The Secret Keepers Page 6

  “Why does it seem impossible to make a watch that you can’t open?” said Reuben, very softly, as if he were in a library or church.

  “A clock, Reuben, is a device. And devices are constructed of different parts, yes? Parts which must be joined together. How then can we not see, even with a magnifying loupe, these places where the parts are joined? A clock is not a ceramic bowl. It must have seams, screws, joining pieces of some kind. Yet this one does not. ” Mrs. Genevieve clicked her teeth together, as if biting the air. “I dislike mysteries, Reuben.”

  Reuben was fascinated. “So do you think it doesn’t work anymore? Can we wind it up and see? That’s what the key is for, right? To wind it up?”

  Mrs. Genevieve nodded. “And possibly also to set the time. If one cannot open the watch to do so, the key must be the answer. You have never used this key?” When Reuben confirmed that he had not, the watchmaker considered before saying, “I am afraid that the mechanism may be very delicate and easily broken. I cannot take the responsibility. This you may tell your uncle. If he wishes me to, I will explain my idea to him. He can choose then to wind the watch or not, as he wishes.”

  “My uncle’s really busy,” Reuben said. “Why don’t you explain it to me, and then I can show him?”

  Mrs. Genevieve gave him a shrewd assessing look. “You intend to wind the watch yourself.”

  “You’re right,” Reuben admitted, after a pause. He figured he had little to lose. “I’m going to try it either way. But if you tell me how, maybe I’ll do a better job of it. And I’ll take full responsibility if I break it.”

  Though Mrs. Genevieve made a show of disapproval, it was plain to Reuben that she was eager for him to try it. She wanted to see what would happen as much as he did. And sure enough, after much frowning and muttering, she relented.

  “Very well,” she said, and after bidding him to put on a pair of gloves like hers, she took up the key to demonstrate. “My idea,” she said, “is that this exterior”—she circled a finger around the small, star-shaped end of the key—“will slide very tightly into a place where it may be turned, and by its turning you will move the hour hand, do you see?”

  Reuben nodded.

  “Good. And my idea also is that this interior”—Mrs. Genevieve turned the key to show how the star-shaped end was actually hollow, its interior worked with irregular grooves, something to which Reuben had given little thought—“if you slide the blade of the key deeper into the watch, this empty place will fit precisely over a very small nut or bolt, do you see? And then you may turn it—”

  “Like a socket wrench!” interjected Reuben. “That’s clever. Okay, I’m ready to try it.” He took the key from her.

  “You must be gentle,” Mrs. Genevieve warned him. “Very slow and careful, yes?”

  “Yes,” said Reuben, already fitting the end of the key into the matching hole in the center of the watch dial. It took him a couple of tries—his excitement was causing his fingers to tremble—but then he had it, and with the slightest pressure he could manage, he slid the blade of the key down into the hidden shaft. It went easily, without the least bit of resistance, for about an inch. Then Reuben sensed a subtle change, as if the shaft had narrowed. His eyes swiveled to Mrs. Genevieve, who was biting a knuckle and frowning at his fingers with great intensity. “I think I’m to the first place,” he said.

  Mrs. Genevieve nodded. “Try then to turn the key. But do not force it! If it does not wish to turn, you will know. You must listen to your fingers.”

  Holding the watch steady with his left hand, Reuben began to turn the key with his right. There was a faint—a very faint—feeling of friction, but the key turned, and as it turned, so too did the hour hand, moving past the twelve o’clock position and on to one o’clock before he stopped and looked excitedly at Mrs. Genevieve. “It works!”

  “I see this,” Mrs. Genevieve said, and that was all, but with one gloved hand she touched Reuben lightly, briefly on the shoulder. Whether she intended this as a gesture of approval or of shared excitement, Reuben couldn’t say. Perhaps it was both.

  “Okay,” he said. “Now for the socket wrench.”

