The Clockwork Pegasus: A Short Story

I live in the most beautiful prison in the world. And I hate every minute of it.

It’s easy to tell minutes here. Sometimes, when I’m bored, I spend time counting them. The incessant ticking that fills the clock tower is pushing me towards insanity twenty-four seven, but somehow, I’ve never broken.

I can’t.

Because if I shatter, then there is no going back. Time will stop, and I will be doomed.

Thus is the fate of every Clock Tower girl since the cursed building’s creation.

They call me Raven, although I still remember my real name, if I think hard enough. My world is gears, cogs, second-hands, dust, and ropes. I keep the clock tower running— have been for the past six years. I’ve been taught since I was small what my job was to be, who I had to become.

Because the ruse of the Eternal Clock can’t be broken. Break the ruse, they break you.

I am the only one keeping this lie afloat.

And I have no choice but to keep the Clock running.

***

If it weren’t for the daylight occasionally seeping through the windows and the giant clockface, I would never know whether it was morning or night. I can know the time, but whether it’s AM or PM becomes foggy after a while.

Today is cog-cleaning day. I hate cog-cleaning— the acid I have to use to clean off rust makes my eyes burn. And if I don’t wear leather gloves, it makes my skin burn as well.

Cog-cleaning is tedious business because I can’t stop the clock-tower to actually pull off the cogs to properly clean them. Which means that one false step could lead to me being crushed in the cogs.

Thankfully, the catwalks and ropes allow me to pass among the clockwork without risk of crush injury. And the acid only eats the rust, meaning that all I have to do is pour it onto the cogs and it finds the rust on its own.

It’s late when I finish up with the largest cog in the clocktower— I call him Barney, just because it seems like an appropriate name for a cog— and pull myself up to the crow’s nest. I don’t think that’s the official name for it, but that’s what I call it— the section of the gears closest to the roof of the clock tower. Steam from the billows downstairs is funneled up here, and I keep a wide berth around the metal pipe. It keeps me warm in the winter, but it would burn me if I touched it. I pity the poor souls who have to work to keep the billows going.

The Clock Keeper never comes up here. I’ve hear rumors from a few of the Billow Workers that she’s afraid of heights, but whether that’s true, I don’t know. She always wears such a large hat I can never see her face.

Whatever it is that keeps her away from the crow’s nest, I hope it stays for a long time, because it is here and only here that I have the smallest grasp of freedom I can get— a small balcony, hidden in the eaves of the roof. I don’t think it’s visible from the outside, and despite the fact that it’s always blustery up there, I can actually step into the outside world.

I’m about halfway up the ladder when all of a sudden, I hear a clank and a horrid din of metal clattering.

Coming from my balcony.

Who on earth could be up on the roof? Perhaps it’s a confused soul with a wayward flying machine? It wouldn’t be the first time.

Needless to say, I make sure my wrench is still at my belt. I’m not allowed to have weapons— the Clock Keeper can’t have me trying to rebel— but a wrench will do if I need it.

Quietly, making sure my boots don’t rattle the metal ladder, I climb up to the base of the platform and listen, seeing if I can gain information about my intruder.

“Ho! Ho gears! It’s all right, no need to be frightened.”

The voice is male, and he’s speaking like one would to a frightened animal or child. But what would an animal or child be doing up on the roof?

I poke my head over the edge, watching through the windows. I see him for the first time— a man with goggles and mussed brown hair, close to my age. He’s dressed in the manner of a commoner, but his boots are an impeccable black leather, a style mostly worn about nobleman. A noble in disguise? Or a rather clever thief?

I grip my wrench and I’m about to haul myself over the edge to confront him when suddenly, something else moves into view. It’s a creature I know well… And yet it’s completely different from anything I’ve seen.

It’s body is that of a horse, but it’s not living. Where joints should be, there is metal and cogs, framed together by beautiful bits of brass metal. It’s eyes glimmer like onyx, but there seemed something very much alive about it’s gaze. And finally, stretching from it’s shoulders are a pair of delicate wings, made of a material I cannot place but beautifully intricate in their design.

A winged horse. And a man. On my balcony.

The most amazing thing of all is how the winged horse moves. He is so lithe and graceful one might mistake him for a real creature if it weren’t for the clockwork lacing his body.

I crawl onto the platform, into the shadows, still watching. I have my wrench in hand, but my curiosity has gotten the better of me— I must find out more about this odd pair.

“Easy, Gears.” The man says again, rubbing the horse’s neck. This time, the clockwork pegasus lets out a mechanical sigh and stills. As if he could really feel the touch from his master, the winged horse leans into the hand.

