Copyright © 2018 Mark Roland Langdale
The moral right of the author has been asserted.
Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.
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ISBN 978 1789012 064
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
Matador is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd
Dedicated to Esther Harvey, Salvie and Nick
Thanks to Rosie Lowe and Emily Castledine
Contents
Prologue
1Illusions
2Timeslip
3Nightdreaming
4Like Clockwork
5The Moonstone Planetarium
6Clockwork Guardian Angels
7A Horological Misadventure
8An Escapement of Sorts
9A Clockwork Nightmare
10The Mechanical Mountain
11A Most Illuminating Experience
12Complications
13Perfect Timing, Like Clockwork In Fact
14The Time Thief Loses Track of Time
15The Return of the Time Warper
16Jack the Flash!
17Time
18Oh Brother, You’re Potty!
19The Miniature Palace
20The Time Thief Gets Up a Head of Steam
21The Miniature Magician
22The Greatest Thief of all Time!
23The Chronicles of a Chronometer
24The Plan’s Running Like Clockwork
25The Shadow Time
26In Hot Water!
27The Museum of Miniatures
28Time to Rewind the Clock
29The Further Misadventures of the Time Wasters
30Whatever Happened to Greenwich Mean Time?!
31Father Time, the Greatest Showman of All Time
32Merlin’s Mechanical Museum
33The Time Wasters’ Society
34It’s Time!
35I’m No Harry Houdini!
36A Most Untimely Meeting!
37Rewind… It’s the Return of the Time Warper!
38Time… Magic or Illusion?
39The Battle of the Clock Gods
40Courting Disaster!
41The Return of the Clockwork Magician
42Time Street
43Two Merlins for a Princely Sum!
44A Circle of Magic
45The Art of Tasseography
46A Real Humdinger of a Tale!
47The Clock Courtyard Theatre
48The Merlin Effect
49A Real Piece of Living Victoriana!
50The Mechanical Monster
Horological Time-Log
Prologue
Once upon a time long since passed into the Chronicles of Time, there were people who lived in a clock. In all honesty, as a humble abode the clock wasn’t much better than living in a shoe. In fact it was probably worse, as the constant clicking, ticking, tocking, whirling and whirring of the inner workings of the clock were enough to drive anyone kicking and screaming into the kingdom known as Cloud Cuckoo Land. However, over time the Clock People got used to the sound of the mechanism, as it ran like clockwork, but if for any reason it ceased to run like clockwork, the sound of the clock’s mechanism was replaced by the sound of the wheels turning inside the minds of the Clock Elders whose job it was to keep things ticking over.
But that was only half of the story. The other half of the story was lost in time. Some said (storytellers mostly, who in truth cannot always be believed) that the Clock People lost their home (very careless) as they did not pay the peppercorn rent on the property. Either way the people of the clock, now homeless, had no other choice than to downsize. So the Clock People moved into a nice little property in another part of Clock Town. The estate agent selling the property said being an antique it did require some repair work doing to it, which may take some time, but being an antique the property had been built to last so was a sound investment.
Just for the chronological record for all you horologists out there, the property in question was an antique fob watch hanging on a chain from a wooden post. The post was driven into the earth many moons ago by a gentle giant simple of mind but warm of heart, who soon became the protector of the Clock People, even though they were not aware of this little fact. BIG FACT!
Do not be fooled into thinking this is a fairytale simply from the opening line, but if any story deserves to begin with the words ‘once upon a time’ then a story entitled ‘The Clock People’ involving time and the passage of time surely does.
What is time? Scientists who believe in quantum wonder tales would have you believe it does not exist, that it is simply an illusion, a clever conjuring trick and nothing more. Now perhaps that is true and perhaps not only time will tell, as Old Father Time has neither the time nor the inclination to tell. The Time Thieves, on the other hand, had all the time in the world to steal your precious time from right under your very nose. These stolen moments were times when you were daydreaming, wishing your life away, or moments you had stolen from others. The Time Alchemists who create ‘new time’ were far too busy making up for ‘lost time’, creating ‘new time’ in their cauldrons, all watched over by the master of time himself. Now, that master was not Father Time as you may have expected but Merlin, a man who could himself travel through time. But which Merlin were the travelling storytellers speaking of? Merlin the Magician from the Court of King Arthur or John Joseph Merlin, the clockmaker and maker of automatons?
Well, without further ado let us find out which Merlin the storytellers were speaking of, as the clock is ticking – tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tick, tick, TOCK!
‘That’s better, I find machinery responds best to a damn good old-fashioned kick up the pants!’ snapped Father Time, who had no time for anything mechanical or non-mechanical that held time up.
