That Monday morning had begun like any other. Mr. McKenzie
had wound up the clockwork sales assistant, as he did every week, and then
he placed him upon the crate by the door of the shop. Even though the store had
not yet opened there were already three people standing in a short queue, waiting
outside in the street. Mr. McKenzie walked to the entrance, unlocked the catch
and opened the door wide....
Early the next morning, Mr. McKenzie carried his new invention down into the shop and placed him upon a wooden crate by the front door. He then stood back and watched his creation with pride. It wasn’t long before the first customer of the day walked in.
“Good morning and welcome to Mr. McKenzie’s Clock Store – Quality Clockwork and Steam-Powered Timepieces for Discerning Ladies and Gentlemen,” chanted the small toy aloud...
The flickering glow of a gaslight illuminated the inside of a old watchmaker’s workshop.
First, just a single eye opened. It was a quick glance across an unknown world. The eye noted an unfamiliar elderly face deep in concentration, with a mass of strange black strokes randomly patterned upon the wall behind. Then the tip of a screwdriver came stealthily down, to the left of the eye, and began to twist and turn carefully...
Disconcerting rumors of a large clock or bomb located within the sewers of Clockhaven have started to surface. Anyone who might choose to traverse the slimy subterranean by-ways, most especially those located around the ruins of the old 'Wondrous Wares Emporium', has been assailed with a ceasless, unsettling, resounding and repetitive reverberation:
That key slipped in nicely. Spiggins looked after his mansion all right. Was he lying about the money? In I went to take a gander. Nice. He did all right, still, I wasn't here for the furniture.
Tipped a few likely drawers. Opened cupboards, checked pictures. If he had a safe it was well hidden. Ah, his desk. Big, fat desk with fancy things on it. Nothing I wanted. I...
From the Witnesses
Spiggins came to, the alley ceiling turning circles in his eyes. Weak and cold, he turned slowly on one side, stomach heaving. He stretched out a hand to help himself rise. The sight of it gripped his gaze. White like snow and wrinkled like a crunched piece of paper. Groaning, he bent his head down to the ground and slept.