The Watchmaker Of Filigree Street Part 7

'Mr Mori,' he said, without stumbling over the p.r.o.nunciation, 'I think I've heard of you, actually. I shall call on you later; I've been looking for a good clockwork maker for weeks.' He gave Mori his own card. 'Will four o'clock be convenient?'

'Of course. I'll expect you then.'

Thaniel gazed after the gentleman and began walking again. 'That was lucky.'

'Hm?' said Mori. He smiled suddenly. 'Oh, yes. Very.' He inspected the gentleman's card before saying, 'What does this say?'

'Fanshaw,' said Thaniel.

'How does Featheringstonehough spell Fanshaw?'

'The upper cla.s.ses acc.u.mulate unnecessary letters. There are other names like that. Risley is spelt Wriothsley. Villers is Villiers. It makes them look old and important.' He put his hands back in his pockets, his left around the steam toy. The right clipped the watch. 'Oh. I was going to I didn't say. The watch was locked when it was left for me. It didn't open until yesterday. How did it do that?'

'There's a timer inside. For gifts, you know, anniversaries and things, so that it won't open until the day.'

'How do you set it?'

Mori held his hand out, and when Thaniel gave him the watch, he twisted the clasp anticlockwise, and the back opened. On that side were small dials that showed the months and days and then the hours. 'Here. Why?'

'I was worried I was going mad.' He paused uncomfortably. 'Are you sure I can keep this? It must be worth a fortune.'

'I'm sure. I thought it had been stolen. I won't miss it.'

When they had reached the gate, Mori lifted his hand to show that he was going right. The station was on the left.

'I'll see you tomorrow,' Thaniel said, holding up the steam toy. As they parted, he looked back. Since Mori had already faded into the mist, there was nothing to say that any of it had been real but the weight of the toy in his pocket.

Whitehall swarmed with workmen. They were clearing the ruins of the Yard; salvaged bricks stood in stacks, while the broken ones were being taken away on big carts. Even though it was the weekend, the Home Office was alive, and because the bomb had snapped half the telegraph wires, the yellow spiral steps had become a byway for a stream of clerks. Thaniel stood at the foot for a while, waiting for the whining sound to stop throwing its greenish tinge over everything, his hand closed around the steam toy. When it did not stop, he took the toy out and watched it roll about its happy way. Mori was right: it was silly enough to banish any serious thoughts or fears or the need for a pretend fainting fit.

He had barely reached the top of the stairs before the senior clerk dumped a pile of paper into his arms. He winced.

The senior clerk didn't notice. 'Take those down to the bas.e.m.e.nt.'

'What? Why?'

'The bas.e.m.e.nt,' the senior clerk insisted.

He sighed and did as he was told. The small weight of the papers made his arm throb, and when he reached the bas.e.m.e.nt, his sleeve was blooming red. He swore quietly, wis.h.i.+ng he could have managed to not bleed over a borrowed s.h.i.+rt. Because of the starch, the red stopped when it reached his cuff. He tucked the papers under his other elbow so they wouldn't stain, though he didn't know why he bothered. The bas.e.m.e.nt was for storage. It was a forest of cabinets, all filled with outdated files on matters that had been resolved years ago. He reconsidered fainting.

Pus.h.i.+ng the swing doors open with his shoulder, he was enveloped in the smell of old paper. And lamps. There was light everywhere. After the gloom of the stairwell, it let him see very sharply for a few seconds before his eyes adjusted. A policeman with gleaming b.u.t.tons smiled at him and nodded to the papers.

'Those for us?'

'Er ... '

The policeman angled down the top of the first file. 'Oh. Over there. Stick them in the in-tray.'

Not wholly sure what was going on, Thaniel made his way around the desks that now filled the wide aisles between the filing cabinets. They were all old desks, abandoned down here for faulty legs or chipped tops, but the policemen had propped them level again with paper and broken mousetraps. Most of them were unoccupied, but between the archives for AP 1829 was Dolly Williamson. He was using somebody's hat as a wastepaper basket. There were scratches on his cheek that Thaniel hadn't seen through the smoke yesterday, raw-looking still.

