The Clockwork Three

by Matthew J. Kirby

  “Here,” he said, and wrapped one over her shoulders.

  “Thank you.” She pulled it up around her neck. “My father must have known Stroop. But he can’t tell me anything.”

  “Did the stone give you any other clues?”

  “No. It’s just a memorial. A dead end.” She closed her eyes. “I have to get home. The doctor will be there in a few hours.”

  “Doctor?”

  “My father is sick. Very sick. He needs medicine, and we don’t have the money to pay for it.”

  Giuseppe looked away. That was why she had become so insistent out there, so desperate. She needed the treasure. Giuseppe needed it, too, but did not think now was the best time to bring that up.

  “Hopefully Pullman will be back soon,” he said. “I really think you ought to wait for the storm to pass.”

  She slumped down into the blanket. “I’m so tired all of a sudden.”

  Giuseppe realized he felt the same way. The morning had started quiet enough, a breakfast of bread and fresh fruit, a wedge of cheese. Then Pullman had come by and taken him out walking in the forest around Alice’s cabin, spotting animals and birds and showing him plants that were edible. After that, Giuseppe had split off on his own a short distance to sit down in the trees and play his fiddle. That was when he had heard the call for help. A girl’s voice, terrified, and then a wild roar.

  A shiver rattled Giuseppe in his chair when he thought about the beast. Its teeth and claws. He had entered that clearing, seen that cougar, and known it would kill them both. But Pullman had come. Now, sitting in front of the warm fire, the exhaustion of spent fear overwhelmed him.

  “I’m tired, too,” he said.

  The storm pounded the roof and slapped the windows. He listened to it for a long time. His eyes drooped, fragmenting the flames in the hearth.

  He heard Hannah’s voice but did not catch what she said.

  Giuseppe closed his eyes.

  The sound of the storm awakened him, loud and raw. He realized someone had opened the door.

  “Oh, my,” he heard Alice say. “Two visitors?”

  Giuseppe got to his feet, blinking. Next to him, Hannah stirred. She stretched, and the blanket fell from her shoulders.

  “Hello, Alice,” Giuseppe said. “This is Hannah.”

  “I know, dear,” Alice said. “Although I am surprised to see her here. And all covered in mud, too.”

  Hannah stood up. “Hello, Alice. I came —”

  The old woman held up her hand. “I wasn’t asking, dear. Not yet.” She removed her straw hat and shook the rain from it. She hung it up and stepped between Hannah and Giuseppe to the hearth. “Let’s heat up this soup, shall we?” She swung the kettle in over the fire.

  Next, Alice gathered up the quilt that had fallen to the floor and folded it, holding it to her chest with her chin. “Are the two of you hungry?” she asked.

  Giuseppe was.

  Hannah shook her head. “I need to be going, Alice. I’m sorry.”

  “I don’t think you ought to, dear. Not until the storm moves on. The paths are treacherous right now if you don’t know your way.” She set the quilt with the others by the bed and then lowered herself into a chair. She tapped the table, telling Giuseppe and Hannah to sit.

  “Now,” she said, and sighed. “Tell me what you were going to say, Hannah. About why you are here.”

  Hannah scratched her forehead with her index finger. “Never mind.”

  “Nonsense. You can tell me.”

  “I … was looking for something.”

  “What was it you were looking for, dear?”

  “You remember when we talked in your garden and I asked about Mister Stroop?”

  “Of course.”

  “About his treasure?”

  “Yes, dear.”

  “Well, I’m looking for it. The treasure, I mean, and I thought there would be a clue for it out here.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  Hannah shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’m listening,” Alice said.

  “No,” Hannah said. “That’s all right.”

  Giuseppe leaned forward and cleared his throat. “She saw a map,” he said. “It had the north side of the pond marked. She thought there might be something there.”

  “Was there?”

  Giuseppe looked at Hannah. She seemed so defeated.

  “No,” she said.

  “Just that carved stone,” Giuseppe said.

