The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) (9 page)

“Hello there!” he called back, waving.

Salve made his way over.

“Looks like there’s a story here—some crazy hooligan with a
big stick and an even bigger ego?” he asked.

Pete chuckled. “We all wish it were that easy. No, that
fool, William Oliphant, installed a security device backwards and it sent a
sonic wave smashing outwards from its wireless perimeter around the shop.”

Salve made a face. “That’s not the kind of story the boss is
looking for, I’m afraid.”

“Well,” said Pete, “he did go to jail for it. And it might
just put him out of business, which would be a first for the Oliphant family,
and a blow to the powerful history of our city.”

“Hmmm,” Salve murmured, nodding. “I might be able to make a
story out of this. Mind if I interview you?
Sometime this
afternoon?”

“Unfortunately I won’t be here. Why don’t you start with
Auvek? You know he’s running the shop now. And any of these other shop owners
would be glad of the publicity.”

“Okay,” Salve replied. “Thanks for your help!”

He barely heard Pete’s goodbye and mild chuckle as he took
off jogging down the street towards the shop.

*****

Quin glanced around. A door on the house across the street
sat ajar, banging occasionally when the wind grabbed ahold. Graffiti decorated
the stone steps leading up to most of the houses, and tufts of grass peeked
through cracks in the sidewalk. The street was deserted—there were no children,
no old men smoking cigarettes, no teenagers sneaking around corners. The only
people in sight were the two men and one woman walking down the street towards
him.

In the center strode a bald man with blue-striped scalp; the
stripes extended down his otherwise paper-white face and ended in points. He
carried several knives harnessed to various parts of his body. His chest
overfilled his shirt, and a bandage wrapped around his upper right arm. On his
left, a woman with a gun held in her hand scowled. Blue stripes peeked out from
under a bandanna wrapped around her forehead. On the left stood a large black
man, approximately the height and weight of Quin; he appeared to carry no
weapons.

“Rathead,” Quin stated. He held out his hand. The bald man
grasped it tightly.

“Quin Black.
What do you need from
me? Anything you ask, I will give.”

“Information.”

“Ask.”

“Why is Chair Aderick dead?”

Rathead nodded slowly. “Yes. I see that this something you
should want to know. But perhaps it is better to not know?”

Quin did not move or speak.

Rathead reached out and touched Quin’s arm. “Walk with me,
my large black friend,” he said. He and Quin began to stroll down the street in
the direction Quin had come from. “I cannot say everything that I do not know.
This true.
But I can say what I do know.”

Quin nodded. A gust of wind slammed the loose door closed. A
face peeked through a curtain in the window, but quickly disappeared.

“Have you heard of this Clock of Legend? Yes, I see that you
have.” Rathead nodded solemnly. “A sect of my people—they believe in clock but
they also believe that it will bring ending. End, yes.”

Rathead was silent for a moment. He clasped his hands behind
his back.

“Aderick, yes.
A
good man, Aderick.
Did you know he also believed in Clock?” He turned to
look at Quin. “You see? All I know. Secrets from me, yes, are kept every day. I
try to keep young ones under my hand, but sometimes they wiggle free. I will
look, yes? I will listen.
For you.”

“Thank you.” Quin stopped walking and turned to look at
Rathead. “Chair Rizinski is doing an audit of our books. We think we’ve wiped
everything from you clean. But make sure you cover your bases.”

“You good egg, Quin Black-man.”

Rathead turned abruptly and strode in the opposite
direction. His bodyguards fell into line behind him and the three kicked up
dust without ever looking back.

Quin pulled out his phone and typed in three numbers. A
black 1957 Ford appeared and screeched to a halt next to him. He climbed in.

“I still don’t understand why you think driving this thing
is stylish.” He shook his head. “Why don’t you just use the cab system? Or get
a real pomobile—an IK-17 or something. Not this Earth junk.” He turned toward
the driver.

“I think it’s stylish because it
is
stylish, and one day you will realize this,” Pete replied. Pete was a close friend and important to
both John and Quin, as he had a large network of black market and underground
informants.

“I think it’s cool!” John poked his head forward from the
back seat.

“You think everything is cool,” Quin replied.

