by Tim Hehir
‘What do you mean?’
‘Emily thought the world of you. You didn’t know that, did you?’ The trace of a smile escaped from Mr Flynn’s lips. ‘She’d be furious if she knew I was telling you this. Right at the beginning, she took Darwin’s diary to the bookshop because she wanted to see you again.’
‘No…I didn’t know,’ said Julius. ‘So why did she run away when she saw me.’
‘Because she was afraid,’ said Mr Flynn.
‘Of what?’
‘Afraid of happiness, and all that guff,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘She didn’t trust happiness, let alone those who promised it.’
‘So she took fright,’ said Julius. ‘She thought I’d end up hurting her.’
‘Yes.’
‘And I did,’ said Julius. ‘I told her she wasn’t wanted. I didn’t mean it.’
‘I know that,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘But she didn’t. She pretended she didn’t care, but she was lost.’
‘I tried to tell her I was sorry,’ said Julius. ‘But she wouldn’t listen.’
‘Of course not,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘Words meant nothing. You should have shown her when you had the chance.’
‘Shown her what?’
‘That you loved her, too,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘That you were on her side. No matter what.’
‘But I did. I was,’ said Julius. ‘She never knew?’
Mr Flynn walked around the balustrade and stopped at the door.
‘She knew, Julius,’ said Mr Flynn. ‘It just took her a long time to realise it.’ Mr Flynn turned the door handle. ‘Use that pocketwatch of yours. Find yourself a new time or realm. Leave this Godforsaken place and never come back.’
‘But there must be something we—’
‘There’s nothing,’ said Mr Flynn.
‘Where’s Emily?’
Mr Flynn turned away. ‘Go now,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing here for you.’
He went through the door and down the stairs.
‘Mr Flynn,’ called Julius, but he was gone.
Julius stared across the Thames. The chill made his eyes water. He felt empty, like a hollowed-out tree trunk, with only the wind whistling through him. How could he run away? How could he go away and forget all this. He stood for an hour, hardly moving. Why wouldn’t Mr Flynn answer him about Emily? Was she now a soulcatcher host, like his mother?’ The thought was too sad to bear, but Julius felt a murmur of gladness that Emily had forgiven him in the end.
Julius walked down the steps of St Paul’s. He was going home. It was the only place he could imagine figuring out what to do next. As he walked, he tried not to look at the soulcatchers growing out through the windows. He tried not to see the dolls’ houses in the toyshop window, or the trays of buttons scattered in the haberdasher’s. Before he knew it he was in Ironmonger Lane.
The windows of the bookshop were broken and the door was open. Julius paused. Would he find his grandfather sitting by the fire with a soulcatcher growing from his mouth? He stepped over the threshold and into the musty odour of mould. He held the handkerchief around his neck up to his mouth. The bookshop was dank and dark. Green mould was growing on the books on the shelves. The curtain over the parlour door had fallen from its rings. He stepped over it and went through.
His grandfather’s chair was empty.
Maybe he got away, Higgins.
The carpet under his boots squelched with damp. He sat in his mouldy chair and looked to where his grandfather would have sat. The fireplace was cold and water dripped from the chimney. The dark, dank parlour was a miserable parody of his home. Julius stood and walked around the table, trying to rekindle old feelings. None came. He took the glove off his good hand and when he tried to take the other one off he found the blood had glued it to his wound. He left it on. He did not want to see the gash in any case.
His eyes fell on the wall by the fireplace. That was where he and Emily had gone in search of Tock. He felt a sting inside when her name ran through is mind.
He touched the wall with his fingertips. They hadn’t found Tock’s realm. Instead they had found a beautiful seaside resort full of beautiful, happy people. Perhaps he could go there? He could walk among them and think things through.
Julius stopped. Did they go to the wrong realm? Tock was an automaton. Why hadn’t he thought of it before?
Julius took the pocketwatch out and in a surge of excitement he spun it in the air. Blue light shone when he tapped it with his finger. The pocketwatch bobbed above his open palm. Gradually the blue light grew in intensity, forming an expanding sphere that made his skin tingle.
