Julius and the Watchmaker (6 page)

Julius pressed himself back into the wall.

‘What do you want?'

‘He wants to know where he is,' said a familiar voice.

Julius and the creature both looked around. There stood Professor Fox, his light grey frockcoat and top hat illuminated by the moonlight. He tipped his hat. Julius remained as still as the stone wall behind him. The professor replaced his hat, patted it firmly on his head, then took his pocketwatch out and unclipped it from the chain. ‘Do not be afraid, young Master Higgins. Our distraught friend here means you no harm. We'll soon have him back home where he belongs.'

‘Aaaarch graach jahaar,' said the creature again, but more calmly this time.

‘Drachk da chraack,' replied the professor.

The creature stepped towards the professor, who held out his pocketwatch and spun it in the air with his fingertips. The watch remained spinning in midair when the professor removed his hand. Its ticking began to increase in volume. Then the metronomic rhythm gave way to a polyrhythm, which grew in complexity until it sounded like a regiment of military drummers. The professor then reached out and tapped the side of the spinning watch with his fingertip. Sharp rays of blue light shot out in all directions, so bright that they almost turned the night into day.

Julius, the professor and the creature were enclosed in the dome of light. The creature shaded his eyes. ‘Edreechk edk haach,' it said.

‘Ka chaar, ka chaar,' replied the professor. ‘I am telling our friend to be calm,' he said, in answer to Julius's puzzled look. The professor beckoned for the creature to come towards him. Through the blue light Julius thought he saw a ghost-like image of another street. He blinked hard and looked again to make sure it wasn't a trick of the light. He found that if he held his gaze in one spot the image became clearer. It
was
a street: there were cobblestones and houses on either side, even faint images of other creatures moving to and fro. The creature, too, stared through the light, its grey lips parted in a smile. Its face was bathed in the blue light, and its red eyes gazed longingly down the spectral street.

‘Ajacch dja,' he said as he pointed ahead of him. Then, to Julius's amazement, the creature itself began to fade into the blue light, until it too was a part of the spectral street.

‘Wow!' he said.

‘Wow, indeed,' said the professor, approaching the spinning watch and tapping it again with his finger. Instantly, the light vanished and darkness enveloped them once more. The polyrhythm began to simplify and in a moment the pocketwatch was ticking normally. The professor clipped it back to his watch-chain and slipped it into his pocket.

‘What in the blue blazes was that?' said Julius.

CHAPTER 6

Wednesday 5th July, 1837
3:58 AM

‘That, young man, was what our Tibetan friend would call a
hungry ghost
. Although they would not describe themselves as such,' said the professor.

Julius's mouth moved, but no words came out.

‘Are you all right, Julius? Quite a shock for a bookish young chap like you, no doubt.'

Julius stepped back. ‘I'm fine. Thank you, I'm fine,' he said, clutching Harrison's diary beneath his jacket.

‘Tell me, has your grandfather located that diary by any chance?'

‘Diary?'

‘Yes. Harrison, the watchmaker. I was making enquiries regarding his diary, if you recall.'

‘Oh, yes. No…he hasn't found it yet.'

‘Oh, what a pity.'

‘Yes.'

‘Odd time of night to be abroad, don't you think? You're not delivering books at this hour are you?' said the professor, looking up at the moon.

What is he doing here? That's the question
, thought Julius. ‘No, just out for a stroll, that's all…couldn't sleep.'

‘I see.'

‘Yes…anyway thanks for your help with the… the…creature. I'll be off now,' said Julius and he turned to go.

‘Hold up, Julius,' called out the professor.

‘I must get home,' Julius shouted back over his shoulder before colliding with a tall, broad-shouldered man. The impact took the breath from Julius, but the man appeared to be no more affected than he would be had a butterfly rammed him.

‘Steady on there, young fella,' said the man, in an Irish accent.

Julius looked up at the beard-stubbled chin and the distinctive curve of a broken nose.

‘Terribly sorry, sir,' said Julius, dodging him and sprinting towards the nearest side street.

Once safely in the shadows he stopped and looked back. The professor and the tall man were standing together looking in his direction.
They're not following, Higgins. You've given them the slip.

He took out the diary and tapped its spine against his fingers as he tried to decide what to do. He had Crimper McCready
and
his own grandfather for enemies now. The professor was an exceedingly odd fish with a lot to hide and that Irish bruiser he had with him looked capable of anything, especially breaking tender young bones.

Julius looked at the diary, lifting it a little to let the moon shine weakly on it.
What is so special about you, my friend?
he thought. His fingers flicked through the pages. There were crudely drawn diagrams of watch mechanisms and page after page of notes in tiny neat writing.

Julius walked slowly back to Warwick Lane. By the time he got there the sun was coming up. He hammered on the shop door as the dawn chill descended. After a few minutes Clements appeared, tying up his nightgown and scowling.

‘Why can't you use the back door? That's what the key's for, you scoundrel,' said Clements.

Julius barged through the door and into the shop. He wanted to be alone in his room, to lie down and lose himself in sleep.

Clements followed him to the counter with a candle in his hand. ‘Well? Did you get it?'

Julius took the diary from under his jacket and threw it on the counter. Clements gasped and lunged for it as if it was about to disappear in a puff of smoke. Then he sniffed the air.

‘What's that smell.'

‘It's rotten fish,' said Julius.

‘Rotten fish?'

