Read Online Legacy of the Clockwork Key by Kristin Bailey - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristin Bailey
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off metal.
Embedded in the pedestal, set in the exact center of the slots for the brass plate, the three-petal medallion clung to the stone.
“Good heavens,” I whispered.
It was here. It was actually here!
I fumbled as I tried to pull the key from the front of my apron. I yanked it over my head, opened it, and fitted the petals of the key into the wheel. I fumbled a bit with it in myagitation but managed to slide the petals into the lock.
“Meg?” Will knelt beside me. I pushed the button and the key began to play its familiar song.
The grave rumbled. A slab of marble on the base shook. The seam along one edge cracked as dust crumbled out of the gap. It shuffled to the side the way a heavy curtain reveals the stage. The small compartment held a tiny set of pianoforte keys, the same as the clock.
Will leaned forward.
The clockwork key stopped in a different musical phrase than it had the last time, but I knew the song and it was just as easy to play the tune on the tiny keys.
“I’ll be.” Will reached out to press a key, but I landed a sharp smack on his fingertips before playing the end of the phrase.
As soon as my finger pressed the final note, I heard a chunk , then the tick tick tick of gears coming to life somewhere within the grave.
I watched in wonder as the stones just beneath the medallion shifted, moving out and down like bewitched puzzle pieces. They opened up in the same manner as the back of the fireplace, stacking themselves out and away, sliding on hidden gears until a small slot opened up.
Will’s mouth hung agape.
With great care, I reached into the slot, not knowing what my fingers would discover. They slid along the smooth edge of what felt like leather, then I drew them down over the crinkling ridges of . . .
“It’s a book!”
With both hands I pulled the book out of the slot, captivated as it emerged from the dark hold of the grave.
The sun shimmered on golden letters embossed in rich leather, then caught in the three-petal medallion embedded in the cover.
I traced the letters with my finger.
T HE I LLUSTRIOUS H ISTORY
OF THE
S ECRET O RDER OF M ODERN A MUSEMENTISTS
S.O.M.A. I’d found it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I COULDN’T MANAGE TO DO ANYTHING BUT STARE. I certainly couldn’t speak. I shook myself out of my stupor. I didn’t have time to be dumbfounded. Mrs. Pratt would be waiting, and I couldn’t afford to risk her ire now that I’d found another clue.
Will stared as I played the set of notes to close the gravestone again. After affixing the brass plaque back on the pedestal, I rose and offered him my hand.
He took it.
I helped him to his feet and his brow knitted as he looked from me to the grave. I took a step toward the path, but he didn’t move.
“Mrs. Pratt will be waiting. I’ll explain in the cart.” While I could sympathize with his shock, we didn’t have time to dally.
He nodded, though he took one last look at the now unremarkable grave.
We ran out of the cemetery. I barely noticed the rows of tombstones as we hurried to the cart. He lifted me onto the seat before I had a chance to climb in myself. “What is going on?” he demanded, taking the driver’s seat.
My words tumbled out without a thought. I was too swept away by the excitement of it all. “After you helped me restore the locket, I discovered a mechanism within the clock on the mantel of the study. I thought the locket might be the key to wind it, since my grandfather also made the clock.” If only the story were as simple as that. Then perhaps I would have believed it. The truth was far too extraordinary.
“It is a key, Will. It’s the key to everything.” A cab raced by too closely in a clatter of hooves and wheels on stone.
“What do you mean?” Will worked the reins as Old Nick tossed his head.
It felt good to finally have a confidant, so I told him all that I had discovered. The secret workshop, the letter, everything.
“If your grandfather’s alive, where is he?” Will
Embedded in the pedestal, set in the exact center of the slots for the brass plate, the three-petal medallion clung to the stone.
“Good heavens,” I whispered.
It was here. It was actually here!
I fumbled as I tried to pull the key from the front of my apron. I yanked it over my head, opened it, and fitted the petals of the key into the wheel. I fumbled a bit with it in myagitation but managed to slide the petals into the lock.
“Meg?” Will knelt beside me. I pushed the button and the key began to play its familiar song.
The grave rumbled. A slab of marble on the base shook. The seam along one edge cracked as dust crumbled out of the gap. It shuffled to the side the way a heavy curtain reveals the stage. The small compartment held a tiny set of pianoforte keys, the same as the clock.
Will leaned forward.
The clockwork key stopped in a different musical phrase than it had the last time, but I knew the song and it was just as easy to play the tune on the tiny keys.
“I’ll be.” Will reached out to press a key, but I landed a sharp smack on his fingertips before playing the end of the phrase.
As soon as my finger pressed the final note, I heard a chunk , then the tick tick tick of gears coming to life somewhere within the grave.
I watched in wonder as the stones just beneath the medallion shifted, moving out and down like bewitched puzzle pieces. They opened up in the same manner as the back of the fireplace, stacking themselves out and away, sliding on hidden gears until a small slot opened up.
Will’s mouth hung agape.
With great care, I reached into the slot, not knowing what my fingers would discover. They slid along the smooth edge of what felt like leather, then I drew them down over the crinkling ridges of . . .
“It’s a book!”
With both hands I pulled the book out of the slot, captivated as it emerged from the dark hold of the grave.
The sun shimmered on golden letters embossed in rich leather, then caught in the three-petal medallion embedded in the cover.
I traced the letters with my finger.
T HE I LLUSTRIOUS H ISTORY
OF THE
S ECRET O RDER OF M ODERN A MUSEMENTISTS
S.O.M.A. I’d found it.
CHAPTER EIGHT
I COULDN’T MANAGE TO DO ANYTHING BUT STARE. I certainly couldn’t speak. I shook myself out of my stupor. I didn’t have time to be dumbfounded. Mrs. Pratt would be waiting, and I couldn’t afford to risk her ire now that I’d found another clue.
Will stared as I played the set of notes to close the gravestone again. After affixing the brass plaque back on the pedestal, I rose and offered him my hand.
He took it.
I helped him to his feet and his brow knitted as he looked from me to the grave. I took a step toward the path, but he didn’t move.
“Mrs. Pratt will be waiting. I’ll explain in the cart.” While I could sympathize with his shock, we didn’t have time to dally.
He nodded, though he took one last look at the now unremarkable grave.
We ran out of the cemetery. I barely noticed the rows of tombstones as we hurried to the cart. He lifted me onto the seat before I had a chance to climb in myself. “What is going on?” he demanded, taking the driver’s seat.
My words tumbled out without a thought. I was too swept away by the excitement of it all. “After you helped me restore the locket, I discovered a mechanism within the clock on the mantel of the study. I thought the locket might be the key to wind it, since my grandfather also made the clock.” If only the story were as simple as that. Then perhaps I would have believed it. The truth was far too extraordinary.
“It is a key, Will. It’s the key to everything.” A cab raced by too closely in a clatter of hooves and wheels on stone.
“What do you mean?” Will worked the reins as Old Nick tossed his head.
It felt good to finally have a confidant, so I told him all that I had discovered. The secret workshop, the letter, everything.
“If your grandfather’s alive, where is he?” Will
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