For eleven days after the striking frame broke, the clock stood without its weights while the craftsmen fitted the new supports and enclosed the drops. Woods kept the workroom key at night; Luwin held the spare. The new ash came in split, so the carpenter could examine the grain before he shaped it. Mallon's answer took longer. The bellfounder could come from White Harbor, but not before the work already promised there was finished.
While they waited, Jon divided his mornings between the household yard and the workroom. The broken lug lay in a drawer beneath his drawings. Whenever he took it out, he heard the stone hit the sand box and the rope strike the screen. He kept the two halves together.
Mallon reached Winterfell in the second moon after the test. The morning after his arrival, Luwin brought the spare key to Jon. "Woods has finished the trunks. Pate is waiting with your bell."
"Then let us hear it." Jon rose and fetched his cloak.
Jon looked along the passage. Woods waited with Olyver beside him. Mikken's leather apron was dusted with scale. Pate the bellman guarded a padded box, and Mallon of White Harbor stood behind it with three uneven points of grey beard upon his chin. Arthur waited by the door in white wool and mail. He glanced once towards the workroom as Jon fastened his cloak. Robb came running before the lock turned, one boot half fastened and a heel of bread between his teeth. "You said after breakfast."
"And you have brought it with you," Luwin said.
Wylla appeared behind Robb with another heel of bread, spread with butter and honey. She gave it to Jon. He ate while the maester unlocked the door.
The rebuilt clock stood naked upon four black pillars. Two oak trunks dropped through separate pits in the floor, each closed above and below by barred doors. Close-set guards covered the winding barrels. A rail ran before the wheels. The old cracked bell, a split pinion and the false-bored lug had been nailed to the wall, their failures visible beside the work meant to replace them.
Mallon opened the padded box. The new bell caught the morning light, green-gold, no wider than a helm and thick at the crown. At Jon's request Pate hung it in the yard beside the failed casting Mallon had brought in a sack. The same little hammer drew a dead clank from one and a bright note from the other that sent pigeons up from the roof.
"Why did it crack?" Robb asked.
Mallon showed him a dull line in the broken mouth. "The metal cooled before it filled that part of the mould. I heard it crack." He carried both bells inside.
Woods and Mikken tested the doors and iron eyes, wound the going weight behind its guards and removed the handle. Jon sat with Olyver and Robb beyond the rail. When Woods drew the peg, stone descended behind oak and the crown wheel caught beneath the verge. The weighted bar swung, halted and returned. Tick. Tock. Robb stopped eating.
"Is it right?"
"We shall see." Jon watched Pate turn the glasses. As the room warmed, the timber gave a faint creak and the beat softened. Woods felt the movement beneath his fingers. Jon marked the frame's foot against the stone. "Leave it until tomorrow. We need to see how far it settles."
They stopped after the fifth glass. Only when Woods had lowered the weight and Mikken opened the guard did Jon release the rail. The frame stood sound. He checked his mark once more before leaving.
Over the next three weeks the clock lost less time with each adjustment. A cold, wet spell thickened the oil; too much of it gathered dust around the lower pivot. Jon had Olyver clean the cup and refill it sparingly before they tried another full day. At the daily winding Jon let Pate find and tend the oil cups himself. He had handed over enough finished works in his first life to know which questions a visitor never thought to ask. Pate needed to reach every part without Jon beside him.
At noon Jon moved both foliot weights inward by one scored line. Robb watched the bar. "Would three lines make morning come sooner?"
"It would make Pate ring too early and curse us both," Jon said. "Leave them where they are."
The next striking trial counted thirteen. Once the weight was down, Jon took the count wheel from its arbor. "The follower rode over the lip."
"Or its nose is too broad," Mikken said.
They tried the neighbouring hollows before Olyver dressed the lip by less than a nail's thickness. Two trials rang twelve. The clock was moved beside Winterfell's hour bell, its weights and wheels enclosed. The foliot cover still had only a latch while Pate checked its rate. Jon had ordered a lock.
