The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,78

do you imagine that God cares a fig for bastards? Surely he has more important things on his mind.’

‘I … I don’t know, sir. I mean, yes, sir, I suppose he does. Have more important things on his mind, I mean.’

The master’s leonine head nodded approvingly. ‘What sorts of important things?’

‘I’m sure I don’t know.’

‘Then I shall tell you. Time, Mr Quare. Time is the mind of God in motion. His thought, His intent, His very essence. We horologers, as much as or even more than the clergy, are doing His work, for every timepiece is a microcosm of the universe the Almighty created and set in motion. In making and repairing clocks and watches, we of the Worshipful Company expunge the errors and anarchies of the Adversary, restoring a small but significant measure of order to the world, without which the time appointed for the return of our Saviour might be indefinitely delayed, or never draw nigh at all. Do you think I exaggerate? Have you not felt the truth of it? In repairing a damaged timepiece, do you not also repair a part of yourself, some damaged spring or coil or counterweight of the soul, and, in so doing, for a while at least, draw closer to the master of clocks and men?’

Now it was enthusiasm rather than embarrassment that brought a flush to Quare’s cheeks. ‘Yes! I have felt that, or something like it – and …’ He paused, groping for the right words.

‘Go on.’

‘Well, as if, in drawing closer to Him myself, I bring some measure of the world along with me. I know that sounds foolish – to think that my small labours can influence the entire world …’

‘But why should they not? The workings of a clock teach us how even the smallest part or movement can influence the greater whole. In life, as in horology, everything is connected, even if we lack the discernment or wisdom to perceive the nature of the connections. But do not doubt that they exist. Perhaps neither men nor clocks can be made perfect, young Quare, but they can both be made less imperfect, approaching, with each small improvement, in a kind of ceaselessly worshipful striving, ever nearer to that ideal of timeless perfection forever beyond the grasp, though not the aspiration, of mortal hand and mind. Each refinement in the measurement of time brings the world nearer to God, and to the moment, ordained since before the beginning of time itself, when we shall be ransomed from the prison of time and admitted at last into the hallowed precincts of eternity. Such, at any rate, is the belief of our guild, the consummation towards which we struggle.’

‘Mr Halsted never spoke to me of such things.’

‘I should be surprised to hear otherwise. In the guild, as in the wider world, there are gradations of knowledge, strata of understanding. Greater and lesser truths, if you will. Horology is a practical science, but it also has its mystical, or perhaps I should say esoteric, side. Just as the journeyman knows more than the apprentice, and the master more than the journeyman, so, too, do the elect of the Worshipful Company know more than the common herd. I have spoken to you now as I have, young Quare, because I judge that you possess the potential to be one of the elect – your designs proclaim it. Whether you realize this potential is another matter. That is up to you. I have but cracked a door open to give you a glimpse of the secret knowledge shining on the other side like the piled treasure of a dragon’s hoard; now I must pull that door shut, and I will not open it for you again. When the time comes, if it comes, you shall open the door yourself.’

‘I … I don’t understand, sir.’

‘It would be a wonder if you did. For now, it is enough that you reflect upon all that I have told you, and that you keep the memory of it in your thoughts in the weeks and months – indeed, the years – that lie ahead. One more piece of advice I will give you: to the extent you may reasonably do so without causing offence, keep your own counsel. Do not let yourself get tangled in the petty cliques and Machiavellian intrigues that have come to infect the guild under the leadership of our present grandmaster. Steer a middle course, young Quare, for as long as you