Clockwork Heart (7 page)

“Yes.” Cristof stared into his cup. She thought he'd stop with that curt reply, but then he elaborated, almost defensively. “It looks quiet right now, but most of my customers come by in the morning, on their way to work. I have three clocks and two watches to repair this week. I do well enough.”

“Do many people on Tertius own timepieces?” Her family hadn't.

“The factories have clocks, and the overseers and managers bring their clocks and watches down from Secundus. My shop's easy to reach from Whitesmith Stair.”

“You do most of your work for the cardinal castes, then?”

“I get some work from Primus, too.” He sounded sour. “Alister doesn't hesitate to recommend me, and he's so charming that other exalteds overlook my eccentricities to please him.”

“You must be good at what you do, or they wouldn't come back,” Taya said, encouraging him. She felt a certain sense of satisfaction that Cristof was talking to her like a regular person.

“Anyone can do basic timepiece repairs, if he's willing to learn.” The exalted looked up. “The difficult jobs are restoring heirlooms and one-of-a-kind pieces. That's my specialty, finding or making unusual parts and fixing old clockwork that's been allowed to degrade. I repair imports, too. I correspond with all of the major clockwrights on the continent. And sometimes I make my own timepieces, as well.”

“Then you're a more important artisan than I thought,” she said, pleased to have drawn him out. “May I see some of your work?”

His sharp cheekbones turned a darker shade of copper, and he looked away, straightening his glasses.

“I don't have anything here that would impress you.”

Taya's eyes were drawn again to the wave tattoo on his cheek. Seeing it here in his shop wasn't as jarring as seeing it out in the street. Except for his lack of robes and jewels, he could be any exalted who'd doffed his mask in private to speak to an icarus.

“Most of these clocks are common,” he continued, the defensive note returning. “The ones I make on commission are more ornate, but I deliver them as soon as they're finished.”

“Don't you have a clock of your own?”

“Nothing unusual.” He hesitated, then slid a gold pocket watch from his plain black vest, unhooking its chain from a buttonhole. “I made this a long time ago. It doesn't look like much, but it's extremely accurate.”

Taya gingerly took the watch from his thin fingers, feeling the chain slip over her wrist. The warm, heavy case was made of pure gold and was the most expensive thing she'd ever held.

The watch seemed very simple, for an exalted's timepiece. No jewels or inlay adorned the case; just the simple engraved design of a gear. The case vibrated like a small heart in her hand. She held it to her ear, hearing it tick.

“Here.” Cristof stood and leaned across the table, showing her how to open it. His fingers were just as cold as they'd been the night before.

The watch's face was a pearlescent grey, its quartile numbers and hands gleaming gold. Taya laughed, delighted.

“What?”

“Nothing. I mean, the outside was so plain that I was expecting the inside to be plain, too.” She tilted the watch toward the dim light from the window, admiring it. “It's beautiful. This shade of grey matches your eyes.”

Across the table, Cristof made a strangled noise and sat back down.

“It's mother-of-pearl, isn't it? I've seen jewelry made out of it, in the Markets. Did it come from the North Sea?”

“No. It's imported from the south.” He was giving her a strange look. Taya blushed. Had her question been stupid?

“I'd love to see the sea someday,” she said, to cover her embarrassment, and then she felt even more ridiculous. “I mean, I'd like to see what seashells look like in the wild.” She closed the case and handed it back, certain he was laughing at her. “Is the gear your personal insignia? Or is it a clockwright's symbol?”

Cristof dragged his gaze away from her face and slipped the watch back into his vest pocket, a line furrowing his brow again.

“It doesn't mean anything.”

“It must mean something,” she insisted. “Or you wouldn't have put it on your watch.”

“I made the watch years ago.” He picked up the stout bottle, realized it was empty, and set it down again. “I suppose I had some sort of asinine notion about taking the gear as my personal insignia, but I outgrew it. Besides, it's not what a watch looks like that's important, but how accurately it measures time.”