'Thaniel,' he said, with a careful neutrality. 'Where have you been? I sent a man to see you yesterday but-you're bleeding,' he added, to Thaniel's arm.

Thaniel dropped the papers into his in-tray. In fact it wasn't a tray, but a s.p.a.ce of desk labelled 'in-tray' in chalk. 'It's nothing. What's all this?'

'Temporary lodgings. The Yard is completely gone. That other explosion was the Carlton Club, so I shouldn't wonder if they- open a smoking room down here somewhere too.'

He paused. 'So.Where were you?'

'I'm not Clan na Gael, or I wouldn't have told you about-'

'I know. I had some checks run this morning.' He propped up a piece of paper and held it long-sightedly away from himself. 'You're from Lincolns.h.i.+re. So is your family. Mother died in childbirth; father was a gamekeeper at a manor until his death in seventy-five. You haven't got any friends. No wife. You write to a widowed sister in Scotland, who receives half your salary by postal order, monthly, but who rarely writes back. Have I missed anything? Any Irish relatives?'

'Not that I know. I don't know much about my mother's family though. Shall I tell you about the watch or are there papers you need?'

Williamson shook his head. 'No, go on.'

He held it out. Williamson took it from him and turned it over twice before opening it. 'I told you before how I found it. I went to see the maker yesterday night. His name is Keita Mori, he's j.a.panese. He says the watch went missing from his workshop six months ago. He doesn't know who took it, but look at this.' He opened the front and the back, and showed him the dials, and explained the alarm. 'I don't think that somebody stole any random watch. This is perfect for warning someone about a bomb, but you wouldn't know how it works to just look at it. I had months with it and didn't. I think Mori has either met the man or one of his customers has. Someone would have had to explain how to use it.'

Williamson rubbed his beard and was quiet for a while. He looked much less happy than he ought to have.'I'm in trouble, aren't I?' Thaniel said quietly.

Williamson glanced up at him, then waved his hand once. 'No. You put the wind up us, that's all, disappearing like that. Your flat was almost empty. Looked like you'd bolted.'

'I cleared everything out, in case my sister had to ... '

'Christ. Yes.' He sighed. 'Do you know anything about clockwork?' He was speaking more quietly than before, and lower. The change of shade was the same as when the shadow of a cloud crossed a field. Things dulled and sharpened.

'No.'

'I do. I've brushed up, since February. The main thing is- it seems to be b.l.o.o.d.y difficult to keep accurate time. It's why people never made bombs out of the stuff before, it's too unreliable -'

'The springs-'

's.h.i.+ft depending on the temperature, yes. The point is- there isn't much that can keep time down to the second. There are naval prizes for that kind of thing. This watch was superlatively accurate. But if that's what it was for, a warning, then it was also relying on the bomb being just as accurate. I ... would find it hard it believe, if they were not made by the same person.'

Thaniel fell still. 'Dolly ... '

'I'd like to send this for a.n.a.lysis. We have a man who has been consulting in the bomb cases since Victoria station. We must compare the clockwork. And in the meantime we should keep an eye on this Mori. You've met him already. How good are you at making friends?'

He thought about the j.a.panese marks on Mori's brown boots. And last night, when there had been two cups of tea. Mori had been expecting someone. He had been surprised, but no doubt that was because through some administrative error or other, the wrong person had arrived. Any idiot would have seen it, or any idiot not so very busy feeling sorry for himself that the promise of tea and a few kind words brought on selective blindness.

'Thaniel?'

'The beggar outside my flat said he thought he saw a boy with some kind of foreign writing on the heels of his boots. Mori's about ... ' He touched his knuckle against his collarbone. He let his hand drop and it b.u.mped his pocket, where the steam toy still sat. 'I'm seeing him again tomorrow.'

