by C. J. Archer
He drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He shook his head.
"No warmth?"
That dent appeared in between his brows again. "No." He opened his eyes. "Did you?"
"I…I think so." I touched the lines once more, but my focus had slipped away with his presence. I felt nothing but the rough parchment. "It was a little warm."
He dragged a chair closer and sat, his knees brushing the cotton of my skirt. "Did it warm in the same way the watches do when you touch them?"
"Not as much. They're made of metal so it's understandable."
"Or you simply respond to them at a deeper, stronger level because your magic is watch magic, not map magic."
My fingers curled on the tabletop. My heart slowed to a sluggish beat and my mouth went dry. "I…I'm not convinced that I have any kind of magic."
"I am." He rested his hand over mine. It was warm, gentle, solid. "India, there's no other explanation for clocks and watches to move of their own accord. Clocks and watches that you have tinkered with."
"But…how do I do it? And why me? Why am I capable of such a thing?" Why couldn't I fix his watch?
"I don't know. But we'll find someone with answers. Someone who can help you understand your gift."
"There are other priorities now."
His thumb rubbed my knuckle, and he offered me a small smile. "Finding Chronos will kill two birds with one stone." He removed his hand and picked up the map. "I had already considered the possibility that Daniel's skill is beyond normal. This map is incredible."
"But it's just a map. It doesn't do anything."
"Not for us, but it may for Daniel, or for the intended recipient."
"As your watch only keeps you alive, no one else?"
He nodded. "It must be magic. How else could he have raised the lines? And why else would you feel warmth when you touch it?"
"You think my…magic is responding to his?" It felt odd associating the word with myself. I didn't feel magical; I felt ordinary. My upbringing had been ordinary, my parents were ordinary, my story up until the point of my father's death had been ordinary.
Yet a voice in my head echoed Matt's. Evidence pointed to me possessing a small amount of watch magic.
"I do." He stretched his long legs under the table and once again studied the map. "Does the kidnapper want both Daniel and the map? Or is abducting Daniel merely a means to finding the map?"
"And why would Daniel keep the map from whomever is after it?" I asked. "He gave it to the one man he thought could protect the map—his police commissioner father—knowing it was safest with him. Yet he told Munro nothing about its magical properties."
"Perhaps because he suspected Munro wouldn't believe him. He strikes me as a skeptical man."
"Who can blame him for not believing in magic? I'm not even sure that I do."
Matt's wry smile held a hint of wickedness. "You believe, India. I know you do. It's only stubbornness that prevents you from wholeheartedly embracing the idea of magic."
"It is not," I said crisply. "It's years of thinking logically and believing in only what I can explain and replicate."
His smile didn't waver, as if he thought he knew me better than I knew myself.
"We need to find out who commissioned Daniel to create that map," I said. "If someone did commission him, that is. It might have simply been something he drew for himself."
"In either case, why? Why draw it in the first place when there are thousands of other maps of London already in circulation? What's so special about this map?"
Matt and I drove to the Mapmaker's Guild hall in Ludgate Hill. Cyclops had departed forty-five minutes prior, armed with impeccable references and a bag of coins, the latter to entice a footman to leave his position. Hopefully he would be successful without raising any awkward questions. Matt had decided that we would pretend to be husband and wife. I wasn't sure that was wise. For one thing, it tied us together, and our three pronged attack became two. For another, it meant we had to match our lies. It was easy enough at the bank, where our ruse was short-lived and we weren't separated. It would be harder over a longer period.
"I'm looking for a young mapmaker," he announced upon our arrival at the Mapmaker's Guild hall. He employed a strong American drawl and an air of commanding authority so unlike his personable one that I glanced sideways at him.
The ancient footman stood in the recessed doorway of the Ludgate Hill building and surveyed Matt with a critical, albeit watery, eye. He didn't spare me so much as a glance. "And you are?"