“So.
Info?”
Pete asked.

“Clock of Legend.”
Quin crossed his
arms and leaned back in the seat as Pete steered towards his shop.

“Love that legend.” He grinned.

“Continue,” Quin stated.

“The clock winked,” Pete said.

“It what?”

“It winked. The story goes like this: Bronwyn Rae traveled
for one hundred days and nights, from the stone marking the center of
Pomegranate City through the Marshes and over the Sentinel River, to the center
of a large crater in the middle of Elusion Fields.”

“There aren't any actual known craters on Sagitta,” John
interrupted.
“And definitely none in Elusion Fields.”

“From the center of the crater rose a ladder, straight up
into the sky,” Pete continued, ignoring John's interruption. “Bronwyn Rae began
to climb, higher and higher, through the clouds and past the mountaintops. The
ladder ended abruptly in the middle of the sky, but when she looked down, a
cloud cover prevented her from seeing anything. So she waited. For three days
and nights she sat on the top of the ladder. On the last night the breeze
shifted, pushing the clouds back out towards sea. When day broke, she looked
down and below her, etched into the surface of the crater was a clock, reading
4:57 am. As she watched, the face of the clock winked.

“The story says that then she jumped, and as she fell she
called out to the winds, and they carried a message to her only child which
said, 'the clock winked.' Then the earth opened up and swallowed her whole, and
she was never seen again.”

“That's kind of depressing,” Quin said.

“But so beautiful,” John added. The car rounded the corner
onto Main and raindrops began to sprinkle lightly onto the windshield.

“The legend ends with this proverb: ‘
The
clock kept time for ten thousand years, and when it died, so too did I and
you.’”

“We're still here.” Quin frowned.

“Here's the thing. Bronwyn's great-great-something
great-granddaughter is still here, too. According to the doomsayers, the world
ends this year.”

Quin nodded.

“I’m having an inkling of something,” John interjected,
wiggling his fingers around his face excitedly. “How about this—what do you say
we take a trip over to Oliphant’s and see if that nephew of his can cook us up
some books about this beautifully heartbreaking legend?”

“It’s getting dark,” Pete said. “I’ll drop you two off.”

“One thing,” Quin said. “Rizinski was
third
in line.
After Aderick.
Not first.”

John’s fingers froze mid-wiggle. He leaned forward between
the passenger and driver’s seats and looked from Quin to Pete excitedly.
“Brilliant.
Absolutely brilliant.
Pete?”

“I’ll see what I can find out,” Pete replied. “Now get out,
you two big knuckleheads.”

*****

For several hours Auvek worked behind the desk, intermittently
helping customers and trying to fix the financial imbroglio exemplified in the
numbers of
William Oliphant, bookseller
's accounts. Simon worked
ceaselessly, rebinding books, returning loose pages to their masters, and
re-shelving one book at a time. A stream of customers moved in and out of the
shop, interspersed with the occasional police officer. Bronwyn helped find
books for customers or ring them out.

“Auvek Oliphant!” Salve boomed as he crashed through the
door. “Got a minute?”

“I guess,” Auvek replied, as his customer handed him cash
and exited. “What’s the fuss?”

“I’m looking for a story.” Salve craned his neck, looking
all around the shop as if a story was hiding somewhere in the corners.

“We’ve got lots of stories,” Bronwyn said, grinning.
“Fiction’s in the back room, over there.”

Salve sighed in mock exaggeration, and crossed his arms. “I
need a
real
story,” he said.

“Non-fiction is over that way.” Bronwyn pointed in a
different direction.

Salve turned and looked at her, a face-splitting smile
nearly breaking his face. She smiled back.

“You mean the first story we gave you wasn’t good enough?”
Auvek asked, raising his eyebrows.

Salve turned to look at Auvek. “No, that one went over
really well, actually.”

“Tell him about the—” Bronwyn leaned over to whisper in
Auvek’s ear.

“Okay,” Auvek replied. “So, it was a dark and stormy night
when the windows smashed. It was Uncle Will’s fault.”

“It wasn’t dark and stormy,” Bronwyn objected.

“He wanted a story,” Auvek replied. “Anyway, it was Uncle
Will’s fault because he doesn’t know how to do anything and probably can’t
read.”

