Free The Brass Giant by Brooke Johnson

complex pulley system attached to the slider might hold the tension, but the power needed to move the sliders quickly and maintain tension would take a lot of energy, and a complex guidance system. The loss of power between the mainspring, gear trains, cam, and sliders needed to be as minimal as possible. And she had to make sure the sliders could withstand the pressure of all four cam patterns, keeping in mind that the cable tension would need to undergo constant adjustment as the machine switched between each specific action, and—­
    Petra dropped the pages into her lap. To build everything properly, the automaton would have to be at least six feet tall and half as broad, if not larger—­which would, of course, require even more power. The barrel for each mainspring would need to be the size of a small cask to run the contraption. She had never worked on anything larger than a grandfather clock, and nothing nearly as complicated. If she and Emmerich managed it, what a beauty it would be! A ticker that complex and powerful would revolutionize engineering. ­People from all over the world would come to see it, to learn how it worked.
    The doorbell clanged again, and Petra jumped, the automaton design falling from her lap and skittering across the floor.
    â€œJust a moment!”
    She gathered the automaton designs and shoved them back into the document box, haphazardly setting it on a stool before dashing out of the storage room. A man stood in the center of the shop.
    â€œI’m afraid Mr. Stricket’s gone out,” she said, smoothing her skirts. “But you’re welcome to wait until he gets back. He shouldn’t be long.”
    The man moved silently to the back of the shop and fixed Petra with a curious stare. “I’m looking for someone to fix me watch,” he said, laying a pocket watch on the counter. “Think you can look it over?” He propped his elbow up and leaned in, the reek of mothballs on his worn jacket and a noticeable shadow of stubble on his chin.
    A bit unnerved by the way the customer seemed to be studying her, Petra picked up the watch and turned it over in her hand. It was an old watch. The silver plating was tarnished, and the metal beneath had already begun to rust. She wound the winding stem but nothing happened. The hands stood still. “When was the last time the watch was brought in for maintenance?”
    â€œDon’t know. Can you fix it?”
    â€œMr. Stricket can have a look at it when he returns. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly.”
    â€œHow long you been working for this Stricket fellow?” the man asked, leaning against the counter. “Know much about clocks, do you?”
    Petra narrowed her eyes. “I suppose . . .” she said slowly.
    The back door to the alley opened and shut with a bang, and before Petra could blink, the man grabbed the watch, crossed the shop, and stepped through the front door without so much as a sound.
    â€œOdd.” She shook her head and turned toward the storage room, running squarely into Tolly’s chest.
    â€œWhat’s odd?” he asked, holding her steady.
    â€œHello, Tolly.” Why he always used the back entrance, she never understood. She quickly brushed him away. “Weird customer is all.”
    â€œOh yeah? Where’s Mr. Stricket?”
    â€œAt the post.”
    He hopped onto the counter and patted the spot beside him. “Then take a break. You’ve been slaving away all day.”
    Petra glanced at the box sitting precariously atop the stool in the storage room. She couldn’t afford not to work on the automaton designs. “That’s all right,” she said. “I have some things I need to do, so—­”
    â€œI haven’t seen much of you in the last few days.”
    She shrugged. “I’ve been busy.”
    â€œWith what? What’s so important that you can’t spare a bit of time for