gear-shaped table.
“You might want to order yourselves a drink, lads and lassies,” he advised drunkenly. “You’ll need it for what I have to tell ya.”
“What is it, Sammy?” Tilly questioned.
Sam finished his pint and set the mug down hard, as though it weighed a ton.
“That little sod, Artair, sold off Clacher Cuckoo Clocks.”
Daniel gripped the edge of the table as if to keep from falling off his chair. “Come again? Sold it?”
“To whom?” Tilly asked.
“Dark Forest,” Sam said. “Who else?”
“No,” Tilly said with a gasp.
“Aye.” Sam nodded. “Turns out, the bastard’s last trip to London was a business one. He met up with the Germans to discuss a contract. Artair told me this evening and wanted me to do the honors informing you lot. Too scared to tell you all himself. Dark Forest has been after Clacher Cuckoo Clocks for years. They don’t fancy the competition. Gibby always refused their offers to sell, but not his pissant son. Oh, no! That bleedin’ horny-for-riches cunt must’ve released his cream in his britches the moment they made him an offer.”
“Sammy!” Tilly yelled, visibly offended.
His glossy eyes slid over to her. “Dear me. Sorry, lass.” He patted her on the arm, offering a humble, apologetic smile. “That’s me old Marine talk coming out, I’m afraid.”
Daniel bit his lower lip. “What does this mean for us?”
“Ah,” Sam continued, holding up a finger. “That’s where the real kick in the . . .” Remembering Tilly, he said instead, “That’s where the real kick in the teeth comes in. The folks at Dark Forest are going to closeup the workshops. We’re all bloody out of a job!”
“You’re joking,” Tilly said. “Our workshop was Mr. Clacher’s favorite, where he worked shoulder to shoulder with you, building the company’s first cuckoo clocks.”
Sam threw his hands up and shrugged with futility.
Daniel stood up. “I think I will have that drink now.”
“I’ll get it,” Joaquin offered, also standing. “I shall buy you all a round, eh?”
He ordered pints and Scottish whisky for everyone, and after a few rounds, Joaquin and Daniel needed to carry Sam out of the pub.
The night was crisp and cool, the streets and sidewalks wet from the rain that had fallen earlier. Foggy orbs of light radiated from the streetlamps and lighted their way down the roads.
“And why did the frog tie a pillow around his waist?” Daniel asked as they walked down the sidewalk. “To keep his bum from bumpin’ whenever he hopped!”
Tilly let out a loud cackle of laughter while stumbling about ahead of them. Joaquin couldn’t help but chuckle at her.
“Oh,” Daniel said with a sniff. “I’m going to miss this.”
“Aye,” Tilly agreed. “Ugh, I’m not even tired.”
Joaquin spied an opportunity.
“Would you both care to go on a little adventure?”
“What sort of adventure?” Daniel inquired, struggling to hold up the nearly unconscious man. “Bloody hell, Sam, you are a heavy old header.”
“Let’s go have a look-see at the flat above the workshop.”
“Mr. Clacher’s apartment?” Tilly asked. “Whatever for?”
“Just to snoop about.”
He suspected they might protest, but, instead, Daniel said, “What the hell. Let’s do it.”
It took the Irishman many long moments to find the correct key. As he struggled, Joaquin and Tilly eased the now unconscious Sam into the armchair in the corner of the woodcarving area. Daniel eventually found the key and twisted it in the lock. He picked up the lantern, and they started up a flight of stairs that led through a narrow stairwell.
“Have any of you been up here before?” Joaquin asked them.
“Sam brought us once when Artair was away. Poor old bird nearly cried, seeing his mate’s home and all.”
“Where does Artair live?”
“He’s got a flat on Salop Street. I’ve been there once when a package of Artair’s was delivered to the workshop by mistake,” Daniel admitted. “Wanker didn’t even thank me for me troubles.”
They came to another door at the top of the stairs and Daniel again searched for the key. After they had entered, Tilly and Daniel lit a few more lanterns hanging from the wall. While they did so, Joaquin’s eyes were already at work, searching. They were in a small sitting room with a fireplace directly across the way from the entrance. It was outlined in a black metal frame, with a matching mantel above it. There were boxes stacked everywhere, and thick grey sheets of dust covered everything, even the furniture. Mounted on the wall by the doorframe was a cuckoo clock.
The place wasn’t large, only a four-space flat with a washroom in the master bedroom.
“Mr. Clacher was the humble sort,” Daniel explained as Joaquin explored. “He lived in this little ol’ flat until his dying day.”
Joaquin tried to think of where the safe could be as he grabbed a lantern and entered the master bed-room. Then, as if someone had whispered directly into his ear, the words in the closet came to him. He snapped his head around, but saw no one. Was he hearing things? He decided to check the closet. He opened the French doors to find clothes hanging on the rack. When he moved them aside, a horrid face stared back at him.