  Alice clapped. “Ah, you saw it. Beautiful, isn’t it? I remember when that stonemason from the hotel brought it out here. Mister Twine must have paid for it. Or maybe one of the guests. The stonemason had a devil of a time hauling it over the forest trails in his handcart.”

  Hannah’s legs bounced a little, and she kept looking out the window, at the rain streaking the windowpanes.

  “While you wait for this storm to let up, you must have some turtle soup,” Alice said.

  “You’ll like it,” Giuseppe said, his tongue working in his mouth like he could already taste it.

  Hannah nodded. “All right.”

  “Wonderful.” Alice rose and went to the fireplace, her back to them. “Have you seen Pullman today?”

  Giuseppe looked at Hannah. She leaned back into her chair, mouth closed. So he told of their encounter with Mirabel, with only a little exaggeration here and there, at which Hannah raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Now that the fear had worn off, there was something exciting about what had happened.

  Alice shook her head, wide-eyed. “My goodness. I’m just glad that everyone is unharmed, you both and Pullman, and Mirabel, too.”

  When steam rose from the kettle, and the aroma of herbs and meat filled the cabin, Alice ladled out three bowls and served them. The soup did not taste as fresh as it had the night before, but was still better by far than anything Giuseppe was used to eating. He watched Hannah, and she seemed to enjoy the few bites she took as well.

  “Where do you live?” he asked her.

  “Down in the tenements of Basket Street.” She dabbed at the soup with her spoon.

  “I used to play there. Sometimes.”

  “Maybe I’ve heard you.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Well,” Alice said. “Giuseppe played for Pullman and me last night, and it was simply the most delightful evening I have passed in a very long time.” She leaned in to Hannah. “He has a gift, you know.”

  “It’s a talent to play music,” Hannah said.

  “Oh, not that kind of gift, dear. Not that kind of gift at all.”

  Giuseppe wondered what she meant by that.

  Alice stood. “Would either of you like another helping? There’s a little bit left.”

  Hannah shook her head.

  Giuseppe could have eaten another two or three bowls. “Nah. Save it for Pullman.”

  He watched Hannah finish what was left in her dish. She wiped her mouth. “Thank you, Alice. It was delicious.”

  “Well, thank you for staying.” Alice watched Hannah for several moments. “Whatever has you so worried, dear?”

  Hannah said nothing. It seemed that she kept a lot inside, and Giuseppe wondered why.

  “Her father is sick,” he said.

  “Sick?” Alice turned to Hannah. “He’s sick, dear?”

  She nodded.

  Alice grew suddenly serious and returned to her chair. She folded her hands on the table in front of her. “What are his symptoms?”

  “He’s just sick,” Hannah said. “And I need to get back to him.”

  “Tell me what his symptoms are.”

  Hannah took a deep breath. “He has a sore, a bedsore that’s infected. The doctor said his leg needs to be removed.”

  “Oh, such barbarians,” Alice said. “What does the wound look like?”

  “It’s red and swollen, and there are dark lines under the skin around it.”

  “Is it weeping?”

  “Yes.”

 
“Fevers?”

  “Yes,” Hannah said.

  Alice tapped her chin and then she stood. “I have something for that.” She crossed to the cupboard full of jars and bottles and pulled down a slender vial. She shook it and held it up to the light. “Have him drink this.”

  “What is it?” Hannah asked.

  “A tincture of herbs, dear. And molds gathered around the forest. It will help with the infection.”

  Hannah reached out and took the vial. She peered at it, brow furrowed.

  “Take it to him,” Alice said. “You remember what I said about my herbs, that I was finding out their secrets? Well, I have already learned quite a few.”

  From what Giuseppe had seen of Alice, he believed her. She had a way of wisdom about her that made him trust what she said. Hannah folded her fingers around the vial and slipped it into a pocket in her skirts.

  “Thank you, Alice,” she said.

  “You’re welcome. Now, I think the storm has passed.”

  Giuseppe listened and heard nothing but an afterthought of wind, like a sigh after a good cry.

