CHAPTER 7
Stars aglow like scattered sparks
Span the sky in clockwork arcs
Hint at more than we can see
Spiritual machinery
The Winding Pinion River was a gentle green waterway that flowed past Barrel Arbor. There, Owen had often gone swimming on hot summer days. Inside the Watchmaker’s great metropolis, however, the river took on an entirely different character.
With his new porkpie hat in place, Owen followed the waterway down to the Crown City docks at its widening mouth, near the coast. Barges carrying passengers and goods from upriver tied up at the docks for unloading. Swarthy porters carried heavy crates on their backs, chanting rhythmic songs as they tugged on pulleys to swing cargo up and off the decks, while coldfire-driven cranes lifted the heavier items into place.
Grocers guiding steam-powered carts bought sacks of potatoes, bushels of grain, even apples fresh off the boat. Owen stopped to look at crates piled with knobby fruit larger than a melon, and when he asked one of the dockworkers about it, the man laughed. “It’s a pineapple, boy!” He used a knife to hack off the top and slice a chunk of the dripping, golden fruit for Owen. He took a bite, and the pineapple tasted like sunshine and honey mixed with molten gold. He’d never experienced anything like it before.
He helped where he could, just because he liked talking with the workers. None of them imagined that their daily jobs were particularly interesting, but they were glad for the unexpected assistance. When Owen mentioned he was visiting from Barrel Arbor, nobody had ever heard of the place.
Gulls swooped about, snatching rotting scraps of food. No one minded when Owen ate his fill of bruised produce from the cargo ships as a makeshift lunch. The sheer bounty of it all made him giddy with the Watchmaker’s benevolence.
As ships came and went from the port, accountants kept track of each vessel, maintaining ledgers of every cargo and every crew member. Owen thought the local boat traffic was impressive enough, but when he saw the arrival of a seafaring cargo steamer that billowed white smoke, he was even more amazed.
The big ship pulled up to a special dock, large enough to accommodate three normal barges. Crates marked with alchemical symbols were stacked high on the deck, some covered with tarpaulins to protect against the rain and sea spray; other boxes were open to the elements. One of the dockworkers told him that more valuable substances were locked in the hold behind steel bulkheads, where they were prevented from engaging in unauthorized chemical reactions, which were the sole province of the alchemist-priests. Nature could not be allowed to take an accidental course.
According to the newsgraph reports, wild pirates were responsible for sinking an increasing number of cargo ships that plied the waters to and from Poseidon City. The notorious Wreckers caused great mayhem, although Owen had to admit that they sounded exciting.
As the cargo steamer docked, he ran to the loading ramps to help. When he offered his strength to carry sacks of chemical powders down the gangplank, he marveled to think that he was touching something that came from another continent. Atlantis across the sea, Poseidon, and the fabled Seven Cities …
He couldn’t believe his good fortune to experience such things. This was everything he had dreamed about in all those days on orchard hill. After nearly two days in Crown City, Owen’s vocabulary failed him—and he hadn’t even seen the Clockwork Angels yet, which had drawn him here in the first place.
He wished he had Lavinia there to share it with him. Or anybody who could see the marvels for what they were.
He found a building that contained the entire universe—the sun, the moon, the planets and stars. Originally built as an educational exhibit, the Orrery was a clockwork representation of the heavens, wheels within wheels in a spiral array. Radiating from a central globe that represented the world, long metal arms held the moon and the sun. Surrounding that construction, thin armillary spheres represented the diamond light of stars arcing over the heavenly vault.
Owen stood in the middle of the contraption, staring up until his neck hurt, unable to tear his eyes away; he had to hold his hat on his head. He’d always been fascinated by the constellations, both from his books and in the real night sky, and he remembered that last bright night on the orchard hill, while he waited in vain for Lavinia to join him.
Now, in this model, he tried to find the patterns he had made up himself.
The Orrery’s astronomer-docent was glad to have a visitor. “How does it work, sir?” Owen asked. He had seen the large hydraulic engine in the back of the building, which drove it all. The celestial engine was now silent, and the planets hung in their places, the moon and sun frozen in position, although the real ones continued along their heavenly paths high overhead.
“How does the universe work?” the astronomer-docent said with a sniff. He was a bald man with a bland voice, entirely unsuited for the grandeur of his lecture. “Only the Watchmaker knows for certain, and we, in our imperfection, can only try to understand. This representation shows us not how the universe is, but how it should be.”
“So, it is inaccurate?” Owen asked.
“The universe is inaccurate. We are trying to fix it.”
“I’m not an astronomer. Just the assistant manager of an orchard.”
“Then you have no need to understand, but I’m happy to have the company.” The man’s expression softened; he seemed lonely, even though he had the universe as his place of business.
Owen pointed up at the machinery. “Can I see it move?”
The astronomer-docent fluttered his fingers, as if he were trying to catch birds. “There is a nominal charge as imposed by the Watchmaker.” Owen pulled out his remaining coins, and the docent snatched them all. “That will be nominal enough.”
Owen hadn’t expected to pay the rest of his money, but as he looked up at the Orrery, he realized how much he wanted to see it in operation. More important than coins, he still had the red rose Francesca had given him; it was tucked away in his homespun shirt, though wilted and worse for wear.
The bald man went over to the machine, dispensed the coins, and wound the mechanism. He twisted valves to increase the bright blue light of coldfire from the battery within. “The machine is cold. It hasn’t been run for some days.”
Owen waited as the pressure built up, the channels filled with frothy impetus, the hydraulic tubes thrummed. Overhead, with a clicking rattle, chains pulled, gears turned, and the planets, sun, moon, and stars began to revolve.
Owen saw the graceful swooping arcs as if he were in a time machine. The days, months, and years whirled by at dizzying speed. He raised his voice. “If this is the perfect order of the celestial vault, how is it different from the real stars and planets?”
The astronomer-docent clicked his tongue against his teeth. “At first, we believed our observations were faulty, but records go back for many years, even before the Stability. The planets stray from their paths, like unruly dogs. Rather than traveling in perfect circles, they change their minds at times, looping back in retrograde orbits before getting on the correct path again. That’s inexcusable! In a perfect universe, the stars, the sun, and moon all travel in exact circles, as should the planets. Everything else functions as expected.”
The astronomer-docent patted Owen on the shoulder. “But you can rest assured, young man, the Watchmaker has his best engineers working on calculations. He saved Albion with his Stability, and now he has turned his sights on the universe itself. Sooner or later, our loving Watchmaker will find a way to make the planets travel in circular orbits.”
“I have no doubt of it,” Owen said. And he meant it. Even the Watchmaker couldn’t stop thinking big.
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