Chapter 1
Voices came and went, unworldly whispers speaking in a tongue centuries old. The sinister whirring of machinery pierced the haze- then came the dreams. Dreams more powerful than reality, l fell and l flew through stars, and worlds that could only come from the cracks between dimensions.. . I wanted to wake up- but l never could..
Taunts like knifes pierced into my subconscious. Always rasping about a book- a name l could never fully grasp would be uttered, then there was blackness again. There was never quiet though- screams from far away would become close for an instant before the machinery started again. I could remember nothing- who l was or why l was here didn’t matter. I had to escape- soon those dark screams would be my own.
A hand, rough and scaly caressed my arm, then a sharp pain that made my bones ache, and my nerves shatter like glass- l screamed until l had deafened myself and fell deeper into a state of unconscious unknowing.
There l hid for how long l could not say. I needed to keep my thoughts clear, my captors needed to extract something from me. I knew who l was really-but there was a mechanism in my mind that prevented me from extracting it- a locked door that concealed my soul.
I promised myself if l could l would release the other prisoners from this desolate place. A stringent smell close to disinfectant would drift through the air then l could smell sweat and blood. The screams would shatter the air all night. There was no day, no light, here in this prison in the shadows. I often wondered if anybody even knew l was here, if anyone was coming for me...
The shadowy voices insisted l was alone, they tortured me both body and soul and refused to let go until l divulged the location of the book. I knew nothing of any book, but they didn’t believe me.
The drill roared into realization again tearing into my bones. Pain so intense l would always fall into unconsciousness. But unconsciousness was just another level here. I temporarily escaped from physical torment, but the psychological torment was infinitely worse...
They would show me mental images of people l couldn’t remember, a small town- a clock tower- that was of particular significance, but l could never see inside it... I flew back up into a brief state of perception where the shadowy figures gathered round me ,staring at me for what felt like hours.
Was this death? Hell? I could no longer tell what was real and what was not. Only the ravaging pain in my body was real. I knew l was chained to a metal slab- l could make out elongated shapes of creatures that were once men like me- then there would be dark so deep l could see nothing.
They had taken me, that much l did recall. I was in another place..another world- l was snatched away, my companions all killed. Thoughts like this often formulated into a semblance of reality then shattered again, leaving me with the undying pain in my battered body.
I prayed for death to come, anything would be preferable to this. As l lingered on these thoughts a voice more powerful than my tormenters would rage at me from another faraway place. It was the leader of these monstrosities -a being of unimaginable power and intelligence- a king- a God..
It was harder to ignore, and its intense power was pushing against the door in my conscious where my secrets were hiding.
Soon that door would break open and it would see all there was to see, before even l became aware of what power resided inside me.
[Show me human- show me what you know and l shall free you.] It insistently whispered, but l never trusted its promises. I couldn’t trust anything that would inflict so much pain on me and everyone else here in this shadowy hell.
I screamed maniacally- not in pain this time but in desperation. Something anything had to hear me! But no one ever came... There was only the torturous din of the machinery, a hundred razor sharp screams of half dead men, and the drip drip of liquid above me, but soon clarity would come...or death...
I wondered if there was a difference.
Perivale- a sleepy southern town alike any other. Several small streets, a population less than a hundred and a picturesque clock tower in the centre like a watchful guardian. Change rarely came here. Wind rustled through the lazy streets like the breath of a serene god. Children played freely in the back yards of their homes, everyone knew everybody. Strangers rarely settled, but that week in mid May saw the arrival of two mysterious figures.
The first arrived on the morning of May 12th. He strolled into town with not an item to his name-- his first destination was the Perivale library. It was another balmy sunny day, the early summer heat was preferable to the overpowering torrents July and August brought, but the stranger scarcely noticed the picturesque setting or the tranquil weather- he saw only the library.
He strode with alacrity and confidence through the main door. Margret Skillet was the towns chief librarian, and was embarking on another sleepy days work when the stranger dressed in a white jacket and black trousers broke her from her reverie.
She was stamping returned books ready to be redistributed back on the shelves. Peering listlessly from her double rimmed spectacles she noticed a faint breeze brought by the opened door. She looked up to see a short man sharply dressed with a radiating smile as peaceful as the day itself. She never liked strangers, and knew most people only came in here to ask for directions. The recent diversion from Iron Bridge due to the roadwork’s often brought in strays such as this.
‘Yes?’ She asked wearily, not diverting her attention away from stamping the books.
‘Good morning mam l here about the job- the position?’ The hesitancy in the man’s voice made Margret irritant immediately. She didn’t suffer fools gladly, and he struck her as a simpleton- polite but simple. She used to work in city libraries before retiring here, and people like the man in white appeared every day, starry eyed and empty minded.
‘You sound unsure sir- perhaps you could enlighten me as to what position that might be.’