  Holding his breath, Reuben applied pressure to the key again. It slid smoothly but with a feeling of slight resistance, like a book being squeezed into a tight space on a bookshelf, until it had been inserted all the way up to the bow. This time Reuben didn’t hesitate. He had developed an unshakable feeling that the watch was in perfect condition, that there was nothing more fragile about it than a brand-new watch fresh off a watchmaker’s bench. Thus when he began to crank the key and heard the familiar ratcheting sound (anyone who has ever wound an alarm clock or wristwatch would recognize it, as well as the vibrating sensation in the fingers), he was not at all concerned that he was breaking anything. He knew he was merely winding up the mainspring, just as he knew to stop when the winding grew difficult.

  Feeling as full of hope and wonder as a child listening for the ocean in a seashell, Reuben put the watch to his ear. But if it was ticking, he couldn’t hear it.

  Mrs. Genevieve whispered, “I think perhaps the spring will not unwind until you withdraw the key, at least to the setting position.”

  Reuben did as she suggested, pulling up on the key until it stopped, then tweaking its angle until he felt it slide snugly up into the setting position. He raised the watch to his ear again, and this time he heard it: a tiny, tinny ticking. With wide eyes he looked at Mrs. Genevieve. She was gazing eagerly back at him, eyebrows raised in expectation. “Would you like to hear it?” he asked.

  “Please,” whispered Mrs. Genevieve, and stooping forward, she turned her ear to him.

  Reuben carefully extended the watch until it was almost touching her earlobe. He saw her check her breath, her slender frame rigid with attention. She broke into a delighted grin. “I hear it!”

  “So it’s perfect,” Reuben murmured, his heart beating double time. His mind raced ahead to a future he had scarcely dared to hope for. His mom could quit her jobs, take classes—whatever she liked! They could do anything! Go anywhere! They might even actually build a dream house! He had only to figure out how to sell it, and he felt sure the watchmaker would help him with that.

  “A watch like this must be worth a fortune, right, Mrs. Genevieve?” Reuben asked eagerly. “I mean, how exactly do we decide how much it’s worth?”

  Mrs. Genevieve, who had been listening to the watch with such obvious pleasure, slowly straightened, her smile fading. “Oh, such matters are determined by dealers and collectors,” she murmured with a distracted air, and to Reuben’s surprise her expression grew quite troubled. “But, you see…” She winced slightly, as if suffering from a toothache, then glared at the watch in his hand as if it were the cause. “Reuben, I am sorry, but I must tell you something you will not wish to hear.”

  Reuben stared at her, suddenly overcome with dread.

  “This… watch,” Mrs. Genevieve said in a heavy voice. “Certain persons have been looking for it for a very, very long time.”

  Reuben was dumbstruck. He took a step back, gripping the watch tightly, as if some unseen person were already trying to pull it from his grasp—as if Mrs. Genevieve herself might try to do so. But the watchmaker was only looking at him sadly.

  “I didn’t at first wish to tell you,” she said. “I did not wish to frighten you. And, yes, it is true, I had a desire to examine this watch, which I had not believed I would ever see with my own eyes, if indeed it existed.”

  Scarcely any of her words registered but one. “What are you talking about?” Reuben whispered. “Why would I be frightened?”

  “Because, child, one of the persons seeking this watch”—Mrs. Genevieve closed her eyes and shook her head regretfully—“is the one known as The Smoke.”

  The Smoke?”

  Mrs. Genevieve removed her glasses and, closing her eyes, pinched the bridge of her nose. “Surely you know whom I mean. Perhaps you call him by a different name.”


  “I know who he is,” Reuben muttered, though this was only partly true, for no one truly knew who The Smoke was. No one but The Smoke’s representative, the Counselor, had ever even seen him—or anyone who had seen him hadn’t lived to tell about it. But everyone knew that The Smoke secretly ruled New Umbra. It was considered a secret only because his authority was unofficial and because no one dared speak of it.

  Reuben sat down on the floor. He was feeling faint again. Worse than that, actually—he felt the way he had when he was high above that narrow alley, when he’d thought he would fall. A sickening sort of fear, a rising panic. He drew up his knees and pressed his forehead against them.

  “I am sorry,” said Mrs. Genevieve. “But you should not be frightened, Reuben. All can still be well.” Though she tried to sound comforting, she might as well have been saying The Smoke wants the watch, The Smoke wants the watch, The Smoke wants the watch—for that was all Reuben could think.

  He looked miserably up at her. “Who exactly is he, anyway? Do you know?”

