He placed the pendulum back inside the bottom drawer.
CHAPTER EIGHTEENA VIEW OF THE FIRE FROM THE OTHER SIDE
It’s often said that those who don’t learn from the past are doomed to repeat it. One particular family seemed to have missed this pearl of wisdom.
Robert Baron III had been as unpopular as his father, who in turn had been just as unpopular as his father, the first Robert Baron and founder of Candlewick’s Candles. Like his predecessors, the third Robert Baron liked to strut around town in a tight, polished suit and sneer at the unfortunate people who weren’t born into a family of wealth (and without whom his wealth would have been impossible). He was shrewd like a weasel and as sneaky as a rat. Unlike his predecessors, he was as lazy as a sloth and had an insatiable appetite, so much so that at least one button on his suit popped off daily. He was also fond of the golden pendulum he always wore around his neck, as it was a constant reminder to others of his enormous wealth, and a constant reminder to himself of his enormous power.
Every employee of Candlewick’s Candles had a complaint or two about the factory. The floors of the factory were constantly covered in molten candle wax. There were open candle flames all around the cramped workspace, and it was common for the workers to accidentally burn their sleeves. More serious accidents had happened, too.
Yet somehow, all of those incidents were hushed up, forgotten. Formal complaints written against the factory disappeared mysteriously before they left the post office. Townspeople who had tried to form unions would abruptly forget their purpose and disband overnight.
As such, on the day of the disaster, when the boiler blew and the first licks of flame expanded across the factory, none of the workers thought of the greedy owner. If anything, they seemed to awake from some sort of deep trance. By then, the fire was spreading rapidly. Volunteer firefighters tried to put it out, to no avail. Water does not mix well with wax, and their attempts only fanned the flames outward in small bursts.
Afterward, it was revealed that Robert Baron III had been in enormous debt. A lavish lifestyle had laid waste to his inheritance, and his time overseeing the candle factory had not been as profitable as one might’ve imagined. After the fire, his mansion lay abandoned, most of his valuables were sold off, and his family name faded like smoke.
Only one individual knew the depth of the secrets behind the factory owner’s tyrannical grip on the townspeople. He alone knew why the workers had been so easily satisfied with the dreadful working conditions and worked so long for a cruel boss. In fact, this individual had been next in line to take over the factory, and would have ruled it with the same ruthless tactics, had it not burned down, and had Candlewick not become an abandoned wasteland.
Thirty years after the fire, in the ruins of his father’s once-great estate, Robert Baron IV fumbled through the books and papers that remained in the dark library. A clear inch of dust had settled on the leather-bound volumes and richly patterned carpet, and built up inside the gilded frames of forgotten paintings. Outside the filthy windows, the moon cast its dim light on the black and deserted streets of Candlewick.
His long fingers paused on an old newspaper article dated from 1921. The page was yellow, and some of the text was nearly faded.
ELBERT THE EXCELLENT REAPPEARS TO SHUN
CANDLEWICK’S CANDLES
May 22, 1921
New York, N.Y.—More than a decade after his rise and fall as a stage magician with a talent for hypnosis, thirty-year-old Elbert Walsh, formerly known as Elbert the Excellent, appeared in public again to denounce Candlewick’s Candles, the highly successful enterprise owned by Mr. Robert Tweed Baron I and his son, Robert Tweed Baron II. “The swine cheated me,” Walsh stated in an angry speech, which he delivered Saturday in a crowded downtown fish market. “The rights to those candles that you all love belong to me. And once I master the secrets of the time touch, Baron will be sorry.”
When prompted to explain what exactly he meant by “time touch,” the ex-magician refused to comment further.
It is known that the ex-magician used to work for a clockmaker.
“The time touch,” Robert Baron IV murmured softly to himself. It wasn’t the first time he’d come across this term. His father and grandfather often mentioned it at family reunions whenever business topics came up. They’d recount dreamily, over sparkling wine and fat cigars, how the first Robert Baron had secured the candles’ formula from a lunatic—“the schmuck had no idea he was sitting on a fortune, and bless our great Baron name to have the insight.”
They did agree, however, that one impressive thing about the schmuck had been his golden pendulum, which the first Robert Baron had had the presence of mind to steal when he’d ransacked the lunatic’s apartment all those years ago. He didn’t realize just how valuable it was until a group of butlers spontaneously broke into song and tap dance when he’d dangled the pendulum in the air.
“Great for keeping the workers in their place,” Robert Baron II had crowed, putting his arms around his son’s and grandson’s shoulders. “Works well on officials, too. I’ve gotten out of paying for every single accident at the factory. The nifty thing helps you avoid giving pay raises, too.”
Robert Baron IV stiffened at the memory. He never did find that nifty thing, despite searching every inch of the charred factory twenty years ago.
When he was a boy, he’d asked his family if they believed Great-Grandfather Robert I’s theft of the pendulum would result in backlash or danger from
