The Clockwork Three (30 page)

“My goodness, it’s a relief to see you.” Reverend Grey walked over to him. He reached out one arm and pulled Giuseppe to him. “You worried me when you left the other night with that fellow.”

“I’m fine. Are you all right?”

“Of course. Tired, I suppose. I just finished counseling a member of my congregation after a late night service.” The old man went over to the nearest pew and sat down. “Come. There’s something I want to tell you. I started to the other night.”

Giuseppe went to sit down next to him. “I have to tell you something first.”

“But I get the last word.” Stephano stood at the rear of the chapel, flanked by Paolo and Ezio, both boys covered in bruises, poised like dogs waiting to be let off their chains. Stephano removed his hat and stroked the peacock feather, sending a little wisp of it fluttering to the floor. He set the hat down on a nearby pew, and gave a quick nod toward Paolo and Ezio. The two of them went back and closed the church doors,
barring them with the heavy beam. Giuseppe rose to his feet. They were trapped.

“You must be Stephano,” Reverend Grey said, and stood. “This is a house of God, sir. Depart at once.”

“If this is God’s house, who are you to kick me out?” Stephano walked up the aisle, his heavy boots sounding on the wood floor. “I’ll leave when Almighty God drags Himself down here and tells me it’s time to go.”

“You blaspheme,” Reverend Grey said.

“Constantly.” Stephano stopped a few feet away. “I’m here for that lad.”

“No. You will not take him.” The reverend held out his arms, shielding Giuseppe behind him. “You have no claim on him.”

“You’re wrong there, priest. I have a contract signed by his uncle.” Stephano looked at Giuseppe. “You’re as predictable as the tides, boy. All we had to do was wait and watch, and sure enough, you showed up.”

Giuseppe slipped the green violin from his back. He set it on the pew. “I got your message. You said you’d leave him alone.”

Stephano slid his bottom jaw back and forth like he was grinding something up.

Reverend Grey stepped forward. “I have a copy of a new city law, sir,” he said, and produced a piece of paper from his coat. “Signed by the city council and the mayor. The law no longer recognizes padrones as legitimate businessmen, and you no longer have any legal claim on the boys you have enslaved.”

“What?” Stephano said.

“Your contract with his uncle is voided.”

Stephano narrowed his eyes, the dark, weathered skin wrinkling up around them. He was silent for a long time. “And I just bet you had something to do with that.”

“Yes. I did.”

Thoughts swarmed through Giuseppe’s mind like a flock of seagulls, none landing, all screaming. A new law passed, and the reverend had helped? Giuseppe was free? It was too much to take in. But if it was true, then Reverend Grey was dead. Whether Giuseppe had the green violin or not, the old man had just ripped away Stephano’s means of wealth, his authority, and his power.

Rage rolled off the padrone like steam. “Tie him up,” he said.

Ezio and Paolo leaped over the pews at Reverend Grey, while Stephano grabbed Giuseppe and squeezed his wrists so tight they started to pop.

“Take your hands off me!” the reverend shouted, thrashing. But Ezio and Paolo were younger and stronger, and had him bound to the pew within moments.

Stephano threw Giuseppe down beside the reverend. He pulled out his knife. “You’ve made a lot of trouble for me,” he said to both or either of them. “And for that I’m going to bleed you right here, right now.”

“You would not take an innocent life in a church,” Reverend Grey said, horrified.

Stephano did something then that Giuseppe realized he had never seen. The padrone smiled, a hideous gap splitting his face, baring yellow teeth, bloodred gums, and a white tongue. “You don’t know what I would do. What I’m going to do.”

Reverend Grey paled. Even Paolo looked frightened, leaning away from Stephano. Ezio stood unshaken beside his master, and Giuseppe glared up at the padrone.

Stephano leaned over, his breath in Giuseppe’s face. “You brought this on, boy. This man’s death is your fault.”

The reverend raised his voice. “Don’t listen to him, Gi —”

Stephano snapped his hand and smacked the old man across the face. Reverend Grey whimpered a little, his head hanging to the side, and let blood drip from his mouth. The front doors of the church rattled, a parishioner trying to get in. Giuseppe thought about calling for help, but knew it would be pointless.

Stephano ignored the sound. “You’re going to watch this old man die, Giuseppe. Right before I kill you. Before I kill all of you rats.”

“You’re a coward,” Giuseppe said in Italian.

