by Ann Hunter
Robert squared his shoulders. “King Andrus is not my king.”
“Then speak, pray tell, who is.”
Robert’s chest puffed, his mustache twitched and he sniffed through his Roman nose. With a deep bellow, one name roared from his lungs. “KHRONOS!”
Khronos echoed softly over the crowd like a stone thrown into a mill pond, then lapped softly back.
Robert punched the air. “Khronos!”
Another man joined in. “Khronos!”
A woman. “Khronos.”
The crowd erupted with the chanting of the Master Tinker’s name. “Khronos. Khronos. Khronos.” Then faster and undeniable. “Khronos. KHRONOS! KHRONOS!”
Rebecca sensed a sudden shift amongst the people. Guards appeared. They slipped their uniformed arms under her father’s and clutched him tightly. A fierce glint flashed in his eyes as he continued to chant Khronos.
Rebecca reached to him as the guards drug him toward The Corporation. “Father!”
Her hand fell through empty air, and a wave moved through the crowd once more, like a riptide, pulling her back into the crush of bodies. Though she could not see her father, she heard him shouting, “We are the clock people, and we will not bow to the tyrant fool Andrus!”
Rebecca fought hard against random arms and limbs that all seemed to be pulling her down. Her heart raced. She began coughing. Her lungs felt heavy and swung in her chest. Finally she found her way out of the mob and sprinted back toward the clock smith’s shop. The door crashed open with a violent jangle of the bell. She shut it hard behind her and pressed herself against it.
Christoph appeared, polishing the gold case of a watch he likely would never sell, with a soft old rag. “Back so soon?”
She swallowed hard and squeezed her eyes shut. Christoph’s voice swelled with concern when she did not answer. “Are you alright, dear girl?”
Rebecca shook her head and sucked in a deep breath as she tried to steady her nerves. “The guards.” She coughed. “They took Father.”
The clock smith’s lips pursed. He shook his head and tsked softly.
“That’s it? You’re just going to tisk and stand there? Can you not help him?”
Christoph looked over the brim of his glasses. “Robert was always a bull in a china shop. He will bully his way out just like he bullied his way in.”
The floorboards creaked beneath Rebecca’s shoes as she paced.
Christoph huffed a puff of warm air onto the glass of the pocket watch and polished that too. “You are welcome to stay as long as you need to.”
“My mother will worry. We only came in to town to sell the gears and get Mother a gift for her name day.”
Christoph’s white, bushy eyebrow raised. “A gift, you say? Hmm…”
Rebecca paused with her hands gripping the roots of her hair.
A smile crawled onto the wrinkled clock smith’s face. “Yes, I see.” He placed the pocket watch on the counter and slithered into the back of the shop.
Rebecca heard him rummaging and speaking to himself. She placed her hands on her hips and looked around at all the clocks again.
He emerged with a small leather book and ink pen, and slid them across the counter. “Why don’t you tell me all about it.” He motioned her closer with a gnarled finger, then patted the little book.
She crossed slowly, almost cautiously, and peered down at the book, then opened it. All of the pages were blank. She glanced at the pen then back at the book and the urge to spill out all of her thoughts, no matter how childish or insolent, was nearly too much to resist. She shut the book. “This will make a wonderful gift for her.” She slipped it in to the pocket of her apron, and smiled awkwardly. “Thank you.”
She left the shop and did not look back. She did not even think twice about that feeling she had as she stared into the abyss of creamy pages, the possibilities… Rebecca sprinted toward the carriage and curled up on the floor of the cab until she fell asleep.
“Rebecca…”
The voice seemed to echo from far away, as though in a dream.
“Rebecca Tremaine.”
There was a firm hand on her shoulder. She opened her eyes and sputtered as a pile of ash fell from her head. Rebecca looked up to see the blurry image of her father smiling. She sat up and brushed herself off. Ash flew everywhere. “Father?”
Robert nodded, brushed off the seat of the carriage, and got in.
“I thought I’d never see you again.”
He started the clockwork carriage. “Bah!” He grinned sheepishly. “It was nothing. Really.”
