The Clockwork Three

  Giuseppe tabbed through the limp bills. “There’s fifty dollars here.”

  Hannah nodded. “Frederick tells me that’s enough for a boat ticket.”

  “It is.” Giuseppe got to his feet and tugged his cap from his head. His mouth hung open in shock. “I don’t know what to say.” He reached out and hugged her. “Thank you.”

  “No.” She hugged him back. “Thank you.”

  He could scarce believe it. He had played and scrounged and saved for weeks, only to lose all his money to Stephano. And even though he had the green violin again, he had no idea how he would be able to play it on the streets, how he would be able to earn his way. But Hannah had given him a fortune, just like that, and suddenly he had all the money he needed to go home. Pietro stood up and peered into his palm. Giuseppe smiled at him, and then frowned. What would happen to the little boy now?

  Frederick cleared his throat. “I think I’ll head down to the docks. There’s a ship leaving for Italy in a few days.”

  “You’ll buy the ticket for me?” Giuseppe asked.

  “It would be my pleasure,” Frederick said. Giuseppe handed him the money, and Frederick shoved it in his pocket. “After all, I’ve been there once for you before. I’ll be back soon.”

  Giuseppe did not know if Frederick was really gone as long as it seemed, or if his excitement only made it seem like ages and ages. He filled the waiting with idle conversation with Master Branch and Hannah, but his mind kept turning to thoughts of home. Images of hills and pastures, daydreams of hugging his brother and sister. During all of this, Pietro kept quiet. The little boy knew what was going on, but Giuseppe had no idea what to say to him about it. There was only enough money for one ticket.

  Eventually Frederick did return, but he was no longer smiling. He clomped up the stairs, and his eyebrows had collapsed back into their normal argument.

  “What is it?” Hannah asked first.

  “He wouldn’t sell me the ticket,” Frederick said. “He knew.”

  “Knew what?” Giuseppe asked.

  Frederick slumped into one of the kitchen chairs. “I tried to buy passage to Italy, and the ticket man just looked at me. ‘One way?’ he asked, and I said, ‘Yes.’ And then he frowned and got all suspicious. Then he said, ‘Not many boys in this city wanting a one-way ticket to Italy, are there?’ I said I didn’t know about that. And then he said he had a message for a boy named Giuseppe.”

  “I don’t understand,” Hannah said.

  A sense of defeat grabbed Giuseppe’s stomach by the fist. “They’re all in Stephano’s pocket. Even the policemen down on the docks.” He bled hope and turned cold. He was so close, and had lost it all again. “Stephano knew I might try and leave. What was the message?”

  Frederick looked at the floor.

  “What was it?” Giuseppe asked. Pietro had come over to his side.

  “He said —” Frederick started. “He said that if you want your reverend to remain unharmed, you’ll bring the green violin to the Old Rock Church.”

  “Reverend Grey?” Giuseppe’s legs and arms went soft. “Ezio. Oh, no. I have to go. I have to give him the violin.”

  “No,” Hannah said. “You can’t go.”

  “We’ll summon the police,” Master Branch said. “That is what we’ll do.”

  “That’s too risky,” Giuseppe said. “He could hurt the reverend.”

  “The police won’t do a thing, anyway,” Frederick said. “Hannah and I already tried that.”

  “I’m going,” Giuseppe said.

  “No, you’re not,” Hannah said. “Frederick, tell him.”

  “He doesn’t just want the violin,” Frederick said. “He wants you, and he’s using your friend to get at you. But wouldn’t Reverend Grey want you to stay safe?”

  “Quite right,” Master Branch said. “This ruffian, Stephano, would surely know better than to assault a clergyman. You and Pietro are welcome to stay as long as you need until it’s safe for you.”

  But it never would be. Giuseppe knew that. Did he plan on hiding out in the old clockmaker’s cellar for the rest of his life? He could not hide in McCauley Park with Alice, and he could not hide here. Not when a friend of his, someone who had only been kind to him, was in danger because of him. And Master Branch did not know Stephano. The padrone would assault a clergyman without any hesitation.

