The Clockmaker's Wish

By Amber Fairclough

In this captivating fantasy mystery filled with plot twists, four lives are intertwined by the strings of fate. To fulfill her friend Everett's last dying request, Cybil, a reserved and resourceful seamstress, must go on an adventure to a city far from home. Everett and Cybil were once great friends but they had a terrible falling out, and Cybil

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Feb 9, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685155971

Amber Fairclough

Army sergeant Amber Fairclough currently lives in Clarksville, Tennessee. Military life has her adapting and moving at all times, but when she's not busy, she is writing or spending quality time with her husband and wonderful dog. A D&D fanatic, Amber is currently attending college working toward a degree in English.

Book preview

1

I

delicately placed the note back onto his workbench in a gentle contemplation. He's dead? There's no way that he's dead. I’ve known him for so long. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes as my nose began to burn. I looked to the side of the note. A key, just as the paper had said it would be. Right next to it. I had only just returned to Haystack, and upon getting greeted warmly by my mother, I had just come from the funeral of my father. Now this? This was surreal. My head swiveled around my shoulder slowly to see that music box he guarded with his life. In truth, he was a bitter man, and I knew all too well the reason for such. My hand moved to the key after my eyes met it again and I held it in my hand for a long time. In a way, I didn’t want to go to Grand Central, but this was my friend's dying wish.

I knew I had to. My head moved back to the music box. As I rose my foot to move to it, I stopped. Did he really mean what he said? About the shop? Maybe I could run it. My mind wandered over what I could possibly gain from it, but I came up with nothing. This place would be his tomb then I decided, after pondering on it. My foot rose again, and I made my way to the music box, sitting right where he said it would be. I gazed down at the intricate and elaborate designs on it. From the carvings that stained the smooth polish finish, to the beautifully designed letters on the top of the box. Honeybee was all it said. I stood there with the music box in hand and the key in the other. My nerves, twitching. What was so special about this music box? I wanted so badly to find out the melody it played. I moved the key toward its entry point.

My hand suddenly stopped. I shouldn’t. I moved the key away. The note never said that I couldn’t. My curiosity got the best of me, and I opened the box. When it opened, I heard paper falling to the ground. My eyes moved down to the contents that were hiding inside of the box, but the wind up made my eyes move back to the box, and then the music came. A gentle melody that I found eerily familiar. It sounded like something he had created a long time ago. A fine melody with a delicate beat and sweet tones. I still remembered the lyrics to the song that he had made just for her. Now I realize that the music box came before the actual song. I knew he still had The Automatons. That was one thing I knew he’d never get rid of. As my eyes gazed at the small figurines the box was outfitted with, I shivered. They were small and moving around in a circle by means of gears in the box, each at a different stance. The bone chilling sight I also found eerily familiar. The members of The Automatons.

The steam powered band he had made by hand to play songs for the fair we held every year. Everyone loved his creation. Hell, you could even hear them over the six o’clock bell of the clock tower. The gears of the music box grinded as the song came to an end. I closed it and wound it back up as my eyes moved to the paper that spilled out of the box. My eyes found a picture of him and her. The woman that broke his heart, and next to it, a note. I knelt down and picked up the picture. My eyes moved to Everett first. His sleek brown hair that was always gelled back shined in the sunlight, and his dark brown eyes that sat under thin defined eyebrows were lit up. He looked so happy. His smile parted his mouth revealing perfect, white, teeth, and a small dimple on the left side of his cheek. He wore a casual suit. Not his regular wear. He looked laid back, happy, and content. Not how he was when I last saw him. I saw a broken, depressed man, still drunk from all the liquor he had to drink that night.

Then my eyes finally moved to her. Beatrice Constantine. The woman that broke his heart. She had golden hair that turned into a black color at the bottom. It glistened in the light that the setting sun had to offer in the photo. She was wearing a yellow sun dress from what I could tell. The smiling faces were close up in the photo so I couldn’t quite see the attire, but when it came to her, it didn’t matter what she was wearing. She was always beautiful. Her hair was not only glistening, but it was blowing from the wind, and her smile seemed so jovial, so perfect. Everything that I wasn’t. She was, in truth, everything that I wasn’t. Everett's dream girl; and as I stared at this woman in the photograph, I could feel my teeth clench.