Soon, Julius was surrounded by a dome of light. Through the wall, he saw the promenade and the beach. He could smell the sea salt and he looked up through the dome to see a cloudy sky. The lack of sunshine had taken the colour from everything. The turquoise sea was now a dull green where choppy waves jostled one another. The beach showed the scars of storm tides. Seagulls pecked along the line of debris at the high-tide mark.
Julius walked along the empty promenade.
Where is everyone, Higgins?
Then he saw the soulcatchers. They were growing through broken windows and across the walls of the houses.
Julius touched the side of the pocketwatch with his finger. Instantly the watch stopped spinning. He felt the vibration run down his finger and spread through his body. Then the watch closed up and tumbled into his hand.
Julius was dressed as he was on his previous visit, in a pale-green summer suit, but there was something different. His clothes were soiled and creased. He looked at his injured hand to find the pocketwatch had healed it. He brushed his cheek to find his cuts had been healed too.
The sound of thousands of soulcatcher petals fluttering in the wind cut through the roar of the waves like an infernal whispering.
Julius came to Papa Putching’s workshop. The painted sign was peeling and faded. The door was padlocked, so Julius peered through the window. A small automaton lay, dismantled, its parts scattered across the workbench. He could just make out the lines of shelves, and the edge of the woodstove.
A stooped figure was coming up the promenade. He stumbled against the wind, clutching a bundle to his chest. His head was down so he did not see Julius. It was the old man who had given his grandfather a cup of tea. Julius was sure of it.
The old man approached gripping his package under one arm. He fumbled through his pocket and took out a large key ring with a single key.
Julius stepped out from under the eaves. ‘Do you remember me?’ he said.
The old man did not hear. He was trying to fit the key into the padlock.
‘Do you remember me?’ said Julius, louder.
The old man let out a cry and jumped back, dropping his package.
‘I’m sorry,’ said Julius, ‘I didn’t mean to startle you.’ He stooped and picked up the package. It was a sack tied up with string. The old man was reluctant to accept it. ‘Where are you from?’ he said.
‘London,’ said Julius.
‘London? Where is that?’
‘Far away.’
‘And…is it the same there?’
Julius nodded.
The old man’s expression softened as if he was too weary to be afraid for long. ‘You’d better come inside,’ he said.
When the door was closed behind them the roar of the sea faded into the background, but the whisper of the soulcatchers’ fluttering petals still found its way in. The old man took the sack from Julius and placed it by his stool. He untied the string and took out a bottle of water, a few vegetables and candle stubs and put them on the workbench.
Then he balanced his spectacles on his nose and strained his eyes to see his visitor. The workshop was not as tidy as Julius remembered it. A layer of fine sand lay over everything and it scrunched under his feet. He noticed a makeshift bed under the shelves in the far corner. The smell of creosote and wood shavings had been replaced by old-man smells, similar to the ones his grandfather left around the boo
kshop.
Papa Putching sat on his stool and leaned one elbow on the workbench.
‘What happened?’ said Julius.
The old man’s eyes wandered the shelves as if he was trying to remember where he was.
‘The flowers growing? When did that happen?’ said Julius.
‘Long ago. Years…I think.’ He turned to the grimy window and looked out at the sea.
‘They climbed out of the earth,’ he said. ‘It all happened in one night. Flowers attacking people. Who could have imagined it?’
‘Who planted them?’ said Julius.
‘Mr Tock did.’ Papa Putching’s expression fell like a viscous liquid. It was as if the sound of Tock’s name had taken something vital from him.
‘Mr Tock?’ said Julius. ‘How? I mean…?
‘He said he found the flowers on his travels,’ said Papa Putching. ‘He offered to plant them in all the gardens. He said he wanted to show everyone what a good little machine he was. Of course, everyone was delighted. Everyone loves flowers.’
‘So you knew Tock?’ said Julius.
‘Knew him? Yes. I made him,’ said Papa Putching.
