THE LAST TICK

By midnight, Veyr had disappeared beneath the smog. The city was always ugly after dark, but tonight it looked almost alive, its crooked towers disappearing into clouds of black smoke, brass pipes coughing steam into narrow streets, hundreds of windows glowing through the fog like tired eyes, and somewhere beneath all of it, beneath the cobblestones and iron bridges and endless maze of machinery, the great city clock continued to tick. One. Two. Three. Silas Thorne hated that sound. He stood alone inside his workshop, leaning over a brass pocket watch beneath the yellow glow of a gas lamp, a magnifying lens fixed over his right eye while his left eye remained hidden beneath a black leather patch. Tick. Tick. Tick. The sound came from the wall clock behind him. Silas reached up without looking and threw a small screwdriver at it. The screwdriver struck the wooden frame. The clock stopped. "Better." Silas returned to the pocket watch. He was thirty eight years old, although the city had a way of making men look older than they were, and his face carried the permanent exhaustion of someone who had spent too many years awake when everyone else was sleeping. His fingers were stained with oil. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows. A thin scar disappeared beneath the collar of his shirt. On the wall behind him hung dozens of clocks, watches, timers and strange mechanical devices, all waiting to be repaired. Most people in Veyr believed Silas could repair anything. They were wrong. There were some things even a watchmaker couldn't fix. Memories, for example. Regret. Dead people. Silas pushed the lens away from his eye and rubbed his face. The pocket watch in front of him belonged to a wealthy merchant who had complained that it had stopped working every night at exactly eleven minutes past two. Silas had spent three hours taking it apart. There was nothing wrong with it. That bothered him. He picked up the tiny brass mechanism again. "Come on." He turned the crown. The watch clicked. Silas froze. Not because it had started. Because the sound was wrong. It was deeper than an ordinary mechanical click, almost like something moving beneath the metal. He brought the watch closer. Click. The hands moved backward. Silas stared. The second hand had moved counterclockwise. He turned the crown again. Click. Backward. He frowned. "That's impossible." The door to his workshop suddenly rattled. Silas looked up. Someone knocked. Three times. He glanced at the clock. 12:47 a.m. Nobody visited his workshop at that hour. He reached beneath the counter and took hold of the old iron wrench he kept there. Another three knocks. "Who is it?" Silence. Silas moved toward the door. The street outside was barely visible through the dirty glass, only a wall of fog illuminated by the orange glow of distant lamps. He unlocked the door. The moment he pulled it open, cold air rushed inside. Nobody stood outside. Silas looked left. Nothing. Right. Nothing. Then he looked down. A man was lying against the opposite wall. Silas stepped into the street. The stranger was dressed in a long black coat, soaked through from the rain, his boots covered in mud and his face pale beneath the weak streetlight. Silas crouched beside him. "Sir?" The man opened his eyes. For one strange second, Silas thought he recognized him. Then the feeling disappeared. The stranger reached into his coat. Silas immediately grabbed his wrist. "Easy." The man wasn't trying to attack him. He was holding something. A brass pocket watch. He pushed it into Silas's hand. "Take it." Silas stared at the object. It was heavier than it looked. "What is this?" The stranger's breathing became unsteady. "Don't let it..." He stopped. Silas leaned closer. "Don't let it what?" The man's eyes shifted toward the street. Someone was standing in the fog. Silas turned. There was nobody there. When he looked back, the stranger was staring directly at him. "Don't let it tick thirteen times." Silas looked down at the watch. "Why?" The stranger swallowed. "Because the thirteenth..." His voice disappeared. Silas waited. "The thirteenth tick remembers." Then the stranger went still. Silas remained crouched beside him. The city seemed to go silent. Even the machines beneath the streets seemed to pause. Then the watch in Silas's hand clicked. He looked down. The second hand had begun moving. Backward. Click. Silas counted. One. Click. Two. He tried to close the watch. It wouldn't shut. Click. Three. The stranger's body remained completely still. Click. Four. Silas pulled at the crown. Nothing. Click. Five. The street suddenly looked different. The fog was gone. The lamps were brighter. The buildings were taller. Silas blinked. For a moment he thought he had fallen asleep. Then he heard a voice. "Please." Silas turned. The dead stranger was standing in the middle of the street. Not as he had been a moment ago. Younger. Alive. Terrified. Silas couldn't move. The stranger looked directly at him. But he wasn't actually seeing Silas. He was looking past him. Someone else was there. A woman. Silas could hear her breathing. He couldn't see her face. Click. Six. The scene changed. Silas was no longer standing in the street. He was inside a train carriage. The windows shook. Steam filled the glass. The stranger sat opposite him, clutching the same brass watch. A voice came from the other end of the carriage. "You shouldn't have opened it." The stranger looked up. "Who are you?" The voice answered. "You already know." Click. Seven. The carriage disappeared. A room appeared. A man was running. A door slammed. Someone screamed. Silas stumbled backward. The watch burned cold against his palm. Click. Eight. Another scene. A laboratory. Hundreds of brass mechanisms lined the walls. Machines were connected to enormous glass cylinders. Inside the cylinders were clocks. Thousands of them. All ticking. All at different speeds. Silas stared. He had never seen anything like it. Then one of the machines turned. A small brass plate caught the light. There was a symbol engraved into it. A circle divided by thirteen lines. Silas's stomach tightened. He knew that symbol. He had seen it before. Twenty years ago. The night his older brother disappeared. Click. Nine. Silas suddenly heard a child crying. A little boy. Someone was holding his hand. Someone he couldn't see. "Don't look back." The boy whispered. "Where are we going?" "Somewhere they can't find us." Silas felt his heart begin to pound. He knew that voice. He had spent twenty years trying to forget it. His mother's voice. Click. Ten. The memory vanished. Silas was back in the street. The stranger was still dead. The watch was still ticking. He dropped it. It hit the cobblestones. Click. Eleven. Silas backed away. "No." Click. Twelve. The watch stopped. Silas stared at it. Nothing happened. He slowly exhaled. Then, from somewhere behind him, a voice whispered, "Silas." He turned. Nobody was there. He looked back at the watch. The hands had stopped moving. Then the second hand shifted. One final movement. Click. Thirteen. Every clock in Veyr stopped. Silas felt the entire city hold its breath. Then the watch opened by itself. Inside the lid, beneath the glass, was a photograph. Silas picked it up with trembling fingers. It showed thirteen people standing in front of a massive clock tower. Twelve of them were strangers. The thirteenth person was Silas. He was twenty years younger. And standing beside him was his brother. The brother everyone had told him was dead. On the back of the photograph, written in faded black ink, were six words. YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO REMEMBER. Silas stared at the sentence. Then he heard footsteps behind him. Slow. Measured. Coming closer. He turned. A figure stood at the end of the street. Silas couldn't see their face through the fog. But he could see one thing clearly. A brass pocket watch hanging from their hand. And it was ticking.