Something Always Remains: Part Three of The Journals of Bob Drifter

by M. L. S. Weech

  “But Grimm—”

  “I’d rather not think about how he became one of us.”

  “Do you know?”

  “I know that I don’t want to know.” Archie stood up. He made what he called “his rounds.” He’d stop one clock, wind another back, and wind yet another clock forward. He’d never move or stop one for more than a few seconds. “We live and die. We each get our soul when ... ” he paused to stop a clock for a second. “When we’re ready to live a mortal life.”

  “So it’s like reincarnation?”

  “If that’s the word you understand best.” Archie made the comment sound like he’d said, That’s the absolute dumbest word for it.

  “This is Grimm’s first time,” Bob said.

  The comment made Archie stop and turn to look at Bob. The old man’s face wrinkled in a smile, and he nodded. “He wants to do the impossible.”

  “So he really can’t kill.”

  “I didn’t say that,” Archie said. He sat back in front of the clock he’d just helped Bob fix and began taking it apart. “What he wants is to find the smallest part of a soul, the smallest piece of a person.”

  “But souls are infinite,” Bob said. It was one of the first things Drisc had taught him. Archie looked at him as if he’d said, I’m this old, and held up a random number of fingers.

  “Certainly, so Grimm will continue to try and kill and tear apart something that can never be torn apart. So stupid.” Archie laid the screwdriver down. He’d taken the clock completely apart.

  “It’s all energy,” he said. “It’s never made or destroyed, just transferred. I think I spent a life trying to teach that the world all shared the same energy, but I don’t think it worked out very well for me.”

  “You don’t remember?”

  “I’ve been around the bend quite a few times.” He stood and began walking back to the front of the store, where customers would come in, if they ever did.

  Bob looked dejectedly at the dismantled clock. He understood what the Clockmaker wanted. He picked up the screwdriver and started to put the timepiece back together. Something occurred to him just before Archie made it out of the room.

  “If it’s all the same energy, then Blacksouls are still a part of it,” Bob said, more to himself.

  Archie turned to look at Bob. He had a genuine look of surprise on his face. “Now that,” he said, smiling, “is a very interesting thought.” He closed the door behind himself, muttering, “Very interesting.”

  8

  The Raven

  April 10, 2008

  I can hurt him. He can hurt me a lot worse.

  Bob smiled as he watched the clock tick. Its second hand spun at exactly the right pace and in the right direction. Pip patted him on the back. “Look, Fogey, Bob’s clock is finished.”

  Archie smiled at the boy. “And it only took him two days.”

  Bob chuckled. “Admit it; you’re impressed.”

  “Indeed,” replied Archie. “I never thought you’d finish.”

  Pip sat down on a stool beside Bob and began scribbling in the notebook he always had with him. The boy said numbers spoke to him, not like a crazy person hears voices, but he was gifted. Honestly, gifted wasn’t the right word. He knew more about math than Bob could have ever hoped to learn. That was the reason Archie took such an interest in him. At least, that was one reason. The other was something the Clockmaker said that made no sense. There was something about how a soul could be ignited. Bob heard the two talking about it. The moment they noticed Bob, they immediately changed the subject.

  Pip took another second to jot down whatever thought ran through his brain before looking at Archie and saying, “He’s not big on compliments.”

  That much, Bob already knew. They’d spent the whole time making clocks and discussing souls. The current discussion revolved around the depth of a single soul. Each was infinite, made of infinite parts.

  “Have you given any thought to my riddle, Bob?” Archie asked, wiping an already clean table.

  Bob proudly set his clock on its display case and watched it tick. He’d never really done something so artistic. He’d worked with his hands and was even a medic at one point in his life, but he’d spent as much of it teaching. Creating something with his hands felt good. He wondered if that desire to see art come alive was another gift from Patience.

  “Journeymen don’t have deeper souls because we need to contain the souls we Transport,” Bob said. Archie looked at Pip as if the twelve-year-old would know something the Clockmaker didn’t. Pip nodded. It dawned on Bob that Pip was being tested as well.