Julius stooped and pulled off his stinking boots. He flung them behind the counter with a violence that made Clements jump, and he stumbled through the curtain into the kitchen. With courage drawn from sheer exhaustion, misery and anger, Julius called back, ‘Don't disturb me, I'll be sleeping all day.'

‘Very well, very well,' said Clements. ‘Off you go then.'

Julius used his last ounce of strength to haul himself up the narrow steps. He could hear Clements running out of the shop, bounding up Jack Springheel's staircase and banging on his door. Julius pushed his door open and fell onto the bed, praying for sleep but dreading waking up again.

The hours came and went in Julius's room. A faint grey shaft of daylight hung from the skylight and faded to nothing as evening approached. Julius twisted and turned, never really knowing if he was awake or asleep. His mind was full of nightmarish images: hungry ghosts prowling through his grandfather's shop; Jack Springheel and Clements in devilish conference over the kitchen table; large men with broken noses battling in dark alleyways. He could hear the sounds of bones snapping and teeth breaking in time with the ticking of a clock. And all the time his grandfather's accusing words
bad blood, bad blood
jabbing at him like punches and making his head ache.

He woke with a start. Someone was knocking on his door.

‘Higgins, Higgins, wake up. It's time for supper,' called out Clements before lumbering down the stairs without waiting for a reply. Julius was covered in sweat and tangled up in his musty bed sheets. He stood, for what seemed like a very long time, looking down the stairs wondering what his life would be like at the bottom.

In the kitchen, Springheel and Clements sat at the rickety table which was strewn with plates and cutlery. Springheel did not turn to greet his lodger. Clements however seemed pleased to see him. ‘Sit there,' said the pawnbroker, pointing a fat finger at the only remaining chair at the table. ‘You hungry, lad?'

‘Yes,' replied Julius, realising how hungry he was. He sat down sheepishly and looked at his empty plate. Springheel's eyes remained fixed on the mantel.

Clements bustled and fussed around the small range at the fireplace. He opened the door with a rag and plucked out a baked potato. It was too hot for him to hold even with the rag so he tossed it from hand to hand as he returned to the table and then he threw it onto Springheel's plate. He repeated the process for himself and for Julius, and then took a large frying pan from the hot plate and slid three greasy kippers out onto their plates. Clements flopped into his chair and smacked his lips.

‘Kippers again?' said Springheel. Then he sniffed. ‘Actually, this whole place smells of fish.'

Julius dug in. Kippers were fine by him. After a few moments Springheel repeated himself.

‘I said, this place pongs of fish.'

‘I know, I heard you. It's Higgins's boots. Don't worry, I've cleaned the worst of it off,' replied Clements with mouthful of potato and butter. ‘And kippers is all we can afford at the moment. If you could start to make some money we might be able to have some boiled beef once in a while. When are you actually going to do something with those watch-making books?' said Clements, pieces of kipper spraying from his mouth.

In what seemed like a practised motion Springheel covered his plate with his hands and glared at his companion. Clements shrank back into this seat and chewed his mouthful, brooding.

Springheel picked up his knife and fork and poked his potato. ‘Well, for your information, my corpulent companion, I have been very busy today reading that diary, with a magnifying glass, I might add. And I can confirm that our pocketwatch is indeed the very device Harrison describes in the diary,' he said.

‘I knew it. So what does it say?'

‘It's highly technical,' said Springheel.

Clements shoved a forkful of potato into his mouth. ‘You said we'd be as rich as kings once you had the diary. Well, you've got it now so—'

‘Perhaps you could stop eating while you are taking, Clements.'

There was silence for a time, except for the sounds of food being chewed and swallowed. Then Springheel dabbed the corners of his mouth with his handkerchief and took his pocketwatch from his waistcoat.

‘Would you care for a demonstration, Clements? Would that put your mind at rest?'

Clements ignored him, not that Springheel noticed. He held the watch over the supper table by his fingertips and spun it around, just as Julius had seen the professor do. Julius stopped chewing. When Springheel removed his hand, the watch remained spinning and bobbing in the air. Julius's eyes widened and his kipper-filled mouth fell open
.

Everyone's got one of these watches.

Clements was too busy eating to notice until Springheel coughed to attract his attention. He glanced up and saw the watch bobbing in the air an arm's length away. He cried out in joy, and potato sprayed across the table.

‘You've done it, Springheel. You've done it. I knew you would. We will be as rich as kings.'

‘Richer,' said Springheel.

‘Yes, richer,' said Clements, his face shining like polished brass.

On the other side of the curtain the shop bell tinkled. ‘Shop, Clements,' snapped Springheel.

‘Higgins, you see to it,' said Clements, not taking his eyes from the watch.

Reluctantly, Julius rose from the table. ‘What do I do?' he asked.

‘You work in a bookshop don't you, Julius?' said Springheel, as he snatched the watch from the air. ‘It works in the same manner only the money goes in the opposite direction.'

Julius sighed and went into the shop. It was cold and dimly lit by a single candle on the counter. The first thing he noticed was the strange smell of rotting fish mingled with boot polish. Then he saw the silhouette of a tall, broad-shouldered figure wearing a top hat. He appeared to be examining an old squeeze box. Julius swallowed hard and pulled his jacket straight.
Oh cripes, the Irish bruiser has found you, Higgins.
The floorboards creaked as the stranger stepped into the candle light. Julius jumped and looked around for something he could use as a weapon. The squeeze box let out a half-hearted death cry as the man pushed the ends together with his huge hands.