The Clockwork Three (17 page)

Hannah smiled in spite of herself at this scrapper, this wild boy who seemed as much at home in the woods as he did in the streets. She could use the help, and if the treasure lived up to her hopes, then forty-five dollars would be a small price.

“All right, Giuseppe. Here’s what I know.” She told him all about the legend, the tomb inscription, and the map in Grumholdt’s office.

“We better get crackin’,” Giuseppe said. “The north side of the pond?”

“According to the map, if I’m remembering it correctly.”

They skirted the banks, past clutches of cattails and reeds, startling a frog or two into the water. The sky had become overcast and heavy, and a rain-scented breeze came at them. Thunder clapped and tumbled toward them from the mountains to the north, sounding just like Hudson’s ninepins.

“The rain will be here soon,” Giuseppe said. “What should I be on the lookout for?”

“Something out of place,” Hannah said. “I think we should start searching around here. This seems to be where the circle on the map started. I’ll take the bank. You look in the trees.”

They parted. Hannah took slow, wide steps, scanning the ground in front of her. Giuseppe picked along the edge of the wood, darting in and out, lifting branches and pushing shrubs aside. They kept pace with each other, glancing up now and again to shrug or shake their heads. Another peal of thunder shook the sky, and the first patter of rain splashed on Hannah’s cheeks. The clouds had darkened, thick kohl lines across the sky’s face.

Before long they reached the farthest shore and swung around, heading down the other side of the lake. They were leaving the area circled on the map. There was nothing there.

Hannah chewed on her lip. She felt a groan of frustration in her throat, begging to be let out. She could not go back empty-handed. She could not fail her father. She halted her search, afraid to go farther and find nothing. Perhaps she had missed it.

“Hey!” Giuseppe called to her. “Over here.”

“What?” Hannah hurried over to him. “What is it?”

“Something out of place.” He pointed with his toe at a polished stone laid in the ground at the base of a large oak tree.

It was a flat slab of marble, white as sea foam and ribboned with blue and gray. Someone had carved an inscription into its surface, a beautiful script with organic flourishes, and around the text a border of holly leaves. Their style was unmistakable. She knew her father’s work like she knew his face.

“What does it say?” Giuseppe asked.

“Dedicated to Roland McCauley. May his legacy live on in those who share his vision.” She paused, then whispered, “It’s a memorial stone.”

“It looks pretty, doesn’t it?”

“Beautiful,” Hannah said. But how could it be? Her father’s work out here?

The rain began to fall hard, blown sideways in the wind. It wet the stone until the whole surface glistened. Hannah stood there getting soaked, thinking things over. Giuseppe watched her with a puzzled expression, stepping from foot to foot, his hair wet through and stuck to his forehead beneath the rim of his cap.

“So, what next?” he asked.

She lowered to her knees and felt around the edges of the stone. “Maybe it’s buried underneath it.”

Giuseppe crouched beside her. Together, they wedged their fingers under the heavy slab and tried to lift. It would not budge. Hannah strained, and her throat tightened. The forest around her faded, and she stared at the stone through a blurry tunnel. Her hot tears mixed with the cold rain.

“Hey, it’s all right,” Giuseppe said. “Maybe we can pry it.”

Some of her wet hair had come loose from its braid, and it snaked over her face, across her eyes. She wiped it away with the back of her hand. Giuseppe came with a thick branch and a rock. He set the rock
down next to the marble, jammed the stick between them, and threw his weight against it. The marble lifted several inches.

“Get something under it,” he said. “Quick.”

Hannah snatched another rock and slipped it under the memorial. Giuseppe eased up and let the slab settle on it. Then they took hold of one side and heaved. The slick of rain made it hard to keep their grip, but they inched the stone up until they were able to tip it over. It thumped on the ground, and the underside crawled with centipedes and pill bugs. Worm trails squiggled through the dirt where it had lain.

Hannah dropped to the ground, scooped and dug with her bare hands. Giuseppe said something about a shovel. She ignored him. She clawed at the soil as it turned to mud in the rain, heard herself whimpering and grunting. Her fingertips throbbed, scraped raw. She shivered and sobbed as doubt crept in like a chill, whispering that the treasure was not there.

Then Giuseppe was there next to her. He was using a trowel he had gotten from somewhere, probably Alice’s. She snatched it from him and drove it into the ground. She felt him staring at her, but she did not care.

