The Watcher in the Shadows Read Free

towards the large bronze entrance.
    The doors of Cravenmoore opened automatically, before they’d even had time to use the brass knocker, which was shaped like an angel’s face. A figure stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the aura of light that poured from the house. The figure suddenly came alive, tilting its head with a soft mechanical click. As it did so, they could see its face for the first time. It stared at them with lifeless eyes, simple glass beads encased by a mask that was frozen in a spine-chilling grin.
    Dorian gulped. Irene and her mother took a step back. The figure stretched out one hand and then stood still again.
    ‘I hope Christian didn’t frighten you. He’s a rather clumsy old creation of mine.’
    The Sauvelles turned towards the voice that came from the foot of the marble stairs. A kind face which was aging gracefully was smiling up at them mischievously. Blue eyes sparkled beneath a thick, silvery mop of well-groomed hair. The man, who was elegantly dressed and held an ebony walking stick with coloured inlays, climbed the steps towards them, then bowed politely.
    ‘My name is Lazarus Jann, and I think I owe you an apology.’
    His voice was warm and comforting. His large blue eyes scrutinised each member of the family until finally they came to rest on Simone’s face.
    ‘I was taking my usual evening walk through the forest and was delayed. Madame Sauvelle, I believe . . . ?’
    ‘It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.’
    ‘Please call me Lazarus.’
    Simone nodded. ‘This is my daughter Irene,’ she said. ‘And this is Dorian, the youngest in the family.’
    Lazarus Jann shook their hands courteously. His grasp was firm and pleasant, his smile infectious.
    ‘Right. As for Christian, don’t let him frighten you. I keep him as a souvenir of my first period. He’s awkward and doesn’t look very friendly, I know.’
    ‘Is he a machine?’ asked Dorian quickly. He was fascinated.
    Simone’s scolding look came too late. Lazarus smiled at Dorian.
    ‘You could call him that. Technically, Christian is what is known as an automaton.’
    ‘Did you build him, sir?’
    ‘Dorian,’ his mother reproached him.
    Lazarus smiled again. The boy’s curiosity didn’t seem to bother him in the least.
    ‘Yes. I built him and many more besides. That is, or rather was, my profession. But I think dinner is ready. Shall we discuss this, and get to know each other better, over a nice plate of food?’
    The smell of a delicious roast wafted towards them.
    Neither the alarming reception by the automaton nor the impressive exterior of Cravenmoore could have prepared the Sauvelles for the interior of Lazarus Jann’s mansion. No sooner had they stepped through the front door than they were submerged in a world of fantasy far beyond anything they could have imagined.
    A sumptuous staircase seemed to spiral towards infinity. Looking up, the Sauvelles could see it vanishing into the central tower of Cravenmoore, which was crowned by a small turret with windows all around, infusing the house with an other-worldly light. Beneath this spectral glow lay an immense gallery of mechanical creations. On one of the walls, a large clock with cartoon eyes smiled at the visitors. A ballerina, wrapped in a transparent veil, pirouetted in the centre of an oval hall in which every object, every detail, formed part of the world of fantastical creatures brought to life by Lazarus Jann. The doorknobs were smiling faces that winked as you turned them. A large owl with magnificent plumage slowly dilated its glass pupils as it flapped its wings. Dozens, perhaps hundreds, of miniature figures and toys filled an endless array of display cabinets it would have taken a whole lifetime to explore. A small mechanical puppy wagged its tail and barked playfully as a tiny metal mouse scurried by. Hanging from the ceiling, a merry-go-round of dragons and stars danced in mid-air to the distant notes of a music box.
    Wherever they looked,