The Clock Winked (The Sagittan Chronicles Book 2) (12 page)

“Can I go in?” Bronwyn asked.

“Just step through.” Quin answered.

Bronwyn walked tentatively up to the Door just as John’s
head poked back through. Bronwyn jumped back.

“Are you guys coming?” John asked, a bit impatiently.

“John!” Quin scolded. “Give them a second. Remember your
first time?”

“Yeah, you threw me over your shoulder and dragged me
through because we were being chased by some sort of insane bear poacher.”

“Yes well, if we hadn’t been, you would have been hesitant
too.” Quin frowned and crossed his bulging arms.

“Fine.
I’ll be patient.” John’s
head disappeared again.

“I’m going!” Bronwyn stepped forward and disappeared into
the wall.

“She disappeared too!” Auvek exclaimed. “Is this a prank?
Are you guys pulling a prank on me?”

“Look closer,” Quin suggested. “Maybe you’ll see the blue
haze.”

Stepping forward, Auvek leaned in and sniffed the air. He
stuck out his hand and poked at the wall, completely missing the Door.

Quin reached forward and shoved him. Auvek stumbled forward
and disappeared.

“Leaping blennies!” he exclaimed on the other side. John and
Bronwyn stood watching him.

“Took you long enough,” John replied, as Quin stepped
through behind Auvek.

“You pushed me!” Auvek accused, spinning around to point a
finger at Quin.

“Yes.” Quin nodded. He grabbed Auvek’s shoulders and turned
him back around to look at the room. Auvek nearly tripped, realizing at the
last moment that he stood on a short set of stairs which led down into the
room.

A chandelier hung from a vast, domed ceiling. Bookcases
placed erratically around the room contained thousands of dusty, old volumes.
Stacks of books rose from a large table in the center, and strange tools lay
haphazardly across their covers, sticking out from drawers; a few were on the
floor.

The room seemed to extend infinitely in all directions, a
never-ending collection of priceless and ancient volumes of lore and literature
and knowledge—and now it was all at Auvek’s fingertips. He smiled.

“Welcome to
William
Oliphant, bookseller’s
secret library,” John proclaimed.

*****

Salve hunched his shoulders against the wind. The rain had
begun to sprinkle hard, like being pelted with a million little, tiny beads,
and most people had left the streets or taken cover under the public awnings.
He meandered down the sidewalk, angrily muttering under his breath.

“Unrealistic expectations!” he exclaimed under his breath.
“How can he expect me to find exciting news when there isn’t anything? I’m not
a genie—I’m a reporter!”

He stomped his foot. “I’m not playing his game. I’m going to
find the best story ever, and then eat it, so no one will ever know!
Or… or…
I’ll sell it to the
NowTimesToday
! That’ll show him!”

Salve cut down his favourite alley—the brick walls were
decorated with an elaborate graffitied diagram of an otter baking a pie, and he
always thought it was an ingenious and beautifully constructed image. He
stopped to stare at the paint-splattered bricks for a moment.

“Hm,” he muttered, “maybe I should make pie. Or buy some.
That’d be easier.”

He turned and continued to the alley. When he reached the
end he stopped, stood on one foot and peered first to the right, then to the
left. His grandfather had taught him this ritual when he was very small—it was
to make sure you were safe turning the corner. To Salve’s surprise, a man stood
right next to the corner. Salve jerked his head back and held his breath.

“Teira!”
Salve heard the man hiss.
“It not there.
We go!” Something splashed.

Salve took a deep breath and peered around the corner again.
The man had moved over to a large tree that stood by the side of the road.
Water beaded up on his bald head, which was covered with blue swirls. He stood
talking to a woman. At once, the two turned and strode rapidly down the street.

“Rathead!”
Salve gasped as quietly
as he could. “Is it really him? I found him. I should follow him.”

Salve took a step forward and stopped.

“No!” he chided himself. “That’s idiotic! Nobody follows
Rathead and lives to tell about it. This is practically suicidal!” He flattened
himself against the wall.

“But I could get a good story!” he argued. “I could get the
best story! And prove my idiotic boss wrong!”

“Yes, and die in the process,” he replied to himself.

