The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) (13 page)

Marge left.

Samson opened his computer. Nearly time to give Marge a
rather large bonus. But first he needed to check one thing. He pulled up the
Green
Inc.
information database in private, no log mode. Then, after staring at
the stars out his window for a moment, he typed “clock legend, Jameson Musk.”

*****

The raindrops sparkled in the glow from the bookshop
windows. Puddles inhabited every inch of sidewalk, and the monkey on the
bookshop’s sign appeared to be sobbing. The rain had tapered off to just a
sprinkle, though, and the whole world shone as if it were clean and new.

“Bronwyn,” John said as he, Quin, and Bronwyn climbed into
the waiting taxi, or, as John liked to think of it, his chauffeured vehicle.
“You seem pretty smart. Found anything interesting about your great-whatever
grandmother?”

“No. You seem to know a lot about it, though.”

“I know a bit. Are we taking you home?”

“Yes, please.”

“Why was your butler following you?”

“I live with my aunt,” Bronwyn explained. “And she has
always been a bit overprotective. She won’t even let me touch my own money, for
instance, in case I gambled it all away or spent it on frivolity—those are her
words. Now that I’m old enough to go wandering around on my own, she sends
Butler after me to make sure I don’t get into trouble. Also, I’m not allowed to
research the Clock of Legend, so he makes sure I don’t get near anything
useful. Well, he thinks he does anyway.”

“Any idea why she’s so secretive?”

“No, except that there must be some sort of family secret
that she knows that she doesn’t want me to blab to the whole world. That’s why
I’m trying to find out—because I’m not supposed to know.”

John chuckled.
“Inspiration for countless
inventors and geniuses of lore!”

“Address?” the driver said.

“213 Facehand Place,” Bronwyn said.

“Facehand Place?” John exclaimed, surprised. “Nice area.”

Bronwyn shrugged. “It’s overrated. Why are you guys so
interested in the Clock?”

“I am a bit quirky,” John began. Quin snorted. “AND,” he
said loudly, over Quin’s chuckle, “I have eccentric hobbies. Currently, I am
interested in the Clock, mainly because so many people are starting to talk
about it. The end of the world is coming fast, you know.”

“I see.” Bronwyn turned to look out the window.

“What do you think of Auvek?” John asked.

“He’s really nice. I think he’ll turn the old bookshop
around. In fact, he might be the best thing that’s ever happened to the place.”

“That’s the feeling I get,” John agreed.

“That’s my house up there,” Bronwyn said to the driver,
pointing to a large house on the left.

Four towers rose up from each corner of the building. A
grand staircase led up to the front porch, along which four large columns rose
ominously in the dark. Rain spattered against four lighted windows, arched,
with enormous panes of glass in each one. Thin trees tickled the dark sky with
their eerie fingers on either side of the path leading up to the house, and two
stone griffins with expressions of disgust and loathing etched into their
motionless faces stood guard at the gate by the road. The gate itself towered,
and twisted metal spikes on each bar completed the warm, comforting feeling
emitted by the entire property.

“Love the decor,” John said.
“And those
griffins.”
He kissed his fingers.
“Magnifico!”

Bronwyn laughed. “Thanks for the ride.” She slipped out of
the car and darted up to the gate. The gate began to open, and the taxi pulled
away.

“Message from Pete,” Quin said.

“What’s it say?”

“He found one. Elon Canderick.
Went into
hiding after Aderick died.”

“Hiding where?” John tilted his head and began to hum
quietly.

“A homeless man in the tunnels.
Got a Mason’s cardboard box.”

“How peculiar and sad.
I suggest we
pay him a visit. And perhaps we could offer a better hiding spot?”

Quin nodded. He tapped the driver on the shoulder.
“Downtown.”

The car sped away through the piercing raindrops and into
the dark, dark night.

*****

Bronwyn made her way slowly up the stairs, tolerating the
freezing rain while her mind scrambled to find a reason for her late arrival
home. Since the giant wooden door creaked loudly as it opened, she decided on
the simplest reason.

“I’m sorry,” she said, the minute her foot entered the
house.

Aunt Llewellyn stood before Bronwyn with her arms crossed. A
huge staircase rose up behind her to the balcony above.

