The Clockmaker and the Pirate - EVERMORE BOOK 1

Chapter 1 -- London, 12 July 1650

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

The deafening noises of the old clocks in the shop ring in my ears as I try to concentrate on the work in front of me, but my mind is racing and thinking of anything except what I'm supposed to be focusing on.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

They're getting louder. I take a deep breath, and with trembling hands, I grab a small tool and delicately begin to poke and prod the inside of the masterpiece in front of me. Beautifully carved, the insides in nearly pristine condition. "Why won't you work, then?" I mutter to it.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

I groan in frustration, setting the tool on my workbench and trying to calm my shaking hands. Usually I'm so focused when I work on ones that are this high quality, but for reasons I can't explain, the other tiny noises that fill the shop are wearing my patience thin.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

I stand to my feet suddenly, turning my entire body around in one fluid motion. It takes everything in me not to punch the ticking grandfather clock right in the clock face. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to calm myself down. I don't know why I'm so antsy today.

I reopen my eyes and use the clock for what it's supposed to be used for; to check the time. It's only eleven. I sigh, running a hand down my face. I still have two more hours here until I can leave. It feels like I've been working for days, but in fact, it's only been a few meek hours.

I suppose I should be used to it by now. What with my job and always having so much time and not enough work to do, I should be used to time dragging on excruciatingly slowly. But I'm not. I hate how much time I have on my hands.

Literally. I'm a clockmaker. Ironic, isn't it?

I've never really had much variety, me. Ever since I was abandoned by my parents and left to rot at the orphanage, I've taken to a strict schedule. Wake up at seven, breakfast at eight thirty, lunch at noon, dinner at six, lights out at ten. For sixteen years of my life.

When I turned sixteen, I quickly took a job as a clockmaker's apprentice. It was good for me to get a taste of the outside world. I didn't really have many things to spend my money on, so I gave it to the orphanage director, Miss Faulkner. She used it to buy more disgusting food for the starving children.

I'm twenty five now. I could have left the orphanage years ago. But I stick around. I fund the wretched place and watch all of the kids be whisked away by the kind, adoptive parents that I never got.

What a depressing schedule.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

I groan, growing frustrated and angry once again. That just about does it. "Fuck this," I mutter to myself, hastily shoving the clock I'd been working on into a leather bag.

I look out of the shop window and into the darkness. It's raining, and the ocean is crashing on the shore. That's one of the good things about this place, I suppose. I'm always right next to the ocean. Even my bedroom at the orphanage is right next to the water. It was built over the ocean, so if anyone ever tried to escape out of the window, they'd be fed to the sharks. Nice.

I do little to clean my workspace, knowing that I'd be here bright and early tomorrow anyway. I put on my coat and pick up my little bag, leaving everything else behind, but I still make sure to lock the door behind me when I step out into the rainy London summer night. I shove my hands in my coat pockets as I step into the street, speed-walking towards the orphanage.

Street lamps are the only things to light my path. The entire place looks eerie, especially at this time of night. The ocean waves are bigger than usual, and the usual calming noise it makes is now loud and menacing.