On the twenty-second evening of the trials, Robb offered a honey cake that he could make the morning hour strike early. "No wagers with the clock," Jon told him. "Leave it alone."
Pate shut the little cover after the last correction. Jon watched the latch fall and left with him. Robb followed as far as the stair, claimed he had forgotten a glove and doubled back alone. The gatehouse stair was still open. He lifted the foliot cover and moved both weights three marks inward.
Seven bronze blows woke the keep two turns of the glass before Pate's morning call was due. Luwin reached the gatehouse with one stocking loose. Pate had boots and a nightshirt. Two watch guards had roused their relief; in the bakehouse, fires had been lit before the dough was ready. Catelyn sent word to wait for the baker's judgement rather than the bell. Eddard looked at the moved weights. "Who?"
"I moved them," Robb said. "Jon refused the wager and left with Pate. I came back."
Jon looked at the unbroken latch. The iron lock had seemed a job that could wait while Pate corrected the rate.
"Jon told you to leave it alone," Catelyn said to Robb. He kept his eyes on the floor.
"It will have an iron lock before it runs again," Jon said. "Pate keeps the key. Luwin has the spare."
Eddard sent Robb to the bakehouse and made him carry the extra wood the ovens had consumed. Afterwards Woods set him to planing a cover for the foliot. He pressed the finished board against the bench and showed Robb the raised corner.
"Take that down a little more, my lord."
Robb had blisters by dinner and no wish to hear another clock.
The cover lay true when he had finished. Mikken fitted the lock before nightfall and gave Pate its key, with a spare for Luwin. Jon entered the extra firing in the clock's account. Robb sat opposite, picking a shaving from beneath his nail.
"I will pay it," Robb said.
"With what?"
Robb looked down. He had been ready to risk a honey cake, not a cart of wood. Wylla set onion broth between them and broke a heel from yesterday's loaf. Robb took his piece and went on picking at the shaving beneath his nail.
Six nights passed without another false hour.
At noon on the seventh day, Winterfell gathered beneath the eastern gate. Stableboys invented errands through the yard. A baker stood with flour to her elbows. Sansa watched from the bridge, blue wool bright against old grey stone, with Wylla holding Bran beside her. Eddard, Catelyn, Luwin and Arthur stood behind the rail while Pate wound both stones.
The warning wheel whispered. The bell struck once, then again. Horses raised their heads; hounds answered from the kennels. At the twelfth blow the hammer rested, while the going train continued its steady beat. For a moment no one spoke. Then Robb began to clap.
Woods grinned at his son. Mallon bowed so deeply that Mikken caught his sleeve before he stumbled against the rail. The baker who had been roused before her dough was ready laughed loudest of all. A woman beside her declared she had known Jon would do it. Wylla recognised the nursery linen woman. Mordane, beside Sansa on the bridge, looked down at the shout; the woman had already turned to ask Pate when her little boy could see the wheels. Wylla let the claim pass. Bran was reaching for the bell rope.
Olyver looked first at Jon, then at his father. Woods pulled him close with one arm and thumped his shoulder. The boy tried to smooth his hair afterwards, but the carpenter had left it standing at the crown. Mikken was showing Mallon the little movement still working below the hammer; both men bent to hear it beneath the talk.
The baker rubbed flour from her hands, found more in the creases and gave up. Jon thanked her for the pies sent to the workshop.
"You can repay me by leaving the night quiet, my lord."
"Pate has the key now. Robb will have to ask him."
She went laughing to her ovens. A groom waited to ask whether his boy could learn his letters. Jon told him to speak to the maester and bring the child after dinner, when Pate had promised to show the groom and his wife the works.
At the edge of the crowd, Heward stood with the household fresh from the yard, black badges sewn over damp wool. Tomas held two practice swords; Olyver had left his with him before going to his father at the clock. The boys no longer sprawled wherever there was room as they had in their first weeks. At Heward's glance they opened a path for a groom carrying tack, closed it again without being told, and went on craning to see the wheels. Jon beckoned Tomas closer so he could see through the rail. Heward remained behind them, arms folded, and gave Jon the smallest nod.