"Mr. Prescott, of Stanford and Prescott, out of Boston. Bankers," he clarified. "I hear there is an apprentice cartographer purported to be excellent at his craft, possibly the best. I need the best to produce a map for me, something special, unique. Well, man? This is the Mapmakers' Guild, is it not? You must know who I'm referring to."
"You'd better come in." The footman shuffled backward. He was so stooped that Matt almost doubled his height.
"Thank you," I said when Matt simply strode past him without a word. He may be playing a role, but that didn't mean I had to be rude too.
The blue and white tiled floor of the porch gave way to a more modern black and white checked tile inside. It was a simple style, designed not to draw the eye away from the large globe perched on the shoulders of a bronze statue of a bent old man. The globe glinted in the gaslight thrown out from the dozen lamps attached to the walls. There were no windows, and once the door closed, no natural light filtered through. It could have been the middle of the night rather than the middle of the afternoon.
The footman indicated a room off the hall. "Wait in there. Someone will see you presently."
Matt, however, didn't go. He was too busy pacing around the globe, studying it. "Look at this, my dear," he said to me. "Such fine work. The names of countries and oceans have been engraved. Mountain ranges are raised and valleys depressed. There are little symbols too."
"I see a mermaid." I pointed to a girl with long flowing hair in a river. "And a crown over London. How charming."
"How expensive." Matt caressed the globe with as much gentleness and attention as a lover. "Art like this ought to be in a secure bank vault, not on display."
"Through here, if you please," the footman repeated with less patience.
"We'd like to inspect this globe longer," Matt said without looking up.
"No." We both glanced at the footman. He pointed a gnarled finger at the door. "Wait in there."
I took Matt's arm. "We'd better do as he asks."
Framed maps of all shapes and sizes adorned the sitting room walls, and another less elaborate globe sat proudly on a table near the sofa. I sat but Matt paced, his hands clasped behind him.
"Is everything all right?" I asked. He didn't look particularly tired, but perhaps he had to use his watch already. It would trouble him to need it so soon after the last time.
"Yes," he said gruffly without breaking stride. "I'm busy and wish to get on. That's all."
Ah. He wanted to remain as his character in case someone walked through the door. I ought to do the same. I sat with my hands folded in my lap, with what I hoped was a demure expression. A wealthy banker's wife would not be the sort of woman to buck her husband's authority.
I forgot all of that when Cyclops walked in, dressed in the same coat tailed livery as the ancient footman. I beamed at him. He did not smile back, or acknowledge me in any way, and Matt didn't acknowledge him. I swallowed my smile and pretended he wasn't there, as I'd noticed Lady Rycroft, Matt's aunt, do to her footmen. Cyclops set down a tray on the table in front of me.
"Tea, madam?" he intoned in a perfect English accent.
"Yes, thank you." I accepted the cup but didn't meet his gaze. I didn't want to start giggling, even though no one else was present.
Cyclops left, only to be replaced by a smiling gentleman with a short gray beard and a droopy left eyelid. He held a large blue book to his chest. He shook Matt's hand and introduced himself as
Mr. Onslow, the guild's treasurer. A cherub-faced youth followed behind, his curious, open gaze taking us both in.
"You're lucky you caught me here," Mr. Onslow said. "My apprentice and I were just about to leave. How can I help you?"
"I hear there is an apprentice cartographer purported to be excellent at his craft, possibly the best," Matt said. "I need the best to produce a map for me. A special map," he added, infusing a sense of mystery into the word “special.”
"An apprentice? No, no, you're mistaken." Mr. Onslow laughed, but only his good eye crinkled at the corner. The droopy one remained droopy. "An apprentice is too new, his skill too raw. You want an experienced man."
"I want the best. I hear this apprentice is the best."
Onslow sobered. "By whose claim?"
"That's irrelevant. The lad's name is Daniel Gibbons."
The apprentice gasped. Onslow glared at him, and the youth pressed his lips together and bowed his head.
"You know the lad I speak of." Matt underpinned his statement with a hint of menace that only a brave man would ignore.