Amazing. What on earth is this specimen? It has all the external signs of being a machine, but it moves and acts as if it lives.

“We can stop here for a bit to rest. No one should find us.” The man breathes a sigh of relief, but just as the words tumble from his mouth, I lean forward to get a better look and trip on a crack in the wood boards. My body slams into the doorway and I stumble out onto the balcony.

By the time I regain my footing, I look up to see man staggering away from me, shocked. Regaining my senses, I brandish my wrench, glaring him down.

“What in chronology?” The man’s jaw drop. “What in the name of clockwork are you doing up here?”

“I could ask the same of you!” I snap, waving my wrench. “You’re not allowed to be on the roof of the Eternal Clock, last I checked.”

“No one is.” He narrows his eyes. Now that we’re closer, I can see they’re a striking color of hazel green. “So why are you here?”

“I live here—“ I reply automatically, before I slap a hand over my mouth.

Oh, whistles.

Oh bells and whistles.

I’m going to be skinned alive for this.

“You and your… thing must leave!” I sputter, wondering how willing I’d be to push him off the clock tower. If word leaked out… if the Clock Keeper learned what I did…

But the man’s face is slack with shock. “You… live here?”

I focus on holding my weapon and glaring at him. If I tell him more, I’m a dead woman.

No one is supposed to know that the Clock Tower girls exist.

I have to kill him. It’s the only choice.

“I’m very sorry about what I have to do.” I say, stepping closer. If only I could get him toward the edge… he’d fall, and if I destroyed the clockwork pegasus, they would assume he fell from an airship.

“Hold on.” His voice is soft; the concern in it gives me pause. “I’m confused. I thought the Eternal Clock ran entirely on its own.”

I can’t resist an eyeroll at this. The stupidity of some people. “That’s what they’d like you to think.”

“Calm down, Miss.” He hold out both his hands, as if trying to pacify me. “I’m sure we can work this out like civil people.”

For a minute I’m caught in his hazel-green gaze. It’s been so long since I’ve seen someone my own age… I don’t think I’ve ever met a boy of my years.

I shake it off and firm my grip. “You don’t understand. If I don’t kill you, they will. And they’re punishments are far harsher than breaking every bone in your body in a fall by this height.”

He swallows twice, then makes eye contact with me. “So you’re the reason the clock keeps running?”

I pause, considering. Should I tell him? I’m going to kill him anyway. May as well have the man pass on to the other side with some answers. It’s as much mercy as I can give him.

“I am part of a long line of the Eternal Clock’s greatest secret.” I say, low and slowly. “I am the reason this is our capital, and my existence is only worth how well I can keep the clock running. And if anyone outside the Clock Tower were to find out that I live, there is no saving either of us.” I shake with the image of what I’m about to do to this man, push him off the roof and end his life with his blood painting the cobblestones.

“So they trap you here to keep the clock running?” He asks.

“Why is it of any importance to you?” I raise the jaw end of the wrench to his throat.

He blinks. Twice.

“It isn’t. It’s just curious.”

His gaze slides over to the mechanical pegasus, which is watching us with wide, glassy eyes. Again my breath is caught in fascination. The creature is far more splendid up close, and I can see the cogwork in its neck and shoulders.

“You can touch him if you like.” The man says. “You know… so long as you put the wrench down.”

I need to kill him right now, but guilt is twisting at my insides.

I can’t kill an innocent man. I don’t have the stomach for it.

But perhaps I can sway him with words into silence.

“Very well.” I lower the wrench. “I will hold a truce, for now. I will admit your creature intrigues me. But I won’t hesitate to kill you with the chance.”

He nods. “Perfectly understandable.”

I walk slowly toward the clockwork pegasus. My hands rest on its fine head, tracing the smooth edges of the metalwork.

“Did you invent it?” I ask.

“Goodness, no.” He chuckles. “I’m not one with that sort of head for machines… I rescued him, in a way.”

“Rescued?” I finger the hair on the mane, surprised to find it is real.

“I found him being held in a very dark apartment by a crotchety old man who believes that he was only good to make him rich.” He pats the pegasus’s nose fondly. “Needless to say, he might be a machine, but even a machine doesn’t deserve to be treated in the way he was.”

“You’re fooling.” I stare at him. “Why should I believe that story?”

“I’m telling the truth, miss. Look— you can still see the rust on his hooves from standing in the damp place.”

I glare at him, then lean down. Sure enough, the hooves are quite rusted. One of them is near to falling off from the corrosion.

“Won’t he be looking for his pegasus?” I ask. “I mean, a winged horse is a terribly hard thing to hide.”