Her ruby lips curled into a smile and her electric, haunting stare was something that I always admired. I always had gentle gray eyes. Hers were eccentric. I put the picture to the side and looked at the papers that sat under the picture. There was a journal and a note. The note was no doubt for her. My eyes were urging me to look over the contents, but this was none of my business. I put the contents back inside of the box and listened to the gentle melody play again as I sat down on the dusty unkempt ground of the shop. I knew this was not my business, and I would have to accept the fact that I was nothing more than a messenger girl now.

I didn’t know how long that note had been sitting in his shop, but I did know that he must’ve been waiting on someone to walk into his shop. Ask him if he was okay. Ask him if he needed someone to talk to. That used to be me, but he pushed me away. I knew he probably wouldn’t be happy if he saw me now. He wasn’t old enough to die of old age. He must’ve died of a broken heart. Maybe alcohol poisoning for how much he drank. Perhaps it was suicide. I didn’t want to think about that. I rose from my seat after the music ended. I set the music box on his work bench as my eyes moved over his shop. I saw the back room where he kept them. His band; The Automatons.

My feet moved as quickly as they could. I knew how to start them up. He showed me how to one year. I practically ripped the door off of its hinges, but when I did, my face turned. It's not that it wasn’t there. It had been destroyed. I saw smashed parts spread haphazardly across the floor and empty bottles laying around the stand where his band used to be. My eyes moved up to what used to be one of my favorite members. His fedora was smashed in along with the brass goggles that were adorned on top of the hat. His metal face was crushed by what looked like an axe, and he was missing multiple pieces of his body, whereas the one who was meant to sing bass, was completely toppled over. His silver face seemed to look at me as if it were sad. The third's suspenders were completely off of his shoulders and there were multiple different cogs that protruded out of his disheveled body.

They all still wore suits that I had tailored for them. I didn’t want to face it, but I knew I had to. My eyes moved the empty bottles on the floor. Many of them were broken, and as soon as I saw it, I knew it was a suicide. Now my heart was broken. I sat down in front of the demolished automatons and cried. My heart hurt so badly it ached, and all I could do was cry.

2

T

he summer sun beat down on me as I headed to the stables. A trip to Grand Central was no journey that was to be made by foot. As I passed by the tailor shop that I used to run I stopped and stared. I remembered the first time I had met Everett. He was new to town. My eyes lowered, daring to close. I didn’t want them to. All of the memories I’ve made with him were bittersweet. Nevertheless, they still made me smile. Better not. I thought to myself. You have something to do other than reminisce on memories you can’t change. My eyes rose to the tailor standing behind the counter. I couldn’t help it. I gave in and let the memory play.

The stabbing pain that I felt on my fingertip made me rear my hand back and shake it as I let out a pained yelp. I brought my index finger to my mouth and sucked the blood from it. I hate pricking my finger. My gray eyes moved up to meet a tall man headed for my shop. I looked in the mirror. My long brown hair was pinned up in a messy bun, and my clothes were made by my hand. Just your average dress. I thought to straighten my hair in the presence of a potential customer, but before I could do so the bell on my door chimed and in walked the man I saw before. My eyes moved up to meet his.

Hello. I said politely. How may I help you? I saw him smile a charming smile at me. He walked closer to the counter and stopped a couple steps away from me.

Good afternoon. he said. His sleek voice matched his hair, and his smile was short of perfect. I’m here because I ran into some trouble setting up my new shop here in town. See, I ripped my sleeve on a giant cog whilst fixing the master clock here in the village. I need it repaired. I smiled at him as he raised his hand to present a shirt. He then held the arm out and presented a large tear that went all the way up to the armpit.