  “I think I feel Transports more uniquely now because the Transport soul is mixing with my own but not actually joining,” Bob explained.

  “Pip,” Archie said. “What would happen if a full energy source gained a new charge?”

  Pip looked strangely unwilling to speak. “It’s OK, boy, answer truthfully.”

  “It depends on the strength of the energy source,” Pip answered. Archie stared at him relentlessly until the boy continued. “But sooner or later, the charge never holds, and the energy drains faster. I’m sorry, Bob.”

  “You didn’t do anything wrong, Pip.” Bob tried to take the disappointment out of his voice, but he figured he’d failed. He took a deep breath. “That’s why I haven’t had too many Transports lately. You’re protecting me.”

  “I really couldn’t say that,” Archie said.

  The old clock shaped like a raven squawked. It had creeped Bob out more than enough as a strangely dark clock that everyone in the shop seemed to avoid. Now it makes noise?

  “I think you should leave, Pip,” Archie whispered.

  Pip rolled up his notebook and ran out of the back door.

  “What’s going on?” Bob asked. “Pip looked terrified.”

  “He’s a brilliant boy,” Archie said. “But he’s still a boy, and all boys are afraid of the boogeyman.” The raven clock squawked again. Bob felt the hair on the back of his neck try to run down his spine. A crash of shattered glass brought Bob out of a stupor. He rushed to the door and slammed a shoulder into it just in time to feel what might have been a mule kick the opposite side.

  “You knew he was coming?” Bob asked. Panic was the most dominant tone in his voice.

  Archie took a few steps back. “Eventually,” he said, as if he were talking about a flat tire. “I hoped I’d have more time.”

  The shadows around the room began to quiver. Bob began racing through everything he and Archie had talked about. Souls are energy; Journeymen transfer that energy from one container to the next; whether that’s heaven or not; or the ones who Bob Passes the souls to. Blacksouls had to be corrupt energy. What the hell good does knowing that do for me?

  Blacksouls began pulling themselves out of the shadows and surrounding them. Bob looked at the haunting raven clock. Rushing to it, he opened the bird’s eye where the face of the clock sat. The door burst open to reveal Grimm, in all his dark majesty.

  Bob didn’t take time to think. He lightly pressed the second hand of the raven clock. Grimm and his Blacksouls all began to scream. They seemed angry at each other. Bob hoped for an instant that they might turn on one another.

  “That won’t work for long,” Archie said.

  “It has to work long enough for you to get out.” Bob noticed the second hand become warmer, then hot. It was only a matter of time before Bob couldn’t take the pain.

  “And where would I go?”

  “Just go, Archie!” The old man nodded, as if to say, Thank you for letting me cut in line, dear sir; I’d like to chat a while before I go.

  “I said get the fuck out!” Bob said, watching the Clockmaker turn out of the door. Bob smelled burning flesh before he realized it was the tips of his finger. He let go instinctively. Grimm and his pets resumed their attack as if nothing strange had happened.

  Grimm looked around, and then screamed at Bob.

  “I guess you weren’t here for me?” Bob
said. He could feel a white-hot rage pulse through him. A Blacksoul leapt at Bob. Bob rolled out of the way toward the back door, but three more creatures slammed it shut before he could escape.

  A shout came from the front of the room. An instant later, Drisc bowled through the front of the shop and began swinging his own Blacksoul around. He looked foolish swinging wildly. His eyes weren’t even open. But as far as Bob was concerned, his mentor looked like a hero from a book.

  Todd came running in next. Bob hoped the other Senior Journeyman had brought an army, or a missile, or anything, but Todd only came rushing over to help Bob up.

  “What’d we miss?” Todd asked.

  “I almost died,” Bob answered.

  “Already?”

  “Not funny.”

  They ran to help Drisc. Three Blacksouls had ganged up on Drisc, and two more were clawing at him. Grimm let out a roar. Blacksouls began swarming from everywhere. Every shadow, every nook, and every crevice bled onyx creatures all intent on causing as much damage as they could to the Journeymen.

  Grimm flowed over to Drisc as quick as a viper and grabbed his throat. The monster picked Drisc up a foot off the ground with a single hand and threw him across the room like a bag of trash.