1
Illusions
‘I see you’re admiring that timepiece, sir. Isn’t she a beauty? And she’s got a great story to tell,’ chuckled a wizened gentleman as he stood behind a dusty-looking counter in an antique emporium conversing with a customer. If one had been peering through the dusty window of the emporium one may have imagined the two men were in a marketplace in Constantinople bartering and haggling over a watch rather than in the backstreets of London Town. The proprietor of the emporium was referring to the fob watch he held delicately in his hand as a ‘she’, as if it were a ship or an old steam engine, or so the customer thought. What a silver tongue this salesman had, it must be made of pure quicksilver! But one must never be too quick to judge a book by its cover or a clock by its face, so thought the customer as he raised a rye smile.
‘A talking timepiece? What will these watchmakers think of next?’ replied the customer poking fun at the antiqua
rian man. ‘It must be worth a small fortune, and in truth I hope it is a small fortune and not a large one,’ added the gentleman customer under his breath. This was a gentleman of some considerable wealth and a man like Scrooge who knew full well the meaning of the word thrifty. Expensive gifts and unnecessary sparkling trinkets were, by and large, best observed and admired by standing outside the jewellers and goldsmiths’ windows, beyond temptation, although naturally this was not a maxim the jewel thieves of this world adhered to. ‘There is no need to sell me the watch, man, I’ve already made up my mind to buy it!’ grunted the gentleman under his breath.
In truth the gentleman had heard the silver-tongued patter of the salesman a hundred times before and had no time for it. What he wanted was facts not fiction – the steady reliable tick followed closely by the tock, a clock that kept reliable time and not imaginary time. That was what the gentleman expected from a timepiece, nothing more, nothing less. The gentleman certainly did not want a talking fob watch or clock, that was a fiction best left in the storybook. The man imagined if the proprietor stuck out his tongue it would be silver. He had a mind to pay the man in quicksilver and then run for the door as if he were a jewel thief or a time thief. But the man had little imagination so this curious thought did not enter or cross the threshold of his mind, not even for a split second. If it had done so the man would no doubt have thought the clock in his mind needed repairing.
The fob watch was undoubtedly an antique, not a beautifully crafted fake, which at first had crossed the buyer’s mind. It was magnificent, unique, a watchmaker’s dream made of gold, silver and platinum, which swung upon a silver chain like a pendulum of a grandfather clock. The glass face of the watch sparkled in the golden sunlight that shone through the window of the emporium with such brightness one would have thought this was a church and the windows made of stained glass. The watch had a gold cover upon which a coat of arms was engraved.
The fob watch was flipped open by means of a tiny button on the side of the watch, which one may have imagined was turned by a tiny fairy or sprite. The white enamel face of the clock was covered with a low glass dome made of clear moonstone. Black Roman numerals replaced the traditional numbers and the hands were encrusted with tiny diamonds and opals. The back of the watch was decorated in elaborate swirling patterns, flourishes and curlicues, gold entwined with silver which one might have imagined was some ancient writing or code.
‘The watch is worth a princely sum, it is true,’ purred the proprietor as his eyes ran quickly over the shining curves of the clock. The proprietor donned a pair of scopical watchmaker’s glasses so as to see the finer details of the complication with greater clarity, as his eyes were not what they once were. Old age had dimmed the man’s vision but not his senses which, when he was at work, were always working overtime.
‘Now, you may have heard many a story of ancient timepieces which seem to possess the ability to alter time in some way, nevertheless I think the story is worth telling, as for all the wonders of this timepiece it cannot speak for itself. Although I should imagine it will not be long before the great clockmakers of this century come up with a timepiece that can. You see, sir, this watch never has to be repaired, or, to phrase it slightly differently, it will repair itself. So as you can imagine, the owner of such a fine timepiece is indeed a man of the utmost good fortune, and in time it will save them a small fortune in both repair bills and in replacing the watch with a new one,’ said the old man peering at the gentleman on the other side of the counter over both his half-moon spectacles and his scopical watchmaker’s glass, which sat one upon the other.
‘No, I cannot see through time as I am not Merlin the Magician but you obviously see elves living inside this watch and no doubt more besides,’ scoffed the gentleman trying hard not to smile as he tried to imagine elves busying themselves inside the clock as the sands of time slipped through a giant golden hourglass. The customer was surprised the old rascal hadn’t tried to sell him some unlikely tale about the watch being made of moonstone, as it clearly had the ability of a crystal ball!
‘I see you have heard the story before,’ replied the proprietor of the emporium coolly.
‘Many a time and I’m sure you have many other wonder tales involving chronometers and horology to hold me spellbound, wasting my time in the process. You are aware of the old saying, “Procrastination is the thief of time”, are you not, sir? So let’s not waste any more of each other’s precious time,’ replied the gentleman equally as coolly as the temperature inside the emporium dropped to that outside of the emporium. (A chronometer was another name for a timepiece, as was a complication, and horology was the name given to historians of clocks and antique timepieces.)
