Part 12 (2/2)

'You were the one who asked me to marry you a moment ago.'

'For G.o.d's sake, Matsumoto, what is this, Camelot? Marriage and love are not the same thing. In fact, they tend quickly to become mutually exclusive.'

'You used to take my arm,' he said.

She stiffened. 'What?'

'And then you stopped,' he said, without bothering to repeat himself. 'I am flattered, but I hope it won't make things difficult. It has been splendid knowing you, but I'm afraid my family simply would not approve.'

She had stopped six months ago, when she caught herself thinking how charming he was. It was bizarrely difficult to keep resisting somebody who, although not naturally striking in any way, behaved as if he were Adonis. 'Nor would mine. I stopped taking your arm when you started wearing that G.o.d-awful cologne.'

'I see,' he said. He didn't sound convinced. 'In that case, I do apologise.'

'Good. Listen, I'm going inside, I've got to see if those mirrors were misaligned, I've still got nearly an entire day before I must be in London.'

'I'll see you in London, then?'

'Perhaps, but if you call at the house, do use the back door; the servants will laugh if you try the front.'

As she turned away, she saw him frown. She didn't stop. She had always known that he strove for regard so that he could laugh at it, but she didn't think she had known him to be spiteful before. It clanged around inside her head and made her wonder if he had been laughing at her all along.

TWELVE.

LONDON, JUNE 1884.

The dresser rattled urgently.

'Yes, well,' said Thaniel, spinning the key over his knuckle. 'Give back my socks. And my good tie. I need it for tonight.'

Katsu subsided. His springs must have been winding down by now, so perhaps it wasn't deliberate, but the silence sounded sulky.

Having plotted the kidnap the night before, Thaniel had the day's clothes out already and so dressed uninterrupted, but the victory soon felt guilt-tinged. Very big to have outwitted a little mechanical octopus whose only ambition was the acquisition of socks. He turned back to let him out. Katsu stayed curled at the bottom of the drawer. Thaniel lifted him out, but he stayed stiff. He put him back. After looking down at him for a little while, he tucked some of the last remaining socks around him by way of an apology.

It was Sat.u.r.day again, the third that he had spent at Filigree Street, and the morning of the Foreign Office ball. There had been no word from Williamson, and Thaniel hadn't searched the house yet. Mori rarely left it except to buy groceries, and since the grocer's was at the top of the street, he was only ever gone for less than half the time it would have taken to sift through the workshop and his bedroom. Thaniel was beginning to think Mori was a little agoraphobic, although that was hardly shocking. Boisterous socialites didn't often become watchmakers. But he was feeling the old weight against his chest again. He was nearly sure that Williamson wouldn't storm in without telling him, but not positive, and the more time went by, the more often he looked toward the street outside, expecting men in uniform.

He was still not used to full weekends, and as he made his way downstairs, the time stretched out incredibly. He couldn't get himself out of his old habits of saving time, though, and while he waited for the kettle to boil on the stove, he cleaned the table and put some fresh water in Katsu's tank on the windowsill. Once he had made the tea, he took two cups through the workshop's back door. Mori had provided breakfast at seven on every weekday morning, along with j.a.panese conversation tailored to Thaniel's vocabulary. He had a knack for speaking clearly and grammatically without sounding as though he were talking to an idiot, and Thaniel was learning at the speed of sound because of it. Bombmaker or not, he was owed tea.

'Morning.'

'Oh, morning.' Mori said it mostly into his microscope. He was building up some miniature clockwork beneath the lens, with very fine, thin tools that looked like something that belonged to a surgeon. 'Sorry, I'm counting.'

Thaniel stayed quiet and sat down in the high chair. One of the Haverly children was just outside, his nose pressed piggily against the window while he watched the display. He jumped when Mori threw a mint humbug at the gla.s.s. It bounced off and landed in the doorway. The boy grinned and took it, and went on his way. Mori was already looking into his microscope again. Thaniel couldn't see his fingertips moving, only the tiny s.h.i.+ft of the tendons in the back of his hand. Beside him was an empty jar. He had tipped the parts out over the desk in a little heap of cogs and things whose names Thaniel didn't know. Mori put his left hand out without looking up and lifted a tiny metal framework from halfway down the nearer slope.

'I've stopped counting,' he said once he had set it in place.

'I think I might have broken Katsu,' Thaniel confessed. 'He was ... ' He tried to decide whether Katsu's having stolen most of his socks and his good tie was a morally sufficient reason for locking him in the dresser. 'He was moving, but then he stopped,' he said instead.

'If you can't find it, you can take one of mine for tonight,' Mori said.

'Pardon?'

Mori straightened and put his hands against the base of his spine. 'Your tie.'

'I said that Katsu might be broken.'

'I misheard, sorry.'

'No, he has stolen my good tie,' Thaniel said. He paused. 'At least if watchmaking falls through, you can make your living as a mind-reader.'

'I yes,' said Mori. 'Morning,' he added as a postman came in with a big, flat parcel. 'Yes, down there. Thank you.'

'What's that?' Thaniel said, curious. The postmarks and stamps weren't English or j.a.panese.

'A painting. There's a depressed Dutchman who does countryside scenes and flowers and things. It's ugly, but I have to maintain the estates in j.a.pan and modern art is a good investment.'

'Can I look?'

'I wouldn't bother,' he said, but Thaniel untied the string and folded down the top half of the paper packaging anyway. It was a strange painting. The paint was laid on so thickly that it stood up in b.u.mps from the canvas, all in muddy colours and lumpy strokes. Mori was right, it was ugly, but it was swirlingly distorted as if the wind were a visible force in the air, and in the greens was the sound of the hay moving.

'You should keep this here. It's good.'

Mori made an unwilling sound. 'I don't like Western art.'

'No, look at this.' He lifted it from its package. It wasn't heavy. 'It's clever, it looks like busy Mozart.'

'What?'

'I ... ' Thaniel sighed. 'I see sound. Mozart looks like this. You know. Fast strings.'

'See? In front of you?'

'Yes. I'm not mad.'

'I didn't think so. All sounds?'

'Yes.'

Mori waited, and then prompted him, 'For example?'

'For example, when you speak, everything tints this colour.' He held up the watch. 'Ticking watches are ... what. Lighthouse flashes. The stairs at my old office clang yellow. It's nothing.'

'Do you ever draw them?'

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