Lincoln's Wizard Read Online Free PDF Page A

the most fun he’d had in months. It was overly complex for something as simple as a music box. Still, as Braxton examined it, he began to see where the gearing could be simplified without comprising the intricate motion of the prisms.
    After a few more minutes of poking around, he set to work. The problem with the music box had been evident to him the moment he sat down. The spindle on the balance wheel was bent, causing it to wobble and stop instead of keeping the device in time. Using the pliers, Braxton carefully straightened the metal rod, then began reassembling the network of gears, escapements, and lever arms. He was aware that Pinkerton had been gone for some time, but it didn’t bother him. This was the work he enjoyed most, creating order out of chaos, shaping the world with the power of his hands and the ingenuity of his mind.
    When he had the gears reassembled on the base, he carefully fitted it back into the body of the machine, then set it upright on its silver feet. He reached for the key to wind it but stopped.
    “Might as well get the full effect,” he said.
    He reattached the little oil reservoir that fed the lamp in the center of the music box, then lit it with a match from his shirt pocket. The light burned slightly green and the smoke had a pungent aroma, like aged pipe tobacco.
    Moving carefully, Braxton wound the key on the back of the music box. When he released it, the box hesitated, then began to turn. Tuneless music emerged from the base of the box, pleasing, but without the form one expects from a proper melody. Braxton frowned for a moment, wondering if he had been mistaken in the order of the gear assembly, but by then the tune seemed most pleasant to his ears. The prisms caught the light from the lamp and exploded in a dance of color and little rainbows.
    Absently, Braxton noticed that the prisms hesitated a bit when they reached the end of their prescribed arcs. If he added jewel movements to the lever arms he could fix that. He thought about making a note of it, but his mind seemed strangely out of focus.
    Taking a deep breath, Braxton leaned forward on his hands to watch the swirling play of color and sound on the desk before him. It was the most comfortable he’d been in months.
    O O O
    Pinkerton left the office, closing the door behind him. When he’d first read Braxton’s story in the papers he suspected the young man would be ideal for his purposes. Now that he’d met Braxton, he was sure.
    He walked down the carpeted hall, past the armed sentries, to a set of ornate double doors, lacquered with an oriental scene. He knocked and went in without waiting for a response. The room beyond was long and rectangular with a vaulted ceiling surmounted by a skylight. Two long couches sat facing each other around a low table and beyond them crouched a massive desk. Behind the desk sat a somber man in a simple black suit who rose as Pinkerton entered.
    “Well?” President Lincoln asked, moving around the desk to the sideboard. “Does this hero of yours meet with your approval?”
    “He’s perfect,” Pinkerton said, joining Lincoln as the taller man poured two cups of tea from a china pot. Pinkerton accepted a cup from Lincoln and the two sat down on opposite couches. “He’s smart enough to get the job done, but not wise enough to see what’s coming.”
    Lincoln sighed, allowing his tea to cool.
    “You make it sound very tawdry, Allan,” he said, sipping from the cup. “You know I don’t much care for this.”
    “I don’t much care for legions of Confederate Grays massing in every quarter,” Pinkerton said. “You know as well as I do that if something’s not done about that, and soon, we’re going to lose this war.”
    Lincoln sighed again and nodded.
    “I suppose it is as bad as that,” he said. “We really should bring Stanton in on this. He is my secretary of war.”
    “No,” Pinkerton said, more forcefully than he intended, splashing tea on his cuff. “I’ve lost