“But why not?
I mean, I live for reporting.
If I can’t be a reporter, I might as well be dead.” A small thought wiggled its
way in.

What if you die? What
about Bronwyn?

“What about her?” Salve asked, irritated. “She’s just a
girl! I don’t like her any more than I like anyone else! She’s just an
interview, just a person, just a very, very nice girl. I’ll prove to her
and
my boss that I’m an ace reporter and
brave to boot!”

Salve stepped away from the brick wall and peered out down
the street. Rathead and the woman were barely visible. Salve took off after
them without looking back.

*****

Auvek walked solemnly through the ancient bookshelves,
occasionally reaching out to brush a spine with his finger. He could hear John
murmuring in the background, telling a story of the past, of his family, but he
didn’t hear. His eyes scanned the shelves, picking out words in the
titles—dimension, world construction, inimitable universe, legends, history,
magic, and monument—and absorbing their colour and shape and the oldness that
radiated from their spines. He stepped carefully forward, in awe of the history
and value of the treasure that sat before him.

One book stared back at him. He reached out and gently
pulled it from the shelf. An avalanche of dust streamed from all corners. The
title read: “
The Clock of Legends: When the Bell Rings, the Cake is Burnt”
by Laertes Misanthrop
.

“Bronwyn,” Auvek said, interrupting John’s story. “I found
what we were looking for.”

Bronwyn and John both scurried over to where Auvek stood. He
held out the book. “You can keep it.”

John tilted his head sideways, eyes glinting. “Now why would
you youngsters be so interested in the...” He raised his hands dramatically and
spoke in a deep voice, “...Clock of Legend?”

“There are just some stories about my family connected with
it,” Bronwyn said, shrugging. “I’m curious.”

“Ah yes, your name is Bronwyn. I forgot.
How
interesting.”
John tightened his tie. “Well, it might interest you to
know that I am also interested in this mysterious time-keeping device.”

“Why?” Auvek asked.

“I study legends in my free time, and the cult following has
been quite active lately. I actually came to ask if I could borrow that
specific book.” He pointed at the one held by Bronwyn.

“Well,” she said, “I can’t take it home with me. Can we
leave it here and share?”

“Sure,” John said, smiling.

Quin cleared his throat. John turned to look at him,
frowning. Raising his eyebrow, Quin pointed at the book.

“Ah yes,” John replied, turning back to Auvek and Bronwyn.
He looked down for a moment, took a deep breath, and then looked Auvek in the
eyes, said firmly, “Under no circumstances are you to sell these books to
anyone
.
Do you understand me?”

Auvek
nodded,
eyes wide.

“People will come asking for the specific books in this
collection. They do not exist. None of these books exist. In fact, they are so
non-existent that if they were to escape this room, their presence in the
regular flow of space-time would upset it so much that the universe would
explode.”

“That’s just silly,” Auvek said.

John scowled and leaned close to his face. “Have you studied
temporal physics?
Because I have.
In fact, I have two
degrees—one in temporal physics and the other in extra-dimensional space.” He
crossed his arms. “Trust me. You don’t want me to send Quin after you.”

“Okay, okay.” Auvek took a step back. “I believe you. None
of these books leaves this room. What about other books that I bring in here?”

“Those ones can leave,” John said, smiling again. “If you’re
worried, just give me a call.” He glanced at his watch. “Unfortunately, I have
a dinner date. So, I will be back tomorrow to read that lovely book of yours.
It had better be here.
Oh,
and here is my card if you
think of anything important I should know.”

He handed Auvek a little black card that read “
John,
Physicist and Calculator.
ICCC.
”
A contact number appeared underneath. Bronwyn peeked at it over his shoulder.

“We thought Simon was the reason your Uncle didn’t want us
in this room. Er, that room, out there.” She gestured towards the Door. “But
maybe this was it.
Big secret.”

Auvek nodded. “Yes, I suppose so. Although, Uncle Will
probably didn’t have a clue what kind of gold mine he was sitting on.”

“Young lady,” John said. “My chauffeur is nearby. Would you
like a ride back to your aunt’s house?”

“Taxi!”
Quin coughed.

John shot him a glare.

