Page 17 of The Watchmaker of Dachau

Isaac nodded, then crouched down to look at the chime that hung still within its glass house, all the cogs and mechanisms on display, a joy to watch if they were all working together, pushing and pulling against each other to make the time pass.

‘May I?’ Isaac asked.

Becher nodded and Isaac opened the glass door, inspecting the sleeping cogs inside.

‘It is magnificent,’ Isaac said as he looked, forgetting where he was for a moment. ‘It is meant to chime the hour, and when it does, a smaller chime should ring out afterwards, sort of like in a music box – a tune that marks midnight and midday. I have heard of such clocks but never seen one before.’

‘What is your suggestion of what ails it?’

‘It could be that the two are not synchronised. The time is ticking, yet the mechanisms stay still. I will have to draw it to take the drawing away with me and inspect it – would that be possible?’

‘Quite!’ Becher smiled and seemed excited at the prospect of getting the Führer’s gift working once more. He bounded into his study and returned with a pencil and paper in one hand, and Isaac’s leather pouch with his tools in the other. ‘You’ll be needing these.’ He handed them to Isaac.

Isaac sketched quickly, trying to be as precise as he could. He could see a worn cog, a spoke missing, which could be the problem, yet there was something else that wasn’t quite right…

‘I think someone has tried to mend it before. They have placed the wrong screws in the cogs – they are too large – and that is perhaps what is hindering it.’

‘Get a list to Greta by the end of the day as to what you may need, and I will see to it that they are brought to you by tomorrow.’

Isaac stood, the sketch, his tools and his cap in his hands. ‘Yes, Herr Becher.’

‘If you go to Greta, she will show you where to work.’ Becher smiled at him once more then returned to his study.

Isaac followed the passageway back to the kitchen, unsure of what had just happened. Becher had been nice to him – or if not nice, cordial – as if Isaac were in his shop once more, and Becher were but a customer.

‘I see you made an impression,’ Greta said to him as he reached the kitchen. ‘Come with me, I’ll show you where to work.’

Greta took him down the wet grass to the dilapidated shed at the edge of the garden.

‘I’m afraid it’s got the gardener’s things in here still, so you’ll have to make a space for yourself.’

Isaac looked about him. The shed was filled with odds and ends – pieces of furniture, planks of wood, gardening tools and above, old spider webs that stirred as the air blew through them. In a corner he spied an old chair with three legs and a wooden box – a makeshift workspace perhaps.

‘It’ll get cold in here,’ Greta said, then leaned forward and whispered in his ear, ‘there are some blankets at the back, in the corner. Don’t let anyone see you using them. There’s also a small gas lamp – it will give you some warmth and light.’

With that, Isaac entered, and Greta closed the wooden door behind him with a creak, leaving him in semi-darkness and with only silence for company.

Chapter 5

Anna

In the side garden, Anna tried to forage for carrots in the frozen soil whilst she ate the bread Greta had given her. She was cold, yet glad she did not have to be in the house – Liesl had made the distaste she felt for her clear the previous evening and Anna was only too glad to stay out of her way for the time being.

As she made her way towards the kitchen door, she noticed footprints in the icy mulch leading to the shed at the rear of the garden. She stood and looked, and there in the small window a warm yellow light lit up a figure inside.

The figure turned at the same moment and, through the misted glass, looked at Anna. She turned and hurriedly made her way back to the kitchen, where Greta was filling trays ready to take into the dining room.

‘There’s someone out there,’ Anna told her. ‘In the shed. I saw a light and a figure.’

‘Shhh.’ Greta turned to her. ‘That’s Isaac. New – here to fix that blasted grandfather clock they’re always moaning doesn’t work. Get the butter, will you?’

Anna did as she was told, and helped slice the butter into pats and place them onto a china dish, the toast chestnut-brown and hot.

‘I’ll take this through – can’t have you going in there again just yet.’ Greta lifted the tray, but her hands shook with the weight, the plates rattling. Anna made to help her. ‘Leave it, I can do it. Let’s not start her off in a bad mood. You do the lunch, and for goodness’ sake when you are cleaning today, make sure you make yourself invisible!’

Anna let Greta deliver the breakfast and turned to look out of the window, the glow of the light from the shed beckoning her towards it.

‘Isaac…’ she muttered to herself. Then she wiped the condensation away from the window, looking for a moment at her handprint on the pane.