My, that is a big rip you’ve got there. I replied with a laugh. It was a usual facade that I play in order to make the customers feel more comfortable. The more positivity I throw their way the more likely I’ll be recommended in the coming days. What were you doing repairing the master clock here? We usually send for the repairman in the next town over. I explained. His smile never faded, and with a shrug he leaned up against the wall.

I’m a clockmaker. I make and repair clocks. Fixing it was my pleasure. he said, pushing himself off of the wall and offering me a selfless smile. He was charming without even trying. I looked at my log sheet to try and hide my blush as I picked up my quill and stared into the ink.

And does this clockmaker have a name? I interrogated.

Why, Yes. Yes, he does. he replied. My name is Everett Cambel. he held out his hand to shake. And you are? his voice made me break my gaze from the ink as I dipped the quill in it. My eyes raised to meet his, and with a smile I grabbed a hold of his hand and shook it gently.

Cybil. I replied. Cybil Greene. I felt my mouth curl up further as the fakeness of my smile melted into a genuine one. I saw his eyes flash a bit, as if he knew I was faking a smile.

Well, Cybil. It's lovely to make your acquaintance.

I shook the memory out of my head. He was even more pleasant to see once I was finished with his shirt. I turned my head and continued down the road to the stables. As I put one foot in front of the other, I felt the perspiration on my brow. Dabbing it away with a cloth, I looked down the next road. My feet moved me in the direction as I positioned my bag that held the note I found, the box and key, the journal, and the photograph. I saw it in the distance and headed over. The stable keep looked up at me momentarily and continued to shovel hay until such time that I reached him. He then shoved the pitchfork into the haystack and looked up at me.

Hello Cybil. What brings you here? he asked me, lowering his bushy gray brows. He was an older man. Older than I was at that. Hell, he was old even when I left, and I was gone for quite some time. He grabbed ahold of his long and gray, scraggly beard and positioned his hat to shield his eyes from the overbearing sun as I gave him that pleasant smile, I give everyone. I was older now, but it still looked the same as it did when I was a seamstress. He returned it.

I’m here to buy a carriage and two horses to pull it. I explained. He rose his brow and cocked his head to the side as he changed his posture.

And where are you headed? You just got back. as true as it was, I had sold my carriage and horses to get my currency back up in order to buy the shop back. As much as I wanted to, I had something to do now. However, I was not in the mood for casual banter, and I dismissed it altogether, and proceeded on with my request.

I just need it. I explained. He must have seen the expression on my face. He just did as I requested. I gave him the coin that was required and left to hire a coach. I’d set out tomorrow. I had a big day ahead of me, and I didn’t want to waste any time. I just wanted to get this painful experience over with and go on with my life, but most of all, I didn’t want to see Beatrice again. What she did to him was evil, and I would never forgive her. Just like he never forgave himself.

3

I

sat in the carriage as it bumped around at every small depression in the path. I looked out of the back window and placed my hand on the glass. After saying goodbye to my mother, I packed my things and waited outside for the coach. I closed the pocket watch Everett had made for me a couple years back after checking the time. It was a bit after noon. The effects in my bag were now sitting across from me in the other seat. I found myself eyeing the note that he had left for her. I wanted so badly to read it, but I couldn’t betray him like that. He's dead. What did he care about me anyway? I was just a fool for him to entertain ideas with. It's not like he cared about me. All he cared about was her. I crossed my arms and looked out of the window again trying to focus on something else, but I soon found myself staring at the note again.

I felt my hand reach for it, but quickly drew it back. No. Even if he's dead, honor his request and don’t read it. My eyes then moved to the journal. I bet I can read that though. It’ll pass the time. I reached for the journal. This is his life. These are his thoughts. These are his. I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. You are a terrible person. I flipped to the first page and, looking over the contents I could tell, it was no journal. I was a memoir; and it was told in third person. It seems like it would be a good read. I got comfortable and began on the first page.

Entry 1

The middle of winter. Cold and robust. He had outfitted himself to go out, collect more material, and see a friend. As he pushed the door of his shop open and flipped the open sign to closed, he shivered at the cold air. It was not snowing today, thank heavens, and he looked up to find the people setting up the market in the middle of town. He looked up as if to ponder something and then back down, continuing on to the blacksmith. The blacksmith would often make him cogs for his clocks, which was a good thing. There were a few repairs he needed to see to. He exchanged good words with the blacksmith and stopped suddenly.

