Clockwork Angels: The Novel (36 page)

Lavinia found someone else, married, had a family, had a life that fit her definition of happiness. I didn’t notice her in the crowds at any of our Barrel Arbor shows, but I never imagined her as a lover of carnivals. I wonder if she even remembered me.

This season, I’ve decided to stay home on the quiet estate. Time to retire. With a few months of solitude, like my time out in the Seven Cities of Gold, I am going to write my book and relive all the journeys of that great adventure. Each moment is its own memory. If I don’t write it, no one will.

The seasons pass, I get older, and the hours tick away. I never did replace the pocketwatch that was stolen from me in Poseidon City. I never felt I needed one again. Here, the days are bright, and the nights are dark.

Francesca takes the bouquet of gladiolas, gives me a kiss— which tickles because of the false moustache—and I return to the garden, where a large and beautiful sundial tells me everything I need to know about time, and this garden has taught me all I needed to know about measuring my life. The shadow of the gnomon slowly tracks across the face of the sundial, letting me know that it is always
now
.

Engraved on the stone pedestal is a verse I have taken to heart, something I heard in my own adventures:

Before the ancient clockwork fortune teller wound down for the last time, she told me, “Measure your life not by schedules or riches. The treasure of a life is a measure of love and respect.”

Love and respect, love and respect—I have been carrying those words around with me for years. Some people want fabulous wealth, some want great power, some (like me) wanted amazing adventures and to see the wonders of the universe. Some, like the Watchmaker and the Anarchist, want to change the world (though in opposite ways).

But if you scrape away the gold paint, the ornate façade, or just the covering of dirt, everybody wants to be loved and respected. And neither is any good without the other. Love without respect can be as cold as pity; respect without love can be as grim as fear.

It took me a long time to understand, but fortunately through blind luck, and years, and my wonderful family and friends, I realize that love and respect are the greatest gifts we can receive, the greatest legacy we can leave behind. It’s an elegy we’d like to hear with our own ears, “You were loved and respected.”

If even one person could say that about me, I’d consider it a worthy achievement. If I can multiply that many times—by living each day with the kind of integrity and generosity that earns respect and love—that is true success, by my definition, at least. The measure of a life.

I think of what I’ve done. I think of my friends, my family, the satisfaction of the carnival and the sheer small pleasure of my garden. “Are you content?” the fortune teller had once asked me. “Are you happy with what you did, what you are doing, and what you are going to do?”

A complex question and too weighty for a young boy from Barrel Arbor to answer properly. But after traveling, observing, living, and learning, I know that I can boil the answer down to one word.

Yes.

I look around me at the rows of exuberant gladiolas, the haphazard green beans, tomatoes, and corn, even the dozen apple trees I have made into my own new orchard. I planted my seeds, nourished them with my optimism, and tended my garden. I’ll harvest what I deserve, and all is for the best.

It is a fine garden.

“
What do you lack?”

Will there be world enough and time for me to sing that song?

A voice so silent for so long

For all those years I had to get along, they told me I was wrong

I never wanted to belong—I was so strong