Still, Onslow hesitated before finally acquiescing. "He's apprenticed to Mr. Duffield, the guild's master, but has gone missing."
Matt feigned surprise, so I did too. "Missing?" Matt demanded.
Onslow shrugged. "He left work and didn't arrive home, apparently. The police made inquiries, but… It's all very sad."
"Did he run away?"
"Hard to say." Onslow brightened. "But he was just an apprentice. There are many experienced mapmakers in the guild who can produce a fine piece for you. What type of map, and of what region?"
"I'll go to Duffield," Matt said, ignoring him. "I assume the best apprentice works for the best cartographer, and he is the guild's master, is he not?"
The apprentice's cherubic lips flattened. In disappointment? Envy?
"He's not necessarily the best," Onslow said tightly. "Quality is subjective. Duffield's specialty is the sub-continent. He traveled there extensively in his youth. Unless the map you wish to commission is of India, or one of the neighboring countries, I wouldn't go to Duffield. That's my humble opinion, of course."
"It is of India," Matt said without missing a beat.
"Oh." The bridge of Onslow's nose wrinkled. "In that case, you'll find him at his shop in the Burlington Arcade. Now, we must go. I shouldn't be away from my shop for too long. If you find Duffield's manner not to your liking, come and see me. I have an excellent grasp of the sub-continent myself. You'll find me on Regent Street. Good day, sir, madam." To his apprentice, he said, "See them out."
Mr. Onslow left, and the youth indicated the door. Now that he was separated from his master, I wondered if he might be more inclined to talk about Daniel.
"What's your name?" I asked.
He looked up sharply, perhaps startled that I addressed him directly. "Ronald. Ronald Hogarth."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Ronald. Am I correct in guessing that you know Daniel, the missing apprentice?"
His apple cheeks pinked. "I only met him twice. Both times here, at meetings. We weren't invited to the meetings, of course, they're just for full members, but often the apprentices come along and take part in the dinner afterward."
"You spoke to him?"
"A little."
"How did he seem?" Matt asked. "Anxious? Troubled?"
Ronald lifted one shoulder. "I suppose you could say that, but only recently. The first time I met him, he was a regular chap, nice enough. The second time, he couldn't sit still. He startled easily, especially when someone new walked in. He kept looking over his shoulder, too, like he expected someone to sneak up on him."
"Did he seem more anxious when his master was in the room?"
"No." Ronald looked owlishly from Matt to me and back again. We'd alarmed the poor lad. "Why do you want to know? Is this about his disappearance?"
"We just want to find him so he can make a map for me," Matt assured him.
I took Matt's arm, hoping he would see it as a sign to ease back on his questions. Ronald was too suspicious.
"He was good," Ronald mumbled. "But not as much as everyone says."
"You saw his work?" Matt asked.
"No, but I just know he couldn't have been all that good. He was only a first year apprentice. The customer who commissioned him must have realized and wanted his money back, that's why he argued with Daniel."
I felt Matt's muscles tense beneath my hand. "How do you know they argued?"
"I heard Mr. Duffield tell Mr. Onslow and some others, a week or more ago."
Before Daniel went missing, then. "Do you know what they argued about?" I asked.
"No. Mr. Duffield couldn't hear them."
"Thank you," Matt said. "Hopefully the lad turns up after he finishes having a lark at everyone's expense."
Ronald nodded sadly. "I hope that's all it turns out to be. He was a pretentious sod but I don't like thinking something bad happened to him."
We climbed into our waiting carriage, and Matt knocked on the ceiling once we'd settled. Bryce drove off in the direction of Clerkenwell.
"We didn't learn much," I said with a sigh.
"On the contrary." Matt removed his hat and ruffled up his hair. "We learned that Duffield specializes in the subcontinent, so that's something I can use when I speak to him. We also learned that Daniel argued with a customer. I'd wager the customer is the same one who commissioned him to create that map. Perhaps they argued about Daniel not giving it back to him."
