Clocsong

- Chapter 2

"Damn you, Tito."

Tito was used to hearing the line -- he'd been trouble as a child -- but he didn't mind when it came from Beverli. Especially when she was gorging on the cornbread he'd brought for her.

The pair sat behind a white picket shed, where the gardeners housed their tools. Before them was a small hill that dropped a few dozen feet - leading to the shortcut Tito often used - which gave an incredible view of the city before them. Toredil was a massive sprawling city, nestled among acres and acres of rolling hills. Built over many centuries, it was a chaotic mess with little organization except in the newer sectors. Huge gothic churches stood next to ruined slums. Old, familial estates stood next to industrial factories and academies. Kingdoms would come and go, but the city stayed strong and proud.

The only place that stood out in the chaos was the Knight's Gear - the enormous plot of land near the middle of the city. Buildings that stood fourteen stories tall were packed in a super structure the shape of a large gear, and at the very center, in the shape of an axis, was a tall, broad, twenty three story building, towering over the entire city. The work of engineering and magic ingenuity was the city's magnum opus to the industry that thrived, and housed the High King himself. His subjugates and Knights resided, trained, and studied in the buildings around. Or, that's what the said. Nobody outside of the pact had been inside.

"It's a beautiful city," Tito said absentmindedly, filled with awe. He blinked and looked back at Beverli. "Sorry, did you say something?"

She raised an eyebrow, but didn't reply, her mouth full of cake. Tito just laughed.

A moment later, she swallowed the bread, putting down the plate and utensils. "Why do you keep bringing me cornbread?" She asked suddenly. "You know i'm not gonna marry you because you bring me food."

Tito grinned and shrugged. "I can sure try." When she continued her flat stare, he added, "It's nice to have someone to talk to. You know, who wasn't born into all of this. Glamour."

She still eyed him quizzically, but seemed to accept his answer, leaning back on her arms. "I think we're hardly similar, Tito."

"Really? Hadn't noticed." Beverli kicked him, making him laugh again. "Ok, yes, I know that. But..." he paused, grimacing slightly. "Don't get me wrong. I'm so grateful for Lucienne and Rummi and all. They're beautiful, amazing people. But, there's something down to earth about you. You know what's real in life, I think. You've experienced the rich and the destitute."

She didn't respond, looking out at the city. The sun had just set, and Tito realized as he saw the deep orange glow reflect in her eyes, and the soft breeze blowing her tightly curled hair, how pretty she was. Not like he'd felt in the past. There was a richness behind her eyes. Pain, but also wisdom.

Beverli turned to him. "What happened with your parents?"

Tito blinked. It was a blunt question, though the forward was made sense coming from Beverli. He was more surprised that she asked about his parents; she'd never asked about his personal life previously. Then again, he'd never been very open about it.

He prodded in his mind the memories of his parents - specifically his mother. He didn't often think about her. It hurt to do so. But he did so anyways, a small wave of pain seep over him.

Tito exhaled. "My mother, she died a few years back. She was a city officer. She died in the field."

He looked back up at Beverli. "Didn't know my father much. He's probably still alive out there, if he hasn't drunk himself to the grave. I don't think he was a good man."

Beverli was still staring at him, her expression unchanging except a slight squint, her thoughts indiscernible behind her eyes. She eventually looked away, towards the bustling city that grew darker by the minute. "I'm sorry."

He wasn't sure if she meant it in condolence or an apology for asking, but he assumed the former. "It's alright. It was a while ago." Though time alone didn't seem to fix much for him, except give him the chance to distance himself from the trauma. "My mom was amazing. Very tough on me, I think, and always wanted to help me become an officer myself. But I love her for it." He smiled slightly, remembering his mother tenaciously explaining the dangers of the city and it's need for protection from the dangers.

"And now you're a clockmaker," Beverli said softly, still looking at the city. Tito didn't think she meant it to hurt, but the reminder that he couldn't - or just didn't - do what his mother wanted him to do, her greatest wish, was a sharp pain in his heart.

Beverli turned back to him. "I think you would make a good officer, anyway."

Tito wasn't sure if she was trying to be encouraging or something else entirely, but the words made a small part of him happy. A memory seeped into his mind of practicing sword skills with his mother, with wooden arming swords. He was probably thirteen at the time, and he had just struck his first hit against his mother during the spar, against the bottom of her calf. His mother had frozen before bursting into tears, hugging him, smiling and laughing. He hadn't understood why she had cried that day.