'Good. I know I'm landing you in it,' Williamson said, as though he expected to argue for a while. But there was a subtle edge in his voice, and Thaniel realised that if he were to argue, he would be quietly reminded that he had been under suspicion five minutes ago.

'No.' His voice sounded wrong. He tried again. 'No, it's sensible. What should I look for?'

'For now, just let me know if he suddenly disappears. May I have that watch back?'

'No,' Thaniel said. He had to grip the edge of his chair to keep his resolve when Williamson's grey eyes narrowed. 'If he is involved and I go without it tomorrow, he'll know something's the matter, he's sharp. Who's your consultant?'

'I'd rather not-'

'Please; I'll do this, I'm happy to, but don't make me do it hobbled. He will notice if I don't have the watch.' He swallowed. 'And I know I'm not in uniform, but I'm certain I've signed more secrecy oaths than you have.'

'Right.' Williamson sighed down at his desk and it was plain he was still unhappy. Thaniel waited. 'I haven't got a card, I don't leave things lying around. Can you remember a name and an address?'

'Yes.'

'Frederick Spindle. Throckmorton Street, near Belgravia.'

Thaniel rubbed the back of his neck, which ached again. He felt frayed, whether from relief or worry he couldn't tell. 'No Chinamen from Limehouse for you, then.'

'Wealthy men are hard to bribe,' Williamson said drily. 'And he's the best.'

'If he's the best, then I want to know why my ironing isn't being done by a mechanical man singing Die Fledermaus, because Mori has got a clockwork octopus.'

'You're angry,' Williamson said, sounding too surprised to snap back at him. 'I know this is difficult, but if he knows you already then-'

'Sorry. G.o.d, I didn't mean to snap.'

'Everyone's nerves are shot to bits. It's all right.'

Thaniel gave up. 'He was kind, Dolly. He sat me down at his kitchen table and made tea for me. With scones, for Christ's sake. I don't remember the last time-' He stopped himself and looked down at the desk, with its chalk-marked inbox. 'I'm going to order you some proper stationery, you look like you're playing hopscotch.'

'Look, it could have happened to anyone. Especially anyone in your position-'

'And a bin. You can't use that b.l.o.o.d.y hat.'

'Thank you,' he sighed.

Thaniel nodded once and went back upstairs to fill out the order forms. He was forging a signature when the senior clerk stopped by him.

'Good G.o.d, Steepleton, go home. Before you bleed all over the telegraphs.'

'Thank you, sir.'

'Is that my signature?'

'Yes.'

He considered. 'Good. Carry on.'

EIGHT.

The steam toy woke him. It rolled out of his pocket and over the blanket, where it pushed itself about in zigzags.

He had gone home thinking he was more or less well, and had continued to do so until he collapsed into bed. He had no time to undress or to check the cut on his arm before his mind switched itself off. He did not dream. When he opened his eyes, he couldn't tell how much time had pa.s.sed, though he could see that it had. The room was bright and warm, and the sun had burned away the mist.

He felt around for the watch, his sleeve stiff with dried blood. Apart from its ticking, the only sound was the cotton quilt cover creaking against his fingernails. It was past one. He pressed his face against the pillow. He could feel the watch chain digging into his hip, but couldn't summon the will to move. When he did sit up, the room didn't look the same as it had before yesterday. It was tiny and bare, and clean, as though n.o.body had lived there at all. In the overhead of his thoughts, he hadn't much expected to return. He sat looking at the dust in the sunbeam. It was exactly the same now as it had been four years ago when he had first taken the tenancy. Everything since then had been nothing but laps.

When he stood up at last, the sleeve of his borrowed s.h.i.+rt was brown and stiff. He had to ease it off little by little because it had stuck to the cut and the fine hairs on his arm. Once he had cleaned the blood from his skin, he boiled the kettle and put the s.h.i.+rt in the sink to soak, but it did no good. He would have to apologise to Mori's neighbour. The idea of going back brought on a fresh wash of lethargy. What Williamson wanted was straightforward, but doing it wouldn't be. He was by far the worst man for a job that involved spying objectively on somebody built of paternal kindnesses.