‘It’s funny you should say that, for as it happens I have,’ the proprietor smiled knowingly.
Here time seemed to stand still as the proprietor told the gentleman a quite unbelievable tale that was taller than any grandfather clock. As the proprietor spun his tale, as if spun upon a magic spinning wheel, even the clocks in the emporium seemed to inch a little closer so that the ticking of their own mechanism did not drown out what the old man was saying. The clocks may have wanted to hear the man’s wonder tale but clearly the customer was trying to inch away. However, try as he might he could not. It was as if something was holding him back, an unseen force. Perhaps the invisible rays of the moon were holding him spellbound?
In the blinking of a dragonfly’s magical eye, known in nature as a time warper, daylight had turned to moonlight. Outside the emporium the man could no longer hear the incessant clickety-clack of the wheels of the horses and carriages over the cobblestones, which to some folks’ ears sounded like the ticking of a giant clock, for all he could hear was the beating of his heart as his body clock continued to keep perfect time.
The gentleman yawned, wondering if the proprietor kept a hammock in the shop so he could lay down his weary head. He was sure he heard several of the clocks yawn as they had obviously heard this tall tale many times before.
However, the proprietor of the emporium seemingly had not even noticed the man was tired of his story, so continued to tell it as if he were asleep on his feet and in fact he was now talking in his sleep. People who talk in their sleep mostly talk nonsense, so this made perfect sense to the customer who yawned several times in a theatrical manner just in case the man was still awake.
‘Perhaps I have told you some part of the story before but not the whole story,’ said the proprietor with a hint of mystery in his voice. It seemed, come hell or high water, neither time nor tide was going to stop the proprietor of the emporium telling his tale no matter how much time it took. ‘You see, the watch was made in Austria by the finest clockmaker who ever lived, Horace H. Humdinger. Mr Humdinger was a reclusive figure who lived in a giant cuckoo clock in the clouds that stood upon giant stilts. The whole place was full to the brim and overflowing with clocks of all shapes and sizes. People who visited the shop said you couldn’t hear yourself think. Others of a more poetical disposition said you could hear the chimes of the clocks making their sweet music as they wafted upon the summer breeze as far as the next village. Mr Ludwig van Beethoven, a frequent visitor to the shop, was quoted as saying, ‘It is as if the clocks were all part of a clock orchestra conducted by the clockmaker Horace H. Humdinger, who was also the composer of the many merry and melodious melodies that were like candy to the ear.’ Alas, poor old Beethoven was as deaf as a post by this time so one had to wonder if he simply imagined these melodies in his head, something he often did before he put pen to paper.
‘The story goes that the clockmaker Horace H. Humdinger had the hands of a master magician, a man who dabbled in the art of alchemy, the alchemy of time. The watch you are holding in your hand was originally made for a prince. The glass face of the watch is made out of moonstone, something the Romans believed was magical and had the power to alter time.
‘There was a companion piece
made at the same time as the piece you now have in your possession, sir, although some say nobody can possess this timepiece as it possesses the owner. In fact, some say the watch chooses the owner. The companion piece was a timepiece set in the body of an emerald dragonfly, which also possessed a clear moonstone face. The wings of the dragonfly were also made of moonstone. The prince so pleased with the watch he had asked the watchmaker to make a piece for his princess. The princess was said to love dragonflies so the watchmaker made the timepiece in the form of a dragonfly brooch. It was also told that the great magician Merlin had been asked to put a spell upon these magical pieces so they could be used to travel through time. The story went that Merlin was the great-great-great-grandfather of the magical clockmaker and maker of automatons, John Joseph Merlin.’
Then a grandfather clock that obviously imagined it was Big Ben struck the midnight hour (a clock which, as yet, had not even been dreamt up by the imaginative engineers of a later time).
Here the gentleman on the other side of the counter rolled his eyes and once again yawned theatrically as if to say, ‘Isn’t it time you were clocking off for the day?!’
‘Of course, rival watch and clockmakers wanted to know the watchmaker’s secret but they never found out, the watchmaker had made sure of that. You see, unlike all other watches which could be opened so they could be repaired, the watchmaker’s watches could not be opened. Even if you took a giant sledgehammer to them, or a stick of dynamite, they could not be opened. Some ingenious clockmakers rested the fob watches on the line of a railway track in the hope a steam train may reveal their secrets by running over the watch. Others employed smithies to take a hammer to the watch. Not even the great safe-crackers, jewel thieves and cryptologists around the world were able to crack the code. It was like the watches were ancient clams buried on the seabed covered in barnacles protecting the treasure from pirates and sea vagabonds.
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