Before Tomas reached him, Sansa came down from the bridge and took Jon's free hand.
"It was louder here," she said. "Mother let me count all of them."
Wylla followed with Bran. Her eyes were bright, though she only told Jon to wipe the oil from his fingers before he touched his brother. He did so on the cloth at his belt, and Bran immediately closed a small hand around one finger. Above them Catelyn called Sansa back to the bridge. She had thanked Woods for his work and asked after Pate's elbow. When Jon looked up, she was fastening her daughter's cloak. Arthur watched her a moment before turning to the men still crowding round the frame.
Eddard rested one hand upon the gatehouse pier. "The clock belongs to Winterfell. Pate keeps it and Luwin judges any change."
Jon handed Pate the winding handle. The bellman tucked it through his belt and asked Mikken for the spare pin.
Eddard put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Well done. At supper you can tell me what you mean to send Robert."
* * *
The venison pie had gone cold before Jon finished drawing the travelling cases.
Catelyn sat beside the fire with Bran asleep upon her shoulder. Sansa picked onions from her portion and hid them beneath a crust. Robb had eaten everything on his own trencher and begun raiding Jon's. Arthur stood by the door until Wylla drew a stool to his place. "Your supper is getting cold, ser."
Jon had measured the narrowest gate and cart bed before drawing the travelling cases. Poole had recommended Osric, a factor who had carried Winterfell's wool through White Harbor for years. He would obtain the ship's hatch breadth before the cases were closed. Movement, bell and weights would travel apart; the crowned black-oak stag would be pegged above the face after the iron frame was fixed. Sansa leaned over the antler drawing while Catelyn looked at the packing cases. "Robert has bells."
"Men pull them through the night," Jon replied. "This will let one keeper sleep between windings and keep an honest hour until Robb visits."
"I will not do it again," Robb said. Sansa looked at the blister on his hand and believed him.
Eddard turned the drawing board. "Who carries this to King's Landing, and who can answer if the road shakes the works loose?"
"Osric. Woods will send the journeyman who helped fit the frame. Mallon has agreed to go on with them and hang the bell."
"The king may ask for the maker when he sees your name beneath the dial," Poole warned.
Arthur set down his knife. He had welcomed the faces turned towards Jon at the gatehouse; Poole's warning put different faces in their place. "He cannot have the boy."
"That answer is mine," Eddard said. "A gift does not oblige us to send Jon with it."
"Would you send me if he asked as your friend rather than commanded as king?" Jon asked.
Eddard looked across the cold pie. "No. Your work may travel. You remain here. Robert will want you at every feast, answering questions before half the court. I will not put you beneath his eye before I must."
"He gave me Dragonstone."
"He gave a babe a fortress because the jest pleased him. He also remembers holding you. Now he will want to see what else you can do."
Eddard reached past the drawing for Robert's letter. "I shall accept the nameday invitation myself. Stannis's award of Salt Wraith still needs the king's confirmation, and Ethan is waiting upon it. Osric can attend to the clock while I settle the ship."
"And if Robert asks where I am?" Jon asked.
"I shall tell him." Eddard folded the letter. "It is easier to answer him when I am there."
Jon glanced at Arthur. The knight had left his knife upon the table, but the objection went no further. With Eddard there, Robert would have an old friend to occupy him before he thought of summoning the boy who made his gift.
Jon turned the drawing towards his father. "It should be a gift. No gold from the king."
Poole cleared his throat. "A gift costing one hundred and eighty-four dragons is still paid by someone."
"House Black pays Winterfell back from the clocks we sell," Jon said. "Poole has the cost of the timber, iron and work in his book. The household's advance belongs there too. That comes before enlarging the benches or taking more men."
Eddard nodded and passed the account back to Poole.
Robb peered over Jon's shoulder. "Where are the antlers? Robert will think you have sent him a cupboard."
