“It isn’t signed,” he told his visitor, ‘and I suspect it’s local work. But a Frenchman had his hand in it, I can tell that. See the escapement? Typical French work, that.”
The visitor peered at the tangle of cogwheels.
“Didn’t know the Frogs had it in them to make clocks, sir,” he said.
“Oh, indeed they do!” Stokes said reprovingly.
“And very fine clocks they make! Very fine. Think of Lepine! Think of Berthoud! How can you ignore Montandon? And Breguet!” The Major shook his head in mute tribute to such great craftsmen, then peered at the Rajah’s sorry timepiece.
“Some rust on the mainspring, I see. That don’t help. Soft metal, I suspect. It’s catch as catch can over here. I’ve noticed that.
Marvellous decorative work, but Indians make shoddy mechanics.
Look at that mainspring! A disgrace.”
“Shocking, sir, shocking.” Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill did not know a mainspring from a pendulum, and could not have cared less about either, but he needed information from Major Stokes so it was politic to show an interest.
“It was striking nine when it should have struck eight,” the Major said, poking a finger into the clock’s entrails, ‘or perhaps it was striking eight when it ought to have sounded nine. I don’t recall. One to seven it copes with admirably, but somewhere about eight it becomes wayward.” The Major, who was in charge of Seringapatam’s armoury, was a plump, cheerful fellow with prematurely white hair.
“Do you understand clocks, Sergeant?”
“Can’t say as I does, sir. A simple soldier, me, sir, who has the sun as his clock.” The Sergeant’s face twitched horribly. It was an uncontrollable spasm that racked his face every few seconds.
“You were asking about Sharpe,” Major Stokes said, peering into the clock.
“Well, I never! This fellow has made the bearings out of wood! Good Lord above. Wood! No wonder she’s wayward! Harrison once made a wooden clock, did you know? Even the gearings! All from timber.”
“Harrison, sir? Is he in the army, sir?”
“He’s a clock maker Sergeant, a clock maker A very fine clock maker too.”
“Not a Frog, sir?”
“With a name like Harrison? Good Lord, no! He’s English, and he makes a good honest clock.”
“Glad to hear it, sir,” Hakeswill said, then reminded the Major of the purpose of his visit to the armoury.
“Sergeant Sharpe, sir, my good friend, sir, is he here?”
“He is here,” Stokes said, at last looking up from the clock, ‘or rather he was here. I saw him an hour ago. But he went to his quarters. He’s been away, you see. Involved in that dreadful business in Chasalgaon.”
“Chiseldown, sir?”
“Terrible business, terrible! So I told Sharpe to clean himself up. Poor fellow was covered in blood! Looked like a pirate. Now that is interesting.”
“Blood, sir?” Hakeswill asked.
“A six-toothed scape wheel With a bifurcated locking piece! Well, I never! That is enriching the pudding with currants. Rather like putting an Egg lock on a common pistol! I’m sure if you wait. Sergeant, Sharpe will be back soon. He’s a marvelous fellow. Never lets me down.”
Hakeswill forced a smile for he hated Sharpe with a rare and single minded venom.
“He’s one of the best, sir,” he said, his face twitching.
“And will he be leaving Seringapatam soon, sir? Off on an errand again, would he be?”
“Oh no!” Stokes said, picking up a magnifying glass to look more closely into the clock.
“I need him here, Sergeant. That’s it, you see!
There’s a pin missing from the strike wheel. It engages the cogs here, do you see, and the gearing does the rest. Simple, I suppose.” The Major looked up, but saw that the strange Sergeant with the twitching face was gone. Never mind, the clock was far more interesting.
Sergeant Hakeswill left the armoury and turned left towards the barracks where he had temporary accommodation. The King’s 33rd was quartered now in Hurryhur, a hundred and fifty miles to the north, and their job was to keep the roads of western Mysore clear of bandits and so the regiment ranged up and down the country and, finding themselves close to Seringapatam where the main armoury was located, Colonel Gore had sent a detachment for replacement ammunition. Captain Morris of the Light Company had drawn the duty, and he had brought half his men and Sergeant Obadiah Hakeswill to protect the shipment which would leave the city next morning and be carried on ox carts to Arrakerry where the regiment was currently camped. An easy task, but one that had offered Sergeant Hakeswill an opportunity he had long sought.