The shop with its walls displaying clocks, music boxes (with and without dancers), and other gearwork contraptions among its shelves, was quiet. An older man leaned against the frame of an open doorway into another room behind the shop. Customers could if they tried, glimpse into the interior if the door was open when they were present. Usually all that would be visible is a back wall, lined with shelves, except for a window at the top of the room. The wall opposite the tool and equipment laden shelves contained a workbench, behind which currently sat a dark-haired teen. Shelves and trays of small pieces requiring a magnifying lens to see stacked on either side of the middle of the workbench. The teen bent intently over the instrument in his hand. He checked its parts, ensuring everything was in its place and working. Satisfied, he handed it to the wiry man who had been watching him.
The man was older and more experienced, having just slightly more years on him to be the teen’s father. He looked impassively at the teen, then inspected the piece, first the front and the back. He opened the watch, closed it, then turned it over and opened the back to inspect its gears. He closed the back, took a cloth, opened the front again and began wiping it down. “Imbecile,” he finally said. “Always, always, always polish the piece when you’re done!”
He placed the watch carefully on a shelf, then strode to the teen and cuffed the back of his head. “How long have you been my apprentice?”
“Ten years, Sir.”
“Have you learned nothing? Are you so daft that you can’t remember a simple thing? No, I think you’re just too lazy! That, and you’re such a sloth!” He cuffed the teen again, managing to not strike the shelves. “Work efficiently! People want their items back quickly! You can’t sell product if you aren’t making it. You’ve got to move!” he bellowed.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Honestly I wonder sometimes if you’re doing things just to piss me off!” The older man cuffed the teen again. “For good measure!” He turned on his heel and left.
The teen massaged the back of his head. His eyes were slightly tired from the long hours of minuscule piecework, and now the back of his head hurt. “Ass,” he muttered and put away the tools on the workbench.
§
He had always been a bright child, and began his apprenticeship with watchmaker Claus Eberhardt when he was 5. After a few years of running errands and learning the parts and tools, he was given a practice piece to assemble. There was plenty of room for improvement but Claus conceded that his apprentice had “surgeon’s hands” - one of two desirable features in the trade.
He was also quick to learn. An apprentice was expected to observe several times before the master would consider having them try something. Usually the first attempt would fail. Claus’s apprentice was ready to try something after seeing it once, or maybe twice; the fact that the first attempt usually failed was expected. After all, he was learning.
Oskar was fifteen when Claus gave him his first client to practice. The client was a retired doctor who brought what seemed like hundreds of trinkets. Each of them had some sort of mechanical function in need of attention. Oskar found that most of the pieces were in want of a cleaning and oil, while some needed a small amount of light maintenance.
Oskar worked fastidiously and as efficiently as he could. He finished the intricate pieces within a month. At the end, each piece looked and worked as it had when it was new. The metal bits which previously had a dull, darkened appearance now shone brightly with polish. Claus inspected the items as they were completed, saying nothing while Oskar labored. He inspected them all once more when Oskar finished, and rewarded him with the usual strike across the face for taking too long.
Nonetheless, the doctor was pleased when he collected his ornaments. He spoke briefly with Oskar while they waited for Claus. The old doctor examined them through spectacles placed at the end of his nose. “You worked on these?”
Oskar nodded. “Yes, Sir.”
“That’s some fine work. You’ll be on your own in no time.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Claus returned shortly after carrying the last box of the tokens. He let the doctor examine them briefly. “Are they to your liking?”
“Yes, absolutely. I imagine it took some effort.”
Oskar watched as the doctor paid Claus handsomely. He worked on different tasks for the remaining hours that the shop was open. As Claus was closing shop, Oskar approached him. “Excuse me, Herr Eberhardt.”
Claus raised his eyebrows. “What is it?”
“I was wondering, Sir. Since I actually did the work on the pieces, if I could be paid something of the fee.”
“You think you’ve earned it?” Claus asked with a somewhat incredulous tone.
“I did give the effort and the customer was satisfied.”
“So? You’re my apprentice. You used my tools, my knowledge, my workshop to accomplish this. It is you who should pay me for the privilege of getting the knowledge and using my equipment.”
“Yes, an apprentice, I know. I’ve been an apprentice longer than any other. By now, you should have made me a journeyman and begun paying me.” Oskar glared.
“So is that it? You think you can take my skill, use my tools, and use my workshop, and just because you did a little work for someone, that you deserve to be called journeyman and get paid?”
“That’s how it’s supposed to work! I’ve done your mindless errands and watched you for years! Even most masters give some allowance to their apprentices.”