"Fourth case." Jon laid Poole's measured slat across the drawing. "They peg above the face once the movement is fixed." The case cleared the gate measure by two fingers on either side.
Sansa studied the separate carving. "They would be prettier narrower, and the king would still know what they were."
"Show me the curve you mean." Jon gave her the charcoal.
Eddard turned the case drawing towards the fire. "Suppose it reaches King's Landing, keeps good time, and every lord at the feast asks for one. What then?"
"Osric takes their names and the measures we need. He gives no sailing day until we have a place at the bench for the work. Each movement runs here before it leaves. Gold buys a clock, not the patterns."
"Will great lords enjoy that answer?" Catelyn asked.
"No. Osric gives it all the same."
Robb grinned. "Will Osric say no to a Lannister?"
"Aye. I will make that plain before he leaves."
Robb proposed packing Jon in the antler chest, with wool around his ears.
"I am staying here," Jon said, rescuing the drawing.
Wylla filled his cup with watered milk while Poole put away the letters. Eddard held the board towards the light and asked Sansa to show him how she had narrowed the antlers.
* * *
The second movement passed its trials. With seven cases on two carts beneath waxed canvas, Eddard set out for Joffrey's nameday. Martyn commanded twenty mounted Stark guards, Jory among them; Stannis's award and Ethan's accounts rode in Eddard's saddlebag. Mallon and Woods's journeyman accompanied Osric to see their work safely fitted.
Osric's shaggy bay took the washouts sideways, jarring his knees. At the first halt he tightened a loose lashing; on the second day, when the rear cart dropped into a rut and bent its axle pin, he stopped the driver reaching for a hammer. They must lift the axle before drawing the pin. The chest had shifted half a hand against its padding, and he would have it jolted no more. Once the pin was replaced and the padding repacked, they went on.
At White Harbor, Captain Hareth stowed the movement on a raised bed in Black Tern's hold, cushioned by eight bales of woollen cloth. Lean and grey at the temples, a scar across his hand, he made the mate tighten the forward lashings before letting Osric below. Osric had promised the cloth's owner payment for any damage.
An easterly gale caught them on the third night. Black Tern shortened sail to keep with the two cogs. Below, Osric found the chest dry, two bales near the hatch soaked with spray, and an iron case working loose. He helped the mate secure it and stayed until the rolling eased.
On the Blackwater quay he opened the wet bales with their owner. Drying, fulling and the cloth beyond saving cost twelve dragons from the road purse, paid before the king's chest was unloaded.
* * *
On the climb from the river, a gold cloak halted the Stark escort to let a string of packhorses turn across the street. Lions had been sewn upon their crimson covers. Martyn Cassel drew rein beside Eddard while the last horse balked at a drain and its handler dragged it clear. Above them, the Red Keep rose through the smoke of the city.
Royal guards admitted them at the gate. Within, men in Lannister crimson were unloading the packhorses beside the stables. Martyn sent Jory to see to the baggage and brought the escort into two files before allowing the men to dismount. Eddard had scarcely handed over his reins when Ser Barristan Selmy came down the steps in a white cloak.
"Lord Stark. His Grace has been asking whether every ship on the river was yours."
"I hope we have not kept him waiting too long."
"He has been asking since yesterday." Barristan smiled and led him inside.
They found Robert coming out of his solar, with Jon Arryn a pace behind. The king stopped at the sight of Ned, then broke into a grin. "You took your bloody time."
Ned began to bow. Robert caught him by both shoulders and pulled him into an embrace that drove the breath out of him. He smelt of leather and wine. There was more flesh about his waist than there had been on Pyke, but the arms were as strong as ever.
"Gods, it is good to see you." Robert held him away to look at him. "Still wearing a face fit for a funeral. Did the sea swallow your horse?"
"Only my supper." Ned found himself smiling. "Twice."
Robert laughed loudly enough to turn heads at the far end of the passage. "We shall put that right. Jon, look who has remembered where we live."
