Rising Steam

Chapter I

All I've ever known is the Clock. I take care of it, I breath with it, I fall asleep every night to the rhythm of the ever shifting gears of the Clock. The Caretaker was the one so raised me, but I'm old enough now to know he's not my father. He has brown hair with gray streaked through it from old age, I have obsidian black hair. He has broad shoulders, I have narrow, muscular shoulders. He has thin nimble fingers and hands, I have... well, that's one thing we have in common. We both keep the Clock in as best shape as we can manage, but it's getting old. Someday it will stop working.

Every day when I wake up I go through my routine. I get up, check the oil well to see if it's filtering oil through the Clock properly, then I got to the maintenance hatch. This part I have to do alone because the Caretaker is too big to fit in there. I climb up the ladder to the tiny room filled with buttons and lights to tell me if there's anything wrong. Oh. looks like there's a gears out of place near the 5 again. I gotta get that replaced soon. But that means a trip to the market which means talkin to the strange old clockworker in his strange smellin old shop. Blech. I climb back down the ladder and walk around for a bit before I find the stairs that lead to the numbers. When I reach the 5 I realize it's burned out, so I grab a rag from my pocket and carefully slide it out of place. Great. Now the clock won't be able to work until I can get that gear replaced.

As I am walking back to the living area where me and the Caretaker sleep, I bump into him. "Hey, Jason, how's the Clock today?" He asks. He asks this question every day, but instead of my usual, "Fine" I hold up the rag-wrapped, smoking gear and say, "this gear burned out by the 5. I need to go replace it now." He nods, "Okay. Here's some silver shillings to get a new one." I shudder. I hate going to the old clock workers shop. I strap my homemade extendable long-knife to my pants, take the shillings from the caretaker, and start down the long, winding path down the stairs into the bright sun of the market.