The Emperor of All Things (35 page)

‘In a moment, Herr Gray,’ Doppler said in a hushed voice, perhaps afraid of waking Inge, whose room was downstairs, or so I gathered, ‘you will have the answer to your question. Or the beginnings of an answer.’

I had noticed the clock earlier but hadn’t examined it closely. Now that I did, I recognized Wachter’s craftsmanship: there, in miniature, carved into the dark walnut housing, was the same hellish scene depicted upon Märchen’s tower clock. Only here the crowd of the tormented and their tormentors was roughly done, like a study for the larger and more complex composition outside. The figures were blocky, ill-defined, their faces possessing crude features, like marks gouged by a hasty knife, or no features at all. They seemed to be engaged in a struggle to keep themselves from losing definition and sinking into each other, into the wood itself, as if it were the nature of hell to dissolve all distinctions, on every level, mixing matter into a primordial soup of suffering from which, by some supreme effort of stubborn will, or an impulse of pain impossible to imagine, the old body reshaped itself for a time, to undergo again, and yet again, into eternity, the stripping away of flesh from bone, of bone from spirit, of self from self. I wondered what remained after such a scouring. Was it the soul? Or could that, too, be unravelled and reknit, broken down and built up again for ever and ever?

Across the bar, the minute hand of the cuckoo clock jerked upright. A whirring commenced within the housing. I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the bar, intent not to miss anything of whatever was about to occur.

The small doors at the top of the clock flipped open, and out popped the strangest-looking bird I had ever seen. But even as it spread glimmering bronze wings, I realized that it was no bird at all. It was a dragon.

The automaton – no bigger than my thumb – was exquisitely crafted.
Its
metal wings were supple in their flexing, and its barbed tail lashed from side to side in the manner of a cat’s. Arching its neck in a sinuous movement, the mechanical dragon cocked its horned head to one side and seemed to regard me with curiosity through jewel-like eyes. The craftsmanship was extraordinary; I could almost believe I was looking at a living creature. Then the mouth opened, revealing rows of silvery, needle-sharp teeth and a tongue the colour of cold iron. A loud hiss emerged, as from a boiling tea kettle, and I stepped back, reminded of my dream. Even as I did so, a jet of flame gushed from between the mechanism’s jaws. It extended no more than an inch, but so unexpected was the display that I gave a start and cried out as though I had been scorched.

Doppler laughed with childlike glee as the automaton was pulled back into the housing. The tiny doors snapped shut behind it; the minute hand jerked forward.

‘Tell me, Herr Gray,’ he demanded, ‘have you ever seen such a wonder?’

I could truthfully admit that I had not – not in all my travels.

‘Here it is no exception,’ Doppler stated. ‘Just one of many marvels left to us by Herr Wachter.’

‘I should like to examine the workings,’ I said.

‘As to that, you must ask Inge. The clock is hers.’

‘I have read of such marvels,’ I mused. ‘It is said that the court of Byzantium was filled with automatons all but indistinguishable from the birds and animals they resembled. But those secrets were lost with the city.’

Doppler shrugged. ‘Perhaps they survived. Or Herr Wachter rediscovered them.’

‘And you say there are more clocks like this one?’

‘Not precisely the same as this, no, but many others are as distinctive in their way. Herr Wachter lived among us for ten years. He was not idle.’ Doppler slipped out his pocket watch and laid it on the bar. ‘Go on, take it.’

I did so with alacrity.

‘You are holding Wachter’s personal timepiece,’ Doppler told me with pride. ‘My father admired it so often that Wachter finally
presented
it to him as a gift. And my father passed it on to me. Go on – open it.’

I complied. There, on the face, I saw strange and indeed incomprehensible shapes standing, as it were, in place of numbers, and hands that had the shape of a dragon. Herr Wachter, it seemed, had been obsessed with dragons.

‘Hold it to your ear,’ Doppler directed.

I did so under his expectant gaze. But I heard nothing of interest. In fact, I heard nothing at all. ‘It’s stopped,’ I said.

‘Indeed, it has not.’

‘I hear no ticking.’

‘There is none to hear.’

‘But when you wind the watch, how—’

‘It is not wound,’ Doppler interrupted. ‘The stem is merely decorative.’

I gave the stem a gentle twist. It did not budge. ‘Then how is the watch powered?’