Of course, Higgins.
‘Mr Tock was my finest creation,’ he said. ‘It took me seven years to make the multiple gearing alone—gyroscopes within gyroscopes, all spinning independently, all tilting with gravity, sensitive to the minutest touch. It gave the illusion of life. Each move Mr Tock made could lead to any combination of movements, even to his toes. His fingers were capable of the finest precision.’
Papa Putching’s expression changed, as if he remembered something. He made a pretence of tidying the workbench.
‘What happened?’ said Julius.
The old man carefully picked up one tiny cog after another, returning each one to its correct slot in a tray of watch parts.
Julius clenched his fists, forcing himself to be patient.
‘Mr Tock asked me once, what would happen to his soul if I forgot to wind him,’ said the old man. ‘I laughed. “But you don’t have a soul, Mr Tock,” I said. “You are good little machine.” I could tell straightaway that I had hurt his feelings. I tried to make amends. “Don’t worry, I’ll always be here to wind you,” I said. But he was never the same after that.’
Papa Putching looked through the dusty window again. ‘He would go away for days on end, only coming back when he needed me to wind him. He’d look at me and smile, but he wasn’t smiling, not really. I tried to talk to him, like we used to, but…’
‘How long ago was that?’ said Julius.
‘Years. I was a young man—well, young from where I sit today.’
A shadow crossed the old man’s face.
‘He asked for the key once. I was winding him at the time. I stopped in surprise. Mr Tock’s smile stayed frozen on his face. “No, Mr Tock,” I said. “An automaton must never have his own key.” “Why not, Papa?” he asked. I finished winding him and locked the key in my safe. “Off you go, Mr Tock,” I said. I could not look him in the eye. I think that saddened him even more than not having a soul.’
‘Why?’ asked Julius.
Papa Putching continued to sort the tiny cogs. ‘Because he realised that his own Papa was afraid of him. I think that’s when he gave up being good. He never did anything bad when he was here. But there was always the threat in his eyes. I was glad when he was gone for days at a time…I did not dare ask him what he got up to.’
‘But you kept winding him?’ said Julius.
‘Yes. Of course. He was my finest creation,’ said the old man. ‘And when he brought the red flowers I thought he was going to be a good little machine again. But he wasn’t. It was all a trick. The night after the flowers attacked, Mr Tock came along the promenade and asked politely for his key. I was too afraid to refuse him. He winds himself now.’
Julius felt anger rising. He wanted to shout at the befuddled old man. He wanted to tell him what his creation had done. He went to the window and looked out to the sea to calm himself.
Papa Putching took a soiled handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose. ‘Where is Tock now?’ asked Julius.
‘He’s mad, you know,’ said the old man. ‘It’s the gyroscopes in his head, they’re out of balance. He comes along the promenade to call on me, but I lock the door. He taps on the window and I hide under the bench until he’s gone.’
‘Why does he come?’ asked Julius.
‘He’s lonely, now that everyone’s gone,’ said Papa Putching. ‘He has no one to talk to. He asked me to make a friend for him.’
‘Did you?’
‘No,’ said the old man. ‘I do not want to make another Tock. I’ve lost the skill anyway. So he tries to make his own friends to talk to. But he hasn’t the skill either—he makes abominations instead.’ The toymaker stared at the tiny cogs scattered across his worktop as if bored with the task of tidying them.
‘Where can I find him?’ said Julius.
‘You shouldn’t try,’ said Papa Putching.
‘But I must speak to him.’
The old man did not reply. Julius could not contain himself. He grabbed Papa Putching’s shoulder and spun him around. ‘Where is he, you old fool?’
The old man cowered. His face contorted in fear.
‘Where is he?’ said Julius.
‘He has a workshop on the hill,’ said the old man. ‘You’ll find him there.’
Julius let go of the toymaker’s shoulder as gently as he could. ‘You shouldn’t have kept winding him,’ he said quietly.
‘I know,’ said the old man. He began to cry. ‘I know.’