She dug, and dug, and dug. One foot deep, then another, until she was leaning halfway into the hole, and still nothing but more dirt beneath her. She felt a hand on her back.

“Hannah?”

She shook the hand off and stabbed at the earth with the trowel.

“There’s nothing down there,” Giuseppe said.

“It has to be!” She kept digging.

The hand on her back again. “I don’t think so.”

Hannah stopped. She pulled up and leaned away from the opening she had made in the earth. “Maybe it’s just buried deeper,” she said.

Giuseppe looked at the hole. “It’s not here.”

Hannah dropped the trowel and hugged herself. She started shaking.

“Come on.” Giuseppe took her hand. “We need to get you out of this rain.”

Hannah nodded and let him lift her to her feet.

It did not seem possible. The treasure was not there. She had come out into the forest seeking a mystery, only to learn that the answer lay in bed back home, unable to speak.

Alice

G
IUSEPPE AND HANNAH JOGGED BACK TO THE CABIN TO GET
out of the storm. The door was unlocked, and he figured Alice would have insisted they get inside if she were there. He opened the door for Hannah and followed her in. The cabin felt dry and warm but a little dim. Giuseppe ran his hands through his hair and wiped the water from his face.

“Would you like a fire?” he asked.

Hannah sat down at the table, looking exhausted after her frenzy by the stone. She rocked a little back and forth, shivered, and said nothing.

“Hannah?”

“Yes?”

“Would you like a fire?”

She blinked at him. “Yes, please.”

Giuseppe threw some kindling on the morning’s embers and then a couple of small logs. He crouched in front of the hearth until he felt the heat on his face. “There you are. Come closer.”

Hannah scooted her chair nearer to the fireplace. She stared into it, with the same bewildered look in her wide eyes she had when they found
that stone, her mouth neither smiling nor frowning, almost as if her lips were waiting to see how she felt. Giuseppe cleared his throat.

“You know something about that carving, don’t you?”

She nodded.

“What did it mean?”

She did not answer at first. “I have to get home.”

“Well, you should at least wait out the worst of this rainstorm.”

She reached up and pulled a stick out of her hair, and her braid slapped her back like a wet rope. “My father made it. That stone out there.”

Giuseppe pulled up a chair. “How do you know?”

“I just do.” She covered her mouth, still shivering.

Giuseppe squirmed a little next to her. She was older than him by a couple of years and very pretty. Water droplets caught the firelight in her lashes and on her cheeks. Her eyes seemed to glow. Giuseppe got up and went to the floor where he had folded his blankets from the night before.

“Here,” he said, and wrapped one over her shoulders.

“Thank you.” She pulled it up around her neck. “My father must have known Stroop. But he can’t tell me anything.”

“Did the stone give you any other clues?”

“No. It’s just a memorial. A dead end.” She closed her eyes. “I have to get home. The doctor will be there in a few hours.”

“Doctor?”

“My father is sick. Very sick. He needs medicine, and we don’t have the money to pay for it.”

Giuseppe looked away. That was why she had become so insistent out there, so desperate. She needed the treasure. Giuseppe needed it, too, but did not think now was the best time to bring that up.

“Hopefully Pullman will be back soon,” he said. “I really think you ought to wait for the storm to pass.”

She slumped down into the blanket. “I’m so tired all of a sudden.”

Giuseppe realized he felt the same way. The morning had started quiet enough, a breakfast of bread and fresh fruit, a wedge of cheese. Then Pullman had come by and taken him out walking in the forest around Alice’s cabin, spotting animals and birds and showing him plants that were edible. After that, Giuseppe had split off on his own a short distance to sit down in the trees and play his fiddle. That was when he had heard the call for help. A girl’s voice, terrified, and then a wild roar.

A shiver rattled Giuseppe in his chair when he thought about the beast. Its teeth and claws. He had entered that clearing, seen that cougar, and known it would kill them both. But Pullman had come. Now, sitting in front of the warm fire, the exhaustion of spent fear overwhelmed him.

“I’m tired, too,” he said.

The storm pounded the roof and slapped the windows. He listened to it for a long time. His eyes drooped, fragmenting the flames in the hearth.

He heard Hannah’s voice but did not catch what she said.