I think i get it now, he thought as he felt a tear sprout from his eye, rolling down his cheek. He smiled wryly, a mix of pain, regret, and bittersweet nostalgia flowing into his chaotic mind. He wiped the teardrop away, and looked back at Beverli, who was still staring intently at him.

He wanted to ask about her own life - he often had before, only to be rejected - but before he could even think to ask, she spoke on her own volition, turning away. "My mother is a great woman, who has done great things for a great many people. She has many virtues. Fidelity was not one of them." She paused, seeming to draw something in herself. "I was born from that infidelity. And she didn't want me."

Sorrow filled Tito, compounded by his own. He couldn't imagine how that would feel. Being unwanted by your own mother. Despite any shortcomings his own mother may have had, she always made sure he knew she loved him, and that he was her world. Even after she died, Lucienne had been more than willing to take him in, even if she didn't treat him like her own. And the grumpy elder that Huli was, she always made sure Tito worked hard and knew he was helpful and wanted. But to have your own mother, reject you, because of a mistake she made?

"... I'm... sorry." He said. He knew it wouldn't do much, but he wasn't sure if there was much he could do. He looked her back in the eyes, looking down on the dark city, and saw the deep pain she was feeling. It hurt to watch, but he made himself watch. He saw the old cracks in her facade she put up. He recognized it himself.

Beverli turned back to him. She gave him a look - not a smile, but an expression of understanding and appreciation. "Thank you. It's been a long time since i've talked about this with anyone." She looked back out to the city one last time before slowly standing up. "I... I should get back. Still have duties to finish."

Tito nodded and exhaled, smiling softly. "Life always comes back to bite, eh?"

She raised an eyebrow. "For most of us. Haven't seen you put in an ounce of effort to anything in your life, except food and pining after girls."

"Oi! Not fair. I'll have you know I'm gardening tonight." He threw her a grin. "Plus, I don't need to put in effort with girls. Im a natural!"

Beverli laughed coldly. "And how many girls have you slept with?"

"One actually!"

"Huli doesn't count."

Tito gagged, following her back to the manor. "Ew, no. Some of us aren't turned on by folds and decay like you, Bev."

She turned on her heel to face him right as they approached a side door to the house, glaring deep into his soul. "I told you to never bring up the time with the mushrooms."

"And I told you Huli jokes are off limits, so i think we're even." He gave him a triumphant grin.

Beverli grimaced. "Imbecile." She slammed the door.

Tito smiled in satisfaction. Another win.

------

Tito distracted himself from his newfound closeness with Beverli the next day by working on a broken wristwatch.

The bronze wristwatch was an older model, made of stainless steel instead of the newer spring steel designs. It looked to be one of the earliest pocketwatch designs, before being modified to fit a wristband. It had a couple lose gears, plus the greatest thief, a broken spring.

Replacing the gears was easy enough - Huli had more sizes, types and materials of gears than she knew what to do with - but fixing the spring was a pain. He could try to rewind it, but doing that was a huge pain and often resulted in a broken spring, which he needed to compare with other metal to find a suitable replacement.

And so, he meticulously searched Huli's spring collections for hours to find one he might use. Unlike the gears, which could easily be sorted by exact size, material and shape, springs were rarely so easy to sort, having analog sizes and less easily identifiable alloys. Most were a spring steel, of course, but there were different kinds of spring steel, with different flexibilities and malleabilities. It was a mess.

Tito looked down at one particular spring, a grimy steel spring no longer that the width of his pinky nail. He gently laid it down on the table next to the warped spring. Pulling over his magnifying goggles, he peered closely at the two springs. Similar sizes; similar width between the coils. Might be worth the shot.

Tito pulled a few gears out from the modified pocketwatch and gently lowered the spring into place, coiling it slightly against its lever. After gingerly setting a few gears into place - cussing when he mixed two of them up - he pressed the second hand into place with a click. To his relief, the tiny strip of bronze slowly ticked one step at a time around the circle of the watch. First test passed.