‘Curtness is uncalled for don’t you think?’ This irritated Margret more than an overdue book. She had scarcely looked at this character and already he had made a bad impression. She slammed the book she was stamping closed, and removed her spectacles to give this impertinent fool the same look she gave a child, but stopped short when she saw his radiating smile. It soothed her in an instant and she didn’t know why..
He wasn’t a handsome man by any means, but his demeanour suggested class and humility- two qualities she identified with.
‘Em em yes well we don’t have any positions here for librarians, but if you would like to-’
‘No no Miss?’
‘Margret Skillet- but Margret please.’ She smiled faintly, trying in vain to hide her embarrassment.
‘Margret- lm here for the position as the town’s clock keeper.’ The smile widened even further.
‘I eh see well l don’t-’
‘There was a leaflet- eh a notice on the town hall notice board that directed all enquires to the library.’
‘I see...well sir what is your name?’ Margret was starting to warm to this man- there was something about his smile...
‘Henry Nightingale. Pleased to meet your acquaintance Margret.’ It was at that point Margret noticed a crumpled piece of paper in his left hand she was certain hadn’t been there before...
‘A pleasure Henry. Now if you just bare with me a moment and l will find the necessary paperwork the mayor has left in here...’ She broke off rummaging through her desk, library cards, time sheets, and at the back of the files was the letter she wanted. Margret glanced through the document speed reading it for clarification. It said in the Mayor’s hand writing to expect a Mr Henry Nightingale on Monday morning to start his position immediately. The wording was conducive to the Mayors writing style, it was signed in his signature- everything seemed above board but why had she no recollection of hearing about this? In a small town like Perivale even the birthday of your neighbours kid across the road wouldn’t slip your mind, least of all the position of a new clock keeper.
Margret couldn’t even recall there being a position of a clock keeper in town- it ran of itself, and the city sent someone out once a year to perform maintenance. There had never been to the best of her knowledge a clock keeper in Perivale. Yet here he was... on authority from the mayor himself- Henry Nightingale. ‘I see this state’s unequivocally you are to start immediately.’
‘Unequivocally- such a nice word. Eh yes that would be correct. I spoke with the mayor last week, he is eager for me to assess the clock right away. With the founding fathers of Perivale celebration coming up, he wants everything to be above board.’ Of course she realised then this pithy little celebration of the men who founded Perivale centuries ago was to take place the following week. Mayor Phelps no doubt hired this Nightingale to keep up appearances and ensure the clock rang out the chimes when the precession went through. It all made perfect sense, only there was something...the smile, he smiled constantly it seemed, and men who smile at nothing too long made her nervous.
‘Well then Mr Nightingale l should probably take you over there now, get you settled in. I’m on my own here till Amy gets in- she’s a temp that comes in during the afternoons, but its quiet so l can lock up now and take you across, won’t take long will it?’ The smile suddenly vanished entirely. Nightingale looked strangely worried, a storm raged behind his emerald eyes.
‘Eh no shouldn’t take long at all- now a recitation if l may.’
‘A recitation?’
‘Yes just a brief poem- more of a thought really. as someone who reads books with a passion l thought you might give me some feed back.’ Nightingale asked awkwardly. Margret was struck with a faint distrust of him at that point. He seemed plausible and confident yet there was vulnerability there. Vulnerability was present in us all she presumed, but it didn’t sit well in Nightingale- it made him seem false.
‘Passion- more of a critical eye really. I used to read for fun, now l read to dissect. When you have read as much as l have you only see what is wrong- over analysis l firmly believe ultimately leads to hating everything.’ Now it was her that felt false.
‘Of course.’ Nightingale hesitated further then let out a weak cough and un-crumpled his paper reading a few outlandish lines penned from his own hand. “I have a Gerbil who runs on self confidence, an electric toothbrush that runs on memories. Erratic eroticism- death in crowded places.′ As soon as he finished he tore the paper into little pieces and placed them in his jacket pocket, as if as soon as he uttered the words he had lost faith in them. Margret felt the same way. Alike everything else about him- the words were forced and false, but she muted her criticism, for she had been working on an unfinished novel for thirteen years, and knew how hard it was to write something from the heart.
‘It’s very fresh Mr Nightingale you have a distinctive tone to it, but the lines are random, there is no tangible connection in narrative. I suggest you keep them and work them in somewhere else.’
‘There is nowhere else.’ The smile was back again, and this time it made Margret shudder, the tone in his voice bordered on sinister. ‘I mean that’s all l’v written- so far- l just wanted an opinion.’
‘Of course l understand- it’s very brave of you to recite that to me- a stranger.’
‘Oh your no stranger Margret- l feel at ease with you, l have a feeling you and l are going to be good friends.’ This time it was Margret that smiled and there was nothing sinister in it- only innocence. She couldn’t recall the last time a stranger had paid her a compliment, but then again she couldn’t remember the last stranger that had spoken to her long enough past asking for directions.
‘Your very kind- but shall we, l don’t mean to rush you, but Amy will be coming in shortly and if the doors locked up it gives her an excuse to take the afternoon off- you know what young girls are like.’
