The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,71

God made me.’

Mrs Symonds seemed to have no difficulty in deciding the question. ‘Come, Emily,’ she said, throwing an arm about her daughter’s shoulders and shepherding her, sniffling behind a handkerchief, from the shop, all the while staring daggers at Quare, as though he were somehow responsible. ‘Henry,’ she called from the doorway, at which Mr Symonds emerged from his trance.

‘Ah, yes, dear,’ he said, giving Quare a distracted smile. ‘I trust the clock will present no difficulties, Mr Quare?’

‘None at all,’ Quare affirmed. ‘It will be ready on Monday.’

‘So soon?’ queried the vicar. ‘I would not have you working on the Lord’s day, Mr Quare, not on my account or any man’s.’

‘We keep the sabbath in this shop, vicar,’ said Quare.

‘I am glad to hear it,’ said Mr Symonds and turned to the dwarf, who was watching this exchange with unconcealed impatience, lips twitching in his eagerness to speak. ‘Good day to you, sir.’

‘And to you, vicar,’ he growled. He did not even wait for the man to exit the shop before importuning Quare again, once more accompanying his words with a thump of his stick. ‘Now, Mr Quare, if it would not be too much trouble – your master, if you please.’

As if on cue, Mr Halsted poked his bald head through the door leading from the workshop. ‘What is that c-confounded noise, Da—’ He broke off upon catching sight of the dwarf. ‘G-good g-gracious,’ he stammered, stepping into the room, his ruddy complexion blanching to the paleness of a sheet. ‘As I live and b-breathe. M-master M-magnus.’

‘How are you, Halsted?’ the man inquired. ‘Glib as ever, I see.’

Quare’s master had a fierce stammer that emerged whenever he was flustered or excited; the neighbourhood street urchins mocked this impediment ruthlessly, both behind his back and, the better to elicit it, to his face, but Quare had not thought to find such cruelty in an adult.

Making a visible effort, Mr Halsted calmed himself, or tried to – with scant success, however. ‘Daniel, this g-gentleman is one of the g-great masters of our g-guild, come all the way from L-London, or so I imagine.’

‘You imagine correctly,’ said Master Magnus. ‘And a damned uncomfortable journey it was, too, with more bumps and jolts in the road than are to be found even in one of your utterances, Mr Halsted.’

‘I am sorry to hear it. M-mayhap you will take refreshment here. My home is yours. Daniel, c-close the shop. Oh – my apprentice Daniel Quare, m-master. A m-most promising young m-man. Mr Quare, M-master M-magnus.’

‘An honour, sir,’ said Quare, and meant it: though he was only fifteen, it had long been apparent to him that Dorchester was a backwater, horologically speaking, and that the only place for an ambitious and talented young man like himself was London. The journeymen who passed through town had whetted his appetite for years with stories of the great guild hall of the Worshipful Company and the masters who ruled it, led by Grandmaster Wolfe. Halsted had his own tales to tell, for he had travelled to London for his investiture as a master of the guild, and had returned twice, for brief periods, in the years since Quare had become his apprentice, lodging each time at the guild hall, and each time coming home full to bursting with the wonders he’d seen and experienced there. Now one of that august company stood before him in the flesh. And not just anyone, but Master Magnus – or Mephistopheles, as the journeymen had called him – a man they had variously termed a genius, a terror, a monster, a freak of nature, and whom Master Halsted, in hushed tones, as if he feared being overheard even at such a distance, had once compared to a spider in its web. Quare studied the man with fresh interest, wondering what secrets he could impart, what lessons he could offer; Quare had already absorbed everything Halsted could teach him, and his horological skills now outstripped those of his master. ‘I apologize for not recognizing you at once, Master Magnus.’

‘And how should you recognize a man you have never seen?’ came the sharp inquiry.

‘Why, your reputation precedes you, sir,’ Quare answered, ignoring Halsted’s cautionary glance. ‘The journeymen who stop by our shop on their travels speak of you as a man of great learning and application.’

‘Do they now?’ mused the master. ‘Are you quite sure, Mr Quare, that it is not the size of my body, rather than the size of my