Those words seemed to stop Stephano, as though they were so far from what he had expected to hear they were incomprehensible. “What did you say?”

Giuseppe was not tied down, not by rope, not by fear. He stood up, and spoke with a loud voice in the language of his parents, his brother and sister. “You kidnap children because they’re the only ones you can bully. You tie up an old reverend and think you’re getting back at a city that hates you. You try and make everyone afraid of you because you think that makes you powerful.” Giuseppe looked him up and down. “I say you’re weak. I say you’re a coward.”

Stephano put the knife to Giuseppe’s throat. Giuseppe did not flinch, or pull away, or take his eyes from Stephano.

“You die first,” the padrone said.

In that moment one of the church windows exploded inward, and something very large and very dark crashed into the chapel. It flew through the air, and rolled across the floor in a shower of broken glass and flapping shadow. Then it rose up and Giuseppe saw that it was a man in dark robes, standing with his feet wide, fists at the ready. He was tall, with long black hair and eyes of blue ice.

“Let the boy go,” he said in a Russian accent.

Wariness broke the resolve from Stephano’s face. “Who’re you?”

“Let the boy go. Now.”

The tip of the knife shifted a little against Giuseppe’s skin, pricking him, and he felt a hot trickle of blood.

Ezio and Paolo fixed their eyes on the stranger. Stephano glanced at them, communicating a silent order, and the three of them howled and charged at the Russian. The tall man dropped and rolled and came up swinging his fists in the midst of them. Paolo went down first, a blow to his gut, nose broken and gushing. Giuseppe watched in awe as the stranger moved between Ezio and Stephano, seeming to block, duck, and strike all with the same powerful movements.

“Who is he?” Reverend Grey asked.

“I don’t know,” Giuseppe said.

Stephano had his knife out. So did Ezio. The Russian fought silently, the only signs of stress a sheen of sweat across his brow, and the occasional grunt. The battle ranged across the chapel, over pews, up and down the aisle.

Stephano managed an elbow jab in the stranger’s side, and in that moment Ezio’s knife opened a red slash in the Russian’s sleeve and arm. He feinted away from them, and Stephano and Ezio fell back. They circled, regrouping, planning their attack.

Paolo struggled across the floor toward the reverend, and Giuseppe ran and landed a kick to his head that laid him out flat and still.

The Russian stared, chest heaving, implacable, as Ezio and Stephano broke apart and took up positions on either side of him. They rushed him at the same time. The Russian braced and appeared ready for them, but at the last moment, Stephano dodged out of his attack and bolted toward Giuseppe.

The move seemed to catch the Russian off guard. When Ezio collided with him, they both went down in a tussle.

In the next moment Stephano was on Giuseppe, and had him around the neck from behind. Giuseppe thrashed and kicked but Stephano squeezed his throat and cut off his air. “No harder than crushing a rat,” he said.

The world blurred, air came in gasps and gags.

“Giuseppe!” the reverend shouted, sounding distant and muffled.

Something flat and gray passed in front of Giuseppe’s eyes, Stephano’s knife. “You’re dead,” the padrone hissed, and Giuseppe felt the blade’s edge begin to slice beneath his chin.

A deafening crack filled the chapel. The sound still echoed as Stephano’s knife fell to the floor with a clatter. The padrone’s grip on Giuseppe weakened, and then slipped away. Air rushed into Giuseppe’s lungs, and something thudded on the ground behind him. He choked and held his throat and turned to see Stephano lying dead on the ground, a hole in his head.

The Russian knelt in the aisle, aiming a very strange-looking gun. Ezio lay next to him, unmoving and unconscious. A tendril of smoke issued from the weapon’s barrel, and as the stranger got to his feet Giuseppe saw that the gun was shaped like a leaping tiger. The hind legs formed the handle, the tail made up the hammer, and the bullet left through the tiger’s snarling mouth.

The Russian slipped the gun inside his long robes. “Are you injured?”

“I’m all right.” Giuseppe felt the shallow cuts on his neck. “Who are you?”

“I am Yakov,” the Russian said. “See to the priest.” He turned and walked down the aisle to the front doors.

Giuseppe went to the reverend and worked at the knots binding him to the pew. Yakov lifted the bar from the doors and opened them wide. In rushed Pietro, Hannah, and Frederick. A large woman bustled in after them. When she saw Yakov, she sagged with visible relief.

