“Snicker all you like, Mr. Arthur. You weren’t the one who was forced to pick the lock whilst attempting to convince a blazing mad taxidermist not to summon the constable. Oh, how that horrid man shouted in my ear, spewing profanities and spittle alike. We were lucky to make it out of that scrape unscathed.”
Pick the lock, she’d said? “Didn’t Mrs. S. keep the key?”
“Aye, she kept it ... in her stomach.” Miss Stanton grimaced with a shudder.
Theodore gawked at the mild-looking woman reclined on a chaise lounge of cobblestones. “You didn’t swallow that key, ma’am!”
Mrs. S. grinned. “Knocked it straight back with a toast to the Creator and a swig of my husband’s port.”
Laughter seized Theodore with both hands and shook him with such exuberant force that tears sprung from his eyes.
“Keep hold of your head, Mr. Arthur. The timely apostles are about to begin their parade.” A handkerchief fluttered white before his blurred vision. “Here. We wouldn’t want you to miss anything.”
Theodore accepted the cloth proffered by Miss Stanton and grinned at the chipmunks embroidered on its four corners. He swiped the handkerchief over both eyes, clearing his sights for the show. Clearing his mind of darker memories to make space for this bright one he could never deserve.
The merry clanging of bells announced the Orloj’s show was about to begin. Theodore and the Stantons, along with a smattering of pedestrians, hushed. Activity on the street ceased as all looked up, eyes transfixed on the closed windows situated on either side of the angelic stone bust. The shutters, painted with a design of blue squares, slowly slid inward and disappeared into a partition hidden in the wall of stone behind the angel’s wings.
Then the apostles commenced their parade. Peter with a key to the kingdom of heaven, Matthias with the ax of martyrdom. Two by two, the twelve elaborate statues passed the open windows and faced the city before continuing their procession and vanishing back into the tower. Below them, the skeleton was awakened by the tower’s tolling and rang his own bell of mortality in a bony hand, nodding with grim pleasure as the hourglass in his opposite hand swung back and forth, shortening the days of man—a sight that might’ve struck fear into the hearts of onlookers, were it not for the stalwart presence of the archangel Michael, who remained unmoved by death’s ostentation. Armed with spear and sword, Michael guarded the calendar dial, reminding those within sight that death had already been defeated by One it could not hold, by One who held the days of humankind in scarred and sacred hands.
The final two apostles, having blessed the people of Prague, now withdrew from sight, and the shutters once again slid across the windows, concealing the disciples in their fortress of stone. The clock struck noon, and death was rendered still by the triumphant heralding of a new hour. A bell tolled twelve times, the last peal hanging on the air before fading into awed silence.
The Orloj’s feat of mechanical engineering and artistry had lasted approximately seven and twenty seconds. But the joy it evoked—the soul-stirring desire it inspired to create andtransform and innovate—Theodore was quite certain would last a lifetime.
“Upon my word, Mr. Arthur, you are the very image of a boy at the fair. I do believe you could watch this show every hour of every day and never tire of the spectacle.”
Theodore tore his gaze from the clock and found Miss Stanton making a blatant study of him. Instead of her well-worn glower of critical suspicion, she bore a refreshing raiment of amusement that softened the lines of her face.
“What is it, sir, that captivates you so?”
At the moment? A pair of silver eyes intent on sparring with his better judgment. Rubbing his sore neck, Theodore stared at the cobbles to purchase some time and sense. He ought to sidestep the question. Hold fast to the resolution he’d made at dawn and ignore the pull of the alluring gaze that tempted him to be honest and risk additional questions that might pry open the door to his past.
Miss Stanton’s expectant silence rang in his ears.
Say something, man!Lengthy pauses could reveal as much as words. “Erm ... I suppose I’m fascinated by the Orloj’s precision and purpose. Every part has a specific function to perform. A specific place to belong.”
A dangerous glint of insight flashed in Miss Stanton’s eyes. “So that’s why the roving vagabond tinkers with timepieces ... to find a semblance of belonging?”
Theodore’s jaw tensed. He should’ve risked the lengthy pause and thought twice before he spoke. The woman was too perceptive.
“Who taught you the trade? Were you a clockmaker’s son?”
“I wish.” He bit his tongue too late. The words were out and gone, leaving a bitter taste in their wake. Right-oh, definitely should’ve thought twice. After that stupid slip of the tongue, Miss Stanton’s curiosity would require the mollification of a lighthearted anecdote.
He forged ahead as if his previous remark had gone unsaid. “My first apprenticeship was with a chap by the name of Whirling. A wiry and wise fellow, he was. Good old Whirling taught me how clocks work. How to care for them.”
Until Father had discovered his youngest son was learning a trade and dismissed the faithful servant without warning. Theodore swallowed hard. According to the whispers of servants, poor Whirling had died destitute shortly after being sacked. Not many positions were available to an estate clock-winder without a reference. He rubbed a hand over his bleary eyes and sagged onto his crutch, weighed down by all the memories and emotions he’d suppressed over the years. Bah ... so much for lighthearted.
“You know ... since Grand’s invention has yet to appear, we ought to explore the Orloj from a different perspective. One of my travel guides mentioned that the apostle figures can be viewed from a platform in the Town Hall’s Chapel of the Virgin Mary. Grand might have hidden his next clue there.”
The tension in Theodore’s jaw lessened as he once again met Miss Stanton’s silver eyes. So the woman could be as gracious as she was perceptive?
Popping up from the ground like a daffodil, Mrs. S. took hold of his free arm. “Let’s be off then, chickees! There are more wonders yet to behold.”
Theodore absorbed the warmth of the Stantons’ smiles, the one demure and the other daring, and found himself no longer leaning upon his crutch. Nothing he beheld this day could compare to the wonder of his standing alongside this endearing family. Never in his life had he met such rare people, and never in his life did he wish to be parted from them.
Collecting the carpetbags, Theodore accompanied the Stantons into the Old Town Hall. Miss Stanton led the way through the Gothic structure, navigating its various corridors and assemblyhalls with the assurance of one who frequented them daily. His past disparagements of Miss Stanton’s paper-and-ink expertise couldn’t have been more erroneous. Not only was the woman well-read, but she was a veritable walking map! It was no wonder Drosselmeyer called her his Little Atlas.
As the ladies entered the vacant Chapel of the Virgin Mary, sunlight extended a warm welcome through an oriel window of stained glass. One that made Theodore drop the bags he toted in the arched doorway, suddenly chilled in its shadow. Unfettered, the Stantons climbed a short, curved stairway to the right of the chapel door, and standing upon a small platform, peered inside an alcove in the wall where the apostles must dwell.