Lord Arryn had waited for the king to release him. His hair had thinned, leaving more of his high brow bare, and grey had overtaken the sandy colour Ned remembered. His pale blue eyes were warm. Ned took his offered hand in both of his own.
"My lord."
"Ned." Jon drew him close and clasped his shoulder. "You are very welcome here." He studied his face as he stepped back. "How are Catelyn and the children?"
"Well. Bran has begun following his sisters wherever they go. Sansa objects. Arya puts him to work."
"Then I must hear what work a child of her years has found for him."
"You can have all the nursery tales at supper," Robert said. "First he must meet mine. Barristan, tell the queen Lord Stark has arrived."
They waited in the solar while wine was brought. Robert wanted news of the North, of the men who had fought beside them, of whether Theon Greyjoy was giving trouble. He scarcely left room for an answer before remembering another question. Ned was describing how the boy had taken to Ser Rodrik's lessons when the door opened again.
Cersei entered with Joffrey beside her and a little girl holding her hand. A nurse followed, carrying a sleeping infant. Ser Jaime Lannister followed them as far as the door and stayed there. His white cloak fell from a clasp of gold, and his hair shone as brightly as his sister's. Ned gave him a curt nod before turning to the queen.
"My queen," Robert said, setting down his cup. "Cersei, here is Ned at last."
She offered her hand. Ned bowed over it. Her beauty was as striking as the singers claimed, though her smile was more restrained than Robert's. An emerald at her throat matched her eyes.
Cersei asked after Lady Stark. Ned conveyed her respects; the journey was long for the little ones. The queen brought Joffrey forward.
The prince bowed carefully, golden curls combed from his forehead, one hand upon his little belt. "Father says you were with him when he beat the ironmen."
"I was, my prince."
"Did you bring the clock?"
"It is coming from the quay. The men must put it together before you can hear it."
Joffrey glanced towards the window overlooking the yard. Robert laughed and turned him gently by the shoulder. "You will wear a hole in the glass before your nameday. Let Ned meet your sister."
Myrcella hid half her face against her mother's skirts when Ned bent to greet her. Cersei smoothed a loose curl from the child's cheek and told him her name. The nurse came nearer at Robert's beckoning, drawing back the wrap enough for Ned to see Tommen. The baby slept on through his father's voice.
"That one has the right of it," Robert said. "I have been talking since dawn."
"He had less sleep than you did," Cersei replied. Her smile changed as she looked down at her youngest.
Ned offered his good wishes for the children. He had known Robert as a boy, a warrior and a king; seeing him with his son beneath his hand took a moment's getting used to. Joffrey had begun edging towards the window again. Robert let him go and called Ned over to see whether the carts had reached the yard.
When Tommen woke, Cersei gathered Myrcella and called Joffrey from the glass. Jaime followed them. Robert wanted Ned's children brought next time; Jon Arryn filled Ned's cup while they discussed horses to suit them. A council clerk eventually reclaimed the Hand, leaving Robert to his hunting plans and old companions.
In Ned's chambers, Martyn waited until the servant had left before closing the door. Jory held the stair; eight men were settled here and the rest by the stables, to change at the fourth hour. Ned laid his sword belt on the bed.
"A good many lions between the gate and these rooms," Martyn said. "Fewer stags once you are inside."
"The queen has a household to maintain."
"Aye. Her men were giving the king's porters their orders. I had to ask one of them where our baggage should go."
Ned had seen the same crimson at the turn of the royal stair. "They know the castle. We do not."
Martyn inclined his head. He had made no accusation. Ned wondered why he had answered as though he had.
"Keep our men together," he said. "And see that Osric has what help he needs."
Later, Ned took Stannis's prize award to the Hand's chambers. Jon Arryn rose from a desk crowded with letters and drew him towards the hearth. A clerk was still at work beneath the window, scratching through a column of figures. Jon waited until the man had gathered his papers and withdrawn before pouring the wine.