“Where were you?” she demanded. She wore a black silk
bathrobe and her silvery gray hair was hidden by a scarf. Her wrinkles and
frown draped across her nearly emaciated features; sometimes the skin on her
face looked like it was about to drip off.

“I’m sorry. I just lost track of time.” Bronwyn bowed her
head in mock penitence. “Where is Butler? I promised to help him hang pictures
in the guest room.”

Aunt Llewellyn thrust her shoulders back. “I... sent him...
on an errand,” she said haughtily. “And I don’t know when he’ll be back. Soon,
I should imagine.”

“Okay. I need to put dry clothes on,” Bronwyn said,
relieved. She slipped upstairs.

Her room was stark; one dresser stood next to the tall,
arched window. Her bed had a plain white comforter. Her aunt forbade her from
hanging posters of any kind on her wall; instead a painting of a dark castle
overlooking an angry ocean hung over her bed. She sat down at her desk in her
one, wooden, straight-backed chair.

Her long-haired, calico cat, Baen, jumped on the desk and
rubbed her head against Bronwyn’s hand.

“Oh, Baen,” Bronwyn sighed. “It was a long day. But it was
quite interesting. I should change. And then find some food.”

She slipped into a pair of pajama pants and slippers and
pulled her door open. The kitchen was on the other side of the large, drafty
house. Quietly padding down the hallway, Bronwyn heard her aunt and Butler
whispering.

“Where have you been?” her aunt hissed as the door swung
shut behind him.

“I... I just thought I should come in after her so she
doesn’t know!” he protested. “I’m afraid she’s getting suspicious. Just last
week she greeted me downtown while I was looking, by accident I’m afraid, in a
toy store window!”

“You’re an idiot! She’s clueless! She’s always got her head
in the clouds! You know that. You’re just getting careless! Where’s she been
all this time?”

“She went down to the river this morning for an unusually
long time, then to the college library for a bit, then... um... some window
shopping downtown, and then back here?”

Bronwyn peeked through the railings of the stairs. Butler
was hunched over as though in a permanent wince, as if he were afraid Aunt
Llewellyn was going to hit him.

“You fool. You lost her, didn’t you?” Aunt Llewellyn whacked
him across the top of his head.

Bronwyn stood rapidly and began to whistle. She skipped
forward towards the stairs.

“Oh, hello, Butler!” she said with a fake smile as his
hunched figure came into view. “You’re all wet. Did you have a good day?”

He straightened up. “Yes, Mistress Bronwyn. Thank you.” A
strange little frown blinked across his features as he looked up towards the
balcony.

“Do you want to hang those pictures today? After you dry off
and have some dinner, of course.”

“Of course, of course,” he nodded, and moved slowly towards
his quarters to change.

Bronwyn waited until Butler returned with a cup of tea. On
his belt he wore his normal set of keys.

“What picture is it?” she asked.

“Aunt Llewellyn purchased it at an auction last week. It’s a
gorgeous landscape.” He led her into the drawing room where the huge painting
leaned against a wall. “I already put the nails
in,
I
just need you to help lift it up.” He pulled two stools from against the wall
and placed one under each nail. Then, they each grabbed one edge of the
painting and climbed up, hanging it delicately on the wall.

Bronwyn jumped down and looked at it. “Perfect!” she
exclaimed.

Butler climbed down stiffly from the stool and placed it
back in its spot.

“Oh, Butler,” Bronwyn said. “You look exhausted. Did you
have a busy day? You got caught in the rain, too! Why don’t I build you a
fire,
and you can drink your tea in here and look at
Auntie’s new painting.”

“That sounds nice,” Butler said, “But I have
work
to do, miss.” The strange frown reappeared for a
moment. It looked bitter and almost pleased at the same time.

Could a frown be
pleased?
Bronwyn thought.

“And you shouldn’t be
spending time with me. I am far below your station.” Butler patted down his dark
hair.

“Oh, Aunt Llewellyn won’t mind if it’s just for a few
minutes.” She darted over to the fireplace, opened the flue, and began to stack
kindling. Not long after, a fire blazed on the hearth on the cold, wet, night.