"It does seem likely." The brougham lurched around a corner and I put my hand on the seat beside me to steady myself. "We were very lucky that Ronald was prepared to speak to us. We didn't even know he'd be there."
"That's the thrill of clandestine work. You never know who you'll encounter or what information will turn up. It keeps me on my toes." He did look rather invigorated by the encounter. His eyes looked brighter than they'd been all day, and a small, satisfied smile touched his lips.
"You're rather suited to it," I said. "I'm impressed that you maintained your character for so long, even when no one was looking."
"You did well yourself."
"My nerves were stretched to their limit the entire time. I hate to think how frayed they would have become if Onslow suspected us of lying."
"He didn't have a clue." He grinned. "We make a good team."
I wasn't so sure. He hadn't needed me at the guild, nor at the bank. It seemed more and more likely he had asked me along to justify the expense of my wages. A small twinge of guilt pinched my gut, but I set it aside. I wanted to work, and I wasn't asking for more than I would have earned as a shopkeeper's assistant. Besides, if his lack of concern over the growing number of people under his care was anything to judge by, Matt could afford my wages and much more.
The factory district of Clerkenwell was thoroughly working class. Few gentlemen's carriages ventured down its dreary, narrow streets. Sunlight and color seemed to have abandoned the rookery, and hope too, by the looks of the miserable faces. The factories were more like workshops than large manufacturing premises. Most were owned by craftsmen who'd managed to scrape together enough capital from investors to scale up their efforts. Years ago, my father had been approached by a watchmaker who wanted him to invest in such a venture. He offered my father part of the profits in exchange for some initial money up front, but Father had been a conservative man, and he hadn't wanted to invest in a scheme that might not produce results. He preferred to keep his workshop at the back of his shop so he could come and go as he pleased.
Matt assisted me down the carriage steps and we entered the brick building with the sign Worthey, Manufacturer of Fine Clocks painted across its façade. The rhythmic clank of machinery echoed throughout the vast space, underpinned by the whirring of hundreds of small gears and the occasional chime. Four men dressed in leather aprons sat at a long bench, sorting parts into small boxes. Another two stood by the machines, turning cranks and feeding the coal, and four mo
re sat at tables, assembling the clocks.
A whiskery fellow sat in an office. He looked up from his paperwork and saw us at the same time we saw him. He greeted us and, taking in our good clothes, smiled. It was fortunate that Miss Glass had insisted I buy new outfits more suited to being her companion than the dull gray and brown dresses I'd worn my entire life. I still felt a little uncomfortable in the conspicuous blues and greens of my new gowns, but she said I looked "much improved" in them.
"Good afternoon, sir, madam," the man said, shaking Matt's hand. "Welcome to Worthey's. My name is Archibald Worthey. How may I help?"
"We're looking for a specific watchmaker," Matt said. "Perhaps he works here, or you know him."
The man's smile slipped a little. It was the standard response whenever we said we were looking for someone and not in the market for a new watch or clock.
One of the workers approached the office, his attention on the small carriage clock in his hand. The casing was open, and he tinkered with the mechanisms.
"I'll be with you in a moment, Pierre," Worthey said. To Matt, he said, "Your accent. Is it American?"
The worker went very still. He didn't look up from the clock, but he no longer gave it his attention. The tool went limp in his hand.
I turned back to Matt. "It is," he said. "I met the watchmaker in America, as it happens, although he was English. That was five years ago. I'm now searching for him. Do you know of an exceptional watchmaker who may have been out of the country at that time? He would be old, with white hair."
Worthey shook his head. "Can't think of anyone. Pierre might know. He's old and well traveled." He chuckled. "Pierre? Do you… Oh. He's gone."
I spun round, as did Matt. The workman had indeed left, having set the clock down on the table near the door. I strode out of the office and scanned the other men on the factory floor. None wore the same blue cap as Pierre, and the spot at the end of the long bench stood vacant.
Beside me, Matt's breathing became heavier, more erratic. I took his arm. "He had a white beard," I said quietly. "But I couldn't see his face."