Chapter 10

  A new clock

  I push my plate aside and stand, the scrape of the chair legs against the floor making a few nearby patrons glance over. Gerrick’s sudden entrance and urgent tone have already drawn curious eyes, and I can feel the subtle shift in the room—the way people lean just slightly closer without looking like they’re leaning at all.

  Better not give them a story to chew on."Alright," I say, grabbing your pocket knife and watch before stepping away from the table. "Let’s go before half the inn tries to piece together why Baron Blackwood’s name came up over breakfast."

  Gerrick nods quickly, relief flashing across his face. He leads me out into the street at a brisk pace, not speaking again until I’ve put a good distance between ourselves and the Lantern’s Rest.

  The walk to his shop is short, but the urgency in his steps makes it feel faster. When I step inside, the familiar scent of oil and metal hits me, along with the sight of a half-finished clock dominating the main workbench. This one is unlike anything else I’ve seen from him—larger, more ornate, its frame carved with curling patterns of wood and inlaid with what looks like polished onyx.

  "There it is," Gerrick says, gesturing to it. "My masterpiece… if I can make it run."

  I step up to the workbench, hands already brushing over the clock’s polished surface as Gerrick talks. The wood is smooth under your fingertips, the carvings intricate—clearly made to impress someone with wealth and taste. The faceplate is set with brass numerals, and the pendulum housing is framed in a dark, glossy stone I recognize from other high-end pieces.

  "It’s the movement," Gerrick says, pacing behind me. "

  Everything else is perfect—the woodwork, the finish, even the inlays. But the internal gearing… it’s binding somewhere. Works fine for an hour or two, then slows until it stops completely. I’ve torn it apart twice and still can’t find the fault."

  I tilt the clock carefully, listening to the faint click of the escapement. Something about the rhythm is off—like it’s holding its breath between ticks.

  "And here’s the part that’s got me sweating," Gerrick continues. "The Baron didn’t just order this as a showpiece. He wants it accurate—so accurate he can set his estate bells by it. He told me he’s expecting ‘precision beyond the city standard.’ Whatever that means."

  I catch the faintest hitch in the ticking and feel the gear train resisting just slightly. Gerrick’s right—if left like this, it’ll grind itself to a stop.

  I keep my hands steady on the clock, tilting it just enough to study the case screws while my eyes track the slow swing of the pendulum.

  "Where’d you get the parts for this?" I ask, glancing over my shoulder at Gerrick. "Especially the gears and springs—this isn’t your usual setup."

  Gerrick stops pacing, rubbing the back of his neck. "Some came from my regular suppliers here in Springvale, but…"

  He hesitates, then sighs.

  "The Baron sent a crate of components from his own stores. Said they were ‘of superior make.’ I didn’t ask where they came from—wasn’t exactly in a position to refuse."I arch a brow. "And you didn’t check them before you started building?"

  "Of course I did," he says defensively. "Looked fine—well-machined, no obvious flaws. But they feel different when I work with them. Harder in some ways, softer in others. I can’t explain it, but it’s not like any brass or steel I’ve used before."

  That gives me pause. Materials behaving inconsistently could explain the slow bind you felt in the movement. Whatever the Baron provided… it’s not just for show.

  I set the clock gently on its back, the polished wood cool under my fingers. The brass screws holding the rear panel give way with a soft squeak as I turn them,

  Gerrick hovering just close enough to see but not close enough to get in your way.The back panel lifts free, revealing the heart of the mechanism—gear trains, springs, and levers all arranged in precise formation. At first glance, it’s a beautiful piece of work… but the moment my fingertips brush the teeth of one gear, I feel it.

  A faint burr. Almost invisible to the eye, but enough to throw the rhythm off after a few hours of running.I lean closer, following the chain of motion, and spot a second flaw: one of the pivots is just slightly misaligned, causing the gear to ride high on its arbor.

  "There’s your culprit," I say, pointing with the tip of my tweezers. "One gear with a burr, one pivot out of alignment. Together, they choke the whole system over time."

  Gerrick exhales hard, relief and frustration mingling in the sound. "I must’ve looked at those a dozen times and never saw it."

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  I set the tweezers down and glance at Gerrick, lowering your voice."You could fix these flaws, sure—but I wouldn’t." You tap the misaligned pivot with the end of your finger.

  "If this is what the Baron calls ‘superior make,’ then either he doesn’t know what he’s talking about… or he’s trying to cut corners with subpar parts."

  Gerrick’s brow furrows. "Cut corners? On a commission for himself? That doesn’t make sense.""Maybe not for you or me," I say, "but if these fail after a week, it keeps you tied to him for repairs. Or worse, makes it look like you can’t deliver quality without him breathing down your neck."

  Gerrick’s eyes widen slightly at that, his lips pressing into a thin line. "You’re suggesting we replace them?""With the best you’ve got," I confirm. "Something you know will last.

  Otherwise, you’re gambling your reputation on parts that already failed before they left his stores."

  He hesitates, glancing toward the ornate clock case like it’s suddenly heavier. "That’ll mean working through the night. And if he notices they’re not the ones he sent"—then you tell him you used what was necessary to meet his demand for precision," I cut in. "He can’t argue with a clock that works perfectly."

