The Time of the Clockmaker

by Anna Caltabiano

  The food came and, luckily, I didn’t have to reply right away.

  I picked up something that looked like a puff pastry. “Was that how it was for you? Getting married, I mean?”

  “It was the late Lord Empson who arranged my marriage, but generally speaking, yes.”

  “And it was a good marriage?”

  “Depends on what you mean by a good marriage.”

  I wasn’t expecting the countess to say something like that, especially given the previous way she had talked about her husband.

  “But you loved him.”

  “Yes, I did.” The countess picked up her wine goblet but, upon thinking, she put it down again. “But love is not all. It doesn’t feed or clothe you. Love is just that—one word in an entire world of sentences.

  “I used to think that love was different. It couldn’t be like any other emotion. But I soon found out that it was. It’s not enough to sustain anyone.”

  The countess said all this in such a matter-of-fact way that I couldn’t find it in myself to argue with her. Maybe she was right. Maybe love wasn’t the end of all things and the reason for everything.

  “You see, my dear Eleanor, having a wonderful dreamlike ending is meaningless, because it doesn’t do anything. You still need to take care of what happens when you wake up from your dream . . . and that’s something love doesn’t account for.”

  “What happens afterward?”

  “All of this.” She threw up her arms. “When my husband died, I was nothing. Lord Empson couldn’t use me anymore, I didn’t have anything to my name, and I was left alone. All I have is a title. It’s not completely meaningless, but that’s it.”

  The countess closed her eyes and took a slow breath. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this.”

  “I asked,” I said.

  “I just—want you to be careful.”

  Her wording struck me. I knew the countess wanted me—or rather, Lady Eleanor Shelton—to avoid being viewed as useless and unwanted like she was. But she was smart enough to know that such an ending was almost unavoidable for a person like her or Lady Eleanor. Being careful was all you could do.

  “And what of Phillip?” I asked. It seemed to me the countess didn’t have to be alone.

  “Lord Dormer.” She corrected me with a steely gaze. “I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

  I lowered my head. I saw my mistake in sounding too familiar, but I was confused. The countess would pull me into her confidence, only to push me away the next second. I didn’t know what to make of it.

  Supper finished in silence. It was a much simpler affair than the full-court feasts in the great hall, and subsequently ended much more quickly.

  I abruptly stood up to leave, forgetting to excuse myself first. The countess looked at me coolly and stood up.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  I took a step back and my hip hit the low table behind me, which I had not noticed earlier.

  “Ouch.” I bit my lip, hearing the sound of metal hitting the floor. “I’m so sorry.”

  I looked down to see that a small clock, not much bigger than a pocket watch, had fallen to the floor. The finely engraved metal cover had been scratched and dented, and part of the hinge looked bent. I bent down to pick it up, but the countess stopped me.

  I realized too late. “It was his, wasn’t it? Your late husband’s?”

  The countess took her time answering. She bent down and scooped the small clock into her cupped hands. The hinge seemed to dig into her palm, but she didn’t seem to notice.

  “I can get it fixed,” I offered. If there were dressmakers and jewelers, there had to be clockmakers at court.

  The countess did not seem to hear me. She turned the small clock from one hand to the other, not caring if the broken pieces scraped her skin.

  “I’ll have Joan dispose of it later,” she murmured, placing the broken clock back on the table, and left the room.

  I couldn’t bear to see her like this, and without thinking I scooped the clock up.

  What do you think you’re doing?

  “I’m going to get it fixed. And someone who fixes clocks probably makes clocks. I could ask him about the clock I was after.” I didn’t know why I hadn’t thought of it earlier.

  And what makes you think you know where the court clockmaker is? I can see everything in this court, and even then I can’t understand it all to figure out where the clock or this clockmaker is. It’s like looking for one grain of sand. This place is bigger than you know.

  I shrugged. “I’ll just ask Richard.”

  I could tell Henley didn’t like the idea just from his pause before he answered.

  So it’s “Richard” now?

  “I refuse to call someone Lord Holdings when they’re my own age and a pain in the butt.”

  And yet you’re asking this pain in the butt for help . . .

  “Who else am I supposed to ask? I don’t know which of you is more of a pain sometimes.”

  Henley didn’t respond and I walked out the door.

  I was careful to leave the countess’s chambers without running into her. I wanted the repaired clock to be a surprise. It was the least I could do. For the same reason, I didn’t want to run into Joan or Helen. Helen I was more sure of, but I didn’t know if they would feel obligated to tell the countess the truth if she asked where the clock was.

  I went down a few corridors that looked familiar, but I wasn’t confident. Truthfully, they all looked the same. Old stone or wood panels with the occasional tapestry brightening the hallway. I had come to regard the tapestries dotting the halls almost like windows. The colorful scenes of princesses holding roses and saints with their heads bowed in prayer were a welcome relief from the gloom of this place.

  I took another right and prayed I was going the correct way. By this hour, it was dark, and everything looked different in the evening than it did in daylight. I hoped that each turn I took would lead me into the gardens in which I had met Lady Sutton and run into Richard. I remembered that Richard had said that the gardens were his favorite place, especially at night. I just hoped he was there this night.

