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?”

“The prince said that it was an honor to give up my eyes. That I would betray my genius if I were ever to build a lesser object. I’m not quite sure genius was the best word for him to use, but then, it seems that the prince holds several points of view that are … questionable. When the soldiers tied me to a chair, the prince promised I would be well paid for the work I had done, according to our original agreement. Then he said that he envied the way I saw the world, that I must see it in a very special way to construct such a marvelous thing. I think …” His voice trailed off. He began again. “I think that he took my eyes for two reasons. First, he does not want anyone —he does not want me—to build another such clock or anything to rival it. Second, he intends to use my eyes. To wear them, you might say.”

“Wear them? Is that possible?”

Her father shrugged. “Anything is possible. It just takes the right spell or the right piece of knowledge or the right flash of inspiration to make something work. If I learned anything from living six months at court, it is that our world is getting bigger and bigger, and that Bohemia is just a speck of yellow paint on the map. I know a spell was cast on my eyes that would allow the prince to wear them. I had never heard of such a thing before. But the prince’s explorers are pushing into new corners of the world, into the Orient, the jungle, and mountains of ice where people ride wolves and eat only air. No doubt there are many spells and forms of magic we wouldn’t recognize. No doubt the prince has gathered as much information as he can about these new kinds of magic.”

“If the prince can wear your eyes, can he make things move without touching them? Can he build what you can build?”

When her father responded, his words were sharp. His voice held something that Petra recognized, but couldn’t quite identify, for she had never heard him use it before. “He stole my eyes, Petra, not my mind.”

Neither of them spoke for a moment, and the silence was awkward. Her father then said, more quietly, “Would you mind if I slept awhile?” He stroked her hand. “It’s good to be home.”

She kissed his forehead. “I’ll come to see you later.”

As she opened the door to leave, Petra suddenly realized what she had heard in his voice. She had often heard it in Josef’s. It was bitterness.

3

Lightning and Wasp

PETRA LOCKED THE SHOP behind her and strode down the street. She had an idea.

When she neared the center of Okno, the soft clapping of her footsteps echoed against stone walls. The street stretched before her in a straight, clean line. She passed the bakery, which was entering into its third round that day of preparing fresh bread. Petra glanced into an open window and saw strong arms thudding dough against a wooden table.

That everything was so normal seemed strange to Petra.

She reached the main road, where most of the artisan shops were arranged in a neat row. Wooden signs hung above the doors, each showing a different painting so that people who could not read would recognize the shop they wanted.

Mistress Jugo gave her a sour look and stepped back inside her toy shop, which was marked by a wooden board showing a spinning top. Although Petra’s father had done his best to explain that his tin pets were made in limited numbers, and were just a sideline project in his metalworking trade, Mistress Jugo hadn’t spoken to the family in years. She took Master Kronos’s invention to be the beginning of a slowly unfolding plot to take over the town’s entire toy production. Not to mention that Master Kronos’s pets were a shocking display of his magical ability, which any self-respecting person (in Mistress Jugo’s opinion) would decently keep to himself.

Petra marched steadily to the Sign of Fire, a shop that sold glassware. This store had large, glittering windows made from glass cut into many diamond-shaped panes and fitted together with crisscrossing lines of lead. A few colored bits of glass winked at Petra. A window over the door glowed with the name STAKAN in red letters. This was where her friend Tomik lived with his family.

Petra stepped into the shop, which was empty aside from a tin cat curled up near the doorway. He lazily opened one green eye and then closed it.

“Jaspar, I need to see Tomik. And Master Stakan. It’s important.”

The cat kept his eyes shut and purred. Or snored. It was hard to tell the difference.

Outraged, Astrophil raced down Petra’s arm, but she cupped her hand over him and ignored the sharp jabs his legs made against her palm. The spider disapproved of Jaspar in general, and disliked the cat’s bad manners in particular. “You’ll only make things worse,” Petra hissed.

“Who will make things worse?” Jaspar opened one eye again.

“Astrophil.”

“Who?”

“Astrophil.”

“Who?”

“Me!” The spider squeaked inside Petra’s hand.

“Oh.” The cat snuggled his head under a paw. “He’s not important.”

“But what I have to tell Tomik and his father is.” She tried calling for them. “Tomik! Master Stakan!” The house echoed emptily.

“They’re not here,” Jaspar said. “But why don’t you keep shouting, if you like the exercise?”

“Why don’t you try to be worth the oil you drink!” Astrophil cried.

Jaspar yawned and his teeth glinted like jewels. “Speaking of oil … you wouldn’t happen to have any, would you? I know where you can find Tomas and Tomik, but, sadly, my throat’s a little too parched to tell you.”

Petra sighed. “All right. Tell me where they keep the brassica.”

The cat’s silver needle whiskers were alert. “Try the wooden jug on the top shelf over there.”

She fetched the jug and poured oil into Jaspar’s dish. “Now will you help?”

Jaspar lapped up the oil and gave a metallic meow: “More.”

“Where are they?”

Tomik and his father walked through the door.

“They’re in the shop,” Jaspar said.

“Thanks a lot.” She put the jug back on its shelf.

“Aren’t you an ungrateful girl.” Jaspar curled up and went back to sleep.

Tomik was a year older than Petra. His sandy hair hung in his eyes. He pushed it back from his sweaty forehead. He looked at her uncertainly. Even before Master Stakan spoke, she knew that they knew.

“Is it true, Petra?” Tomas Stakan asked. “David’s been to town and he’s telling a strange story about your father. Is it true?” Master Stakan was as serious as stone as he listened to Petra explain what had happened.

“It’s too much!” His fist slammed against the worktable. Bottles tinkled and one jumped over the edge of the table, smashing on the floor below. “Too much! One day the prince will regret the way he has treated his people! Even when he was a little boy he would send people to the gallows as easily as he would wipe his nose! One day he will—”

His thundering stopped almost as soon as it had begun. He glanced behind him nervously, as if someone might be watching him or hearing his rebellious words. He exhaled one long breath, and seemed to regain his calm.

“Maybe there’s a way you can help my father,” Petra said, and described the idea she had in mind. As she spoke, Master Stakan nodded occasionally.

When she finished, Tomik began to say, “I think that—”

His father held up a flat hand.

“I’ll start working on it,” Master Stakan said. “But it will take some time, and probably a lot of trial and error. What you’re asking for isn’t simple.”

But it was possible. Petra felt hopeful, so she didn’t really mind when Master Stakan shooed them away as if they were little children tugging at his work apron. “Now you two go find something to do with yourselves.” He flapped his hands at them. “I have enough to do without worrying about you breaking something in the shop with your games.”

“If you didn’t notice, we didn’t break anything!” Tomik protested.

Before Master Stakan could respond, Petra tugged Tomik up the stairs. He followed her, grumpily stamping on the worn steps. “Apprentice? Me, his apprentice? Bellows-blower, is more like it. Pot-scrubber. Window-washer. Floor-sweeper. What does he need me as his apprentice for if he won’t let me do anything!”

They entered his room in the attic. Tomik slammed the door shut behind them. The ceiling was low and the day was hot, so they sat with crossed legs on the floor.

“He’s never even thought about the things I can do.” In a low, eager voice he added, “Do you want to see my latest invention?”