The carriage coughed to life with a rush of exhumed ash.
Robert touched his nose with a wink. “Not a word to your mother. You go on in when we get home, I will move the goods back inside our forge. Any luck finding a gift?”
She pulled the book from her pocket to show him. “I thought she could write down her recipes, or tips on mending.”
Her father patted her knee. “Good girl.”
Aside from her persistent cough, they drove in silence all the way home. Her spirits lifted when the fields turned golden again and she could see the inky sky sparkle with stars. The carriage rattled as though it were traumatized.
“Farmer Diggory drives that poor horse into the city, doesn’t he?” Rebecca asked as she tried to take a deep breath of country air.
Robert nodded. “He sells the vetches to the apothecaries, and his wheat and corn to the grocer.”
Rebecca shook her head. “I don’t know how his horse manages it. That awful place… Our carriage can barely make it home.”
Robert chuckled.
“What will we do now that the king has outlawed tinkering?” she asked.
Her father re-wrapped his fingers around the steering wheel and took a deep breath. “I have a shipment of fresh supplies and fine metals coming in on a ship tomorrow. King Andrus can take a flying leap off the spire of The Corporation for all I care. We’ll be fine.”
“But the law said—”
“Normally I am a law abiding man Rebecca, but when tyranny comes into play it is every man for himself. Maker Khronos will show us the way. I will sell my wares in other kingdoms if I must.”
Down the lane they rattled until the outline of their cottage came into view, silhouetted against the fields and moon. Lilly stood in the golden light of the doorway wringing her hands.
Robert waved hello. She slung a dish rag over her shoulder and placed her hands on her hips. He helped Rebecca out of the carriage and placed his waist coat about her.
“What have you two been up to?” Lilly scowled.
Robert plastered his face with an excited grin. “We had ourselves a little adventure.” He squeezed Rebecca’s shoulder tightly. “Didn’t we, love?”
Her hands shot toward her mother with the book. “Happy Name Day.”
She slipped past her and buried her face in the crook of her elbow, hacking the ash out from her lungs.
III
When Rebecca woke the next morning, her father had already headed off to the harbor to wait for his ship to come in. She spent the day helping her mother catch up on chores.
Rebecca strolled down the lane to Farmer Diggory’s to fetch fresh milk and cream from his wife and their cow so that Lilly could churn it into butter and press fresh cheese. She sorted the chickens, cleaned the coop, and readied it for the hatchlings that would arrive any day now. The weeds needed pulling. Their small vegetable patch needed sowing for summer harvest. Berries demanded to be plucked from brambles.
When heavy clouds rolled in late in the afternoon, Rebecca cringed. It reminded her too much of the city. Her whole body ached. A grumble of thunder in the distance warned of what was to come. She quickly finished her chores and rushed inside, grabbing a clean bowl and allowing the berries hammocked in her apron to roll out into it for washing later. Her mother rocked in a chair peacefully near a crackling fire. The copper cauldron boiled with a stew of roast rabbit and root vegetables. Lilly’s ha
nds worked over two needles darning Robert’s holey socks.
Rebecca curled up in a chair near the window and watched the weather quickly turn bad. She cringed as thunder angrily shook the thatches of their cottage. Rain poured down in sheets, and veins of water rushed down the glass windows. Lightning lit up the country side. Rebecca could almost make out the outline of The Corporation whenever light split the sky.
Her mother hummed calmly as the evening wore on. Rebecca looked at her with wild eyes. How could she sit so calmly when the world was standing on end? She hugged her knees close to her chest and thumped her heels restlessly against the seat of the chair.
Lilly looked up from her mending. “Rebecca, dear, why don’t you set the table.”
Rebecca leapt to her feet and eagerly grabbed the bowls. Why wasn’t her her father home yet?. Was there trouble?
Her mother put away the mending and rose to ladle stew into the bowls that Rebecca passed to her. “I wish I knew whether to fill two bowls or—”
They jumped as the front door smashed open. Rain fell in thick sheets. Lightning cracked around a hulking shadow in the doorway. Rebecca yelped as boiling hot stew missed the bowl and splashed on her hand. Lilly took the bowl away, and clutched her daughter’s hand.