Giuseppe closed his eyes.

The sound of the storm awakened him, loud and raw. He realized someone had opened the door.

“Oh, my,” he heard Alice say. “Two visitors?”

Giuseppe got to his feet, blinking. Next to him, Hannah stirred. She stretched, and the blanket fell from her shoulders.

“Hello, Alice,” Giuseppe said. “This is Hannah.”

“I know, dear,” Alice said. “Although I am surprised to see her here. And all covered in mud, too.”

Hannah stood up. “Hello, Alice. I came —”

The old woman held up her hand. “I wasn’t asking, dear. Not yet.” She removed her straw hat and shook the rain from it. She hung it up and stepped between Hannah and Giuseppe to the hearth. “Let’s heat up this soup, shall we?” She swung the kettle in over the fire.

Next, Alice gathered up the quilt that had fallen to the floor and folded it, holding it to her chest with her chin. “Are the two of you hungry?” she asked.

Giuseppe was.

Hannah shook her head. “I need to be going, Alice. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t think you ought to, dear. Not until the storm moves on. The paths are treacherous right now if you don’t know your way.” She set the quilt with the others by the bed and then lowered herself into a chair. She tapped the table, telling Giuseppe and Hannah to sit.

“Now,” she said, and sighed. “Tell me what you were going to say, Hannah. About why you are here.”

Hannah scratched her forehead with her index finger. “Never mind.”

“Nonsense. You can tell me.”

“I … was looking for something.”

“What was it you were looking for, dear?”

“You remember when we talked in your garden and I asked about Mister Stroop?”

“Of course.”

“About his treasure?”

“Yes, dear.”

“Well, I’m looking for it. The treasure, I mean, and I thought there would be a clue for it out here.”

“Why would you think that?”

Hannah shook her head. “It’s a long story.”

“I’m listening,” Alice said.

“No,” Hannah said. “That’s all right.”

Giuseppe leaned forward and cleared his throat. “She saw a map,” he said. “It had the north side of the pond marked. She thought there might be something there.”

“Was there?”

Giuseppe looked at Hannah. She seemed so defeated.

“No,” she said.

“Just that carved stone,” Giuseppe said.

Alice clapped. “Ah, you saw it. Beautiful, isn’t it? I remember when that stonemason from the hotel brought it out here. Mister Twine must have paid for it. Or maybe one of the guests. The stonemason had a devil of a time hauling it over the forest trails in his handcart.”

Hannah’s legs bounced a little, and she kept looking out the window, at the rain streaking the windowpanes.

“While you wait for this storm to let up, you must have some turtle soup,” Alice said.

“You’ll like it,” Giuseppe said, his tongue working in his mouth like he could already taste it.

Hannah nodded. “All right.”

“Wonderful.” Alice rose and went to the fireplace, her back to them. “Have you seen Pullman today?”

Giuseppe looked at Hannah. She leaned back into her chair, mouth closed. So he told of their encounter with Mirabel, with only a little exaggeration here and there, at which Hannah raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Now that the fear had worn off, there was something exciting about what had happened.

Alice shook her head, wide-eyed. “My goodness. I’m just glad that everyone is unharmed, you both and Pullman, and Mirabel, too.”

When steam rose from the kettle, and the aroma of herbs and meat filled the cabin, Alice ladled out three bowls and served them. The soup did not taste as fresh as it had the night before, but was still better by far than anything Giuseppe was used to eating. He watched Hannah, and she seemed to enjoy the few bites she took as well.

“Where do you live?” he asked her.

“Down in the tenements of Basket Street.” She dabbed at the soup with her spoon.

“I used to play there. Sometimes.”

“Maybe I’ve heard you.”

“Maybe.”

“Well,” Alice said. “Giuseppe played for Pullman and me last night, and it was simply the most delightful evening I have passed in a very long time.” She leaned in to Hannah. “He has a gift, you know.”

“It’s a talent to play music,” Hannah said.

“Oh, not that kind of gift, dear. Not that kind of gift at all.”

Giuseppe wondered what she meant by that.

Alice stood. “Would either of you like another helping? There’s a little bit left.”

Hannah shook her head.

Giuseppe could have eaten another two or three bowls. “Nah. Save it for Pullman.”

He watched Hannah finish what was left in her dish. She wiped her mouth. “Thank you, Alice. It was delicious.”