Giuseppe’s friends clambered down the aisle toward him.

“Are you all right?” Frederick asked.

“You’re bleeding,” Hannah said.

Giuseppe waved them off. “I’m fine.”

Pietro had crouched down over Stephano’s body, staring at it. Hannah noticed the dead padrone and gasped.

“Did Yakov …?”

Giuseppe nodded. “He saved my life.”

Hannah turned to look at the Russian, and then ran and embraced him. He appeared surprised and ruffled by the attention at first, but then smiled and cupped the back of her head with one of his large hands.

The strange woman surveyed the scene and nodded as if pronouncing it acceptable in some way. “Now you all know why they say I travel with a tiger.”

Giuseppe did not know if she was talking about Yakov, or the gun he kept in his robes.

“My church,” the reverend said, with despair in his voice. “My church.” He held a handkerchief to his nose and broken lip, staring in disbelief. After a moment, he shook his head. “I suppose I should go fetch the police.”

The large woman looked at Yakov. Yakov looked at the reverend.

“Wait a moment,” the Russian said.

Reverend Grey blinked at Yakov, and stayed where he was.

The large woman turned to Hannah. “So this is Giuseppe?”

“Yes. Giuseppe, this is Madame Pomeroy.”

Giuseppe bowed. “Pleased to meet you, ma’am.”

“And a pleasure it is to meet you. Although that’s a pleasure I might have missed if we’d come too late.”

Giuseppe nodded. He figured Pietro must have woken Frederick. The two of them had gone for Hannah, and then to Madame Pomeroy and her Russian companion for help.

“I’m glad you came when you did, ma’am.” And then his legs went out and Giuseppe slumped into a pew.

His body buzzed with shock, the way a pipe hums with the water raging through it. Everything had happened so fast. One minute Giuseppe was sure he was going to die, and in the next minute Stephano was shot dead. Giuseppe was free. He trembled and rubbed his forehead, eyes wide in disbelief. He was free.

His friends took up places next to him, hands on his back, his arms. He started shaking in earnest, and could not stop. He balled his quaking hands into fists. Tears fell in his lap. When had he started crying? His throat ached, racked with sobs.

“Shh,” Hannah said, stroking the back of his neck, her fingers cool against his skin. “Shh. You’re safe now.”

He nodded and tried to calm himself, but his body was not finished. It felt out of his control, as though it had to take time to feel what there had been no time for while everything was happening. But eventually the tension in his body slackened, and the crying ebbed, and, like a receding wave, it left Giuseppe feeling raw, scraped clean. He teetered to his feet.

“There now,” Madame Pomeroy said. “You’ve had quite an ordeal.”

“I’m all right now,” Giuseppe said.

Hannah still looked worried. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” he said.

Someone tugged at him, and he turned to see Pietro holding the green violin. “This yours,” the little boy said, and presented it to him.

“What is that?” Madame Pomeroy asked.

“His green violin,” Frederick said.

Madame Pomeroy touched the brooch at her neck. “Green, you say?”

Giuseppe felt a different kind of tears behind his eyes. He took the case from Pietro and held it for a moment before slinging it over his shoulder. He was free. He could buy a boat ticket. But what about Pietro? Where would any of the boys go? Even though Stephano had been a wicked, cruel master, he had provided a place for them to sleep at night. What would they eat? Who would protect them?

Paolo groaned and stirred. Yakov pulled a cord from within his robes, which he used to tie Paolo’s hands behind his back. He did the same to Ezio, and then leaned in close to Madame Pomeroy.

“It is time,” he said in a low voice.

Madame Pomeroy frowned and nodded. “Yes. So it is.” She motioned for Hannah to come to her. “We must say good-bye, child.”

Hannah went to her. “Good-bye?”

“Yes. I had planned to leave in a few days, but my enemies are closer than I’d supposed. My steamer leaves in the morning.” Her lip quivered and she wiped under her eyes. “Oh, you see how I am? With all the good-byes I’ve said in my life, you would think I’d be used to them by now.”

Giuseppe wondered where Madame Pomeroy’s steamship was traveling.

Hannah reached into her dress pocket. “I want to give you something.”
She held out the lump of clay. “Something you might like, because of what you always say about Yakov, and golems.”

Madame Pomeroy stared at the object, at the markings inscribed over it. She reached out her hand to take it, but hesitated. “Goodness, child. Do you know what this is?”