  “Ah!” The watchmaker flapped her hand as if at a bothersome gnat. “Who is to say? Who knows that he is even a man? I have heard some say that he is a monster!” She rolled her eyes contemptuously. “A monster who wishes to possess valuable things. He would not be the first.”

  “But how do you know he’s looking for the watch?”

  Mrs. Genevieve frowned. “How do you think? He communicated his wishes to Cassius Faug—” She paused. “Do you know of this Mr. Faug?”

  Reuben nodded grimly. He had heard the man’s name mentioned only rarely, but he remembered it. “The Counselor.”

  “Yes, this is the one,” said Mrs. Genevieve. “And naturally the Counselor has instructed his men—the Directions, you understand?—always to be ‘on the lookout’ for such a watch. They in turn ordered me long ago to inform them if such a watch appears. This is true for the other watchmakers in the city as well. There are but a few of us anymore.”

  “I just can’t believe it,” Reuben muttered. “How does he even know about it?”

  Mrs. Genevieve shook her head. “It is said that he knows things that no one else can know. But in this instance he is not the only one,” she said, rising from her stool. “Wait here a moment.”

  As soon as he was alone, Reuben felt his eyes stinging. He buried his head against his knees again. Not two minutes earlier he’d been so excited. His hopes had been so high. He was surprised by how much it hurt to lose them. Mrs. Genevieve didn’t want him to be frightened of The Smoke, but Reuben hadn’t even thought about his own safety. It was the simple fact of losing the watch that upset him, the watch and what it represented.

  For of course he would lose it. Mrs. Genevieve wouldn’t dare help him sell it, and even though it was Reuben who had found the watch—a discovery that had seemed so fated—he couldn’t even keep it. Because what sort of fool would hold on to something he knew The Smoke wanted?

  He understood now the watchmaker’s look of alarm when she’d first seen the watch. She’d recognized right away that it was the one sought by The Smoke. Yet she hadn’t mentioned it to the Directions when they came to her shop, and she’d kept Reuben’s presence in her home a secret. She’d even lied to them. That could have been disastrous, and it very nearly was. Reuben considered this. Mrs. Genevieve had taken a big risk, either for the watch’s sake or for his sake. Possibly both. He had a feeling it was both.

  Presently Mrs. Genevieve returned holding a newspaper. She spread it out on the counter. “This advertisement in the classified section,” she said as Reuben rose to join her, “it appears in all the papers every day and has done this for as long as I can remember. You see, it is not only The Smoke who seeks the watch.”

  Mrs. Genevieve had penciled a circle around the advertisement:

  LOST: ANTIQUE POCKET WATCH AND WINDING KEY FASHIONED OF UNUSUAL, COPPER-LIKE METAL. WATCH IS SPHERICAL IN SHAPE; IVORY DIAL HAS NO MINUTE HAND. LARGE REWARD OFFERED.

  “A large reward!” Reuben said with a rush of hope.

  “Oh yes,” said Mrs. Genevieve. “Such a clock watch would merit a reward, but who is this who offers it? There is no name or address listed, only a telephone number. Is this a person to be trusted?”

  Reuben frowned. “Well, they must have a lot of money if they can afford to take out all these advertisements. I don’t see why they wouldn’t be able to pay a reward.”

  “There must be a great deal of money indeed,” said Mrs. Genevieve, “or a great deal of power. These advertisements have run for many years. But do you see? Why does this person want the watch so badly? Why does The Smoke? How do they know of it? And do you really wish to become involved with either? I would not advise this.”

  Reuben felt himself getting irritated. “So what, then? What am I supposed to do?”

  Mrs. Genevieve studied him. “Is this true what you say about your uncle?” Reuben hesitated, which was all it took. “I cannot tell you then what is best to do,” she said, sighing. “You could perhaps return the watch to where you found it—”

  Reuben thought of the ledge above the alley and uttered a low, bitter laugh. “I really can’t do that, Mrs. Genevieve.”

  “In this case,” the watchmaker continued (and not a little sternly, for having been interrupted), “it may after all be best for me to turn over the watch to The Smoke. I have been told that he will pay handsomely for it as well.”

  Reuben thought about this. “Do you think he actually would?”