The door shut and Robert staggered to the table. Tears welled in Rebecca’s eyes as her mother wiped away the searing stew. Why did it sting so much? She’d burnt herself before, but never like this.
Lilly pulled out a fist-sized jar of salve she always kept in her apron pocket, smeared on a glob, and bound the girl’s hand tightly with some clean rags. Rebecca tried to concentrate on breathing in through her nose and out through her mouth.
Her father moaned loudly in the background. “Ruined!”
“Do not be dramatic, Robert,” Lilly chided, “it is only spilled soup.”
He ran his hands through his sopping wet, brown hair. “No. We are ruined!”
Lilly helped Rebecca sit down and kissed her cheek. She slid a bowl of stew toward her husband. “What in The Great Wheel are you talking about?”
His face was pale. Terror in his eyes. Rebecca looked back and forth between her parents with a pit in her stomach.
“Our ship… she’s gone. Sunk to the bottom of the ocean. Privateers. The king…” Robert’s head dropped into folded arms and he sobbed.
Lilly wiped her hands. “What do you mean?”
When he raised his head, the glow of the fireplace illuminated bloodshot eyes over a stuffy, red nose. “Privateers flying the king’s flags sunk our ship filled to the brim with the goods I needed… need… to work.”
“But why would they do such a thing?” Lilly choked.
Rebecca glowered at her father.
He wiped the tears from his cheeks. “The king has put forth a decree that no man may operate in the clock trade. We as a people are doomed.”
“Nonsense,” Lilly retorted. “You went into the city yesterday and sold everything you had. The carriage was empty when you came to bed.”
Robert hung his head shamefully. “No. We are penniless.”
“Maker Khronos,” Lilly gasped.
Rebecca gingerly tucked in to her supper. Her hand stung deeply. So did her heart. Why did her father insist on keeping secrets? Next, her mother would likely find out that he had openly denied the king.
“But why our ship, Robert?”
He shook his head as he rung the hair upon it. “Not only ours, Lilly.” He looked up. “Any ship coming into the harbor was assaulted. Anything worth anything was pillaged in the name of King Andrus. I watched it happen. Saw them being fired upon on the horizon. Hundreds of ships sinking. It was a bloody armada!”
“Every ship?” Lilly asked incredulously. “But that would mean…”
“No seeds for the farmers, or tools for repair and harvesting.” Robert stabbed a finger into the dinner table. “He means to end us, I’m telling you.”
Rebecca’s stew seemed to lose its flavor. Her own brow knit together and she pushed her half empty bowl away.
Her mother shook her head. “It makes no sense. We have done nothing. We have kept to our quiet ways. Never been a bother to the kingdom. Paid our taxes and dues without question.”
“He’s a tyrant,” Robert growled. “Enough is never enough.”
Lilly sank into her chair at the table. Everyone was quiet until steam no longer wafted from the bowls.
Rebecca looked at the her hands resting in her lap. “I’m not very hungry,” she said softly.
Lilly pushed her bowl away. “Nor I.”
Robert shook his head again.
Lilly sighed. “Well we cannot do anything about it tonight. If everyone has been affected, they are sure to gather together in the morning. We should see to it that we make it to church and seek guidance.”
Rebecca pushed her chair back and silently gathered the bowls. Khronos wouldn’t help them. Why would He if he did not even have the power to stop the king’s fleet? Why would He allow such a thing to happen if he loved his people as her father had said? The same question lay in her mother’s voice when she spoke, “It does not make sense.”
No one said anything else the rest of the night. Lilly helped her husband get warm and dry and make sure he was well before they retired to bed. Rebecca laid on her back and stared at the rafters. Questions whirled around her head. A pang rattled her chest and she wished she could write those questions down in the little book she had given her mother. She rolled onto her side and curled up. Was there a rule against taking back Name Day gifts?
Moonlight streamed through the window. It did not seem very nice to take back presents. She pushed the thought from her mind and closed her eyes. Like her mother had said, there was nothing they could do until the morning. Rebecca concentrated on the hollow spot above the bridge of her nose and breathed deeply. She did not know why, but it always helped her fall asleep.
