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Authors: Matthew J. Kirby
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problem for me anymore. What I got in mind is a favor.”
CHAPTER 5
A Commission
F REDERICK FOUND GIUSEPPE SITTING ON THE STEPS OF THE Gilbert Hotel, right where he had left him. The afternoon glow on the marble stairs lit the pale stone as if from the inside. Giuseppe was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, playing with the sweat-stained rim of his cap. When he looked up at Frederick, he hopped down to him three steps at a time.
“Well?” Giuseppe put his hat on.
“Forty-five dollars.”
“That much?”
Frederick nodded.
Giuseppe’s shoulders slumped, and he stooped his neck, eyes on the ground. Then he put his hands on his hips. He looked up toward Frederick, but not really at him, like he was working on something in his head. Then his eyes came back into focus, and he smiled.
“Thanks, Freddy. Thanks for the favor.” He nodded once and started to leave. “See you around, maybe.”
“Why did …” Frederick began.
Giuseppe came back.
“Why do you want to go back to Italy?”
The busker paused. “That’s where my brother and sister are.”
“What about your parents?”
“They died.”
“Mine too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Frederick said. “My dad first. Then my mom left me at an orphanage.” He was shocked. He had never said that out loud before, to anyone. Not even to Master Branch, who had never pressed him.
“I’m sorry.”
The two boys had just shared something. Frederick had not meant to, and he wanted it back. Sharing his memories felt like handing over a sharp knife. A knife that others might handle carelessly. A knife that could be used to hurt him. “It’s not a problem,” he said. “I do fine on my own.”
“Sure. You got out of that orphanage, anyway, right? Now you’re a clockmaker.”
“An apprentice clockmaker.”
“But like you said, not for long.”
Frederick smiled. “Hopefully not.”
“Where’s your place?”
“Master Branch has a shop on Sycamore Street a couple of blocks from the clockmakers’ guildhall. I live there in the shop.”
“Well, maybe I’ll come by and see you sometime.”
No one had ever come by to see Frederick before. Everyone who visited the shop was either a customer or a friend of Master Branch. “Please do,” Frederick said.
Giuseppe smiled and walked off. His fiddle bounced on his back.
Frederick watched him saunter away and then took in the square. He noted the time on the massive Opera House clock with dismay. Itglowered, hoarding counted seconds as if in perpetual irritation at the lack of precision in the world. It was afternoon and Frederick needed to get back to Master Branch’s shop. He had spent too much of the day on Giuseppe, time he should have used for his own search.
Several days before, he had fitted his clockwork man with its chest plate. The image of the completed metal body, with its intricacies and subtleties, filled Frederick with a sublime pride that deflated the instant he thought about his creation’s missing head. The iron rods and ties, the solid flywheels and delicate gears, the elegant balance and ingenuity amounted to nothing without the engine to drive it. Frederick still had no idea how to resolve this design flaw, and Master Branch’s words settled around him like a fog. Frederick leaned into the doubt and pressed forward, his mind engaged in clockwork.
He strode across the square, down streets and lanes, oblivious to the traffic. He filed his vision down to a single point in front of him, and he kept it there as he walked. His automatic steps eventually carried him back to Master Branch’s shop. Lost in thought, he went to walk through the front entrance and bumped up against a tall man blocking the door. Frederick looked up, startled. The man wore dark robes, had long black hair, and he eyed Frederick with the suspicion of a guard at his post.
Frederick swallowed. “Excuse me. May I pass?”
“Who are you?” the man asked in a Russian accent.
“Frederick. I’m Master
CHAPTER 5
A Commission
F REDERICK FOUND GIUSEPPE SITTING ON THE STEPS OF THE Gilbert Hotel, right where he had left him. The afternoon glow on the marble stairs lit the pale stone as if from the inside. Giuseppe was leaning forward, elbows on his knees, playing with the sweat-stained rim of his cap. When he looked up at Frederick, he hopped down to him three steps at a time.
“Well?” Giuseppe put his hat on.
“Forty-five dollars.”
“That much?”
Frederick nodded.
Giuseppe’s shoulders slumped, and he stooped his neck, eyes on the ground. Then he put his hands on his hips. He looked up toward Frederick, but not really at him, like he was working on something in his head. Then his eyes came back into focus, and he smiled.
“Thanks, Freddy. Thanks for the favor.” He nodded once and started to leave. “See you around, maybe.”
“Why did …” Frederick began.
Giuseppe came back.
“Why do you want to go back to Italy?”
The busker paused. “That’s where my brother and sister are.”
“What about your parents?”
“They died.”
“Mine too.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Frederick said. “My dad first. Then my mom left me at an orphanage.” He was shocked. He had never said that out loud before, to anyone. Not even to Master Branch, who had never pressed him.
“I’m sorry.”
The two boys had just shared something. Frederick had not meant to, and he wanted it back. Sharing his memories felt like handing over a sharp knife. A knife that others might handle carelessly. A knife that could be used to hurt him. “It’s not a problem,” he said. “I do fine on my own.”
“Sure. You got out of that orphanage, anyway, right? Now you’re a clockmaker.”
“An apprentice clockmaker.”
“But like you said, not for long.”
Frederick smiled. “Hopefully not.”
“Where’s your place?”
“Master Branch has a shop on Sycamore Street a couple of blocks from the clockmakers’ guildhall. I live there in the shop.”
“Well, maybe I’ll come by and see you sometime.”
No one had ever come by to see Frederick before. Everyone who visited the shop was either a customer or a friend of Master Branch. “Please do,” Frederick said.
Giuseppe smiled and walked off. His fiddle bounced on his back.
Frederick watched him saunter away and then took in the square. He noted the time on the massive Opera House clock with dismay. Itglowered, hoarding counted seconds as if in perpetual irritation at the lack of precision in the world. It was afternoon and Frederick needed to get back to Master Branch’s shop. He had spent too much of the day on Giuseppe, time he should have used for his own search.
Several days before, he had fitted his clockwork man with its chest plate. The image of the completed metal body, with its intricacies and subtleties, filled Frederick with a sublime pride that deflated the instant he thought about his creation’s missing head. The iron rods and ties, the solid flywheels and delicate gears, the elegant balance and ingenuity amounted to nothing without the engine to drive it. Frederick still had no idea how to resolve this design flaw, and Master Branch’s words settled around him like a fog. Frederick leaned into the doubt and pressed forward, his mind engaged in clockwork.
He strode across the square, down streets and lanes, oblivious to the traffic. He filed his vision down to a single point in front of him, and he kept it there as he walked. His automatic steps eventually carried him back to Master Branch’s shop. Lost in thought, he went to walk through the front entrance and bumped up against a tall man blocking the door. Frederick looked up, startled. The man wore dark robes, had long black hair, and he eyed Frederick with the suspicion of a guard at his post.
Frederick swallowed. “Excuse me. May I pass?”
“Who are you?” the man asked in a Russian accent.
“Frederick. I’m Master
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