  “Perhaps,” said Mrs. Genevieve, though she looked dubious. “And if he does, and if his men do not privately decide to distribute this reward among themselves, then I will give it to you.”

  This course of action did not seem the least bit promising to Reuben. The Smoke had no need to keep his word to anyone, let alone some elderly watchmaker in her quiet little shop. Regardless, Reuben thanked her for the offer and said he would consider it.

  Mrs. Genevieve looked at him, clearly troubled. But after a pause she said, “Of course.” Then she said she must reopen the shop, which she had closed for the sake of their private discussion. “Perhaps,” she added with a melancholy smile, “we may first listen one last time to the ticking.”

  Reuben agreed. But when he held the watch to his ear, he heard nothing. “It stopped.”

  “No!” Mrs. Genevieve breathed, and muttered something in a language Reuben didn’t know. “The spring—!”

  Reuben was already sliding the key back into its winding position. “It makes no sense,” he said. “Why would it have broken when it was working so perfectly?” He turned the key. Everything was the same as before—the raspy ratcheting sound, the familiar feeling in his fingers. He cranked the key until the watch was fully wound, then withdrew the key and held the watch to his ear. It was ticking again.

  He cranked the key until the watch was fully wound, then withdrew the key and held the watch to his ear.

  Mrs. Genevieve listened to it herself, her face darkening. She looked extremely displeased now. “But if the spring is intact,” she muttered, “why must it be wound again so soon? And why”—her voice rose as she held the watch out at arm’s length to stare at the dial—“why has the hour hand not moved at all? Not one millimeter, Reuben!”

  Reuben, who had been very relieved to find that the spring was not broken, needed a moment to absorb Mrs. Genevieve’s complaints. “Well, it’s an ancient watch,” he said resignedly. “Maybe it just doesn’t work properly anymore.”

  “No!” Mrs. Genevieve snapped. She shook her head. “You do not know watches, Reuben. This is not understandable behavior! It’s as if this watch has been fashioned merely as a showpiece—a novelty, do you see? An exquisite watch, a masterpiece, but one which does not tell time! But why? This watchmaker of such genius cannot make his watch to tell time? It is preposterous!”

  “You’re right, it’s weird,” Reuben agreed, though he didn’t understand why Mrs. Genevieve seemed so angry. “Still, it’s kind of amazing, isn’t it? T
he fact that you can still wind it up, even if it doesn’t do what it’s supposed to?”

  “But this is what I hate! This mystery!” Mrs. Genevieve moaned. She seemed truly distressed. “Reuben, still do you not see? What if this watch is doing what it’s supposed to do?” She looked up at the ceiling and shook her gloved fists theatrically. “And we do not know what that thing is!”

  So the watch had a secret.

  All the way home Reuben could think of nothing else. Except, of course, The Smoke, thoughts of whom kept him glancing over his shoulder and quickening his pace. He took the stairs in his building at such a rate he was left gasping for breath as he staggered down the hallway to his apartment. Never had its musty, dusky interior felt so welcoming, nor had he ever been so quick to lock the door behind him.

  After wolfing down a hastily constructed sandwich and gulping milk from the carton (it was well past lunchtime now), Reuben hurried into his bedroom and opened his backpack. He was going to figure this out.

  In moments he had the watch in his hand and an eye on his alarm clock. He wound up the watch. After fifteen minutes, it stopped ticking. He tried again, with the same result. A watch that had to be wound every fifteen minutes was ridiculously impractical, so of course Mrs. Genevieve was right. The spring must have been designed for some other purpose—a secret purpose. But what? And did The Smoke know the secret? Was that why he wanted the watch so badly?

  Reuben felt a sudden need to double-check the lock on the apartment door.

  He came back and dragged the old cardboard box of toys from his closet. He hadn’t opened it even once since they moved here, but he was pretty sure he still had a windup toy robot. Sure enough, he found it at the bottom of the box, among a jumble of action figures. He wound it up and set it on the threadbare carpet. The robot managed a couple of awkward steps with its block-like feet before toppling over. Reuben remembered why he’d never been fond of this toy. It always ended up that way, with its feet churning uselessly, like a beetle on its back.