Clockwork Angels: The Novel by Kevin J. & Peart Anderson Read Free Book Online Page A

side to side to absorb everything, like a playful kitten distracted by butterflies in the air. He didn’t keep track of where he was supposed to be, swept along like those golden leaves in the gust of wind.
    He strolled past fruit vendors, coffee shops, and market stalls with chalkboards announcing “special sale prices” (although the prices were Stability set, and each vendor was required to charge exactly the same in order to remove the uncertainty of unnecessary competition).
    Two workmen with long-handled bristle brushes, pump cans of smelly solvents, and buckets of soapy water stood at the mouth of an alley; the workers seemed embarrassed, rushed. One man squirted solvent on a crudely painted symbol on the brick wall; it was clearly visible from the main street—a large white “A” surrounded by a slapdash circle. After application of the solvent, the paint began to run, melting the symbol—whatever it was. The second worker dunked his brush in the soapy water and furiously scrubbed and scoured, as if trying to take off the surface of the bricks along with the paint. The offending mark vanished under their toil.
    Four straight-backed men in dark blue uniforms strode forward like windup soldiers. Each wore a crisp tricorn hat; their jackets were pressed, silver buttons polished, their cuffs the epitome of what a rectangle should be. People moved aside to let them pass, and Owen tried desperately not to call any attention to himself, but he couldn’t hide his stare.
    The Watchmaker’s Regulators were renowned enforcers of the Stability. Only the candidates with the most perfect rhythm and timing were accepted into the Blue Watch, who patrolled the streets on a rigid schedule. They walked a prescribed inspection route, eyes forward, seeing everything. They didn’t command adherence to order so much as they demonstrated it.
    The Blue Watch walked by, and as they passed, people seemed to stand straighter and go about their business with greater purpose. Owen felt an increased confidence that everything in his life, even this unexpected adventure, was part of an immense and intricate master plan.
    Men and women bustled in and out of a large building carrying sheets of paper. The walls were studded with thick hexagonal windows, like a beehive, and a clattering din came from inside, where row after row of automated metal keys clacked on spools of pulp paper—a central newsgraph office, far grander than the Paquettes’ small shop with its single newsgraph machine back in Barrel Arbor. Newsgraph workers ran out and posted the latest releases on public kiosks: service announcements, security alerts, weather reports, and even philosophical pronouncements that rattled into the machines from the Watchmaker’s mind.
    At a bookshop next door to the newsgraph office, Owen saw a table stacked high with The Official Biography of the Watchmaker, Updated Edition . Each book had a honeybee symbol stamped on the spine, just like the pedlar’s book, Before the Stability . Owen flipped through a few pages of the thick volume, promising himself that someday he would sit down and read about the century of Stability and how the Watchmaker had made this the best of all possible worlds. An informative sign noted that the current edition “included events as recent as last week.” By the time Owen got around to reading the book, he supposed it would be much thicker.
    For now he had to see Crown City.
    Ahead, a woman was trying on hats in front of a shop. The haberdasher hovered beside her. “It looks lovely on you, madam. Absolutely lovely.” The woman cocked the hat one way then another, preening before a small mirror. “But perhaps you should try this blue one,” he said. “It would look magnificent.”The haberdasher extended a hat that was bright scarlet, not blue at all.
    The woman took the scarlet hat. She made no comment about its actual color and tried it on. The man said, “Oh, yes, madam— blue is definitely the best