Tempus White's Arc

Chapter 5 of 8

Tempus pulled a small brass tool from his pocket and scraped at the wall-mounted clock design. Flakes of paint came away, revealing metal underneath. Someone had crafted this piece with care, then mounted it here as a message. He stepped back and studied the three twisted hands. They pointed in specific directions—one toward the mansion, one down the alley, one back toward the monument. This wasn't decoration. It was a map for those who understood clockwork language. His grandfather had taught him to read these signs as a kit. The longest hand aimed at a door fifteen feet away, half-hidden behind stacked crates. Tempus moved toward it, his heart beating faster. For the first time since finding the theft report, he felt certain. The trail was real. The timepiece could be found. The door opened into a workshop filled with glass cases. Dust covered everything, but the displays remained intact. Tempus walked between them, his pink eyes scanning each shelf. Clocks and pocket watches filled the cases—dozens of them in gold, white, magenta, and dark indigo. Each piece matched the style of his grandfather's work. He recognized the three-handed mechanisms, the backward-moving gears, the specific engravings. These weren't the originals. They were copies, replicas made by someone who had studied the real artifacts. Someone had documented every piece that passed through this network. The dealer must have kept records this way, showing clients what treasures moved through his hands. Tempus pressed his paw against one case. His grandfather's timepiece would look like these, but older, with wear that couldn't be faked. Now he knew exactly what to search for. He pulled out his notebook and sketched the details from three different watches. Each one brought him closer to recognizing the real thing when he found it. The hunt had proof now. The workshop proved the dealer's network existed. The timepiece wasn't just a story anymore. Behind the last display case, he found a leather book wedged between two shelves. Tempus pulled it free and opened the cover. Pages of names filled the book, written in tight script beside dates and amounts. The dealer had kept records of every sale. Tempus ran his finger down the entries, searching for anything from forty-three years ago. Then he saw it—a note about a three-handed timepiece sold to a collector. The buyer's name had been crossed out, but an address remained: the auction house on Cathedral Street. His chest tightened. Wealthy collectors gathered there to buy and sell rare items. If someone owned his grandfather's timepiece, they might take it there to sell. Tempus closed the book and slipped it into his vest. He had a real lead now, a place to search. The workshop had given him more than sketches—it had given him direction. He left through the door and headed toward Cathedral Street, ready to face whatever came next. Cathedral Street opened before him with marble buildings rising on both sides. The auction house stood at the corner, its white columns gleaming against the gray sky. Tall arched windows showed glimpses of the interior—gold-framed paintings of the Red Queen, the Cheshire Cat, and a White Rabbit hung on walls painted in deep indigo and magenta. Tempus straightened his vest and walked up the steps. Inside, voices echoed off the high ceiling as collectors examined items laid out on velvet-covered tables. He moved through the crowd, studying faces, watching hands gesture over precious objects. These people bought history. One of them might own what he searched for. A clerk at the front desk looked up as Tempus approached. He pulled out his sketches and the leather book, opening it to the marked page. The clerk's eyes widened. She remembered an item like that—it had been listed for next month's sale. Tempus felt his pulse quicken. Forty-three years of searching, and now he stood one auction away from his family's treasure. The timepiece was here. He just had to wait for it to surface.