The first thing you notice when you climb the 123 steps to reach the top of Lawson Tower is the bells. Ten of them, from between 25 and 52 inches in diameter, sit mutely in the airy space, waiting for the hour to strike the largest of them.

They can be played at a clavier at ground level, by means of ten wooden levers, each bringing forth a note from its bell.

The next thing you notice is the airiness of the room. The windows all along the perimeter of the tower are shuttered when the building is closed, but during open hours it’s nothing but mesh screen:

 and the wind dances through it on light feet. And if you look down below, you’ll see Dreamwold – or what remains of it. Dreamwold was once a sprawling estate, the home of one very wealthy and powerful man. Now it is broken up into condominiums and houses and Lawson is only a name for a street or a landmark.

 It wasn’t that long ago that Thomas Lawson ran his empire, and it wasn’t that long ago that it all fell apart. Lawson died poor and broken but left his mark; we see the fingerprints all over town, though we no longer remember much of the man who made them.