  Gerrick stands there for a long moment, lips pressed thin, eyes fixed on the open movement like he’s weighing the risk against the reward. Finally, he exhales through his nose and gives a sharp nod.

  "Alright," he says. "We’ll do it. We replace the parts—no Baron’s junk, only the best I’ve got." His expression shifts, a flicker of something more ambitious in his eyes. "And if we’re already going to all this trouble… why not make it more than just a repair?"

  I tilt my head. "Meaning?""Meaning we make it better. One of a kind. Something no other clockmaker in Springvale—or Evermore—could copy." He steps closer to the bench, his hands hovering over the mechanism. "You’ve got skills I’ve never seen before, Lux.

  If we put our heads together, we could build something that makes even the Baron stop and wonder how it works."He looks at you with a mix of determination and curiosity. "So… what do you say? Help me make history?"

  I meet Gerrick’s expectant look, letting the silence hang for a heartbeat before i smirk faintly.

  "I’ll help," I say. "But not for coin this time."

  His brows lift. "Oh? Then what?""A favor," I reply simply. "One I can call in whenever I need it. No questions asked."Gerrick hesitates—only for a moment—before nodding. "Done. You’ve got it."

  As i shake hands over the workbench, something about the promise, the workshop’s scent of oil and wood, and the faint ticking all around triggers a memory so vivid i almost forget where I am.

  Im standing in a dim, warm room back on Earth.

  The air smells faintly of varnish and old books. In the corner stands my grandfather’s pride and joy—a towering grandfather clock, its polished case glowing in the lamplight.

  I remember being small, looking up at its brass pendulum swinging with hypnotic rhythm. And then, that deep, rumbling chime—low and resonant, filling the whole house until I felt it in my bones.

  I blink, the memory slipping away as the present rushes back in—Gerrick still gripping your hand, the unfinished clock between you both.

  "Right," he says, letting go. "Let’s make something the Baron will never forget."

  I release Gerrick’s hand, the image of that towering clock still lingering so clearly in my mind that it almost feels like I can hear the chime again.

  "Actually," I say, stepping toward the cluttered workbench and pulling a scrap of parchment closer, "I’ve got an idea. Something to make this clock unlike anything he’s ever seen—or heard."

  Gerrick watches as I take up a pencil and begin sketching. My lines are quick but precise, tracing the tall, elegant frame of my grandfather’s clock—the curved bonnet top, the glass panel revealing the slow swing of the pendulum, the ornate carvings that framed the face. I mark out where the chime mechanism would sit, annotating the sketch with notes about tone and resonance.

  "This chime," I explain, tapping the rough drawing with the pencil, "was deep enough to feel in your chest, not just hear with your ears. It didn’t just tell the time—it made the whole room feel alive when it struck."

  Gerrick leans in, his eyes narrowing in concentration. "That’s… different. Our bells here are sharp, high-pitched. A deep chime like that would stand out—make people remember it."

  "Exactly," I say. "We can adapt the mechanism to fit your design. But it has to be perfect—no rattles, no dull tones. If we do this right, people won’t just admire it—they’ll feel it."

  Gerrick grins, already pulling tools from drawers. "Then let’s get to work."

  Gerrick wastes no time, shoving a small leather satchel into my hands. "If we’re going to pull this off, we’ll need better metal for the gong and the weights, and wood that can carry the resonance without warping."

  I arch a brow. "You’ve got some in stock?"

  "Enough for repairs, not for something like this," he says, already moving around the workshop, sweeping up calipers, files, and measuring rods into his own bag. "We’ll have to visit a few suppliers… and maybe one or two people who owe me favors."

  The next hour is a blur of winding streets and purposeful stops. I collect polished brass sheets from an old metalsmith who eyes me curiously but says nothing, dark-stained hardwood from a sawyer on the edge of the market, and a set of tempered springs from a tinkerer who insists on testing each one in front of me before selling.

  The last stop is different—an unmarked shop tucked into a narrow alley. Inside, the air smells faintly of oil and coal smoke, and the only light comes from a forge’s dying glow. Gerrick greets the man behind the counter with a nod. No words are exchanged, but a small bundle wrapped in cloth changes hands.

  Back outside, I glance at him. "What was that?""A gong blank," he says quietly. "Best alloy in Springvale—if you know where to ask. Baron’s never touched one of these in his life."

  With the bags heavier and the day already tilting toward dusk, I make my way back to the shop, the sound of my footsteps and the weight of the materials making the whole project feel real.

  By the time me and Gerrick reach the street where his shop sits, the sky has shifted into the warm, amber glow of early evening. The shadows in the narrow lanes stretch long, spilling across the cobblestones like dark fingers.

  Gerrick unlocks the door, muttering about wanting to get the forge lit before the light fades completely. I follow him, shifting the satchel on my shoulder, and that’s when something catches my eye—movement in the alley opposite the shop.

  I turn my head just enough to see her.

  Luna.

  She’s standing half in shadow, half in the faint spill of light from a window above, her amber eyes glowing like banked embers in the dusk. Her expression is unreadable—neither wary nor welcoming—just watching.

  Before I can call out, Gerrick’s voice snaps my attention back. "Lux, you coming? I want to get this laid out before nightfall."I glance back at the alley.

  Empty.

  Just the slow drip of water from an eavespout and the faint rustle of wind through the refuse. No sign of her at all, as if she’d never been there.