“Yes, please,” Bronwyn said. “It is quite wet outside.” She
turned to Auvek. “I will come back as soon as I can to read that book.”

Auvek nodded.

“Let’s go, then.” John turned back to the Door. “Oh, and
Auvek, Will should be out of jail in two weeks. But I didn’t tell you that.”

“Thanks,” Auvek said, suspiciously.

“My pleasure,” John replied, and disappeared through the
Door with Quin right behind him.

“I like him,” Bronwyn said.

“I don’t,” Auvek replied, and gestured to the Door.
“After you.”

After the bell dinged the exit of Bronwyn, John, and the
terrifying Quin, Auvek locked the door. He then took a deep breath, sank into
the comfortable chair behind the desk, and opened the cash register.

“I see they have left, Master Auvek.” Thin fingers reached
over the desk as Simon pulled
himself
up to sit on top
of it.

“Yes,” Auvek replied shortly. He frowned. “I am quite
displeased with you, Simon.”

“I was going to tell you, sir, but I didn’t know how to
bring it up.” Simon’s head tilted down in mimicry of ‘ashamed.’

“Maybe just, ‘oh by the way there’s a secret room with a lot
of dangerous books in it, sir.’ Did you ever think of that one?”

“But the Door, sir.”

“Yes.” Sighing, Auvek placed his head in his hands. “I know.
I’m sorry. I’ve had a very stressful day. Who was that John, anyway? How does
he know so much?”

“Master John is a very important and powerful man. He is
also extremely intelligent. He wishes you no harm. You need not worry. He does
have every right to the books in Master William’s library, though, but he will
not try to force you to let him in. I recommend staying on good terms.”

“I don’t like him.”

“You don’t have to, sir, if you don’t mind my saying.”

Nodding, Auvek reached out to pick up his pencil.
“There’s only one thing left to do.”

“What’s that Master Auvek?”

“My job.”

*****

Samson sat back in his desk chair with his feet up, a cup of
hot coffee in one hand, and his eyes closed. Chair Rizinski had stayed with
Heloise and Arthur for far too long, discussing politics and the raising of
exotic fish, and Samson had stayed to listen politely for fear of being fired
sooner than he was ready. Misty had scribbled in her notebook the whole
time—what on earth was she really writing?—and Marge had wandered in and out
with refreshments.

Once ample wine, crackers, and cheese had been consumed,
Chair Rizinski had finally decided to take the next available shuttle
planetside.

“Thank you for your hospitality, Mr. Lebron,” Chair Rizinski
had said. “I look forward to working with you in the future—that is, if the
world doesn’t end first.” He chuckled, with Heloise and Arthur awkwardly
joining in.

“So I hear,” Samson had replied. “Any truth to the
doomsayers
predictions?”

Chair Rizinski had leaned forward. “Just between you and
me—the Clock might run out but you and I still won’t get a vacation.” He
chuckled again, and Samson gave an obliging half-hearted laugh.

They shook hands.

“Safe journey, Chair Rizinski,” Samson had intoned, and shortly
thereafter they were gone.

Three sweeps of his office, and fourteen bugs of various
types later, Samson had returned to doing business in his favourite room.

“Marge!” Samson yelled, kicking his feet down from the desk.

“Yessir.”
She appeared in the doorway.

“Sit down.” Gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk,
Samson propped face in his hands. “I’ve been thinking, Marge. Chair Aderick
died.”

“Yessir.”
Marge nodded.

“But Rizinski was third in line. Why did Jameson and
Canderick decline? Did they decline or resign?”

“They declined, sir. Both said they had familial obligations
that needed to be dealt with.”

“Did the press believe this?”

“Yessir, both are quite elderly, if I recall.”

“I see. Don’t you think it’s odd that both of them declined
though? Perhaps they knew something?”

“Quite possibly, sir.”

“See if you can get me on the phone with either of them.”
Samson leaned back in his chair. “I think that there might be some things going
on under the government’s table, if you know what I mean.”

“If you say so, sir.”
Marge stood.
“They are out of onions in the kitchen, sir. May I deal with that first?”

“No onions? Oh, Raquette must be positively distraught. Yes,
fine. Thank you.”