Salve grinned.

Auvek continued. “The police think it was that pile of books
back there. But I’ll tell you the truth.” He leaned forward. “It was the ghost
of a monkey.”

“What?” Salve quit writing. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m serious,” Auvek said. “Didn’t you want a story?”

“It’s the ghost of the old Oliphant
monkey,
remember the one from all the stories?” Bronwyn began to wiggle her fingers in
front of her face, pretending to be creepy. “When Auvek opened that door, the
ghost escaped! And now it’s haunting the building. It could be anywhere!
Woooo—”

“Okay, you two are ridiculous,” Salve said, grinning.

“Well, you might actually find this interesting,” said
Auvek. “Right before the alarm went off, somebody reported seeing a man back
there, with blue stripes on his face.”

“Rathead?”
Salve asked.

“The gang leader?”
Bronwyn gasped.
“What would he be doing here? Doesn’t he stay in South Pomegranate City?”

“I never thought of Rathead,” Auvek mused. “What if it was
him? What would he be doing up here?”

“It probably wasn’t him.” Bronwyn stated. “Lots of people
have blue stripes on their face.”

“Was he bald?” Salve asked. “And covered with scars? And
terrifying?”

“There was a man outside this morning who was bald with blue
stripes,” Bronwyn said. “He asked me if I had known Auvek long.”

“Hey! That guy came in asking about Uncle Will in a weird
accent!” Auvek exclaimed. “He said his name was Charles and that he was an old
family friend.”

“Weird,” Salve said. “This is sort of a story, but only if I
embellish it. What should I call it? ‘Rathead Sighted Above the Southern City
Line.’
No… how about ‘Rathead’s Secret Life—Avid Reader.’”

“I thought you wrote for the newspaper,” Bronwyn said. “Not
one of those gossipy women’s magazines.”

“I do,” Salve replied. “But my boss asked for something
juicy.”

Auvek chuckled. “Go interview the fruit guy on Dresden
Street about his new shipment of oranges from Earth.”

Salve laughed. “Anyway,” he said, “it looks like you’ve got
the place cleaned up.”

“It looks great!” Bronwyn exclaimed. “Want me to show you
around?”

“Sure,” Salve said.

Bronwyn led him into the shelves towards the backroom. As
soon as they disappeared, Auvek ducked down behind the desk to Simon’s cubby
where he sat rebinding some valuable old books.

“Who’s Rathead?” he whispered.

“A notorious gang leader known for beheadings and being
associated with strange disappearances of well-known individuals,” Simon
replied. “He has committed many crimes, but evaded capture and trial for many
centuries.”

“Should I be worried that he might have been here this
morning?” Auvek interrupted.

Simon shook his head. “Not yet. He was probably scoping out
the territory. This building has been important in many battles, revolutions,
and other historical events, and he may suspect that your presence is going to
change things.”

“Okay,” Auvek said, standing back up.
On
the other side of the counter stood a gentleman, looking quizzically at Auvek.

“Were you talking to yourself?” he asked, tilting his head
to one side.

“Oh, no… well,” Auvek laughed, slightly embarrassed. “I
guess I do that sometimes.
Without noticing.
I mean, I
notice, but
it’s
fine. How can I help you?”

“My name is Jameson Musk, and I was actually wondering if I
could use your telephone,” the gentleman stated politely. “I’m in a bit of a
spot, you see, and my own phone died.”

“Oh, of course!”
Auvek replied,
picking up the receiver and handing it across the counter. “What’s the number?”

“Would you mind if I dialed?” he asked.

“Sure,” Auvek replied. “I’ll just be in the back room,
then.”

“Thank you,” Jameson replied, leaning over to reach the
buttons on the phone.

Auvek walked in the direction Bronwyn had led Salve. He
peeked into the back room. They sat very closely together, discussing something
intently. Bronwyn’s face was flushed a light pink.

“Hm,” Auvek murmured, heading back towards the front. He
stopped in the bookcases to adjust a precarious stack.

Then, he heard Jameson whisper harshly, “I don’t know what
you’re talking about. It’s heavily guarded. Stryker is tied up and mostly
unconscious. You have a key. What else can I do?”