He pushed a handful of cold water through his hair. It woke him up. He cut part of the hem from the ruined s.h.i.+rt and used it as a bandage in the absence of anything else, put on a new s.h.i.+rt of his own and then found his map of London. Throckmorton Street was, as Williamson had said, just off Belgravia. His eyes strayed to Knightsbridge, where the inward curl of Filigree Street was so small that it wasn't named. He folded the map with a snap.

Spindle's watchmaking shop was in fact not far from Mori's, nor from three or four other watchmakers in neighbouring streets. When Thaniel opened the door, which clanged a loud bell, Spindle himself was dissecting a tangle of clockwork with two pairs of tweezers. Flat on the desk lay a green velvet cloth marked into numbered squares, and in each square lay a tiny clockwork part. Spindle looked up from his work. Behind the several lenses of his gla.s.ses, his left eye, pale green, was more magnified than his right. He took them off and pulled a cloth over whatever the subject of the dissection was, hiding all but the outline of it.

'You took me by surprise,' Spindle said, smiling. 'I was rather absorbed in this. Government work, you know. These are the remains of the Scotland Yard bomb. Is something the matter?'

Thaniel had stopped five feet shy of the desk. Williamson had told him the man was consulting, so he should have known the bomb would be here, but he hadn't expected to see it. 'No,' he said, and came the rest of the way. 'Superintendent Williamson sent me, actually.'

'My report isn't ready yet-'

'No, he wanted you to look at this.'

Spindle glowed until Thaniel took out the watch, when his face changed. He took it with his delicate fingers and clicked it open. 'This was made by Keita Mori.'

Thaniel nodded. 'What can you tell me about it?'

'In what sense?'

'Anything.'

'Well, the mechanisms it uses to tell the time are in perfect working order. As usual,' he added bitterly. He prised apart something in the case and lifted out the gla.s.s face to expose the cogs below, and was silent. After a moment, he put his spectacles back on and clicked two extra lenses into place. He examined the watch for long enough for Thaniel to lose interest in him and glance around the workshop instead. The display cabinets contained only watches; there was no evidence of anything like Mori's flights of whimsy. Behind the desk was a bank of square drawers, each labelled in even handwriting. It was seventeen drawers wide and seventeen down. He studied them for any sign that some were used more than others, but all of them had worn patches on their handles. Nothing like the chaos of loose parts over Mori's desk.

Spindle made an interested noise. Thaniel willed him to hurry along. Despite its wide front window, the shop was dark, and the light that did come in only glittered on the dust motes. The dead bomb under its shroud kept catching his eye.

'This clockwork behind the main mechanism was made to work for only fourteen and a half hours,' Spindle said at last. 'Powered by self-winding springs.' He slid it under the microscope beside him. 'G.o.d knows what it was supposed to do. Typical Mori. Has he paid you to come and annoy me with this?'

Thaniel blinked. 'No.'

'No, no, forget I said that, pardon me. Do you know, I used to make clockwork for the royal family? Not since Mori arrived in London.' He smiled what he probably hoped was a self-deprecating and sportsmanlike smile, but it was more of a grimace.

'So you can't tell me what the extra clockwork is for?'

Spindle adjusted the microscope so that the lens almost touched the workings of the watch. 'I cannot tell you what it was for, but I can tell you what it did,' he said. 'It has a microscopic compa.s.s and spirit gauge, to which everything else is connected. This watch would know if you twitched. The weighting is such that one cog here turns by ... ' He picked it up and swung it experimentally by the chain, 'yes, turns by one tooth with every step you take. It compares that to a pre-set distance, represented by a fine-toothed and slow-turning cog in the centre here, and to that is connected an alarm bell, which was set to go off across a range of three or four seconds, or not at all, depending on where you were at when did it go off? It would have been a big noise.'

'About half past nine at night.'

Spindle became very still. His hands stopped flicking over the settings of the microscope. 'I see. So just before the bomb.'