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The clocks wake me up again at midnight. I try to resist the urge to go downstairs. Elena already suspects me of being a thief. There’s no need to add fuel to the fire.

But the allure of the mystery is too strong. From Sophie’s tale of spycraft to Weber’s keen interest in the compartments of the automata clock to Elena’s panic when the pocket watch goes missing, I can’t help but feel that the clocks somehow hold the key to the mystery surrounding this family.

So, I dress quickly and head downstairs. Elena is there already, a good thing, I suppose since she can't claim that I was stealing anything in her absence.

Sophie is there too. She is crying, staring in anguish at the large automata clock she favors. The automata are seizing just as they did the night before, and the poor girl is beside herself with fear. Perhaps there's no mystery at all. Perhaps Rousseau just absolutely loves clocks and can't bear the idea of anything happening to them.

I rush to Sophie’s side and put my arms around her. “There, there. It’s all right.”

“It’s not all right,” she sobs. “Look at them! They’re in pain!”

Elena looks at us and her lips thin again. The people here are nothing if not creatures of habit.

She says nothing to me or her granddaughter, though. She just moves from clock to clock, turning them off one by one.

“They’re not in pain,” I promise Sophie.

“Yes, they are! Look at them!”

I kneel in front of her and grab her shoulders. “Sophie. Look at me. They’re not real. You know that, right?”

She sniffles and wipes her nose with her sleeve. “They’re real to me.”

My heart breaks for her. Children are prone to forming attachments to sentimental objects. Adults are as well, but the attachment is deeper for children. Sometimes, that attachment exists as a replacement for affection they should be receiving elsewhere. Perhaps living alone with her grandmother, homeschooled by a succession of governesses has left the bright, inquisitive, and energetic Sophie feeling restless.

Now’s not the time to psychoanalyze her, though. I pull her into an embrace and hold her close. “They’ll be fixed. Francois will come fix them.”

“When?” she asks.

“Tomorrow,” Elena says curtly. “He’ll be here in the morning. I’ll close the first floor while he repairs the clocks.”

Sophie perks up instantly. “Can I help?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Children are also prone to instantly forgetting the strong emotion of a moment ago in favor of the strong emotion of the present moment.

Elena sighs, but I catch a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth. I’m encouraged to see that. It makes me feel that her love for her granddaughter is still the most important thing in her life. It’s critical for both of them that it remain that way.

“Yes, I suppose,” she says. “If he says it’s all right. But you have to promise to listen to what he says and not get in the way. These clocks are very valuable.”

Sophie rolls her eyes. “I know , Grandma. I’m not going to break them.”

I raise my eyebrow, and Sophie sighs and says in a less prissy voice. “I’ll be careful.”

“Good. Now off to bed. It’s late.”

“Come on,” I tell her. “Let’s go.”

I take her hand and lead her to the elevator. When the door closes, I ask, “So, are you going to be a horologist one day?”

She giggles and covers her mouth. “That’s a funny word. It sounds like whore.”

I give her a stern look. “That is not a word for young ladies.”

She smiles innocently. “I thought it was a word for young ladies. A certain type of young lady, anyway."

It seems Miss Sophie has a healthy mischievous streak. I have to fight to keep my stern look. “Sophie, that is not an appropriate word.”

Her smile fades, and she lowers her head. “Sorry.”

“That’s all right. Just watch your language. That is a very unkind word, and you are not to use it about anyone else. Nor are you ever to allow it to be used against you. And that is the last you and I will talk about it. Understood?”

She nods. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” The elevator door opens, and I repeat my question. “Are you going to be a horologist?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. I’ll own a lot of old clocks for sure. I don’t know if I’ll go to school for it, though. I like learning the way Francois learned. He just started practicing one day and never stopped.”

“That’s the best way to learn,” I agree. “Now off to bed with you.”

She scampers into her room. “Night, Mary!”

“Good night, Sophie.”

When her door closes behind her, I release the laughter I’ve been holding. I’ve missed the innocence of childhood. My opinion toward Elena warms a little as well. She can’t be all that bad of a person with a granddaughter this wonderful.