Julius walked up the hill. The narrow streets blocked the wind. Soulcatchers were growing through windows and across the walls. Julius went along street after street avoiding the tendrils reaching out to him as he passed. He stopped at a shop where all the windowpanes were intact. He looked inside at strange contraptions made of twisted spoons, washers, door hinges and bent nails, all cobbled together into haphazard shapes. They flailed around like blind things, writhing and twitching as if lost and in pain.
A sign on the door said ‘Open’. Julius pushed the door a crack. The shop bell tinkled. He waited, but no one came. He pushed the door a little more and went inside.
There was an empty wooden counter and empty shelves around the walls. Julius stood there like a customer and listened. Quiet, indistinct sounds came from behind a curtain. He went around the counter and peeped through.
Tock was sitting at a workbench. Julius couldn’t see what he was doing. An oil lamp burned low beside him. A clock on the wall ticked, but too slowly, and there were no hands on its face.
Julius watched Tock at work.
He seemed as harmless as Papa Putching now, passing his time trying to make things that would talk to him. Julius’s skin tingled as he felt anger rising up. Millions of people had been devoured by the soulcatchers because of Tock. Julius wanted to crush his clockwork skull. But he couldn’t, at least not yet.
He walked into the workshop and let the curtain fall behind him. Tock turned around on his stool.
Julius tensed.
Tock’s face lit up with a smile. ‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘Take your time. Look around.’ His face was frayed at the edges and parchment-like creases distorted his mouth. It looked as if he has scrunched his face up into a ball and then flattened it out before putting it back on again. Tock’s eyes glowed faintly, as if Julius was a long-lost friend.
Julius did not move or speak. Tock tilted his head. His eyes dimmed a little. He studied Julius as if he recognised him but was not sure from where. His face crackled when his smile fell away. ‘Can’t you speak?’ he said.
‘You don’t remember me?’ said Julius, trying to control the tremor of anger in his voice.
Tock’s face lit up again. ‘Remember you? Are we old friends?’
Julius shook his head. ‘We met long ago,’ he said. ‘Before the soulcatchers destroyed everything.’
‘Did we?’
said Tock. ‘Do you want your soul back? Do you? Do you?’
‘No,’ said Julius. ‘You didn’t get mine.’
Tock studied at Julius. He was like an old man whose memory was failing.
‘Are you sure?’ he said, with kindly condescension. ‘I have all the souls, you know. All of them.’
Julius clenched his fists to stop himself flying at Tock. ‘How did you do it?’ he said. ‘Where did you hide all the soulcatchers?’
Tock looked quizzically at Julius. ‘Did I hide them?’
‘You propagated them in secret somewhere in London,’ said Julius. ‘Then you released them and, and…’
Tock smiled again. ‘London?’ he said. ‘I remember London. I should like to visit. But I can’t remember how to make the mixture.’
He took a small wooden box from his pocket and opened it. It was empty. ‘All gone,’ he said. He closed the box and put it back.
‘Where did you grow the soulcatchers?’ said Julius.
Tock rested his elbow on the workbench like Papa Putching had done. He looked as if he was trying to think.
‘In the house of animals,’ he said. He looked gleefully at Julius as if he expected a prize for remembering. ‘No one looked.’ Tock’s shoulders shook when he chuckled. ‘They looked everywhere, but not among the animals,’ he said. ‘We fed the soulcatchers on blood and bone, made from rats, you know, gallons of it. It made them strong and eager to hunt for souls.’
Julius lunged at Tock knocking him onto the floor. The contraption he was working on fell off the workbench and squirmed and twitched on top of Tock. He pulled it away, ripping the lower half of his face off with it.
Julius snatched the lamp and held it over Tock.
‘I should burn this whole place down,’ he said. ‘With you in it.’
‘I’m a good little machine,’ said Tock. There was no fear in his voice, just a childlike curiosity about what was going to happen next.
Julius lifted the lamp higher, preparing to smash it over Tock but something held him back. He had the answer he wanted. Tock could stay in his self-made hell forever for all he cared.