‘I do not know. But it has never run down in all these years. My father did not permit the casing to be opened, fearing that to do so would destroy the mechanism within, and I have followed his wise example.’ He extended his hand; with regret, I laid the watch in his palm.

After Herr Doppler had put away the watch, I pressed him again for permission to examine the tower clock.

‘Imagine,’ he replied, ‘that we were in England, and thus under the jurisdiction of your guild. What do you suppose your masters in the Worshipful Company would make of our tower clock, or the other timepieces you have seen here?’

I knew the answer only too well. They would not permit such unique timepieces to exist. Every last one would be disassembled, stripped of its secrets, and destroyed. But to admit that would have been to scuttle my chances. ‘I cannot say,’ I told him.

‘You are being disingenuous,’ he returned. ‘We both know what their verdict would be. What your verdict, as their faithful representative, must be. You have already made your judgement, Herr Gray. Do not bother to deny it.’

‘How can I judge what I do not understand?’

‘You judge
because
you do not understand. That is the way of your Worshipful Company, and indeed of our own Clockmakers’ Guild.’

‘That is not my way,’ I insisted. ‘I left England to search out just such timepieces as these. I wish to learn from them, not destroy them.’

‘You wish to plunder them, rather, to take their secrets for your own. Can you deny it?’

‘I am a scientist, Herr Doppler. I proceed by experiment and observation. By reason. How can the science of horology advance unless such marvels as the timepieces of Märchen become part of the common stock of knowledge available to all horologists?’

He laughed. ‘Ah, so you are an altruist, then. You would share your knowledge with the world and not keep it for the advantage of your guild and country. Forgive me, sir, but I am not so naïve as to believe that.’

‘For more than two years now, I have been on a quest of sorts,’ I told him. ‘A quest that has taken me halfway around the world and finally brought me here. I had not heard the name Wachter before yesterday, and yet I have known of him – indeed, I have seen his handiwork in my travels, hints and clues that pointed towards something grander, more fully realized: that pointed, in short, to Märchen. Perhaps you will think me deluded, but I believe that someone – call him Wachter if you like – has led me here for a purpose. I am meant to examine these timepieces.’

‘So you think that Wachter is still alive, do you?’ Doppler mused. ‘You think that he has somehow been a step ahead of you in your travels, leaving behind examples of his craftsmanship like a trail of breadcrumbs for you to follow. And you accuse
me
of telling fairy tales?’

I confess I blushed at that. ‘I know it sounds far-fetched,’ I admitted. ‘Yet I also know what I have seen. Wachter – or some horological wizard with intimate knowledge of his work – has brought me here. There is something I am supposed to learn. Something I am supposed to do …’

‘I think perhaps it is a good thing that my daughter took your tool kit,’ Doppler said. ‘She acted rashly, precipitately, as she is wont to do, but her instincts were sound. You are a dangerous man, Herr Gray.’

‘You think me mad?’

‘Worse – sincere. You are determined to examine our timepieces regardless of the risk to them … and to yourself.’

‘Is that a threat, Herr Doppler? Am I to be arrested? Expelled from town? Or will I simply vanish, swallowed by the snows like Inge’s husband?’

At this, Doppler’s white whiskers seemed to bristle like the fur of a cat. ‘Do you think we are barbarians, criminals? We are civilized people! I am concerned for your welfare, Herr Gray. Recall the fate of your predecessors who ventured inside the clock tower.’

‘I am willing to take the risk. I would promise to touch nothing, simply to observe, if you would allow me to enter the tower – or to examine the workings of any of the timepieces here.’

‘As to the tower clock, that is off-limits. But you are otherwise free to ply your trade.’

‘You will return my tool kit, then?’

‘We are no more thieves than murderers, Herr Gray. Of course your property will be returned.’

‘And then?’

‘Why, that is up to you. By all means, advertise your services. Make your ambition known. Who can say? Perhaps one of our citizens will bring you a clock or watch made or enhanced by Wachter. Or you may persuade Inge to let you examine her cuckoo.’