"I meant to send for you sooner. Robert has doubled the purses for the nameday tourney." Jon lowered himself into his chair. Only then did Ned see how tired he was. His broad shoulders sagged, and he rested his head against the high back before reaching for his cup. "He announced it in the yard. Several of the men who will ride were present."
"He was always open-handed," Ned said.
"I know. This morning he agreed that we had spent enough."
Ned glanced at the abandoned figures. "Can the treasury bear it?"
"With another loan." Jon turned the cup between his hands. "Lord Tywin has offered one. His letter also commends a cousin for a place in the royal household. The queen has spoken to Robert on the man's behalf."
"What place?"
"Supervision of the armoury stores. There is a capable man there already."
"Then Robert will hear you."
"He heard me yesterday. Today Cersei asked him why her cousin should be sent home in disgrace after coming so far." Jon drank. "He wants the fellow found something suitable."
Ned thought of the red cloaks by the stables and of Martyn having to ask a Lannister man where to put the king's guests. "You need not take every man Tywin sends."
"I have refused this one the armoury. That may be tomorrow's quarrel as well." Jon set down his cup. "Robert dislikes coming away from his wife to be told that I must disappoint her. He dislikes the accounts more. Once I could bring him both in an afternoon. Now I choose which I most need him to hear."
"He trusts you."
"Yes," Jon said. "I wish he would remember that before he agrees to things."
Ned almost smiled. Jon's hand lay beside the cup, the knuckles enlarged with age. At the door another clerk spoke quietly to the guard, then went away. Ned had spent the afternoon enjoying Robert's company while this man settled the business they had left behind.
"If you have need of men you know, send to me."
Jon looked up. "I will. For tonight, it is enough to have you here." His glance fell to the folded parchment in Ned's hand. "Though I see you have brought work of your own."
"The prize Stannis assigned to Jon. Ethan's reckoning came from Dragonstone, but some crews' shares still want settling." Ned handed over the award. "Robert's confirmation is partly why I came. The other reason is to give him me to talk to for a fortnight. His letters keep asking for the boy, and the clock will give him another reason."
Jon read both papers. "Stannis shall bring the final claims before him while you are here. You may keep the king seated long enough to hear them."
"Jon is seven. His place is with his brothers and his lessons."
"The ship's business needs no more than your seal. I shall send the papers through you. Leave the boy where he is happy."
Ned thanked him. The clerk's chair scraped in the outer room. Jon called for the man to wait and leaned towards the fire.
"Now tell me what Arya has been teaching her brother."
Ned stayed until the candles needed trimming. When he left, the clerk was admitted with a fresh handful of letters. He looked back once at Jon bending over them. The king would listen if Jon pressed him; he had seen Robert yield to him a hundred times. The nameday had put the whole castle out of order. Once it was over, there would be time to settle these appointments properly.
Next morning the under-steward showed Eddard the recess chosen in their letters. Work beside the store wall would close a busy passage; at Ned's direction he opened the other stair. Over two days, masons cut the drops and the king's carpenters fixed the frame into pier and floor under Woods's journeyman. The man freed a retaining pin trapped by a shifted ash wedge during the voyage. Mallon checked the hammer and rope, and that evening the machine beat beneath the black-oak stag.
* * *
Jon Arryn had arranged for Stannis to present the prize claims at Joffrey's feast. Eddard took his place beside Robert as the servants brought in the first dishes.
The king's small hall glittered with cloth-of-gold, green samite, crimson velvet and polished plate. Honeyed capons browned upon silver dishes. Steam rose from lamprey pies. Pages carried flagons of Arbor red between lords already jostling for a view of the crowned stag in the adjoining passage.
Stannis stood at a plain table with the final reckoning for Salt Wraith before him. His broad shoulders were rigid, his square jaw set beneath a close black beard. Part of the captors' money had already gone home; the remainder awaited the king's confirmation. He read the portions agreed for the boarding men, oarsmen and archers who had brought the prize clear of the fighting. Of the men entitled to this last payment, three left wives, and another a mother and two young sons. "Their coin goes to their kin, not to the captain's purse."