  Thankfully the tapestry-lined corridor did end up giving way to the greenery of the garden. I must have approached from a different entrance before, as I didn’t remember the fountain in front of me.

  “Richard?” I risked calling out. I figured no one else would be in the gardens this late at night.

  Hearing no reply, I began to doubt he was here. I took a seat at the marble edge of the fountain, staring into the night, watching the marble boy pour water from his basket.

  “Enjoying the half-naked boy?”

  I rolled my eyes but was glad to see him.

  “Or is it the terribly low water pressure that you’re enjoying?”

  “I’ve been looking for you.”

  “Why, you sound so disappointed when you say that.”

  I laughed. “Well, I am! I never thought I’d say those words.”

  All signs of a smile disappeared from Richard’s face. He stared at me so intensely that his honey eyes looked searing and molten. “I never thought you’d say those words either.”

  “I-I came here to ask you about this clock.” I opened my hand to show him the dented cover and broken hinge. “Do you know where I could get it fixed?”

  “The court has a clockmaker right in the village,” Richard said. “He should be able to fix that in no time.”

  “Do you think we could go now? Even though it’s nighttime?” I looked down at the broken clock in my hand anxiously.

  “We?” Richard’s old grin was back. “You’d better be careful. I could get used to this ‘we.’”

  He took my arm.

  “Wouldn’t want that, would we?”

  I couldn’t believe Richard had me on a horse. Scratch that, I couldn’t believe I was seated behind Richard riding the same horse. I knew this was far from seemly behavior and that the countess would have a fit—no, faint
on the spot—if she had seen me so close with a man.

  I had refused to sit up front with Richard’s arms around me to hold the reins, so here I was behind him, practically hugging him to stay on the horse. I didn’t know if this was any more respectable—or why I even cared—but it was too late to turn back now.

  With one hand, I carefully pulled up the hood of the cloak Richard had had the foresight to make me wear. It was fine for Richard to be seen riding with a woman, but people shouldn’t know it was me.

  As we rode up to the gates, I held my breath. What would the guards think of us creeping out at night?

  Richard saluted the lone guard. At least I think there was only one. I was mostly looking at the ground in front of us, trying not to make eye contact with the guard.

  Luckily, the horse never stopped. No one ever yelled out at us. Richard never left me.

  “Do you make a point of going out on late-night rides with strange women?” I asked once we were out of earshot. “The guard didn’t even stop to question us.”

  I felt Richard chuckle under my arms. “I’m off most nights collecting something or other for the alchemy lab.”

  “Things like?”

  “Anything the master—Sir del Angelo—asks me to pick up from the village,” Richard said. Since he left it at that, I didn’t try to probe further.

  “Still doesn’t answer why the guard was used to you whisking off random women at night . . .”

  “Is that grumbling I hear?” Though Richard was turned away from me, I could hear the smile in his voice. “Jealous?”

  “I’m not going to dignify that with an answer.”

  “Luckily, you don’t have to, since we’re here. This should be it, between the blacksmith’s and the cobbler’s,” Richard said as he dismounted. He gave me an arm and held my waist as I slid down the length of the horse.

  His hand didn’t leave my waist until we were at the door of the small lean-to shack.

  “Excuse me,” he called in.

  The door was open.

  The clockmaker’s shop was really more like a den. The room was dimly lit. The shop had a ceiling that sloped down so far that Richard had to stoop to enter. There were wooden shelves that went lengthwise along the room, but almost all of them were empty. The ones that had items on them had only a few boxes—some wooden, some metal. The entire room had a thin layer of dust, making everything look pale in the scant light. I wouldn’t have been surprised if there had been cobwebs in the corners as well, but there wasn’t enough light to see that far.

  Richard coughed. “Is anyone in here?” he called. I felt the dust in the air we breathed.

  We waited for a response. Shrugging, Richard turned to me. But just as he opened his mouth, we heard something.

  “Yes?”

  An old man hobbled out of the back, bringing a candle with him. Most of his weight rested on the walking stick he carried. When he finally stood in front of us, he raised his candle and gazed at us with lost eyes. A milky film ran over both pupils, and I could barely see the original gray color of his eyes as he tried to focus on us.

  “Are you the clockmaker?” Richard asked.

  “The king’s very own. Now, how may I be of service to you both?”

  “We’re not sure if you could—”

  I cut Richard off. “I damaged an old clock and hoped you might be able to fix it.” I raised the clock to eye level so the old man could see, but he hardly glanced at it, so I decided to describe it. “It seems to be made of gold and have a mother-of-pearl face. I don’t know exactly how old it is, since it isn’t mine, but I brought it in because I hoped you could fix the dented case and the broken hinge.”

  “I see,” the clockmaker said, but he didn’t look at the clock.

  “Would you like to see it closer?” I stretched out my hand. “So you could examine it?”

  “No,” he said. “I remember it.”

  The clockmaker ever so slowly turned around and started toward the back of the room. I looked to Richard, but his eyes were trained on the clockmaker. I guessed he wanted us to follow him.

  Richard and I trailed slowly after him, so as not to rush him.