I confess I blushed at that, for it seemed to me that Herr Doppler was alluding to something other than the clock whose operation we had just witnessed. I remembered the yeasty smell that had emanated from the corpulent woman, as if she were a loaf of bread freshly removed from the oven, and how that smell had stirred a hunger in me to lose myself in her flesh – a hunger that had, or so I believed, somehow transmuted itself into the succubus-like figure that had invaded my dream. I was a younger man then, and such wayward expressions of desire embarrassed me. I still had much to learn of life and of love. ‘And you will not impede me from plying my trade?’ I asked Doppler.

‘As long as you do not attempt to force the issue, no.’

‘For that I thank you.’

Doppler inclined his head. ‘I have no doubt that you will abide by our agreement,’ he said. ‘Your tool kit will be returned tomorrow. And now,
Herr
Gray, I must bid you good night. I do not have far to go, but the snow will make my journey home a tedious one, I’m afraid.’

‘Why not remain here, at the inn? Surely Inge has an extra room.’

‘Are you a father, Herr Gray?’

I shook my head.

‘Then you will not understand. But I find I cannot sleep a wink if I am not under the same roof as my daughter. She is all I have left, you see, since the loss of her mother.’

‘I am sorry.’

‘Ach, it was years ago,’ he said, making a dismissive gesture with one hand. ‘In truth, we were badly matched, she and I. It amazes me still to think that such an ill-suited union could have produced a treasure like Corinna. I hope you will not hold her indiscretion against her, Herr Gray. She is a good girl at heart.’

‘I have no ill feelings,’ I assured him, ‘and shall tell her so when I meet her.’

‘She will be relieved to hear it, I am sure,’ he replied and took his leave.

10

Corinna

IT WAS SNOWING
harder than ever when I awoke the next morning. Outside the window of my room, in the pale morning light, I could catch only fleeting glimpses of the street and hints of buildings across the way. It was as if the town were flickering in and out of existence, suspended in time.

As best I could tell, I’d had no further nocturnal visitors, either in dreams or reality. I performed my morning ablutions and went down to breakfast. The common room was deserted, no doubt because of the snowstorm. There was no sign of Inge or anyone else at the bar; nevertheless, the fire had been built up again, and the room was warm and welcoming. I took a seat at the bar opposite the cuckoo clock, which indicated a time of approximately seven forty-five. As I pulled out my pocket watch and wound the stem, I thought of Doppler’s watch, its ordinary appearance hiding a secret I would have given much to know. A watch that needed no winding, that had not stopped or slowed in more than fifty years, if the man was to be believed. When I’d held it up to my ear, I’d heard nothing at all, as though it were hollow inside. Or solid all the way through. But of course there had to be a mechanism within, some source of motive power. But what?

I looked up at the sound of the kitchen door swinging open. Inge emerged in a cloud of fragrant smoke.

‘Why, good morning, Herr Gray,’ she said, wiping her beefy hands, white with flour, on her apron. She seemed to have grown stouter
overnight
. Her plump cheeks, flushed from the heat of the kitchen, glowed like ripe tomatoes.

‘Good morning, Inge.’

‘I heard what happened last night,’ she said, lowering her voice to a whisper as she drew abreast of me on the other side of the bar although we were alone in the room. ‘I’m altogether mortified. The girl will be punished. You’ll get your tools back, never fear.’

‘So Herr Doppler assured me,’ I said.

‘Och, that girl gives herself airs. She thinks that I work for her and not the other way around.’

‘I’d like to speak to her. Is she here?’

‘So early? Not that one! It’s a rare day she’s out of bed before noon. Thinks she’s a princess. And her father, bless his tender heart, doesn’t do anything to correct the impression. What that family needs is a woman’s hand. A mother for the girl, a wife for the father.’

It sounded as if Inge had aspirations to both positions. ‘He’s a widower, I understand.’

‘Lost his wife the same time I lost my husband.’ She leaned across the bar, her yeasty smell once again working its disconcerting magic. Her breasts swelled beneath her apron, seeming about to spill over the top of her blouse. I shifted on my stool as she continued, her voice again dropping to a whisper. ‘They ran off together, Herr Gray, the two of them. I’m telling you because you would have heard it sooner or later, the way the folk of this town gossip. So you see why I wasn’t exactly distraught when I learned of my husband’s fate.’

‘Your dream, you mean.’

She nodded. ‘I saw her there with him, lying broken at the bottom of the crevasse.’ Her smile of fond reminiscence sent a chill down my spine.