  Todd wrestled a slender arm free, only to have Grimm walk over and backhand him. He might as well have been swatting a fly.

  Grimm’s cowl swung in Bob’s direction. “You’ll do,” a garbled voice said from behind a host of rotted souls. Bob saw Grimm’s scythe form. He struggled and tried to pull free of the army holding his arms. Grimm let out a final, victorious howl before swinging his Blacksoul blade into Bob’s chest.

  It didn’t sink in, not exactly. It phased into Bob. That same excruciating pain flowed through him, like boiling water running through his veins. Bob heard screaming; he wasn’t sure if it was his own or Grimm’s—maybe both. A white light shone where the scythe had entered Bob’s body, or where it would have. It didn’t penetrate the skin. It only flowed into him. Just like when I Transport a soul; if it were on fire.

  Bob only had another instant to think before darkness took him. He wasn’t afraid he’d be dying. Archie would have told me if I were about to die, Bob thought. The knowledge that he’d survive didn’t make the pain any less agonizing before he passed out.

  Bob woke up feeling bruised and broken. His body, though mortal, would heal. Any belief that he had Frosty’s hope in hell of beating Grimm had died horribly. He rose from his small bed upstairs and limped down to the workshop. Todd, Drisc, Archie, and Pip were all bustling around the room. Apparently, Grimm had seen fit to destroy every clock in the shop.

  Bob looked at the devastation. He was on the stairs, Todd and Drisc standing over him, before he realized his knees had given out. He felt all the air drain out of his lungs, and he couldn’t seem to inhale.

  Archie walked over. “Breathe,” he commanded. Bob certainly wanted to obey, but that didn’t make his lungs fill any more efficiently. The old man looked at Bob sternly.

  “I severed the links when you helped me escape,” he said. He pulled up a sleeve to reveal an old wristwatch. “I always have this with me in case of emergency. It’s not terribly efficient, but it’ll do until we get these clocks fixed.”

  “I’ll help,” Pip added.

  Bob’s vision got a little clearer. He could feel his blood pumping.

  “So you see,” Archie said, “it’s not time to panic. Breathe.”

  Bob didn’t notice an instance where air simply flooded back into his lungs. He just began to notice as it became easier to breathe each time he tried.

  “Ye gave us a scare, laddie,” Drisc said. His eyes betrayed a fear his smile tried to hide.

  “Just what happened?” Todd asked.

  Pip ran off as Bob tried to explain. “It didn’t stab me,” he said quickly. He resisted an urge to check for a flesh wound. His mind knew it wouldn’t be there, but some other irrational part of him still wanted to see the evidence.

  “We know that much,” Drisc said. “You look as fit as a fiddle. Ye were just owt longer than the rest of us.”

  “It felt ... ” Bob couldn’t explain it, not even to other Journeymen.

  Pip ran back with a cup of water and handed it to Bob. It was tap water, but as far as Bob was concerned, it was fresh from a mountain stream. The moment it filled his mouth, he realized how thirsty he was.

  “Archie, they really are all the same,” Bob said.

  Everyone looked at the Clockmaker. “It’s irrefutable. It’s all just energy.”

  “No,” Bob said excitedly. “Blacksouls are different. I mean, not different, but not the same.”

  “You should rest more, Bob,” Drisc said. “Ye make about as much sense as a goat trying to convince a cow to mate right now.”

  “I know what I’m saying! Just, let me explain.”

  Drisc looked away suddenly. Todd looked as if he’d just seen a ghost. Archie didn’t blink. “Be very careful what you’re about to say, Bob,” the old man warned.

  Bob thought about it. “They’re filthy. It’s corrupted energy, but it’s still energy. I think ... I think they can be cleansed.”

  The two Senior Journeymen looked at Archie, who looked at Pip. Is he really that gifted? The boy-genius walked away for a few moments and returned with his beat-up notepad. He flipped through the pages. He looked at Archie before saying, “You already know, don’t you?”

