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

fit for you.”
    The haberdasher was an old man with arthritic knuckles, a wispy beard, and a wrinkled face. His eyes were folded shut, the lids like soft, wadded suede, and Owen realized the man was blind.
    Hesitating, the woman tried on the hat, unsure about its color. “Are you quite certain, sir?”
    “Oh, yes, madam. The Watchmaker chose me for this profession. It is my particular skill. Trust me in this, you look beautiful,” said the blind man.
    “Very well, then. All is for the best.” She paid the haberdasher and took her new scarlet hat, which did not match the rest of her outfit at all.
    Though he was at first surprised, Owen also felt reassured that the Watchmaker’s society was so ordered that even a blind man knew which hats to sell his customers. Trusting in the Stability, the people did exactly as they were expected to.
    “And you, young man,” the gruff haberdasher called out, turning his head in Owen’s direction. “For you, a porkpie hat, I think.”
    “I . . . I do need a hat.” Owen said. He hadn’t even thought about it when he’d gone out after dark to meet Lavinia.
    The haberdasher fumbled among his wares, settled on a gray tweed porkpie hat, felt the rim to check its size, and extended it in Owen’s general direction. The young man placed the hat on his head and admitted that it did look good on him. “How did you know I needed a hat if you can’t see?”
    “Because I expected you to come,” the haberdasher said. “How else could I do my business?”
    Since Owen didn’t know how much to pay for a hat, he extended a handful of the coins from the nameless stranger. The blind man fumbled among them, plucked a medium-sized coin, and dropped it in a small box on his hat-strewn table. Owen thanked him and continued on his way.
    He ate his last apple, although he wanted something more substantial. But despite his growling stomach, he had too many things to see. He could eat later. Besides, he really had no idea how much a meal of roast mutton or a chicken pie might cost.
    As he continued toward Chronos Square, astonished by the sheer size of Crown City, he found people gathered in a crowd of laughter and applause. Curious, he peered around shoulders and between arms, standing on tiptoe until he saw a red and gold mechanical marvel inside a glass case framed with varnished wood. The head was made of transparent crystal filled with swirling colored steam; the body was a cluster of spheres and generators, a central boiler brought up to pressure and connected to half a dozen hydraulic arms and curved piston legs. At the end of each copper articulated arm, a wooden drumstick was affixed to a socket; the bent legs were connected to pedals. The entire device was surrounded by drums of a variety of shapes and sizes.
    A man with a small mustache and a bright red scarf around his neck stood to the side, beaming with pride at his invention. “I present to you Dr. Russell’s Fabulous Clockwork Percussor! Let us make a joyful noise.”
    With a sudden release of steam, the arms began to move, at first randomly, then into an organized sequence of strikes at the array of drums and cymbals. Each limb stretched and moved in a graceful arc, and the whole assemblage created a rat-a-tat sound like some manic, percussive alarm clock.
    Owen was dazzled by the intricate dance of copper limbs across rosewood drums and brass cymbals, each one rocking on its stand. More than that, the rhythmic power of the automated drumming seemed to affect his entire being. Each deep note from the bass drum sounded like a blow to his chest, making him catch his breath. The dry pop and rattle of the snare drum assaulted his skull with its rapid-fire volleys, and the primal beats of the tom-toms seemed to fire his blood until he felt feverish. The cymbals crashed like waves breaking against his skin, electrifying every nerve ending.
    The Percussor continued its mechanized drumming with unbelievable speed and complexity until Owen