“Bloody hell,” he cursed with a start.
He huffed vexingly and moved in closer. It was only a copy of Michelangelo’s portrait of Medusa, which did not look any more flattering under the dim light of his lantern. The closet was a strange spot to hang a painting, even a hideous picture like this. An obvious and unoriginal ruse. He took the painting down and spotted the steel door of the vault.
“Lookee what you found,” Daniel said, coming up beside him. “Tilly. Come have a gander.”
Tilly entered and saw the safe. “Well, if that don’t beat all.”
“Why a vault in the wall?” Joaquin pondered. “Why not use a bank?”
Tilly shrugged. “Artair feels his money is safe enough, even without anyone living here. How much do you suppose is inside?”
“More than we’ll ever see in our lifetime,” Daniel grumbled.
Tilly was quiet a moment before saying, “If only we knew the combination.”
“Tilly!” Daniel said shockingly.
“What? It wouldn’t be like stealing from Mr. Clacher himself. Lord knows his son owes it to us.”
Daniel considered it.
“If you had to guess,” Joaquin persisted. “What do you think the combination would be?”
She looked at him and again shrugged. “I have no clue.” She returned her focus to the safe. “If I had to guess, though, I’d say it was Artair’s birth date.”
She turned the dial twenty-five to the right, four to the left, and eight to the left. When it clicked, everyone paused.
Daniel gawked. “You’re joking. Is the plonker really that thickheaded?”
“It . . . It was only a guess,” she said, utterly shocked.
A damn good one! Joaquin thought with amazement. His thoughts turned back to the voice he had heard.
For a few heartbeats, no one said a word.
“Erm, should we?” Daniel dared. “Have a peek, I mean?”
Joaquin grabbed the spoke. “Why not?”
He pulled the spoke, and the trio gasped at the number of banknote and coins stacks inside.
“Glory be,” the Irishman said. “There’s enough in here to set us up for life.”
He reached for the money only to have Tilly slap his hand.
“No. We can’t.” She slammed the door and spun the dial.
“Why not?” Joaquin challenged.
Tilly’s expression turned somber. “If we did steal the money and ran, it’d be Sam who would take the fall. He’d never thieve, and even if he did, where would an elderly man who has never left Birmingham except for his service in the military as a youth flee to? I’d rather live out my days penniless than let anything happen to that poor old man.”
Joaquin did not much care for this obstacle.
The sound of the cuckoo clock chimed. In the sitting room, Sam was winding the cuckoo clock hands to the appropriate time.
“This was the very first clock Gibby and I ever made together,” he said to nobody in particular. “He never let it stop running.”
Chapter Eighteen
The Plan
After helping Daniel take Sam home, Joaquin returned to the workshop. It took him no time at all to pick the locks and open the safe upstairs. Instead of rushing to load the money into his sack, however, he stood staring at it. He was torn. If he went ahead with it, there was no doubt the blame would fall on everyone at the workshop. They had been with him in the flat, and it was Tilly who had guessed the right combination code.
Joaquin loathed his conscience, and he hated it more when he couldn’t ignore it. He understood that life dealt an unfair hand, more often than not, in some cases. But it was he who stood as the dealer at this table. Despite himself, he liked those loyal and caring sods.
He thought about the voice again.
In the closet.
It sounded like a man. Could it have been the disembodied voice of Mr. Clacher? Did he want him to find the vault? Did he help Tilly twist the dial in all the right directions? Joaquin was tempted to bang his head against something in an attempt to knock sense into it.
A folder was leaning up against the wall of the vault. Curious, Joaquin flipped it open and found paperwork that once belonged to the late Mr. Clacher. Joaquin leafed through it and was surprised at what he discovered.
He needed time to think, and so he went for a stroll around the city before returning to the hotel.
“Are you any closer to getting the loot?” Luca asked him eagerly.
“Aye. Very close.”
More than you know.
* * *
Sam was too incapacitated to come into work the following day. Everyone covered for him. Daniel punched in Sam’s timecard, and Joaquin and Tilly worked on their duties as well as his own.
“I am no expert clockmaker,” Tilly confessed, bringing out a manual, “but I’ve helped Sammy loads of times when his shakes got really bad. He gave me this guidebook to help me learn.”
Joaquin began reading through it.
“You think you can manage?” Tilly asked hopefully.
He had an impressive memory, like this mother and younger brother. It made him a fast learner. He had also assisted Indigo Peachtree with assembling automaton toys. That alone granted him some mechanical experience.
Joaquin put together his first clock piece within an hour. He and Tilly assembled the decorative wooden casing over the clockwork inners. It was meticulous work, and it took time, yet he soldiered through it.
