The Clockwork Man by William Jablonsky Read Free Book Online

would not relent. “Suit yourself,” Edison said with a smile. “In a year or two we’ll be charging three hundred dollars apiece for these.”
    The Master shook his head. “Some things you cannot put a price on.”
    “Interesting philosophy,” Herr Edison replied, smiling.
    The three men drank more wine, discussing the commercial potential of the motion-picture cabinet, when Herr Edison changed the subject. “Mr. Gruber, have you ever considered taking out a patent on Ernst here? You could pull in quite a profit putting him on the market. Machines like him would be in great demand for factory work or household labor. You’d only need the facilities to make them, and of course, someone to sell them. And Henry here is an expert at marketing all sorts of gadgets.”
    At first the Master appeared startled, as if the suggestion offended him, but his smile soon returned. “Never. I would sooner chop him up with an ax than make cheap copies of him to be someone’s windup butler.” I took the compliment for what it was.
    “Pity,” Herr Ford said. “I’d love to tackle a project like that.”
    Herr Edison laughed. “Leave him be, Henry. The man has his principles.” He tipped his glass to finish off the thick, clear wine. “You’re a dying breed, Gruber. A true artist. But you know that, don’t you?”
    The Master nodded reluctantly and laughed.
    The Americans stayed another hour and then took their leave politely, the coachmen carrying the motion-picture cabinet behindthem. In parting, Herr Edison invited the Master to write him should he change his mind.
    “I could do without that Ford fellow,” Herr Gruber said as we watched the carriage recede down the cobblestone street. “But Herr Edison is a brilliant man and a great gentleman.” He turned to me and smiled. “You did well today. They were impressed with you.”
    I thanked him and began clearing the coffee table.
    30 October 1893
8:43 a.m.
    The Master and I are on a train bound for Dresden, the first of many stops on this particular journey. He awoke at 5:37 this morning and attempted to rouse himself with a pot of very strong black coffee Fräulein Gruenwald brewed for him, though he was not entirely successful. Thus, he is currently asleep on the bench in our passenger cabin, his head resting on my shoulder (a rarity, as he generally cannot sleep on trains). Due to the nature of his profession, the Master is not an early riser; rather, he prefers to work well into the night and sleep until at least eleven o’clock, even on weekdays. It is one of the reasons he ultimately hired Fräulein Gruenwald, lest he be unavailable to prepare the children for school in the morning. While Giselle is reasonably self-sufficient, Jakob has proven extremely difficult to pry from his bed in the morning. I have tried on numerous occasions, only to be met with a pillow to the head, and Jakob wrapping himself in a nearly impenetrable cocoon of blankets.
    But this morning both the Master’s children woke early to wish him good-bye, Giselle in her nightgown and slippers, and wideawake (having drunk two cups of the coffee herself), Jakob in his nightshirt and dressing gown drowsing at the dining room table. We will be gone for several weeks, and while the Master regrets having to be away from them for so long, he insists they must not be pulled from their studies. In any case, he is confident they will be well in Fräulein Gruenwald’s care.
    As the Master gathered his notes and blueprints into an ancient briefcase of cracked, brown leather, Jakob shuffled up to me, smiling curiously though his eyes were half-closed, and tugged on my sleeve.
    “Ernst,” he said, “I have something for you to take on your trip.”
    “How very thoughtful of you.”
    He began to giggle and pulled from his pocket a moist handkerchief. “For you. I blew my nose on it when I got up.”
    As I did not know how else to respond, I simply said, “Thank you,” and placed it in my hip pocket.