When she awoke, birds sang cheerfully in the leafy treetops. A bee whizzed by her window. Ducks quacked from a nearby pond, and the chickens clucked contentedly as they scratched and pecked at the ground. How could the world be so happy when it seemed like the clock people’s had ended?
Cogs made The Great Wheel turn. Her family was still here. So were her neighbors. The fields continued to be worked as though nothing had happened last night save for a wily storm. Maybe it hadn’t. Maybe last night had been a bad dream.
Rebecca pushed back the blankets and slid her feet out from under them. Her nightshift hung loosely from her shoulders. She leaned forward on the edge of her bed to rise and her hand seared with complaint as the burnt skin stretched across it. She grimaced and looked at the bandages. Definitely not a dream.
She removed the dressings carefully to see the damage. Angry blisters had popped, making the linen folds stick to her. She bit her lower lip and yanked the bandages off. She stomped her foot and spun around, clutching her stinging hand. When the pain dulled to a throb, she moved to the wash basin near her bed and carefully cleansed the wounds. She was grateful for her mother’s salve. It could have been much worse without it. She made her bed, and went downstairs. Her mother and father were talking by the front door.
“Rebecca dear,” Lilly crooned, “you’re not dressed.”
Rebecca put her burnt hand out to her mother who took it tenderly. “Tsk, tsk. That will not do, will it?” She caressed Rebecca’s face, brushing a tangle away. “Come on, I’ll help you.”
They went back upstairs and Lilly helped her daughter switch into a petticoat, stockings, shirt, and lace her caraco jacket and tie her apron. She smiled gently and tended to the girl’s hand.
It was hard not to flinch as more salve and fresh bandages were applied. Rebecca squeezed her eyes shut tight, and gritted her teeth. A tear slipped out from the corner of her eye. The bandaging seemed to take forever. She found no relief until the salve started working. Finally it was done.
Rebecca’s cares and discomfort fell away when her mother tugged her close to ki
ss her forehead. They wordlessly returned downstairs. Robert had pulled the clockwork carriage around to the front. The ladies climbed in and they started down the dirt road toward church. Along the way people chose to walk, and had their heads together, no doubt worried that even operating one of Tremaine’s carriages would invoke the wrath of the king, even though they were miles away.
A throng of people circled the front of the church. Preacher stood on the stoop raising his hands. Robert parked the copper carriage under the oak tree and helped his girls out. He held Lilly’s hand as they walked toward the crowd.
Preacher held the holy writ, The Book of Time, in one fist. No one seemed to want to hear from it.
“Just tell us what we should do, Preacher!”
He opened his book but voices soon boo’ed.
Robert let go of his wife’s hand and pushed through the crowd. He climbed atop the stoop to see if he could help Preacher. Their heads bowed together, mouths moving in conversation. What were they saying?
Rebecca’s father stuck two fingers in his mouth and let out an ear-splitting whistle. The crowd quieted at last. Robert grinned and hopped down to rejoin his family.
“Brothers and Sisters,” Preacher began. “I know of your troubles. I know of the atrocity of the storm last night. Not just of the weather, but the great waters as well. I ask you to weather your tempers and listen for a moment. King Andrus has wronged us. It is for certain. But he has also underestimated us. He thinks that we are just a common people. Common like the cold. Common like tadpoles in a pond, or mice in a field. Common in a way that we can simply be snuffed out like the light of a candle. Eradicated. I ask you this, though: are we mice or are we gears?”
“Gears!” the crowd shouted.
“Are we tadpoles or mighty cogs?”
“Cogs!”
“Then, Brothers and Sisters, let Andrus feel our grind. Let not this wrench be thrown amongst us. We must continue onward as we always have. We must cry out to Maker Khronos. We will not be extinguished. We will let our light shine forth as a beacon to all others! Let kingdoms come unto us that we may aid one another and rise up. We will make a stand, Brothers and Sisters. And we will do it our way. The way of the clock people!”