The Clocksmith Chapter Two

Chapter Two

The next day, Peter walked back into town, a small package bundled under his arm.  "Good day, Mr. Barrow," John Frost, the postman said as Peter passed him.
"Good day, John."
"Did you hear the news?"
"No.  Did something happen?"
"Someone, more like it."  John glanced over his shoulder nervously.  "A pair of animists moved in three days ago.  Can you believe the nerve of them?  I don't know how many death threats they've received already."
"Great.  More uncultured barbarians.  As if we didn't already have enough enginemen in this town, now we have to deal with animists?"  Animists were a sect of zealots who practiced the Old Arts, which involved manipulating the life-force of nature.  Animists, though rare, could be extremely dangerous if angered, which happened tragically often; most people were quite vocal about the outdated practice and it's practitioners.
"Oh well.  What have you got there?  Something I could deliver?"
"No.  This is for a wealthy client I'm meeting at the train station today.  I don't want it falling into the wrong hands."
"Okay then.  Have a nice day, Mr. Barrow."
No one stopped Peter the rest of the way to the train station, and he arrived right after the train had left.  Sitting on a bench was a man dressed similarly to Peter, but with noticeably better clothes; his top hat was undamaged, and his black overcoat and white gloves spotless.  "Peter Barrow, I presume?" the man said.
"Did you bring the money?"
"Five hundred crowns exactly."  The man held out a small bag, and Peter took it.  After looking through the contents to be sure that the gold coins were really there, Peter handed the man his package.
"Silver-plated pocket watch of the third Virtue, as you requested, sir.  But might I ask why you had me make this?"
"You know how it is," the man sighed.  "The Paragons won't let the Virtues mix, and I'm a Royal Clocksmith of the fifth Virtue.  I had to go to a relatively unknown artisan to get the job done or I'd be caught.  You know how that would end."
"Beheading?"
"Actually, they changed it.  Now it's the gallows.  Same idea, anyway."
"What will you do about getting back to the capital?  The next train won't come for another five hours."
"Believe it or not, I have other business to attend to while I'm here."
Peter nodded slightly.  "I see.  I should be going, too.  The baker's holding a loaf of bread for me, and if I don't pick it up soon, he'll probably end up eating it himself."

The sun had already begun its journey west by the time Peter returned to his home.  "Strange.  I thought I had locked the door when I left," he said to himself as the door swung open.  Inside his house, the few pieces of furniture were scattered about on the floor.  Suddenly overtaken by a cold panic, Peter set down the loaf of bread he had bought and rushed into his workshop.  If someone had stolen his materials he wouldn't be able to work anymore.  He wouldn't even be able to feed himself.
Everything was still there.  The various tools and clock pieces he owned were scattered across the ground, but after the third check, Peter finally admitted to himself that nothing had been stolen.  Who did this, Peter wondered as he ran back down the road.
"Peter!  What a surprise," Rebecca exclaimed as she answered the door.
"Did you see anyone suspicious walking toward my house while I was gone?"
"Well, I did see someone who I thought was you at first.  He was wearing the same kind of hat you wear."
"Did he come back this way?"
"Yeah.  Why?"
"Was he holding anything?  Could you tell?"
"I don't think he was holding anything.  Peter, what is this all about?"
"Someone just broke into my house," Peter said.  "That man you just described bought a watch from me earlier today.  He said he had 'other business in town' when he left."
"You should tell the police," Rebecca said.
"It won't do any good.  He's a Royal Clocksmith, meaning his under the king's protection, as well as that of the Paragons and Clockmaster."
"What could he possibly want with your workshop, though?"
"I have no idea, though I imagine he could've been searching for my father's notes."  Secretly, Peter had a darker suspicion.  The Clocksmith may have been after not the notes, but his clock itself.  "Anyway, I couldn't find anything stolen.  If he comes back, tell me."
"Okay," Rebecca said, turning back into her house.  "By the way, would you like to come into my house?  I've got water on for tea."
My house, Peter thought bitterly, but he only said, "No thanks.  I'm not thirsty and I still have to pick up the mess in my workshop."
Peter slammed the door to his house him angrily as he returned from his meeting with Rebecca.  As he stormed into his workshop, he reached for an oaken mantle clock.  From his pocket, he produced an ornate gold key.  Inserting it in a hole below the standard winding slot, Peter quickly turned it seven times and set it down on the workshop bench.  The clock chimed an equal number of times and then grew silent.  A ghostly light flickered around the clock's face.  Soon a shadowy figure entered through the doorway and began throwing mirage tools around.  It was the man at the station, Peter realized.  He soon stopped at the notes scattered across the worktable and began leafing through them furiously.  After a few minutes of intense reading, the man set them down in disgust and left the room.  As the Clocksmith's wraith left the room, the illusion ended, and Peter was back in the present.  Grimly, he smiled to himself.  Placing that clock in his workshop had been a brilliant idea.  Resetting the clock, he gently placed on the shelf and began to put his tools back in order.
Several hours later, Peter heard an urgent knock on his front door.  "Not you again.  What do you want?" Peter sighed once he had opened the door.  The drunken soldier stood on his doorstep, cigarette in hand.  Peter noted that he appeared to be sober this time.
"I need to hide out for a day or two.  There's representatives from the army here, and they're asking around town for me.  I promise I won't make any noise while I'm here."
"You don't even know me," Peter said.
"I know enough.  Your name's Peter Barrow, you're a Clocksmith and no one seems to like you around here.  Now let me in."
"But I don't know you.  You could just be looking for an excuse to kill me and take all my valuables."
"Look, I'm a deserter, not a murderer.  Can you understand that, or are you really as cold-hearted as everyone seems to think?"
"I'm sure the stories aren't exaggerated."
"Please let me in.  The officers will be here any moment."  The ex-soldier glanced over his shoulder at the road.  "That's them!  They'll see me!"
"Fine.  Get in, but first extinguish that awful thing.  I don't want you getting smoke in my house."
"Thank you," the man said, shaking Peter's hand emphatically.  "You won't regret this, I swear."
"I better not," Peter muttered.  Being sure to close the door behind him, Peter stepped outside and glared at the two officers.  They had just finished interrogating Rebecca and were headed his way.
"Good day to you, sir," one of the officers said as he stopped a few feet away.  "My name's Charles Wright, captain of the Third Cavalry.  This is Will Cooper, the first lieutenant of the same."  Charles and Will tipped their hats respectfully.  Peter didn't return the courtesy.
"What do you want?"
"We're searching for a deserter.  He goes by the name of Nolan Levinson.  He's a bit shorter than you, with blonde hair and blue eyes.  Also, he smokes and drinks a lot.  Have you seen anyone like that lately?"
"There are many people that fit that description, sirs.  I wouldn't know him if I did see him.  Good day to you."
"If you could just cooperate with us for a little longer-"
"I'm very busy right now.  Your presence is nothing but a nuisance to me.  I will tell you again to leave my property."
The two officers left in a huff.
Back inside, Peter found Nolan hiding behind the table.  "Thanks for that.  I'm forever in your debt."
"Then you can repay that debt by leaving.  I don't like visitors, especially when they're fugitives."
"Come on, I won't cause you any more trouble and I'll leave as soon as the sun's up tomorrow."
"No.  Leave now, or I'll call the officers back."  Without looking at Nolan, Peter went into his workshop, shutting the door firmly behind him.