“What did you do there?” Tilly asked, pointing to the three clock gears he had pasted on his vest lapel.
“I got a little bored.”
Her eyes stayed pinned on the gears for a long while.
“Erm,” he wondered confusingly. “Should I take them off?”
“What?” she said, snapping out of her trance. “Oh, hum, no. Not at all. Sorry, I was just lost in my thoughts for a moment.”
The day had reached its end, and the clocks were put together, although not as many as Joaquin would have liked.
“You did well, Jake,” Tilly complimented.
“I only completed five,” he grumbled.
“Aye,” Daniel agreed, punching out, “but they’re sturdy. Sam would be pleased. Besides, it really doesn’t matter how many clocks are constructed. It won’t change anything.”
Joaquin took a breath. What he was about to propose could easily destroy his chance at getting the loot.
“What if we could obtain the fortune without any of you taking the fall?”
They looked at him oddly.
“What are you talking about, lad?” Daniel asked.
“Is there another place to discuss this?”
Their faces were difficult to read. The two had seemed tempted to take from the safe, but, then again, their heads had also been full of drink. Daniel and Tilly weren’t thieves and outlaws like he and his crew. They worked hard for a living, which, if they thought about it, hadn’t turned out well in their favor.
Finally, Tilly sighed. “We can go to my place.”
They went to her flat on Selly Oak, where they sat at her small kitchen table. As she brewed some tea, Joaquin laid out his plan.
“Do you think it’ll work?” Daniel asked, sounding more intrigued.
“Only if you make it convincing enough,” he told them both.
“It is a sound plan, I must say, lad, but it puts you as the fall man. You’ll be hunted.”
Joaquin snorted at that. “I’m not worried. I just need you both to trust me.”
“You mean about giving us our share?” the Irishman threw in.
“Aye, that, too. This bit, though, doesn’t require a team. I could have gone into the place on my own and cleaned out the safe.”
“Sounds like you’ve done this sort of thing before,” Tilly said, pouring hot tea into their cups.
Joaquin tried thinking up something to divert them away from that conversation. He spotted her sketchpad on the table and pulled it over to him.
“I saw you drawing today during your break time,” he admitted, opening the book. “Have you come up with anything new?”
As he asked, he flipped to a sketch of a dress. At the hem was a starry night sky that faded as it went up to where the sun rose over the bust. A clock was set in the front center of the overbust corset. On the page next to it was a matching top hat with a clock set in the center. On the pages before were drawings of clock earrings, earrings made of locks with keys sticking out, and earring sundials. The next sheet depicted bracelets with pocket watches embedded in them and lockets assembled out of clock gears.
“Tilly. This is splendid work,” Daniel extolled, looking impressed.
“You think so?” she said with a spark of excitement in her gemstone eyes. She looked over to Joaquin and to the gears still pasted on his vest. “Guess I’ve been bitten by the inspiration bu
g.”
After they had ironed out the details of his plan, Joaquin returned to the hotel.
“I’m going after the loot tomorrow night,” he confessed to his gang. “I’ll collect our horses, so be ready to depart when I arrive.”
* * *
Joaquin’s gut wrenched with worry on his way to the workshop the following day. He feared Tilly and Daniel would have changed their minds after having time to think on things. The stress caused another stomach cramp. It wasn’t the beast trying to surface, but something else he had been living with for years prior to the curse. He really needed to have a physician examine him someday.
At the end of the day, though, Daniel stated to Sam that he was staying to finish his carvings. Daniel, keeping the keys, told Joaquin that he and Tilly were still in. After Sam punched out, Tilly walked him home, saying she wanted to keep him away from the pub.
Daniel and Joaquin watched them go.
“Are you actually going to do this, Jake?”
“I am. Get home. We’ll be there shortly.”
Joaquin left him to close up the workshop.
He collected the horses from the stables, rode to Salop Street, and entered the apartments where Daniel had told him Artair lived. While discussing the plan, Joaquin had acquired information such as if Artair lived alone. Now, he climbed the stairs to the fifth floor, knocked, and waited for the butler to answer.
“Yes?”
Joaquin acted fast. He grabbed him and pressed a cloth, soaked in chloroform, over the servant’s mouth and nose while pushing him farther into the flat. As the servant lost consciousness, Joaquin laid him down on the floor and closed the door.
“Who’s come to visit at this hour, Jones?” Artair inquired, stepping into the foyer.
Joaquin twirled around while pulling his pistol and aiming it at him. “Good evening.”
It took the git a moment to recognize him.
“I know you,” Artair recalled, pointing at him. “You’re the new employee at the workshop.”
“That I am. And I am here for a raise. I noted the guards the other day with the money satchel. That tells me you have a safe upstairs, yes?”
“Umm, yes,” he answered nervously.
The Reunion Page 23