  Giuseppe crossed to the window and looked out. He could almost feel Stephano’s cold rage seeping through the streets like a fog from the sea. No busker would be playing any corner tonight. Stephano would have them all out hunting. Giuseppe had the green violin, but what good would it do him? He knew what it would mean if he turned himself in. The padrone would beat him, hurt him, break him. But perhaps Stephano would not actually kill him. Not if Giuseppe brought him the green violin and played it to fill the padrone’s pocket. There would be no chance of escape after that, no voyage home, no family, but those were things he could not let himself think about. Money would keep Giuseppe alive, and the reverend unharmed, and that was what mattered in that moment. But he knew Frederick and Hannah would never see it that way.

  “Thank you for the offer,” Giuseppe said to Master Branch. He turned to Hannah and Frederick. “You’re right. I’ll stay put.”

  The two of them relaxed and nodded. They passed the rest of the afternoon and evening playing card games, and then Giuseppe played the green violin for them at Pietro’s request. Master Branch applauded, Frederick smiled, and Hannah sighed, but to Giuseppe’s ear the music lacked something. He kept thinking about Reverend Grey, and the green violin felt heavy as lead in his hands. Rather than taking flight, the music seemed to thud to the ground, dragged down by a weight. But Giuseppe obliged them and played several tunes before making a show of yawning. Then, later that night, after Hannah had left for home, and Master Branch had gone to bed early, and Frederick and Pietro had fallen asleep in the workroom behind the shop, Giuseppe got up to leave.

  In the darkness, he felt for the green violin and slung it over his shoulder. On his way past Frederick’s cot he stubbed his toe and let out a little yelp.

  Frederick snored, but Pietro stirred. “Giu? What are you doing?”

  “Nothing, go back to sleep.”

  He heard a rustling as Pietro got to his feet. “You’re going to the church, aren’t you?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  “I have to.”

  Pietro grabbed his arm. “Don’t leave.”

  Frederick mumbled something in his sleep and Giuseppe hissed. He grabbed Pietro and pulled him out of the workroom into the shop. “Pietro, I don’t have a choice.”

  “But —” The little boy’s voice broke off in a sob.

  Giuseppe went to the shop door, climbed up on a shelf, and held on to the bell. “The key is in the door. Unlock it and open it for me.”

  Pietro did as he was told, and the door opened silently. Giuseppe hopped down. “Stay here. I think the clockmaker will look after you for a while. Hannah and Frederick will help you.”

  “I want to come with you,” Pietro said. Tears brimmed in his eyes.

  Giuseppe looked away, out the door into the night. “No.”

  “Yes!”

  “No!” Giuseppe cocked his fist. “Now get away from me.”

  The little boy flinched and stepped back, eyes wide. His lip quivered. Giuseppe felt sick inside. “I’ll be back,” he said. “Lock up behind me.” He shut the door, winced when the bell chimed, and waited until he heard the turn of the key. Then he headed down the street.

  He did not bother to raise his collar or lower his hat. He was tired of being afraid. The streets were mostly deserted, and he walked with purpose and speed toward the Old Rock Church. Along the way he felt eyes on him now and again, watchers from the alleys and around the corners. The buskers were out in force, but he did not care or cast one look in their direction. But he wondered if Ferro or Alfeo were among them.

  By now, Pietro had no doubt roused
Frederick. They would want to help, to stop him, and might even be coming after him. Which meant that he had to move fast.

  He soon arrived at the Old Rock Church. Despite the late hour, a faint light came from its stained-glass windows, and the chapel doors were open. Giuseppe did not sneak or wait to see if anyone was waiting nearby. He just marched straight into the street, up to the front doors, and walked right through.

  “Reverend Grey?” he called.

  The air inside the chapel smelled of old wood, with a hint of smoke and melted wax. The light in the stained-glass windows came from candles burning around the room in sconces. Apparently the reverend had never had gaslight brought into the church. The dim orange light melted from the walls over the pews and the floor.

  “Reverend Grey?”

  “Giuseppe?” The old man shuffled out of a side room. “Is that you?”

  “It’s me. Hello, Reverend.”

  “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.