Over the crowd that assembled in the marketplace, he heard a beautiful sound. Time and space seemed to freeze just like the icicles that hung from the blacksmith's canopy. He looked over his shoulder, in a trance, and when he saw it, he completely lost himself. Glowing, it seemed, stood a woman, no older than he, staring into a music box; the origin of the sound he was hearing. She had golden hair that faded beautifully into a black color at where her hair stopped. She had on a yellow coat and black earmuffs. He smiled as if she could see it and, after paying the blacksmith, he made his way over to the goddess he saw.

A small snowflake hit his nose, and with that, came more. Out of nowhere it seemed they were no longer in a calm environment. They were in the middle of a snowstorm, and it was beginning to rage. The owners of the shops had begun to put up their stands and the girl was gone. Where she had gone, he had no idea, but he did see the music box still sitting on the counter by the time he had made it there. After paying for the music box, he looked around for her. No sign. He’d find her again, he thought. He was sure of it. He began to make his way back to his shop when he caught sight of a woman taking shelter under a canopy right outside the tavern.

He approached. She looked up at him. Her eyes were like bolts of electricity and from the second he saw, he was breathless. He offered her his hand and she took it gingerly. He told her that she could take shelter in his shop, and she agreed. It was better than out there. She’d surely freeze to death out there. They made their way to the shop. This is where the real story begins. In a quaint little shop, where two fools, with a shove by a frozen over door, fell in love.

4

I

felt the carriage stop and pull over. My eyes looked outside. I must’ve fallen asleep while reading it, because it was dark out when I looked, and we were stopped at a nearby city. I guessed the coach was tired, so I got out of the carriage and looked at him.

Sorry Cybil. I can’t drive that long without getting some sleep. he explained. I offered him a warm smile and looked at the tavern down the road.

It's okay Godferg. We can rent a room and sleep there. I told him. He nodded and drove the carriage to the stable while I headed in that direction. The moonlight shone down to kiss my skin as I continued my way down the darkened road. I took a moment to note where we were. Judging by the name of the shops I guessed we were in a town. Nothing like our quaint little village. My eyes looked around the town. There were a lot of small shops. I passed by a blacksmith, an alchemist, an apothecary, hell I even passed by an engineering shop. Then I looked at a perfume and a flower shop. I stopped and looked at some lilies there were placed in a vase sitting in a window. You should go visit dad's grave when you get back … I bet he would appreciate it. Say hi to mom. Maybe put some of those lilies on his grave. Yeah. That’d be nice.

They’re quite beautiful, aren’t they? I heard from behind me. I jumped a bit, ready to at least throw a punch at who had startled me and looked at who was talking. A lone man stood behind me. He was tall, taller than me at least, and his eyes that were fixated on the lilies were like diamonds. He had pale skin and gelled back jet black hair. As my gaze met his keen face, his mouth curled into a kind smile. A smile I knew well. I raised my brows a bit impressed that someone else was capable of putting up such a convincing facade. He swiveled his head slowly towards me now, and he walked to stand next to me. He wore a black suit; suitable for someone like him. The lilies. the attractive man said holding up his hand. My eyes moved back to the lilies.

Yes, quite. I replied. In my peripheral vision I could see his gaze resting on me again. I was about to ask him what his problem was and why he kept looking at me, but I held my tongue and kept my mouth shut.

It's a beautiful night out, don’t you agree? his honeyed voice asked. My eyes moved to meet his. Still staring.

I’m sorry. I should get going. I replied, backing away a bit. He nodded and stowed the stare, looking back at the lilies again. As nice as the gesture was, there was something about him that I didn’t trust, and I continued to make my way down the road. As I walked, I felt eyes peering at me, and it made me quicken my pace as chills ran down my spine. Once I finally got to the doors, I pushed them open and found the barkeep. Expelling air out of my lungs,