“Then they’re fools. Paying apprentices – bah.”
“Sir! I did the work!” Oskar shouted.
Claus stepped forward and struck Oskar on the side of the head. “Impetuous and greedy! A little bit of work entitles you to nothing! It is expected of you!”
“Those were over a hundred intricate pieces! You said yourself, you may have been challenged!”
Claus backhanded Oskar. “Mind your place!” he shouted. Then he thought for a moment, and seemed to calm. “Still, I suppose I did say it would have been a challenge. And there were a lot of pieces. Hm.”
Oskar watched as Claus pulled some coins from a pocket. He sorted gold and silver, and drew a few copper pieces out of his palm. “Here,” he dropped the copper pieces in Oskar’s hand.
Oskar stiffened himself and was silent.
Claus looked at Oskar and narrowed his eyes. “Show some gratitude, you greedy boy. That’s more than what you’re worth.”
Oskar managed a “Thank you” through his grit teeth.
§
Ballerina is a generous term, Oskar thought. He studied the model on the music box. A round sinuous gear rotated in the normally hidden area under the box. A cog attached to the end of a rod was set on the gear. When the gear turned the cog turned and drove the rod to rise and fall in a relatively smooth motion.
He examined the ballerina that was attached to the rod. Joints were installed at the shoulders, elbows, hips, and knees to allow the dancer to rise and fall with the rod. Most models used simple eyelets to allow the movement. This one had used washers and a pin so the movement was in one direction, rather than rocking back and forth sideways and in circles as the model went through the motions. Still, Oskar felt the overall movement was somewhat clumsy.
Oskar rechecked his sketches, comparing them to the model. He understood that the small size limited materials and methods that could be used, and this prevented a more faithful replication of movement. Oskar calculated and extrapolated from his sketches to a design. He worked during his spare time to assemble a preliminary model that hid the gearworks inside of the figurine while still allowing a range of motion. Once the figurine had all of its function and a semblance of form, Oskar brought it to Claus.
Claus regarded the half meter tall model dispassionately. Standing at a half-meter in height, the form itself was nothing more than an enlarged wooden model used by artists, showing a general shape of a human. “So this is what you’ve been doing?
“Yes, Sir.”
Claus narrowed his eyes. “I trust you did not do this on my time?”
“No, Sir.”
“Good. What does it do?”
Oskar detached a key from the platform and wound it. After a few turns, he flipped a switch. The model started dancing. Claus watched as the model began with the standard rise and fall motion of the smaller models. Then the model extended the limbs of one side and brought them down. The action was repeated, then the model extended and lifted the limbs on the other side. The figurine put its arms into a circle and twirled, moving its legs as a normal dancer would.
Claus let the routine finish, then handled the model and moved the joints. “Free movement, and you’ve applied real limits I see. It was remarkably near true to life. Was that your goal?”
Oskar held himself to a smile and answered appreciatively. “Yes, Sir.”
“I admit that you largely accomplished that. The doll moved smoothly. I did notice that when the limbs were lowered, they dropped a bit and it wasn’t as elegant as the rest of the motion. It’s an obnoxious distraction you’ll want to fix.”
Oskar cringed slightly.
Claus set the model on the counter. “Still, it’s already much better than anything else. A bit of fine tuning shouldn’t be hard. Show me when you’ve fixed this.”
The weeks passed while Oskar researched and made adjustments. He brought it back before Claus, and demonstrated again. The model repeated its routine. Oskar waited with anticipating silence after the demonstration while Claus handled the figure.
“Hm.” Claus set the doll on the table again. “Good.”
“Thank you.”
Later, Oskar contacted another apprentice. He had some plans for the model.
When he showed Claus his project a month later, he brought a figure that was as lifelike as the wood material could allow. The figure had been painted a healthy, yet light skin color. A light blush was applied to the cheeks, and the lips painted a light pink. Blue eyes and a small blond wig completed the image. Oskar had also obtained clothes for the figure. He could tell that Claus was making an effort to remain impassive. Finally, he switched the doll on. He had added movements to the repertoire, some of which required moving limbs independently or standing on one leg. Oskar had designed the doll so the rod holding it was hidden and unobtrusive. The dancing figurine could jump and twirl just as a person could. When the dancer had run through its course, Oskar stopped it.
Claus was smiling. “Remarkable. Brilliant. I have never seen anything like this. You did well.”
“Thank you,” Oskar was relieved, and happy.
“Could you make more of these?”
“Yes, I could.”
“Good, good then. I’ll let that be your task now. Make about 15 or 20, sell as many as you can.”
