Neville Hatch's Arc

Chapter 2 of 3

Neville walked the dusty road for an hour before his legs began to drag. The winding-key between his shoulders had turned slower with each step. No one had wound him today. He stopped and listened to his own chest. The ticking came weak and uneven. He had enough spring left for a short walk, not a journey. If he seized up here, he would stand frozen until rust took him. He needed a hand to turn his key. His own arms could not reach it. He looked for a town, a house, anyone. The road held only grass and stones. Then he heard tapping on rock. A child knelt near a low outcrop, prying at a seam with a flat iron tool. A crystal came loose, and the child held it to the light. Smoke drifted past them. A copper hound stood at the child's side, puffs curling from its joints as it watched Neville with one yellow eye. "You're wound wrong," the child said, not looking up. "I can hear it. Too slow on the downbeat." They stood and brushed grit from their knees. "I'm Casey. I apprenticed under three clockwork makers before they got tired of me asking questions." "My key is nearly spent," Neville said. His voice came out thin. "I cannot reach it. I will stop soon." Casey circled behind him. The hound followed, smoke trailing. "Hold still." Small fingers found the key. "Huh. This spring housing. I've seen this notch before." They began to wind. The key turned hard, then caught, then spun smooth. Neville felt the tightness build in his chest. His ticking steadied and grew strong. He straightened. His legs held. "Thank you." "Don't thank me yet." Casey kept their hand on the key and studied the brass plates along his back. "Whoever built you filed the gears a certain way. Angled teeth. Only one maker I know did that." They frowned. "He worked out of a house below a hill. Green door." Neville went still again, this time by choice. "You know him." "Knew of him. The other makers wouldn't say his name near me." Casey wound the key a final half turn and stepped back. "They said his work got strange near the end. Machines that remembered too much. People stopped visiting." The hound pressed close to Casey's leg, smoke thinning. "That house is where I am going," Neville said. Casey looked at him a long moment. Then they tucked their crystal into a vest pocket. "Then I'm coming. I've wanted to see his workshop my whole life." They patted the hound. "And you'll seize up again by nightfall without someone to turn that key." Neville's chest ticked full and even. He could walk now, for a day at least. But the maker's own apprentices had feared his work. Neville had wanted only a name. Now he had a warning, and a companion who would not let him freeze.