“Nah.” He rubs the horse’s neck. “The old man was dead when I found the pegasus. Heart attack, perhaps. I’m not quite sure. The winged horse was banging around and when I opened the window to let him out, my sleeves caught on his neck and I got taken along for the ride.” He rolls his shoulders, as if trying to release stiffness. “Not something I’ll be repeating soon.”

I smirk, then look at the hoof. The metal pieces are familiar, and if I’m not mistaken, I might have a few in my spare parts.

Perhaps I could use the repair to buy his silence.

“How about a deal?” I ask, hands on my hips.

He raises an eyebrow. “A deal, Miss? When we don’t even know each other’s names?”

“What use are names?” I snap, annoyed with his coy remarks.

“Plenty of use. In my opinion, they show trust in a person.” He holds out his hands. “My name is Elijah Bentomer.”

“Bentomer…” My jaw drops and I shrink away. “Not… the Bentomers?”

“Unfortunately so.” He shakes his head. “But that is another matter.”

“You’re the mayor’s son.” I sputter. “That is quite the matter.”

“Tis only a title.” He stares at the clocktower. “I suppose that would explain for my… shock at knowing your existence. Of the secrets the Clock Keeper has been hiding from us.”

My jaw drops. A Bentomer, on my rooftop. A member of the most powerful family in the city.

He can buy your freedom. A small voice whispers in my head.

But for what price? I might become another slave.

“Well then,” He tilts his head. “Are you going to tell me your name?”

Should I? This man could be my ticket out of here, if I play my cards right. I could figure out a way to escape before he made me his own slave.

The Clock Keeper’s ominous black hat looms in my mind’s eye and I firmly shake my head. “No, sir. I cannot tell you my name. It’s better for both of us if you leave, and never speak of what you’ve seen.”

He stops. “You’re quite fickle, you know that? One minute you’re about to kill me, the next you offer me a deal, and then you tell me to leave?”

He’s right. I am being fickle. But that is because I’m panicking, and I don’t know what to do about this man on my roof.

He would shatter everything I have left.

“I will fix your horse’s half rotted hoof,” I say. “And in return, you will leave immediately and forget I exist.”

“I think you might be hard to forget.”

I huff. “Do you want the rust fixed, or not?”

“Fine.” He tilts his head. “You’re rather strange, you know that?”

“Try living in clock tower for most of your life. It does things to your head.” I pull out the cog cleaner and pour a small bit on the hooves that aren’t corroded. The beast lets out a mechanical snort, but thankfully stands still. Like magic, the rust fades away.

“One minute.” I dash inside, sail down the rope to my knapsack of replacement parts by my living quarters, and by the time the second hand finishes it’s round I’m back at the balcony, preparing to take off the hoof.

“You’re precise.” Elijah remarks.

“I have to be.” I pry off the metal pieces one by one, cleaning away rust as I go.

He stops talking, and I’m grateful for the silence. It gives me a chance to think over what just happened in the last twenty-seven minutes.

I finish and step back, admiring my work. Elijah lets out a low whistle. “That’s impressive.”

I shrug. “Child’s play.”

“Well, I thank you for your services.” He adjusts his goggles. “Now I will hold up my end of the deal, and leave.”

He mounts his pegasus and I step back. He hesitates, looking toward me. “Are you sure that you don’t want my help? I can get you out of here, you know.”

I narrow my eyes. “How do I know that the outside world won’t be as much of a prison as it is in here? At least I am certain of my future.”

A future working on cogs and gears until I died.

He sighs. “I suppose you have a point.” He makes eye contact with me. “Can I at least have the pleasure of knowing your name before I forget you?”

Is he… trying to flirt with me? I can’t really tell. He’s stalling for some reason, that is for sure.

My name— my real name— is at the tip of my tongue. I want to tell him it. I want to speak it out loud again without fear of being slapped.

“Do you really promise to forget me?” I ask.

“Like time forgets the second before.” He replies.

That stings a bit, but it makes the point.

“Raven.” I mutter. “They call me Raven.”

He blinks. “Fortune and mystery. Interesting.”

So, he knows name meanings too. Just my luck to have an etymologist land on my roof.

“Names mean nothing. They are simply titles to identify people.” I mutter.

He tilts his head. “I disagree Well then, Miss Raven.” He tilts his head in a bow. “I hope that you find some sort of happiness here, and that your trials aren’t great on my account.”

With that, he touched a part of the clockwork pegasus’s neck, and the both of them galloped to the skies.

Leaving me alone, with the ticking and the stars.

A rush of air leaves me as I sink to the ground, trying to understand what in chronology just happened.

And why I suddenly wish that he would come back.