Tempus White's Arc

Chapter 4 of 8

Tempus stood before the twisted monument, his paw still pressed against the cold indigo stone. The carved gears reminded him why he'd come this far. Forty-three years had passed since the theft. His grandfather's timepiece waited somewhere in this broken city. He pulled his paw back and turned west, following the direction the pillar marked. The road ahead would lead him closer to the truth. The western road opened into a neighborhood of crumbling grandeur. A massive mansion rose above the rooftops ahead, its dark stone columns reaching toward the gray sky. Arched windows lined its walls, and copper spires crowned the mansard roof. The whole structure wore colors that matched the monument—deep indigo stone, magenta trim, white accents, and gold details. Tempus had heard stories about this place. A duchess built it generations ago, before the city twisted into what it was now. The locals called it a landmark. He wondered if the dealer had used it as a meeting point. High places made good markers for directions. He turned down a side street to circle the mansion. An iron fire escape clung to one building, covered in flowering vines. White jasmine bloomed thick across the rusty metal, its delicate petals bright against the dark. Blue-tinted stems twisted through the bars and down the brick wall. The sweet smell cut through the city's usual stench of rot and metal. Tempus paused. Something about the flowers felt wrong here. Nature didn't grow like this in Demented Dreamland unless someone tended it. Someone who stayed in one place. Someone who might remember old trades. He followed the jasmine to a narrow alley behind the building. There, half-hidden in shadow, something grew against the damp stone. A circular growth covered the wall—a strange formation that looked like a clock face. Three twisted shapes jutted from its center like melted hands. The colors matched everything else in this city: indigo, magenta, gold, and white swirled across its surface. Tempus stepped closer. It wasn't fungus. Someone had mounted this here, a marker for those who knew what to look for. His grandfather's work had featured similar designs. The timepiece he searched for used the same colors, the same three-handed mechanism. This was a sign. Someone in this neighborhood knew about clockwork. Someone knew about stolen time.