Robert tore a leg from one of the capons. "Must a prize hearing darken a nameday?"
"There are shares still owing on the ship you mean to give away," Stannis said.
"To Ned's boy," Robert answered. "I have heard the claims. Tell me what remains to be done."
"Confirm the award and settle the remaining claims. The mast and seams need work before she can go to sea again. Giving Lord Black the hull does not pay either bill."
Eddard watched the inked names rather than Robert. "Pay the dead men's kin first and let the living captors hear what remains."
"I said the same," Stannis replied. "Your agreement adds no silver, but perhaps Robert will hear it from you."
Robert chewed and pointed the capon bone at his brother. "You always say it as though no one else thought of justice until you entered the room."
"Many men think of it. Fewer put it before their own share."
Robert gave a long groan. "Confirm it, then. Settle the claims and give Jon his galley when the hull can float without a prayer."
"It floats now," Stannis said. "Whether it can fight another hard sea is the question."
"Then make it float without two prayers and a carpenter beneath every seam."
Stannis entered the king's decision and sanded the judgement. Robert reached for another piece of capon. "The boy sent no letter begging for his ship?"
"He wrote to Ethan about the families," Eddard said. "Three of the dead had no kin named beside them. He wants them found."
"Did Denys send him the whole list?" Robert had stopped chewing.
"He read it aloud. Robb sat with him."
"Seven, and already fretting like you." Robert shook his head, smiling. "Bring him south next year, Ned. I should like to hear what else he has to say."
"Let him finish the work he has begun," Eddard said. "You have given him a ship to mend as well. When I left, his maester was wondering where he would find time for lessons."
"Lessons? He can put those off for a visit."
Jon Arryn folded his copy of the award. "I seem to recall hearing that argument before. From both of you."
Robert laughed. "And you never once believed us." He pushed back his chair. "Very well, Ned. Show me what is keeping your son so busy."
The court crowded the passage behind the wooden rail. Osric stood with the two keepers as the warning wheel whispered and the blackened warhammer rose. By the fourth stroke Robert was grinning; the carved stag trembled round machinery whose strain it did not bear. On the sixth, the hammer settled and the going train ticked on.
Robert put a boot upon the rail and leaned towards the open work door.
"Take care, Your Grace," Osric said. "The wheels are moving."
"So I see." Robert leaned back and seized Eddard by one shoulder. "Six strokes, Ned. And no man pulling a rope."
"Jon designed it," Eddard said. "Our smith and carpenter made the first with him."
Robert looked through the open work door. "Seven years old, and already giving smiths work enough to curse him. I want to hear how he thought of all this."
"Ask in your letter. I will see that he answers."
Robert grunted. "A letter is a poor substitute for an argument with a Stark." He straightened when Joffrey tugged at his sleeve.
* * *
From the work door, Osric saw Prince Joffrey beneath Cersei's hand in a doublet of crimson velvet sewn with tiny golden stags. The queen wore green silk, her golden hair braided clear of a face so composed that Osric lowered his eyes when she glanced towards him. Joffrey's hair matched hers, though his had been curled about a jewelled coronet. He watched his father laugh, then fixed impatient green eyes upon the silent hammer. "It struck six," he said.
"Yes, my prince. It is six."
"I am five today. Make it strike five for my nameday."
Osric bowed. "It will strike five tomorrow, my prince. We must let it run."
"My father is king, and this is his clock."
"And even I must wait for seven," Robert said. "Come cut your cake before the sugar stag falls over."
Joffrey obeyed because the hall was watching. Colour remained high in his cheeks. Cersei followed him towards the cake, a page lifting the trailing silk clear of a dropped piece of bread. Behind them the courtiers lingered at the rail. One man asked a keeper where the bell rope had been hidden. Another was already describing a place in his own hall where such a clock might stand.
