Dita sat in a chair near Petra’s bed and sighed. “The prince stole your father’s eyes. He had them removed and preserved.”
When Petra first saw the bandaged face, she knew that the gauze hid something terrible. But—her father, blind? He would never be able to work again. “That’s impossible. Why would the prince do that? Father is making a magnificent clock for him. Father can’t finish it if he can’t see.”
“He has already finished it, well ahead of schedule. He wanted to return home as soon as possible. He says that on the evening when he put the last gear in place, he was surprised by several soldiers and a surgeon, who was a magician of some sort. Then the prince arrived and thanked him for creating such a beautiful masterpiece. The prince said that no man could, or ever would, build anything like it again. And then” —Dita’s mouth twisted —“he ordered the surgeon to take your father’s eyes.”
“But why? Why would the prince want them?”
“I don’t know. Petra, you can speak with your father about what has happened.” Petra leaped from the bed. Her cousin held up a hand. “But only for a little while. He is very tired and his wounds are sore. He needs to sleep.”
After Dita left the room, Petra changed out of her nightgown. Wearing it all this awful morning had made everything seem surreal, as if she were still asleep and dreaming. She wanted to wake up.
Astrophil unclenched himself from her hair and trickled down her arm. She tugged on a pair of trousers and slipped into a work shirt. She pulled her hair back and jerked a tie around it. Astrophil took his place on Petra’s shoulder, and she walked down the stairs for the second time that morning.
When Petra faced the door to her father’s bedroom, she reached for the doorknob and just held it for a moment. She wanted to turn it. She did not want to turn it. Finally, Astrophil walked down her arm and tapped on the door with several legs.
“Come in!” The voice was faint, but surprisingly cheerful. He sounded almost the same way he had six months earlier, when Petra had rapped on this very door to tell him that a castle carriage had arrived to take him to Prague.
Petra pushed the door open. “Hello.”
The light in the room was weak. Clean, white cloth covered her father’s eyes. “Petra, come here.”
She dragged a stool across the room and sat next to the bed. “Why did the prince do this to you?”
“Because he liked me.”
“Don’t joke about this.”
“I was being serious. Well, mostly serious.” He patted her hand. “If it’s any consolation, the prince said I would be paid for my work. Eventually.”
“As if I care about that!”
“Well, we all must care about something. Astrophil?” He spoke to the spider out loud, but this was for Petra’s sake. With his affinity for metal and the ability to influence it with his mind, Master Kronos could have communicated with the tin spider silently, using only his thoughts.
“Yes, sir?”
“Have you been watching over my girl?”
“Of course, Master Kronos.”
“And who watched over you, Father?” Petra said, frustrated. “Why won’t you tell me what happened? Dita already told me part of it. I need to know the whole story.”
“The whole story? Petra, even I don’t know the whole story. What can I say? The prince always treated me very well. He is a bright young man. Very knowledgeable for someone in his teenage years. Very curious. He often invited me to dine with him in his private chambers. We got along splendidly. He showed me maps of the world, which change from day to day as explorers discover new countries. The prince employs several mapmakers, and they work terrible hours. As soon as one map is made, another river or waterfall or island or new world has to be added. The prince has his own personal map that’s really ingenious. It took me several days to figure out how his chief cartographer, who is a skilled magician, made it. The prince keeps it in a locket, and it is the size of the head of a nail. When he tips the map into his hand—only into his hand, mind you —it grows until it spills across the floor. You can walk across the continents, and the oceans actually turn into small pools about two feet deep. It’s a delightful invention.”
“What is his library like?” Astrophil asked eagerly.
“Beyond words. And the prince gave me complete access to anything I wished to read. The library’s silver ceiling is designed to look like the surface of the moon, which the prince showed me through a long tube with curved lenses on each end. You might not know this, but the moon is not as smooth as it looks. It is pocked with holes, and so is the library ceiling. Red-feathered birds live inside of the ceiling’s holes and help preserve the books by eating bugs that get into the library and nibble away at the pages. Well, Astrophil, you might not like that part.”
Astrophil bristled. “I am not a bookworm! I do not eat books! I am not a libriovore!”
Her father frowned. “Is that a word?”
“Does it matter?” Petra demanded impatiently. “Father, why do you make it sound as if you and the prince were friends? He blinded you!”
Mikal Kronos was silent. “Yes, Petra,” he said slowly, “I am aware of that.”
His voice was gentle, but Petra looked down, embarrassed by her outburst.
“Being at court was a very … exciting time for me,” her father continued. “It was easy to like the prince. I was flattered by his enthusiasm for my work. He was so generous. If I had an idea, he praised it. If I needed assistance, he provided it. He introduced me to many of Europe’s finest artists. They helped me construct some of the clock’s most impressive parts—its sculptures, its gold-plated designs, and a decorative circle as large as a pond, painted with a brassica field that glows with sunlight during the day and blows in dark waves during the night. The stars on the clock twinkle, and they change position according to the season.” Her father then fell silent. Petra waited.
“The clock is the most beautiful thing I have created. The prince insisted that it had to be more than just functional. It must also stun people with its sheer beauty. And it will, once it is unveiled to the public. I know it will, since it is one of the last things I ever saw. It is burned into my memory.”
“But …” Petra hesitated. “I don’t understand. If the prince was so pleased with the clock, why did he do this to you?”