***

If there’s a stereotype for a kindly old watchmaker, then Francois Bertrand fits that stereotype. He is a stooped, wizened man of eighty, but behind his thick glasses, his eyes are sharp, and his hands are strong and steady. He wears a checkered shirt, knee-length shorts with suspenders, long stockings and brown leather shoes.

He greets me with a grandfatherly smile. “You must be Miss Mary. Elena’s told me all about you?”

I smile wryly. “Good things, I hope,” I reply semi-seriously.

“Good enough.”

That’s just cryptic enough to concern me, but any chance I might have had to press him for more information is gone when a blur of energy leaps off of the ground and lands into Francois’s arms. “Francois!”

Francois—not bothered at all by the sixty-pound tornado that just struck him—wraps Sophie in a bear hug and laughs heartily. “Well, well. It looks like someone’s excited to learn all about caring for clocks properly.”

Sophie nearly explodes with energy, jumping off of Francois and bouncing up and down on her feet. “Yes! Yes! Can you show me how to fix the cuckoo clock?”

Francois sighs. “I assume you mean the automata clock?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, the automata clock . Can you show me how to fix it?”

He tilts his head and cups his chin with his hand. “I suppose we could start with that one. Perhaps Miss Mary would like to help as well.”

The color drains from my face, but the decision is taken from my hands. Actually, it probably wasn’t mine to begin with.

“Yes! She’d love to!” Sophie replies with all of the certainty of a child who can’t conceive of anyone not loving something as much as they do.

And while I’m not so grandfatherly as Francois, I am wrapped entirely around this little girl’s finger. It occurs to me that since meeting her, I’ve barely thought about Annie. That might be partly due to my fear of what I’ll learn, but it’s mostly due to my growing affection for Sophie.

“Very well. If Francois will promise to make sure that I don’t do anything to damage these artifacts, then I’ll help.”

Francois winks at me. “You have my word, Miss Mary. I will not allow you to damage any of these priceless artifacts.”

He leads us to the large automata clock. The automata are stuck out of their compartments in grotesque rictuses. A shiver runs through me, but when Francois inserts a key into a small hole near the base of the device, the compartments and the figures all loosen immediately, and the spell is broken.

He smiles up at us. “That’s a hallmark of the Rousseau designs. Part of what makes his pieces so durable is their ease of maintenance. That key releases all of the locks and springs in the device to make it easy for clockmakers to access components. Sophie, will you hand me my spring tensioner please?”

Sophie hands him a small handheld tool that looks somewhat like a vice grip. Francois opens the cabinet, revealing a surprisingly complex array of gears, springs and wheels within the clock. Francois pulls out a penlight and says, “All right. Let’s see what we’re looking at here.”

He scans the interior of the machine. Nothing seems amiss to me, but I have no idea what I’m looking at, so that really doesn’t mean anything.

He frowns. “Hmm. This isn’t good.”

Sophie gasps. “Is it broken? Can you fix it?”

“It’s not exactly broken, and I can fix it,” Francois replies, “but these cogs are offset in a way that doesn’t seem likely unless someone was tampering with them.”

“Tampering?” I ask. “You mean someone sabotaged the clock on purpose?”

“Well,” he says, kneeling down and holding out his hand. Without needing to be told, Sophie hands him a case containing a selection of small tools. “I don’t want to accuse anyone of anything. Honestly, I don’t know who would sabotage these instruments. But these clocks are extremely well made. They should all work indefinitely unless someone tampers with them.”

I recall what Elena tells me the first night. “It’s not normal for old clocks like this to go out of sync?”

“Not old clocks like these ,” he replies. “A cheap manufacture, yes, but Rousseau timepieces are among the finest in the world. Tristan designed them to outlive their buyers. Once in a great while, an item that is centuries old like this one might fail, but to fail the way Elena described to me where they all go off at staggered times at midnight… that’s not ordinary at all.” He smiles at Sophie. “But don’t worry. Sophie and I will fix them right up.”

"Yes, we will!" Sophie says, beaming.

I manage a smile of my own, but I can’t shake the disquiet I feel. Why would Elena tell me that it’s normal for her clocks to behave this way but then call Francois immediately when it happens? And why would Francois tell me that what she said wasn’t true?

This could mean nothing. I could be seeing shadows where none are.

But considering all of the other odd things that have happened, a part of me wonders if someone is tampering with the clocks. And if so, who?

And why?