Osric returned to the seat the under-steward had found for him. It was well below the salt, between a wool factor and an elderly knight whose elbows crowded both neighbouring trenchers. The knight had scarcely spoken to him before the ringing. Now he shifted along the bench, made room and asked how many smiths Lord Black employed.
"Fewer than he will need if half these lords mean what they say, ser." Osric cut his beef while it was still hot. Across the hall Robert had one arm round Eddard's shoulders and was calling for someone who had missed the hour. The northern lord endured the attention with the look of a man who had heard the tale too often already.
A servant in Tyrell colours reached Osric before he had taken his third mouthful. His master wanted a rose whose petals opened at dawn. Osric asked whether his lord wished for a clock or wished first to see such a rose made. The servant had not been told. He remained beside the table while an Arryn man unrolled a drawing of the Giant's Lance road and began explaining its narrow turns.
"Have you Lord Arryn's order?" Osric asked.
The man had measurements and his own assurance that his lord would be pleased. Osric took down his name. A servant wearing the Manderly merman waited until he had finished writing, then asked how salt touched bronze and produced the breadth of Merman's Court. Osric moved his wine clear of the drawing. This man had measured the old bell wall as well.
The lion-liveried factor did not wait for a space in the talk. He offered eight hundred dragons for a gilt lion and the right to send a western smith to Jon's bench. The elderly knight stopped cutting his meat. Osric finished the word beneath his pen before looking up.
Osric drew a line beneath the requests already entered. The lion factor put one finger upon the blank space.
"Lord Tywin expects the first clock after the king's."
"Then I must have his sealed order," Osric said. "And the measurements. I cannot promise him a delivery before Lord Black has seen both."
"His lordship will pay eight hundred dragons."
"I have heard the price. The place at the bench is not mine to promise." Osric laid his knife aside and reached for a clean sheet. "Set down the whole request. I will take it to Lord Black."
Across the hall Joffrey watched the men gathering around Osric. Robert had begun telling the clock's tale with an invisible hammer in one fist. Each telling made Jon a little smaller and the clock a little larger.
A hearth boy passed with a box of tapers hugged to his chest. He was perhaps ten, made smaller by hunger, soot black upon one cuff and hard tallow upon the other. No lord looked at him. Joffrey did.
Before the seventh hour, he led the boy into the clock passage and pointed to the long iron poker beside the hearth. "Strike the bell five times."
The boy held the poker in both hands. "The keeper said no one touches it, my prince."
"I am the prince," Joffrey said. "The keeper obeys my father, and you obey me."
"Five times," Joffrey said.
The guard at the entrance looked away. Osric had seen the prince leave the hall and followed him. "Put that down, lad."
The boy released it so quickly that the end struck stone. Joffrey rounded upon him. "He meant to break Father's clock."
"No, my prince." The boy shrank against the wall.
"He had the poker!"
The guard seized the child's shoulder. Osric kept between the boy and the bell. "Call the under-steward before you take him away. Lord Stark will want the truth of what happened beside his gift."
The under-steward arrived with the senior keeper. Both locks remained whole. The bell had not been touched. Joffrey pointed at the boy. "He meant to break it."
The under-steward looked at the guard. "Was he acting on an order?"
The man swallowed. "Aye."
"Send him away," Joffrey said. The under-steward bowed. "At once, my prince."
The under-steward turned to the boy. "Go to the outer hearth. Tell the cook I sent you."
Osric followed him as far as the passage. "What is your name?"
"Wat."
"Have you eaten, Wat?"
The boy shook his head. Osric gave a kitchen servant a copper to bring him a bowl, and waited until it came.
Wat carried his taper box away. The prince returned to his cake. No one called the king. The under-steward took the guard aside, and Osric went back to his place by the work door. At the seventh hour the clock rang without being summoned. Courtiers turned. Joffrey sat still beneath his mother's hand and waited through every stroke. The lion factor watched him. Then he looked at the barred work door, Osric's freight coat and Eddard Stark beside the king. "Eight hundred dragons," he said again. "Master Crellan will carry them north." Osric noted the name.