  Hannah looked out the window. “You’re right.” She got up and went to the old woman. “I wish I could come see you in your hotel garden again.”

  “But you can, dear. Anytime you want. They ask about you, you know. The pansies, in particular.”

  Hannah smiled. “I hope they’re coming along.”

  Alice led Hannah to the door and opened it. The smells and sounds of the forest tumbled in as if they had had their ears pressed against the door. Birdcalls and the fragrance of wet soil and pine. Giuseppe walked to the door, his hands in his pockets.

  Hannah turned to him. “I guess you’re staying here.”

  “The city isn’t safe for me,” he said.

  She nodded. “Good-bye, then. Thanks for helping me.”

  “I hope your pa gets better,” he said.

  “He will,” Alice said. “Hurry now.”

  Hannah stepped through the threshold.

  Alice stood in the doorway and pointed. “Do you see that path there by the hawthorn?”

  Hannah looked. “Yes.”

  “Keep to it. It wanders a bit at times, but it leads you right to the Old Fort Road.”

  Hannah thanked Alice again and walked away, waving from a spot down by the pond before setting off into the trees.

  Alice stepped out into her garden and breathed deep. “You’re really not going with her?”

  “No,” Giuseppe said. “Why would I?”

  “She needs you.”

  “Alice, Stephano will kill me.”

  “I don’t think your friends would let that happen.”

  “I don’t have friends,” Giuseppe said.

  “Hannah is a friend to you now.”

  Was she? He had thought Pietro was a friend, too.

  “You have a gift to share, dear. And apparently there is a treasure hidden somewhere.” She fixed her eyes on him firmly.

  “You want me to leave?”

  “Giuseppe, you may stay with me for as long as you wish to. But I think you know you won’t ever make it home to your family if you hide out here in the park.”

  She was right. As safe as the cabin felt, it was not his home, and as kind as Alice had been, she was not his family. Maybe this was a chance for him to get back what he had lost in the churchyard. Maybe he could still return to his real home and his real family, if he helped Hannah find the treasure. As for him having a gift to share, well, without his green violin Giuseppe was unsure of that.

  He went back into the cabin for his old fiddle and then stood in front of Alice. “Thank you for everything.”

  “Of course, dear.” She stepped forward and gathered him in an earthy hug that smelled of mint and lavender. “Hurry now.”

  Giuseppe nodded and bounced off running, waving one last time over his shoulder before entering the forest. He was pretty sure this was not the smartest thing to do, but it did feel like the right thing. Leaves dripped lazy leftovers from the storm, so that by the time he caught up with Hannah he was wet again.

  She smiled as he trotted toward her.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  “I’m coming with you,” he said.

  “Where, to my family’s apartment?”

  He scratched his head. “Is that all right? Don’t worry, I’ll find somewhere else to stay. I just want to make sure you get there safe.”

  She relaxed her shoulders. “Thank you. I feel like I’ve seen Mirabel about a dozen times already.”

  Giuseppe picked up a stray branch and tucked it under his arm like an aimed rifle. “Don’t worry,” he said. “She knows what this is.” And he prowled ahead like a hunter out for game. Hannah grinned a little at him.

  They walked, and evening began to drift among the trees. With the cloud cover lingering after the storm like a threat, it grew dark earlier than it should have. By the time they reached the edge of the park, most of the light in the streets came from gaslight.

  “I hope the doctor hasn’t come yet,” Hannah said.

  They hastened down the Old Fort Road, turned on the Cottonway, and followed it to Basket Street. It did not seem to be that late in the evening with all the traffic on the street. A week ago, Giuseppe would have picked a corner to play, but tonight he turned his coat collar up and pulled his cap down low. They jostled along the street with the crowd, and then Hannah led him off into the maze of tenements.

  Before long, she stopped at a wooden building and started up the stairs. Giuseppe looked around and realized he had played near here before, that first night he had tried the green violin. The memory stung his eyes, but he shoved it aside and followed Hannah up to her family’s apartment.

  As soon as they opened the door, a very skinny woman rushed over to them.