Butler sat down in front of it and leaned back on the couch,
giving a loud sigh.

“I’ll be right back,” Bronwyn said, exiting the room. She
returned with a fresh cup of hot tea, and set it on the table next to the
couch.

“Thank you,” Butler said, and he let out another loud sigh
and promptly fell asleep.

Bronwyn waited five minutes. He began to snore. She leaned
down and unclipped his key chain. Ducking behind the couch, she carefully slid
one old skeleton key from the ring. Butler snorted. She jumped up, dropped the
key chain on the couch next to him, and darted from the room.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Butler stopped
snoring and opened his eyes. He grinned and attached the keys back to his belt.
It was turning into an excellent evening.

*****

“I’m going planetside,” Samson told Marge. “It’s secret;
only a few people know. I’m leaving in ten minutes. You’re in charge; I’m
feeling ill if anyone asks, and you have my number.”

“Of course, sir,” Marge said holding out his jacket. “Why
are you going?”

“I need to go visit a certain Jameson Musk. He seems to have
disappeared, but my good Officer Holder found him for me. Hand me those gloves,
will you?”

“Very good, sir.”
Marge held his
office door open for him as he exited, reaching out to pluck the gloves from
her hand on his way by.

“I’ll be back in on the late shuttle tonight. Take care,
Marge.”

He strode down the darkened hallways towards the docking
bays. Only the light of a few flickering stars bled through the giant lobby
window.

“Raymond,” he said, greeting the pilot of his shuttle.

“It’s good to see you, sir,” Raymond replied, shaking his
hand. “We’re almost ready to go. Have a seat in the passenger area—you’ll be
sharing the space with a few boxes, but nothing dangerous. Buckle in, please.
We’ll let you know when we’re ready to take off.”

The inside of the shuttle was quite small. The passenger
area contained eight small seats, each with full-body security straps and
footholds. Four of the seats had been removed and the space was filled with
large wooden boxes secured to the floor. Samson chose one of the remaining
seats and began to weave the complex security straps around his body.

After only about twenty minutes of waiting, Raymond came in,
checked his straps and said, “Well, we’re about ready to go. Close your eyes
and hold on tight.”

The doors slid closed and the pilot disappeared into the
cockpit. A dull roaring filled Samson’s ears as the engines fired up. The
shuttle, which was an older model, began to shake and quiver with the
vibrations. He felt the shuttle begin rolling, although he couldn’t tell where
they were going.
A moment later his body was flattened
against his seat with as much force as he could bear.
Then, a moment
later, he felt nothing, but floated loosely in his straps.

Samson closed his eyes. Three hours later he awoke to a loud
roaring noise. Then all at once he was falling, rushing downwards towards the
hard, unforgiving dirt.
Endlessly falling.
In his mind
he imagined miles and miles of space below him, trapped in this flaming metal
box with no hope of escape, just falling, forever.

He screamed.

*****

Salve tiptoed through the puddles, carefully following
behind Rathead and the woman who accompanied him. He imagined he was a secret agent,
a Millicent Avery, a James Bond, a Pink Panther. The rain started to pick up
after a bit, and Rathead began to walk faster. Salve tried to keep up; his
shoes were soaked, his hair was wet—all he wanted to do was put on his pajamas
and crawl in bed. And as he followed the crime lord down the street, all he
could think about were his rubber ducky pajamas.

Suddenly, Rathead stopped. Salve ducked behind a trashcan,
just as Rathead turned to look down the street.

“That was lucky,” Salve whispered. He peered through the
crack between the trashcan and the wall. Rathead had turned and walked back
towards him. Salve froze, and then closed his
eyes,
cringing at what he was sure was impending death.

“There you are,” Rathead said curtly.

Salve opened one eye and looked up. No one was there.

“I look for you many
hour
.”

“I’ve been right here, like I said,” the voice replied. It
was a woman’s voice. “For almost 24 hours!”

“Ah, well, I may find distraction.” Rathead’s voice seemed
to sneer and smile at the same time. “I have information. I find monkey. I
bring him. You tell him this.”

“Okay.
When?”

“In next hours of today, I bring.” Rathead bowed his head
slightly. “You speak to anyone other, you die.”