‘Yes- yes l do.’ Margret ushered him outside into the resplendent May day. Wispy clouds formed in the east, suggesting change.
The Anderson kids were playing with the hose pipe again running into the street in just their swimming trunks. Wearing no sunscreen again Margret noticed, they would both burn up like last summer. She had brought them indoors after they fell asleep in the midday sun- the following day their skin peeled like a banana.
‘Foolish children l told them to take care playing in this sun- the father is at work all day.’ The two boys raced past them splashing them with the hose before running back into their yard laughing as they went.
Margret never had children-never wanted children. She didn’t see the point when already there were so many starving in the world. Nightingale seemed amused however and smiled as the Anderson kids hid behind a tree. They walked in silence to Berry street where the towns clock tower stood. Nightingale had eyes for nothing else, a look of tranquil bliss entered his eyes as they walked up the steps. The breeze picked up giving a balmy current of relief from the developing heat. Margret shuffled through her purse for the keys, keeping a watchful eye on her companion, she couldn’t trust him completely yet.
‘Such a wondrous invention don’t you think Margret- the mapping of time. The attempt to capture a moment with series of bolts and hands on a face of numbers...charting the inevitable destruction of all things...’ He mused as the clement breeze swept round them. It was hard to see why his thoughts were so dark on a day as perfect as this. Margret didn’t often stop and enjoy the simplistic joys of a day such as this- why should she when she spent most of her hours stuck behind a desk with no air conditioning- it was the transient pleasures that made her think Heaven was just a series of simple events - joy faded just like everything else. Just as Nightingale said-“the inevitable destruction of all things.” She placed the key in the door and couldn’t help but think there was a coded warning in what Nightingale said, like everything else he said to her- it was ambiguous.
‘Well here we are Mr Nightingale- Perivale clock tower- nothing much to see really...’
‘I disagree Margret- it’s things like this unassuming piece of engineering that make me glad to be in the profession lm in.’ He strode up the staircase with urgency- like he had been waiting for this moment. She chased after him, but he was already out of sight.
‘It’s just a clock tower Mr Nightingale- really this is unorthodox.’ She proclaimed trying to draw breath from an airless room. He stood with his back to her, hands in his pockets as the clock chimed out midday.
‘What part of England are you from Margret?’
‘Well lm from Kent originally- why?’
‘It’s a long way from Kent to here don’t you think Margret- what made you pick here- Perivale.’ He still had his back to her, transfixed by the mesmeric reverberations of the clock. It seemed to speak his language, whatever language that was.
‘I came to America because my mother was sent here during the war, l was a little girl at the time and didn’t have any say in the matter..really Mr-’
‘Henry- remember l prefer it, let’s keep things informal- l don’t mean to pry Margret, lm just curious to get to know the sort of people l will be living with for the foreseeable future.’ The clock continued to ring out, its soothing reverberations insisted all was flowing the way it should.
‘Living with?’ Still he had his back to her, lost in the diminishing bars of the mechanical God of Perivale.
‘Yes l will be living here- the mayor wants me to conduct regular work on the clock- it requires subtle retuning, the rings are- slightly harsh. I suspect there hasn’t been an overhaul like lm proposing for quite some time, but it will be worth it in the end.’
’Right well where will you be staying? At that point Nightingale turned, the lazy afternoon light bathing him in a tender luminosity that made him almost unworldly.
‘Down on Lilac street, it’s a quaint little place- just my style- l don’t like to be disturbed from my work.’
‘Well speaking of work the time has come to go back to the library for me lm afraid- Amy will be getting in, she’s always ten minutes late, which gives me just about enough time to get down there and open up.’ Nightingale just smiled his trademark grin as the last bars of the afternoon chorus vanished into the air.
‘Don’t mind me l can see myself out Margret, l need to...familiarise myself with the clock- it requires an intent ear for the retuning, so l will probably be here for some time.’ He truly was a man lost in his work thought Margret. It should have made her feel at ease but instead it made her feel sorry for him- he was like her- hiding in futile work few understood, or even cared about, to distract away from the void in their lives. She smiled in return and saw herself out, glancing back momentarily to see him remove a white cloth from his jacket and polish one of the bolts.
‘Strange man.’ She muttered and wandered back to the library, getting drenched by the Anderson boys hose as she went.
Henry didn’t move for quite some time. He had a job to do here alright, but it had to be away from prying eyes, there was a short window of opportunity to get this right- there would only be one chance. He had been told this before he came, he had ran the calculations through a hundred times- but they always came out the same. He couldn’t fail here- lives depended on him. Too many were dead already.
Perivale had no idea of the storm that lay on the horizon, the sleepy little town in the middle of nowhere would become a battle ground for an unseen hand. To face that power Nightingale knew he had to be ready, countless others had tried and failed, even the calculations favoured a catastrophic defeat. As a man of numbers he couldn’t argue with that- but error couldn’t be underestimated. Whatever opponent lay over the rise he would fight it to the end, until the last chime rang out...