  “Hannah,” she said, her eyes sunken and red.

  “Hello, Mama,” Hannah said. They embraced.

  “I’ve been so worried,” Hannah’s mother said. “I expected you back hours ago.”

  “I know, I’m sorry.”

  Giuseppe looked past the two of them into the apartment. There were two beds. A large man lay in one of them, pale and sweaty. He was propped up a little, but he seemed to be sleeping, his chest rising and falling unevenly. Two girls played on the floor with straw dolls. They were looking at Giuseppe and whispering.

  “How is Papa?” Hannah asked.

  “Not well, the fever is back. Do you have the money?”

  “No,” Hannah said. “I have the medicine.”

  She pulled the vial from her pocket and crossed to her father. He opened his eyes when she touched his forehead with the back of her fingers.

  “Hello, Papa,” she whispered.

  He gave her a weak smile.

  Hannah pulled the stopper from the vial. “Papa, you need to drink this.”

  Her mother came, and together they hoisted him up a little higher and stuffed another pillow behind his back. Hannah held the vial to his dry, cracked lips and tipped the contents into his mouth. He grimaced, but he swallowed it down.

  “Say a prayer it works,” Hannah’s mother said. “How did you get the medicine from the doctor? And why are you covered in mud?”

  “It’s a long story,” Hannah said.

  Giuseppe cleared his throat.

  “Oh,” Hannah said. She came over, took Giuseppe’s hand, and led him into the room. “This is my new friend. Giuseppe.”

  “Benvenuto, Giuseppe,” Hannah’s mother said.

  Giuseppe was surprised. “You know Italian?”

  “Not much more than that,” her mother said. “Enough to say hello to some of our neighbors. Are either of you hungry?”

  They both shook their heads. There did not seem to be much food in the apartment, anyway. “I’m not staying long,” he said, still unsure of where he would go when he left. The family had no room for him here. Hannah’s sisters got up from the floor and came over to him. Hannah introduced them, and Giuse
ppe shook their tiny hands.

  One of them pointed at his back. “What’s that?”

  “It’s my fiddle,” he said.

  “Perhaps you could play for us later,” Hannah’s mother said. She sat down on the edge of the bed, and Hannah’s sisters leaned on her, clinging to her skirts. “My husband loves music.”

  “I’d be honored,” Giuseppe said, and meant it. But he was immediately reluctant. Here in this apartment, with this sick man and his lovely family, he felt nervous about playing, something he had not experienced in a very long time. He slipped his old fiddle from his back and set it on the table. He would have felt a lot more confident playing if he had the green violin. This family needed its special kind of music.

  “Giuseppe has a gift,” Hannah said to her mother.

  They all fell into silence after that, watching Hannah’s father. A sleep flutter passed over his eyes. Hannah’s mother felt his temperature with her palm.

  “How long until the medicine works, I wonder.”

  “I don’t know. But it will.” Hannah played with the end of her braid. “Mama? Do you know anything about a stone Papa carved out in McCauley Park?”

  Hannah’s mother nodded. “That was years ago. When he worked for the hotel.”

  “You never mentioned it before. Do you know why he made it?”

  “One of the hotel guests asked him to. Oh, what was his name, Stout? Stoop? Anyway, he called your father up to his suite on the top floor and said Mister Twine had recommended him for a commissioned work. You know how your father was always taking on special projects for Mister Twine. This guest, Stoop, told your father what he wanted and paid him handsomely for it.” She reached out and felt his forehead again. “That’s how we paid for the new roof …” Her voice dropped. “On our old house.”

  “Did Papa know Mister Stroop well?”

  “Yes, that was his name. Stroop. How did you know?”

  Hannah shrugged. “I’ve heard it around the hotel.”

  “Well, no, your father didn’t know him well. Stroop called him up to his suite a few times after that to thank him. He had a telescope up there, and he said he could see the stone from his window. I think he died a very short time later.”

  “Did Papa ever say anything about Mister Stroop’s treasure?”