The Emperor of All Things - By Paul Witcover Page 0,99
how you came to that conclusion, as I carry no badge or mark of identity.’
‘Do you not?’ he asked, still grinning. ‘Who else but a clockman would be standing here in the middle of a snowstorm, oblivious as a pilgrim in a cathedral? And you are English, as I deduced from your manner of dress, and as your speech confirmed. Finally, you recognized the Latin motto. Thus, you are an English clockman. Thus, you are a member of the Worshipful Company. Quod erat demonstrandum.’
‘You are here,’ I pointed out. ‘You speak English and are acquainted with the motto. Does that make you a member of the guild?’
The man gestured with the charred flambeau. ‘I have to be here, don’t I? No matter the weather, the lamps must be lit. But now my work is done, and I’m for the hearth and home. You’d best come along, before you freeze to death.’
I confess I was taken aback at the invitation. ‘That’s very generous of you,’ I said, ‘but if you could just direct me to a good inn …’
Again he laughed, expelling gouts of steam from the thicket of his beard. ‘Why, where did you think we were going? To my hearth and home? The missus would have my head on a platter!’ Chuckling, he started off across the square, moving with the lurching gait I had noticed earlier, as if the ladder slung over his shoulder was a lot heavier than it looked.
‘What’s your name, clockman?’ the man inquired once I had caught him up.
I gave him my alias. ‘I am Michael Gray.’
‘Adolpheus.’
I wondered whether this was a first or a last name. No clarification was forthcoming.
‘Come to fix our clock, have you, Master Gray?’
‘I’m no master,’ I told him. ‘Just a journeyman. But yes, I’d like to try.’ That seemed the safest way to answer the question.
‘Climbed all this way, did you? Afoot, with no horse to bear you?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You’re fortunate. Each spring we find the frozen bodies of those who stray off the track in some snowstorm or other.’
‘I didn’t realize it was so dangerous.’
Adolpheus grunted but said no more. He led me through a maze of steep and narrow lanes, all of them deserted, past closed-up shops and dwellings whose curtained windows glowed warmly through the falling snow, which had increased in intensity, along with the wind. If it didn’t qualify as a snowstorm yet, it would soon do so.
At last, following my guide around a corner, I found myself facing a two-storey dwelling whose windows were ablaze with light. The inn – or so I judged it to be from the clapboard sign that hung above the door, which depicted a dog lying curled before a fire and was flapping vigorously back and forth as though determined to break loose and fly away, a creature tethered against its will – seemed to promise more than mere hospitality, as if every species of earthly delight were to be found within.
‘The Hearth and Home,’ Adolpheus said, bustling forward. He unslung his ladder and leaned it against one wall, where snow was already piling up, then laid the dead torch across the top rung. Motioning for me to precede him, he flung the door open.
A wave of warmth and conversation rolled out. Smells of wood smoke, tobacco, cooking meat, mulling wine and cider, and spilled ale mingled with the steamy odours of wet garments drying in the heat of a roaring fire. I paused on the threshold, dizzy, dark spots and bright sparks dancing before my eyes. A hush descended, not hostile, but not welcoming, either. A dog barked once, sharply.
In my travels, I had of necessity become a connoisseur of silences. Being able to judge them correctly can mean the difference between life and death to a stranger entering a place whose customs and language may be other than his own. This silence was made up of curiosity and suspicion in equal measure. I guessed that more than one of the hushed conversations had concerned my identity and purpose – news of a visitor spreads fast in small towns, along with the wildest of rumours. In such cases, it is imperative to make the proper first impression. People are ever eager to believe the worst.
I removed my hat, but before I could say a word, Adolpheus pushed me forward and entered behind me, slamming the door against the wind. ‘Bless all here,’ he said in German, vigorously brushing the snow from his beard.