  The clockmaker took his time opening the door to the back room. He would raise his hand and touch the handle, only to bring it down and start again, as if he didn’t have the strength to grasp the handle. When he finally opened it, the room was everything the front room was not.

  This room was warm and well lit. There was a kettle brewing over a roaring fire in the corner and an abundance of seats and candles. A small girl with strawberry hair sat in one of the chairs, swinging her legs an inch above the ground.

  “Oh, you’re finally here. Good,” she said with a smile. But she looked at us instead of the clockmaker when she was speaking.

  It was the strangest thing she could have said. I felt Richard shiver beside me, and I instinctively reached out for him.

  The girl hopped down from the chair and walked toward us. “Do you have something that needs to be fixed? Or are you here to place a new order?”

  I noticed that the girl’s voice sounded much older than she looked. She spoke like a miniature adult.

  “Um, no. We have something that needs to be fixed.” I decided to wait to ask them about the clock I was actually looking for.

  I showed her the countess’s clock, which she examined; then she mumbled, “Oh, yes. Didn’t you make this one?” She didn’t look to the clockmaker for affirmation.

  “So can you fix it?” Richard stood slightly behind me, but I could feel his tense posture.

  “Of course he can,” the girl answered.

  The clockmaker had taken a seat in front of the kettle in the meantime, and seemed to not be listening to the conversation behind him.

  “How long do you think it will take?” I asked. Though the countess had said that she would ask Joan to throw the clock away, I didn’t want her to be without it for so long.

  I suppose I knew what it felt like to have only one thing left from the man you loved. Sometimes having a physical object to see and touch is the only thing that can assure you that your bond was more than just a memory.

  My hand felt for the silver ring I normally wore on my ring finger, but of course it wasn’t there anymore with this time traveling—I already knew that. I missed it, but I knew I didn’t need it now that Henley was with me again. I was lucky to have Henley—or at least some of Henley—come back to me. Others weren’t so lucky.

  “We can deliver it back to you in about two days.”

  “No.” I didn’t want the countess to find out that I had gone through that much trouble to fix the clock. It was best that I just put it back on the table, fixed. “I can come here to pick it up.”

  The girl looked at me hard but didn’t say a word.

  “Do you make all the clocks here at court?” My question was directed toward the clockmaker’s turned back, but it was answered by the strawberry-haired girl.

  “Yes, he practically does. Most all of them.”

  “And I suppose he remembers most of what he’s made,” I said, remembering how he had reacted when I described the clock.

  “Yes, he does. That’s what a true artisan does.”

  I smiled at how serious the girl was being with me. She wasn’t more than a child. Her lips stuck out at me like two overlapping petals.

  “So then, do you suppose he could recognize a clock he made and tell me who requested it to be made? Or, if it wasn’t his, tell me which other clockmaker made it?”

  “One of his rivals, you mean? Of course. He knows all their techniques, though they don’t compare.”

  Richard looked at me and I could tell he was lost. But this wasn’t about him.

  “Do you have a quill and some parchment?”

  The girl produced some from one of the shelves, and I leaned down against the corner of the small table near the center of the room.

  The table had miscellaneous clockwork parts scattered about, so I
was careful not to disrupt any of them. As I leaned down onto it to draw my picture, I found that the table was horribly rickety. I wondered how on earth the clockmaker could do his work on such a table.

  The quill made scratching sounds on the page. The lines I drew broke in multiple places in my drawing, but that was the best I could do not knowing exactly how to use a quill. What should have been the long curves of the clock turned out as short, choppy dashes.

  “There,” I said, straightening up.

  The point of the quill had leaked some ink onto the page, but I felt, if you squinted, the drawing was a moderately good likeness of the golden clock that once, not too long ago, had hung in the hall across from Miss Hatfield’s kitchen.

  I held it up. “Do you know who asked for this one to be made?”

  I looked from the girl to the old man, but neither seemed to react to my question at first.

  “What a strange thing,” the girl said. She came closer to examine the drawing. “I can barely call it a clock with those strange markings and extra hands.”

  She pointed to the extra markings that should have been seconds, but were in fact measuring years, and the hands that measured the days and months. The clock didn’t work like an ordinary clock at all, but she didn’t have to know that.

  “I’ve never seen extra hands on a clock,” she muttered.

  Of course. I realized the clocks of this time weren’t precise enough to measure minutes, and they certainly weren’t able to measure seconds. I remembered that even the countess’s clock had only an hour hand on it.

  “Does it look familiar?” I tried again.

  “I-I’ve never seen anything like it.” She breathed. “Come, Grandpapa. Come take a look at this. It’s remarkable!”

  The old man turned, still showing no signs of being in a hurry, and shuffled over to us. He stretched out a single hand with gnarled fingers, and the girl placed the drawing into his claw.

  “This . . . It’s not even a clock,” he scoffed.

  “Oh, but it is in a way, you see. It should have all the same mechanics as a regular clock.” I didn’t know if what I was saying was in fact true. If it did have all the same mechanics as a regular clock, shouldn’t regular clocks be able to time travel too? “Just tell me, who has it? Where is it?”