  “I wouldn’t be a very good teacher if I didn’t,” Archie said. He turned his attention to Bob. Drisc and Todd still seemed to want to look at anything else. “It can be done,” Archie said softly. “I’m just not sure how, or even if it should be. But yes, if energy can be corrupted, it can be cleansed.”

  “We just have to find out how,” Bob said.

  Drisc’s head snapped around to Bob. “Not by you! You got us a big break. We’ll work the rest out.”

  Bob tried to stand, but his knees still seemed to want to disobey him. “I’m not going to stop because he hurt me.”

  “No,” Drisc argued. “Ye’re gonna stop because I bloody well told you to.”

  “Bullshit!”

  “There are children present,” Archie said.

  “It’s not the worst thing I’ve ever heard,” Pip muttered.

  Bob shook his head to keep everything from getting too confusing. “Look, whatever is different about me since I got this soul, it gives me an edge.”

  “That doesn’t mean we have to wave you in front of Grimm like bait,” Drisc said.

  Bob looked around again. Todd still refused to look at him, and Archie seemed unable to look away. “What do you see?”

  Todd’s head sank. Archie gave a soft, encouraging smile. Bob thought he heard the old man whisper, “Such a clever young man.”

  “What do you see?” Bob’s voice rose to an octave he wouldn’t have believed he could reach.

  Todd was the first to try to answer. “It’s ... well, it doesn’t matter if we convince you to stop this.”

  “Stop fucking avoiding the question!”

  “It’s yer Death Sense, Bob,” Drisc said. His voice sounded strange. It was as if he had a terribly dry throat, and he’d just finished running a marathon, winded and raspy at the same time. “It’s solid crimson, Bob. Ye goddamn fool, why do you have to be so stubborn? Bob, yer going to die very soon.”

  Bob looked at Archie, hoping the old man would have some sort of wise comment to make. The Clockmaker only shook his head. “Once you’ve made the choice, the path can’t be changed.”

  “But he can just change his mind,” Todd interjected. “Can’t he?”

  “It doesn’t work that way,” Bob said, still looking at the Clockmaker. “It’s not like what I wear in the morning or what I want to eat for lunch. I made a real decision, Todd. I won’t change my mind. I won’t because I know I’m right. I’m going to find a way to cleanse Blacksouls. I might be dying, but I swear to God, Grimm will be one step in front of me.”

 
9

  Worth Holding on to

  It took a few days for everyone to recover. Bob took the worst of the attack. Even forgetting what that Blacksoul had done to him, Bob was more battered and bruised than everyone else combined. Drisc wasn’t sure what to do to support his friend. He considered ignoring the problem. He also thought about confronting Bob head-on about it. His indecision left him doing a very untimely melding of both methods.

  Drisc wasn’t sure how to stop Bob from dying; he just had no intention of letting it happen. Of course, he’d feel a bit more certain of himself if he didn’t know there wasn’t a thing he could do about it. He knew it had something to do with Bob’s latest crazy idea. Cleansing Blacksouls was an impossible task.

  He told the boy as much. Then he said as much to his know-it-all boss. Drisc was living proof that being someone’s boss didn’t come close to making you any smarter than the guys who worked for you. It couldn’t be done.

  However, telling his boss that he was outside his bloody mind didn’t exactly make him a popular person. The benefit to being the least-liked person in a house was that he could generally avoid work. The consequence of being that individual, Drisc learned, was that the least-liked person generally had to do the things no one else wanted to do—like separating every single component of the shattered clocks from the parts that weren’t useful anymore.

  So, Pip got to repaint the walls. Bob got to pretty much do whatever he wanted. Todd was out looking for Grimm; Drisc managed to dodge that bullet. Archie was rebuilding clocks as quickly as possible. Drisc was in a room without air conditioning with nothing to do but separate clock parts and worry about his best friend dying.

  The room was actually a closet. It had light. They gave Drisc a folding chair to sit on and a box to put all the parts in. Someone would bring in thirty or so piles of what used to be handmade clocks and check in on him every hour or so.

  Drisc picked up a small brass gear. It seemed in decent shape, so he set it in the box to his right. He grabbed a handful of splinters and started a pile on the other side of his chair.