“Well, thank you for staying.” Alice watched Hannah for several moments. “Whatever has you so worried, dear?”

Hannah said nothing. It seemed that she kept a lot inside, and Giuseppe wondered why.

“Her father is sick,” he said.

“Sick?” Alice turned to Hannah. “He’s sick, dear?”

She nodded.

Alice grew suddenly serious and returned to her chair. She folded her hands on the table in front of her. “What are his symptoms?”

“He’s just sick,” Hannah said. “And I need to get back to him.”

“Tell me what his symptoms are.”

Hannah took a deep breath. “He has a sore, a bedsore that’s infected. The doctor said his leg needs to be removed.”

“Oh, such barbarians,” Alice said. “What does the wound look like?”

“It’s red and swollen, and there are dark lines under the skin around it.”

“Is it weeping?”

“Yes.”

“Fevers?”

“Yes,” Hannah said.

Alice tapped her chin and then she stood. “I have something for that.” She crossed to the cupboard full of jars and bottles and pulled down a slender vial. She shook it and held it up to the light. “Have him drink this.”

“What is it?” Hannah asked.

“A tincture of herbs, dear. And molds gathered around the forest. It will help with the infection.”

Hannah reached out and took the vial. She peered at it, brow furrowed.

“Take it to him,” Alice said. “You remember what I said about my herbs, that I was finding out their secrets? Well, I have already learned quite a few.”

From what Giuseppe had seen of Alice, he believed her. She had a way of wisdom about her that made him trust what she said. Hannah folded her fingers around the vial and slipped it into a pocket in her skirts.

“Thank you, Alice,” she said.

“You’re welcome. Now, I think the storm has passed.”

Giuseppe listened and heard nothing but an afterthought of wind, like a sigh after a good cry.

Hannah looked out the window. “You’re right.” She got up and went to the old woman. “I wish I could come see you in your hotel garden again.”

“But you can, dear. Anytime you want. They ask about you, you know. The pansies, in particular.”

Hannah smiled. “I hope they’re coming along.”

Alice led Hannah to the door and opened it. The smells and sounds of the forest tumbled in as if they had had their ears pressed against the door. Birdcalls and the fragrance of wet soil and pine. Giuseppe walked to the door, his hands in his pockets.

Hannah turned to him. “I guess you’re staying here.”

“The city isn’t safe for me,” he said.

She nodded. “Good-bye, then. Thanks for helping me.”

“I hope your pa gets better,” he said.

“He will,” Alice said. “Hurry now.”

Hannah stepped through the threshold.

Alice stood in the doorway and pointed. “Do you see that path there by the hawthorn?”

Hannah looked. “Yes.”

“Keep to it. It wanders a bit at times, but it leads you right to the Old Fort Road.”

Hannah thanked Alice again and walked away, waving from a spot down by the pond before setting off into the trees.

Alice stepped out into her garden and breathed deep. “You’re really not going with her?”

“No,” Giuseppe said. “Why would I?”

“She needs you.”

“Alice, Stephano will kill me.”

“I don’t think your friends would let that happen.”

“I don’t have friends,” Giuseppe said.

“Hannah is a friend to you now.”

Was she? He had thought Pietro was a friend, too.

“You have a gift to share, dear. And apparently there is a treasure hidden somewhere.” She fixed her eyes on him firmly.

“You want me to leave?”

“Giuseppe, you may stay with me for as long as you wish to. But I think you know you won’t ever make it home to your family if you hide out here in the park.”

She was right. As safe as the cabin felt, it was not his home, and as kind as Alice had been, she was not his family. Maybe this was a chance
for him to get back what he had lost in the churchyard. Maybe he could still return to his real home and his real family, if he helped Hannah find the treasure. As for him having a gift to share, well, without his green violin Giuseppe was unsure of that.

He went back into the cabin for his old fiddle and then stood in front of Alice. “Thank you for everything.”

“Of course, dear.” She stepped forward and gathered him in an earthy hug that smelled of mint and lavender. “Hurry now.”

Giuseppe nodded and bounced off running, waving one last time over his shoulder before entering the forest. He was pretty sure this was not the smartest thing to do, but it did feel like the right thing. Leaves dripped lazy leftovers from the storm, so that by the time he caught up with Hannah he was wet again.