With a whoop that earned a curse from Huli, he grabbed the test watch and placed it on the table next to the bronze modified watch. The sleek golden watch was clean but well used. It used quartz crystals to somehow perfectly stay in time to a millionth of a second, or something in that range, Tito couldn't really remember. Tito squinted as the two watches ticked in time for several minutes. Once the bronze had looped around ten times, completing ten minutes in perfect time with the quartz test watch, he nodded in satisfaction. He gingerly clicked in the remaining pieces of the watch - the minute hand and the bell hand - and slid on the casing and glass front. "This one's finished."

Huli didn't move, herself working on the gear system of a hanging wall clock. "Put it on the bench. If it's still in time by sixthday, we'll send it back."

Tito had already put the bronze timepiece on the bench where a half dozen other clocks and watches stood, taking the test of time. He was particularly proud of this wristwatch. Didn't mess up once. Except the time he messed up the two gears, but they looked identical, and he got distracted thinking about a certain girl.

"Anything else for the day?" Tito asked, wiping the sweat from his forehead. It wasn't physically intensive, but it sure was mentally taxing, fixing tiny mistakes in timepieces. "I think Lorainne needs me to help with dinner tonight."

Huli waved him off. "Go ahead, kid. Tell her I said hi, and that she needs her grandfather fixed." Tito assumed she meant grandfather clock, but it was hard to tell with the older lady. He grabbed his stuff from his locker and swung open the front door to the shop.

And hit a woman in the face with it.

Tito cursed. "Sorry miss!"

She held a hand to her forehead where the door had hit her, wincing. "It's alright. Is the watchmaker still around?"

"Yeah, she's in the workroom." Tito turned back to the shop. "Huli!!! Some woman's here for you."

"Go to hell, boy!!" she yelled, her voice muffled through the wall.

"Love you too." He turned back to the woman. Now that he had a look at her, calling her 'miss' might not have been appropriate - she looked around Tito's age, just recently an adult. She had stunning wavy red hair that reached nearly to her elbows - not ginger, but ruby red, like a grapefruit. She had large brown eyes, though they were creased, showing more experience than most her age. From her cold expression, they were probably from glaring and stress rather than laughter, though she did appear a little disarmed by the exchange between Tito and Huli.

Something about her felt odd, itching at his head, but Tito just shrugged inwardly. "Just wait inside. She'll be right out." When the girl didn't respond, he brushed past and walked into the street.

The weather was much less pleasant than the day before, with waves of rain pouring down on the street. Tito's clothes were instantly soaked, his wavy brown hair plastered to his head, but he didn't mind. The rain was refreshing, a cleansing of the world. A few pedestrians around him held umbrellas above their heads, though most gritted their teeth and pushed through the streets. Tito wished he'd brought his, but it didn't look like it was going to rain this morning.

That's when he realized what had bothered him about the redhead earlier. She had been totally dry. Her hair, her clothes, not a hint of wetness. How was she so dry? There was no balcony or way to approach the shop without being exposed to the open sky. Unless the rain had suddenly poured down after she entered the shop, but that seemed unlikely.

A loud crack, like that of gunshot, echoed from behind Tito. It sounded like it came from the timepiece workshop. A few yells and exclamations came from the crowds around. Tito flinched and paled. Huli. Regaining his wits, he turned around and dashed towards the storefront, and swung upon the damp wooden door. He hesitantly crept towards the back door to the workroom. Fear laced his spine of what he would find behind the door. Would he find a gun pointed at his head? A murder scene?? He swallowed his anxiety and tossed the door open, pulling out his own shoddy hand cannon.

He quickly scanned the room for people or other signs of danger, following the instincts his mother had instilled in him long ago. The room seemed identical to its usual state, with scattered scraps of metal and timepieces across shelves and tables. A wall clock, the one Huli had been working on, rested on the corner of the table. But Huli wasn't anywhere to be found. Tito sighed.

He looked back at the clock. She wouldn't have just left it out before leaving. Besides, wouldn't he have seen her leaving behind him? And where was the red haired girl? He slowly walked around the table.

Tito's breathing rapidly increased, and he nearly dropped the gun in his hand. "Huli," he said softly, as he stumbled forward. He knelt in front of the master clockmaker, brushing the silvered black hair from her face. A mixed look of fear and tired resignation rested on her face, the expression immortalized. He didn't bother to check the patch of blood seeping further down her grimy beige tunic.

Huli, the woman who had given him a place to work and to belong, was dead.