Taya nodded. He was withdrawing again. She changed the subject. “That's true. We've got a really nice clock in my eyrie, but it's off by about ten minutes. My landlady keeps resetting it, but in a day or two, it's right back where it started. We've all gotten to the point where we look at it and automatically add ten minutes. Then, whenever she resets it, we're ten minutes early to everything.”

“Does she wind it at the same time every day?”

“I think so. It's a little hard to tell, with that clock.”

“Tch.” Cristof's lips tightened. “What good is a clock that doesn't do its job? I can fix it, if you want.”

“I don't think we could afford your services, Exalted.”

He gave her a sidelong look and lifted one thin shoulder in a casual shrug. “It doesn't cost anything for me to look at it.”

Taya lowered her head so he wouldn't see her smile. His offer of help was as awkward and graceless as his offer of food and drink, but she had a feeling he meant it. He really did love clocks.

“That's very kind of you. I live in Three Alcides. I'm sure the landlady would let you in as soon as you explained why you were there.”

“Maybe if…” He paused. “You said you're off-duty today? Is it a reward for saving Viera yesterday?”

“Who? Oh, no; well, not exactly.” She remembered the morning's rush and blushed. “Exalted Octavus sent me an invitation to a party, so my friend Cassi and I took the day off to find an appropriate dress.”

“Of course. Viera wouldn't have remembered that some people don't have a wardrobe full of formal clothes. Do you … do you want me to say something to her?”

“No!” Taya recoiled. “Don't do that! What would she think of me?”

“She could send you something to save you the expense—”

“No, please, I'm fine,” Taya protested, turning red. “I have an excellent dressmaker.”
I hope.

That morning, Cassi had taken her to her nephew, who had just finished his apprenticeship.

“But I can't afford a custom-made dress,” Taya had protested.

“Don't be silly,” Cassi had scoffed. “Jayce should pay
you
to wear one of his dresses to the party.”

Her nephew had rented a hole-in-the-wall shop in a respectable part of Secundus. As soon as she explained Taya's predicament, he canceled all of his appointments. At first Taya had questioned the wisdom of putting herself into the hands of a baby-faced twenty-year-old dedicate, but after an hour of gazing at his designs and listening to his rapid-fire orders, she'd surrendered to his artistic vision and meekly let him do whatever he wanted.

Jayce had run a strip of measuring tape around her breasts and Taya flinched. “Straighten up. You do
not
want your dress to sag here.”

Taya stiffened her back.

“I can't believe you icarii,” he grumbled. “You're thin enough, but none of you have any breasts. And your legs are too short. And your arms! We'll have to hide your shoulders.”

“What's wrong with my shoulders?” Taya protested. “I mean, aside from the cut?”

“You're cut? How badly?” Before she could argue, he'd pulled up her shirt and groaned. “Not even bandaged. I don't believe this— do you
want
a scar? Fine, fine, no problem. I can work around it. It's too cold for bare shoulders, anyway. Especially shoulders like yours.”

“What's wrong with my shoulders?” she insisted.

“Muscles aren't ladylike.” He scowled, his pencil flying over a sheet of paper. “I feel like I'm dressing a boy. Fortunately, I've made dresses for Cassi before, so I know a few tricks.”

“I'm not a boy. And my breasts are just fine, thank you very much.”

“They're fine for a flier. They don't give a designer much to work with.” He chewed on the end of his pencil, then started scribbling again. “I'd sell my soul for perfect breasts.”

“You and me both.” Taya had grimaced and sat, sneaking a glance down at her chest. Nobody had ever told her before that her breasts were too small. Great. Now she had something else to worry about.

The memory made her blush, and she averted her eyes from the exalted. She hoped
he
hadn't noticed her … deficiency.

“Well, if you're certain you have something appropriate,” Cristof said. He sounded offended. “I was only trying to help.”

“I'm certain.” She stood to prevent any further objection. “And I'm also certain that I've taken up enough of your time. Thank you for lunch, Exalted.”

