The Exceptional Clockwork Journey of The Perpetually Alone Hugo Gerard (NaNoWriMo 2012)

Chapter 2

 Chapter 2

Hugo woke the next morning with a groan, stretching his arms above his head and sitting up in his bed. He could already hear his mother beginning to cook breakfast, what with all the clanging from pots and pans colliding. Throwing his legs over the wooden frame, Hugo stood and ran a hand through his mahogany hair, stepping forward and thrusting open the trunk he kept all of his clothes in.

After getting dressed and eating breakfast, Hugo set out to begin his new apprenticeship, thoughts full of nervousness and excitement. He would become an actual clockmaker, the job he had dreamed to have ever since he was small. He would always squirm from his mother’s grasp and run to watch the town clock, of which chimed at each hour. He had always wondered how it worked, not if it was run by magic, as most children would think. Hugo was one with the maturity of an adult, always turning down the idea of an impossible thing.

As he walked, he studied how the ice around the doors of the shops had not restrained and was still the same shade as before, a deadly ice cold blue with the slightest hint of frost. Hugo pulled his coat tighter around his shivering form, returning his gaze to his shoes. Along the rest of the way, he passed the Eiffel tower, a structure of which was completely covered in ice, leaving the same deadly blue as before.

When Hugo reached Jacques’ shop, he pulled the door open, ringing the bell that had been strung atop the wooden door to alert the clockmaker of any visitors.

“Is that you, Hugo? I am back here,” Jacques called from the workshop behind the store.

“Yes, do you need anything from the shop before I leave?” Hugo asked, taking off his coat and gloves and hanging them on the rack.

“No, just bring yourself,” Jacques replied, and Hugo responded by walking to the back door and opening it to reveal Jacques’ workshop.

It was an old room, complete with the stray cobweb elegantly acquainted with a spider watching his every move. The main event was the work table that had been placed in the middle and filled to the brim with various wrenches and screws, along with the occasional gear. The clockmaker himself was huddled over a small faced watch, unscrewing the back.

“We have a lot to do today, Hugo my boy. There has been double the amount of customers this last week. Now this particular beauty,” Jacques pulled a watch from his right and showed it to Hugo, tipping it into his hand. “Needs a new glass cover.”

Hugo nodded enthusiastically and took a small flathead screwdriver from his right, prying open the cracked cover and releasing the glue seal from the brass dial. He then stood, searching the table for a worn leather box that he knew would hold glass covers of every shape and size.

“Jacques, do you have the glass box?” he asked.

“Oh, of course Hugo, it is in the shop, you might want to go and get it,” the old man replied, his gaze not leaving the watch in front of him. Sighing, Hugo stepped out of the workshop, closing the door behind him, and began to look for the glass box.

It was a nearly impossible task for a boy with no particular idea of where the box resided, but Hugo pushed on regardless. He had to prove himself and find the blasted box, even if that meant hours of searching.

After, per say, thirty minutes, Hugo had failed in finding it. He had looked everywhere, under the showcases to the ceiling, but alas, nothing arose! Becoming frustrated, Hugo picked up a long sliver of glass after he had accidently kicked a case (not a valuable one, luckily), and clenched it tightly in his palm, careful not to cut the skin, and began to walk towards the back where employees were to dispose of trash.

Just as he was about to drop it into the bin, a gust of wind washed over him and he clenched his hand together on instinct, efficiently slicing open his palm. When he opened his hand, there was the evidence, clear as day, a golden liquid pulsing through the cracks. 

Hugo dropped the dripping gold piece of glass and dashed back inside, shuffling through the mass of papers pilled on Jacques’ desk, frantically trying to both find a rag to stop the strange gold liquid from leaking and making sure none of the blood dripped onto the precious papers.

After around a minute, the bleeding suddenly stopped completely, all traces of there ever being blood disappeared within seconds, although the cut was still there, clear as day. Hugo peeled back the burning piece of skin and was about to call for Jacques when he noticed a small rusted silver gear peaking out from under the skin. Beginning to get curious, Hugo slowly peeled back more of the skin, wincing as he went.

What he saw made him gasp in shock. 

Under the skin, his entire hand was not made up of muscles and bones, but of gears. Turning and twisting, some golden and new, others rusted and slow. They connected to small metal pipes that seemed to replace themselves as bones. There was the same golden liquid that had leaked from his palm twisting around the tubes, creating small swirls of a glittering gold energy that never slowed, not even when Hugo curiously touched the rods. 

“What am I?” he whispered to himself, eyes wide.

“Clockwork,” a deep voice behind him whispered, efficiently making Hugo jump and whirl around to stare into iris’ that looked almost identical to his own, the same glimmering gold that resided in his strange hand. 

“Hello Hugo,” the man whispered, holding out a hand. His golden eyes met Hugo’s and crinkled in amusement. Hugo took a second to look over the perpetrator.

He was almost completely bald, the only sign of hair being his long beard that reached to his shoulders, a brilliant golden color with gears and watches woven into it. He wasn’t very tall, about Hugo’s height, but still seemed to have an eerily powerful presence that surrounded him, like a superior king in a hall of his subjects.

“Who are you?” Hugo stuttered, throwing his hands back to the desk and attempting to escape the man’s scrutinizing gaze. 

The man stepped forward. “Oh, Hugo. I am your father.”