“You don't— are you going up to your eyrie?” He got to his feet, facing her across the cluttered table.

“Yes, I think I should.” She checked one of the many clocks ticking around them. “It's a long walk, and I want to check on my armature before the smithy closes.”

“Will it be all right?”

“I think so. It didn't give me any problems on my flight back from the explosion, but I'll be happier when all the feathers are straight again.”

“Of course.” He blinked, as if suddenly remembering. “And your shoulder?”

“It's not bleeding anymore.”

“Did it need stitches?”

“I haven't had time to see a physician,” she admitted. “It wasn't bleeding this morning.” She looked at the scabbing cuts on her hands. “I assume it'll be fine.”

Cristof closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, looking pained.

“Careless.”

“Huh?”

“I said last night that you are either careless or unlucky. I've decided that you are careless. You do realize that untreated wounds can become infected?”

“I'll have someone look at it when I get back to the eyrie,” she said, nettled. “I've had a busy day.”

“Yes, I'm certain that accusing me of being a bomber was far more urgent than seeing to your own health.”

“Well, it would have been if you
were
a bomber,” she retorted.

He drew a deep breath, then slowly let it out and turned, picking up his greatcoat.

“Yes. I suppose you're right.”

“Where are you going?”

“To look at the clock in Three Alcides.”

“I— you don't have to do that today!” Taya protested. “You told me you had work to do.”

“Nothing that can't wait.” He picked up a small black bag. “I will examine the clock while you're at the physician's having your shoulder treated.”

“Exalted!”

“Icarus.” His voice was cool. “Why are you arguing with me?”

She flushed, not certain, herself. If he'd been wearing proper exalted's clothing, she would never have even dared raise her voice to him.

“Why do you want to come with me?”

“I intend to make certain you don't endanger the city by endangering yourself. If you had been injured yesterday, you wouldn't have been able to save Viera and Ariq.”

“I promise, I'll see a physician tonight. I don't need an escort through the city.”

“That hasn't been my observation.” He paused. “And I have no doubt that Viera would want me to see you kept in good repair.”

Taya gave him an exasperated look, then turned and buttoned up her coat. Fine. He was as stubborn as a lictor.

Still, if nothing else, I'll have someone to talk to on the long walk up,
she thought.
Or argue with, more likely.

They didn't argue, however, and although she found herself trotting to keep up with his long-legged pace, she discovered one unexpected advantage of traveling with an exalted— the lictors took one glance at his castemark and waved them both through the gate ahead of the lines.

“Maybe I should draw a wave on my cheek, too,” Taya mused as they stepped off Whitesmith Stair and into Secundus.

“They know me.” Cristof's voice was flat. “I'm the only exalted who lives on Tertius.”

“I'm just joking. I don't even look Ondinium.” Not to mention that forging an exalted's castemark was a serious crime.

He nodded, studying her. “What generation are you?”

“Third. My father's grandparents moved here and became citizens when they were in their twenties. But my mother was pure Ondinium. How long has your family lived here?”

“House Forlore's birth records go back seventy generations. The books before that were lost after the Last War.”

“Is your brother the oldest in the family?”

“No. I am.”

“Oh.” For some reason that surprised her. “Are you two close?”

“I suppose so.” He shrugged. “I'm a dissident and he's a decatur. We're as close as we can be, under the circumstances. I'm pleased with his success, and he does his best not to condemn me for my shortcomings.”

“You said he recommends your work to other exalteds. That doesn't sound like condemnation.”

“Alister shouldn't have anything to do with me. I'm a threat to his chances of ever becoming the head of Oporphyr Council. If he weren't such a brilliant programmer, they never would have made him a decatur; not with me in the family.”

“I thought political positions were awarded on the basis of merit, not family.”

“That's the theory. In practice, family is an important variable in the equation.” Cristof stared straight ahead. “I try not to embarrass my brother too much.”